The Pattern of Her Heart (14 page)

“John Marcus,” she called.

A muscular broad-shouldered slave stepped forward and neared the table.

“I need you to place your mark on this ledger page, which shows I have released you. That way we both have a record that you once were a slave at The Willows but are now free,” Jasmine explained.

Nolan watched as the slave leaned over the table and made his mark. John’s eyes were filled with disbelief and anticipation as Jasmine handed him a paper stating he was now a freed man.

“I’s mighty thankful, Missus,” he said, clasping the paper to his powerful chest. He held the paper high in the air and the crowd roared their approval. “I be stayin’ to help with dat cotton,” he said with a wide grin.

One by one, the slaves stepped forward, received their papers, and returned to the crowd as freed men and women—no longer subject to the whims of a white master. When the last paper had been signed, Nolan asked for a show of hands of those who planned to immediately leave. There were only two—a young man and woman who said they’d take their chances without the additional money.

“You can either begin work today or wait until tomorrow morning. It’s your choice,” Nolan said.

“Is you gonna keep count on how much we pick an’ pay us accordin’ to our work?” one of the men inquired.

“Yes. Since Mr. Draper won’t be needed to oversee you in the fields, he’ll weigh what you pick and keep a ledger account of it—and please don’t put any rocks in your bags,” Nolan said. “It won’t be me but your fellow workers who will find your actions unfair. You’ll be cheating them by receiving more than your share of the money.”

“I’s goin’ out there and get started right now,” John Marcus announced.

They watched the crowd disassemble, most of them hurrying off to retrieve their canvas picking bags.

Wendell Draper carried the table and chair back up the steps to the porch. “May I speak freely, Mr. Houston?”

“Of course.”

“Old Mr. Wainwright was a good man. He treated his slaves better than most. Personally, I think you’re making a mistake by setting these slaves free. Ain’t my decision, of course, but they’re better off right here than they’ll be trying to make it on their own up north. That problem aside, you’re going to be in mighty deep water when word spreads of what you’re doing here.”

“You planning to start the trouble?” Nolan inquired.

The overseer slowly shook his head. “I wouldn’t do such a thing, Mr. Houston. You’re misunderstanding my concern. I have no intention of saying anything to anybody, but slaves talk among themselves, just like you and I.”

Nolan shrugged. “I don’t expect them to keep their freedom a secret. It would be too much to ask.”

“You could have waited until the crop was in to tell them.”

“I won’t use slave labor to bring in a crop. And why should I care if the slaves talk among themselves? It’s human nature to discuss and make plans with your fellow man.”

Draper leaned against the porch railing. “No offense, Mr. Houston, but you’re a Northerner. I’m talking about word spreading to the other plantations. Our slaves—”

“Freed men,” Nolan corrected.

“Our
freed men
are going to go over to those other plantations and tell the slaves you’ve given them their freedom. Believe me, it won’t take long till word gets to the big house, and once word reaches the big house, the master knows. I’m afraid you’re going to be in for more trouble than you bargained for.”

“And I think you’re borrowing trouble,” Nolan replied.

September 1857

W
ITH MUCH LESS
grace and decorum than her father who was following behind her, Reggie Chamberlain bounded up the two steps of Elinor Brighton’s boardinghouse carrying a satchel stuffed with clothing and other miscellaneous belongings she believed to be the necessities of life.

“I thought perhaps you’d decided not to come and stay with me,” Elinor said from the open doorway.

“Why would you think that? I told you I wanted to come,” the girl casually replied.

Justin shrugged his shoulders and flashed an apologetic expression in Elinor’s direction. “I told her you were going to be anxious. Especially since I advised you we’d be arriving as soon as Reggie tossed a few belongings in her bag.”

“I did think you would arrive in time to join us for dinner. Have you eaten?”

“No, but Reggie had enough breakfast to hold her until supper, didn’t you, Reggie?”

The girl wagged her head back and forth. “No. I told you I was hungry when we left the house.”

Justin shifted his gaze back and forth between his daughter and Elinor. “It appears I’m incorrect. We’ll go to the Merrimack House and have a meal together. Then I’ll return with Reggie and be on my way.”

“There’s more than enough food left from dinner to feed both of you—if you have sufficient time, that is,” she offered. “You can put your satchel in the bedroom,” she said to the child.

Justin glanced at the clock. “I’m already getting a late start. I’d best be on my way. You can have Reggie eat an extra helping for me.”

“Give me a moment,” Elinor said, hurrying down the hall before he could object.

Her efficiency in the kitchen proved helpful. Within only a few minutes she had placed a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, two pieces of fried chicken, and a piece of cake in an old metal pail. She hurried back to the door and handed the tin to the pastor.

“I wouldn’t want you leaving town on an empty stomach. You can eat this along the way.”

“It’s little wonder Reggie is so fond of you,” he said.

She didn’t know exactly why, but it pleased Elinor to know Reggie had spoken kindly of her.

“I put my satchel under your bed,” Reggie announced as she skipped back into the hallway.

“And where did you place all your belongings?”

Reggie gave her a confused look. “They’re in the satchel.”

Elinor and Justin laughed aloud, but Reggie appeared vexed. “I don’t know what’s so funny.”

“I’ll explain later. Why don’t you walk your father out to the wagon and bid him good-bye. I’ll wait for you here.”

Elinor watched from the doorway as Justin leaned down and embraced his daughter. He kissed her; then they appeared to exchange a few words. Soon Reggie was running back to the house. She stopped outside the door and waved until her father was out of sight.

“Come right this way and we’ll find you something to eat,” Elinor suggested as Reggie walked back inside the house.

“Chicken would be good.”

“Then you’re in luck—because chicken is what I served for dinner today.”

Reggie giggled. “I know—my father told me.”

While the child ate her dinner, Elinor took up her needlework and began stitching.

“What are you making?”

“A sampler,” Elinor replied.

“What’s a sampler?”

“It’s a piece of needlework that is made using a variety of stitches—some difficult and some simple,” she explained. “Many times young girls make them when they first begin to sew. My first sampler is hanging in the bedroom. My grandmother taught me the stitches.”

“How come you’re making another if you already have one?”

Elinor laughed. “I think there’s plenty of space in a house for more than one sampler. However, I’m making this one for a raffle the Ladies’ Aid Society will be hosting next month—if I complete it in time.”

Reggie peered across the table. “Looks like you’re about finished. Think we could go fishing?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t know why not. It seems a perfect day, and we’ve several hours of daylight left. Did you bring your fishing pole?”

The girl bobbed her head up and down. “I put it out behind the house by your shed. I’ll go and get it,” she said, obviously delighted.

“I’ll meet you in front of the house.” Elinor tucked her stitching into a small basket, deciding to carry it along with her to the river.

“Do your boarders know I’m going to live with you?” Reggie asked as they neared the Merrimack River.

Elinor straightened the folds of her blue-and-cream-striped day dress, then settled on the grass a short distance from the water’s edge. “I believe I’ve told all of them. Why do you ask?” she inquired as she pulled her needlework from the basket.

Reggie glanced over her shoulder and met Elinor’s inquiring gaze. “Were they angry?”

“No, of course not. Besides, except for breakfast and dinner, they’re gone from early in the morning until suppertime. In the evening some of them go to town or to the library, and there might be one or two who visit in the parlor with their friends. I think you’ll find most of them nice enough.”

“Do any of them fish?” Reggie inquired as she tossed her line into the water.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard any of them mention fishing, so it appears you may be stuck with me—and perhaps Moses. Have you talked to Moses since Spencer’s departure?”

“Only once. He said since Spencer’s gone, his mama doesn’t let him come down to the river.”

“Then where did you see him?”

“At the river, but don’t tell,” Reggie said.

“I promise.”

“Spencer was mighty unhappy about going to Mississippi. We promised to write to each other.”

“And have you?” Elinor asked.

“Not yet—but he hasn’t written to me either.”

“Perhaps that’s something you can do tonight while I’m working in the kitchen. Then I can post the letter for you tomorrow. What do you think?”

“I like that idea. I wish he were here so we could go to school together.”

“What about Moses? I’m certain he’s lonely without Spencer also. Maybe the two of you can begin walking to school together. We could go and talk to his parents and see if that would work.”

“Sure would be better than having to walk into that school all by myself every day. I never saw a school quite so big as that one. I’m always scared I’ll get lost just trying to find my way around.”

Elinor laughed. “It’s not all that big, Reggie. But it is a very nice school.”

“Did you know Moses is colored?” she inquired absently.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did know that.”

“He doesn’t look colored. He looks white. But he says he’s truly colored, so I believe him. Even Spencer says it’s the truth. At my school in Maine, they don’t let the Negroes go to school with the whites. We had a colored family in our town,” she said in a whisper, as though it were a secret, “and Father said they should let the children go to school with us, but they wouldn’t.”

“That’s true in many places here in the North, Reggie. Even though most Northerners oppose slavery, they still want to keep people divided.”

“Seems silly, doesn’t it? Moses is just a boy. He’s no different than me.”

“Indeed it is silly,” Elinor replied with a warm smile. “And just as you said, Moses is a boy. But you, Miss Reggie, are not.”

Reggie frowned. “Well, I know that. But . . . well . . . you know what I mean.”

She nodded in complete understanding. “Of course I do.”

The men’s voices were escalating out of control in their upstairs meeting room at the National Building. McKinley realized that if Nathan or Matthew didn’t soon bring the group to order, pandemonium would rule.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Nathan shouted while rapping a wooden gavel on a podium at the front of the room.

But they paid him no heed. McKinley was certain that few could hear him above the clamoring din that now filled the room. Matthew motioned to McKinley. “Nathan tells me there is a bell tower above this room. The stairway is out that door,” he said while pointing toward the rear of the room. “Do you think you could make your way up there and ring the bell? It’s the only way we’re going to settle this group.”

McKinley nodded before wending his way through the crowd. The stairway proved dark and dusty, and he wondered how many years had passed since the bell had been used. He carefully made his way across the platform and unwound the rope. With a mighty heave, he pulled the rope and then spun backward and fell to the platform as the frayed rope broke off in his hand. The bell swung, and the heavy clapper fell against the iron with a mighty gong that shook the platform. Even with his ears covered, McKinley flinched at the reverberation. He edged his way back to the stairs as the momentum caused the bell to swing back and sound once again.