Storm Clouds Rolling In (7 page)

Robert nodded.
“Can I meet him?”

“Certainly.
Father?” Carrie placed her balled-up napkin on the table and rose from her chair.

“By all means.”
Thomas smiled and stood as well. “Robert, Carrie isn’t exaggerating when she says he’s the best in the state. I’ve yet to see a finer Thoroughbred than this gelding.” He walked with them to the front door. “I’ll be in the parlor with your mother when you two return. Take your time. It’s a nice evening.”

The air was soft and fragrant when the two left the porch and ventured out onto the lawn.
Carrie’s thoughts were occupied with the competition the following day. She turned to smile up at Robert. “Granite should still be in the stables. I told Miles I was going to bring him a treat before he put him out for the night.” Holding up a carrot, she said, “He deserves a reward for getting me home in time for dinner. I was rather a wet mess, but we made it in time.” She laughed merrily.

“A wet mess?” Robert looked bemused.

“Yes.” Briefly, Carrie told him of her rather wild ride back to the plantation. She finished with, “I haven’t had so much fun in a long time.” Then her face clouded. “I’m afraid my mother finds me rather a helpless case.” She looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged and looked up at him with an impish grin. “We can’t all be what we’re expected to be though, can we?” With those words she disappeared into the shadowy barn.
 

Carrie stared into the mirror as Rose brushed her hair with long
, sweeping strokes.

Finally Rose broke the long silence.
“You okay, Miss Carrie? You’ve been mighty thoughtful since you came upstairs.” The quiet question invited one of the heart-to-hear
t
conversations they often had.

Carrie shook her head, obviously not willing to talk about what she was feeling.
“I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

Rose continued to brush Carrie’s hair until the ebony mass
shined in the lantern light. Soft spring air flowed in through the window, billowing the edges of the curtains and causing the lantern light to cast swirling shadows on the floor.

Finally Carrie broke from her reverie.
“Thanks Rose. I’m very tired. You can go now.”

Rose sensed her friend and mistress was deeply troubled about something but knew Carrie would talk to her about it when she was ready.
Rose nodded, patted her shoulder, and turned to leave.

Carrie’s voice stopped her.
“We’ll finish our reading on Monday. I’m sorry I’m so distracted. Do you mind terribly?”

Rose shook her head.
“I’m tired too, Miss Carrie. Finishing on Monday will be just fine.” She patted Carrie’s shoulder again, walked to the door, eased it open, and closed it quietly behind her. The great house had grown very quiet. Rose moved noiselessly down the gleaming hallway toward her room at the rear of the house. No one knew about the lessons her mistress gave her on a regular basis. Master Cromwell knew only that she could read, and only at the most basic level. The Cromwells would have demanded the lessons cease if they knew Carrie was teaching her all that she herself was learning. Rose had a quenchless thirst for knowledge and soaked up all she could learn, and she had discovered ways to learn even more. Slipping into her room, she quickly lit the stubby candle on her windowsill. She had managed to slip it out of the kitchen that day. It would give her maybe twenty minutes of light. Reaching under her thin horsehair mattress, she pulled out the book she had slipped from Master Cromwell’s library earlier that week. She knew she would be beaten—even by her kindly master—if it was discovered, but she was willing to take the risk. She had her reasons.
 

Carrie continued to stare into the gilded mirror gracing her wall.
Tonight the reflective depths seemed to pull her into their shimmering waves. As she stared into the glass, it seemed to echo back all of her troubling thoughts and emotions. The creaking night noises of the house seemed to be swallowed by its embrace. Carrie’s mind traveled back as she let it pull her in. Back to the time when the mirror first landed on American shores. Back to the time when her European ancestors, having left everything they knew, had arrived to start a new life.

She knew the story.
Her great-grandmother had left a life of comfort and luxury in England to travel to the wild American colonies with her husband, who was convinced America was the land of opportunity and riches. She had left everything behind. Everything but the grand mirror. It had arrived in America boxed carefully in a wooden crate to protect it from the rigors of sea travel. It had remained in the box for almost ten years, mocking her ancestor for thinking America would offer it a home grand enough for its beauty. Yet, finally, her great-grandfather had indeed carved a home from the wilderness fine enough to be a home for the ornately sculpted mirror. Almost six feet tall, it commanded admiration from all who saw it. Abigail Cromwell had wanted it moved from Carrie’s room and taken downstairs to grace the majestic hallway. Her husband, usually bending to her demands, had remained adamant that the mirror stay in Carrie’s room.

“The mirror has always been there
, and there it will remain.” When Thomas Cromwell spoke in that tone of voice, no one argued with him. The matter was already settled.

The mirror had become Carrie’s confidant.
Tonight was no exception. She felt its depths probe her own, asking if she were equal to her ancestors. Asking if she had the same courage, the same strength of heart her great-grandmother Natalie had possessed. Carrie could only stare into its murky shadows that reflected the light of the lantern, praying with all her heart that she did, and questioning the sudden need for the mirror to know.

Her reverie was broken by the sudden clatter of wheels on the cobblestones out in front of the house.
Moving to her window, she watched as the overseer, Mr. Adams, joined her father on the front porch to meet the wagon pulling up to the house. Huddled in the back of the wagon against the early spring air were the ten slaves her father had purchased the day before in Richmond. The conversation between the three men was brief. Her father nodded and turned back into the house. Mr. Adams joined the other man on the seat of the wagon and indicated with a nod of his head the direction of the slave quarters.

Carrie watched as the wagon rumbled away into the darkness and then crawled into bed to ponder the restless stirrings in her heart
, wishing she could be in the quarters to witness what was happening.

THREE

Moses gritted his teeth as he fought to still the rage rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. Gripping the small square of material that held his few belongings, he cast his eyes around the small clearing as the wagon rumbled to a stop.

Dark shapes appeared in the doorways of tiny cabins, dim lamplight offering no more identity than gender.
Soft conversation faded into silence as compassionate, understanding eyes followed the huddled forms in the back of the wagon. Many Cromwell slaves had never been further than the fields of Master Cromwell. There were plenty more, however, who were far too familiar with the upheaval and heartbreak of leaving family and home because of the auction block.

“This is far enough!” Adams yelled into the silent darkness.
“Unload them here.”

He jumped from the wagon
, released the pegs that held its gate closed, and let it fall to the ground. “This is your new home. You might as well start getting used to it.” His mocking laugh rang out into the night air as he jumped back on the wagon seat. The last huddled shape spilled onto the ground and he waved the driver on.

No one had moved from their doorways.
As if in honor of their grief, no one wished to break the silence. Moses shifted, wondering where he was supposed to go. Surely someone was in charge around here. At his home plantation, there had always been someone in charge of the new slaves. The thought of home, of his family, caused a mixture of rage and grief to struggle for control of his body. Silently he fought off the weakness engulfing him.

The rest of his group seemed just as bewildered.
It had been a long two days. Herded onto the auction block early the morning before, they had been sold and then moved to a holding area to await transportation to their new owner. Their holding area had been the back of the wagon. They had been left to sit in the bright sunshine until the sun was high in the sky, with neither food nor drink. Finally the driver had ambled up and, without a word, begun the seemingly endless drive that deposited them here long after the sun had gone down.

No one moved until the rumble of the wagon wheels faded in the distance.
Then the soft rustle of a long dress broke the stillness. “I ‘magine y’all be right thirsty and hungry.”

Moses strained his eyes to determine where the mellow, smooth tones were coming from.
Finally the owner of the voice moved close enough to see. Gliding toward them was a tiny woman clothed simply in a white cotton dress. Her hair, gilded with silver, reflected the dim light shining through the cabin doors. It was her eyes, though, that held Moses’s attention. The ebony eyes shone with a light that came from somewhere deep within. He fastened his own weary eyes on her as she glided to a stop in front of them.

“Welcome to Cromwell Plantation.
My name be Sarah. I know y’all must be mighty tuckered out. And none of y’all look as if you’ve et at all today. We’re fixin’ to fix dat problem.”

Her words were a signal to all the other watchers.
Nameless shapes turned to disappear into their cabins. Moments later, they reappeared with corn cakes and large mugs of cold water. As Moses watched, two more women appeared with a basket full of fresh baked sweet potatoes. One man set up a primitive wooden table near the bewildered arrivals. The women deposited their bounty on the table and stood back with gentle smiles.

It was all Moses could do to keep from bolting to the table.
His last food had been a piece of bread early that morning, but he waited along with the rest of the new slaves.

“Let’s pray,” Sarah said,
lowering her still beautiful lined face.

Moses watched in astonishment as others bowed their heads.
Finally he allowed his head to bend down toward his massive chest in a gesture of respect.

“Father, thanks for this her’ food.
Thank you too, for the safety you done given our new friends here. Amen.” Sarah raised her head. “Y’all can eat now.”

Moses didn’t need to hear anything else.
With one giant stride he was at the side of the table, his towering frame dwarfing the tiny woman standing next to it. His eyes devoured the table, but he forced himself to look down at Sarah. “Thank ya, ma’am.” His duty taken care of, his work-worn hands reached down to grab several corn cakes and a couple of sweet potatoes from the piles waiting for them. He spotted a tall oak tree on the edge of the clearing and sank down next to it, allowing his long legs to stretch out for the first time that day. He had been careful to make eye contact with no one, save for his brief thank you to Sarah. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to eat, and he wanted to be left alone.