Georgia, 1849
“For pity’s sake, Henry, what on earth is the holdup?” Madeline Penbrook whipped out her pearl-handled fan and shook it furiously in an effort to provide her own breeze against the stifling Georgia sun. Much to her annoyance, the carriage had come to a sudden stop on the cobblestone street.
After a long day socializing with the wives of her husband’s planter friends-ladies with whom she had little in common and for whom she had even less regard-Madeline’s head ached and her stomach churned. She was in no mood for delays. All she wanted was to return home and relax out of the sun.
“Well?” she asked her husband, who was seated across from her, looking quite dashing in a pair of tan trousers and a matching coat.
“Dearest, you mustn’t upset yourself.” He studied her, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Fiddlesticks. Henry, if you do not immediately inform me of the reason for this delay, I shall stand up and turn around right here in this buggy and disgrace us both.”
He released a heavy breath.
Looking into his clear blue eyes and deeply tanned face, Madeline softened her tone. “I am sorry to be so difficult. But I simply must know, and your hesitation only makes me all the more curious.”
He craned his neck to see ahead of the buggy and frowned again. “It appears a slave has run off from the auction.”
Madeline shuddered and sank back against the seat. “I hope the poor creature gets away.”
“Shh,” Henry admonished. He darted a cautious glance at the four-year-old child lying across his lap, looking very much like an angel from heaven. She slept peacefully, her mop of beautiful chestnut curls splayed across her father’s arm. “Do you want Camilla to hear you?”
The ear-shattering sound of a woman’s wail cut off Madeline’s retort. She pushed to her feet before Henry could stop her and turned to see what the ruckus was all about. Her heart caught in her throat at the sight of a young slave woman, dressed in a neat calico gown, her hair bound by a red handkerchief. One burly, barrel-chested man held on to her while another tried to wrestle a bundle from her arms.
“Don’ take my chile! Please!” She broke loose and threw herself at the feet of the first man in the crowd of spectators. “Please,” she begged, clutching her child tightly to her breast. “My little Catherina, she don’ eat much. An’ she kin already shine silver and brush young missies’ hair. You be gettin’ a real good bargain on da bof of us.”
“What do I need with another pickaninny running about the place?” The man asked tossed a cigar to the ground inches from where the woman knelt.
Her pursuers grabbed her while she desperately fought to hang on to her child. One of the men succeeded in snatching the child, a little girl of perhaps three or four, from the woman’s arms. “Get back up there, gal.”
“Ma!” Flailing her little body, the young girl struggled against her captor, clawing the air as she reached for her mother, who was being dragged back to the auction block. The little girl twisted. She reared back and belted the man squarely in the jaw.
“Why you little. . .” His hand came down hard.
Madeline winced.
The child stopped struggling.
Madeline’s hand crept protectively to her rounded stomach, tears stinging her eyes.
Henry reached for her hand and pulled her gently back to her seat. He motioned for the driver to move the carriage forward once more. “Don’t cry, darlin’. We’ll be back home soon and you can forget all about this.”
Madeline turned on him. “Forget about it?” she spat. “Do you think I shall ever forget the sight of that child being ripped from her mother’s arms? It’ll haunt me all my born days. And even into my grave.”
The slave woman’s cries, mingling with those of her child, seemed to grow louder as the carriage inched forward in the congested street.
“Don’t look, Dearest,” Henry soothed.
“How can I not?” Her eyes scanned the yard of greedy landowners looking to purchase their pound of flesh. Bile rose to her throat. Anger shook her.
Unbidden, her gaze came to rest upon the young mother, now spent with tears. The slave woman had been bared to the waist. She kept her chin down. Her arms were crossed over her breasts as she desperately tried to cover herself.
Suddenly the crestfallen woman straightened, as though lifted by some unseen force, and glanced over the crowd. Madeline caught her breath as the slave’s dark gaze locked with hers, baring her soul and reading into Madeline’s.
It was as though she were reaching out to Madeline, drawing her, calling to her. Don’ let dem take my baby from me. What if it was you? Your baby?
The child within her chose this moment to make his presence felt. Tears burned her eyes and she glanced at her sleeping Camilla. What if she were in this woman’s place?
Once again, Madeline shot to her feet in the moving carriage, then grasped the seat to steady herself. “Stop the carriage, Toby.”
Henry leaned forward, concern flashing in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Is it the baby?”
“The baby is fine.” Madeline quickly opened the carriage door and hopped out before Henry could set their child on the seat beside him and detain her.
She hurried through the crowd, which parted easily at the uncommon sight of a white woman in such a place. The bidding ceased as she strode to the front of the platform. “You, sir,” she said, too overcome with indignation to be afraid. “Unhand that child this instant.”
He turned his head and spit a stream of tobacco juice through the air, then wiped his mouth with the back of a hairy hand. He regarded her with a squinty-eyed gaze that made Madeline feel as undressed as the poor woman on the block. “I ain’t unhandin’ nothin’. This pickaninny is goin’ up there right after the woman.”
Swallowing back the nausea rising in her throat, Madeline stomped the ground. “Pickaninny, my foot.” She glared at the uncouth man. “That darling child is as white as you are.”
The little girl peeked up curiously at Madeline, her mouth open in wonder. Madeline smiled into the precious round face. A shy grin tipped the corners of rosebud lips, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, before the little girl ducked her head and stared at the ground.
Madeline glanced up at the slave woman who stood on the platform, hope shining in eyes luminous from tears.
Glaring at the slave trader, Madeline motioned toward the woman. “Allow her to cover herself this minute. You should be ashamed.” Turning, she stared at the entire lot of onlookers. “You should all be ashamed. Now, I mean to buy this woman and her child. What is the bid?”
The bewildered slave trader named the price.
“That’s fine. I’ll take them both.”
“Now, see here, lady. That ain’t the way things are done.” He looked over her shoulder. “This your wife, mister?”
“She is.”
Madeline’s heart hammered against her chest at the sound of Henry’s cold voice behind her. She knew she was in for a stern lecture upon their arrival home, but for now she prayed God would give her husband the foresight to see this through with her.
“Well, get her outta here. This ain’t no place for a woman.”
Henry looked up at the slave, his eyes moving over her. Unease nipped at Madeline’s stomach as she caught a flash of. . .something in his gaze. She shook off the disloyal thought. Henry had always been a good and faithful man.
When he spoke, she pushed the rest of her suspicion firmly to the back of her mind. “I believe my wife has expressed an interest in purchasing this female and her child.” He turned to the crowd of men. “Any of you plan to do more bidding?”
The crowd shuffled, but no one spoke.
Digging her nails into her palms, Madeline held her breath and prayed. Father, grant us mercy to save this one woman and her child. It’s a small thing, Lord. Only two of Your precious children. But I beg of You, let it be.
“Come, gentlemen.” The slave trader appealed to th
e crowd. “Surely, you will not give up this fine female on the whim of a woman--lovely though she may be.”
A tense moment of silence passed until a voice rose from the crowd. “Get them out of here and show the next one.”
With helpless frustration, the trader glared at Henry. “They’re yours.”
“Thank You, Lord,” Madeline whispered.
Henry stepped toward his wife. “I will take care of the business. Get the woman and child to our carriage and wait for me.”
“Yes, Dear.”
She eyed the unkempt man still holding on to the child. “I will thank you to turn loose of the girl, sir.” She squared her shoulders and met his steely gaze head on.
Grudgingly, he pushed the little girl forward. She stumbled, then righted herself before crashing to the ground.
Madeline knelt and smoothed back a tangled mop of hair, the same chestnut color as her own darling Camilla’s. “What is your name?”
Popping a bony finger into her mouth, the girl dropped her gaze. “Catherina,” she mumbled.
“A lovely name for a lovely little girl.” Madeline straightened and reached out for Catherina’s hand. “Would you like to come home with me?”
She tilted her head and regarded Madeline with a questioning gaze. “Mama, too?”
Through a veil of tears, Madeline nodded. The woman gave a glad cry and hopped off the platform, pulling her dress up and sliding her arms through the sleeves. She gathered her daughter into her arms, her body shaking with sobs. “Thank you, missus. Thank you.”
Aware of the onlookers, Madeline leveled a gaze at the woman. “Follow me,” she said with a curt nod. She remained silent until they reached the carriage, then she turned. “What is your name?”
“Naomi, missus.”
Toby opened the carriage door, and Madeline stepped aside for Naomi and Catherina to precede her. The slave woman’s eyes grew wide and she hung back. “Missus!”
Madeline felt heat creep to her face. She nodded. “Of course. How stupid of me,” she said with a weary sigh. “Toby, help Naomi and little Catherina to the seat beside you and please. . .watch for Henry for me, will you?”
Settled once more in the carriage, Madeline gathered her daughter, now wide-awake, into her arms. Feeling tears burn her eyes, she pressed Camilla close, hid her face in the little girl’s soft curls, and longed for the sight of her Missouri home.
*****
“How could you have been so foolish, Madeline?”
Upon his return to the plantation, Henry had insisted Madeline retire to her bedroom. Now she lay on the four-poster bed she shared with her husband, taking a scolding as though she were a child. She kept her gaze fixed on the patchwork quilt she had made with her own hands during her confinement while carrying Camilla.
“I am sorry for embarrassing you, Dearest, but I can’t say I’m sorry for my actions.” She met his hard gaze, pleading with him to understand. “What if it had been Camilla and me on that auction block? It could have been, you know.”
“Don’t be foolish.”
“Why is it foolish to try to put oneself in the shoes of another less fortunate? Just think, Henry. What if, God forbid, a race of foreigners invaded our shores and carried off the inhabitants to serve their own people, without a thought to the families being torn apart? Put yourself in Naomi’s position, and tell me, how would you feel?”
With an irritated wave, he dismissed her entreaty. “What has that ridiculous thought to do with your actions this afternoon? Are a couple of slaves so important to you that you would risk the well-being of our own unborn child? What were you thinking?”
Madeline shrank from his wrath. Up to now, Henry had always been a wonderful, indulgent husband, and she had never known his anger such as he displayed now.
That a southern gentleman had even met, let alone married, the daughter of an outspoken abolitionist was a wonder she could only attribute to the hand and will of God. Love beyond reason was her only excuse for marrying a slave owner.
But after six years of living in Georgia, Madeline’s heart still broke for the slaves, and she could hardly lift her head for the shame she felt every time her maids tended her.
She knew she had acted recklessly this afternoon, but she didn’t regret it, nor would she confess to regretting her actions just to appease the man she’d once loved with reckless abandon. She stared now at her husband, who paced before her, red-faced with anger.
“Lord Almighty, Maddy.” His fists clenched at his side. “You sound just like Jason. Sometimes I think you ought to have married that nigger-loving brother of mine instead of me.”
“Why must you always bring Jason up whenever we have a disagreement?”
He continued pacing as if he hadn’t heard the question, though Maddy knew he’d heard just fine.
Henry’s brother had not been content to cast his lot with the southern planters. His heart led him to the West, away from slavery, away from his father’s control. So Jason had received his inheritance early and left a couple of months ago to find his fortune in the West.
Maddy knew Henry was relieved. Otherwise, as the second son, he wouldn’t have inherited the vast Penbrook lands when their father died.
“Henry, please calm down. As you can clearly see, I’m fine. It’s done now, and I must say, I am sorely disappointed in you.”
Henry halted his pacing mid-stride and glared at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, drawing a deep, frustrated breath. He turned his back, clearly trying to gain control over raging emotions. Striding to the dresser, his lifted his ever-present bottle of brandy and poured himself a glass.
Encouraged by his silence, though disheartened by Henry’s drinking, Madeline forged ahead, compelled to bring up a matter that had been heavy on her heart for several days. A subject she had been loath to broach thus far, for fear of shattering the peace between them.
“Henry, I must ask you about something I overheard you discussing with Father three days ago.”
“Do not turn this around, Maddy.” He held up a silencing hand, though he didn’t face her. “I’ll not allow it this time.” Downing the brandy in one quick gulp, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “We are discussing your inappropriate behavior. Not mine.”
Madeline’s temper flared. “Do not speak to me as though I’m a child, Henry. I must say, I find your attitude disconcerting to say the least.”
“You find my attitude disconcerting?” He swung about to face her. “I find your actions abominable! Mother has taken to her bed in shame after your conduct today. And my father is so angry-”
Flinging the covers aside, Madeline shot from the bed and faced her husband, nearly gagging at the smell of liquor on his breath. “Do not speak to me of your father. He should be the one dying of shame, and not because of my actions.”
He narrowed his gaze. “What are you implying?”
“I-Yes, Henry, I will speak of this, though you do not wish to discuss your conduct.” Unflinching before his anger, Madeline met his gaze head on. “I overheard your father and you discussing the selling of Abner and Jarvis.”
His eyes widened, then an expression of shame flickered across his face. “I didn’t intend for you to know until absolutely necessary.”
“Then it is true?”
“I’m afraid we have no choice. Abner is insolent and unmanageable. We believe he is the reason Jarvis has tried to run away three times in the past year. Besides, with Jason taking his inheritance and moving west, we can’t afford to hang on to slaves who aren’t pulling their weight. We have no choice.”
Lower lip quivering, Madeline blinked against a rush of hot tears. “But Henry, Jarvis has a wife and three children and another baby coming in the fall. How could your father sell him away from his family? And why did you not try to discourage such a thing? Wh–what if it was you who were being separated from your family?”
“Do not bring that up again, Maddy.” His tone, which had softened, no
w became hard-edged once more. “Jarvis has tried to run away three times. Was he thinking of his wife and children then?”
“Of course he was.” Madeline gripped Henry’s arm as a wave of dizziness swept her. She stepped back suddenly and sat hard on the bed.
In an instant, Henry knelt beside her, his face clouded with concern. “Are you all right, Dearest? Should I call for the doctor?”
“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. My head is clearing now.” She searched Henry’s tender face. How could he be so concerned for her and so unfeeling about another man’s wife? Taking his hand between hers, she pressed it against her heart. “Don’t you understand? Jarvis planned to do what he must to secure freedom. I am sure he would have returned, or arranged somehow for Lizzie and the children to follow. Would you have done less?”
“Come, lie down now. We’ll discuss this no further.”
A screech from Camilla’s bedroom across the hall sent them both to their feet, running to see what was amiss.
Henry flung open the door and found Camilla and Catherina in a tug-of-war over a crocheted doll.
“It’s mine,” Camilla insisted.
“Missus tole me I could play wif it.” Catherina kept a firm grip on the toy.
“Girls,” Henry said firmly. “What’s going on in here?”
Catherina gasped and relinquished the doll suddenly, sending Camilla backward. The child landed hard on her bottom. Her face contorted with rage, and she flung the doll at the cowering slave girl. Catherina clutched the doll tightly to her breast as though to protect it from Camilla.
“My gramps will whip the hide off you for that, girl!”
“Camilla Penbrook!”
Camilla shot a guilty glance toward Madeline. “Sh-she pushed me down, Mama.” Tears glistened in her enormous blue eyes.
But Madeline refused to be moved. “She did no such thing. I saw what happened, and I insist you apologize to Catherina this minute.”
The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) Page 2