Chapter 7
7
Had my mistress been more kind to me,
I should have thought less of liberty.
Louis Hughes
R OYAL V ALE P LANTATION
With Father’s courting curtailed because of gout, and her and Loveday’s own foray to town delayed, Juliet sat by her father’s bedside as he barked commands as if he’d not left his military service in the French and Indian War behind him. Pain always sharpened his temper. Or was he worried that his absence might mean another gentleman would press his suit with the English widow?
Studying him with sympathy, Juliet still couldn’t help but tease, “Please, Colonel Catesby, one order at a time.”
“Zounds!” The epithet resounded through the room like buckshot. “Dr. Blair is overdue. Where can he be? Send Loveday to the stillroom for one of her remedies while I wait.”
“I’ve already done so, Father.”
“The sheriff should be here any minute. I’ve instructed Hosea to tell you immediately so you can oversee the matter. Two of the tobacco hands have been caught—I don’t know which two—and will be confined till Riggs confers with me about their punishment. Till then they’ll be kept in irons in the bellhouse.”
Schooling her reaction, she looked toward an open window, thinking she heard a wagon as the hall clock tolled seven. Dawn promised another sweltering day, and a final indigo harvest was underway. The year’s previous harvests had been fair, a great many indigo cakes ready for export, and the bounty promised from shipping solely to England was forthcoming.
“After you manage the runaways, you’ll need to accompany the slaves’ physic, Dr. Cartwright, to the quarters. Last visit he dosed the sickest with draughts of aqua mirabilis and ginseng tea, which failed to ease them. Pay particular attention to Mercy, who is near her time and unable to attend to her spinning house duties. Once Cartwright leaves, go to the weaving house and ask the itinerant weaver how long he will take to make the needed coverlets before the cold sets in. Also inquire as to when he expects to depart, as I must settle accounts with him first.”
“Of course, Father.”
“Your remaining time must be given over to the ball we’re hosting. Speaking of that, where is the guest list you promised?”
“I’ve not yet finished it.”
“Bring it up as soon as possible.” His attempt to shift his ailing leg led to a red-faced yelp.
Juliet hated to discuss such things when he was unwell. But she pressed on if only to forestall finishing the guest list. “What would you have me do about the stallion you sold to Mr. Lee, who says he wants it delivered as soon as possible?”
“I’ll leave that for you to decide.” Leaning back against the bank of pillows, Father closed his eyes. “All I know is this misery delays me from important matters in Williamsburg.”
Like courting?
Juliet leaned over and kissed his knotted brow. Loveday hurried in just then, carrying a cup and bottle and casting her a worried glance.
Excusing herself, Juliet went downstairs and waited just inside the entry hall for the sheriff to arrive. When the wagon pulled into sight, she noted the bound runaways. Shackled, Jacob and Armistead left the wagon. It took all Juliet’s will to mask her feelings over the matter. She couldn’t even summon a word for the sheriff other than to tell him to follow Hosea to the bellhouse as Father instructed.
She tried to catch the fettered men’s eyes, to communicate some sort of assurance or hope, but their heads were bent as they were taken away. Only a few more hours and they’d be shackled no longer.
Lord, please let it be.
When Dr. Cartwright arrived, she accompanied him on his rounds to the quarters after he saw Father. She was glad when the noon bell rang, signaling a brief respite under cloudy skies for those who labored. She’d been hearing that bell all her life, but till now she’d not thought what it might be like to live without it. After returning to the house, she sat down in Father’s study and took out the unfinished guest list for the ball, gravel in her belly.
Perhaps the Scot’s ship would sink.
The uncharitable thought came with swift conviction. Resting her aching head atop her arms, she asked forgiveness. If ever she wished Mama back, it was now. Dear, hospitable Mama, who had so skillfully managed plantation life that Father suffered a greater, more grievous loss.
Taking up a quill, she combed through all of Williamsburg in her mind before mentally scouring the James River on both sides for neighbors who’d expect an invitation. Denbeigh. Carter’s Grove. Richneck. Westover. Berkely ... Topping the guest list was Nathaniel Ravenal and family. Wounded pride was not to be dealt with. Offenses among the Tidewater gentry were never forgotten nor forgiven.
“You need me, Miss Juliet?” Rilla, their cook, stood in the doorway, her apron spotless, her turbaned head a vivid red.
“The menu for the ball needs discussing. Please, come in and sit down.” Juliet motioned to a chair near the window. “I believe we should display an elegant cold supper in the Virginia tradition with punch, wines, and chocolate—but no tea.”
A slight smile. “The forbidden herb.”
“I’ve nearly forgotten what true tea tastes like, it’s been so long.”
“Your father will want oysters, Miss Juliet.”
“Of course. Oysters. As many as you think will suffice.” She couldn’t abide them personally, but they were a Tidewater staple. “I’m thinking a hundred guests unless I can whittle down the list.”
Rilla nodded. “Ahead of Christmas, then.”
“Mid-November. I’ll settle on an exact date once I hear Mr. Buchanan has docked.” Again a broken ship’s mast and wild waves flashed to mind, but for all she knew he’d already set foot safely in Virginia.
“Should I bake a queen’s cake?”
“Perhaps several of them, sliced thinly with some late fruit from the orchard. A nice finish after a heavy meal.”
“Very well. ’Twill be a fine gathering.”
Rilla returned to the kitchen as the house settled into its afternoon routines. An early supper followed in the dining room with only her and Loveday at table. Without Father the usual dinner hour was halved, the fare a simple soup, veal olives, and raspberry fool.
“You’ve little appetite tonight,” Loveday said, taking up her spoon for dessert.
“I’ve much on my mind.”
“I’ll be glad for winter, when the pace slackens.”
“I’ll rest easier when our last task is accomplished tonight.”
“As much as I hate to say it, I’m glad Father is abed.” Loveday set down her spoon, her voice a whisper. “But I do worry about Riggs in such a high temper of late. He’s to return in the morning to mete out the punishment to Armistead and Jacob.” She took up her spoon again while Juliet absently watched her own dessert melt in its tall glass. “With Riggs upriver tonight, the timing is right. Ten o’clock, is it?”
Juliet nodded. “I have the necessary shoes and garments ... and passes.”
“All is in order, then.” Loveday darted a look at the open door. “Rilla has packed enough victuals. I stored them in the dairy till the time comes.”
Juliet looked at the clock as it chimed the half hour, twilight encroaching in lavender hues. The melancholy twist inside her was like the turning of a rusty screw.
I wish I could run away too.
The distant quarters to the west were quiet save some singing, the rows of crude wooden cabins linked by dusty lanes. The indentures fared better—the free-willers, king’s passengers, and redemptioners who rivaled the enslaved in number. Their brick lodgings were sturdier and better kept per the terms of their contracts. They lived nearer the overseers by the tobacco fields, both men and women, even a few children.
There was no light save the moon, but both sisters moved along stealthily and silently, as they’d walked this path since childhood. They were intent on the bellhouse, the small structure near the fields where an old bell hung that acted as a clock to divide the day, summoning hands to work or rest. Only there was no rest, in truth. Not for those who labored, and little more for those who managed them.
Inside the bellhouse were the hated iron collars Riggs sometimes used to keep track of returned runaways, and a vicious selection of whips. Here truant slaves were kept. Juliet could hear Armistead and Jacob moving about inside, as much as their chains allowed. Father’s keys made a slight noise as the lock opened, and Juliet was first to enter the space smelling of sweat, fear, and worse.
She fought her own disquiet as she faced the two captured runaways in almost total blackness, one who’d been born at Royal Vale and one who’d come from Carolina at auction a year before. After several tense, fumbling moments, the chains fell from the men’s thin wrists. With the practiced motions of repetition, she and Loveday distributed osnaburg garments and sturdy shoes, then stuffed victuals in haversacks that held passes for travel.
Juliet spoke softly to the startled men, alert to any outsiders. “Stay vigilant and off the main roads. Travel only by night when you can. You’ll have safe passage on Ravenal lands. Once you make it to the York River, you’ll see a sloop at anchor by an old pier and a warehouse marked with the sign of a dove.” She paused, wondering how much would be remembered in the duress of the moment. “Captain Vaughn and his crew are expecting you. They’ll sail you to Philadelphia, where you’ll join Friends at Frankford Meeting House. That’s all you need know for now.”
Loveday stood at the door, her back to them as she kept watch. Juliet pressed a few coins into Jacob’s and Armistead’s hands, then stood by as the men reached the door and slipped beyond it into the unknown. For a breathless trice, she sagged against a wall, her thoughts and emotions in a tangle. How she hated that doing right felt so wrong. That standing by one’s convictions involved such deep secrets—and ultimately deceptions.
Yet Mama had begun the work, as had the Ravenals. Even Aunt Damarus. Though years had passed since she’d discovered Mama’s part in it, Juliet remembered one whispered discussion in particular.
“Mama, what do you think Father would do if he found you out?” she’d asked one day when they’d been riding, just the two of them.
“I answer to the Almighty first, your father second. All of God’s creatures should be free, even the smallest.” Mama fixed her gaze on a butterfly that had alighted on the pommel of her saddle. “Sometimes I suspect your father knows yet says nothing. And so I quietly continue the work.”
Did he?
Father seemed oblivious, but Juliet had begun to suspect others on the plantation were not so easily duped. Yet the risk seemed greater if these slaves stayed. In the morn, Riggs would unleash his fury, whip them till they bled, even punish their kin. At least tonight these men had a chance, a tendril of hope.
Lord, we’re doing what we can.
Loveday squeezed her hand as they left the building, leaving the door ajar and the lock undone. Silently they made their way back to the house, slipped in a side door, and climbed a little-used back stair, which avoided Father and his chamber altogether.