Storm Clouds Rolling In Page 5

  Carrie, under his watchful eye, nodded once more, but the fire of controversy in her heart was raging. Why was she suddenly so uncomfortable with what she had accepted all her life?

  Just then Robert, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil, turned to her with his most charming smile. “We seem to have eaten up the entire night with politics. I had hoped you would be able to show me the beautiful horses you have here.”

  Carrie, eager to leave the current conversation behind, shook off her somber mood and turned to him with a smile. “We have the best in Virginia,” she stated quietly

  “Is that the truth?” Robert laughed. “With that being the case, would you consent to my riding one of them in the Tournament tomorrow? I received an invitation to participate in the Blackwell’s event tomorrow but my trip to Charleston made it impossible to bring my horse along. I hadn’t planned to ride, but suddenly I feel the desire.”

  Carrie nodded eagerly, her thoughts now focused on Robert’s request. “You may ride Granite. There is none better.” Carrie saw her father’s surprised look but kept her eyes on Robert. Her decision to let him ride Granite was as unusual as all the other thoughts rampaging through her mind but she had spoken and couldn’t take it back now.

  “And who is Granite?” Robert asked.

  “He is my horse - the finest in the state. He will give you a smooth ride and he is fast as lightening.” She spoke with confidence and felt only a twinge of remorse at the vindictive feelings rising in her. A Blackwell horse always won the annual event; but only because Carrie could not ride Granite in the competition. Females were not allowed to compete in the Tournament. Even if she couldn’t be the rider, it would do her heart good to see a Cromwell horse win. As long as Robert was a good competitor, which without any reason she somehow suspected he was, Granite would do his part.

  Robert nodded. “Can I meet him?”

  “Certainly. Father?” Carrie placed her balled up napkin on the table and rose from her chair.

  “By all means.” Thomas smiled and stood as well. “Robert, Carrie isn’t exaggerating when she says he’s the best in the state. I’ve yet to see a finer Thoroughbred than this gelding.” He walked with them to the front door. “I’ll be in the parlor with your mother when you two return. Take your time. It’s a nice evening.”

  The air was soft and fragrant when the two left the porch and ventured out onto the lawn. Carrie’s thoughts were occupied with the competition the following day. She turned to smile up at Robert. “Granite should still be in the stables. I told Miles I was going to bring him a treat before he put him out for the night.” Holding up a carrot, she said, “He deserves a reward for getting me home in time for dinner. I was rather a wet mess but we made it in time.” She laughed merrily.

  “A wet mess?” Robert looked bemused.

  “Yes.” Briefly, Carrie told him of her rather wild ride back to the plantation. She finished with, “I haven’t had so much fun in a long time!” Then her face clouded, “I’m afraid my mother finds me rather a helpless case.” She looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged, looked up at him with an impish grin. “We can’t all be what we’re expected to be though, can we?” With those words she disappeared into the shadowy barn.

  Carrie stared into the mirror as Rose brushed her hair with long sweeping strokes.

  Finally Rose broke the long silence. “You okay, Miss Carrie? You’ve been mighty thoughtful since you came upstairs.” The quiet question invited one of the heart to heart conversations they often had.

  Carrie shook her head, obviously not willing to talk about what she was feeling. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Rose continued to brush Carrie’s hair until the ebony mass shone in the lantern light. Soft spring air flowed in through the window, billowing the edges of the curtains and causing the lantern light to cast swirling shadows on the floor.

  Finally Carrie broke from her reverie. “Thanks Rose. I’m very tired. You can go now.”

  Rose sensed her friend and mistress was deeply troubled about something, but knew Carrie would talk to her about it when she was ready. Rose nodded, patted her shoulder, and turned to leave.

  Carrie’s voice stopped her. “We’ll finish our reading on Monday. I’m sorry I’m so distracted. Do you mind terribly?”

  Rose shook her head. “I’m tired too, Miss Carrie. Finishing on Monday will be just fine.” She patted Carrie’s shoulder again, walked to the door, eased it open, and closed it quietly behind her. The great house had grown very quiet. Rose moved noiselessly down the gleaming hallway toward her room at the rear of the house. No one knew about the lessons her mistress gave her on a regular basis. Master Cromwell knew only that she could read - and only at the most basic level. The Cromwells would have demanded a cease to the lessons if they knew Carrie was teaching her all that she was learning herself. Rose had a quenchless thirst for knowledge and soaked up all she could learn - and she had discovered ways to learn even more. Slipping into her room she quickly lit the stubby candle on her windowsill. She had managed to slip it out of the kitchen that day. It would give her maybe twenty minutes of light. Reaching under her thin, horsehair mattress she pulled out the book she had slipped from Master Cromwell’s library earlier that week. She knew she would be beaten - even by her kindly master - if it was discovered, but she was willing to take the risk. She had her reasons.

  Carrie continued to stare into the gilded mirror gracing her wall. Tonight the reflective depths seemed to pull her into their shimmering waves. As she stared into the glass it seemed to echo back all of her troubling thoughts and emotions. The creaking night noises of the house seemed to be swallowed by its embrace. Carrie’s mind traveled back as she let it pull her in. Back to the time when the mirror first landed on American shores. Back to the time when her European ancestors, having left everything they knew, had arrived to start a new life.

  She knew the story. Her great-grandmother had left a life of comfort and luxury in England to travel to the wild American colonies with her husband who was convinced America was the land of opportunity and riches. She had left everything behind. Everything but the grand mirror. It had arrived in America, boxed carefully in a wooden crate to protect it from the rigors of sea travel. It had remained in the box for almost ten years, mocking her ancestor for thinking America would offer it a home grand enough for its beauty. Yet finally, her great-grandfather had indeed carved a home from the wilderness fine enough to be a home for the ornately sculptured mirror. Almost six feet tall it commanded admiration from all who saw it. Abigail Cromwell had wanted it moved from Carrie’s room, taken downstairs to grace the majestic hallway. Her husband, usually bending to her demands, had remained adamant that the mirror stay in Carrie’s room.

  “The mirror has always been there. And there it will remain.” When Thomas Cromwell spoke in that tone of voice no one argued with him. The matter was already settled.

  The mirror had become Carrie’s confidant. Tonight was no exception. She felt its depths probe her own, asking if she were equal to her ancestors. Asking if she had the same courage - the same strength of heart her great-grandmother Natalie had possessed. Carrie could only stare into its murky shadows reflecting the light of the lantern, praying with all her heart that she did, and questioning the sudden need for the mirror to know.

  Her reverie was broken by the sudden clatter of wheels on the cobblestones out in front of the house. Moving to her window she watched as the overseer, Mr. Adams, joined her father on the front porch to meet the wagon pulling up to the front of the house. Huddled in the back of the wagon against the early spring air were the ten slaves her father had purchased the day before in Richmond. The conversation between the three men was brief. Her father nodded and turned back into the house. Mr. Adams joined the other man on the seat of the wagon and indicated with a nod of his head the direction of the slave quarters.

  Carrie watched as the wagon rumbled away into the darkness and then crawled into bed to ponder the
restless stirrings in her heart – wishing she could be in the Quarters to witness what was happening.

  THREE

  Moses gritted his teeth as he fought to still the rage rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. Gripping the small square of material that held his few belongings, he cast his eyes around the small clearing as the wagon rumbled to a stop.

  Dark shapes appeared in the doorways of tiny cabins, dim lamp light offering no more identity than gender. Soft conversation faded into silence as compassionate, understanding eyes followed the huddled forms in the back of the wagon. Many Cromwell slaves had never been farther than the fields of Master Cromwell. There were plenty more, however, who were far too familiar with the upheaval and heartbreak of leaving family and home because of the auction block.

  “This is far enough!” Adams yelled into the silent darkness. “Unload them here.”

  He jumped from the wagon and released the pegs that held the wagon gate closed and let it fall to the ground. “This is your new home. You might as well start getting use to it.” His mocking laugh rang out into the night air as he jumped back on the wagon seat. The last huddled shape spilled onto the ground and he waved the driver on.

  No one had moved from their doorways. As if in honor of their grief, no one wished to break the silence. Moses shifted, wondering where he was supposed to go. Surely someone was in charge around here. At his home plantation, there had always been someone in charge of the new slaves. The thought of home – of his family - caused a mixture of rage and grief to struggle for control of his body. Silently he fought off the weakness engulfing him.

  The rest of his group seemed just as bewildered. It had been a long two days. Herded onto the auction block early the morning before, they had been sold and then moved to a holding area to await transportation to their new owner. Their holding area had been the back of the wagon. They had been left to sit in the bright sunshine until the sun was high in the sky, with neither food nor drink. Finally the driver had ambled up and, without a word, had begun the seemingly endless drive that had deposited them here long after the sun had gone down.

  No one moved until the rumble of the wagon wheels faded in the distance. Then the soft rustle of a long dress broke the stillness. “I ‘magine y’all be right thirsty and hungry” .

  Moses strained his eyes to determine where the mellow, smooth tones were coming from. Finally the owner of the voice moved close enough to see. Gliding toward them was a tiny woman, clothed simply in a white, cotton dress. Her hair, gilded with silver reflected the dim light shining through the cabin doors. It was her eyes, though, that held Moses attention. The ebony eyes shone with a light that came from somewhere deep within. He fastened his own weary eyes on her as she glided to a stop in front of them.

  “Welcome to Cromwell Plantation. My name be Sarah. I know y’all must be mighty tuckered out. And none of y’all look as if you’ve et at all today. We’re fixin’ to fix dat problem.”

  Her words were a signal to all the other watchers. Nameless shapes turned to disappear into their cabins. Moments later, they reappeared with corn cakes and large mugs of cold water. As Moses watched, two more women appeared with a basket full of fresh baked sweet potatoes. One man set up a primitive wooden table near the bewildered arrivals. The women deposited their bounty on the table and stood back with gentle smiles.

  It was all Moses could do to keep from bolting to the table. His last food had been a piece of bread early that morning. But he waited, along with the rest of the new slaves.

  “Let’s pray,” Sarah said, and lowered her still beautiful, lined face.

  Moses watched in astonishment as others bowed their heads. Finally he allowed his head to bend down toward his massive chest in a gesture of respect.

  “Father, thanks for this her’ food. Thank you too, for the safety you done given our new friends here. Amen.” Sarah raised her head. “Y’all can eat now.”

  Moses didn’t need to hear anything else. With one giant stride he was at the side of the table, his towering frame dwarfing the tiny woman standing next to it. His eyes devoured the table but he forced himself to look down at Sarah. “Thank ya, m’am.” His duty taken care of, his work-worn hands reached down to grab several corn cakes and a couple of sweet potatoes from the piles waiting for them. He spotted a tall oak tree on the edge of the clearing and sank down next to it, allowing his long legs to stretch out for the first time that day. He had been careful to make eye contact with no one, save for his brief thank you to Sarah. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to eat - and he wanted to be left alone.

  “Hello, boy.”

  Moses jerked his head around. He had not heard Sarah’s approach. He looked up at her in confused anger and then lowered his head again. Taking a huge bite of a corn cake he stared bitterly at the ground.

  Without a word Sarah sank down beside him. Muted conversation floated through the air as newcomers conversed with the slaves of Cromwell Plantation. But beside the tall oak, silence reigned. Sarah said not a word until he had finished off his meal.

  “What be yo name, boy?”

  Moses glanced up to meet her glowing eyes. He stared, wondering at the source of light in the old slave’s eyes. Then he looked back down.

  “Moses.” The silence stretched between them once again. Maybe she would catch the hint that he just wanted to be left alone. But she seemed content to sit there beside him.

  Finally she spoke again. “Where ya come from, Moses?”

  “Smith Plantation.” He recognized the look of sorrow that shadowed her face. She knew. In spite of the efforts to keep slaves from communicating with each other - the grapevine worked.

  Sarah placed a work-hardened hand on his shoulder gently. Moses flinched but didn’t pull away. The caring touch felt like balm to his battered spirit, but it also brought up too many memories. His own mama....... Catching his breath he jerked his eyes back down to the ground.

  “This here place ain’t like de Smith place, Moses.”

  Moses shrugged his shoulders. He had heard that slaves were treated better at Cromwell Plantation, but what difference did it make to him? His whole world had been torn from him just that morning. It didn’t matter how anyone treated him now. He had lost his reason to live.

  The dimly lit clearing seemed to fade before his eyes as his mind traveled back to the auction house. They had all been brought together from the Smith place, all of them to be sold at one time. That is what had given Moses hope. They were all still together. Maybe someone would........ His hopes had been short lived. Who really wanted a whole family? Especially when the mother was old and bent from too much hard work and too much abuse. And the one sister would never walk right. But still Moses had hoped. It had been his job for so many years to care for his family.

  It had taken but the fall of the gavel on the auctioneers stand to end all of that. His mother and sisters had been the first on the block. It had not taken long to auction them off. At least mama and Sadie were together.

  “I know this old woman doesn’t look like a very fine specimen, but gentlemen, looks can be deceiving. You won’t find a finer cook anywhere in Virginia. For twenty long years she has set the table at the Smith Plantation with wonderful home-cooked food. She can do the same for the lucky gentleman who is the highest bidder.” The auctioneer paused and scanned the crowded room. Now was the time for his best salesmanship. He knew he would have to sell Sadie as a package deal with her mammy. How else would he unload a twelve year old cripple? “And with her, gentlemen, goes a fine girl twelve years old. Don’t let her crippled condition turn you away. She works hard in the kitchen with her mammy and never let’s her problem keep her from the work she has to do. Look at it this way boys - you’ll never have to worry about her running away. She’ll stay where she’s put!” Laughter swept the crowd and he threw in one final shot. “Her crippled condition has not been since birth. She still has the capacity to bear many fine young specimens for the highest bidder!” On
e look told him he had done his job. Men were leaning forward in anticipation. “Where will the bidding begin? “

  Moses had watched in sullen silence as the voice of buyers rang through the room. Mama and Sadie had gone to a man named Johnson. All Moses had been able to find out was that he lived almost one hundred miles north of Richmond on the river at the base of the mountains.

  June had gone on the block next with three other young girls.

  “Look at this fine young girl, gentlemen. At only fifteen years of age she is already a skilled housekeeper. She can sew and even does lacework.”

  Moses had wanted to cry at the terror stamped on his little sister’s face. She had clung to Moses hope that they would all stay together. He watched as she gazed beseechingly at Mr. Johnson, begging him silently to purchase her as well. Johnson had indeed joined in the bidding but had dropped out when June’s price went higher than what he had already paid for the combination of her mother and sister. Shaking his head he had turned away from her beseeching eyes. His little sister had gone for a price of $800 to a man named Saunders who owned one of the plantations farther south down the river. It was all Moses could do to not jump on the block and grab her. The tears running down her face and the fear that caused her to tremble were like a knife in his heart. He had promised his Daddy. And he had failed. He could only watch in helpless agony as they led his mama and sisters away.

  The thought of it now caused him to want to break something. Anything. There must be a way to ease the war raging in his body.

  His turn had come shortly thereafter. He could still hear the words ringing in his ears. You won’t find a strong buck like him every day, gentlemen. He stands at six feet, four inches, and is solid muscle. He puts in a hard day’s work and doesn’t ever give any trouble. He’s only twenty years old. You’ll get plenty years of good work out of this fine specimen. And think what he could do for your breeding program.....