“Perhaps we both made a mistake.” Turning his back, he sauntered off the beach.
26
The carriage rocked into Ella Wood late Monday evening. Emily’s gloomy departure from Abigail had morphed into an overwhelming excitement to see Lune and Chantilly that was tempered in turn by her concern for Lottie. She had forgotten all about the child, much to her chagrin. Now she worried that she might not have survived her bout of yellow fever so many weeks ago.
But all other thoughts were pushed aside when she saw Ketch peering from the doorway of Zeke’s cabin as they pulled up to the back door and the slaves began the massive task of unloading the luggage. Lizzie saw him too. She licked her lips nervously and placed both hands against the bulge of her stomach. Emily smiled encouragingly. “Go to him. He’s watching.”
Lizzie nodded. She stepped awkwardly down from the carriage and waddled toward the ring of cabins. There was no concealing seven and a half months of pregnancy. Emily remained seated, observing closely.
Ketch stepped onto his porch the moment Lizzie appeared. Then his feet turned to lead. Surprise and confusion showed plainly in his posture, followed by the dawn of understanding. He was too far away for Emily to actually read his expression, but his freedom of movement returned. He met Lizzie halfway across the stable yard, took her face in his large hands, and kissed her. Emily fought back tears as they walked to his cabin wrapped in each other’s arms.
Her eye was captured by a dark figure leaning against the stable wall, arms crossed, sullenness etched in every line of his body. She wasn’t the only one who had taken note of the reunion.
Emily strode over to where the young man slouched. “You have to let her go, Herod. They’re happy. Don’t ruin it for them.”
“Is de chil’ his?” he asked.
“No.”
“Den maybe I still have a chance.”
She crossed her arms. “Herod, you have no chance. She knows you talked to Turnbull. She knows the flogging was your fault.” Her tone was harsh, accusatory. “She doesn’t approve of your brand of affection.”
His eyes never left the couple as they entered Zeke’s cabin. “I’ve loved her since we was little. Since we played in de rice fields an’ raced down dirt roads. She de only person I ever let beat me.”
“Then maybe it’s time you concede a loss for once in your life. This time Ketch has won fair and square.”
He turned his gaze slowly in her direction with undisguised defiance that she had never before witnessed from a slave. “Losin’ ain’t never set well wid me.” With that, he unfolded his athletic body and sauntered away with the graceful strides of youth.
Her hands balled into fists at her side. “Herod, if you hurt either of them,” she called after him, “I swear I’ll see you sold down South.”
His spine stiffened, but his step never slowed. She continued through the barn and out into the pasture, her uneasiness replaced with joy as Chantilly recognized her and came at a trot, mane and tail flowing streamers of black satin. Then Lune, still watchful of his mother, broke away from a knot of foals. Emily’s eyes popped. In twelve weeks’ time he’d put on at least a hundred and fifty pounds. She laughed in disbelief. “Lune, you’re a monster!”
Chantilly danced right up to her, looking for the bits of turnip or carrot she usually carried. “Sorry, girl. I’ll find you a treat in a few minutes.” She stroked the mare’s silky neck, peering over it at Lune, who watched her carefully.
“I missed you,” she told Chantilly. “Shall we go for a ride tomorrow morning?”
The horse snorted and bobbed her head as if she understood the question. Emily laughed. “All right, then. You’ve talked me into it. But first I want to reintroduce myself to your son.”
She backtracked to the stable and returned with several vegetable chunks for Chantilly and a handkerchief full of oats for Lune. She wanted to see if he remembered the game they used to play. His ears pricked at the sight of the cloth. With no hesitation, he trotted forward and stopped two feet in front of her, nostrils twitching. Opening her hand, she caught hold of his halter as he licked up the treat. He made no objection. “You do remember me, you little scamp!”
She stayed in the pasture watching Zeke’s doorway until Lizzie reappeared and crossed to the house. Then, with a final pat for each of the horses, she took her turn at his door.
“Good evening, Ketch. May I talk to you a moment?” She remembered how uncomfortable she’d been the first time they met. Now she spoke bluntly and to the point. “Lizzie is very dear to me, and I want to know your intentions toward her.”
It must have looked odd, a scrap of a white girl demanding answers from the tall, muscular field hand. If he was surprised or amused, it didn’t show on his face. After a life of servitude, Ketch was a master at disguising his emotions. But when he spoke of Lizzie, the words came out with kitten fur. “You got no cause to fear me, Miss Preston.”
“Do you simply pity her? Or do you genuinely care for her? Because she thinks the world of you.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. His eyes dropped to his bare feet. “My heart thawin’ for de firs’ time since my wife died. Ain’t no other woman could do it.”
“And the child?” she pressed. “What do you think of the child?”
He frowned. “You pushin’ me to marry her, miss?”
“No, I just want to know your thoughts.”
He shifted. “I reckon I would marry her. In time.”
“And it wouldn’t bother you, raising someone else’s child?”
“If she was my wife, it wouldn’ be somebody else’s chil’, now would it?”
She smiled. “And what would you think about raising two children?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why you be askin’ me all dis?”
She fought hard to mask the laughter rising up inside her like champagne bubbles. “Remember the last time I visited your cabin? When all I had to offer you was a muffler and mittens wrapped in brown paper?”
He nodded.
“This time I bring something far better.” Her secret strained against her teeth. “I purchased your son.”
His nostrils flared and he sucked in a room full of air. “Robin?”
Her laughter broke free, rising into the evening air like a flock of doves. “I don’t know his name. I’ve never actually met him. But Darius Johnson is delivering him this week.”
Ketch’s chin trembled. His lips quivered then his shoulders began to shake. “Bless you, miss,” he choked out.
She laid a tentative hand against his forearm and drew it back quickly lest she land the man in trouble. When she left him, his hand still covered his eyes and crystal tears trickled through his fingers. A deep sense of satisfaction filled Emily as she crossed the yard, a thickening and expanding within her chest. Kindness full grown. She knew she had done well.
Deena caught her up in a lumpy hug the moment she stepped through the door. “Chil’, it sho’ be fine to see you.”
These were the arms that held her when she was little, the first to comfort and support her. Not her mother’s. How surprising it had been when she first understood they carried no authority. She sank into their embrace before jerking with memory. “Lottie! Deena, is Lottie...?”
“She be fine, miss. Full recovered. She in de dinin’ room.” Deena gave her a gentle nudge toward the door.
There, polishing the intricate designs carved into the table legs, knelt the little girl. Emily leaned against the doorframe. “Well, well. Look who’s all better.”
Lottie looked up shyly.
“I think you promised me something on my return, didn’t you?”
The little girl grinned. Raising her arm, she wriggled her fingers as she had done so often when Emily returned from a morning ride.
Emily laughed and entered the room. “I didn’t know if you would remember. You were one sick little girl when I left.” She tugged on one of her braids. “I’m very glad to see you’re well.”
She continued to her room where two trunks waited at the foot of her bed. Everything else looked just the same as when she left it, down to the dusty array of sketches littering her desk. She blew off the dirty film, arranged them neatly, and stuffed them into a drawer. Then she opened the lid of the first trunk. She didn’t need Lizzie to unpack it for her.
One by one she lifted out her gowns and hung them in the wardrobe, recalling the social activities she had indulged in all summer. They’d been far more fun than she expected, but she almost felt like she’d become someone else in Charleston. Someone less observant, more self-absorbed. She would miss Abigail, but coming home felt right, like she was sliding back inside her own skin.
She bent to open the second trunk when she spotted the corner of another sketch that had drifted underneath her bed. She snatched it up only to find it wasn’t a sketch at all. It was an unopened envelope addressed to her. Uncle Timothy’s letter. Overshadowed by the excitement of her fifty-dollar bank note, it must have fallen and been forgotten in their hurried departure. She slit the top of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Her great-uncle had beautiful, flowing script. She read:
My dear niece:
It is delightful to make your acquaintance. I hope we might meet in person someday. Your story and your search for truth illustrate your spirit so clearly. I wish I had easy answers for you, but only one is starkly clear: slavery is wrong. Mankind was not created to be subjugated by other men. It is shameful. It is sinful. Man in his wickedness has twisted the words of Scripture to his own use to justify what his own conscience tells him is wrong. In the interest of pride and greed, men have ignored instruction on love, on fidelity, on honor. Yet willful disobedience is a perilous position. The atrocities they commit against their fellow man will bring condemnation down on their heads. God will not be mocked.
But, having read and agreed with the sisters Grimké, you have already arrived at a similar conclusion. Therefore, I will not try to convert you further. The more challenging question remains. What can one do to change the intentional blindness of others? The answer is nothing. The power of government is against us. We cannot force its hand. But the power of righteousness works more subtly.
You can live out your convictions within the limits of your own authority. You can be an example of gentleness, of graciousness, of kindness, of love. These are gifts given of the spirit, forces that wield power far beyond the agencies of man. Yet prepare yourself. Their price may be significant. They cost even God the life of his own Son. For a gift that costs nothing is worthless.
But if you are willing to sacrifice your pride, your comfort, your time, your prejudice, your selfishness, perhaps even your safety, your efforts will not be ineffective. Your forfeiture will not go unnoticed. Your gift will influence lives.
In Christian charity,
Timothy Blaine
Emily folded up the note uncertainly. She had asked a heavy question, and her uncle had delivered a hard answer. One that made her feel self-conscious. Convicted. But wasn’t she following much of his advice already? Wasn’t she already treating Lizzie with consideration? Wasn’t she giving up her evenings and risking punishment for teaching her to read? And hadn’t she just purchased Ketch’s son? She had reached many of the same conclusions herself and acted on them. Then why did her efforts feel so inadequate?
She tucked the letter in a drawer and finished unpacking.
***
The next afternoon, Darius arrived with a little boy four years old. She heard them coming and met them in the yard. “Miss Preston, this is Robin,” Darius said, handing the child down from the buggy. The little boy sucked his fingers and peered at her through shy, wondering eyes.
“Hello, Robin,” she said, kneeling at eye level. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Did you know your daddy lives here at Ella Wood?”
The fingers popped out and the boy gave her a grave nod.
“How about I find someone to take you to his cabin so you can wait for him there?”
He nodded again. She stood and took his hand. “Thank you so much for bringing him, Mr. Johnson. Would you like some tea or a sandwich for your trouble?”
“That’d be right nice, Miss Preston. It’s a long trip back.”
“Come in, please.”
Emily flagged down Lottie inside the back door. “Run and find Lizzie for me. Quickly,” she ordered. The little girl scampered off with a questioning glance at Robin.
“Did your mother like the picture I drew?” Emily asked, leading Darius into the parlor and keeping a tight hold of the boy’s hand.
“Very much. Thank you.”
She smiled in satisfaction. “Please, have a seat. I’ll return as soon as I order tea.”
Lizzie met her in the hall. Emily beamed at her. In a voice low enough not to carry to Darius, she asked, “Lizzie, do you know who this is?”
“I got no idea, miss.”
“You haven’t spoken to Ketch since last night?”
“No, miss.”
Her smile stretched wider. “This is Ketch’s son, Robin.”
Lizzie’s mouth dropped open and her hands flew to cover it. “You playin’ wid me, Miss Emily?” she whispered.
“I’m not!” She laughed. “I want you to take him to Ketch’s and stay with him until his father returns. Show him around. Do whatever needs doing.”
Lizzie’s hands pressed against her chest and she nodded, her eyes as full of wonder as the child’s. “Oh, Miss Emily. Thank you!”
“Go!” Emily said, shooing them away.
After locating Celia and requesting light refreshments, she returned to the parlor. “I am thrilled with my purchase, Mr. Johnson. I believe Robin will work out fabulously. Thank you so very much.”
Darius nodded gravely. “It was my pleasure, Miss Preston.”
“How did your father respond to the sale?”
“He, um…” The young man coughed and his color heightened. “He took it fine.”
She settled on a chair across from him and gave him a playful, skeptical smile. “Something tells me not to believe you. What did he say?”
He cleared his throat again and looked down at his shoes. “He told me…”
She arched one eyebrow. “Yes?”
His cheeks darkened to a deep brick red. “He told me he’s made fool decisions over a woman before, too.”
“Oh, Mr. Johnson,” she said with a merry laugh. “It isn’t foolishness at all to help a friend in need. It’s pure kindness. Kindness for which I’m in your debt.”
“I, uh, wouldn’t help just any friend in such a way, Miss Preston.” He looked down at his shoes again and then at the pictures on the wall behind her.
“I’m sure you would. You’re likely the most considerate man I’ve ever met.”
If it was possible, his faced darkened even further. “No. What I mean, miss, is that I, uh…”
Oh. Now she knew what he was trying to say and she wasn’t sure how to answer. Darius was so humble, so good, she didn’t want to hurt him. But to accept his suit would only lead to more awkwardness later on.
Celia entered with a tray just then. Pouring their tea gave Emily a few seconds to collect her thoughts. “Do you mean to say you’ve become rather fond of me?” she asked gently, handing him a cup and saucer.
He let out a relieved breath. “Yes, miss. That’s exactly what I meant to say.”
“And you hope perhaps we could be more than just friends?”
He nodded gravely and took a sip of the hot beverage.
Emily set down the teapot and folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Johnson,” she said, equally grave. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, as well, so I must be frank.” She let an expression of pain flicker about the edges of her eyes. “I’ve suffered a recent heartbreak and I’m just not ready to open myself up to the kind of relationship I believe you are suggesting.” Perhaps she was exaggerating a bit, but it was true. Thad’s abrupt departure had
left her floundering far more than it should have.
“I understand, Miss Preston. And I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
“But I do like you very much,” she added, feeling he needed a confidence boost. And it was one hundred percent true. “You must promise me a dance or two at the next party we both find ourselves at.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“You won’t forget now, will you?” she asked, matching his gravity. “I’ll hold you to it, you know.”
He offered her a rare smile. “I won’t forget.”
***
When William arrived home a few days later, he displayed far less enthusiasm over her purchase of Robin than Lizzie and Ketch had. He was already angry. One of his shipments of rice had been captured by the Union navy. “It was a lucky chance,” he grumbled at dinner. “One in a million. With three thousand miles of coast to patrol and only a handful of warships, how did they possibly find my cargo?”
Emily’s thoughts went immediately to the imprisoned men and the families who missed them, but to her father they were pieces on a chessboard. “At the very least, the blockade gives us status as a political entity,” he added.
Emily was loath to enter any conversation that might worsen their relationship, but she didn’t understand his comment. “How so?”
He stabbed at a pile of green beans. “A nation closes their own ports. They blockade the ports of rival nations. By proclaiming the blockade, Lincoln gave recognition to the Confederate States of America, granting us the right to buy arms and negotiate loans with foreign powers.”
“But why would he do that?”
“Because he didn’t want to provoke England. A blockade gives him the right to search ships suspected of trading with us. But he’s put himself in a tight spot.” He smirked. “We’ve already begun courting the British. They need our cotton to keep their mills running.”
“The war really is a chess game, isn’t it?” she observed. The war that wasn’t supposed to happen. The war to which her father had sacrificed a load of rice and gambled a son. She stuffed a bite of chicken into her mouth, dreading what Lincoln’s countermove might be.
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