Chapter Twelve
Carrie cantered Granite down the road through the fields. She was on her way to her place, desperate to sort through what she had discovered today. She had hoped to be able to tell her father earlier than after supper, but he had left shortly after returning home to go meet someone. The thought of telling her mother never entered her mind. Mother would simply have told her to talk to her father. Carrie was confused and angry about what Sadie had confided today. It was bad enough that Ike Adams was mistreating the slaves, but there was another thought equally as troubling. Why hadn’t their people told them what was happening? Didn’t they know her father didn’t allow abuse on his plantation?
Suddenly, a movement in the field to her right caught her attention. She squinted her eyes and watched the group of slaves working the tobacco, Adams looming over one of the men her father had just bought. She saw Adams reach to the back of his saddle but couldn’t quite believe what she saw next. He was pulling out a whip. Fury choked her as she wheeled Granite and headed in their direction
“Take your shirt off, nigger,” she heard Adams growl as she drew near. So far, no one had noticed her. All eyes were glued to the drama unfolding before them.
Jupiter was standing close beside Moses. “You ain’t got to do that, Moses.” His voice was low.
Moses looked at him. “Won’t do no good,” he replied flatly. “He’s a man needs to let loose some hate.” Slowly, he peeled off his shirt.
Adams’ eyes gleamed as sunlight glinted off Moses’ sweating, muscular back. “Good, boy!” He snarled and drew his arm back.
Carrie had seen all she needed to see. “What is going on here?” she demanded in a loud, commanding voice.
Ike Adams swore, dropped the whip, and whirled his mare around. “Miss Cromwell!”
Carrie made no attempt to hide her anger. “What exactly are you doing, Mr. Adams?” Gone was her anxiety about dealing directly with the overseer. She was eighteen years old. Her daddy had taught her everything about this plantation and instilled in her a respect for their slaves. Time, and her own heart, had instilled a deep love. She stared hard at the plantation overseer.
Adams blanched, his throat working nervously. “This nigger... He was giving me trouble.”
“What kind of trouble, Mr. Adams?” Her words were clipped.
Adams shifted, his eyes darting. Then he straightened, obviously trying to regain some control. When he spoke, it was in a condescending tone. “This nigger don’t seem to think he should work, Miss Carrie. He’s been slow and lazy all day. I was thinking he needed some help to show him how Cromwell slaves work.”
Sadie’s wounds were fresh in Carrie’s mind, fueling her anger. “So you’re going to speed him up by beating him?” She made no attempt to hide the contempt in her voice.
Adams squirmed.
Moses watched.
Adams was still searching for a way out. “This nigger be a bad one, Miss Cromwell. If you don’t allow me to get him under control now, he’s going to mean big trouble later on. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I was just aiming to scare him. I know your daddy don’t like me to use the whip, but you got to show the new ones early on.” There was a whine in his voice now.
“It is not your job to make those decisions,” Carrie responded. “My father has given explicit orders that none of his slaves are to be abused. I believe your responsibility is simply to follow his orders.” She fixed him with a steely glare. “I will be taking it up with my father later. For now, I want you not to lay a hand on one of our slaves.” As long as she remained on the plantation, she was going to fulfill her responsibility. There would be no abuse. She turned to leave but quickly spun Granite back around to face the furious overseer. “One other thing, Mr. Adams. I am responsible for the medical care of all Cromwell Plantation slaves. I will be doing regular checkups. If I find any signs of abuse, you will be quite sorry.” Having delivered her final shot, Carrie turned and trotted Granite away.
Only when she was out of earshot did she allow the tears to come—tears of anger and sorrow. She turned away from the river and headed home. She would be waiting there when her father returned.
“Carrie, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Jamison. He will be staying with us for the night.”
Carrie smiled, her manner gracious, though her fists were clinched with impatience. Her father had just arrived in the company of the man he was introducing. A conversation with him would have to wait. “Hello, Mr. Jamison. It is a pleasure to have you with us.” She didn’t remember ever having met him before. She was also sure she had never heard her father speak of him. And she was positive they had not been expecting company that day, not that it made any difference. Hospitality was sacrosanct in the South.
Thomas answered her unspoken question. “Mr. Jamison came to us by way of my friend Mr. James Thomas.”
“The tobacco manufacturer?” Carrie asked.
“The very same,” Mr. Jamison agreed. “He and I grew up together as children in Caroline County. We were both equally poor back then.”
Carrie laughed at the idea of James Thomas being poor. He was now the South’s leading tobacco manufacturer, with one of the finest and most pretentious mansions in Richmond. Jamison laughed with her, a hearty laugh that spoke of enjoying life. Carrie liked the man instantly. His eyes shone clearly and the lines in his face revealed a kindness of heart. “How long will you be with us, Mr. Jamison?”
“Just until tomorrow, Miss Cromwell. I’m only here to check on the quality of the new crops. I represent Mr. Thomas in several concerns in the North.”
“Oh, do you travel often to the North?” Carrie asked, thinking of her earlier conversation with Robert.
“I live there.”
Thomas showed surprise. “I assumed you were a Southerner, sir.”
“I am a Southerner through and through. I just happen to have my current address in the North. I went to college at the University of Pennsylvania. A good business opportunity kept me there. James convinced me he needed me,” he said modestly.
“You might find your Northern address uncomfortable soon, if my reports are accurate.” Thomas’ voice was cryptic.
Jamison nodded. “You’ve heard of the rising tension?”
“Yes.”
“There does seem to be more than I have seen before, but so far it hasn’t touched me. I believe my status as a businessman must offer me some protection.”
Conversation flowed as the dishes were brought out to the table. Carrie found herself losing track of the talk as her mind drifted over the occurrences of the day. She was already planning what she would say to her father when they were alone.
Rose, from her station by the kitchen door, struggled to calm her pounding heart. She must think clearly. Too much depended on this. When she was sure no one was watching her, she had been casting covert glances at Mr. Jamison. Could he possibly be the conductor for the Underground Railroad? Everything about him spoke of a wealthy businessman. Why would he be involved in helping free slaves? What if he wasn’t the Mr. Jamison? She had received the note only yesterday. Surely he couldn’t have arrived so soon. What if it was all a setup? If she contacted him, would she discover it was all a giant hoax designed to capture slaves who had it in their heads to escape? She cast through her mind for a way to be sure, the questions colliding with each other in wild discord. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that there was no way to be absolutely certain, and she had only this night to make the critical contact. With tremendous effort, she maintained her composure. It would not do to direct any attention her way. It would only arouse suspicion later. Her face remained impassive as she picked up the tray and moved back into the dining room. She had a job to do.
“What a wonderful dinner,” Jamison said enthusiastically. “Your cook is marvelous.”
Abigail smiled. “Thank you. She has been with us for as long as I have been married to Thomas.”
Thomas nodded. “She was born here. My father always said she was the best cook in Virginia. She must be close to fifty years old now. I don’t know what we would do without her.”
“Slave or free?” Jamison asked casually.
Thomas shot his guest a sharp look. “There are no free servants on Cromwell Plantation, Mr. Jamison.”
Jamison nodded pleasantly, but he could not completely hide the faint look of distaste as he lit his cigar. Rose was certain the sudden cloud of smoke from his cigar had veiled his expression from the others at the table, but that look had done much to ease her fear. What had she told her students the night before? We can’t let fear rob us of our dreams. The only way to live is to fight those fears and do what comes to us.
Jamison stretched his long legs and leaned back in his chair. “There is still daylight. Would you object to my taking a walk around your plantation? I fear my hours in the carriage have left me quite stiff.”
“Of course,” Thomas agreed. “You are welcome to go anywhere you like. “I’m sorry I can’t join you. There are some things I need to go over with my daughter. I’m afraid they can’t wait till morning.” He ignored the questioning look Abigail threw him, turned his head away, and winked at Carrie.
Rose gathered up the remaining dishes, already casting in her mind for a way to connect with the conductor.
“What’s on your mind, Carrie?”
Carrie turned to her father as they sat on the porch swing. Dogwoods in full bloom demanded attention, but Carrie hardly noticed them tonight. “Thank you for knowing something was wrong.”
Thomas smiled gently. “How could I not know something was bothering my girl?
Carrie took a deep breath. “Mr. Adams is hurting the slaves,” she said, her voice trembling now that she was with her father.
Thomas leaned forward as his eyes narrowed. “How do you know? What is happening?” he demanded in a sharp voice.
In a voice ripe with indignation, Carrie told of Sadie’s fever and the gash on her foot. Then she told him of finding Adams as he was about to whip Moses.
“You saw him do it?”
“No, I stopped him.”
Thomas took a deep breath, his face becoming graver. “Maybe you should tell me the whole story.” Anger twisted his kind features as Carrie relived her experience. Concern darkened them as well. He sat for long moments after Carrie had finished speaking. When he responded, it was hesitantly. “I’m not sure you should have involved yourself.”
Carrie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Not get involved? You wanted me to do nothing while one of your slaves was beaten?” She couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing.
“Of course I am furious that Adams was going to abuse one of my people. He has strict orders never to lay a hand on them. If they need discipline, he is to come to me. You can be sure I will deal with Adams before this day is over.” He paused. “But that is my job, Carrie. It is best not to interfere with a man when he is doing his job. It can undermine his authority.”
Carrie shook her head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she protested. “You’ve always told me this is our plantation. How could I stand by and watch one of our people be beaten? You wanted me to ride away as if nothing was going on?”
“It’s not that simple, Carrie.” Thomas looked at his daughter and sighed. “Adams is a good overseer. He has worked hard for me, but he has a mean streak in him. I don’t want to see that turned against you.”
“I’m not scared of that cowardly man.” Carrie made no effort to hide her anger and disgust. In spite of himself, Thomas smiled. “Sometimes I don’t know where you got your spirit.”
“I got it from you,” Carrie retorted. “You told me that someday I would be responsible for Cromwell Plantation. You’ve always told me I could do whatever I had a mind to.”
“Where has this sudden desire to be a plantation mistress come from?”
“That has nothing to do with it. I still have no desire to live my life like Mama, but neither can I stand by and watch one of our people be hurt.” Carrie had yet to stop and analyze all of her feelings. She just knew there was a passion rising in her heart that was growing stronger daily.
“Carrie, I’m proud of you. I’m proud you had the courage to stop what you thought was wrong.”
“But…” Carrie prompted
“But, what?”
“I don’t know. There sounded like there was a ‘but’ at the end of that.”
Thomas laughed. “I’m used to verbal sparring with my beautiful daughter. I’m not so used to you catching me in my own game.” He sobered. “You need to be careful.”
“Careful?” Carrie echoed.
“Mr. Adams is a man who has had a great many blows to his pride. It has put a streak of meanness in him.”
“Then get rid of him.”
“It’s not that simple.” He struggled to explain as Carrie stared at him. “Our whole way of life is under attack from every direction. I’m afraid we may lose everything we’ve ever known. It’s hard to find good overseers, Carrie. I don’t know what I would do without him,” he admitted. “I’ll talk to him, though. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. If it does, just let me know.”
Carrie nodded as she tried to make sense of the conversation with her father. She wasn’t afraid of Ike Adams. She would do what she had to, but she had enough sense not to say any of this to her father.
“I’m going to go see if your mother would like to take a walk. Maybe we can catch up with Mr. Jamison.” Thomas leaned over and gave his daughter a warm kiss on her cheek. “I’ll take care of it, Carrie,” he promised.
Carrie nodded half-heartedly as he moved off the porch. She stared into the lengthening shadows with a heavy heart. She had never seen her father like this. The man she thought she knew would have congratulated her and ridden off to upbraid Adams for his behavior. Instead, he had as much as told her to stay out of it and had gone to take her mother for a walk. What was happening? She had sensed fear in his voice when he had talked about losing their way of life. Was it really that bad? Was her father really afraid their way of life was going to be destroyed? Daily, she had watched the tiny lines around his eyes increase. She hadn’t paid too much attention, but she would from now on. In the meantime, she had her own heart to figure out. She was changing, that much she knew. It bothered her that she couldn’t define the changing, or even be comfortable with it.
Jamison walked through the beautiful grounds wishing he could enjoy the peace they afforded, but his mind was too full. He was relieved at the ease with which he had gained access to Cromwell Plantation. Fellow conductors had told him the first assignment was always the hardest—and the scariest. He could only hope it got easier, but no matter. He would remain a conductor for the Underground Railroad. He had told Cromwell the truth when he said he was a Southerner through and through. He wasn’t the only Southerner who hated the idea of slavery. The gap between those who owned slaves and those who never would had broadened over the years. It was only a tiny percent of landowners who could even afford slaves. The remaining Southerners had no particular reason to be loyal to the institution. Many of them provided way stations for escaping slaves on their way north. He would be counting on some of them for this assignment. If contact was made.
Jamison had received careful instruction from the Philadelphia Abolitionist Society, but hearing it and doing it were two different things. He had traveled all the way here on the hope that a hastily transferred piece of paper had found its way into the proper hands. At best, his efforts were wasted and another attempt would be made at a later date. At worst, the paper would fall into the wrong hands and he could end up in prison. Attitudes in the South toward participants in the Underground Railroad had intensified bitterly over the last several years as more and more slaves made use of the system. Jamison shook his head. It would do no good to imagine what could happen.
One question remained foremost in his mind. Would contact be made? He had no idea how it would happen. He had fabricated his need for a walk. At least it would give him time away from prying eyes. It might give someone a chance—
A movement in the bushes caught his eye. He glanced around quickly to assure himself he was alone. His position was invisible to the house, so he stopped and waited. It might just be an animal.
Rose stepped quietly from the bushes. “Mr. Jamison?”
“Yes.” He smiled in relief. “You’re the girl who helped serve dinner?”
Rose nodded. “Mr. Jamison, I—”
“Jamison! I say, Jamison, where are you?”
Jamison jumped and whirled around. The shout was very close, and he cursed under his breath. When would he find another opportunity? He groaned and turned back to the girl, but she had disappeared.
Thomas smiled as he appeared with Abigail. Jamison inspected him and assured himself his host had not seen anything. “Cromwell. Mrs. Cromwell. How are you? ” He forced himself to breathe normally. “You have a beautiful place here. You must be very proud of it.”
“Thank you. I am. I’m sorry I had to neglect my duties as host for a time. I’m free now. Would you care to see the stables?”
“I would indeed,” Jamison replied. He steeled himself not to peer into the trees as he walked by the place the girl had appeared. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he fell into place beside his host and hostess. He barely contained his smile as he felt the folded piece of paper that had not been there just minutes earlier.
“What you up to, girl?” Sam’s voice was almost a growl as he stopped Rose on her way to the well.
“What do you mean, Sam? I’m just going after water.” In all truth, Rose had no idea what he was talking about. She was too busy trying to hide the waves of disappointment and fear washing over her. Jamison had driven off in his carriage. There had been no response to the letter she had slipped into his pocket. She had never known such fear as she felt last night when she held her breath and prayed the big oak she had chosen would hide her slender form. She slumped down on the ground and sobbed when Jamison and the Cromwells disappeared down the road to the stables. She had been so close, and then to have her chance snatched away…it seemed too cruel. She had allowed hope to keep her going last night—hope that there would be a response to her letter. That hope had been stolen from her with the departure of Jamison’s carriage. Now she had nothing left but fear—fear that it had all been a hoax, and fear that she had revealed her desire for freedom. She had heard the stories of what owners were doing to runaway slaves.
Sam was regarding her with open suspicion. “You aiming to do somethin’ stupid, Rose?”
Rose looked at him in surprise. “Sam! What in the world are you talking about?”
Sam just shook his head. “I promised your daddy I would take care of you after Marse Cromwell sold him off.”
Rose nodded impatiently. She had heard all of this plenty of times before.
Sam peered at her closely as they walked behind the well wall. He looked around and shrugged his great shoulders. “You let me know if you’ll be needing any help.” Rose had no time to reply before Sam pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slipped it into her hand. Then he turned and walked back to the house.
Rose leaned against the well to steady her trembling legs. She knew she shouldn’t read it now, that she should wait until she was safely in her room. She sank down on the ground behind the protective covering of the well, unfolded the sheet of paper, and rapidly read its contents.
She was smiling when she entered the big house.