Ben was gone. His cabin was empty. I stood in the doorway to see for myself. There was nothing to suggest he’d even been here except for the smell of clove I often associated with him.
Wet wool clung to my body, having run across the property in the rain again. My feet scuffed the dusty plank floors. For a moment, I wondered if it had all been a dream—Ben being here, getting to know him again. This time as an adult. Ben with his pride, his broad shoulders, his stoic expression no longer full of the mischief of youth.
A twig snapped behind me, and I turned my head. Quash. Whatever he saw in my face had him pursing his lips. He looked past me.
“He’s gone,” I whispered. “It’s my fault. I blamed him for everything. When it was Cromwell who manipulated the whole thing.” And my mother, I didn’t add. I backed out of the doorway, leaving Quash to go inside. The rain stopped.
I walked to the indigo sheds Quash had constructed with open walls to allow air and stacked shelving. Stepping inside the dim interior, I saw the empty trays that were supposed to be filled with drying indigo paste. My heart squeezed anew to have been so close to success.
I could blame whomever I wanted, but I should never have left for the ball. I’d gone for Mother’s sake and look at how she repaid me.
My own mother had set me up to fail. Not just me, but all her children. She’d destroyed George’s legacy too. I thought maybe she was going mad. Maybe her symptoms all these years were the beginning of an irrational madness.
There was no one whom I could trust anymore, and no one to blame but myself.
I didn’t know if it had really sunk in that Ben ran away. But it was clear by the next day he wasn’t coming back.
I hadn’t spoken one word to Mother since finding out what she’d done. She had walked into my study after the disastrous breakfast with Cromwell where he’d admitted his intent, and I had promptly walked out, leaving her openmouthed. I took breakfast in my room and lunch and dinner in the study. I had also taken to locking the door, turning the large iron key in the lock, relieved when it actually worked and wasn’t just for looks.
Mother had tried to talk to me through the door, telling me I was being stubborn, or childish, or shortsighted. But not once had she apologized. I decided I’d need to tell Father the truth of what happened after all, before Mama made up a story to suit herself. Besides, now that Ben was gone, I needed to send Cromwell far away from here. I couldn’t tell Father about Mama’s involvement though. No good would come of causing such strife between a man and his wife, no matter how much I yearned to unburden myself fully.
I drew out a fresh piece of parchment and filled the small inkwell from a stoppered bottle. Charles would be waiting for the good news regarding the indigo. I had to disappoint him too.
Polly ran past the open study door. I’d been neglecting her studies altogether recently, and even today I had no heart for them.
“Polly,” I called. “Where are you off to?”
She came to a stop, out of breath. “Lil’ Gulla’s teaching me about horses.”
She and Gulla were the same age, and I immediately thought of Ben and I. My eyes stung. I blinked. What was the point of her building a friendship only to have it bastardized by societal mores as she grew up?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I frowned and rubbed my temples.
“But you’ve been wanting me to be better at riding. I don’t understand.” Her sweet face took on a frown of its own. “Anyway, now that the big scary horse is gone, it’s not so bad. Gulla says the other horses are calmer.”
“What do you mean the big horse is gone?” A thought occurred to me. “A horse is missing and Indian Peter hasn’t come to tell me?”
Polly’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and I knew right away she’d been supposed to keep a secret.
“Sister, I—”
My heart hammered and my stomach fell. As much at the idea that Ben might have stolen a horse and my own slaves had hidden it from me, as at yet another financial blow. “It’s all right, Polly. You did the right thing now.” I motioned her inside the room. “You should have told me right away. I’ll send for Quash.”
“Please don’t let them know I told you,” she pleaded. “Please?”
“Polly, I—”
Her lip trembled. Her blue eyes were wide.
“I’m sorry. But you understand that you can’t keep secrets about stolen horses or anything that could affect the plantation. Or keep secrets at all. Secrets can get you into trouble.” I came around the desk and walked to her, my arms out. “Come here.”
Enveloping her in my arms, I soothed the crown of her soft hair, and she shuddered into tears.
“I got everyone in trouble.” Polly was taller than I ever was at her age. Her voice was muffled into my shoulder.
“Polly, love. Ben is a runaway slave on a stolen horse. It’s better that I know, so that if he gets caught, I can rescue him from being whipped.”
“Or murdered and beheaded,” Polly wailed. “Just like those runaways from the Stono Rebellion.”
My blood turned to ice. What had I been thinking? I needed to send someone after him before he got caught.
“Are you going to whip Lil’ Gulla?” Polly sniffed, turning her tear-streaked face up to mine. “You can’t. Please say you won’t. Gulla said if I told you, you would whip him ’til he bled.”
I swallowed and held her out at arm’s length. “Polly, you know that’s not how we do things here. He came from another plantation.”
“But it was our plantation. He said so.”
“Well, it won’t happen to Gulla, all right? How about you go find Quash for me, and I’ll have him inquire about the horse to Indian Peter. That way you won’t be in trouble with your friend.”
Polly wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her hand. “You’d do that? You are the best sister. The very, very best.”
“Good and trustworthy friends are worth keeping, I say.” I pulled out my muslin cloth to wipe her tears. “Maybe one day, he’ll do you a good turn. But, Polly, I want you to go and find Quash right away, you hear?”
“Yes, Sister.” She pulled away and headed outside to find Quash.
I returned to my desk and finished off the letters to both my father and to Charles. I’d send Togo to town with them as soon as possible.
A knock sounded on the doorframe, and Quash entered as I looked up, pulling his field cap from his head.
Quash’s eyes were troubled. He’d lost a friend too.
“There be a horse gone too,” Quash said before I could open my mouth.
“Did Peter know?”
“Indian Peter, he knows. He told Ben about St. Augustine.”
“About the rumor the Spanish will give freedom to those who can get there?”
“Yes’m.”
“Do you think it’s true? They are allowing slaves to live free?”
“No, Miz Lucas. Not to them with no skill. The others, they be good soldiers. Men who know the land.”
“Ben has a skill.”
“Yes,” Quash agreed. “If he’s taken a horse, then he will go by land. He know about Garden Hill. I think he go there for shelter and food before going on.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Quash was quiet.
I knew what he was telling me, he could go after him. Was willing to.
I was torn. If Ben wanted to be free, who was I to stop him? I was also worried. Worried for his safety. Who would listen to him if he were to be stopped on the way to St. Augustine? He would simply be reenslaved and sold or arrested for being a runaway. There just weren’t any Negro men riding around on horses on their own without a letter or something proving they were on an errand for their owner.
Oh, Ben! What are you doing?
“Thank you, Quash. Come and see me before first light tomorrow. I need to think.”
He backed out the door. Quash was willing to go after Ben, and I was the one stalling. What would Cromwell do to Ben if we fetched him back? And would Ben ever forgive me for thwarting his attempt at freedom?
I thought about nothing else all afternoon and evening. Every minute I agonized over the decision Ben was getting closer to freedom or danger.
My dreams that night were vivid and frightening.
Dreams of marrying John Laurens and his sweaty, large body upon mine on our wedding night. Dreams of his son, Henry, laughing somewhere nearby. I glanced around for Mr. Pinckney. Charles. He would understand. Surely he would stop the farce. Then I was dancing at a ball, the ceiling miles above me. Candlelight and glittering crystals. It’s all thanks to you, whispered Charles in my ear. Everyone wears blue silk. All the indigo is thanks to you.
But look, I said, they are wearing nothing but rags. I failed!
I turned back and saw only Ben standing before me in the middle of a road. The glittering ballroom was no more. The earth was dusty and red. Ben wore sackcloth pants and no shirt. Gone were his fancy breeches and buckled shoes. There was no charm around his neck.
His body streamed with water. Rivulets and droplets glistened on his dark skin and sparkled upon his coarse, nubby, close-cropped hair. His eyes stared, but there was no life in them. They were dark, pitch lagoons with monsters lurking beneath. The earth around him turned to mud as the water flowed down his body.
I had to get to him. I stepped forward but my feet were unable to move. My heart kept going and lurched toward him, wrenching against whatever part of my body held it tied in my chest.
I woke on a gasp, my chest tight and painful.
I held a man’s life in my hands. I couldn’t waste another moment.
I stood at the study window, the night still dark outside, the land washed clean from the nonstop rain. The cold draft slipping in through the seams of the house made me pull my shawl tighter around me. I could light a fire, I thought, and quickly dismissed the effort. Instead I waited.
“Miz Lucas?” I startled as I heard Quash.
I wasted no time. “Are you sure you know where Ben went? Are you sure you can catch up to him?”
Quash nodded.
“All right then.” I handed him a letter with the Lucas seal. “In case you get stopped. You are on plantation business. You are to go toward Garden Hill on horseback. I’m assuming he is only traveling at night to avoid being stopped, so perhaps you will be able to catch up to him.”
I stepped up to Quash and squeezed his arm. “Be safe, Quashy. You know how much we depend on you.” The sudden thought of losing Quash too seemed to go off like a gong in my skull. “Please—” I swallowed.
Knowing Ben was gone and in danger because of the callous words I’d shouted in anger was sitting on me like a millstone. Did he know how much he meant to me? Had I let him know how very much he was … valued?
That I could lose Quash too made my fingers shake.
I was sending him toward freedom with a letter clearing his passage.
He could run away.
He could choose to leave here too.
How much had I been able to do because I had Quash always by my side?
Quash’s burnt bronze skin offset his piercing eyes as he waited for me to finish my thought.
“Please come back,” I finally said.
Quash nodded.
Turning around, I went back to the window and heard Quash’s footfall as he made his way out. “Quashy?” I called softly on impulse, an earlier conversation that had taken place in this very room suddenly carouseling around my head. A thought niggled at me, an outlandish and shocking one. But one I knew would not let me go. “Did—did he love her back? Your father, the white man? Did he return your mother’s love?”
I kept my back turned as I asked. My face was a faint, pale apparition on my view of daylight breaking over the landscape outside the window. I saw Quash’s reflection as he stood in the shadowy doorway behind me.
His head lowered a fraction. “Yes, Miz Lucas. Yes, he did.”
Quash left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
My hands clutched the sill, my knuckles turning white. The corners of my eyes pricked and stung. And I couldn’t move until long after the first light of the day washed my reflection from the window.
And with it everything became clear. I was only surprised I hadn’t recognized it before now.
That Ben had left before knowing how very much he was … loved.
It was impossible of course, and Ben perhaps had known how impossible it truly was well before I did. I thought over the painful way he had kept his distance even while I craved his friendship.
I laid my forehead upon the glass pane and prayed.