A Slave of the Shadows, page 18
Father started to protest the black man sleeping in his house, but I silenced him with, “How dare you! Is her life not as important as mine because she is a slave?” I glared at him.
“No, Willow, I didn’t mean…” Father rubbed a hand over his weary face. “Forgive me, daughter; I’ve been unable to think straight since we found you. I’m trying.”
I capitulated at the look of hopelessness on his face. “Very well, Father. Gray will sleep in the house with his wife.” I turned to my friends. “Thank you all for your love and support. Please make sure Whitney makes it home safely, will you, Knox?”
“Of course I will, Willow,” a somber Knox replied.
We said our final goodbyes and when they’d vanished into the night, I excused myself and went inside.
Washed up and alone in my room, I realized I hadn’t eaten since morning when my stomach started churning and I felt nauseous. I wrapped a dressing gown around myself and took the back stairs down to the warming kitchen in search of a light meal. The house was still and the lanterns were turned low.
A glass of milk in hand and a piece of my birthday cake in the other, I started for the stairs, but voices coming from Father’s study drew my attention. The study door was closed, but there was no denying the heated voice of Father and that of another man. Placing my ear to the door, I listened in on the conversation.
“You had one job and it was to watch her, and you couldn’t even do that.” Father’s angry voice said.
“Charles, I understand you’re angry. Trust me! I’m upset that she could’ve been harmed worse than she was. I’ve watched over her all these years and I failed her. If anything had happened to her…” I heard remorse in the man’s voice.
“At least we share this in common. You need to leave. You’ve been exposed too long. My men and I will take care of the search tomorrow,” Father said firmly.
“But I need to aid in the search, after what happened before, and now,” the stranger replied.
“No!” Father snapped. “You made me a promise. I expect you to abide by your word. You should go back to the shadows where you belong.”
There was shuffling, and the door handle moved. I ran into the darkness under the staircase, but peered out as the men exited the study. My heart jumped into my throat. The stranger from earlier? I tried to widen my eyes, wishing the swelling would ease so I could see more clearly.
No words passed between Father and the stranger as Father saw him to the door and closed the door behind him. He was too far away to see his expression, but his next words chilled me to the core.
“Oh, Olivia…why?” he wailed.
The voice of Father calling my mother’s name drummed in my head like a gong as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. For years I’d speculated about my mother and longed to know more of her. Now—in one day—I had heard her mentioned more than ever before. I needed answers. Who was this woman who was being kept from me? The woman Father seemed to want to forget—but in a time of sorrow, called on? My mind was filled with questions, and I was determined to get answers.
MORNING CAME, ANNOUNCED WITH STARTLING punctuality by the rooster’s crowing. Irritated at its effect on my pounding head, and the unpleasant recollections of the previous day that came rushing in, I groaned. No matter how fervently I wished for the memories to fade, the reality of it was undeniable. I sat up, catching my breath at a sharp surge of pain. I paused and looked around my room through the slits of my eyes. My vision seemed to be improving.
Mary Grace!
Kicking back the covers, I rose too quickly and had to sit back down as my head spun. When the room settled I tried again to rise, more slowly this time. I slipped into my dressing gown, tying the twisted silk rope around my waist as I went out into the hallway.
At the door to Mary Grace’s room, my heartbeat quickened as I lifted my hand and knocked. Receiving no reply, I put my ear to the door. No sounds came from within. Slowly opening the door, I peeked inside the small, bare room to find the drapes on the only window still closed. On the chest between the two narrow beds sat a darkened lantern. Mammy’s bed was neatly made; a lumpy form lay under the covers of the other. I slipped into the room and crept over to Mary Grace’s bed. My friend lay with the covers pulled up to her neck, facing the wall. Standing beside her bed, I could see one side of her damaged face. I clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling my gasp as I stared down at her.
“Mary Grace, it’s Willow.” I knelt beside her bed. Not wanting to frighten her, I refrained from reaching out to wake her.
“Miss Willow…” she whispered in a sleep-heavy voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? You’re the last one who should be saying sorry.”
“What I said to you—I was…I was angry because I was born a black woman and you a white. I took all my hate and pain out on the one white person who has shown me nothing but acceptance. I was wrong.”
“Hush now,” I said softly. “I understand, so let’s not think of it again. I need you to know I am here and I love you. We will somehow get you past this, if that is even possible.”
“One day at a time, Mama says.” She rolled onto her back and moved the blankets back to free her good arm.
“I don’t want to impose on you, and I feel helpless about what I can do to help.”
“There is nothing you can do, Willow. I will need to work through this on my own. But knowing I have the love and support of Gray, Mama, and you will be the strength I will call on.” Somehow tears managed to slip through Mary Grace’s grossly swollen eyelids to slide down her cheeks. Inflammation had taken over her face, and the definition of where her cheekbones ended and the inset of her eyes began was nonexistent.
A shadow fell across the room and I glanced up to see Gray in the doorway with fresh cloths and a bowl containing ice from the spring house. Mammy was on his heels with a tray of food.
I rose and backed away. “I’ll leave you to tend to her. I’ll be back later to check on her.” I placed a hand on Gray’s arm as I passed.
“Thanks, Miss Willow, for being a friend to Mary Grace.” He bowed his head respectfully.
“Always.” I smiled at the man who had stolen my friend’s heart.
Mammy touched my face, concern in her eyes. “You all right, chile?”
“I will be, Mammy.”
“All right, angel gal, I’ll be down to git breakfast right away.”
“No, Mammy, we will manage around here without you for a few days. I will take over and things will carry on as usual. Mary Grace needs to be your only concern.”
“No, Miss Willow, dat’s my job—”
“Mammy, let me do this. I need to keep busy right now.” I reassured her with a small smile.
“Bless you, my gal, bless you.” She bobbed a nod of gratitude.
Leaving Mary Grace to her loved ones, I went to prepare for the day.
THE WARMTH OF THE SUN saluted me as I stepped out onto the back veranda, where the guards dutifully attended their post. It was unusually quiet this morning. The chatter and singing of the slaves were absent on this beautiful morning. The absence of Jones and his men from the plantation did not hinder its operation, as the slaves appeared to be effectively running the place themselves. Their dedication amazed and puzzled me.
A group of women with baskets on their hips passed me on their way to the river. A thin, pleasant-looking woman called out to me as she passed by, “Bless you and your household, Mistress.” She curtsied.
“Morning, Sara.” I returned a small smile and a wave. Bless me?
I sat on the swing on the veranda and contemplated the last few days. I longed to be a child, unaware of the realities of an adult’s world. Becoming an adult brought with it an understanding of things I wished not to comprehend. Every day life seemed to become more of a mystery. I’d started to question everything. Father had been distant and hard on me since I’d reached the age where his word simply wasn’t enough. Never one to follow another person’s outlook on life, I began to search for my own answers. As I grew older his rules grew stricter and the isolation worsened. My questioning his love had been a constant, but yesterday when Rufus and his man had hurt me, I was convinced it was worry and love I saw in his eyes. Was the desire to be loved by my father the reason for that? Had I read more on his face than was truly there? It couldn’t be out of compassion for a slave.
What about the conversation I listened in on over his selling of live cargo? Did he care simply because Mary Grace and I belonged to him? Then what of the stranger? Who was he? And why had Father hired him to watch over me? This meant I was not crazy—I was being watched. Then there was what Rufus’s man had said about my mother. I reflected on his words: “Maybe she should suffer the same fate.” What had he meant by this? Had they hurt my mother too?
I could never get any information from Father, Jones, or Mammy or any other slave on this plantation. I’d gone over the ledger of slaves purchased before my mother’s death and questioned them all. I’d tried endlessly over the years, but their lips remained sealed. Had Father threatened them? As steadfast as I was in my need for answers, I couldn’t help the gripping fear settling in me. Did I want to know? What if I didn’t like what I uncovered?
I tossed my distraught thoughts aside as Jimmy climbed the steps. His old knees creaked as he sat down on the swing beside me. “How you doing, Miss Willie?”
“I’m managing, but I’m fighting an inner battle.”
“What be de trouble?”
“You would be here for weeks if I told you all that is tormenting my soul,” I said grimly.
“De slaves are calling you de ‘angel up in de big house.’” He smiled proudly.
I frowned. “Why’s that?”
“Dey knowed you tried to save dat slave gal from what happened. Dey say you never left her and ’cause of et you take dis here beatin’. Your name’s falling from all deir mouths today.” He gestured broadly, encompassing the plantation.
The slaves didn’t see me as the failure I feared I was, and their understanding humbled me. I twisted my hands in my lap, fighting back the tears.
Jimmy patted my back. “Dere, dere, gal, et be all right.”
“I’m going to hold onto that hope.”
“I have a birthday present for you.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a slender piece of wood. A tiny hole at the top had been cut and a thin, worn red ribbon was threaded through, tied, and left long. “I know you lak to read, so I made you dis.”
I received it in awe at the thoughtfulness and the beauty of the craftsmanship. It was a bookmark. He’d engraved wings on either side of the words:
Fly, my little angel,
spread your wings and soar
Above the trees, may you find freedom,
A slave no more.
I was dumbfounded. He could read and write! The words were misspelled, making it dearer to my heart. “I didn’t know you could read and write.” I looked at him, shocked at his willingness to share his secret.
He lifted one of his bent shoulders in a small shrug.
He trusted me! The realization filled me: Jimmy trusted me. My heart leaped with pleasure.
“It’s beautiful, Jimmy, and the words are lovely.” I ran my fingers tenderly over the wording, absorbing the meaning.
“I used to sing dat to my girl, Mag, from de day she was born.” His shoulders slumped. “Some days I can’t recall her face.”
“I’m sorry, Jimmy, that life did this to you.” Saddened by his sorrow, I wished I could ease the pain imprinted on his heart.
“Et is what et is.”
“You chose to put her song on a gift for me.”
“You’re de only thing keepin’ me gwine most days.”
His honesty swelled my heart with unrestrained love. “You’re as dear to me, Jimmy.” I stroked his hand, resting on the swing between us, and today he never flinched from my touch.
“I don’t know, Miss Willie. I’ve bin seeing dat dere Armstrong boy paying a lot of visits nowadays.” He gave my hand a squeeze.
I laughed at his teasing. “Well, you two came storming in like the troops trying to take over the fort I built. My faulty walls have weakened, and I realized he isn’t so bad.”
“You can’t fool ol’ Jimmy. Dat young man’s a li’l more all right den dat.” He winked, then rose and sauntered away.
THE DAY SEEMED TO TICK by like the hands on the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the parlor. I had scoured the library for books on guns and defense techniques. The books I found, I tucked away in my room for reading when my vision fully returned. Now, in the parlor, cobwebs were forming inside my head; boredom and frustration built as I waited for news. The waiting had become unbearable.
It was late afternoon before the hunting party made it back. Gray and I met them outside when they rode up
“Well, did you find them?” I inquired of my father impatiently.
“No, Willow. I’m guessing those cowards hightailed it deep into the swamps. Those swamps are like a fortress. We went hours deep in them most of the day and found no trace of them. Bowden refused to give up. He and Knox are still out searching along with that Barry girl.”
“Whitney?”
“Yes, the girl rode into Livingston at dawn, all saddled up, along with Bowden and Knox. She wouldn’t listen to reason. But she did ride like a trooper and kept up as good as any man.” He chuckled with amusement.
I would never understand this man. He appeared to be perfectly fine with Whitney following along on men’s work. Unbelievable! I snuck a sidelong glance at him before speaking. “I fear Rufus will be back to leave no witnesses.”
“I too share your fears that he will find the opportunity to clean up unfinished business.” His jaw locked firmly as he rolled it over in his mind. “He wouldn’t risk coming here. First off, he would be outnumbered and Rufus tends to prey on the weak. We will remain on high alert until he is caught, and you need not leave the plantation without protection. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“I will be going to town tomorrow to talk to the sheriff and I would like you to come with me. I’m afraid we may not get any justice, but it’s worth a try.”
I clenched my jaw. He was right and it heated my blood.
Later in the day, Whitney, Bowden, and Knox rode into Livingston. I raced partway down the lane to meet them as they rode in. “Any sign of them?”
The three shared a private glance.
“We will get him, Willow.” Whitney forced a tired smile.
“The coward eventually has to come out of hiding,” Bowden said.
And when he did, I would be ready. He could remain in hiding until my eyesight recovered, giving me time to learn self-defense techniques. Then I was going for him.
The little voice in my head mocked me. You are but a woman; what can you do? I hushed the voice. Stubbornness wasn’t always a bad thing. I’d made up my mind, and no one was going to stand in my way. Justice would be served, even if it had to be by my own methods. I knew how this was going to play out. Mary Grace and I were women, and disposable. Her honor didn’t hold much value. And I was not the one raped, so this would take precedence over the crimes committed on Mary Grace. Then there was the fact that we did not see Rufus’s face, and they would take into consideration my state of mind at the time.
“Willow, are you all right?” Whitney’s voice pulled me back from my thoughts.
“Yes. Thank you for all your help. We will take care of our situation from here. I bid you good night.” I turned and made my way back to the house. Their questioning eyes burned into my back.
WE DOCKED OUR SCHOONER AT the wharf in town. Father escorted me directly to the sheriff’s office. Opening the door, he ushered me into a room where the air was stale and smothering from the heat rolling in through the office’s front windows. Seated behind a desk in the corner, the sheriff had his chair tipped back, his legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on his desk, his sleeping face covered by a weathered black hat. Loud snores escaped from beneath it, a series of grunted snorts and whistling exhalations as his chest rose and fell. The black boots he wore had seen many miles.
Hearing the door open and close he mumbled and sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. He pushed the hat up over his long, greasy gray hair, revealing the face of a man of around fifty years whose mouth seemed to be held in a permanent grimace. I’d never met the man before, but I judged from his appearance and mannerisms that he might not be effective in his job, due to his disregard for personal hygiene and self-respect.
I guess we will soon find out.
“Charles Hendricks, is it?” He scowled at Father, his eyes flicking between the two of us. He could not have missed my injured face, but his glance never rested on my face a minute longer than it did on my father’s.
“Yes, I’ve come here about an attack on my daughter—” Father started, but the sheriff cut him off.
“You never took her in hand?”
His insinuation infuriated me. It took all of my willpower not to respond to his implication that Father should have “taken me in hand.”
Father bristled. His nostrils flared and he glared at the sheriff with his eyes that were flinty and cold. “Of course not! I suggest you take a good look at my daughter’s face before I excuse her, so we can have a man-to-man talk.”
The sheriff wiggled uncomfortably under his deadly glare.
“Now that I have your attention,” Father said, then turned to me. “Willow, will you please wait outside?”
I wanted to stay and listen in, but I knew better than to argue. I made my exit.
I found a bench on the boardwalk by the sheriff’s office and seated myself. The streets were bustling with people. Patrons moved in and out of the general store and the bank on either side of the sheriff’s office. Many eyeballed me as they passed by. I pulled my bonnet forward on my head, wishing to avoid their gawking, but the hat provided little coverage.
Two women walked toward me. One was bone thin; you could almost count her ribs through her corset and dress, and her face was masculine. The other had a pudgy face covered with pimples; her figure was rounded from too much groundnut cake and sweet tea. She stood shoulder height to her friend. Maybe it was the criticism written on their sour faces as they drifted toward me that caused my instant dislike of them, or maybe it was the words they said loudly enough that I’d hear them as they walked by.
