Chapter 21
“O
ut of the question,” Uncle Mooney grumbled, shoveling his buttered grits into his mouth. “I will not pair my prime buck with one of your stock. I have perfectly good breeders of my prime own.”
“Hear me out, Mooney, before you dig in your heels.” Aunt Augusta was cool and calculating in her presentation. I was surprised at her interest in Livie’s desire to marry James, especially when she offered to accompany me and speak on my behalf in securing permission from Uncle Mooney. Now her motive was revealed. There was investment to be gained and negotiated. Both of them were greedy to the bone. However, having Aunt Augusta in my corner was definitely to my advantage, so I let her speak. My only concern was finding a way for James and Livie to be together.
“We all know you have attempted to couple James a number of times over the years, to no avail. You beat and punish him each time the coupling proves miserable and childless. I have never witnessed a slave go through the silly ritual of jumping over the broom as often as he has, only to end up undoing it with a backward jump after a year’s time. Each failed attempt has left him a little less content and more of a loner. He is of odd stock, and if not for the profit he generates for you with his skills, you would have put him on the block long ago.” Augusta shook her head and laughed. “The money you make from me alone on surcharges for his service makes him worth his keep.”
Uncle Mooney pushed away his empty plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So, what is your point, Augusta? You are not telling me anything I don’t already know. In fact, I took great pleasure in denying James’s request when he came to me upon his return to the plantation this afternoon. I may not have whipped the stubbornness out of him, but I as sure as hell will not reward it. Besides, what is the gain for me in allowing such an arrangement?”
“The gain will be in James’s productivity and loyalty,” she said, leaning forward to emphasize her words. “You and I have always disagreed on this point, but I believe it is to our benefit to maintain a slave’s physical and emotional well-being. Contented and devoted slaves give more of themselves than those who are beaten and deprived.”
Uncle Mooney waved his hand in disgust. “That’s the woman in you talking. Your profits would double if you were not throwing away good money on extra clothing and food rations twice a year.”
“Watch your tone, Mooney.” Aunt Augusta was undaunted by his attempt to dismiss her. “We are family, as well as business partners, and this is a viable proposition. I believe you are the stubborn one in this scenario.”
A patronizing grin curdled his face. He crossed his legs and leaned an elbow on the table, successfully disengaging Aunt Augusta and angling his attention to where I sat watching the banter between them.
“Why am I wasting my time arguing points of view with your aunt? You are the one I should be negotiating with, my dear. The wench belongs to you; therefore, it is our discussion.”
He was smug and superior in his demeanor. I doubted he had an interest in what I had to say, but he enjoyed making me squirm for his approval. Denying me in the end would be his revenge for Fatima. I was not clever in the ways of business, so I simply spoke the truth.
“James and Livie love each other,” I said evenly. “I want them to be happy.”
Uncle Mooney exploded in laughter, spewing spittle, peppered with grits, through the air. “Augusta,” he snorted, “how could a woman as intelligent and practical as you raise such a naive, foolish girl? She wants them to be happy. As if they feel love and attachment like you or I. Only the overactive imagination of a sheltered child would entertain such a notion.”
He pinched my cheek with placating amusement. I pushed his hand away, my reserve replaced with contempt. I wanted to grab him by his muttonchops and yank the smirk off his face, but instead I remained composed and focused on the business at hand. Although he presented himself as disinterested, Uncle Mooney’s posturing told me it was not hopeless. Once his laughter subsided, he stroked his chin and eyed me sideways.
“Since this means a great deal to you, and as Augusta says we are family, I shall offer you a generous compromise.” He got up and walked to the window with his hands behind his back, seemingly mulling over a difficult decision. After a moment, he turned back to me, his arms folded in strategic defense.
“I shall grant the request for James and your wench to be paired as husband and wife on the condition that I retain rights and ownership of any offspring produced from the union.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Aunt Augusta interjected, before the words barely left his lips. “As the mother goes, so goes the child. That is the way of it, Mooney. Ownership of the mother includes any forthcoming children.”
“This is a business deal, Augusta,” he said, removing parchment and steel-nib pen from the top drawer of a desk in the corner. “And these are my terms.”
“Never!” Aunt Augusta huffed as Uncle Mooney dipped his pen into the inkwell and began writing. “You are strong-arming the child.” Aunt Augusta’s face was taut with distress, unmasking a vulnerability in her I had never seen. My instincts were keen enough to know that Uncle Mooney’s cooperation was a ruse. The same instincts told me not to be moved by Aunt Augusta’s alarm, because her motivation was no different from Uncle Mooney’s. What they did not know was that none of it mattered. I did not legally own Livie, so any agreement I struck, on paper or otherwise, would be worthless. Therefore, his attempt at cleverness amused me.
“I am not strong-arming anyone. She is a grown woman who is capable of making decisions on her own behalf. Isn’t that right, Hannalore?”
Uncle Mooney’s manipulation was so transparent it was laughable. Was it my youth and inexperience, or simply the fact that I was a woman leading him to believe I was foolish enough to be swayed by his antics? I looked over at Aunt Augusta, who shook her head, commanding me to decline. Uncle Mooney, on the other hand, continued to charm me with words as sweet as sugar cubes used to coax an anxious colt back into the fold. However, I was not taking the bait.
“No,” I stated firmly. “This is not a business arrangement. I simply want permission for James to marry Livie.”
“Don’t be so sentimental. Of course it’s a business deal.”
“I will allow them to share the back cabin on my property,” Aunt Augusta counteroffered smoothly. “It is the cabin where Livetta is living now. We will provide James with food rations and clothing, as we do for the entirety of Mud Run. A good deal for you, Mooney, in that I will provide for James’ needs while he and his earnings remain yours. He will continue to work between the two plantations as he does at present.”
“Your cooperation and generosity are uncharacteristic, Augusta. There must be more you want from this arrangement.”
“Since I will have financial investment in James, I think it appropriate for any offspring of the couple to remain in our possession. There is profit for both of us in such an agreement.”
“Here is my final offer,” he huffed in frustration. “And a compromise I will not negotiate. I will grant permission for the union and the living arrangements you describe. I will halve the charges you incur for James’ service at your plantation. However, ownership of any children born of them will be split between us. I shall have rights and ownership to all male children, and you shall have rights to all female children.”
“I would never agree to such an offer,” Aunt Augusta snapped. “It’s outrageous.”
“The offer is being made to Hannalore,” he said, smiling at me. “It is simply paperwork ensuring James’ loyalty to me. They will all be living in Mud Run together as a family, no matter who holds the paper. I believe I am being quite generous. My dear, this is the only agreement I will consider. Accept it or refuse it, it matters not to me.”
All I could think of was Livie’s heartbreak should I return to tell her the union was forbidden. Aunt Augusta was right. The deal Uncle Mooney offered was unreasonable, but there was no doubt in my mind it was indeed the only arrangement he would allow. It gave him the upper hand over me, which avenged me having revealed his indiscretions with Fatima. He had no idea the paper he was drawing up was based on fictitious ownership. If playing along with this formality satisfied him and opened the door for Livie’s happiness, it was an easy decision. Still, even the pretense of bargaining away my best friend’s children rolled heavily in my breast. It reminded me how far at odds I had become with a world where this practice was an everyday occurrence.
“I shall accept your offer,” I stated confidently.
Not knowing the secret of Livie’s ownership, Aunt Augusta gasped with disbelief. “Hannalore, I beg you to reconsider. It is a grave error in judgment.”
Uncle Mooney pushed the paper toward me. “She is not your puppet, Augusta. In fact, she is better educated than you and I put together. Hannalore will leave here with the permission she came seeking. Her interests are served.”
The contract was written exactly as he had stated. Confident the agreement was worthless by law, I dipped the nib of the pen in the inkwell and scribbled my name. When it was done, I looked to Aunt Augusta, expecting her icy eyes to pierce me in anger for disobeying her wishes. Instead, her head drooped to one side, but not before I saw her eyes flutter with the weight of moisture brimming across her lashes. Unfortunately, the ink dried quicker than the tears, and I instantly regretted my decision.
Chapter 22
B
y the time our carriage rolled into the long shadows that stretched across the yard leading to our front porch, the sun was sinking behind us into the hollows of West Gate. Aunt Augusta remained silent on what had transpired. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead on the carriage ride back to Hillcrest. She ignored the hand Winston offered as she exited the carriage, and his stiffened knees broke into a hurried stride as he hobbled to reach the door of the house and open it for her without delay. Elijah came from the barn to secure the team until Winston returned. I then sent Elijah down the hill to summon James and Livie. I waited on the porch to announce the news. I expected Livie to shriek with joy when I told her she and James were to be married. However, my words were met with an anxious smile of relief.
“Aren’t you thrilled, Liv?” I asked, somewhat baffled by her restrained reaction. “I believe I am more excited than you.”
Livie reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. “I am as happy as fear allows me to be.”
“Fear?”
“It’s hard on a heart waitin’ fo’ someone else to decide what I can or can’t have in my life. ’Specially when the bits of joy we carve out fo’ ourselves can be snatched away faster than a drop of rain soaked up by a dusty road.”
“I would never allow anyone to hurt you,” I reassured her.
“I know my heart is safe with you,” Livie said with much trepidation. “But lovin’ James gives Massa Reynolds and Marse Twitch the means to whip and beat me. Not outright and physical, ’cuz Massa don’t hold my papers. But through my man’s well-bein’, my heart is at their mercy too.”
I had never considered the ramifications and vulnerability the slaves endured with even the simplest and purest of life’s gifts. The heart and thoughts of a slave are beyond a master’s command, but they can be turned on them as cruel weapons through assault and denial, or in its worst form, instant and permanent separation. There is no dream of happily ever after in the quarters.
As quickly as her thoughts darkened, Livie’s typical resolve returned. She lifted her chin and unleashed a smile. “That’s the way of it.” She shrugged. “There’s no point broodin’ over it. The way I sees it, James keeps both these plantations runnin’ with the work he does in the blacksmith and carpenter shop. Massa Reynolds makes a fine profit when he hires out James to other planters fo’ a spell. Massa ain’t fool enough to do harm to James. We be fine.”
James put his arm around her and pulled her tight. During the time of their acquaintance, I watched Livie mature into womanhood, while James shed his stoic shell and reconnected with the world around him. The embrace they shared reaffirmed my confidence in the intervention I made on their behalf. Happiness glowed from them. I saw no need to outline the meaningless details of the arrangement struck with Uncle Mooney. It would likely cause more anxiety and misunderstanding.
Livie released my hand and took James’ elbow. “Do you mind if I walk back with James so we can tell the folks in the Run our good news? Nothin’ like a weddin’ to set the quarters abuzz.”
I beamed with pleasure at the excitement taking hold of Livie. “Take all the time you need. In fact, it is not necessary to come back to the house tonight.”
“I’ll be up later.” Livie smiled as she pressed a hand to her breast. “So I can hug you and thank you fo’ makin’ it possible fo’ James and me to marry up. Can’t do it proper out here in the open.”
“Yas’sum, Miz Hannah,” James said with an appreciative nod. “We is obliged fo’ you softenin’ Massa Reynolds’ opinion on the idea.” They looked at each other with intimate tenderness, then walked away, the picture of contentment, as Livie leaned into James and rested her head on his shoulder.
The next day when news of the pending union spread through Mud Run, Aunt Augusta continued to distance herself from the activity. With only two weeks until the wedding, Granny Morgan gathered ribbon and bows for the traditional broomstick ceremony common in the slave quarters. As matriarchal leader of the Runians, Granny took great pride in overseeing such occasions, and although the act of jumping the broom was quick and simple, the meaning and celebration attached to it was revered.
The levity that enveloped the house and grounds was like a breath of fresh air, until a stranger appeared at Hillcrest, arriving in a polished plum brougham pulled by a sleek charcoal stallion. His arrival was unannounced, but Aunt Augusta summoned me to join her in the foyer, where she stood to greet the visitor as Winston opened the door. The stranger’s cloak and hat were as sleek and dark as the horse snorting in the yard. He was a ruddy gentleman, perhaps a decade of age beyond me, with small, glassy eyes crowding the crest of a long, thin nose that was much too large for his face. His profile was punctuated by a sharp ridge that hooked the protrusion downward toward tight thin lips. The skin on his cheeks and chin was chafed and flaking, its reddened coarseness a natural state not brought on by wind or winter exposure. The line of his face was reminiscent of a snapping turtle’s snout, and his arrogant demeanor suggested he had the same vicious bite. It is amazing how quickly we can draw a conclusion about a person
The stranger removed his oversized top hat and jerked his head forward in a stiff partial bow. “Madame Reynolds, it is indeed a pleasure.”
Aunt Augusta took my elbow and guided me in his direction. “Monsieur Charbonneau, allow me to introduce to you my niece, Hannalore. She will be a conscientious student under your direction.”
I paused before fully extending my hand. “Have we met previously, sir? Your name rings familiar.”
“No, I have never had the pleasure,” he said, reaching toward me. I flushed an equal mix of anger and embarrassment as he eagerly took my hand and pressed his terse mouth to my flesh. “I come to you with great anticipation, Mademoiselle Blessing. My dear cousin the colonel recommended you quite highly, and you are as
magnifique
as the portrait he painted in my mind.”
“Pardon me for my dismay, Monsieur Charbonneau,” I said, retrieving my hand from his. “However, I am ambivalent in the matter of my education in the French language, since it was presented to me as a chore rather than a choice.”
“Please call me Lamond,” he said, looking about with an air of conceit. “My experience tells me that most young ladies are ill equipped to discern that education is a privilege. As a favor to my cousin, I cleared my schedule from now until the conclusion of the summer months, so I can not only share my expertise in the gentle lilt of the French language, but also partake in an extended respite in the quiet and simple way of life here in the Virginia hills.”
“Monsieur Charbonneau will stay in the guest room during his sojourn with us,” Aunt Augusta said with an arch of the eyebrow, cautioning me to mind my manners. “Winston, see that Monsieur Charbonneau’s trunks are taken to his room so he can freshen up. Then direct Esther Mae to serve us tea in the parlor at half past the hour.”
So with no regard to my opinion or objections, it was decreed that I was now the student of Monsieur Lamond Charbonneau. Surprisingly, it was not as burdensome as I had first feared. Lamond did not rise with the sun, as was the natural way for those accustomed to life on the plantation. He lumbered down the stairs well after Aunt Augusta and I had finished breakfast and moved on to other activities. I generally joined Tessie in the quilting room to stitch squares until Lamond knocked on the door to signal me into the parlor for the day’s lesson. By midweek it became our ritual, and although Esther Mae grumbled a time or two about Lamond and his “city folk” ways, it was a routine of little demand on me.
My lessons were interesting, but served no true purpose other than to add to my refinement. However, they filled a void in my day left by Livie’s absence. As my personal attendant, Livie was usually at my side from sunup to sundown, except for when the chores of the household required her to assist Esther Mae. Although she would never ask it of me, I knew she would be grateful for some free time to ready her cabin for her soon-to-be husband. So in the days since the union was approved, Livie slipped away, with my encouragement, to attend to her private chores in Mud Run. Livie continued to come to my room just after dawn to fill my basin and help me dress, although the time was generally passed with us chatting on my bed. When breakfast was served, Livie would leave without notice and often did not return until dusk. With a guest in the house, it was an easy charade to pass off on Aunt Augusta. Near the end of Lamond’s first week at Hillcrest, Livie lingered longer with me during her morning visit.
“I don’t need to go back down the hill today,” Livie proclaimed as we settled at the foot of my bed. “Everything is fine and ready fo’ James. He been workin’ late into the night after his chores is done, buildin’ a bed fit fo’ two. Winston got say- so from Miz ’Gusta fo’ some straw, so Esther Mae and me stuffed a fine mattress.”
“One week from today, you will be a married woman.” I took Livie’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me. I have a surprise for you.”
I led her to the door of the wardrobe and swung it wide, shedding light on the line of dresses that hung neatly within. “I want you to choose any dress and it will be yours, a gift from me.”
Livie’s eyes doubled in size, then moistened with emotion. “The likes o’ me ’tain’t fit fo’ somethin’ so fine.”
I took her in my arms and squeezed her tight. “You are the finest woman I know, so do not ever talk like you are anything less than the best.” Livie patted my back and allowed me a moment to cling to her. She may have sensed that amid my joy for her, I was also fearful our relationship would change as she created a family of her own. I stepped back with a gleeful clap of my hands.
“Now do as I ask, and choose any dress you like.”
“Jes’ makin’ it possible fo’ James and me to marry up is gift enough. No need fo’ nothin’ more.” Livie hemmed and hawed while her eyes danced over the colors and styles spread before her.
“Don’t be silly, Liv. I have given you dresses in the past.”
“But they was everyday, in-and-out-the-house dresses. These are fanciful and special.”
“Exactly,” I said, nudging her toward the closet for a closer look. “A special dress for a special occasion.”
I pulled dresses from the closet and held them under her chin until she gasped at her reflection. “See how this chiffon makes your eyes sparkle?”
“Look at me,” she said, spinning in front of the looking glass. “I look like a princess goin’ to a ball.” She tossed it on the bed and tried another.
I rushed to the chair at my vanity and coaxed her to sit. “Come, Liv, let me fix your hair.” Her thick tufts softened beneath my brush as I stood behind her, roles reversed, stroking her hair.
Livie shook in a fit of laughter as I struggled to wrangle her belligerent hair into two braids from front to back. “Don’t bother tryin’ to tame it. It’s ornery, like me,” she giggled. “Besides, the braids make me look like a little girl.” I smiled and nodded, feeling so close to her that I could read her mind.
“I have the perfect alternative.” I shuffled through the drawer of my wardrobe and presented her with a cranberry chenille scarf. I wrapped it neatly around her head and tucked her hair beneath it so her striking face was framed in its brilliance.
“When did I get so pretty?” she said, spellbound by the womanly transformation.
I pressed my cheek to hers. “It’s about time you see what I have seen all along.”
I had never enjoyed or appreciated these possessions until this moment of sharing them with Livie. Her admiration gave them value in my eyes, much like her caring devotion had given me a sense of worth once lost within me. Oh, how powerful the impact of love and friendship. They were Livie’s gifts to me and far more valuable than anything hanging in my closet. Livie’s aura reflected beauty in everything she tried on, but when I pulled an ivory satin gown up over her shoulders, her eyes lit up.
“Livie, it is perfect,” I said, stepping back in amazement. “Here, let me paint your lips and powder your face.” Caught up in the moment, it did not occur to me what would happen when I dusted her cheeks. The light shade of my face powder smudged her cheeks white. I quickly wet my fingertips to rub it off, only to smear it more deeply. Livie’s expression sank as she looked at her pale likeness draped in silk and lace. She grabbed a facecloth to cleanse her skin.
“Who are we foolin’? This is not me. James would never know me under a pile o’ frills and silly ornaments. He would turn tail and run if he see’d me dressin’ up white.”
“I am sorry, Livie. My exuberance spoiled the moment. I was not trying to change who you are or masquerade you as white.”
“Don’t be sorry. We was jes’ having fun wit’ the idea,” she said, sheepishly peeling off the gown. “But we both know I can’t never wear such a dress.”
I wanted to cry out in protest, but there was no denying the harsh truth she spoke. I could want and wish a lot of things for Livie, but I did not have the power to make it so. Livie blinked back a crest of tears rising in her eyes as she folded the dress and handed it back to me. There were no words to ease our letdown, so we picked up my scattered gowns and closeted them away where they were meant to remain. Livie slipped her gingham dress back on and paused next to the looking glass to adjust the chenille scarf still making her face radiate. I put my arms around her.
“Your beauty remains unchanged to me. You do not need silk and lace to be a princess. It’s a power from within.” I reached over and tucked a straying coil of hair beneath her scarf. “I like the head wrap; it’s simple yet stunning.”
“It’s the only crown I’m meant to wear,” she said, tilting her head to examine her deflated reflection. “And a fitting headdress fo’ a woman to wear on her wedding day.” We exchanged a bittersweet smile at knowing we had lost a bit of innocence we would never regain.
By the time I hurried downstairs, Aunt Augusta had taken her last bite of breakfast. “Pardon me for being late,” I offered before Aunt Augusta could scold me. However, she did not appear displeased as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea.