“She’s not reliable.” Starrat stood, legs akimbo. Attitude all sorts of defiant. “Having trouble keeping her in line. Thinks she’s some kind of priestess or something from her tribe.” He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches and rocked back on his heels.
“Well, my questions don’t concern her conduct or her alleged station,” I murmured, but wondered what exactly he meant by keeping her in line. I hoped it had nothing to do with the cursed whipping post.
The answer came as Sarah got close. Her head was bowed but it wasn’t hard to see she had a fresh purple lump under her left eye that was partially split and a swollen lip.
I gritted my teeth. It wasn’t her conduct but Starrat’s that was under question by me.
The babe was quiet, her large eyes taking in the scene.
“I’ll be wanting Sarah at Wappoo right away,” I said immediately, surprising everyone, including myself. I had only planned to speak with her, not relocate her to Wappoo. But the words, born on instinct, were out of me before I could think. “And any children she has.” I looked at her. “How many children do you have?”
She raised her eyes.
Her gaze was filled with defiance and bitterness. Toward me. Straining to keep my gaze steady, we continued looking at each other.
I swallowed down a gasp of surprise.
Starrat spat, a rough wet sound. “Answer the lady, bitch.”
The harsh word slammed through our group, and I struggled to show no reaction.
Her gaze wavered on the impact, and her spirit seemed to sink imperceptibly.
“That boy,” Starrat answered when she didn’t, indicating Lil’ Gulla. “And the brat she’s holding.”
The light coffee-skinned little girl.
Sarah’s eyes had dropped from mine again. She shifted the small girl on her hip. I had no doubt who had sired her.
Charles was still and quiet beside me. I was filled with gratitude at my friend’s support. And his silence.
I dared not look at him, but his strength was a solid wall as I dealt with the horror curdling my blood as I understood the relationship between Sarah and Starrat. Or rather, Starrat’s relationship with her. I had no doubt it was not reciprocal. Nor consensual.
A chill was moving through my body and shuddering along my bones. I knew nothing of the relations between a man and a woman firsthand, but my mother was never bruised in my recollection. Mrs. Pinckney was never bruised. I understood it wasn’t exactly enjoyable to submit to a man’s baser needs, but I knew it was not supposed to be … violent.
I willed my mind blank.
“I require her and her children at Wappoo. We have need for help at the house.” I turned to her. “Gather your things and your children. You are coming with me.”
She locked eyes with me, her glare mutinous.
I was aghast. I was saving her; how could she not see that?
“We need her here. You can’t come and just move our Negroes around. We depend on each one of them,” Starrat said angrily.
I turned to him. You depend on her, I wanted to say.
“I can and I shall.” I crossed my arms, hating how childish and petulant I sounded. “You will just have to … to make do with one less … pair of hands,” I finished. My voice was raspy, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.
Sarah turned to Quash and spoke in a staccato dialect, so I only understood a handful of words. Her body language was all wrong. She was agitated and angry. Quash answered her calmly, and the two of them seemed to battle it out before she turned and stalked away, her back stiff and head high.
“See what I mean? She’s trouble.” Starrat snorted and spat onto the dirt. “Take her then, but don’t complain to me.”
The easy way he accepted his defeat rattled me further. And a curious sense of foreboding rippled over me as he opened his mouth to speak again.
“Course, it won’t be long now before you don’t make the decisions about this land.”
I swallowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I was in town just a few days ago.” A slick, satisfied smile slid across Starrat’s face. “In Mr. Manigault’s office.”
Surprise, confusion, and dread dropped heavy in my bones.
“For what purpose?” I demanded.
Starrat chuckled eerily. “Why, bearing witness to a mortgage being placed upon this plantation, of course. Since I oversee it, I was the natural choice.”
“What?” I gasped.
Starrat raised his eyebrows innocently. “Oh, you didn’t know your father encumbered yet another property? I thought you were in charge of all his plantation affairs?”
Shock had rendered me mute. My heart thumped heavily in my throat, which had somehow forgotten how to work in any capacity. No words were there to be formed, no saliva to be swallowed, and no breath moved through me.
Starrat rocked back casually, then stuck his thumbs in his breeches before turning and walking away.
I let out a long shuddering exhale, my stomach in rebellion, and turned to my silent companion. Swaying slightly, Charles crooked an elbow for me to hold on to, and I accepted it gratefully.
“Did you know?” I croaked. “No, of course you didn’t. I—”
“Come, let’s get you into the shade. Perhaps sit down.” Charles’ brow was furrowed, his kind blue eyes seemed gray with trouble. He looked around, then obviously spied a place to do that, for he turned and led me to the long branch of a live oak whose weight had caused it to grow snaking along the ground. For the first time realizing my legs had lost their strength, I sat where indicated. In fact, perhaps my whole body had been robbed of its essence. I felt hollow and bloodless.
“How could my father do this? I was making it work,” I exclaimed. “With rice we would have … I … I just saw Manigault a few weeks ago when I was in town. Why did he not mention this?” My breath came in gasps. My tight stays and the growing heat of the morning threatened to stop my breathing altogether.
“Take a slow breath,” Charles ordered calmly. “Perhaps he didn’t know at that time?”
“Oh, he knew. I’m certain. And why would Manigault ask Starrat to be the witness and not inform me?” I choked out the last word on a squeak as the burn of tears seared my nose and eyes.
“It’s fairly common practice, I’m afraid, to have the overseer bear witness to any encumbrances upon a property. But as to the reason he didn’t inform you, I can’t say.”
“It was the most frustrating meeting. To be treated like a daft child with a harebrained scheme. Now I know what was behind that indulgent smile. He may as well have patted me on the head.” My temper flared to a new heat in my chest, and I battled not to give in to the tears of frustration that were beating at the doors to get out. “And it’s not that he sees me as a child. It’s that I’m …”
“A woman,” Charles finished for me softly. The strength of Charles’ hand closed around mine and the gesture sent a shock through me. I didn’t remove my hand. He squeezed gently, and it almost undid me. The comfort and kindness as he seemed to lend his strength made me instead want to crack apart. My stomach swirled. I closed my eyes tight as I fought to control my emotions, grateful we could have this moment that could never have happened without the privacy of where we were. The words I didn’t voice were the ones about my father and his military ambition that was bleeding us dry. An ambition born of a sense of duty and love of country that I understood as equally as I now began to resent it.
“Thank you for not coming to my aid with Starrat,” I said softly, opening my eyes. “I needed to mark my ground with that man on my own. Even though he bested me.”
He started to speak, then stopped and cocked his head. “Well, I was about to apologize for not coming to your aid sooner. Are you sure about this? About taking Sarah to Wappoo?”
“I—” My shoulders sagged. I felt hollow and confused. “No, I’m not sure. But how can I leave her here? He’s … he’s …” A shudder rolled over me again. “I need her anyway. Quash tells me she has knowledge of indigo. So, it just has to be.” And I felt sure if we didn’t leave with her, he would exact revenge just to mark my notice.
Charles nodded and stood, drawing me to my feet. “We need to go if we’re to make it back to Belmont by nightfall. Mrs. Pinckney and Miss Bartlett will be happy to see you.” Then he let go of my hand.
I made a fist as if to keep some of his comfort imprinted upon me and pressed it to my belly. “I shall be glad of their company after a day like today. You mentioned Mrs. Pinckney was unwell?”
We turned to walk back to the ferry landing.
Nearing the river, Charles paused, looking out over the wide channel to the marshy island that made up the other bank. Then he looked at me. “We wish for children, as I’m sure you know. Every time God decides we are not to be blessed, it breaks Mrs. Pinckney’s heart further.” He looked away, pain clear in his eyes.
I thought of the easy way Starrat had deposited his filthy and prolific seed in Sarah’s womb to create life.
“I’ve come to believe that a completion of happiness is not attainable in this life. And that is all I will say on the subject.” Charles smiled valiantly. “Your company will be just what she needs.”
We stood upon the dock and waited. Sarah, Quash, and Lil’ Gulla holding the hand of a chubby small girl no more than two or three years old, walked from the dwellings. Sarah held a bundle upon her head. All her earthly possessions. My heart squeezed.
“Why do you think she was so angry about the chance to leave here?” I murmured.
“Who takes care of her children while she works?” Charles responded to my question with his own.
Immediately, I understood the ramifications of my decision that had seemed so simple. There was a structure and a hierarchy among the slaves, and I was removing a piece that would have to be reinforced or worked around.
“And—” Charles broke off.
“And?”
“It shouldn’t be mentioned.”
“In such genteel or innocent company as myself?” I asked and turned to face Charles. “You wonder who will fulfill his … needs … now that Sarah is not available?”
Charles’ cheeks flushed, and then mine did too.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered and turned away, mortified for having addressed the issue aloud.
“So did your father really give orders to barrel up so much rice?” Charles cleared his throat.
“Not at all. You caught me in a bald-faced lie.” I grinned ruefully, gratefully accepting the neat change of topic.
“I knew that.” He smirked. “I told you I can read your expressions. You are a terrible liar.”
“Well, needs-must. It worked for now.”
Charles nodded. “For now.”
I woke before dawn as usual. But this morning, rather than the normal routine of running through my list of things to be done that day, I lay in cold, dark, paralyzing fear. Sweat was icy against my skin. The weight of the fear upon my chest was so heavy, it was almost impossible to breathe.
What was I doing? I needed to simply do as my father instructed. Just that and no more. And wait. It was only a few years. And really how bad would it be being married to some curmudgeon, being allowed to exert my influence only over the household and its affairs? To improve my musical ability. To spend time reading. Ahh reading! And doing needlework. It was a relaxing way to spend time. Waste time! I could call upon people and spend more time visiting and making friends and talking about … what exactly?
The panic hit me anew. If that future was suffocating, then the reality was I had to change it. But even if I made Lucas land the most profitable in all of Christendom, it might not make a difference.
I threw back the covers, forcing the panicky feeling off my chest. I imagined it dropping to the ground in a greasy thud, writhing around and disintegrating without a host from which to suck sustenance.
Almost unconsciously, I slid my hands down my chest. Then I held open the neck of my gown and made out the mounds of my small girlish breasts in the dim light. Curse these things that dictated how my mind could be utilized. I let out a long sigh. Though if I was a boy, I’d be off like my brother George would be soon. To train to be a soldier just like my father. If I was a boy I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have been charged with this duty.
Being a woman was my lot. But it was also my difference.
I reached for the bell, giving it a brief tinkle, and washed my body with a muslin at the cold basin of water as I waited for Essie.
When I was washed, I sat naked on the edge of my bed awaiting Essie’s arrival. It was relatively bright outside, and I’d thought dawn so very close, but it was the moon, full and bright white, low in the sky that had put me ahead of myself.
Understanding now that Essie wouldn’t be up for an hour or so at least, I pulled a fresh chemise from the armoire. I took hold of my braid and wrapped it around itself in a tight bun at the back of my head. My dress had been laid to air on the rack against the wall. I did the best I could with my stays, pulled the dove-gray linen dress on, and secured the skirt strings.
It was time to write to my father.
Dear Sir,
… I know how ready you are to fight in a just cause as well as the love you bear your country … in preference to every other regard …
I put down my pen, worrying my lip between my teeth. I was frustrated, but there was no point taking it out on my father. He was doing what he saw fit. And I was aware that every word I wrote to him could be the last words he would ever read. We were at war. I’d have to temper my emotion.
I have high hopes for this crop of indigo. It will save us, Papa. And if what I hear is true, it could very well be a boon for the Crown, your beloved country. Please find an indigo maker with utmost haste as I should hate to miss the chance to perfect the dye. I have been frugal. We have a little extra set aside to help with the cost of such a consultant. And perhaps, if needed, a little of the proceeds from mortgaging Waccamaw might be diverted to this cause.