Liberating Atlantis
Page 48
From within, the justice of the peace called, “Who’s next? Got to keep things moving today.”
“Here we come, your Honor,” Frederick said. He and Helen walked in together.
Books filled the shelves behind the justice’s desk. The half-empty glass of amber liquid on the desk said he’d already needed fortifying. But his motions were steady and his voice had no slur as he said, “Raise your right hands and set your left hands on the Bibles there.”
“Yes, sir,” Frederick said. He didn’t mind giving respect to a white man whose position deserved it. Helen nodded to the justice of the peace as she obeyed.
“I perform this marriage ceremony by virtue of the authority vested in me by the sovereign state of New Hastings,” the justice of the peace intoned, as he already had so many times before on this special day. He looked at Frederick. “Repeat after me: I—state your name—”
“Frederick Radcliff.”
The white man’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t miss a beat. He led Frederick through his part of the brief proceeding, then took Helen through hers. When they’d both said everything required of them, the justice of the peace went on, “By virtue of the said authority vested in me by the sovereign state of New Hastings, I now pronounce you man and wife.” To Frederick, he added, “You may kiss your bride.”
It wasn’t as if Frederick hadn’t been kissing Helen, and going to bed with her, for all of their adult lives. But kissing his bride? That was a different story. White men’s laws—slaveholders’ laws—hadn’t let them be man and wife till the Slug Hollow agreement passed the Atlantean Senate. He made the most of the kiss.
With a cough, the justice of the peace said, “Don’t like to hurry you along, folks, but I’ve got to do it. Big long line there behind you. I want to get through as many folks as I can. Nobody’s going to hold things up, not today.”
“Sorry,” Frederick said. “Not sorry I kissed her, but—”
“Oh, come on,” Helen told him. “His Honor knows what you mean.”
Without a doubt, his Honor did. Frederick Radcliff and his wife, Helen Radcliff, left the white man’s chamber together. This was the first time she’d had a surname to call her own. For that matter, Frederick’s surname had been highly unofficial. No more. Ex-slaves who didn’t have surnames would need to acquire them as fast as they could. State governments and the government of the United States of Atlantis would want to keep track of their new citizens: if for no other reason then to tax them more efficiently.
Taxes. Frederick’s lip curled. He’d never had to worry about those while Henry Barford owned him. Freedom had some rough spots, sure as the devil. Nobody took care of free men who were down on their luck or too old and feeble to work, either. But, compared to the alternative . . . “Come on, Mrs. Radcliff,” Frederick said. They walked past the secretary and out into the street together.