Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Cromwell giving you the boot, Adams?”
Ike Adams shot Jennings a withering look. “Not on yer life. He knows he can’t run that plantation without me,” he boasted. He saw no reason to tell the truth. Thomas Cromwell had not been himself since his wife had taken ill. He had merely frowned and nodded his head when Adams had no luck finding the slaves. His wife had called out then, and he had turned back into the house without another word.
Adams was a mean man, but he wasn’t entirely without feelings. He felt bad that Cromwell’s wife was so sick. He also couldn’t help being glad it had gotten him out of a rough spot. Blackwell had fired Manson when he had returned without his slaves and hired another overseer, who he said could control his people. “What happened to Manson?” he asked.
Jennings shrugged his shoulders and scowled. “Headed farther south. Somewhere in Mississippi, I think.”
Adams merely nodded and tipped his whiskey bottle back. He knew he shouldn’t be drinking. Losing the Cromwell slaves should have taught him that, but what was a man to do when the whole world was going crazy? Get drunk. Nothing else made any sense.
“Miss Carrie?”
A broad smile spread across Carrie’s face as she reached for the thick envelope Sam was holding out to her. She tucked it into her pocket, glanced over at her sleeping mother, and ran downstairs. Once outside, she headed straight for the porch swing.
Dear Carrie,
By the time you get this, it should be around the middle of October.
Carrie leaned her head back against the porch and smiled. She could almost see Aunt Abby’s calm eyes looking into her own. Their correspondence had become a lifeline for her. And Aunt Abby was right. Today was October the fourteenth. Brisk, cool air had settled onto the land, the fields were all harvested, and the slaves were busy at work mending buildings and tools before they were put away for the winter.
It was so wonderful to get your last letter, though I am sorry to hear your mother is not doing any better. I am praying daily that she will have a renewed desire to live. I also pray for your own strength and courage. I know your head is probably full of questions you want to ask God when you get to heaven...
How right she was! None of the present situation made any sense to Carrie. Daily she watched her mother waste away, and she saw the lines of worry and despair deepen on her father’s face. She sighed and turned back to her letter.
Don’t be afraid to tell God what you think. He’s big enough to take it you know. Besides, he already knows what you’re thinking and feeling. You are not alone down there. You can always talk to God.
Carrie frowned as she read that part. She would have to think about that later. She had been too tired to think about God much, especially when he seemed so detached from her life.
Life here in Philadelphia is as busy as usual. I saw Matthew Justin recently. He sends warm greetings to you. He also related an interesting experience he had. At one of his political functions, he ran into Dr. Harriet Hunt. I have told you about her and her medical school here in Philadelphia. They had quite an interesting chat and Matthew shared with her about you and your dream. Her response was that she would welcome you jumping into the fray. The water is a little brisk, but just right for those who have a strong heart! I know you despair of your dream, Carrie, but hang on. We can never know, and hardly ever understand, the path God has us walk on our way to our dreams.
My work with the society is keeping me extremely busy. More and more passengers are riding the railroad. I understand our activities are creating quite a stir in the South. That is to be expected, but I find myself greatly troubled that anger over activities such as mine is adding to the South’s determination to withdraw from our glorious Union. Yet, I cannot turn away from those who want to be free—who deserve to be free. Daily I fight the battle with my conscience. I can only hope that I am indeed doing God’s work.
Thank you for telling me a little about Robert. He sounds like a wonderful young man. You mention an issue that you are afraid will keep you apart. You do not reveal what it is, but my heart holds a pretty good guess. Regardless of what it is, you need to decide whether you can spend the rest of your life with a man who disagrees with you on an issue important to you. You have to ask yourself just how important is it to you. Is it something that could create a wedge that would drive you farther apart? Do not marry thinking that marriage itself will change someone. God is the only one who can change people when they are ready to be changed. Robert sounds like a very special and unique person. It is much to his credit that he supports your dream of being a doctor. But I wonder...how will you be a plantation wife and a doctor all at the same time? Ask yourself many questions while you are still free to ask them.
I fear this letter is becoming too serious. Alas, the condition of our country seems to warrant such seriousness. One bright spot! Recently, the society received a letter from Harriet Masters and some of the others in her little group. They are alive and well in Canada. All of them have found work and are rejoicing in their freedom.
I look forward to hearing from you soon. Take good care of yourself.
Affectionately,
Aunt Abby
Carrie finished the letter with regret. She always hated it when they came to an end. She would have given anything to be able to sit down and have a long heart-to-heart talk with her friend. The ache to see her again had not diminished with time. She folded the letter slowly, slipped it back into her pocket, and rose to return to her mother’s room. She seldom left her alone now. She stopped at the front door and looked out over the pastures. Granite was there, his head raised, staring at her. She had not ridden since Robert had been there a month before. She was too afraid to leave her mother.
Carrie hurried up the stairs to her mother’s room. She was still sleeping peacefully when Carrie settled down on the chair next to the window. She picked up her notebook and once again began to scan the voluminous notes she had taken when she and Sarah had been on their jaunts. She did not want to lose any of the information just because their hunts had stopped. “It be too late in the year for any of the magic plants to still have any healin’ powers,” Sarah had stated firmly two weeks ago. Carrie closed her eyes and envisioned the shelves in the root cellar full of old Sarah’s magic.
A rustle caused her to open her eyes. Her mother was staring at her with an odd expression on her face. “Hello, daughter,” she said softly.
“Hello, Mother.” Carrie rose, moved over to the bed and took her hand. They talked very little now. It seemed to take too much of her mother’s strength.
“Will you prop me up on the pillows, please?”
Carrie instantly obliged her, glad to see even this tiny bit of interest in life.
Abigail continued to stare at her with that odd expression on her face.
“What is it, Mama? Is there something wrong with how I look?”
Abigail blinked and shook her head. “No. I was just thinking how much I love you. How proud I am of you.”
Carrie tried to control the surprise she was sure showed on her face. She supposed she had always known her mother loved her—even when they were completely at odds with each other—but it had not been since she was a little girl that she had heard it come from her lips. She didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I love you too, Mama.”
“I know,” Abigail said. “I need to tell you something—” A spasm of coughing interrupted her words. It was several minutes before she regained her breath.
“Mama, you need to rest. Let me lay you back down,” Carrie urged.
“No.” Abigail shook her head with more determination than Carrie had seen in months.
Hope mingled with a vague uneasiness as Carrie stepped back. What had given her mother this new lease on life?
Abigail smiled and reached out to take Carrie’s hand once more. “I know you’re not like me, Carrie. I’ve tried”—she faltered—“I’ve tried to turn you into a proper plantation mistress, but I know I have failed.” Her words were softened with a smile. “You’re different than I, Carrie. That bothered me for a long time. I wanted us to be alike. I wanted you to want the same things I did. I was wrong,” she admitted with a wry expression.
Carrie stared at her mother. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“What is it you really want, Carrie?”
Carrie hesitated and then decided to speak her heart. “I want to be a doctor.”
Abigail nodded and smiled again. “I figured you would want something that impossible.”
Carrie laughed. It felt good to have her mother know the truth. She had hidden it for so long. Suddenly, she felt a gentle pressure on her hand and looked down into her mother’s eyes.
“Follow your dreams, Carrie. You are special. Don’t let anyone steal those dreams from you.” Exhausted, Abigail closed her eyes.
“Thank you, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She knew she would always carry those words—words she had thought she would never hear—close to her heart. Abigail’s eyes fluttered open again. “Robert Borden loves you.”
“I know.”
“Do you love him, Carrie?” Abigail’s voice, though weak, was intense.
Carrie struggled for the words to express her feelings. “I love him, Mama, but I’m not sure that is enough.” Her mother watched her steadily. “In so many ways he is perfect—everything I have ever dreamed of. But there are things that stand between us.”
“Such as?”
“Such as my desire to be a doctor. Robert dreams of turning Oak Meadows into another Cromwell Plantation. You know how I feel about being a proper plantation mistress. Our dreams may be too far apart.”
Abigail frowned. “I would think two people who truly love each other could figure out a way to make both their dreams come true. I admit that I don’t really understand it—I never wanted anything but what your father wanted—but surely there must be a way.”
Carrie shrugged. “There is something else, Mama.” She was determined to be honest.
“What is it, dear?”
Carrie hesitated, not sure how to proceed. “There is one very important thing we disagree on.” She faltered and then plowed ahead. “Mama, I don’t think I believe slavery is right.” There, she had said it.
Abigail frowned and shook her head slightly. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either,” Carrie admitted. “All I know is that Robert and I fight every time we get near the subject.” Memories of Aunt Abby’s letter rose in her mind. “I’m not sure I can spend the rest of my life with someone who believes so differently from me.”
Abigail peered into her eyes. “I’m trying to understand.” Her face revealed her confusion.
“I know you are,” Carrie said helplessly, “but I’m not sure I understand it myself yet. How can I expect you to understand?”
Abigail stared at her intensely. “I know Robert Borden loves you. The same way your father loves me. I hope you find a way to each other. I want you to have that kind of love.”
Carrie nodded, her throat suddenly constricted by the look of love on her mother’s face. Tears sprang to her eyes as she leaned down and gave the frail form a gentle hug. “I love you, Mama.” When she stood back up, her mother’s eyes were closed. She walked quietly back over to the window.
Her mother wasn’t done however. “Carrie?”
Carrie spun from the window. “Yes, Mama?”
“Will you do two things for me? Will you get your father...and then will you promise me you’ll go for a long ride on Granite?”
Carrie stared at her, unsure of what to say.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Abigail smiled. “I want you to enjoy it. You’ve spent too much time up here with me in this little room. You’ve been so wonderful. But today…today, I want to know you’re outside with Granite.” Her voice was strong and firm.
There was a light in her eyes that Carrie hadn’t seen in a long time. Hope sprang into her weary heart. Maybe her mother had finally turned the corner. Her mind raced as she thought of all the herbs she could use to strengthen her frail body. “All right, Mama,” she assented joyfully. “I’ll get Father, and then I’ll go for a ride.” She moved over and planted a gentle kiss on her mother’s brow. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Borden!”
Robert had just mounted his horse, and now he turned around impatiently. He was on his way to the first drill for the Goochland County cavalry unit he had founded. It had irked him to see all the militia units marching the streets the last time he had been in Richmond. More than anything, he wanted to see the country remain united, but if the worst came, he hadn’t changed his mind. He would fight. It had been easy to find eager young men like himself who wanted to be prepared for any contingencies.
“What is it, Jacobs?” he asked tersely as his overseer reined in his blowing horse. Robert looked with disapproval at the horse’s heaving sides.
“Two of your slaves are missing, Mr. Borden,” he said tautly.
Robert went rigid in his saddle. “What? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Mr. Borden. Two slaves are missing from White Hall down the road, too. Michaels down there thinks they are together. They used to all be from Oak Meadows, but you sold the two men a couple of years back. The two women missing from here are their wives.”
“How did they get away?” Robert asked. “Where were you?”
Jacobs flushed but didn’t look away. “I was doing my job, Mr. Borden. You told me to take the men and clear off the bottom field. When I got back, they were gone.”
Robert cursed and his face twisted with anger. Immediately, he was eleven years old, seeing his father ride off to hunt down the nigger who would kill him. He took a deep breath. “Get the dogs, Jacobs. We’re going after them.” His voice was deadly calm.
Jacobs stared at him and nodded. “I’ll be right back with the hounds, Mr. Borden. Them niggers can’t be far.”
Robert didn’t hear him. He was already planning the chase. He vaulted off his horse and ran into the house. Minutes later he reappeared, patting his waist to make sure his pistol was secure. All thoughts of the Goochland Cavalry Unit had fled his mind. Only one thing was important. To catch those slaves and teach them the lesson once and for all that they were no more than animals.
Carrie leaned back against the log in her special place and took deep breaths of the brisk afternoon air. Grateful for its warmth, she hugged her cloak around her body. The vibrant red, orange and yellow hues of the trees filtered the sunlight and cast a golden glow over the clearing. It was wonderful to be here. Carrie tried to think of the last time she had been alone. Memories rose in her mind and flashed across her eyes as if they were actually happening. Robert holding her gently... Telling her he loved her… Her stopping him... Carrie shoved the thoughts back. The combination of Aunt Abby’s letter and her mother’s words had made her realize she could no longer run. The time was now.
She reached into her deep pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She had heard her father talk about these papers many times. She knew they formed the basis for his beliefs about slavery. She had taken them from his office so she could find out for herself what they said. She laid them on the ground next to her and reached into her other pocket to pull out the thick envelopes she had been receiving from Aunt Abby. A Bible followed next. When she was surrounded, she stared out at the river for a long moment and then picked up the first stack.
The Scriptural theory respecting the origin of Slavery, may be stated, in brief, thus: The effect of sin—disobedience to God’s laws—upon both individuals and nations, is degradation. A people under this influence, continued through many generations, sink so low in the scale of intelligence and morality as to become incapable of safe and righteous self-government. When, by God’s appointment, slavery comes upon them—an appointment at once punitive and remedial; a punishment for sin actually committed, and at the same time a means of saving the sinning people from that utter extermination which must otherwise be their doom, and gradually raising them from the degradation into which they have sunk.
Negroes are condemned to slavery by Noah’s curse of Canaan, as recorded in Genesis. But there is hope! Of the remedial operation of slavery, we have a striking illustration in the case of the African race in our own country. In the history of nations, it would be difficult to find an instance in which a people have made more rapid progress upward and onward than the African race has made under the operation of American slavery. That they have not yet, as a people, attained a point at which they are capable of safe self-government is, we believe, conceded by everyone personally acquainted with them, and therefore capable of forming an intelligent opinion. That it may take generations yet to accomplish the gracious purposes of God in inflicting slavery upon them is very possible. The work which it has taken ages to do, it often takes ages to undo. But nothing is more certain than that God’s plan has operated well thus far.
Carrie laid the paper down and frowned. Memories of her father quoting from this paper rang clearly in her head. She shook her head and reached for another stack of papers. The sun sunk lower in the sky as her shining ebony head bent in concentration.
Slavery is authorized by the Almighty himself! The examples are many: Noah’s curse of Canaan; Abraham with his bond servants; the Hebrew servants... The treatment of slaves, especially as it regarded the degree of correction which the master might administer, occurs in Exodus. “If a man smite his servant or his maid with a rod and he die under his hand, he shall be surely punished. Notwithstanding if he continue a day or two, he shall not be punished, for he is his money.” Here we see that the master was authorized to use corporal correction toward his slaves, within certain limits. When immediate death ensued, he was to be punished as the judges might determine. But for all that came short of this, the loss of his property was held to be a sufficient penalty.
Unbidden, a scene from her childhood floated into Carrie’s mind. She had been only six or seven, and spending several days at the Blackwell Plantation. A slave had been found missing just before she returned from a clandestine meeting with her husband at the next plantation. Blackwell had insisted she be made an example of. Curious, she and Louisa had followed the overseer and the frightened woman. Carrie had never been able to erase from her mind the terrified screams of the woman as the lash had fallen repeatedly on her bare back. She had strained against the bonds that secured her to the whipping post and had begged for mercy, but there had been none. Carrie had run sobbing from the awful scene but had never been able to rid her mind of the picture. Tears once more clouded her vision as she continued to read.
In the relation of master and slave, there is incomparably more mutual love than can ever be found between the employer and the hireling. And I can readily believe it, for the very reason that it is a relation for life, and the parties, when rightly disposed, must therefore feel a stronger, and deeper interest in each other. Slaves are the happiest laborers in the world. Their wants are all provided for by their master. Their families are sure of a home and maintenance for life. In sickness they are kindly nursed. In old age they are affectionately supported. They are relieved from all anxiety for the future. Their religious privileges are generously accorded to them. Their work is light. Their holidays are numerous. And hence the strong affection which they usually manifest toward their master, and the earnest longing which many, who were persuaded to become fugitives, have been known to express, that they might be able to return. Perhaps a fugitive comes along who has fled from his master and who in justification of himself will usually give a much distorted statement of the facts, even if he does not invent them all together. People are easily deceived—their good and kindly hearts believe it all implicitly, without ever remembering the rule about hearing both sides before we form an opinion.
Aunt Abby’s strong face and shining, intelligent eyes rose in Carrie’s mind. She was not a woman to be easily deceived. Carrie thought of the roomful of people she had watched grieve as Harriet Masters haltingly told her story. Willing to defy the laws that insisted runaway slaves be returned to their owners, they gave of their time and their money. Only a deep belief could motivate such actions. Carrie also knew that a vast number of slaves were treated humanely. For all of her life, she had considered the Cromwell slaves as part of her family. There had been a genuine love given and received. A great many of her father’s friends felt the same paternalistic way that he did about their slaves. Surely there was good in that. She shook her head. Was there really an answer to this?
The next few pages rambled on at great length, but Carrie was able to cull the meaning out of the voluminous words.
The Declaration of Independence states that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” The truth is that men are not created equal. Every sensible person must know we are not all equal. There is a vast diversity among the races of mankind...with the highly privileged Anglo-Saxon now at the head. All men are born equal? The proposition is a sheer absurdity. All men are born unequal in body, in mind, and social privileges. Their intellectual facilities are unequal. Their education is unequal. Their associations are unequal. Their opportunities are unequal. Those who take the lead are sovereigns. It is their job and their mission to rule over those less equal. The writers of the Declaration of Independence surely were never referring to the Negro race or to other inferior people. Surely no one could imagine that these men intended to stultify themselves by declaring that the Negro race had rights, which nevertheless they were not ready to give them. They quite simply were not considered.
Carrie’s head pounded unmercifully as she plowed on.
The Negro is happier and better as a slave than as a free man. It is simply true that the Negro is intellectually inferior. Freedom will but sink the ex-slave lower into his degradation. He will never be fitted for freedom. It is kindness to keep the slave in bondage...
Carrie lowered the papers and sighed. With grim determination, she reached for the stack of envelopes from Aunt Abby. The older woman had been sending her little bits of information about the abolitionists in her last letters. This is not an attempt to control your thinking, she had written, just more information to throw around in your head as you try to reach a conclusion in your battle. At the time, Carrie had smiled and laid them aside. There had been too much else going on to consider more. Now she was ready. The only way to make an intelligent decision was to consider both sides. She knew most of her friends wouldn’t even have bothered. They were content to continue on as they always had, believing the things they had been taught to believe. Her heart had been troubled for a long time, but was there evidence against slavery that would trouble her mind as well?
The sun sank even lower in the sky as Carrie poured over the information, jumping back and forth to her Bible to double check references. Granite snorted impatiently, but his mistress was too engrossed to hear him. Finally, she leaned back against her log. Deep in thought, she allowed all she had read to filter through her mind.
She had often heard that immediate emancipation would cause social disintegration and economic decline because Negroes would not be able to bear freedom responsibly. This theory had been disproved by an intense study of the emancipation of 800,000 slaves in the West Indies. The free Negroes had actually worked harder because they were working for themselves.
Another argument she had heard many times was that American slavery was a socially beneficial system and that Negroes fared better as slaves than free men. But a system which allowed such deprivation and violation of human rights and such cruelties could not be called beneficial. One overriding theme that ran throughout the abolitionist literature was the one that most caught her heart and mind, however.
Jesus said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.
Carrie frowned, deep in thought as she allowed this verse to run over and over through her mind. Jesus had said clearly that a Christian was not to treat others worse than he himself would be treated. The battle raging in her head was relentless, but this time she was going to fight through. She wanted to know the truth. She picked up a single sheet of paper and leaned back to read again the letter from the Quaker John Woolman.
Dear Friends,
If we continually bear in mind the royal law of doing to others as we would be done by, we shall never think of bereaving our fellow-creatures of that valuable blessing liberty, nor to grow rich by their bondage. To live in ease and plenty by the toll of those whom violence and cruelty have put in our power, is neither consistent with Christianity nor common justice, and we have good reason to believe draws down the displeasure of Heaven; it being a melancholy, but true reflection, that where slave-keeping prevails, pure religion and sobriety declines as it evidently tends to harden the heart and render the soul less susceptible of that Holy Spirit of love, meekness, and charity, which is the peculiar character of a true Christian. How then can we, who have been concerned to publish the Gospel of universal love and peace among mankind, be so inconsistent with ourselves as to purchase such who are prisoners of war, and thereby encourage this unchristian practice.... Let us make their case our own, and consider what we should think, and how we should feel, were we in their circumstances. Remember our blessed Redeemer’s positive command “to do unto others as we would have them to do unto us” (Luke 6:31); and that “with what measure we mete, it shall be measured to us again” (Luke 6:38). “Love one another,” says He, “as I have loved you” (John 15:12). How can we be said to love our brethren…and for selfish ends keep them in bondage. If it be for your own private gain, or any motive other than their good, it is much to be feared that the love of God and the influence of the Holy Spirit is not the prevailing principle in you, and that your hearts are not sufficiently redeemed from the world.
Carrie laid the paper aside and buried her aching head in her hands. Her father would say this letter was the emotional pandering of one who had no understanding of the destiny Southern plantation owners had inherited from God. Truly, there was good and bad on both sides. There were many slaves who, emancipated, had floundered in their freedom and been unable to make it. Many more had built wonderful lives for themselves. There were many slaves who were well treated and cared for by their owners. There were many who were abused and treated as nothing but animals and property. Suddenly Sarah’s words popped into her head.
“Ain’t nothin’ more I’d like den to be free, Miss Carrie. Slavery don’t just take a person’s body. It tries to take their soul—their mind. It tells dem they ain’t really a person. They just a thin’ to be used by someone else.”
She could see Sarah sitting serenely in her straight-back chair, gazing at her with steady eyes. Sarah had been at Cromwell for twenty years. She was well treated, yet all she wanted was to be free.
“It’s true dat some black folk ain’t as smart as some white folk, but dats just because dey ain’t had the chance to learn,” she had said. Then, with a quiet twinkle in her eye, she had added, “I know some white folk who ain’t nearly as smart as some black folk I know. The color of the skin don’t make no difference. It’s what be in the head and heart that counts.”
Tears filled Carrie’s eyes as the battle intensified, knotting her stomach until she felt sick. What was the truth? She knew what other people thought, but she desperately needed the truth. They all claimed to base their beliefs on scripture, but they couldn’t all be right.
Ask me.
The voice was inaudible, but clear in her heart. Carrie’s eyes drifted to the Bible in her lap.
My voice is the only one that counts. The only way to know truth is to know my heart.
Tears filled Carrie’s eyes as she rose, turned toward the log, and sank to her knees. Resting her arms on the moss-covered surface, she raised her eyes toward the sky. “God, please. What is the truth?” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably as the confusion of the past six months overwhelmed her.
Gradually she calmed. She had no idea how long she had been there when she finally raised her head. She looked toward the river and was shocked to see the sun had dipped belo