The Planter's Daughter

by Michelle Shocklee

  With a glance out the window to the cotton fields, she chewed her bottom lip. Prince of Wales cake was the least of her concerns. Her earlier encounter with Seth in the barn wouldn’t leave her mind. An unmistakable question had shone from his hazel eyes as he stood in front of her and Jeptha. He hadn’t voiced it, much to Adella’s relief. She had no good reason to be there with Jeptha, keeping him from his work. And the last thing she wanted was to bring Jeptha trouble with the new overseer.

  “Miss Ellis,” Seth had finally said, his deep voice polite yet more authoritative than she cared for. He sounded very much like Papa when he thought she needed reprimanding. “I believe this man has work to do. Are you in need of something here in the barn? I would be happy to assist you.”

  The nerve of the man! As though she needed his help. But without knowing if he’d mention their encounter to Papa or not, she decided it best to keep her thoughts to herself and simply told him the same story she’d told Jeptha. She’d come to check on her favorite horse, who was due to foal any day, and she was now on her way back to the big house. Whether or not he believed her, she couldn’t say. After a lengthy pause, Seth merely nodded, tipped his chin, and continued on to the stall where his own horse stood peering over the rail. Jeptha, as skittish around the new overseer as Freedom had been around her minutes before, made quick work of getting back to his repairs. Adella, too, had scooted from the barn as fast as she could, stealing a quick peek at Clementine on her way out so her story was not a blatant lie. She decided as she stomped up the path to the house that she would need to be more cautious with Seth Brantley around. Having yet another man spying on her and telling her what to do did not sit well.

  “What you think, Missy? Should I follow the ’structions? They seem strange to me.” Aunt Lu’s voice drew Adella back to the issue at hand.

  “Go ahead and pour it in the pan the way Zina said.”

  With a look of skepticism in her eyes, Aunt Lu obeyed and dumped the first batter, creamy and yellow, into an awaiting cake pan. She eyed the bowl with the second mixture. “It shore do look darker than this other, Missy. You sure we s’posed to put ’em together in one pan? Makes more sense to cook ’em sep’rate like.”

  “That’s what Zina said. Since this bowl has the molasses and spices, it doesn’t look like the first one. I suppose that is why it is important to mix them together a bit with a knife.”

  With hesitant movements, Aunt Lu poured the second batter into the pan, the two mixtures melding together. She picked up a butter knife and began to carefully swirl the batters together, her elbow high in the air as though she were an artist creating a masterpiece. After several moments, she stood back with a critical eye.

  “Well, I s’pose it do look kinda purty like, with them curly lines runnin’ through it. I guess we’ll know soon ’nough iffen we done it right.” Taking a thick cloth in hand, Aunt Lu opened the big oven door, slid the pan in, and gently closed it.

  Adella reached for the nearly empty bowl of light-colored batter. “I imagine things will be different around here once George and Natalie are married,” she said, using a spoon to get the last of the creamy mixture. She popped it into her mouth, licking every bit off in a very unladylike manner.

  “Lawsy, Missy. You said it.” Aunt Lu heaved a sigh before plunging the second bowl into a tub of soapy water. “I missin’ your mama somethin’ fierce lately. She was such a fine woman, that Miz Martha.” Her misty eyes found Adella. “You’s just like her and don’t you let no one tell you different.”

  Adella gave a sad smile, wishing her mother were there with them. Mama’d always enjoyed being in the kitchen with Aunt Lu, planning menus and tasting new recipes. Natalie’s coming to live at Rose Hill wouldn’t be so hard to accept if Mama were still alive and mistress of the manor. “I remember how much she loved your rice pudding. I think she requested it more than any other dessert.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled in Aunt Lu’s throat. “She once tol’ me that her mama weren’t much of a cook, but one thing she made real good was rice puddin’. Said they had it nigh every week when she was a chil’, so it reminded her of her mama when I made it.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Adella said, happy to tuck the new information about her mother into the special place in her heart where Mama still lived. “Grandmother Sterling only visited us once that I know of. She didn’t approve of Papa moving Mama to Texas, or so Mama said.”

  “It’s hard to be sep’rated from yer chillens, that fo’ shore.” Aunt Lu took the bowl Adella had scraped clean and dunked it into the soapy water. “I gots three I don’t know where they is, iffen they alive, or nothin’. But,” she said matter-of-factly, gazing out the window to the tree-covered eastern horizon, “I pray for them ever’day and trust the good Lawd to watch over them. That’s ’bout all any mama can do fo’ her chillens, I ’spect.”

  Adella watched the older woman work, wondering why God created people so different that one race would determine their superiority over another. Many times she’d wondered why God allowed slavery in the first place. She’d asked Mama about it after Papa sold Zina, who was barely nine years old at the time, to the Langfords, nearly breaking Aunt Lu’s heart. The look of regret that washed over Mama’s beautiful face resurfaced in Adella’s memory.

  “Man makes his own decisions, Adella Rose,” she’d said, her Virginia accent softened with a sad tone. “Slavery is as old as sin itself. We aren’t puppets in God’s hands, doing His bidding. He lets us make our own choices and our own mistakes. No matter what lot in life we have been handed, whether rich or poor, slave or master, one day we will all have to stand before the Lord and give an accounting of the choices we made. I often fear what the Lord will say to me, knowing that I have been party to owning other human beings.”

  Years ago, when Adella asked Papa why he owned slaves, he’d laughed at her childish naivety. “If we had no slaves, who would plant and pick the cotton and corn? Who would care for the livestock and cook our meals? Negroes are born to work, Adella Rose. Don’t feel sorry for them when they are fulfilling their purpose.” She’d accepted his words at face value, but somewhere in the depths of her being she wondered if Mama was right and God would hold them all accountable for keeping Jeptha and the others in slavery.

  “I’m happy you will have Zina here again,” she said, hoping to cheer Aunt Lu after such sad thoughts. Natalie would bring Zina and several other servants with her.

  The older woman’s face brightened. “I is too, Missy. Don’t you know I is. Will be so good to have that chil’ nearby again.”

  “It will be strange having Natalie as mistress of Rose Hill, though,” she said, a feeling of despair washing over her at the very thought.

  “Yas’sum, it will.” Aunt Lu opened the oven door just enough to peek inside. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she closed it gently. “But we’s happy Massa George is gettin’ hissef a wife. There’ll be little uns running through the house in no time, I ’spect.” She chuckled. “My, how I used to have to chase you chillens outta the kitchen when I was baking sugar cookies.”

  Adella smiled at the memory. “George would dare me to sneak in and snitch a handful of dough when you weren’t looking. I was smaller, so he figured I could get in and out of the kitchen without you seeing me.”

  The two women laughed over several more happy memories before a knock sounded at the back door, although it stood open to let the heat from the stove escape. Adella glanced up and found the new overseer in the doorway, his hat in hand. Startled, she straightened her slouching shoulders.

  “Miss Ellis.” Seth greeted her with a nod. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he turned his attention to Aunt Lu. “Monroe said I should speak to you about preparing me a midday meal. I would be much obliged. I hope to lay in some supplies at some point, but until then …”

  After a momentary look of surprise, Aunt Lu bustled about the kitchen. “’Course, ’course. It no trouble a’tall. Come in an’ sit a spe
ll while ya wait. I’ll have you a pail packed right quick like.”

  Seth hesitated in the doorway, his glance shifting to Adella before he moved inside. His large frame took up considerable space in the overly warm room. “Something sure smells good,” he said, taking a long whiff.

  When Aunt Lu didn’t respond, apparently not hearing him while she poked around in the pantry, Adella felt obligated to answer. “It’s a cake in honor of George’s fiancée’s arrival.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I recall your father mentioning Miss Langford’s visit. I am sure you will enjoy having another woman around once they’re married.”

  Though she understood he simply made idle conversation while he waited, his comment struck a nerve. He, like her father and brother, had no care or understanding of the difficulty a woman experienced when forced to allow another woman to take over her home—Mama’s home.

  Her mouth stiffened. “There are plenty of women at Rose Hill Manor as it is,” she said, rising from the chair she’d occupied for the past hour. “I should think adding another will only complicate things.” Before he could respond, she turned to Aunt Lu. “I’ll be back to check on the cake in a little while.”

  Without another word to the overseer, she swept from the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Row after row of knee-high green plants filled the north fields. The occasional clump of live oak trees had been left standing when the land was cleared, but otherwise, it was an unending sea of young, healthy cotton plants. Clearly, the drought of the past two years had ended. Though he had little practical knowledge of how much cotton Luther needed to turn a profit, from what Seth saw, things were on schedule to do just that.

  Riding farther into the field, he observed groups of workers resting in the shade of the trees on their midday break, with some sitting back to back for support, while others lay on the ground. A small boy wearing a floppy hat carried a bucket among them, offering drinks of water from his dipper. It was the same boy Seth had seen in the south fields, where he’d spent time watching the new arrivals.

  With a gentle tug on the reins, he drew his mount in a few feet from where Monroe lounged in the shade, some distance from the others. The driver’s horse was tethered to a low-hanging branch nearby, and an empty gunnysack lay beside him. Seth expected the slave to rise, but the big man remained in the same horizontal position, his eyes just visible beneath the brim of his hat. Unlike the other slaves, who meekly dropped their gazes when Seth spoke to them, Monroe eyed the overseer without a shred of fear. Whether this was due to his position at Rose Hill or was simply his nature, the huge man bore watching. Not even Luther’s favored driver should feel he was above showing Seth the respect his position as overseer warranted.

  “I would like to get your report on the morning’s work.” Seth kept his voice even despite his irritation with the man.

  Monroe waved an insect away. “They’s lazy, like usual. Had ta box da ears on some a dem boys who weren’t doin’ they job. One gal done sat down to rest when da others still workin’. I yanked her up to her feet an’ tol’ her she best get to work or I puttin’ her in the shed.”

  With a clenched jaw, Seth bit out his displeasure. “When I speak to you, you need to rise. The same as you would for Master Luther or Master George.”

  Several moments ticked by. Seth’s eyes never wavered as they bore into Monroe. He had to make certain the driver understood his position of authority now, or he would pay for it later. There was no doubt in his mind the other man could best him if it ever came to physical blows. Monroe’s arms were thick and muscled, and he outweighed Seth. As a Ranger, he’d been in one or two fistfights and could hold his own, but he’d never gone up against a man Monroe’s size. Best to have the driver under control now than live—or die—to regret it.

  Finally, the man rolled onto his side and slowly worked his way to his feet. His angry glare challenged Seth. “This bettah?” His upper lip curled with the words.

  “Yes.” After a moment, Seth decided it best to say his piece and get it over with. “I am not a hard man to work with, but I will demand your respect. Now,” he said, looking toward the group of slaves nearby then back to Monroe. “Show me which men you had to reprimand, as well as the woman.”

  Uncertainty flashed across Monroe’s face for a split second. “You’s don’t need to bother yo’seff with dem folks. I handle dem fine.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Mistah Haley nev’ah question me.”

  The last words held a shadow of defiance.

  “That may be,” Seth said, keeping his tone low and even, “but I am not Mr. Haley. I am in charge of the workers on this plantation, and I will be the judge if someone needs punishment. Now, let’s go see what the men and woman have to say for themselves.” With that, he nudged his mount toward the slaves, expecting the other man to follow. He didn’t want to have it out with the driver in front of the workers.

  The group of thirty or so slaves rose as Seth neared, their wary eyes clouding with distrust. He couldn’t blame them, especially after hearing that the previous overseer allowed Monroe unquestioned authority. There was no telling what kind of treatment they’d experienced over the years.

  Sitting atop his horse, Seth gave a quick nod, his glance encompassing the entire group. “As I am sure you already know, I am the new overseer of Rose Hill. My name is Seth Brantley. You will find me to be a fair man, but I won’t tolerate laziness or disobedience.” He looked back to Monroe, who had indeed followed behind. “Monroe tells me he had trouble with some of you this morning.”

  The big man hesitated a moment before striding toward the group. “You’s.” He pointed with a beefy finger to two teenage boys on the fringe. “Come heah an’ tell Mistah Brantley you’s bein’ lazy is why I had ta box you’s.”

  Fear shone in the boys’ rounded eyes as they shuffled forward, bare feet dragging in the dust. A streak of dried blood ran along the side of the smaller boy’s head.

  “Well? What have you to say for yourselves?” Seth asked, looking down on them from atop his horse. His dealings with the slaves on his father’s farm didn’t go much beyond passing along instruction or having easy conversation with them. Discipline belonged to his father and brother. This new position of authority over Rose Hill’s slaves felt as comfortable as a boot two sizes too small.

  The accused pair looked at each other before the taller of the boys spoke up, his eyes focused on the ground. “Mistah Brantley, suh, we’s just doin’ what we tol’ to do is all. Work them rows, hoe them weeds.” With a cautious glance toward Monroe, he swallowed hard. “We do a bettah job from now on. We promise, ain’t that right, Henry?”

  The other boy gave a silent nod.

  Satisfied, Seth waved them away. If being called out by the new overseer didn’t provide the motivation they needed, a stint in the shed would. “See that you do.” He looked at Monroe. “And the woman?”

  The big man glanced over the crowd until he pointed out a young woman standing near the back, wearing a dress far too big for her. “That un.”

  Seth motioned her forward.

  The silent group parted to allow the woman through. Stopping a few feet from him, she kept her eyes downcast, though Seth saw a tear trail down her light brown cheek and roll off her chin.

  “Monroe says you took a break when it wasn’t time for one,” he said, feeling the ogre, yet knowing he couldn’t let even the smallest misdeed slip by without acknowledgment. A precedent had to be established from the very beginning if Seth were to succeed as an overseer.

  Without looking up, the woman gave a slight nod. “Yassuh, I did,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  Surprised by her honesty, Seth wasn’t entirely certain what to say. “Would you like to tell me why?”

  Brown eyes drifted up to meet his for a brief moment before she quickly looked down again. “I gots dizzy an’ thought I might fall, so I sat a minute ta clear my head.”

  A stout older woman stepped forward. “Mistah
Brantley, suh, if I might be sayin’ somethin’.”

  Indicating she could, the woman continued. “Lucy heah be in the family way, suh. Pardon me fo’ sayin’ sech out in public like, but carryin’ a young’un is mighty hard on a little gal like her.”

  “We ain’t heah to listen to them pitiful excuses fo’ not doin’ yo’ jobs,” Monroe bellowed. Lucy jumped and took a step back. “Ever’ other gal be sittin’ down iffen we ’llow that foolishness.”

  Seth tossed a glare at the man. He’d enjoy taking him down a notch with a well-placed word, but Luther clearly favored Monroe. It wouldn’t do any of them any good if Seth disrupted the line of authority already established at Rose Hill.

  He returned his attention to Lucy, who waited with trembling lips for him to dole out her punishment. His gaze traveled to her rounded belly hidden in the folds of the baggy dress. The memory of Mr. Haley’s plantation ledger he’d read just last night flashed across his mind. It mentioned miscarriages, stillbirths, and women dying in childbirth over the past few years. The previous overseer, too, noted the same troubling news.

  Rubbing his jaw, Seth recalled his own mother feeling exhausted and dizzy when she carried his younger sisters. Though his hat kept the sun from his eyes, its heat beat down on his back. He could only imagine how miserable a pregnant woman would be toiling in the sun all day, even a slave woman. Though some people— Luther included—believed Negroes were born to perform hard labor, it only took a pair of good eyes to know they weren’t all that different from white people. A stroke of ill-fated luck colored their skin and their futures.

  For some reason, Seth suddenly wondered how Adella Rose would handle the situation with the pregnant woman. Her father and brother declared she mollycoddled the slaves, but so far he’d only seen her treat them with respect—even Jeptha. He’d come upon the two of them in the dim light of the barn, and though he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, he’d overheard part of their conversation. It was clear she thought of him as a friend rather than a slave.