“Auction?”
“No will.” He raised his palms up as though he was powerless to do otherwise. “There’ll be unpaid debts against the estate. Only way to pay them is to sell the assets. I’ll set the date and after that, you’re gone. What we reap from the auction will go to Davey’s heirs. I already found them. Most back in North Carolina. Junior of course, but it’ll all be divided among his rightful kin.” He leaned into her. “Of which you are not one.”
“That agreement say he pay me for the seven years I work for him, since 1845. That labor alone be close to $1,400 dollars. All the cows be mine. Twenty-nine.”
“We’ll see what the court has to say. Meanwhile, you won’t have much packing to do, because everything here is Davey’s. It’ll be sold.”
“No! I buy this.” She pounded her hand on the table. “I buy this!”
“With what?”
“My butter and milk and pork I sell.”
“You sell? No, David Carson sells. Everything belongs to him. Don’t you get that?”
“Where I go? Where I take our children?”
“No matter to the court. I’ve already got a buyer for the property.”
Junior.
It was like a summer storm rolling in with black clouds, lightning, hail, and wind. It happened so fast, the devastation unknown until it was over. G.B. set the date of the auction for January. She’d be turned out in the coldest, wettest month of the year.
“You stay with us,” Betsy told her. “We build shelter. You be safe.”
She sobbed at the kindness offered. She had to keep Charity. She had to make sure the agreement had been delivered to the court so they could see she had a claim not as an heir, a relative, but as an employee, as anyone else who ever worked for Davey and now had a claim.
Junior had never seen the agreement, said he knew nothing of it, and no, he wasn’t planning to make his home open to the wench and her children.
“I do for you,” she told him.
“What? What did you do for me? You took my daddy from me. I shouldn’t even be talking to the likes of you. You put a spell on him. For all I know you poisoned him and that’s why he’s dead.”
There was no reasoning with him.
With Nancy and Micah she tried to work the problem through, but it was like pushing a rock through the cheese sieve: it didn’t go.
“She needs a lawyer, Micah.”
“I can pay. I got a little money.”
“The law doesn’t allow a person of color to bring suit against a white person. Can’t testify against them anyway.” Micah bounced their youngest child on his knee. “I doubt any attorney will take your case with all the uproar about exclusions and lash laws and Oregon becoming free or slave, especially not in time to stop this auction.”
“I can be there when they sells my things? I can buy some back?”
“You can. But a bigger problem is where you’ll go after that.”
“She’ll come here.” Nancy was firm.
Letitia shook her head. “You gots too many to look after now without adding mine.”
Martha Hawkins sat beside her. The girl had grown so much and now held Letitia the way she’d once comforted Martha when her sister died. Adam and Perry Read played with wooden toys Joseph Gage had made for them.
“The Gages, maybe. They in another county. Maybe they willing to harbor someone supposed to leave the state.”
In late November, she ventured into Salem and the probate court. She’d never been in the city before, but she swallowed her fears and asked to speak to the clerk about the signed agreement. She said she had a claim against the estate in the amount of one thousand four hundred dollars in return for her labor. “G.B. Smith has the contract David Carson sign.” She heard the tremor in her voice. Would they send her away, she and her children? Arrest her? Put her in jail?
“There’s no evidence provided in the material given to the court by the administrator,” the clerk said. He wore a long coat and a string tie. She’d never seen Davey in a tie. “There are several claims here. Doc Smith wants $50 for his care and treatment of David Carson. David Carson is asking for $200 for four months of labor at $50 a month. Guess it’s not the David Carson, deceased.” He laughed at his own joke.
“I sees him take it. I gives the paper to Mr. Smith when he counts the assets.”
The clerk pawed through more documents. “It’s not here. Your claim’s not on the list. I’m sorry.”
“How I make a new claim, like Junior did for labor he wasn’t paid for, he say?”
“Send a bill. Get a lawyer.”
Get a lawyer? Raise the stakes, challenge white men? Maybe she could buy enough back at the auction to get by. G.B. wasn’t a judge. He wouldn’t make the final decisions, would he?
Neighbors and others she didn’t know rode into her yard, January 4, 1853, gouging wagon tracks in the mud. Rain slickers flowed over the backs of mules and horses like blankets at a picnic. A rare January sun break split the rain-soaked sky. Some buyers brought wagons to haul off what they purchased. The air felt cool, the clouds heavy as her heart.
Under a sopping canvas, Letitia watched, her belly aching, as others took her memories away. It was like she’d undressed in front of a window for all to see. Then, halfway through the bidding on the Bible she’d spoken her vows upon, she prayed to find another way to see this day, some way to hold her memories rather than having them hold her in this sorrowful place. She began to tell herself new stories.
That Bible going to the Wheeler family would bring them blessings and a comfort. They outbid her because the Lord wanted them to have that blessing. The plow, the gun, would be put in service to bring food to the Wheeler table. Her good clay pitcher would fill with nourishing milk for that family as it once had for hers.
It was harder to write a story for Mr. Davis, who bought cows. He’d married Sarah Bowman last year. She’d been widowed once too. He bought a cow, firkins, but not her Charity. Sarah would have something that Letitia’s hands had held and that was good. A cow bellowed.
She hadn’t seen the herd for several days. Even Charity hadn’t come up to be milked yesterday. They did wander off, but she assumed G.B. Smith would have rounded them up for the auction. But so far, Davey’s few animals and the bull were all that were corraled to be sold.
Junior showed up with a wagon into which he threw a shovel; had others help lift the harrow, plow, a thermometer, then placed her serving dishes in a blanket she’d given him. Her good copper kettle she used for making cheese Junior took too.
Letitia perked up. Five cups and saucers with little painted lilacs, the china set Davey had brought for Martha, came up for sale next.
“I buy those.” She stood, stepped forward.
“Those are the children’s things.” Nancy raised her voice. “Goodness. Let her have those.”
“Everything goes.” G.B. shrugged as though he had no control. “What do I get for these? Five cents? Good china, looks like. Came all the way from California, I hear.”
“I bids five cents.” Letitia raised her hand.
“Three dollars. Those belonged to my pa. I’m entitled to his precious things.”
“Sold!” G.B. handed the fragile pieces into the wide hands of Junior who dumped them in a heap amongst the blankets he’d also bought.
Junior also took a trunk full of Davey’s shirts and drawers. She’d have given those to him if he’d said he wanted them. But the pots and pans and plates—and Martha’s china—her heart broke at the carrying of those things out of her house into the mist and away to Junior’s claim. He also bought the other half of the un-dug potatoes, then tied a calf to the back of his wagon. When the split rails came up for auction, Junior bought almost all of those. Even the fencing go? No more boundaries. A summer vest went to Mr. Hodges, who also bought the bull. Andrew Carson—a relative from back east? She didn’t know. But he stood with Junior and he bought Davey’s only watch. Fine. I’s gonna give that watch to Junior but
let ’em pay for it. But she would not be a victim. She converted her anger, made another story. That boy needed time to grieve. A watch would do him little good, but it would do her no good either.
Nancy and Micah purchased sheets and feather pillows and chairs. “You’ll get those back at least,” Nancy said. “I brought cold chicken we can eat.”
G.B.’s former father-in-law bought Fergus, the faithful beast. “You serve him well, now,” she whispered as she held the velvet of his nose. She overheard men say there’d been private sales managed by the administrator, including the land that someone already expressed an interest in. He was to take possession in March. But who got Charity? And Blue and the rest? She didn’t know. No sign of the hawthorn-engraved bell either.
She wanted to keep her large iron pot, her spider skillet with the lid, six plates, the pretty ones she brought with her from Missouri bought with her midwife money. In the end, she bought the bed, Davey’s brindle cow and calf, and one roan cow. It was enough to start again. She paid $53.50 for the cows. None were Charity.
G.B. Smith bought one of Davey’s good wolf fur coats and one velvet vest, never worn.
And at the very last moment—the auctioneer had held them up for last—she bid on her candlesticks. The brass sticks had represented her freedom. She needed to find a ladder to pull herself upward toward light. She started the bid at one gold beaver coin. Junior outbid her.
“He need light in his life,” she told Nancy later. “Goes with Martha’s tea set so her little dishes not be alone.”
“Goodness. How can you be so generous, so philosophical?”
“I’s free to decide how this day gets remembered. I say I let light shine inside me, keep the dark memories out.”
By late afternoon in the fading light the men left. A few tipped their hats to her and looked sheepish, she thought. The hogs got loaded, their grunts and squeals echoing in the misted air. Soon Nancy and Micah and baby Clara said their good-byes.
“You held up well.” Nancy hugged her. “And you have your bed. That’s good. The children can sleep in it.”
Letitia nodded. She was as drained as a dishrag.
“Try to get some rest. Don’t go to the Gages’ tonight. Walk there in the morning.”
Letitia nodded, waved good-bye. Stillness like a murky pond filled the valley. The emptiness threatened to choke her. She went inside the cabin, a place she didn’t recognize now. All they’d worked for, all the possessions Davey had felt so strongly about, they were snowflakes onto fire.
She heard a sound at the door. “Rothwell?” She had no pistol. She forgot who bought it. “Junior? That you?” She prayed it would not be G.B. Smith.
“Ayee.”
She sighed relief at Betsy’s voice and opened the door.
“I’s a paucity to offer but what I have is yours to share.”
“My people give away things of those who pass on. That way no spirits are tied to this world. The dead have better places to go if we let them.”
“I didn’t plan to mourn my Davey the Kalapuya way, but I guess I have. Almost everything he touch, gone.”
“You plant again.”
“Somehow. I have a cow for milk. There’s still cheese in the springhouse. They never looked in there. And one tallow candle. And the chillun’s bed.”
“We feast tonight.” Betsy handed her a small basket with dried salmon, berries, and roasted camas root. The house was so bare there were few shadows. “Candles give warm light. Sister to the fireplace coals.”
“As are we, sisters at the hearth.”
Others had survived the loss of things, told themselves new stories. She would keep on keeping on.
“You have to contact that lawyer,” Nancy told her as March approached. Nancy patched her husband’s shirt, a simple act that brought tears to Letitia’s eyes. Nancy pushed a legal solution, seeking justice.
Letitia hadn’t seen any sign of the Mr. Fogel who was rumored to have bought her property.
“For Martha and Adam. That’s who you’re doing it for. You can’t remain silent.”
“I’s a colored woman going to court, asking for money from a white man. What if I make myself known and they send us out? I can’t go back to Missouri. My papers are gone.”
“I know it’s a hard thing to think, but it’s what’s right. Davey signed the agreement. After all that, don’t you think he’d want his children taken care of—you taken care of?”
Letitia nodded.
“I didn’t think I could ever look at Micah Read so soon after losing Zach, but if I hadn’t done what I didn’t think I could do, where would I be now? Sometimes a woman has to do what she thinks she can’t.”
Letitia trusted her friend, but attempting to bring a lawsuit would be too public, too risky, and she was too tired. It would be better if she stayed quiet, fit in, accepted the kindnesses of the Gages until . . . when? Until she could save money from being a midwife. Or maybe work for someone else.
Over supper that same evening, the Gages spoke of heading south to the Umpqua country. “Fewer people there. You could come along, act as midwife. Let this lawsuit idea go. We’ll help you. Friends in Portland, Eliffs, they’re heading south and they need a midwife. We’ll wait until the roads are good this summer and take that trapper’s trail. You can stay with us until you save enough to rent a place, start again.”
What mattered was taking care of her children and moving on. She’d lost this battle, and to pursue it risked them being sent from the state, and how would that help her children?
“I’m so glad you’ve come with us. You haven’t been to Corvallis at all, have you?” Nancy spoke to her friend sitting beside her on the wagon seat. “It’s a growing town. Micah’s getting supplies here now. It’s much closer than Salem.”
It did feel good to be away for a few hours from the Gages’ many kindnesses that she couldn’t repay, from the discomfort of being a guest in another’s home. Spring herself seemed to like the idea of an outing as she showed off her budding trees and sent the rich earthy loam perfume to the nose. Letitia would have been planning her garden . . . but never again in the Soap Creek Valley.
Micah dropped the women off where the boardwalk began as he headed to the blacksmith’s. Corvallis was doing well, bustling even, as Nancy described it. The women stepped along, stopping at the few glass windows displaying wares. A milliner with felt and feather hats. A boot maker and leather goods store. Their shoes tapped as they walked elbow to elbow. They met a man and woman, and Letitia stepped into the dirt street in order to let them pass.
“You don’t have to make way for them,” Nancy told her after they’d passed.
Letitia stepped back up. Some things didn’t change. She stopped at the window of the mercantile. Her mouth dropped open in an O that turned into a moan. Her fingers pressed against her lips.
“Are you all right?” Nancy reached for Letitia wobbled. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There! Lookee there.”
The tea set Junior had bought at the auction sat in the window for sale, a chip in one cup, a crack through the lilac on the tiny plate. Beside it were the brass candlesticks she’d carried with her from Missouri.
“Those belong to me,” she heard herself say, her grief spilling out over all the losses. “These belong to my children, my children. He have no right to sell—”
“He doesn’t, Letitia. He absolutely does not.”
In that moment Letitia knew that being free on the outside meant being free on the inside, having the courage to stand for what was right.
“For my children I—I must—”
“Yes! For your children’s sake you file suit. Recover your money and your property. For Martha and Adam and for children of others who might be treated as you’ve been.”
“No surety I win this case.”
“No. But you have to try. Let’s go inside. I’ll buy those back for you.”
“No.” Letitia straightened her shoulders, adjusted her
worn straw hat, and opened the door to the store. “Suh.”
The clerk looked up from the string holder he refilled.
“I will buy that tea set and the candlesticks. In the window. In time. If you keeps them for me?”
“They’re costly.” He spoke the words with kindness. Did he know their story?
Letitia saw him look to Nancy.
“She’ll pay,” Nancy said. “And I’ll pay for them myself if need be. Please keep them back, with her name on them, could you?”
“Got anything to put down?”
“I’ll bring a firkin of cheese in tomorrow, if you keeps them back.”
“Done. What name shall I write on them?”
She hesitated only a moment. “They belong to Mrs. David Carson.”
27
A Light in the Wilderness
She returned the next day with Micah Read to deliver the cheese and meet the attorney. He’d arrived the winter past into the Territory and had a partner in Corvallis.
“He won’t have any loyalties to G.B. Smith or anyone else, being new,” Micah said. “But he’ll be made aware that G.B. Smith has few friends and you have many.”
“Not so many, but good friends.”
“More than you’d realize. People are tired of the exclusion laws and property laws only allowing whites to claim land. We’re tired of the constant slave-state talk. It’s a matter of principle whether Oregonians stand for justice or power alone. People admire you, Letitia, for carrying on for your family. I don’t know anyone who feels Smith was fair in his handling of the estate.” He stopped before a door. “Mr. A.J. Thayer hails from New York. We’ll see if he’s up to the task.”
The lawyer had kind, calming eyes, even if he did speak with short, clipped sentences. “This is an injustice. The law was meant to address this very kind of travesty.” His office held boxes yet unpacked sitting beneath a table he used for a desk. Letitia wondered if Joseph Gage had made it. “If you’d been his legal wife, able to inherit, none of this would be an issue.” He was thoughtful. “We’ll make this a labor dispute case, requesting payment for services rendered. I’ve only been here two months and I’ve already heard things about Greenberry Smith I’d rather not know. I’ll take your case, with pleasure.”
A Light in the Wilderness Page 25