by Tara Johnson
“Nothing life-threatening, I hope.”
“No, in most cases, the illness will resolve itself in due time without loss of life. But I wanted to make your family aware of the possible implications.”
Intrigued, Mrs. Ward leaned forward. “What are the symptoms?”
“Sore throat, headache, and fatigue, primarily. Sometimes fever and stomach ailments might accompany this particular malady, making work nearly impossible.”
She wrinkled her pug nose in disdain, clearly ill at ease with the delicate topic. “How . . . dreadful.”
He forced his mouth into a grim line and muttered, “Quite.”
“What can be done?”
Leaning his elbows on his knees, he tried his best to look impassioned. “Rest. Much rest. Sleep is the single best treatment for this illness. Rest and creature comforts. Since exhaustion is the most vexing and weighty symptom, it’s the most integral one to treat. Oftentimes, the sick will need inordinate amounts of rest, even up to one month after contracting this horrid disease.”
Her eyebrows puckered as she frowned. “One month of sleep and rest? Forgive me, Doctor, but that seems excessive. Especially for a slave. Why, who would see to the work?”
How he longed to laugh at her consternated expression, but he schooled his features just in time. “Indeed. It seems you understand the gravity of the situation. And an intelligent woman such as yourself knows how crucial rest will be, since failure to treat these aggressive symptoms could lead a slave to total collapse. In extreme cases, even death.”
“But I—”
Micah shook his head, forging on. “You wouldn’t believe how many people I’ve spoken to who have yet to realize the full consequences of disregarding this advice. Failure to do so would mean unnecessary loss of life and, consequently, the financial loss of a dead slave.” He clucked his tongue. “Many don’t have your foresight, Mrs. Ward, if I may be so bold as to say so.”
The ignorant woman blushed pink and took to the flattery like a fish to a worm and nodded in agreement. “If any of our slaves contract this terrible illness, I will certainly insist on a month of rest. We will make do or hire someone else in the interim. Slaves can do no work if they expire.”
“Quite right.”
Mrs. Ward visibly relaxed, her shoulders losing their tight appearance. “I shall warn Polly of this new malady when she returns downstairs.”
He stood, indicating his intention to leave. She rose with him. “Well then, with your blessing, I’ll take my leave.”
“Of course, Doctor. I would ask you to stay a bit longer, but I have no idea how long Polly will be with Miss Montgomery. Kind of her to give you a ride today.”
He smiled, a genuine one this time. “Miss Montgomery is very kind. My feet appreciate her willingness.”
The matron laughed lightly and gestured toward the door to show him out, chattering idly all the way down the carpeted hallway. “A sweeter person the Almighty never made. I’m so glad Miss Montgomery will finally have her chance for happiness.”
Something about the woman’s tone set his nerves on edge. He slowed his steps. “Oh? What happiness has befallen Miss Montgomery?”
Mrs. Ward raised a brow. “Why, her engagement to Lyman Hill. Surely you’ve heard.”
His blood froze, his pulse roaring in his brain. His lungs were tight, bereft of air.
His Kizzie? Engaged? A cold numbness robbed his body of sensation as he choked out a reply, “No, I hadn’t heard.”
“It was rather a sudden announcement, but I believe it’s a good match. Mr. Hill is quite a bit older—past fighting age. And with his financial success, he’ll well be able to take over her father’s holdings. I hear it was Mr. Montgomery’s wish.”
Her babbling buzzed in his ears like pesky flies as his heart slowly shredded. What was Benjamin Montgomery thinking? Promising his vibrant, beautiful daughter to a man twice her age? A man known for his biting tongue and cold business practices? Life with him would shrivel lovely Kizzie into a limp, empty flower.
“When is the wedding to take place?”
Mrs. Ward resumed her brisk pace to the door. “Less than a fortnight.”
Now Kizzie’s odd behavior made sense. The sadness and resignation. The distance. His chest pinched with a pain that nearly took his breath away.
Yet he’d always known this moment would come. Life with him was far too dangerous. He’d known she would eventually marry someone else . . . hadn’t he?
The thought of her married to sour Lyman Hill, her slim waist swollen with his babies, the dreariness of the Hill house . . . the dark imaginings consumed him, filling him with anger, mingled with a misery there was no remedy for, no medicine. No cure.
Kizzie, what have you agreed to?
Within the small, dreary confines of Polly’s windowless room, Keziah yanked the blue dress with its front row of white buttons and gentle tucks from the carpetbag, looking over her shoulder to ensure no one had followed them.
Polly lit the oil lamp next to her bed, the light casting eerie silhouettes against her face. “Oh, Miss Montgomery, you sure about this? If you are caught because of me—”
“Nonsense.” Keziah forced a bravery she didn’t feel. “I have no worries. God’s will be done, either way. Look here.” She flipped up the fabric, showing Polly the underside of the gown’s wide hem. “In two days’ time, I will send a message, asking your mistress if I can borrow your talents for the day in helping Elizabeth prepare for my wedding.” The very word stuck in her throat. But now was not the time to lament her future. “Wear this dress. I’ve sewn a bit of money into the hem.”
The poor woman gasped, mortified. “Miss Montgomery, I couldn’t!”
Keziah grasped Polly’s fluttering hands, calming her frantic movements with a gentle touch. “Don’t fret. It isn’t much, but it will help. The important thing is that you have a way to start a new life when you are free. You will be given what you need along the way. Bring nothing else with you.”
With a dense breath, Polly nodded.
“I will arrange to have a driver come for you by coach. I’ll be inside the carriage, but do not acknowledge me. When we arrive at my house, I will leave the coach, but you will remain inside.” She leaned forward and whispered, “We will be wearing matching blue dresses.”
Understanding dawned. “So it will appear that I am entering the house.”
“Correct. You’ll be taken to a safe place where you will change coaches, and my friend Dr. Greyson will escort you to the port.”
Her dark eyes widened. “I am to go by sea?”
“Yes.” Keziah sensed her fear. “It is the safest route.”
“But what about Mistress Ward? Won’t she find it suspicious that I disappeared while at your home?”
“Once I know you’re safe, I’ll send a message to your mistress, telling her I sent you on an errand and you never returned. No doubt they will begin searching immediately, but I think by taking the initiative to contact them, suspicion will be deflected from me.”
Polly exhaled a shaky sigh, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “How can I ever thank you?”
Grasping the woman’s thin shoulder, Keziah gave a gentle squeeze. “Live well. Be happy. I pray wherever you go, God Almighty will direct your steps.”
CHAPTER 20
PEBBLES CRUNCHED under Keziah’s boots as she shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot. She held her breath, praying, hoping Hiriam would agree to the plan she proposed to Polly yesterday.
A gentle breeze rife with the perfume of irises and jonquils brushed tendrils of hair across her face as she stood outside the stable. Hiriam ran his calloused thumb up and down the wooden handle of the shovel propped steadily in the gravel between them. He pursed his lips, contemplated the ground. She’d never seen him so serious.
Finally he lifted his eyes to hers, concern snuffing out any hope of affirmation. “I don’t know, missy. What you’re asking . . .”
Mouth dry, she s
wallowed. “I know. And I wouldn’t ask unless there were no other alternative.”
Sighing heavily, he leaned his weight against the thick wall of the stable and gave her a long look that made her squirm. “You remember that little boy what we spirited to the Negro church months ago?”
The odd question snagged her curiosity. “Of course. Why?”
“That wasn’t the only time you helped an escaped slave, was it?”
Her heart skidded. She would not confess to such a thing, but neither would she lie to Hiriam. Instead, she met his gaze boldly, studying its depths. The aged lines in his face softened.
“Missy,” he murmured, “you got the sweetest and kindest heart I know. But this thing you’re doing . . .” He shook his head. “It’s dangerous. Not just for you but your family as well.”
The words were gently spoken but stung nonetheless. Hiriam had never disagreed with her on any other subject, and she felt like a wayward child. Hurt lumped in her throat.
“I thought you, of all people, would understand.”
Groaning, the elderly man rubbed the back of his neck. “I do, missy. I do. But your choices affect your family. And you got to know that not every slaveholder is cruel.”
She recalled Amos’s mutilated back. “Not every slaveholder is kind either.”
“True enough.”
Agitated, she began to pace. “Am I so wrong to want all those in chains to taste freedom? Why must people remain enslaved at all? Why should pale skin be the distinction between bond and free?”
Hiriam spoke slowly, his deep voice soothing as a goose-grease compress on burned skin. “You’re right, missy. Shouldn’t be no difference, but there is. At least for this scrap of time. All I’m saying is, weigh the consequences.”
“I have.”
He firmed his lips and jutted out his chin but said nothing.
“I don’t understand you, Hiriam. Why do you refuse me?”
He absently ground the point of the shovel into the gravel. “Did you ever stop and think that maybe the Almighty has a greater purpose in mind for folks than physical freedom?”
She frowned. “I don’t follow.”
He studied her for a long moment, expression thoughtful. “I never did tell you about my past, even when you asked.” A sudden sadness covered his aging features. “Reckon it’s time. Leastwise, maybe you’ll understand why I’m hesitant.”
Her ears pricked. Finally. She stepped close as his face took on a faraway look.
“I was born on a plantation down in Mississippi. Don’t remember much about my early years. I was sold to a master on the other side of the state when I was a young fellow. Separated from my mother and siblings when I was just on the cusp of manhood.”
He clenched his jaw tightly. His knuckles grew taut around the shovel’s smooth handle.
“Master Dean was the meanest man I ever did know. He’d whip a slave just for the sport of making him scream and bleed.”
Her eyes slid shut at the thought.
“When I was a strapping young fellow, Master Dean gave me permission to jump the broom with my sweetheart.” His eyes misted. “That was a happy day. One of the few happy days I remember from that time.”
“What was her name?”
“Anna. Prettiest little thing I ever laid eyes on. When Providence seen fit to give us a baby girl, I near burst my buttons with pride.”
Keziah sensed a coming doom and tried to brace herself. “I had no idea.”
He dropped his head and brushed under his nose to hide the telltale signs of emotion. “One day, Master comes down to slave row, screaming and hollering, saying one of the slaves been stealing eggs from his chicken coops. For some reason, he seemed to think it was me or two other field hands. None of us confessed, even after he’d whipped us to a bloody pulp, so for vengeance, he sold off our wives and children.”
She gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Hiriam, no.”
With a balled fist, he swiped away the moisture running down his cheek. “Never did see my Anna or my little girl after that.”
Her eyes stung and her throat ached. “A fate more cruel I cannot imagine.”
Gathering himself, he lifted his face. “Master Dean died not long after, and his overseer had to sell off some of the slaves to pay Master’s debts. Took me all the way to the Lumpkin’s Alley auction block in Richmond. I thank God Almighty Master Montgomery bought me that day.”
He took a faltering step closer, gazing at her with tenderness. “Your father—he’s shown me kindness. Decency. Even though I’m his slave, he treats me like a human, not an animal. He never once laid a hand on me or even threatened to. He’s a good man. And what’s more—” Hiriam smiled—“he has a special daughter who makes me feel like my own isn’t so far away.”
Her chin trembled. Tears left warm trails down her skin.
“Those days after my Anna and daughter was taken from me, they was hard. Hardest I ever seen, but the Almighty walked me through. Some of them abolitionist folks say I’m trapped in a system of property and ownership. I guess to their way of thinking I am, but the way I figure it is this: where man sees limitation, the Almighty gave me a kind family to serve and a sweet girl to watch grow up. You have a way about you that makes folks feel special. Seeking me out and asking so many questions when you was but a wee thing—” he chuckled—“made me feel like your grandpappy. You brought love into my life again.”
Hiriam patted Keziah’s head like he used to when she was little, his calloused hand smoothing her hair. “What you’re doing is a good thing. A brave and noble thing. I just don’t want to see you or your family hurt. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, but I want no part of the scheming or the knowing.”
Her heart leapt. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Thank you, Hiriam. May Providence bless you.”
He laughed softly through his crooked teeth. “He already has. You tell me whenever you want a ride and I’ll be at your service.”
He started to turn away to put up the shovel when her gentle question brought him back around. “Do you think you’ll ever see Anna or your daughter again?”
His shoulders drooped, though the smile never faded. “No, I reckon not. Not on this side of eternity, leastwise. Someday, though. In glory.”
Nodding slowly, Keziah left him to his work, her heart thrumming with heavy sadness at all he’d endured. Before she could take ten steps, she spun back. “What was your daughter’s name?”
With a long look over his shoulder, he murmured, “Her name was Ruby.”
Ruby. A jewel. Keziah’s eyes smarted as she walked away.
Perhaps, if God blessed her with a daughter someday, she would name her Ruby.
Keziah eyed the market vendors clogging the roadway and grimaced.
Winter’s chill had dissolved into sticky Southern humidity. Although not overly warm in the open, the press of people crowding around the peddled goods was stifling. The normal boxes of thread and ribbon, soaps and creams were present and proudly displayed on peddlers’ stands, but the lack of foodstuffs like coffee, sugar, cornmeal, and smoked meats was noticeable. Worse yet, where barrels of sorghum and flour once stood, a display case filled with odd jewelry beckoned curious onlookers. Pushing through the chattering shoppers, Keziah pressed close to inspect the unusual trinkets. Upon identifying the goods, she shuddered.
There on the table were necklaces made of teeth and goblets made of skulls. The hawker behind the stand contorted his whiskered face into a gruesome grin. “Miss, might you be interested in my secesh goods?”
Tasting bile, she hazarded a question. “What are secesh goods?”
He fingered his suspenders with a lazy air and raised bushy brows. “Jewelry, bowls, and trinkets made from Yankee traitors and soldiers. Would you like to look at any item in particular?”
She shook her head and turned away from the morbid display before she became ill. The man’s strident voice called out, begging her to return. “If you have no currenc
y, many merchants are accepting sewing pins in lieu of coinage.”
Sewing pins as currency, indeed. Money was scarce and food was growing scarcer still.
Already she’d witnessed signs of the crushing press of Northern blockades. Ready-made boots were disappearing, replaced with the makeshift fashion of palmetto and raccoon-skin shoes. The newspaper carried reports of Atlanta jewelers setting breast pins with coffee beans instead of diamonds.
The unsavory aroma of dry goods, unwashed bodies, and cheap chicory made her yearn to flee the market, but determination kept her in place. She couldn’t leave, not until she checked for Micah’s message.
The hastily scrawled note she’d received at the post office gave few details, only to meet at the market road near Liberty Square and await his arrival. I will find you and relay instructions.
She twisted the strings of her beaded reticule and squelched a sigh of irritation as a hawker bellowed nearby.
As she searched the crowds for Micah, she startled when his low voice murmured near her ear.
“Good afternoon.”
Jumping, she turned to him with a soft gasp. His faint laugh lines creased ever so slightly, and she felt her pulse leap in response.
You’re betrothed to another.
She masked her pleasure at seeing him, stiffening as he cupped her elbow and maneuvered her to a quieter corner.
“We do not have long. Everything is set for tomorrow.”
She sucked in a breath. “Tomorrow.”
With a curt nod, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over the crowd in a disinterested manner, but he did not fool her. He was alert to every sign, every sound, every face.
“When?”
“Early afternoon. Whenever you send Hiriam, I’ll be ready.” His eyes narrowed, making her feel undone somehow. Exposed. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“I’m ready.”
After a long, inscrutable look, his gaze flickered back to the teeming street. “And does your intended know of your . . . shall we say, nocturnal pursuits?”