by Jack Ford
Strother directed a pointed gaze at each of the twelve jurors. “And you most certainly can’t allow a white man to be subjected to the spurious claims of a slave,” he said angrily. “No, you most certainly cannot!” Strother turned and strode back to his seat.
“Gentlemen, thank you,” Judge Field said gravely from the bench. “Mr. Turner, I’d ask you to please call your first witness.”
CHAPTER 59
“THE PLAINTIFF WOULD ASK THE CLERK TO PLEASE CALL MISTRESS Mary Maddox to the stand,” said Turner, standing and nodding toward Mary.
The clerk, seated next to the bench, stood and gestured toward Mary. “Mistress Maddox,” he said, “would you please approach the witness chair?”
Mary rose from her seat in the row behind Kitty and strode resolutely between the counsel tables, staring straight ahead and refusing to acknowledge Sam Maddox, to the single chair that sat on a slightly raised platform located in front of both the judge’s bench and the jurors.
“Mistress Maddox, you have been called as a witness by the plaintiff in this matter,” the clerk intoned officially. “Do you offer your oath, in the name of God, that the evidence you will produce shall be honest and truthful?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Mary.
“Please be seated,” the clerk ordered.
Judge Field inclined his head politely toward Mary and then nodded his assent to proceed to Turner.
“Mistress Maddox,” Zephania Turner began, “are you familiar with my client, Miss Kitty?”
“Yes, I am,” answered Mary confidently, sitting ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap, her demeanor belying her true emotions. Never before in her life had she been asked to speak in public, and the size of the crowd—with all eyes focused intently on her—together with the stakes involved, had her terrified. But she knew she would have to rein in her fear and soldier on for Kitty’s sake.
“How long have you known her?”
“Since she was born, more than twenty-five years ago.”
“And please tell us the circumstances of your relationship to her when she was born.”
“She was born to one of our slaves on our farm.”
“So then,” Turner said, “she became, by law, one of your slaves?”
“Yes, sir, that is correct,” Mary responded.
“Now, Mistress Maddox, with my deepest apologies, I’d like to ask you about the passing of your husband, Samuel Maddox.”
“Certainly,” Mary said.
“First of all, how long had you and Samuel been married?”
“We’ve been . . .” Mary paused briefly and then corrected herself. “We had been married for thirty years . . . before he passed on.”
“Did you and Samuel bring any children into the world during that time?”
“No, sir.”
“Please forgive me for being somewhat indelicate, but had you attempted to bear children?”
“Yes,” Mary said, her voice dropping, “but, unfortunately, it was not in God’s plans.”
Turner inclined his head empathetically. “So, then, when Samuel passed, you would have been his only direct heir, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Mary.
Turner walked to the clerk’s table, picked up a document from the tabletop, and handed it to Mary.
“Mistress Maddox,” he said, “I am presenting to you a document, entitled ‘Last Will and Testament of Samuel Maddox,’ that has previously been submitted to this court. Do you, in fact, recognize this document?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is this the will of your late husband?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“And are you named as the executrix of his estate in the will?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was this will, in fact, duly proven and admitted to record in the County Court of Rappahannock County?”
“Yes, sir, it was.”
“Did the provisions of your husband’s will require you to post any security in order to act as the executrix?”
“No, sir, it specifically did not.”
“So then, after Samuel’s death, did you assume your duties as the executrix of his estate?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
Turner took the document from Mary, returned it to the clerk, and turned to the judge.
“Your Honor,” he said, “the plaintiff would request that this document—the last will and testament of the said Samuel Maddox—which has previously been submitted to the court, be entered into the record as proof of the terms and conditions stated within.”
Judge Field looked to Moffet Strother, who nodded his consent.
“I have previously reviewed the clerk’s file concerning the estate of Samuel Maddox and determined that this is a true copy of his will. There being no objection heard, this document shall be entered into the court record,” the judge said. “Are there any other documents regarding the estate that will be offered to the court for its consideration?”
“None from the plaintiff,” said Turner.
“And none on behalf of the defendant,” added Strother.
“In that event, you may continue, Mr. Turner,” said the judge, seeming slightly perplexed.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Turner. “Now, Mistress Maddox, would you please describe to us the relationship between your late husband and his nephew, Sam?”
For the first time since she had entered the courtroom, Mary turned toward Maddox and glared at him for a brief moment before turning back to Turner and answering the question.
“By the time Samuel passed away, he had little use for his nephew,” she answered, one eyebrow arched and her voice hard.
“Had their relationship always been that way?” asked Turner.
“No,” said Mary, shaking her head. “When Sam was a young boy, Samuel spent a great deal of time with him, hoping to give him the guidance he was not getting from his own father—who was Samuel’s brother. But as Sam got older—and it became clear that he was not following Samuel’s advice about becoming an honest and trustworthy man—Samuel despaired of him and his future and eventually distanced himself from Sam.”
“Did Samuel ever talk to you about leaving any part of his estate to Sam?”
“No, sir. By then, Samuel wouldn’t have trusted Sam to muck out the outhouse, much less handle any of his estate,” Mary said derisively.
There was a brief spurt of snickers and chuckles at her comment, which was immediately silenced by an icy glare from Judge Field.
“So, then,” Turner asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement, “if Sam were to claim that Samuel had promised him, shortly before his death, that he planned to leave him part of the estate, would that be true?”
Mary first shot a look of disdain at Sam Maddox and then turned toward the jurors. “That would be an absolute lie,” she declared. “The entire estate—land and property—was left to me, and me alone.”
“Now, Mistress Maddox,” said Turner, “I would like to shift our conversation to the journey you embarked on—with Miss Kitty and her children—to Pennsylvania. Would you kindly explain to the court and jury what the purpose of this journey was?”
“I had decided to free Kitty and the children. But then I heard that Sam intended to challenge my right to free them in court. He was deeply in debt and desperate for money and hoped to sell them off to slave traders from down south.”
“Would you have allowed that?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Why not?”
Mary paused a moment and then continued. “Because Samuel had asked me on his deathbed to free them. And I fully intended to follow his wishes,” she said softly.
“But I suspect the jurors may be puzzled by one question,” Turner said thoughtfully. “If you were so confident in the terms of the will, why did you not go to court and establish, once and for all in the eyes of the law of the commonwealth, that Sam was not entitled to any portion of the estate?”
“Because,” Mar
y began, looking directly at the jurors once again, “I trusted the law—but I did not trust Sam Maddox. I feared, knowing him and his moral failings as I do, that he would simply steal Kitty and the children away and sell them before the law had spoken. And by then, it would have been too late. And I could not run the risk of that happening.”
Turner paused theatrically, nodding his head knowingly. “I would ask now that you describe to the court and these jurors the details of your journey to Pennsylvania,” Turner said.
Thirty minutes later, Mary concluded the saga. The jurors had listened carefully but had shown no emotion at all during her recitation. Many in the audience, however, had been on the edge of their seats, as if attending a dramatic reading of a gripping adventure novel.
“An astonishing feat of courage—by both you and Miss Kitty,” Turner said admiringly when Mary had finished. “After you had arrived in Pennsylvania, were you eventually able to arrange for housing for Miss Kitty and her children?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mary. “Arrangements were made by a Quaker group who had aided us on the trip for Kitty and her children to lodge with the family of a free black man named Amon Jones. In return for their lodging, they would provide domestic services to Mr. Jones and his family.”
“And did they, in fact, take up residence with Amon Jones?”
“Yes, sir, they did.”
“Were they residing there when you left to return to Virginia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did they appear to be safe there?”
“I thought so. I had executed a deed of manumission at the county court, declaring that they were now free, so I believed they would have no difficulties creating a new life there.” Mary paused. “I believed that they were safe when I left. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”
At this time, Turner delivered a sheaf of documents to the clerk, who handed it up to the judge.
“If it please the court,” Turner said, “I have delivered to the court clerk a copy of the deed of manumission that was executed by Mistress Maddox and accepted by the Adams County Court. In addition, I have provided a certified copy, signed by the Secretary of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, of a statute, passed in the year of Our Lord seventeen eighty-eight, making it a crime against the peace of the commonwealth for any person to seize and carry away any free person of color for the purpose of enslaving them. I would request that these documents be made part of the record in this case.”
Judge Field took a few minutes to review the documents and then returned them to the clerk.
“The documents will be recorded as evidence in this matter. You may continue your examination, Mr. Turner.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Mistress Maddox, when and how did you discover that you had been wrong and that Kitty and the children were not safe?” asked Turner.
Mary then related how Fanny had disclosed that Sam Maddox had seized Kitty and the children and brought them back to Virginia, where they were being held captive at his farm.
“And did you and Miss Withers then decide to take some action to aid them?”
“Yes,” Mary said. “We traveled to Sam’s farm, where we found them chained in a shed.” She paused and glared at Maddox, whose face revealed no expression. “Kitty had been beaten brutally by Sam, her face bloody and bruised and one eye swollen shut. She was barely conscious when we arrived. We freed them all from the chains and brought them back to Fanny’s home.”
“Was there then a confrontation with Sam?” asked Turner.
“There was. He arrived late at night with several other men. They were all armed, and Sam threatened us unless we returned Kitty to him.”
“Let me be certain that the court and the jurors understand,” said Turner. “An armed group of men, led by Sam Maddox, came to the Withers home late at night and threatened two unarmed women? Is that correct?”
“Yes. Except for the fact that after being threatened by the men, we—Fanny and I—grabbed shotguns to defend ourselves. Fortunately, it was at that precise time that Sheriff Walden appeared. He ordered them off the property and determined that he would take custody of Kitty and the children until the matter was resolved.”
Turner took a moment to review his notes and then continued. “Finally, then, Mistress Maddox, do you have any doubt in your mind that the will of your late husband empowered you to make whatever disposition you chose of his property, including the right to free Kitty, as he had requested with his dying breath?”
“No, sir. I have no doubt at all.”
“And is there any doubt that you had actually freed them all, according to the laws of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, once you had arrived there?”
“No, sir, there is not. And the deed of manumission that I executed proves it,” Mary said decisively.
Turner bowed to Mary and then turned to the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor. I have completed my examination of this witness.”
“Thank you, Mr. Turner,” the judge said. He then turned to Moffet Strother. “The witness is now available to you, sir, for your examination, should you please.”
CHAPTER 60
MOFFET STROTHER STOOD, TUGGED ON HIS ILL-FITTING JACKET, which heroically resisted the effort to smooth out the waves of wrinkles, and offered a slight bow to the judge.
“With the court’s permission,” Strother said.
Judge Field gave a brief nod of his head in assent. Strother stepped a few feet closer to the witness chair and Mary.
“Mistress Maddox,” he began, his tone calm and solicitous, “I would ask your indulgence as I have just a few questions for you.”
“Certainly,” Mary responded. She squared her shoulders, steeling herself for the expected verbal onslaught. As she attempted to maintain her false air of confidence, the flickering of her fingers betrayed the fact that now that she was no longer in the protective grasp of Zephania Turner, her sense of self-assuredness was swiftly melting away.
“Initially, I am curious about something you mentioned a few moments ago. You told this court that you enlisted the aid of a number of so-called ‘Quakers’ in your escape to Pennsylvania. Is that correct?” Strother asked.
“It is correct that a number of Quakers assisted us on our journey. But it is not correct that we were ‘escaping,’ ” Mary said.
Strother waved his hand dismissively. “You may call it whatever you please. My point is that you enlisted the aid of members of what has been referred to as an Underground Railroad—these Quakers—whose purpose is to blatantly violate our laws by providing aid and comfort to our escaping slaves. Is that correct?”
“Well, Mr. Strother,” Mary said adamantly, “I would suggest that it is you who may call it whatever you please. I would simply call it what it was—good Christian people aiding other good Christian people on a difficult journey, as we were being pursued illegally by a band of lawless ruffians. Nothing more sinister than that.”
“Well, Mistress Maddox,” Strother said, trying to regain control of the questioning, “we will leave that for the jury to decide.”
Mary inclined her head in agreement.
“Now, if I may proceed to another issue, you’ve told this court that you intended to free the slave woman,” Strother said, gesturing with his hand toward Kitty, “because it is what your late husband requested. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would it be fair to say that your late husband, Samuel, was a man of strong opinions?”
“I believe that would be fair.”
“And would it also be fair to say that he was very precise in his business dealings?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“And that the late Mr. Maddox had no reservation about letting his opinions be known?”
“Yes, sir.
“And that, in both his business and personal dealings, he expected his directives to be followed?”
“I would say that is generally true.”
Strother walked to the clerk’s table. “With
the court’s permission,” he said to the judge, “I would like to show the witness the will of her late husband, which has been previously entered into the record.”
“You may,” said the judge.
Strother took the will from the clerk and handed it to Mary.
“Mistress Maddox,” Strother said as he walked away from her and faced the jurors, “I’d ask you to please point out to the court and these jurors precisely where in the will your husband directed you to free any of his slaves.”
Without looking at the will, Mary responded. “He made no mention of that wish in the will,” she said.
“He did not?” asked Strother, an exaggerated look of surprise on his face. “This man, who you have agreed was exceptionally precise and specific in all his business dealings, would somehow neglect to include something as important as his intention to free valuable slaves?”
“It is correct that he did not include those words.”
“Did he share this intention with any other person other than you?”
Mary shook her head. “Not that I am aware.”
“So then, is it fair to say that other than your recitation of this deathbed scene, there is no proof whatsoever that your late husband actually wished to free any slave?”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Mary said angrily, “but there is, indeed, proof. The proof is my word!”
“With all due respect, Mistress Maddox,” Strother said, shaking his head in disbelief, “you must see how difficult it is for these jurors to believe that your husband—with apologies, a man of fairly limited means—would willingly part with extremely valuable property, such as these slaves, for no good reason at all. You must see that!”
Mary was silent for a long moment. When she spoke next, her voice was barely audible. “There was a very good reason.”