The Wedding Gift (24 page)

“Miss Sarah, my wife met you at the market. She said you was admiring some of her fruit. Here’s a jar of her strawberry jam.”

“Oh, but, I didn’t bring….”

“No, this is a gift. Maybe next time you come you can buy something.”

“Please thank her for me, and the next time I will bring money to buy some things from the market.”

We stayed until about midnight, and then Kate and I met the others from the house and the man who drove us at his family’s cabin. When I arrived at my cabin, I locked the door and opened the package, which was wrapped in brown paper and tied at the top with a string. There were stones instead of jam in the bottle. An unsigned letter in a blank envelope that was wrapped around the bottle asked the bearer to write a traveling pass and to speak with the slave from the washroom about the names and descriptions of the slaves who needed the pass. The sender enclosed a sheet of stationery with Mr. Wilkes’ letterhead and instructed the bearer to use a pen and ink from the house. The bearer was to make the pass by the next day, put it in the envelope, wrap it around the same bottle, and then cover the bottle. A different person would retrieve the package the next evening. I was afraid but also excited.

I rose before dawn Sunday morning and went to the kitchen to start the fire. When the cook arrived, I had drawn water from the well and made tea.

“Why you up so early?”

“I was at the fields last night and I want to see Miss Clarissa to make sure that she’s all right.”

I went to the house and the night watchman let me enter. I put the tea service on a table next to Clarissa’s bed. She was asleep. There were two pens on the desk in her room and bottles of ink in the drawer. It was not likely that anyone would know if these items were missing because I was the only one who polished and dusted the desk. It was not difficult to fit the pen in my pocket, but the ink was visible. I went to the broom cabinet and took my pail to Clarissa’s room. I put the pen and ink under my cleaning rags and took my bucket to my cabin. On the way, the only people I saw were two children going to the well. Once I was inside, I hid the pen and ink in the rice that I kept in a jar. Then I returned to Clarissa, who was still sleeping. I went to the kitchen, and as I was cooking ham, Grace entered and greeted everyone. She stood next to me to speak, but there were too many people within hearing distance.

“Miss Georgianna, Grace’s stomach is sick. Could someone else finish the ham while we go to my cabin to get her something?” I asked.

“Sure, sure. Go ahead,” the cook said.

When we were in the cabin, Grace told me the names and descriptions of the two men.

“Grace, I need to ask you something. If your husband runs, won’t it be the same as if he’s sold? You’ll never see him again.”

“I know, I know, and it’s killing me, but if they sell him, it could be to a worse place. They’re selling a lot of people for new plantations out west. But if he runs and makes it, he’ll be free. He’s a good man. He said he’s going to put money away and that the same people who is helping him could help me and the children to try to get out when the children is older. I know it’s just a dream, Sarah. I know.”

“I will help in any way I can.”

“Thank you, Sarah. I know I’m not supposed to ask, and I won’t, but whatever it is you’re doing for us, I know that you’re taking a chance.”

“You’re welcome. I hope one day someone will do the same for me.”

That evening, after we finished making supper and I helped Clarissa to eat, the cook gave me permission to go to my cabin. I wrote the pass, using the language that I had memorized years before, and signed it as Mr. Wilkes. My only concern was that all of Mr. Allen’s passes had wax seals and this one would not. I put the pass under the bed to let it dry while I had my meal, and I put the pen and ink under the rags in the bucket. I completed the instructions for wrapping the pass in the package and sat down to rest. I fell asleep with my head on the table and awoke when there was a knock on the door. It was Kate. I let her in.

“How was the jam?”

“It was delicious.”

“The wagon driver is taking me to the quarters tonight. I’ll sleep there and come back early in the morning with meat from the smokehouse for tomorrow’s meals. If you want, I can take the empty bottle back and bring you more jam.”

Two days later, I was in the kitchen when two patrollers arrived. One asked the cook which one of us was Sarah. She pointed at me.

“You, come with us.”

“Sir?”

“Are you Sarah?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then come with us. Now.”

I followed them, keeping my hands in my pockets so that they could not see them shake. We stopped next to their wagon.

“Why was Grace in your cabin?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t play dumb. You were seen talking to her in the washroom and whispering to her in the kitchen, and then the two of you went to your cabin. What were you talking about and why did you go to your cabin?”

“Sir, she, well, my mother taught me about remedies for women’s troubles and Grace asked me if I had any. I gave her some when we went to my cabin.”

“Why do you talk so good?”

“Sir, my mistress and I are the same age. We played together when we were children and I have been her maid since I was eight years old.”

“Did Grace ever ask you to do anything for her husband?”

“Sir? No, I don’t even know her husband. Who is he?”

“We’re not here to answer your questions. Now go back to the kitchen. If we ever hear that you have been involved in any trouble again, it’s off to the whipping post and jail for you. We’ll let Mr. Cromwell decide what to do with you after that. You’re going to learn how we handle niggers, even yellow ones, here. You understand?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Thank you, sir.”

When I returned, no one spoke to me. That evening, I told Clarissa what happened.

“I don’t like the idea of patrollers speaking to you without my permission. I’ll ask that decayed strumpet why they questioned you. Tell her maid that I request an audience with her mistress.”

Mrs. Cromwell arrived after supper and Clarissa dismissed me. I stood outside the room until she departed, and then I reentered.

“She said that her maid’s abroad husband who lived on the Wilkes Plantation escaped. They think that Grace, with help from slaves here, helped him escape.”

“Did he escape?”

“Well, that’s why I don’t know why there is a fuss. Mr. Wilkes retained slave catchers and they brought him and another slave who ran with him back within a day.”

“What makes them think that someone from here helped them?”

“This is the interesting part. The crone said that every year about six slaves escape from here and they think that someone here helps them write passes. Sarah? You were not involved, were you?”

“Miss Clarissa, how could you think that? I don’t know most of the people here or in any other plantation in Talladega. I don’t leave this place. And why would I risk my life for people I don’t even know?”

“Sarah, if anyone ever asks you to help them in something like that, you must be certain that you do not. Papa told me about these things, including about fraudulent passes, and this is not the first time it has been tried. Whenever a slave escapes, the owner hires slave catchers immediately and places advertisements in the newspapers. If a slave presents a pass, the slave catchers know it was not written by the slave’s master. And don’t tell anyone that you know how to read and write. You could implicate Mama and me.”

“No, ma’am. I would never tell anyone that. I know it’s a crime.”

I saw Isaac the following evening. I did not have to be with Clarissa for several hours because she said she was well enough to have supper with the Cromwells.

“Somebody told me that patrollers was here today and they talked to you about those slaves who tried to run. Why did they talk to you? You didn’t have nothing to do with it, did you?”

“No, of course not. Why did you think I did?”

“Because you like to talk about running away. If you had a hand in this, stop it. You could get us both in trouble. And don’t listen to these fools around here. You got to be a idiot to think you can escape. Ain’t they never heard of patrollers and militias?”

“Maybe some people think it’s worth the risk. Not every single slave is caught, you know.”

“Every slave that runs thinks he’s going to be the one to get away.”

“But some do escape, don’t you know that?”

“Name one that you know.”

“My mother told me that when she went to New York, there were freedmen there who had escaped.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Well, before I was born.”

“That’s your answer, right there. The laws keep getting harder and harder against us, making it tougher to escape. Now how many people do you know bought themselves and their families out of slavery? That’s right, a lot more than those who escaped.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THEODORA ALLEN

THE RETURN JOURNEY TO ALLEN ESTATES WAS uneventful, until we crossed the boundary into Benton County. Blue patches of sky were being overrun by cobalt clouds, and when we passed the Tutwiler property, the wind accelerated, blowing dust around us. Lightning hit a tree and sawed off one of its limbs. The sound of thunder made me jump in my seat. The front left horse halted, causing the other five to drag the carriage to the right and we veered off the road until the coachman pulled the reins and we stopped. He descended from his seat and tried to calm the animals. Bessie and Emmeline came to my assistance.

“You all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am well. Thank you.”

The coachman inspected the wheels of the carriage and shook his head.

“Ma’am, one of the wheels hit a rock. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get out, please, ma’am, so I can try to fix it.”

Bessie and Emmeline helped me down from the carriage. I put on my hat and lowered the veil to prevent particles of grit from getting into my eyes. My servants covered their faces with their shawls.

“Ma’am, I don’t think I can fix it, and the horses is scared from the lightning and thunder. And it’s going to rain real hard, soon. Ma’am, I think I should take one of the horses and go get some help. Ma’am, should I go home or try to find somebody closer?”