A Slave of the Shadows, page 23
“Your mother and I grew up together. She was an only child to John and Grace Shaw, your grandparents. Your grandparents had your mother later in life and they doted on her. She was educated and smart. John sent her to the best school. The one I decided to send you to.”
My heart fluttered in surprise at his words. We had attended the same school. But why? Why would he keep her from me, only to allow me to have this connection with her?
Father smiled in admiration as he envisioned my mother. He began to reveal the knowledge I’d yearned for all my life. “She could hold her own, much like you. She had a mind of her own and never backed down from anyone. Though pampered and spoiled by your grandparents, your mother remained humble and kind. She touched the lives of so many. She was intoxicating in her charm and didn’t have to demand the attention of a room. She had a rare beauty. Your mother was physically beautiful, but her true beauty radiated from the inside out.” His gaze grew even more distant, lost in time, and a smile transformed his face.
He loved her. I was certain of it now. But why the secrets? Why had he banned all knowledge of her from my life?
He shifted in his seat. Continue, I demanded in my head, and he did.
“You are the replica of her.” His eyes glinted with respect for her as he rested his gaze on me. “You have her beauty, and in you lies her spirit. You are everything that was pure about her. You also have her stubbornness and her determination to set the world right.” His voice broke and the heartache he’d kept caged for so long began to escape.
I wanted to go to him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him. To give and find comfort. To be united in our grief and longing for a woman we both loved. But the years between us held me back. Instead I asked, “Father, what happened to my mother?”
Shocked, he whipped his head up. “You were told what happened. Why would you ask?”
“Yes, you told me she died of yellow fever, but there have been rumors…”
A sharp knock distracted him from his response. We looked toward the doorway. Jones stood in the passage outside the room. There was no denying the sheer relief that swept over Father’s face.
Angry at the disturbance, I glared at Jones. “What is it, Jones?”
“Evening, Miss Willow. Sir, I need to speak to you about a matter in the quarters.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“Very well, Jones,” Father replied, standing eagerly to make his departure. “Please excuse me, daughter.” He walked briskly toward the doorway.
“But…Father,” I cried after him as I saw my mother fade before my eyes. Father disappeared without a second thought for me. No! Hopelessness swept through me. The tightly woven secrets Father had wrapped my mother in were threatening my sanity.
FATHER OFFERED NO MORE INFORMATION about my mother. The next day, desperately needing to lift my spirits, I had a footman saddle my horse and bring it around front. Whitney and I had grown accustomed to showing up unannounced at each other’s home, and today I was going to do just that.
I thundered across the countryside in hopes of reaching the Barry Plantation in record time and slowed my horse to a trot when I reached the lane leading up to the plantation. The ride had not helped. I’d settled into a depression. Tying my horse to the hitching rail, I peered around. No one came to greet me. That was strange! Where was everyone?
I went inside in search of a servant to inform them of my arrival. The house was deadly quiet. “Hello,” I called out. My voice bounced back to me. I had the uncanny feeling the house was smirking at me as I raced from room to room in search of any form of life. “Whitney!” I yelled.
Nothing. This doesn’t feel right.
Fear crept over me as I wandered the plantation grounds. It was as if the Barry Plantation had been wiped clear of human life.
Then I heard wailing from the direction of the river.
Terror chilled my blood. The children! Whitney! I lifted my skirt and sprinted toward the river, images of the horrors I would find running through my mind.
Through the trees, I saw the reeds along the river. And more. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp of revulsion.
Before me was a sight that would remain in my memory forever. Never before had I witnessed such savagery.
Mr. Barry and Rufus stood in the middle of the shallow river, each with a hand resting leisurely on his waist. They were grinning at each other. The water splashed fiercely around them, churned up by the thrashing legs and arms of the drowning man pinned beneath their boots.
As I rushed forward, I saw the white head of a gaunt black man surface momentarily. He fought for air and desperately clawed at the men’s boots. Lined up to share his fate were two other slaves, aging women who’d outlived their usefulness to Mr. Barry. One’s arm had been severed sometime in the past. With her only arm, she struggled to support the feeble woman who leaned against her. The one-armed woman’s courage held me spellbound. She stood erect, proud and strong, staring straight ahead over the river toward the horizon. There was stubbornness in the chin she held up.
I scanned the crowd of plantation slaves until I found Whitney. She stood on the bank, her eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down her face. Turned with their faces buried into her skirts on either side were the twins. Whitney was shielding them from the horror their father was performing.
I pressed my way through the slaves to Whitney. “Whitney!” I choked out as I cast one last glance at the old man. His body had given up its fight to survive. The men lifted their boots; the current caught the body as it surfaced and floated away.
“Willow…” When I reached her, she wrapped her arms tightly around me, and the young arms of Jack and Kimie encircled my waist.
“All right, children, let’s go—now.” Clenching my teeth, I shoved the three of them toward the trees.
“But…Father?” Whitney’s voice trembled.
“Whitney, please, I know you’re in shock right now, but let’s get them out of here. Your father is so drunk with sadistic lust he won’t notice you have gone.” I looked at the elation shining on his face and knew the man was crazy. He had no empathy for human life. How Whitney and the children had endured living with him this long was beyond my comprehension.
We hurried through the trees to the path leading back to the house.
Kimie reached out and clenched my fingers tightly, her frightened eyes pleading. “Auntie Willow, can’t we live with you? Can’t you take us far, far away from here? I like your father—he’s nice.”
Saddened by her words, I peered over her head at Whitney. She stared straight ahead, her expression bleak.
“Yeah, Whitney, what do you think? Can we go live with her?” Jack asked his older sister.
“I wish we could, buddy.” She rested a protective hand on his dark curls. “But Father would never allow it. We need to stay strong…we have to.” She seemed to be encouraging herself along with the twins. “Never forget the horrible wrongs you have seen on this plantation.” She stopped and turned to lift his chin, so their eyes met. “Jack, promise me you will grow up to be a man of honor. Promise me you will treat all people with kindness and respect.”
“I will, Whitney. I swear to you, I’ll never be like him. Not ever!” he swore with determination.
My eyes burned with unshed tears as I observed the small family grasping at some sort of security in their decaying world.
“Be the difference in the world. Don’t let anyone tell you life has to be this way. Live by your heart and it will always steer you right,” Whitney said before bending and kissing the top of his head.
THE SLAVES WALKED SLOWLY BACK to the plantation from the river, their movements lethargic, their heads bowed. The ordeal at the river had snuffed out any hope they had left. The blackening skies rumbled in accompaniment to the shuffling of their feet.
Bringing up the rear of the group of slaves were Mr. Barry, Rufus, and his men. Their laughter seemed to pummel the slaves deeper into despair and constricted my aching heart.
Whitney, the children, and I stood waiting on the veranda for Mr. Barry. The men paused and peered up at us.
“Well, Jack, I say soon you will know all the ins and outs of running this here plantation yourself.” Mr. Barry’s smile at his son was detached and cold.
Jack remained silent, but his body language projected a coldness of his own as he regarded his father. He squared his narrow shoulders and stared long and hard at the men before him. I followed his intense gaze. Rufus removed his hat and mopped his forehead. Beads of sweat trickled from beneath the black bandana tied around his head. Partially visible was the word I had branded into it: rapist. I twisted to look at Yates, who also wore a bandana, trying to hide the disgrace advertised on their foreheads for the world to see.
My mark had made an impact! If not, these men would not have tried to conceal it. In this petty thing, I found a kernel of contentment.
The heavens above us opened and released torrents of rain, as if God were unleashing his fury at the wrongs done this day. It beat violently on the roof of the veranda. The men ran to avoid the storm, Mr. Barry sprinting past us into the house.
We seated ourselves on the porch swing. Kimie wiggled onto Whitney’s lap. Whitney’s chin rested on the top of her head, her finger twirling one of Kimie’s blond curls. Jack sat between us, solemn and obviously troubled, his small hands clasped tightly together in his lap. I gently placed my hand over his.
“We fight evil in our minds, Jack. If we control our own minds, no evil can come in,” I said softly, seeing the conflict tormenting his soul.
Confused, he peered up at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean when bad people, like your father, Rufus, and his men, do the things they do, it’s because they chose to do it. You may be his son, but don’t think it means you can’t be better than him. Look at Whitney—she is his daughter, but she is nothing like him. You keep your mind strong and when the little voices in your head tell you it’s hopeless and you may as well fall in line with the ways of the world around you…find your own strength. Stand up and say no. You are the gatekeeper to your mind and your soul belongs to God. Art Barry is a man who helped your mother make you, but he does not make you who you are. You do! Keep faith in the goodness of mankind, all right?”
He smiled and looked thoughtfully out over the storm-drenched plantation. He nodded in understanding. “I think I get it.”
My eyes wandered to Whitney’s. She whispered, “Thank you.”
Giving her a wistful smile, I nodded.
Whitney
THE NIGHT OF THE UPRISING, her father, Rufus, and his men leisurely sat drinking whiskey and smoking cigars in the study. Art Barry mingled with his working staff as if they were his friends. Creatures of darkness find commonality, Whitney thought as she listened to their intoxicated, vulgar conversation drifting from the library.
“Whit?” Knox’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are we going to play the game with the twins or not?”
“Yes.” She looked from the plate of treats the kitchen cook had prepared for their game night to Kimie, who sat cross-legged on the floor playing with her dolls, waiting patiently.
Jack, who had been outside playing until the sun went down, stomped the mud from his boots on the veranda before stepping into the foyer. Whitney frowned as he paused and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and entering the library. “Hello, y’all. Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, sounding old beyond his years.
Whitney arched an eyebrow. “Jack, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I think it is a perfect night for a carriage ride.” His grin didn’t reach his dark eyes.
“But Jack, we are going to play some games,” Knox said.
“We will later, but a nice ride will help me relax my mind. So I can win.” He smirked with mischievousness at his sudden, brilliant idea to get his own way.
Whitney couldn’t help but chuckle at her dirty-faced little brother. Jack was always missing in action. His love for nature often had him off on a new adventure. She knew in his mind the farther he could be from the plantation, the better, and she couldn’t help but agree. I wish I could take them and run from this horrible place, she grumbled to herself.
“All right, Jack, you win. I will find Thomas and ask him to prepare the carriage.”
He let out a whoop and ran toward Kimie while calling over his shoulder, “Thomas is already out front, waiting.” He grabbed Kimie’s arm, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, Kimie, let’s go.”
Whitney and Knox exchanged a puzzled look. Gathering up a blanket for the children, Whitney handed it to Knox, then placed her straw bonnet on her head and tied the blue silk ribbons under her chin.
“I don’t feel like a carriage ride tonight, Jack.” Kimie stomped her foot. “I want to play with my dolls for a bit longer.”
Jack slightly bent down, as if his three extra inches of height were far greater, and stared into Kimie’s tear-filled blue eyes. “Now, Kimie, this is something your brother wants to do, and you know how Whitney tells us we have to think of others, right?”
“Yes,” she said grudgingly, and pouted.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to go on the carriage ride.” Angry, she folded her arms across her chest.
Whitney put her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles at Jack’s manipulation of his sister. So wrong, but oh, so funny. Knox’s eyes lit up with his own mirth.
Kimie snatched the shawl and bonnet Whitney offered her. Securing her own bonnet, she gave Jack a glare and headed outside.
As Jack had stated, the open carriage stood waiting. Thomas tipped his hat. “Evenin’.”
When all of his passengers were seated and settled, Thomas took his place in the driver’s seat. He hesitated, glancing around the plantation before shouting an order to the horses, and they were off.
Jack slouched low in the carriage seat, his wary eyes unwaveringly fixed on the house. The light of the plantation faded behind them. The carriage lanterns swung back and forth with the swaying of the carriage as they rode along.
Growing concerned at Jack’s suddenly sullen mood, Whitney asked, “Jack, are you all right?”
He leveled a solemn look at her but nodded.
“Are you sure?” She saw panic beginning to surface on his face. “What is it? Tell me.”
He searched her face before saying, “I know something very bad that is going to happen, but it will save a lot of people.”
At his words, Thomas slowed the horses to a stop, “I knowed et, Miss Whitney! Somepin’ bin amiss in de quarters since de river. Lots of whisperin’ dat I was left out of. I got a feelin’ in my bones dat somepin’ ain’t right.”
Whitney gave Jack a stern look. “Jackson Barry, if you know something is happening, you need to tell me now!” She grabbed his arm firmly.
“Ouch! All right.” He squirmed under her gaze before fixing his eyes on her. “On my way to the house, when I passed the big barn, I heard voices coming from it and I stuck out my ear and I heard them say, tonight they were going to end Father and his men while they sat drinking up in the big house.”
“What?” Whitney and Knox said in unison.
“They are burning it and running tonight.” He leaned forward, head down; sobs shook his body. “That’s why—why I made Thomas take us for a ride, so we weren’t in the house when it happened. I couldn’t tell anyone because Father would do horrible things to them if he found out.” The guilt and helplessness overwhelmed him and his sobs became cries of anguish.
Thomas, without waiting for a command, turned the horses back toward the plantation. “Thomas, to the Armstrong Plantation,” Knox ordered. “We will need Bowden’s help,” he said to Whitney.
Fear twisted her insides as the horses ran at breakneck speed toward the Armstrong Plantation. The short distance to Bowden’s homestead seemed to take forever. When they arrived, Knox almost tore the front door off, trying to get in. Whitney and the twins stayed seated in the carriage.
And then Whitney smelled it. It was happening.
RETIRED TO THE PARLOR AFTER a luscious dinner, Father, Bowden, and I were in mid-conversation when the front door burst open and Knox barged in.
“Bowden, where are you?” he bellowed. Knox’s perpetually laid-back manner had vanished.
Bowden dashed from the parlor to find out what had spun him into such a frenzy. “Knox, what is it?”
“Bowden, you must come quick. The Barry Plantation—it’s on fire. The slaves, they’ve rebelled.”
“Whitney? The kids? Where are they?” I screeched. Anxiety threatened to choke the oxygen from me.
“They’re with me,” Knox said, hurrying out the door.
Bowden grabbed guns from the cabinet. Tossing one to Father, we flew out the door, shouting orders for horses to be brought around.
“Make it quick. Gray, you and you come with me.” He pointed to his overseer and the overseer’s brother.
“Bowden, wait!” I cried, grabbing at his arm. “You can’t harm those people. If only you saw what they went through. It’s—”
“Willow!” he said sharply, cutting me off. “Not now. I know I can’t stop you from coming, so get in the carriage.” He snagged the reins from the slave’s hand.
Saddled up, the men rode out.
“Children, stay here. Clara, please tend to them,” I instructed the pretty house slave who stood on the front veranda, waiting to assist. I hurried the children out of the carriage.
“Yes, Miss Willow. Come on, chillums, let’s see what we can git yas in de kitchen.” She led them away.
I scrambled into the carriage, and Whitney and I were off.
I could see the flames above the trees, and heard their merciless howl as we raced toward them. At the Barry Plantation we raised our handkerchiefs to cover our mouths and noses as the intense smoke muffled our breathing.
“Oh, Lord,” Thomas said as we took in the fire engulfing the house.
