Chapter 4
Scott’s Grove
December 1853
The stench of decaying leaves seeped between the walls of the curing barn and out into the yard. Alden hesitated by the door, afraid of what he would find inside. His father hadn’t spoken to him during their walk to the barn, hadn’t asked about his journey or his last term of school. Silence was one of the many weapons in his arsenal, and often it felt more destructive than his words.
Moses waited patiently beside Alden as Master Payne stepped into the door of the barn and returned with another of his weapons, a long black whip, the strips of leather coiled at his side. “It’s time for you to grow up, Alden.”
His heart beat faster as he eyed the whip. “I’ve already grown up.”
“You’ve been pandering too long.”
Bitterness boiled in Alden’s throat, his heart slamming against his chest. His father had no idea what he had been doing, and he didn’t care to know. “I’ve been studying law, not pandering to anyone.”
His father held out the whip, but Alden didn’t take it. “Where is Benjamin?” he asked.
“By the pillory.”
Alden followed his father and Moses into the barn, between the wooden racks and ropes that held the tobacco as it dried each summer and fall. Light slipped through the cracks in the walls, falling on scraps of dried leaves and straw that cluttered the dirt floor.
The wooden pillory was located at the other end of the barn, positioned by the back entrance so their slaves could see them whenever they entered the barn. Usually Jeptha flogged the slaves who’d tried to run, but his father was seething in his anger—it seemed at both Benjamin and Alden.
Was it because he and Benjamin had once been friends? Or because Alden had been determined to finish law school? Or perhaps his father finally realized that Alden hated the institution called slavery.
Benjamin’s head wasn’t in the pillory, but his legs were shackled to it, his face bloodied, back bare. At one time, his friend’s gaze had been filled with mischievousness—laughter—but all Alden saw now was rage, like the anger that boiled in his father.
What would his fellow students do if they saw Benjamin here in chains? The abolitionists would be livid at the injustice of it. It might even incite them to give up their cigars.
Moses growled as John spoke to Benjamin. “Apparently Jeptha and I haven’t given you enough incentive to stay on the plantation,” he said, his voice steely and cool. “This time you won’t forget to stay where God meant for you to be.”
Benjamin jerked against the shackles around his ankles. “You don’t speak on behalf of God, John Payne.”
He leaned toward the young man. “Master Payne.”
Benjamin stilled, his gaze strong. “Only master I have is Master Jesus.”
Alden’s father unwound the whip, cracked it toward the pillory. Alden flinched as the sound echoed through the barn. He remembered the lashes on his own backside when he’d been a child, after he’d convinced Benjamin to go swimming in Morris Creek. The bruises had lasted for weeks.
His father held the handle out toward him again. “You must step into your role, son.”
Alden looked at the whip as if it were a black snake, one of the deadly moccasins that hid along the banks of the creek. And courage swelled inside him. A moccasin only killed those who didn’t respect its territory. Those who weren’t paying attention.
He met Benjamin’s gaze, and his old friend glared back at him, as if he thought Alden wanted to keep him in chains too.
Alden glanced back up at his father. “He only wants freedom, like all of us.”
“Freedom to do what?” his father asked, his voice rising.
“Get an education or run a plantation or maybe have a family.” Alden looked back at his friend. “What do you want, Benjamin?”
“Don’t say a word,” his father commanded, so bent on punishment that he refused to acknowledge Benjamin’s personhood. Or perhaps he couldn’t allow himself to acknowledge that Benjamin had the capacity to learn and lead and love. The realization might destroy him.
He threw the whip at Alden’s feet. “Flog him.”
Alden could no longer stand on that shaky middle ground, betwixt and between. The line was invisible, but it had been traced into the dirt and straw. He had to choose now, between his past and his future, between what he believed to be right and wrong.
Benjamin strained against the shackles again, continuing to struggle even when the fight was hopeless.
Alden buried his hands in his coat pockets. “I won’t flog anyone.”
“You will do it.”
“I can’t flog him,” Alden said. “Benjamin’s like a brother to me.”
“He is not your brother!”
Why didn’t his father understand? If he’d grown up with a Negro boy as his best friend, he wouldn’t be able to whip him either.
His father reached down, snatching it from the ground. “You are a coward.”
And he was right. He was a coward—not because he wouldn’t punish Benjamin but because he was afraid to stand up to his father. He hated slavery, hated the man holding the whip for promulgating it, hated himself for not doing anything to stop men like Benjamin from getting hurt.
His father took off his hat and hung it on the side of the pillory. Then he draped his coat beside it. Grabbing Benjamin by the arm, he tried to force him to stand up. Benjamin fell back against the wooden post. His body had already been beaten, and even in the dim light, Alden could see the bruises spreading across his back.
The whip cracked, snapping over Benjamin’s arms. Across his legs.
A dragon roared inside Alden, an erupting fire. He may be a coward, but he couldn’t allow his father to whip his injured friend, especially when his only crime was to pursue freedom for his life. He’d tried to honor his parents the best he could, but in this, he couldn’t turn aside.
Alden stepped between the men.
“Get out of the way,” his father demanded, waving his hand.
“If you are going to whip him, you must whip me too.”
His father lifted the whip again, fury blazing across his face. Most of the thongs hit the sleeve of Alden’s coat, but one hit his face, the pain searing his skin.
His father dropped the whip, and dust curled around his feet. “Now see what you’ve done.”
Alden covered his cheek with the back of his hand, not daring to reply. He hoped what he had done was protect Benjamin from a flogging he didn’t deserve.
His father pointed him toward the door. “Go back to the house.”
“Not without you,” Alden said. “Mother is expecting us to celebrate Christmas Eve as a family.”
His father swore; then he kicked the whip away from Benjamin before plucking his cloak and hat from the pillory. He and Moses marched back toward the door, leaving Benjamin shackled on the floor.
Alden lingered for another moment. Benjamin didn’t speak, but it seemed his anger at Alden had subsided. Benjamin gave him the slightest nod, the same look that had passed between them a hundred times when they were kids, especially when Alden was called away from their playtime to join the adults while Benjamin was allowed to stay upstairs, surrounded by their toys. He’d been jealous of him back then.
“Your mother is waiting,” his father called from the other end of the barn.
“I’ll come back for you,” Alden promised Benjamin before following his father to the house.
“What happened to your face?” Rhody asked as Alden stepped into the dining room for the Christmas Eve dinner.
“I got hit by a whip.”
His sister laughed, thinking he was making a joke.
Stella Bradford was already seated on his left, wrapped in green velvet, with lace on her sleeves, and Rhody sat across the table from her. His father was at the head of the table, his mother at its foot. Beside his father were Stella’s parents, and Mr. and Mrs. Morris, who owned the moccasin-infested creek, sat on the opposite end.
It appeared that his mother had distracted herself by decorating this afternoon. Strips of silky white were draped from the chandelier to each corner of the ceiling, and a silver candelabrum with white candles stood as the table’s centerpiece. In front of each place setting was a spray of red flowers, displayed in a slender glass vase beside the goblets of sherry.
“How was your journey?” Stella asked.
“Tolerable,” he replied. “It was snowing when I took the train through New York.”
“How I wish we would get snow this year.” Stella swirled the sherry in her goblet. “It makes everything look so magical.”
His father’s chair scraped against the wood as he stood and began to pray over the meal, an elaborate show of thanksgiving. Alden glanced around the table at all the heads bowed in prayer. How could his parents and Rhody enjoy this meal knowing that Benjamin was shackled out in the barn? That he was hurting and hungry?
His gaze landed on Thomas, who was waiting along the wallpapered wall with a silver platter in his gloved hands. His mother must have instructed Victor and Eliza’s coachman to assist the other house slaves with dinner, but he didn’t see Isaac.
In all the confusion, he’d forgotten about the boy who didn’t seem to realize he was a slave. Poor Isaac. He might be dreaming about California, but there would be no future for him outside Virginia. No schooling and no freedom even to speak his mind. His tongue would have to be lassoed for a lifetime.
After his father finished praying, Thomas stepped forward to place a fricandeau of veal on each plate. Even though the smell was intoxicating, Alden’s appetite had waned.
His mother lifted her fork. “It’s your favorite, Alden.”
“I fear my tastes have changed.”
“Oh, Alden.” Rhody laughed. “Don’t be so disagreeable.”
Part of him wished he could block out Benjamin’s face and his agony, like the rest of them. He was tired of feeling so helpless. Trapped.
Tonight, both he and Benjamin would break free.
“Did you find your slave?” Mr. Morris asked.
His father nodded. “Rhody found him for me.”
“It wasn’t hard,” she replied. “He left tracks across the church foyer.”
John took another bite of the braised veal. “Rhody’s better than any of my hound dogs.”
A proud smile slid across his sister’s face again, her youth evident in the ribbons that Mammy had woven through her blonde hair, but she was growing more mature each time he came home. And more like the man who’d reared her.
“Father taught me well.”
Alden shook his head. Even if his sister hadn’t spent hours listening to the lectures of abolitionists, how had her heart grown so cold? Alden was six years older than Rhody, but Benjamin was only four years her senior. Rhody and Benjamin had played together for years, from the time she’d been old enough to stumble over the wooden blocks in the nursery.
Rhody sipped gingerly on her sherry before changing the subject. “I heard Robert Kelly just returned from California.”
Mr. Morris leaned forward, an extra layer of flesh bulging above his collar. “Did he find his gold?”
Rhody dabbed her napkin on her lips. “Claims he brought enough home to save their plantation.”
“At least he’s doing something to help his father,” John said, pushing away his plate.
Alden ignored the slight.
“The Daily Dispatch said millions of dollars’ worth of gold are buried out there.”
“Then I wonder why he came home,” Alden said.
Rhody glanced over at him. “I’d go to California if I could.”
His mother set down her spoon. “There are no ladies out west.”
“And no slaves,” Stella said. “At least that’s what Robert said.”
“Now, Stella—” Mrs. Bradford started, but his mother’s curiosity had already been piqued.
“You’ve seen Mr. Kelly?”
Stella blushed. “I suppose I have.”
“We all visited him,” Mrs. Bradford explained. “As a family.”
As the others talked about California, an idea began to sprout in Alden’s mind. He’d been offered an apprenticeship with Judah Fallow, an attorney who’d left Boston for San Francisco more than a year ago. But what if he didn’t go alone? What if Benjamin went with him? If there really were no slaves in California, they could partner together as free men.
Stella elbowed him. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m just thinking.”
She smiled at him, the pink in her cheeks glowing in the candlelight. “About the future?”
His mother smiled as she took another bite of veal. “One more season and then Alden will be home for good.”