Neither Bound Nor Free, page 11
Albert stopped in the doorway to the parlor. “Mr. Sharp is here, Missus.”
Mrs. Hawthorne nodded and smiled. Calvin made himself smile back at her before he let himself look to Sarah. She was there in her chair, her sewing in her hands, a wide smile on her face. “Calvin!”
He knew from that one joyfully breathed word that the colonel was out of the house.
“You’re here!” She dropped her needlework into her basket and hurried to him, to grasp his hands in her warm ones and gaze into his eyes. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and never let her go.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”
“No more than I’ve missed you,” he said softly. “Oh, Sarah, I—”
“Massa!” Willie cried. “Look at this here baby! Ain’t she jest beautiful?”
Sarah took him by the hand and led him to the cradle. Calvin looked down. A pair of dark brown eyes gazed up at him out of a pale chocolate face. And then the little pink mouth opened in a smile and the baby cooed.
“She likes you!” Willie cried. “She knows you good!”
Calvin smiled. “I doubt that she can know that, Willie. But she can probably feel that you love her.”
“Oh, I do,” Willie cried. “I greatly do!”
Calvin turned to Minta. “She’s a lovely baby. You must be proud.”
Minta nodded. “Yes, Massa. I real proud. But Miss Sarah, she been so good to me. She helped my Bessie be borned. Without her, I wouldn’t have no baby.”
He might have known it. That was just like Sarah. She had such a good heart. He wasn’t sure if he loved her because she was so beautiful, or so good, or just because God had meant them for each other. He turned to her. “I’m proud of you, Sarah. Really proud.”
“It wasn’t anything special,” she said, blushing even more. “I wanted to be there. I just did what anyone would do.”
Minta shook her head. “Not anyone. Miss Sarah, she stay with me all night.”
Willie stuck out a finger and the baby grasped it in her little ones. “Look! She’s a-hangin’ on!”
Calvin nodded.
“Massa Sharp?” Minta had edged closer and reached out tentatively to touch his arm, a worried look on her face.
In surprise, he asked, “Yes, Minta? What is it?”
“I—” Her bottom lip quivered, and she clamped her mouth shut.
Sarah moved closer and put an arm around her waist. “It’s just that Minta’s worried about Bessie.” She lowered her voice. “She’s worried about Papa—about him selling—the baby.”
Calvin stared at her in shock. He felt as if someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water. “The baby?” he repeated. “Sell the baby?”
Sarah nodded, her beautiful eyes gone sad. “He can, you know. He can sell her anytime he wants.”
“But a baby?” he protested. “He’d sell a baby?”
Sarah nodded. “She’s probably safe for another year or so. But after that, especially when she gets to be six or seven—” She swallowed hard. “Papa can sell her. And he can sell Minta before that. He can.” She swallowed again and released Minta, who now had tears in her eyes. “He knows Minta helps me with Mama, but still, he might decide—”
Calvin looked down at his clenched fists. Selling a baby! How could God allow something so terrible to go on? Why didn’t He do something to stop it? He sighed. He knew the answer to that—God expected people to stop it. People like him.
Sarah’s fingers closed around his arm. “I promised Minta we wouldn’t let anything like that happen. I told her if we had to, we’d send Bessie north to you. That you’d get her to Hiram.” She glanced at the girl. “That’s what she wants to ask you about. If you’ll promise, too.”
Minta nodded, her face anxious.
“Of course I’ll promise,” Calvin said. “When Bessie’s old enough, I’ll come after her myself. Maybe next spring. She should be old enough to travel then.”
Minta broke into a smile. “Thank you, Massa.”
“You could come too,” he said. “I think I could arrange for you both to get to Hiram.”
Minta sighed, her shoulders drooping under her calico gown. “That’d be real nice, Massa. But I can’t leave Miss Sarah.”
“But your baby—”
“I knows,” she said. “But I couldn’t leave with Hiram. And I can’t go with Bessie neither. I got to be here to help Miss Sarah with the runaways. Missus ain’t up to it no more, her being sick so much.”
“But, Minta,” Sarah said, “if Bessie disappears, Papa will know you had something to do with it. He might sell you.”
Minta shook her head. “I got to take that chance, Miss Sarah. Long as Bessie and Hiram be safe, I don’t matter.”
Sarah’s sweet face grew determined. “Yes, you do. You matter to me. We’ll have to figure out something else. I won’t risk your being sold. I just won’t. But don’t worry.” She slipped an arm through Calvin’s. “I know we’ll manage something. Mr. Sharp will figure it out.”
Calvin swallowed a sigh. Taking a baby all the way north wouldn’t be easy. But maybe Willie could think of a plan. Hiram and Brutus wouldn’t have made it to Philadelphia if it hadn’t been for Willie’s last-minute resourcefulness.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said. “About the safest way to get Bessie north.” He smiled down at Sarah and patted her hand. She smiled back at him, so he figured she’d guessed that he’d take care of Minta too. Some way or other, he’d get them to freedom. He squeezed her fingers.
“Could we go somewhere and talk?” he asked. “Just the two of us?”
Sarah sighed. “You know we can’t do that. But we can sit over there. Mama will be sewing. And Minta and Willie will be busy with the baby.”
“Fine,” Calvin said. “I just want to sit and look at you. To touch your hand. It seems like forever, instead of just a few months.”
She dimpled prettily. “I know. But I have faith in God. I believe He brought us together. And He’ll see that we—” She hesitated, and another blush stained her cheeks. “I believe God wants us to be married,” she said softly, but she looked directly into his eyes. “And He will show us how to do that.”
“Yes,” Calvin said. Sarah believed and so would he. “God will show us how.”
Later that evening, Calvin took his place at the dinner table. The party was small that night, only the Hawthorne family, himself, and the Gordons. He could have done without Beau’s presence, of course. Beau was so conceited, so full of himself that in other circumstances he’d have been amusing. What wasn’t amusing at all was the proprietary way he ordered Sarah around, as if she were his chattel or something. It won’t always be this way, Calvin reminded himself. I will marry Sarah and get her away from here. I have to.
“Is there much talk of war in Chicago?” Mr. Gordon asked through a mouthful of fried chicken.
“War?” Calvin asked, startled out of his thoughts. “War between whom?”
“Come now,” the colonel said, smiling dryly. “You can’t have been that busy on your business for Mr. Pinkerton. Reginald is talking about the growing conflict between the North and the South. If that reprobate Lincoln gets elected, well— You’ve heard what he said in ’58: ‘A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free.’ ” He glanced at Gordon. “Here in the South we don’t like the sound of that. There’s been a lot of talk. The North isn’t going to make us give up our way of life.” His gaze probed Calvin’s face. “If it tries, the Southern states might secede and set up their own government.”
Calvin straightened. “I admit I’ve have heard some such rumors, sir,” he said. “But I didn’t give them much credence. I mean, we’re one country, sir. How can the Southern states decide to leave?”
“We will,” Gordon said, stabbing two more pieces of chicken and dropping them on his plate beside his third mound of mashed potatoes and gravy. “We don’t aim to give in to the North, Mr. Sharp. Slavery is our God-given right. And we mean to keep it.”
God-given, was it? But Calvin wasn’t going to address that. He looked to the colonel. “What do you think, sir? Do you think it may actually come to war?”
The colonel sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, Mr. Sharp, I’m afraid it may. If Lincoln gets elected, well, we can expect trouble.”
“But to split the country. . .” Calvin hesitated. “I’d be sorry to see it come to that.” How could they really think they’d win a war against the North? They had few factories and—
“We got our rights!” Beau snapped, banging on the table with his fork. “No Washington politician’s gonna tell us what to do.” He glared around the table. “We’ll fight for what’s ours.”
And you’ll die, Calvin thought. A war would mean so much killing, so much pain. But how could anyone convince these people that such a war was wrong?
Mrs. Gordon looked pale. “Beauregard,” she began. “I don’t want you to—”
“Of course he’ll fight,” Gordon declared, looking at his wife with contempt. “He’s no mama’s boy.”
Calvin stiffened. In spite of all their pretty cavalier speeches, these Southern planters had no respect for womankind. Well, he should be fair. There must be some Southern planters who didn’t treat their women like slaves or children, just as there must be some who believed slavery was wrong. He just hadn’t met any of them.
“I’ll fight, too, of course,” Gordon said, gravy dripping from his chin. He glanced at the colonel. “So will you. We’ll show—”
“No,” Mrs. Hawthorne said quietly. “He won’t.”
Gordon looked startled. But the colonel sent his wife an affectionate glance, and said, “ ’Fraid I wouldn’t be much good on the battlefield these days, Reginald. The doctor says I’ve got a bad ticker. Got to be careful what I do.”
“Well,” Beau said, attacking a piece of chicken as though it meant to fight back, “we’ll stand up for what’s ours.” He glared at Calvin. “You can just go back up North and tell ’em that. This is our country. And we don’t mean to give it up.”
Silence came over the room. Calvin tried to think of some way to defuse the situation, but his mind was a blank. All he could think of was men fighting and killing and dying, and all because they wanted to keep other men enslaved.
“Will you be in Virginia long, Mr. Sharp?” Mrs. Haw-thorne asked finally, with a sidelong glance at Gordon. She was obviously changing the subject. “Are you after another counterfeiter?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Calvin said. “Or rather I was. I’ve brought him to justice, and I’m on my way back to Rich-mond. Thought I’d stop by so Willie could see his sister.”
Gordon looked up, his mouth falling open, his little eyes squinting. “You went outta your way so that a dumb pickaninny could see his sister?” he asked, his voice rising in amazement.
“Yes,” Calvin said, keeping his own voice firm. He shouldn’t bait the man. It wasn’t sensible. It wasn’t even kind. But he hated this whole wretched business. Hated it so much that sometimes he forgot he was supposed to love his enemies. So much that sometimes he didn’t see why God had asked such an impossible thing of him. He swallowed and breathed a silent prayer. I’ll try, Lord. I’ll try.
“Besides, Gordon,” he said, smiling at his hostess, “Mrs. Hawthorne sets the finest table in the county. I can’t eat so well anywhere else.” Carefully he avoided looking at Sarah. Beau might suspect that Sarah was the reason for Calvin’s stopping there, but he could only suspect. And a man with a passion for food like Beau’s—he might believe that food was the draw. Besides, Beau had no evidence of anything else. And Calvin didn’t mean to give him any. He wanted to keep coming to Hawthorne Hill until he could figure out how to get the colonel’s permission to marry Sarah. If the South did secede, if there was a war. . . But he couldn’t think about that now. He’d have to trust in God. Please, God, he prayed, show me how to do it. Show me how to make Sarah my wife.
eighteen
“Miss Sarah,” Minta said, turning from the window with a frown on her dark face. “Someone coming fast down the lane. Look like Mr. Beau on that red horse of his’n.”
Sarah went to look for herself. Minta was right. Beau was coming—and he was coming awfully fast. She left the window and hurried to the front door. Albert was there and had it open already.
“They did it! We’ve seceded!” Beau cried, jumping off the horse and bounding up the steps. “Colonel, Colonel, sir! Virginia has joined the Confederacy!”
Her heart fell. Now they were really at war. She swallowed hard. She’d been hoping against hope that Virginia wouldn’t secede. Her prayers hadn’t been answered. She’d asked God to stop this awful war from happening. But God hadn’t stopped it. Virginia had joined the Confederacy. The South would fight the North. And Calvin and Willie would be in danger. Calvin wasn’t the sort of man to shirk his duty. If there was a war, he would fight. She felt a faintness creeping over her. Please, God, keep Calvin safe.
She turned away from the door. She had to tell Mama.
A few minutes later, Beau strode into the east parlor where Mama lay weakly on the chaise. Sarah sat beside her, the hartshorn in her hand in case they needed it again. “Here you are,” he said, his voice accusing.
“Please, Beau.” Sarah gave him a pleading look. She’d just gotten Mama calmed down and now here was Beau, ready to upset her again. “Mama’s not feeling well today. And this news is very disturbing.”
Beau threw himself into a chair and stretched out his muddy boots. “Sarah, we’ve got to talk.”
She motioned to Minta and handed her the hartshorn. Then she turned to face him. “Talk about what, Beau? I don’t want to hear any more about a war or fighting. Neither does Mama.”
“This ain’t about fighting,” Beau said. He straightened in the chair. “We’ve got to get married now. Surely you can see that.”
Her heart jumped up into her throat. Did he never think of anything else? He was so persistent. But she wasn’t going to give in. Not now. “No, I don’t see it.”
He jumped to his feet and stood glaring down at her. “Sarah! I’m sick and tired of your putting off our wedding! You’ve been doing it for months now—and it’s got to stop!”
“Have you spoken to Papa about it?” she asked.
There was a moment’s hesitation, then he said, “He agrees with me. He thinks we—”
“I believe I can speak for myself, Beau.” Papa came slowly into the room and settled into a chair near Mama.
Sarah didn’t like the grayness in his face or the way he eased himself down in the chair. These days he wasn’t looking at all well.
“Now,” Papa said, looking at her, “I suppose Beau wants you to set a date for the wedding.”
“Yes, Pa—”
“I do!” Beau said. “We’ve been putting it off too long. Sarah’s going to be my wife. She might as well be my wife now.” He grinned. “Maybe we can even start our family before I go off to fight.”
Papa looked back to her, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. “What do you think, Sarah?”
It wasn’t often he asked her opinion, but she knew that in his own way Papa loved her. What should she say? She couldn’t tell anything about his thoughts from his expression. But surely if he meant to insist on their marriage, he would just have agreed with Beau. She struggled to keep her fear off her face. She didn’t want to be in the family way from Beau. She didn’t want Beau to touch her. But she couldn’t tell Papa that. Steady, she told herself. God will help you. She took a deep breath. “I know Beau’s been waiting a while, Papa. But I think it would be selfish to be thinking of ourselves at a time like this. When the Confed-eracy is at risk, we should put all our efforts into saving it.” She glanced at Mama. “And Mama is ill, you know. I don’t want to leave her.”
Beau was glowering now, glaring from her to Mama and back again. She risked a glance at Papa. He didn’t look happy about any of this. And that awful look of grayness about his eyes—
“Colonel,” Beau said, his voice rising, “I insist that—”
Papa straightened, and his old look of command re-turned. “Beauregard Gordon! This is my home and Sarah is my daughter. You don’t insist on anything!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Beau looked genuinely crestfallen, but that didn’t stop him from going on. “But I’ve been waiting for a real long time, Colonel. You know that. And I thought with me going off to war and all. . . Well, it just seemed like we ought to be married first.”
Papa nodded. “I can see your point, Beau. But I think Sarah has a point, too.” He sighed. “She’s still very young. Besides, the fighting should be over soon, and then you can have a proper wedding, with everything that goes with it.” He sighed again and rubbed his left arm. “I don’t want Sarah to be left a widow. Nor to have a child while you’re away at war and her mother’s ill. So, right now, I think you’d better wait. When the war is over, that’ll be time enough to—”
Beau’s face turned red. “But—”
“I said you’d better wait,” Papa repeated, his voice growing harsher. “And that’s what I meant.”
Beau gulped in air. “Yes, sir.”
Slowly, carefully, Sarah let out her breath. Thank You, God, she breathed. Thank You. Please keep Calvin safe. And Hiram and Willie. And Beau, too. As horrible as he was, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to Beau.
“Then I’m going to Richmond tomorrow,” Beau snapped.
He turned toward the door. “But I’ll be back. And next summer when this war is over, we’ll be married. I promise.”
