Bon Marche (21 page)

The next morning, they buried him within the circle of giant boxwoods at the entrance to his beloved Elkwood in a rough wooden coffin cut from his own trees. He was only fifty years old.

Christmas would not be celebrated that year.

14

H
IS
monotonous tone belied the importance of what he was reading. Richmond lawyer Millard Exner, a self-important, pompous man who had trouble keeping his false teeth in place when he spoke, droned his way through the last will and testament of Marshall Statler. His audience in the Elkwood drawing room consisted of Statler's daughters and their husbands. The date was January 2, 1793.

“‘To my eldest daughter, Katherine, and her husband, Funston Lee,'” Exner intoned, “‘I jointly leave all of the property known as Elkwood, with the exceptions noted below.'”

A startled expression came to Lee's face when he heard the word “exceptions.” He was disturbed, too, by the fact that the inheritance carried the joint provision. It was not normal procedure for a woman to be given a role in the control of property. But he said nothing.

There followed a detailed description of the assets of the plantation: acreage—a surveyor's report was noted—buildings, a full list of the slaves held, and inventory of the furnishings in the main house, a catalog of the livestock holdings. But no mention was made of horses. It was most thorough.

“‘To my younger daughter, Martha, and her husband, Charles Dewey, also known as Charles Dupree, I jointly leave the approximate six hundred acres originally deeded to them as a gift on their wedding day…'” It was plain that Statler had wanted no misunderstanding about the ownership of the underfarm property; the document was augmented with another surveyor's report.

“‘To the aforementioned Charles Dewey,'” the lawyer went on, “‘in recognition of his loyalty and his exemplary work in behalf of the Elkwood equine interests, I leave the following horses…'”

There was a roster of eleven stallions and twenty-three brood mares, a precise list including the dam and sire, and granddam and grandsire, of each animal. As Exner's monotone detailed the names of the blooded horses, Lee's face flushed angrily. “‘All other equines not specifically listed here remain the property of the Elkwood estate.'”

Then, at the end: “‘Being of sound mind and in full control of my faculties, I do set my hand to this last will and testament, trusting in God and the laws of Virginia.' It's signed ‘Marshall Statler,'” the lawyer explained, “and witnessed by myself and by the Virginia clerk of courts in Richmond.”

Lee, in obvious annoyance, spoke immediately: “May I ask, sir, the date of that signing?”

“May 31, 1786. That was a little more than a year after your weddings, as you may recall.”

“There's no doubt about that date?”

The lawyer frowned. “Of course not. Is there some reason you would question the date?”

Funston coughed nervously. “As you may be aware, Mr. Statler was, at times, mentally indisposed in his last years, and—”

“I can assure you,” Exner interrupted sharply, “that Mr. Statler was, as the will says, of sound mind and in full control of his faculties when this document was drawn, which was long before his difficulties began.” There was a pause. “Is there something that disturbs you about the terms?”

“Frankly, there is—the list of horses to go to Dewey. You may not be aware, sir, but that list represents
all
of the stallions—all of them!—and fully half of the broodmares.”

“Yes. That was my understanding when I drew the will for him.”

Lee grunted disconsolately. “A rather generous bequest, don't you think, to a man of … specious background?”

Katherine glared at her husband. Dewey's face was an impassive mask.

Exner struggled to maintain his professional demeanor. “The
background
of concern to Mr. Statler”—he searched the papers for the exact phrase —“was Mr. Dewey's ‘loyalty and exemplary work.' It was for that reason that he made the bequest. I doubt that he thought it overgenerous.”

“I find it hard to believe that he intended to give the Frenchman
all
of the stallions, leaving Elkwood without any.” Lee continued to speak of Charles as if he weren't in the room.

“There's no doubt in my mind that such was Mr. Statler's exact intent,” the lawyer said firmly.

“I fail to understand how he—”

Exner cut him off angrily. “Were I you, Mr. Lee, I would recognize the other side of the coin, sir! His bequest to you—and to your wife, of course—is quite substantial. Quite substantial, indeed. In the matter of horses, you retain all those in training and all of the younger animals born since the drawing of the will. So I question that you've been duly inconvenienced in your equine business. I might have expected, sir, that there would be a show of gratitude on your part!”

Lee was silenced by the chastisement.

“Are there any other questions?” the lawyer asked.

Katherine got to her feet. “No more questions, Mr. Exner. I appreciate the service you gave our father and this family. And I thank you for it.”

When the lawyer had said his good-byes and had left the mansion, Funston snarled at Charles, “When can you remove the stallions from Elkwood property?”

Charles smiled. “The Frenchman,” he said, “will do that within the hour.”

“One other thing, Dewey—from this day I shall take over the running of the Elkwood horses. If there are any in training in your barns they should be returned immediately.”

“As you wish.” Charles made a mocking formal bow to his brother-in-law. “Your servant, sir.”

II

D
EWEY
had not yet completed his breakfast the next morning when Marshall Statler's old butler, Samuel, was at his door.

“I believe that Mr. Statler told you,” Samuel said to him, “that I'm a freeman.”

“Yes, he did.”

“But you may not know that my full name is Samuel Wilkins.” There was a hint of accusation in the statement.

“No,” Charles admitted, “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it is,” Samuel said forcefully, “and this morning I'm reclaiming that name! I'm free again.”

Dewey nodded. He didn't know what he was expected to contribute to the conversation.

“I've left Elkwood for good,” the black man told him, “although Mr. Lee has said that I couldn't.”

Hate burned in his eyes.

“Last night I told Mr. Lee that I intended to return to Philadelphia, and we had a … well, a bitter argument. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that no nigger at Elkwood is a freeman, and that if I wanted to keep my position at the main house, I'd have to understand that from now on. He threatened to turn me over to Mr. Caldwell, the overseer of the field hands.” Samuel shuddered at the thought.

“So you're running away?”

“No, sir, not running away.
Slaves
run away. I'm just leaving, as any free man would leave a position he no longer wanted to hold.”

“I understand. You're right, of course.”

“I was sure you'd understand,” Samuel said. “And that's why I've come to you for help. I need a horse, sir.”

“You have it.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there any other way I can help you?” Charles asked.

“No, sir. When Mr. Exner was here yesterday for the reading of the will, he told me in confidence that Mr. Statler had left me a personal bequest of a hundred pounds in cash. And he told me I could have it any time I wanted to claim it at his office. I intend to ride to Richmond now, get the money, and then proceed on to Philadelphia.”

“Does Lee know you've left?”

Samuel shook his head. “I don't imagine he knows it at this moment—I left the mansion before first light—but certainly he'll know soon enough.”

“Perhaps you ought to make haste, then.”

“Yes, sir, I believe I should.”

A good riding horse was quickly saddled. Charles boosted the black man into the saddle and bade him farewell.

“I'll send you money for the horse when I get to Philadelphia,” Samuel said.

“No need. Think of it as payment for the kindnesses you have shown me over the years.”

Samuel grinned. “I'll accept that, sir, and thank you again.”

“God speed, Samuel … uh … Mr. Wilkins.”

The black man nodded to him, spurred the horse, and was gone.

Charles expected that Funston would come calling later in the day, inquiring about the butler. But the day sped by without his hearing anything more about Samuel Wilkins. He felt good about that. One Negro, at least, would not know Funston Lee's boot again.

III

I
T
was noon when Samuel reached the Richmond law office, collected his money, and rode north toward Fredericksburg. He rode easily, not wanting to use up the horse. By nightfall, he had passed Fredericksburg and had reached Accotink, south of Alexandria.

Dismounting in a small wooded glade, he unsaddled the horse, tethering it where it could graze. He lit a small fire. As he began to prepare a place where he might sleep, his horse nickered nervously. Samuel heard the snap of twigs.

“Who's there?” he called out into the darkness.

Two white men, leading their horses, came into the circle of light made by the fire.

“Well, well,” the taller of the two said, “what's this? A runaway nigger?”

“No, sir,” Samuel answered firmly but politely. “My name is Wilkins. I'm a freeman.”

“Wilkins, eh?” The tall man laughed. “Would that be Samuel Wilkins?”

“Yes.” He fought against showing his sudden fright.

“Mr. Funston Lee's Samuel?”

Now his fright was genuine. This white man knew who he was. “No, sir,” he said, trying to be calm. “As I told you, sir, I'm a freeman.”

The two men tied their horses to a tree and squatted down by the fire next to Samuel. Their actions were unhurried.

“Now, Samuel,” the taller man said quietly, “we been ridin' after you all day an' our asses is sore. So don't give us no trouble. We know you're runnin' away from Mr. Lee. But, Mr. Lee, he's a generous man. He told us just to find you an' bring you back. An' no more'll be said 'bout this.”

“I'm not going back. I'm a freeman!”

“That ain't the way Mr. Lee tells it.”

“Mr. Lee is mistaken,” Samuel insisted.

“You callin' him a liar, boy?”

“No, certainly not,” the Negro said cautiously. “But Mr. Statler employed me some years ago in Philadelphia, and Mr. Lee may not have known the details of that employment.”

The shorter man spoke for the first time. “My, don't this nigger talk nice? I declare, I think this boy's been to school.”

“I have been,” Samuel said quickly, seeing an opening that might convince the men that he wasn't a slave. “I was educated in Philadelphia, where Mr. Statler hired me.”

“That sure is a nice story, boy. But it don't make no difference. Mr. Lee says you're his nigger, an' we was to bring you back. And that's what we plan to do.”

“No!”

“You got a smart mouth, nigger!”

“Come on,” the tall man said, “let's stop this nonsense an' get on with it. Saddle up your horse, boy, an' let's get goin'.”

“I'll not go back to Elkwood. I'm a freeman, I tell you!”

The tall man slapped Samuel hard across the face. “I heard enough, boy! Saddle up that damned horse!”

“No.”

Samuel came to his feet, backing away from them.

“Boy, don't give me no trouble!”

The tall man advanced on him, smashing a fist into his mouth. Samuel staggered but managed to keep his feet. He lunged forward, grappling with the younger and stronger man, managing to get in several blows before they overpowered him. They struck him repeatedly until he was unconscious.

“Sonofabitch!” the shorter man snarled. He spat in the Negro's face.

The tall man dropped to his knees, searching through Samuel's pockets.

“Hey, look at here!” he said, holding up the money he found. “This nigger is rich!”

“Lee didn't mention no money,” the companion said.

“He didn't, did he?” Grinning, the tall man counted the money. “Goddamn! A hundred pounds! Now, ain't this fortunate? Kind of a windfall, you might say.”

He divided the money equally, handing fifty pounds to the shorter one, who agreed, “Yep, a real nice windfall.”

He raised a hand then, in warning. “Maybe this nigger'll shoot off his smart mouth 'bout the money when we get back to Elkwood.”

“The way I see it, a hundred pounds is better'n the ten pounds Lee was gonna pay us for bringin' this nigger back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Suppose we don't bring him back? We ain't gonna get the ten pounds from Lee, but we get to keep this hundred. Now, whatta you suppose we oughta do?”

“Ain't but one thing we
can
do,” the shorter man said.

He drew a pistol and shot Samuel in the face. The impact of the point-blank shot blew the black man's features away.

“That oughta solve our problem, it seems to me.”

“Yep, solves it real nice. 'Course Lee ain't gonna get his nigger back.”

The murderer laughed. “Ain't it too damned bad we couldn't find him?”

“What are we gonna do with the horse?”

“Well, we don't want him wanderin' back to wherever the nigger got him. Somebody might start askin' questions.”

The animal was dispatched with a pistol shot in the ear.

The white men mounted their horses, wheeled them about, and rode into the shadows.

In time, the small fire flickered out, the darkness of the Virginia night drawing a blanket over the horror of the scene.