The Slave Master's Son (13 page)

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CHAPTER 14

John woke up to his shoulder being shaken. “Mr. Stewart!” the elderly gentleman said, the sunshine surrounding him, giving him an angelic glow.

“We’re five miles from Charleston. This is your stop.” He shoved a tin cup of water in John’s hands. John quickly drank it without leaving a drop before handing it back to the man. He stood up and stretched as he watched the ferry approach the dock. John walked stiffly as he searched around. Stretching, he saw two women, one young and one older, selling assorted fruit. The fruit was so vibrant, it almost looked painted. He immediately purchased two oranges, tearing into them. Juice ran down his chin. He made his way to the train station ticket booth.

“I need a ticket downtown. When’s the next train?” he asked the man at the counter as he spit a seed onto the ground.

“We run through Charleston every hour. We only make one stop there though, and you’re in luck, because the next train is it. It’ll be here in forty minutes.”

He handed John his ticket. John sat down on a wooden bench and contemplated. He worked over various scenarios in his troubled and busy mind. His thoughts unexpectedly shifted to his father and Mary. His father was allowing Hannah to be visited by her mother for the birth of her grandchild who was due any day now. A part of John was sickened by the pending labor. The other part of him just desperately needed to see her even if it were only once more. Now that he knew where she was, he did not want to waste another moment. He clenched his teeth and wrung his hands. Thoughts of his father violently dragging Hannah and locking her away in the dingy, lightless room filtered into his psyche.

John laid his head back and looked wearily up at the puzzle-piece sky. He watched as the clouds slowly painted cottony pictures of dogs holding fiddles, an old woman sleeping on her side, and three boys bouncing a small ball. Another cloud came rolling past John’s gaze. It looked like two people holding hands. He smiled weakly, wiping a tiny tear from the corner of his eye. Soon he heard the train whistle. He gathered his belongings and hurriedly boarded. He leaned his head against the window and dozed off as the train descended ever closer to his adored Hannah.

* * *

“Her name’s Hannah Stewart,” John said matter-of-factly with a fist-full of papers balled up tightly in his right palm as he looked down at the clerk. “I need her address.” John’s knuckles were clenched white. He tried in vain to hide extreme irritation. The clerk looked up from behind his circular rimmed glasses.

“But Mr. Stewart, if you sold her, how is it you don’t know her location?” he asked with a Southern intonation. John cleared his throat.

“Because she was sold again. As I’ve already stated to you, several of her items were left at my estate, and she’s expecting a baby. She’ll surely want them, and her new owner would be much obliged.” The clerk looked up at John silently. He stood up and walked over to another clerk, whispering in his ear. The other clerk looked at John, tipped his hat, and walked over to a basket of records not yet recorded and verified. He picked up the basket and walked over to John.

“If she was sold within the last year, as you state, her new address would be somewhere in here. As you can see, it’d take an eternity for us to sift through this. With all the new freed slaves, estate closings, and casualties of war, we’ve had our hands full. Give us a few days and we can…”

“I don’t have a few days,” John hastily interrupted. “My name’s Master Stewart of Richmond, Virginia, and I demand this information now!” John shouted, causing people to quickly turn in his direction. A tall, slender, well dressed man with a black top hat swaggered towards John. His narrow eyes centered in closely on John’s. His face was angular and his lips, barely visible, matched the dull paleness of his flesh. His affluence was demonstrated by the expensive watch which hung from a luminous gold chain.

“Dear sir, what seems to be the matter?” he asked with a kind smile as he removed his hat from his head, exposing medium length, reddish brown locks with hints of gray.

“I’m not certain what business this is of yours,” John answered with a grimace spread over his reddened face. The man nodded and smiled as he walked up to the clerk’s desk.

“George, it’s quite obvious that this man just wishes to do a kind deed for a slave – ex-slave of his. It’d be a gentle gesture to give this one allowance.” The man reached into his pocket and slid across a handful of coins. The clerk quickly rose from his seat and hurriedly dug through the basket of papers. John turned to the stranger.

“Thank you. I didn’t realize bribery would’ve settled this matter, or I would’ve suggested such an offering. Instead, valuable time’s been wasted.” John turned to walk away and have a seat. The stranger followed him and sat down. John sternly examined him. “Who are you, and what is it you want?”

The stranger smiled and nodded. “I won’t waste any more of your time. I know Master Stewart. He’s your father. You must be John. He used to come here often for business. You and he are mirror images, minus his robustness and graying temples. What’s the true nature of your business here in South Carolina?”

“I’m here to take care of a personal matter.” John reached into his pocket and handed the man the money he’d given the clerk. “We’re even. Now please leave me.” John turned away and picked up a newspaper that way lying next to him.

“John, I don’t wish to gain anything from you except mere conversation. My name’s Winston Grant. I own a rice and indigo farm. I’m here waiting for some friends and simply happened to overhear your hardship.” John looked over the man’s clothing once more and thought to himself, “He’s beyond wealthy, even more so than Father.”

“My original plan, I believe I’ll abandon,” Mr. Grant stated, interrupting John’s train of thought. “John, not only do I know your father, I know the slave you seek – Hannah.” John rose to his feet abruptly. His heart began to pound loudly. Mr. Grant followed suit, standing up.

“I don’t own her. I do, however, know who does – my neighbor, Mr. Washington. It must be the same Hannah because she too is with child and due any day. She’s residing on Mr. Washington’s property. One of my slaves, Joseph Henry, is the father.” John’s stomach churned. His facial expression was placid as his internal organs gave way to his extreme distress.

“We can sit here for a couple of hours and allow the clerks to verify, or you can come with me,” Mr. Grant offered.

“How do I know that you’re trustworthy, Mr. Grant? Something about you moves me to suspicion. My instinct’s rarely wrong,” John added as he lifted his pant leg, revealing the top of a pistol, allowing it to glisten in the sunlight. Mr. Grant nodded, acknowledging the threat presented before him.

“You’re free to do as you wish, Mr. Stewart. I’m simply trying to offer a helping hand,” Mr. Grant assured.

“And why would you offer me a helping hand?” John laughed mockingly. “You’ve already admitted you know my father, overheard my conversation, and your slave’s expecting a child which will only add to your riches. I know who you are as well. As I sat here looking at you, my father’s tales from travels far and wide sprung back into my memory. You’re a shark, Mr. Grant. I’ve asked you several times what it is you desire from me.”

“Do you know that your father is here?” Mr. Grant asked, ignoring John’s accusations.

“Yes.” John crossed his arms.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mr. Grant asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, because Hannah is going to give birth any day now and he wants her mother to see her,” John answered, his defiance growing.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Mr. Grant questioned with a wide smile.

“No. Please get to your point. I’m not in any mood for childish games,” John snapped.

“I’m here to watch for you, and stop you, John. I was sent here by your father to ensure that you don’t find out where Hannah was located. He has no idea that you’re here but wanted me to look out for you just in case. I find it odd that he’d contact me about such a trivial matter. I have more important things to attend to, however, he’s an old friend, so I agreed to assist. Now, if you tell me what brings you here then maybe I could be of assistance,” urged Mr. Grant.

“Again, why should you be trusted? This isn’t a trivial matter for you at all, Mr. Grant. The insinuation that I could be here to stir trouble of any sort would cause you alarm. You have a vested interest in learning my purpose. You’re purportedly a friend of my father’s, though he describes a different perspective. You’ve wasted enough of my time. I’m leaving.” Mr. Grant took John’s arm. John shook him off, giving stern warning with his eyes.

“Wait!” Mr. Grant called out. “Yes, yes, I admit that I have a vested interest, but I can be trusted. I know that you need help, and for some reason, though it may cross Master Stewart terribly, I can see all over your face that you’re in desperate need. Your father and I have a long history. I’m a business man first and foremost however something does not sit well with me regarding this entire matter.”

“So now you have a conscience?” John smiled.

“Yes. Yes I do. That’s why I’ve demonstrated good faith by paying the clerk rather than informing your father that you’re here. You would’ve been none the wiser. I watched you from beginning to end. I can see your determination and I admire that.” Mr. Grant smiled. John looked at him for a moment, assessing the situation.

“Well then, Mr. Grant, what do you propose?” John asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I propose that you stay in my home. I’ll tell your father that I had no reason to suspect your arrival. When night falls, I’ll take you to Hannah. She stays in a small house behind Mr. Washington’s estate. That was part of the agreement.” Mr. Grant elaborated.

“What agreement?” John asked as the two men exited the building together.

“You’re unaware?” Mr. Grant said, surprised. “John, Hannah isn’t required to do anything she does not wish to do. The only thing that was promised is that she produce children with my slave, Henry. Master Stewart made it very clear that she’s to be treated with the utmost kindness and given her own residence and a spinning wheel. Despite all of this, Hannah grew into unbreakable sadness after her pregnancy was confirmed. She continues to deteriorate. Her mother isn’t visiting due to the pending birth; she’s coming because Hannah refuses to eat, speak, or do much of anything for the past two weeks. It’s hoped that her mother will be able to remedy the situation. There’s concern for the child. Please tell me directly why you’re concerned about Hannah?” Mr. Grant pleaded.

“I don’t care about you. Every single one of you has dirty hands,” John said with disgust, rolling his eyes. Mr. Grant pointed to his wagon.

“Let’s go to my house. You can stay in the guest residence. I give you my word that all I’ve stated is true. You may take a chance with me or go about this on your own.” Mr. Grant smoothly placed his top hat on and strode to his coach. John followed three steps behind.

* * *

“Do you have everything you need?” Mr. Grant asked as he handed John a glass of water.

“Yes, thank you,” John said as he sat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep gulp.

“Would you like anything perhaps a bit stronger?” Mr. Grant asked, brandishing an artificial smile.

“Not in the least. I’m sleeping in the lion’s den after all,” John mocked.

“You know, John, we all need Hannah to be better. If her mother can’t do it, I hope you can.” Mr. Grant waited for a response. John turned away, placed his glass on the nightstand and lay down on the bed, folding his long arms behind his head.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Mr. Grant asked, displaying a devious yet slightly worried smile as he looked down at the ground, his dark eyes quickly shooting back up at John, trying to catch the glimpse of a reaction. John looked pensively in his direction, rolled his eyes leisurely then turned back away.

“You don’t have to divulge the nature of your concern regarding Hannah to me. I do, however, have an obvious vested interest in her due to her offspring. Contrary to your assessment of me, I’m not a cruel individual. I do want what’s best for her. She has a sweet disposition. What I know to be fact is that a man of your status, position, intelligence, and privilege would come here regarding a slave for only two reasons: she ran away or you love her. We both know it’s not the first option. On to what concerns you most, though,” Mr. Grant cleared his throat. “Her house is the small wooden brown one four acres west of the Washington estate. Be careful. Good night, Master Stewart.” Mr. Grant said with a sly grin as he closed the door behind him. John sat up in bed looking towards the window. His mind raced once more.