Lorenzo's Secret Mission (17 page)

“But why did he send me to Virginia and put me into slavery?”

“I don't know,” Gibson said.

The answer leaped to mind. “Because my grandfather wrote him and suggested they put the past behind them. My father thought my grandfather had forgiven him at last.”

Nodding slowly, Gibson said, “The ugly truth is this. When he took you and your mother, he stole your grandfather's
property. Your grandfather had the law on his side, and he knew it.”

I started to protest, but Gibson's uplifted hand stopped me.

“Slavery is immoral and I don't condone it, but it is legal. No doubt, your father thought your grandfather was ready to accept you as his legal heir. If Judge Bannister designated you as such in his will, then you would inherit the plantation.”

“And then Jack could keep his promise,” Cincinnatus added. “He said he was going to free us after the judge died.” He paused. “But the old goat outlived Jack. For years, we've kept the promise alive here.” At this point, Cincinnatus's eyes grew moist. He touched his chest, right over his heart. “Now, you're our only hope. We're counting on you.”

An entire plantation depended on me to free them. Oh, God! How was I to do that? My brain was a confusion of ideas jumbling around, slamming into each other, none of them making sense. “How many slaves will two hundred dollars buy?”

Gibson frowned at me. “Probably one.” His face lit with understanding. “Lorenzo,” he said, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder, “your grandfather has made it clear that he will never accept you. He will never see you as anything but a slave. He certainly will never sell Cincinnatus to you. Your grandfather can hire bounty hunters to find you and bring you back. You must go to New Orleans right away and buy your freedom papers.”

I let out a long groan. Gibson was right. My grandfather had already sold me once to a British press gang. He would sell me again. Anything to be rid of me.

“Look, Gator. Honor is its own reward. Sometimes, we must do things to satisfy political law, and in this case, an immoral law. In Virginia, you are under English law. You can do nothing to force your grandfather to sell you freedom papers. But in New Orleans, you are under
Spanish law. There, you can take Judge Bannister to court and force a sale.”

Suddenly, all I could think of was returning to New Orleans. But then, something occurred to me. “If that's so, then Papá must have forced my grandfather to sell me and my mother our freedom when we reached New Spain.”

Gibson looked me straight in the eye. “No. Think about it a moment. Did you find freedom papers in the things your father left behind?”

I shook my head. I had gone through all his papers.

“To force a sale, your father had to go to court. He was on the run. If he'd been discovered, he would have gone to jail, and you and your mother would have been sent back to the plantation. Under the circumstances, going to court would have been the last thing he would have done.”

I blew out a long sigh and leaned my head against a post. Suddenly I recalled something Calderón had said on the flatboats. When I told him Papá and I had traveled around a lot, he remarked, “Sounds like you two were running from the law.”

Papá was. Only I didn't know it.

I looked at Gibson. “I am my grandfather's only rightful heir. I can take him to court. Not here, but in New Spain. If I inherit his property and his slaves, I can free them all.” That, I thought with a silent, ironic laugh, was one of the privileges of being white. “I've got to get back to New Orleans.”

“That's right,” Gibson said. “We've stayed here too long as is.”

“Goodbye,” I said to Cincinnatus. “I'll do what I can to free us.”

Cincinnatus gave my hand a long shake. “I knew you was Jack's boy.”

“Uh, by the way,” Gibson said, “we left the judge tied up in the study.”

Cincinnatus's eyes glowed with delight. “‘Spect I'll be awful busy tomorrow. Don't suppose I'll have any reason to go into the big house until, oh, ten … no, eleven o'clock.”

We grinned at each other. Gibson and I shook his hand and left.

Gibson whistled to Calderón and William Linn, signaling them to rejoin us.

With the stomping and snorting of horses, I wondered how much they had heard of our conversation. I searched their faces. They looked at me the same way as before. Either they hadn't heard Cincinnatus's revelations, or it didn't matter.

On the way back to camp, I had plenty of time to think. Calderón and William Linn rode ahead, Gibson and I rode behind.

I suddenly realized this whole thing—the slavery issue, the war against King George—was personal now. So what was my role to be?

A plan came to mind, and the more it ballooned, the better I liked it. Back in New Orleans, I could buy slaves from my grandfather's plantation. I would have to start small, free as many as my finances would allow. Cincinnatus was right. My grandfather would never sell to me. Still, I would find a way. And with Eugenie's help and support …

I reined in my horse. What would Eugenie think about all this?

Major Gibson, who rode beside me, stopped.

I swallowed hard and asked, “What about Eugenie?”

“What about her?”

“What do I tell her?”

“I've found the truth usually works best.”

Calderón and William Linn, deep in conversation, continued on for a few yards before they stopped and twisted around in their saddles. They looked at each other, shrugged, and continued on.

“Look, Lorenzo,” Gibson, said when Calderón and William Linn were out of earshot, “Eugenie's French. The French are open-minded. When my brother John married an Indian woman, everyone worried about my
grandmother's reaction. She's French nobility, you see. One day, I visited Grandmama in Philadelphia. She cornered me and asked me straight out why everyone was so secretive about John's wife. Why didn't John's wife come to visit? I told her the truth. Grandmama breathed a sigh of relief. ‘
Mon Dieu!
' she exclaimed. ‘She's Indian. Is that all? The way everyone was acting, I thought she was British.'”

I laughed at Gibson's anecdote, then sobered. “Are you saying it won't matter to Eugenie?”

“Like I said, she's French. I bet you a Spanish pillar dollar it won't.”

I didn't take the bet and I prayed he was right.

“If you plan to marry Eugenie, tell her the whole story. Keeping secrets is no way to start a marriage.”

By the time we spotted the Lambs' campfire and rejoined Calderón and William Linn, my head had cleared, but it wasn't until I saw Red that the solution to my dilemma burst into my brain. I knew exactly what to do.

“Red, old buddy,” I said, lapping my arm around his shoulder. “Would you do me a big favor?”

He eyed me suspiciously and gave a cautious answer. “Depends on the favor.”

“If I gave you two hundred dollars, would you buy me a slave?”

Red's nostrils flared. He shook off my arm and let out a long string of expletives. “No, I wouldn't. Slavery ain't right, and I won't have any part of it.”

“No, no,” I said, waving my hands frantically. “You misunderstand me. I want you to buy a man and send him to New Orleans so I can give him his freedom.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Tension hung in the air. Gibson swiveled toward me, as did Linn and Calderón.

“Do it, Red.” Gibson regarded me through narrowed eyes.

I stared straight back at him. “Sometimes there are
things greater than ourselves at stake. My father knew that, and that's why he sent me to Virginia. He had a plan and I'll see it done.”

Gibson blinked at me. “By God, I believe you will.”

I turned to Red. “The slave I want you to buy belongs to my grandfather. His name is Cincinnatus.”

Over a supper of beans and potatoes, Red and I put our heads together and planned out what we would do. Whenever I could, I would send him a bank draft. He would buy a slave under his name, put that person on a ship bound for New Orleans, and I would be waiting on the pier with freedom papers in hand.

“Lorenzo,” Gibson said, “do you know how difficult it will be to save two hundred dollars?”

“Or how many years it will take to free them all?” Calderón asked.

William Linn shook his head. “An admirable plan, Lorenzo. I fear slavery will tear this country apart some day. Some delegates wanted to put an anti-slavery clause in the Declaration of Independence, but others refused to agree to that, so it was taken out.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “How can we fight for freedom but keep people in slavery?”

No one had an answer to that.

Calderón and I returned to New Orleans on a night in late June. We stood in front of Colonel De Gálvez's house, staring at each other. Light from a full moon reflected off the darkened windowpanes. The house showed no hint of life.

“He could be at the barracks,” Calderón suggested.

In unison, we grinned at each other and said, “He's at the widow's house.”

We dashed away. Five minutes later, we stood in her foyer, announcing ourselves to the butler. I had hardly spoken my name when someone let out a squeal.

“Lorenzo!” Eugenie rushed toward me and leaped into my open arms.

We kissed.

Calderón cleared his throat. “Uh, Lorenzo …”

I ignored him and kept on kissing Eugenie.

He cleared his throat again and tapped me on the shoulder.

When Eugenie and I finally separated, I saw Colonel De Gálvez before me, arm in arm with the widow. He pulled me to him in a Spanish embrace, then did the same to Calderón.

The most amazing thing had happened since I'd been gone. Either the colonel had shrunk two inches or I had grown. We were now eye to eye.

Everyone laughed, hugged, asked questions at the same time until, finally, the widow raised her voice over the din.

“You two look hungry. Join us in the dining room.”

Calderón and I were ravenous. Our timing couldn't have been better. The mouth-watering aroma of seafood drifted from the dining room. A supper of broiled shrimp and oysters and clams, the food I had missed so much. What a delicious welcome.

“Tell me about your visit with your grandfather,” Eugenie remarked as she looped her arm around my elbow.

I stopped dead and looked deep into her wide, green eyes. A sudden heaviness pressed on my chest.

“Lorenzo, what's the matter? What happened in Virginia?”

Colonel De Gálvez and the widow paused in the doorway and smiled back at us.

The temperature in the room seemed to climb higher and higher. Surrounded by the people I loved most in the world, I still found myself unable to say the words. I looked to Calderón for help.

“Tell her, Lorenzo. In the meantime, I'll explain everything to the colonel.”

I knew he was right. It had been hard enough telling Calderón all I had learned from Cincinnatus. Could I get the words out now and could I say them right?

“Eugenie …” I began.

“Not here, you dolt,” Calderón gently scolded, putting his hands on my back and shoving me toward the courtyard. He glanced at me over his shoulder and hurried back to the dining room.

Once outside, Eugenie and I sat side by side on a wooden bench. How I had missed her. But now that I was with her, smelling her scent, close to her warmth, I feared her reaction to my news.

She took my hand and caressed it.

Overhead, starlight lit the welcome sight of Spanish moss hanging from a cypress tree. It reminded me of Red's uncombed beard.

I avoided her eyes. Focusing on a magnolia, I stammered out the story. I concluded by saying, “That's the whole story. At first, I thought I'd buy my freedom with the money I made as a medic, but I gave it to Red so he could free Cincinnatus. He should be arriving here any time.” I took a deep breath.

She absorbed it all in silence, never once interrupting to ask a question, then her expression grew troubled. “Will your grandfather have any legal claim to our children?”

My heart was beating wildly. “Our children,” she had said. “No. If the mother is free, the children are automatically free. Does this mean it doesn't matter to you?” I asked, hope coursing through me.

She tilted her head prettily. “Well, of course, it doesn't. I never imagined I would marry someone British.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I despise the British.”

I couldn't help but laugh. “I plan to join the army and fight for American freedom. Does that erase the sin of having British blood in my veins?”

“It's a start.”

“Will you marry me when the war is over?”

“No.”

Surprised, I pulled back.

She leaned closer. “I don't want to wait that long.”

Whether I kissed her or she kissed me is debatable. I don't remember much after that. Except that we stayed so long in the courtyard, Colonel De Gálvez, the widow, and Calderón had to come get us.

“Well?” Calderón demanded, barely able to contain himself. “We're waiting. Food's getting cold.”

“Eugenie and I are getting married.”

We received their congratulations, then headed to the dining room.

Before we took our seats, Colonel De Gálvez leaned toward me and said under his breath, “Lieutenant Calderón explained the problem. I'll start the legal paperwork to secure your freedom papers …”

“Sir, I'd prefer that you didn't.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“If I am found with freedom papers on me, society will treat me differently. Right now, I have all the privileges of being white. I intend to use them to free others.” I told the colonel about Cincinnatus's advice to “pass for white.”

Colonel De Gálvez shook his head. “But if someone learns the truth and you have no freedom papers …”