Chapter 2
Scott’s Grove
December 1853
No one—not even Alden’s younger sister, Rhody—rushed out to greet them when the carriage rolled down the long drive at Scott’s Grove. No one saw Isaac climb back onto the top of the trunk a half mile back and wrap himself with the blanket that Alden insisted he use for the end of their journey.
Usually the fields around the plantation were humming with activity this time of year, every day of the week except the Sabbath. Jeptha—the Negro overseer—made certain slaves were clearing the stalks and burning debris as they prepared the land for next year’s crop.
Alden had never seen the plantation dormant in the days before Christmas nor had he ever arrived home without his sister racing down the steps to welcome him home.
Thomas stopped the carriage and opened the door for Alden. Isaac hopped down onto the stone walkway and followed Alden up to the plantation home that was at least twice the size of his former master and mistress’s house.
It was time for the noon meal, but when Alden opened the front door, he didn’t smell roasted meat or baking bread. The wide entrance hall was silent—no sounds came from either the drawing room on the right of the great hall or the dining room on the left.
“Where are your people?” Isaac asked behind him.
“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps they’ve gone to town.”
“Perhaps,” he replied, but his family never went to town on Christmas Eve. Typically, the household was bustling with preparations for the holiday meal. His mother directed the house slaves to decorate for their annual party. The cook prepared a goose with sage dressing, the Christmas pudding with currants and raisins, and the eggnog from fresh cream, nutmeg, and Jamaican rum. His father usually worked on the accounts in his office, balking at the festivities until Mother forced him to come celebrate with their family and a few neighbors.
Alden dropped his valise on the floor and moved forward, expecting to find his mother and sister trimming the Christmas tree in the drawing room, but when he opened the door, no one was inside.
The fire had been tended in front of the settee, and the logs warmed the room with their steady blaze. An evergreen tree stood by a tall window, its crown brushing the dogwood blossoms and branches molded into the plaster ceiling. But its own branches were void of candles, tinsel, or the garlands made of colorful glass beads. There were no candles or ribboned boughs on the mantle either, no wrapped gifts under the tree.
It was as if he’d gotten the date wrong, like no one was expecting his return or the holiday.
The door at the back of the room from his father’s office opened, and his mother walked briskly toward him, her fingers arched stiffly in front of the bodice of her brown muslin dress. Her graying hair was wrapped tightly into a bun, and her lips were pursed firmly together until she saw him.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, but her voice was void of emotion.
He leaned forward, kissing her cheek. Her skin was as cold as the wind outside the house. “What’s wrong?”
She drummed her fingers together. “Benjamin has run off again.”
Alden’s chest clenched at her words. A long time ago, when Benjamin was about fourteen, Alden had told his friend that one day he would help him escape slavery. Alden had been sixteen at the time, but he’d never forgotten his promise. Six years had passed, and he still hadn’t figured out a way to help his friend. Nor, if he was honest with himself, had he tried very hard to come up with a solution.
Merely thinking about helping Benjamin was just as cheap as all the abolitionist rhetoric up in Cambridge.
“How many times has he run?” Alden asked.
“Twice since the summer. Your father is quite distraught.”
Distraught was probably a vast understatement. His father, he speculated, was raging mad. No one defied John Payne, especially not a slave. And certainly not three times.
He was shocked that his father hadn’t already sold Benjamin at the market in Charlottesville. Someone else would probably buy him and take him farther south to Mississippi or Louisiana, where it would be impossible to escape.
But then again, Benjamin had always been a good worker and was stronger than most of his father’s slaves, perhaps because he had grown up with a mother who loved him, plenty of good food, and a best friend to play with outside their house.
“Where is Mammy?” he asked, overwhelmed by concern for the woman who had raised him. She was probably in her room on her knees, praying that her son would be safe, that freedom would find Benjamin before Master Payne did.
“How am I supposed to know where that foolish woman is?”
Alden cringed. “She’s not a fool.”
His mother walked toward the tree and brushed her hands over the barren needles. “If she’d reared her son the right way, he wouldn’t be running.”
How could she call Mammy a fool? The woman had poured her life into raising not only her child but also the three Payne children. He, Eliza, and Rhody had adored her, flourished in her affection. As he grew older, he admired Mammy’s courage and tenacity even more when he realized she’d chosen joy even when she was enslaved.
In his heart, he admired Benjamin’s courage too. His determination to leave. Perhaps his friend would find the path to the elusive underground railway that traveled north, to the abolitionists who were risking their lives to help runaways find safety in Canada.
“Stella is coming this evening with her parents, along with the Morris family,” his mother said. “But if your father doesn’t return by five, it will ruin our dinner plans.”
“I’m certain they will understand.” It was perfectly fine with him if their dinner plans were ruined. His parents had decided that he and Stella Bradford were to marry after his graduation, but neither he nor Stella had agreed to this marriage. Sitting beside her, everyone hinting and prodding about their future during the meal, was agonizing for both of them.
She pointed toward the door, the glass trinkets on her bracelet clanging. “There’s soup down in the kitchen. Hattie can serve you lunch.”
“Is Rhody upstairs?”
She shook her head. “Rhody went to Charlottesville with your father. Jeptha has the dogs and other slaves searching the fields and forest.”
How strange it must be for his sixteen-year-old sister to hunt for a slave. And for the other slaves to hunt for a brother, knowing the punishment he would face if they found him—and the swift punishment they’d endure alongside Benjamin if they tried to hide him.
If a slave found Benjamin, Alden prayed they would ignore him. The dogs were another matter. They were trained to hunt and—
“Who’s that?” his mother asked, her gaze wandering from the tree branches down to Alden’s side. Isaac stepped out from behind him, his head held high.
“This is Isaac,” he explained. “Eliza sent him to help in the fields.”
His mother waved her hand. “He’s too young to do us any good.”
Isaac started to reply, but Alden placed a firm hand on his shoulder to silence him. He didn’t want Isaac sold before he’d had a chance to prove his worth.
“I’m sure he’s a hard worker,” Alden said.
“There’s nothing to him.” His mother glanced out the window and then looked back. “Did Eliza send his papers?”
Alden shook his head.
“Then we can’t even sell him,” she fumed. “Just because she can’t afford to feed another mouth—”
“I don’t eat much,” Isaac interjected.
Alden pressed into Isaac’s shoulder as a warning, but it was too late. His mother’s eyebrows pinched together, and she bent down toward him, clearly irritated that he spoke without permission. “We don’t tolerate thievery here, for as long as we decide to keep you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nor any kind of sass.”
“Missus Eliza don’t tolerate no sass either.”
His mother groaned. “Doesn’t—Eliza doesn’t tolerate any sass. Why can’t your people learn to speak the English language?”
“Probably ’cause it’s illegal to teach it to us.”
A vine of red crept up his mother’s neck and then flooded her face. Isaac was right—a slave’s education was a punishable offense. If slaves could write, they might forge their own emancipation papers. If they could read, they might find out about the abolitionists fighting for their freedom up north. And if they found out they had a home waiting for them in Canada, they might encourage a larger group of slaves to run away.
But there was no arguing this with his mother. She didn’t erupt with words like his father, but if Isaac angered her, she would make his life at Scott’s Grove miserable.
Alden pushed the boy toward the door. “I’m going to get some stew.”
She nodded grimly. “Then you must join the search.”
He didn’t answer, knowing he could never hunt for his friend like he was an animal. Instead, he planned to find Mammy.
His mother pointed a shaky finger toward Isaac. “Take that boy down to help Hattie. No matter what happens, we will have a meal to celebrate Christmas Eve.”
Back in the corridor, he leaned against the papered wall. Isaac looked up at him, his eyes wide. “Will Benjamin get away?”
“I don’t know.”
“I pray he runs like the dickens.”
“You best learn to keep your thoughts to yourself around here.”
Isaac prodded the edge of the braided rug with his bare toe. “Master Duvall lets me speak my mind.”
“What about Mrs. Duvall?”
“She usually pretends I’m not there,” the boy said, inching the rug away from the floor again. “But Master Duvall says I amuse him.”
“I’m sure you do, but the master of this house won’t be amused.”
He stood taller. “I can hold my tongue if I put my mind to it.”
“Then tell that mind of yours to lasso your tongue and don’t release it again until someone in charge asks you a direct question.”
Isaac nodded his head.
“Hattie rules the kitchen,” Alden explained. “If you do what she says, she’ll treat you well.”
“Will she feed me?” Isaac asked, rolling his hand over his stomach.
“Let’s hope she’ll feed us both.”
Alden directed him to the kitchen steps. It had been a long time since he’d been in the basement of the house. When he was a child, all his meals were served in the nursery, though every once in a while, Mammy would slip him and Benjamin down the back staircase to sample the sweet cakes or Polish tarts. Hattie pretended not to notice them.
As he grew older, he began taking his meals in the dining room with his family. Mealtimes were strict in their home, and he respected that rule along with the many others that came with managing a household of this size.
Before he stepped down toward the basement, the front door of the house banged open, and he heard boots stomping on the floor.
As the cold air swept through the corridor, he pointed Isaac downstairs. “Tell Hattie that I sent you.”
Isaac stuck out his tongue. “It’s lassoed.”
He sighed. “You can unlasso it just this once.”
Isaac muttered to himself as he walked downstairs. Alden hoped the boy would learn the many rules at Scott’s Grove so he could stay.
His father stood like a returning warrior in the entryway, with both Rhody and Jeptha standing behind him. His favorite bloodhound, Moses, was at his side.
Relief flooded over Alden when he didn’t see Benjamin, but the triumphant smile on his father’s face—and Jeptha’s grimly set jaw—expunged any hope.
His mother hurried toward them, collecting the leather cloak his father dropped onto her arm.
“We caught him,” he proclaimed.
She smoothed her hand over the leather. “Very good.”
“He won’t run away again.”
“You all must eat,” his mother directed.
His father glanced toward Alden, but didn’t greet him. “Rhody earned herself a fine meal. She was the one who found him hiding in the basement of the Congregational Church.”
The glory in Rhody’s eyes sent tremors down Alden’s spine. His younger sister had warred alongside their father, and she had won.
“Does Reverend Andrews know?” his mother asked.
“I’ll find out after Christmas. His wife claimed he was out visiting the sick today.”
“Likely story. I’ve never trusted the man.”
“I’ll find out the truth.” He retrieved his cloak from her hands before motioning toward Alden. “Come with me, son.”
Alden moved forward. “Where are we going?”
“I’ve decided not to eat quite yet.”
“But you must be famished,” his mother said.
“I need Alden’s help first in the curing barn.”