Storm Clouds Rolling In (24 page)

“Do you want me to have your
mama come down here?” Rose asked.

Carrie thought for a moment and then shook her head.
“I think I can handle this.” The truth was that she wanted to get to the bottom of what was really going on. She knew Sadie wouldn’t talk if her mother were there.

Carrie turned back to Sadie as Rose disappeared.
“This fever has to be coming from somewhere.”

Sadie shrugged and turned her eyes away.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as her shivering intensified. Carrie looked around the cabin and jumped up to grab several additional thin blankets. She looked with distaste at the barren dirt floor. How awful to be sick in conditions like these. Carefully, she tucked the blankets around the bony shoulders and watched as Sadie’s shivering gradually subsided to an occasional shudder.

Carrie looked up as Rose entered the door.
“Put the bucket here and give me the rags.” Quickly she dipped the cloth into the cold water, wrung it out, and laid the compresses on Sadie’s hot forehead. In less than a minute, it too was hot. Carrie quickly replaced it with another. She had no idea how long she sat there changing compresses before the fever began to subside. Sadie’s eyes cleared a little and she smiled gratefully.

“Thank you, Miss Carrie.
I be feeling a mite better.”

Carrie nodded and continued her ministrations.
“We need to talk, Sadie. You need to help me figure out where this fever is coming from. It’s not like a regular fever. It goes away, but comes right back.”

Sadie shrugged her shoulders again and looked away.

Carrie persisted, alarmed at the fear she saw lurking in her eyes.
“You’ve got to tell me, Sadie. I can’t make you better if I don’t know what’s going on.” She kept her voice kind but firm.

Sadie finally turned her eyes toward Rose.
She seemed to question her silently.

Carrie turned to look at Rose, her alarm increasing as she saw the hesitation on
Sadie’s face. “I can’t help if I don’t know.”

Rose locked eyes with
Carrie for a long moment before looking back to where Sadie lay on the bed. She nodded slowly. “Tell her, Sadie.”

Sadie lay quietly for several moments
. Then she pulled back the covers and struggled to sit up.

“You shouldn’t be moving, Sadie.”
Carrie leaned forward to stop her.

“You want to know where the fever be coming from, Miss Carrie?”

“Of course I do.” Carrie was confused.

“Then I be needing to sit up
,” Sadie said quietly. Carrie remained where she was, watching as Sadie reached down and pulled off her shoe with a slight grimace. She raised her leg to lay her foot across her knee where Carrie could see the bottom of it.

Carrie gasped at the sight of the ugly, infected gash across the bottom of the woman’s foot.
“No wonder you’re so sick! How in the world have you been wearing your shoes?” The foot was swollen to almost twice its normal size and Carrie could see the swelling was extending up into the ankle. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Sadie averted her eyes once more, but not before Carrie saw the stark fear glimmering in their depths. “Sadie! How did this happen?” she asked sharply. Silence stretched into the shadows of the cabin. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

“Go ahead and tell her, Sadie,” Rose said softly.

Carrie took deep breaths to remain calm, a sick feeling in her stomach telling her that whatever Sadie had to say was going to be bad.

Sadie kept her eyes on the floor as she began to speak slowly.
“Mr. Adams... He...he ...” Sadie shuddered as she tried to force out the words.

“Mr. Adams did this to you?” Carrie asked incredulously.

Sadie suddenly found strength from somewhere. She raised her eyes to meet Carrie’s. “Yes, Miss Carrie. He cut me.”

“He cut your foot?” Carrie demanded wildly.
“Why?” She could feel the blood pounding in her head.

“I weren’t working fast enough in the fields.
He wanted me to work faster. He said this would make me remember. He tell me dat if I miss a day of work in the fields he’d cut the other one.” Sadie’s eyes filled with tears that she blinked quickly away.

Carrie felt sick to her stomach.
How had this happened? Her father had always demanded his slaves be treated well. “Are other things like this happening?” The silence filling the cabin spoke louder than words. Carrie’s horror mixed with a steadily building anger. She laid her hand on Sadie’s shoulder and struggled to control her voice. “Sadie, I’m sorry. I will tell my father immediately. He will make sure this never happens again.” She couldn’t miss the terror filling Sadie’s eyes. “My father will take care of it,” she insisted.

“That might not do any good, Miss Carrie.”

Carrie turned to Rose in astonishment. “Why not?”

Rose shrugged.
“Mr. Adams is a bad one. The hate is growing in him every day. If your father talks to him, it may make it worse.”

“
Not
talking to him is surely not going to do any good.” Carrie was sure her father could fix the problem. She caught the deep look of concern the two black women exchanged but knew she had to do something. She couldn’t pretend ignorance now that she had the truth. “The thing now is to get this foot fixed,” she said briskly, thankful for something to do. ”We need plenty of hot water. Rose, give me some of the white powder out of the bag. Mama says it draws infection out.” Carrie pushed down her anger and revulsion as she turned her attention to Sadie’s foot. “Start a fire so we can boil plenty of water.” Conversation ceased as she worked.

When Carrie and Rose emerged from the dark cabin, Carrie headed toward the stables.
“I’ll be back after a while, Rose. Please tell Mama I’m going for a ride. I need some time to think.”

Rose was deep in thought when she entered the house a few minutes later.
She had just enough time to unpack Carrie’s trunk before she would be needed to help with dinner. Her mind spun furiously as she tried to imagine the results of Carrie’s talk with her father. Had she been wrong to encourage Sadie to tell Carrie the truth? Would it just result in more trouble?

“We got more comp’ny.”
Sam’s voice broke into her troubled thoughts.

“I didn’t know anyone else was expected.”

Sam shrugged.
“I don’t do no expecting. I just do what I be told.”

Rose hid her smile. She knew Sam’s compliance was all an act.
He helped her get away with a lot of things. A desire for freedom burned deep in his heart and he dreamed of the day he could escape and be free from the plantation. “Who is it?”

“Somebody just passing through.
Had hisself a letter of introduction from some fella Marse Cromwell knows in Richmond.”

Rose nodded and turned to walk up the stairs.
Then she stopped and turned back, nudged by a feeling she didn’t understand. “What’s his name, Sam?”

“Mr. Jamison.”

Rose stared at him wide-eyed, suddenly speechless.

“Why you be staring at me like that, girl?”

Rose suddenly caught herself. It would never do to make anyone suspicious— especially Sam who was so protective of her. He covered for her with the school. But this. This was a different matter. She forced herself to shrug casually. “It’s nothing, Sam. I just remembered something Miss Carrie asked me to do. I can’t believe I almost forgot.” She couldn’t miss Sam’s disbelieving stare. “I’ve got to go, Sam. Thank you for letting me know there is company here.” She turned and escaped up the stairs, knowing Sam’s eyes were boring into her back.

Within the confines of Carrie’s room, Rose collapsed on the dressing table chair.
Mr. Jamison! Here. Today. They had just gotten the note last night. She had never expected him to show up today. She wasn’t ready for him. How was she to communicate with him? Her mind raced frantically as she tried to take in the fact that the conductor from the Underground Railroad was actually at Cromwell Plantation. She took deep breaths and tried to think calmly. After sitting quietly for several minutes, she rose and swiftly unpacked Carrie’s trunk. Just as she expected, she found paper and a writing pen. She sat down at the dressing table and began to write.

Moses started his work in the fields that morning.
So far, it was no different from anything he had known before. In fact, working in the fertile fields was almost pleasant. The ground on the plantation he had come from had been overworked and the plants it produced were yellow and sickly. The overseer said the slaves were to blame. The lash had flown freely, but still the plants came up with little to show for their existence. It was the reason the plantation had failed and been sold. This ground was different—the soil dark and rich, with a sweet odor. The tobacco plants springing forth from the earth were green and healthy. He would have to ask someone why. He dreamed of owning his own farm someday.

“Quit your daydreaming, boy!”

Moses looked up to see who Adams was yelling at.
He had not ceased in his efforts with the hoe. His powerful shoulders kept up the rhythmic swinging easily. He was surprised to see Adams looming over him on his bay mare. He said nothing, just turned back to his work. He recognized the glazed eyes of a man who had tangled with too many bottles of whiskey. Adams had been angry ever since Sadie was removed from the fields. The sun beating down had done nothing to improve his temper.

“I’m talking to you, boy!”

Moses stared at the ground, wondering what he should do. Miss Sarah had told him to be careful. But how was he supposed to avoid this trouble? One look into Ike Adams wild, red-rimmed eyes had told him he was dealing with a man just like his brother. He looked up slowly. “Yes, suh?”

Adams grinned evilly, obviously relishing his power.
“Ain’t you used to working where you come from, nigger?”

Moses took a deep breath.
“Yes, suh.” He knew the look of a man who was in need of giving a beating. Men like Adams thrived on the feeling of power their position gave them. Adams had for too long experienced the kind of hatred that blotted out all reasonable thought. It was demanding an outlet. Moses sighed. He had hoped Cromwell Plantation was going to be different.

“It sure don’t look that way, boy,” Adams sneered.
“I think you need a lesson to teach you how Cromwell niggers work. You didn’t learn it too good where you came from.”

TWELVE

Carrie cantered Granite down the road through the fields. She was on her way to her place, desperate to sort through what she had discovered today. She had hoped to be able to tell her father earlier than after supper, but he had left shortly after returning home to go meet someone. The thought of telling her mother never entered her mind. Mother would simply have told her to talk to her father. Carrie was confused and angry about what Sadie had confided today. It was bad enough that Ike Adams was mistreating the slaves, but there was another thought equally as troubling. Why hadn’t their people told them what was happening? Didn’t they know her father didn’t allow abuse on his plantation?

Suddenly, a movement in the field to her right caught her attention.
She squinted her eyes and watched the group of slaves working the tobacco, Adams looming over one of the men her father had just bought. She saw Adams reach to the back of his saddle but couldn’t quite believe what she saw next. He was pulling out a whip. Fury choked her as she wheeled Granite and headed in their direction

“Take your shirt off, nigger,” she heard Adams growl as she drew near.
So far, no one had noticed her. All eyes were glued to the drama unfolding before them.

Jupiter was standing close beside Moses.
“You ain’t got to do that, Moses.” His voice was low.

Moses just looked at him.
“Won’t do no good,” he replied flatly. “He’s a man needs to let loose some hate.” Slowly, he peeled off his shirt.

Adams eyes gleamed as sunlight glinted off Moses’
s sweating, muscular back. “Good, boy!” he snarled and drew his arm back.

Carrie had seen all she needed to
see. “What is going on here?” she demanded in a loud, commanding voice.

Ike Adams swore, dropped the whip, and whirled his mare around.
“Miss Cromwell!”

Carrie made no attempt to hide her anger.
“What exactly are you doing, Mr. Adams?” Gone was her anxiety about dealing directly with the overseer. She was eighteen years old. Her daddy had taught her everything about this plantation and instilled in her a respect for their slaves. Time, and her own heart, had instilled a deep love. She stared hard at the plantation overseer.

Adams blanched, his throat working nervously.
“This nigger... He was giving me trouble.”

“What kind of trouble, Mr. Adams?”
Her words were clipped.

Adams shifted, his eyes darting
. Then he straightened, obviously trying to regain some control. His voice was condescending. “This nigger don’t seem to think he should work, Miss Carrie. He’s been slow and lazy all day. I was thinking he needed some help to show him how Cromwell slaves work.”

Sadie’s wounds were fresh in Carrie’s mind, fueling her anger.
“So you’re going to speed him up by beating him and hurting him?” She made no attempt to hide the contempt in her voice.

Adams squirmed.

Moses watched quietly.

Adams was still searching for a way out.
“This nigger be a bad one, Miss Cromwell. If you don’t allow me to get him under control now, he’s going to mean big trouble later on. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I was just aiming to scare him. I know your daddy don’t like me to use the whip, but you got to show the new ones early on.” There was a whine in his voice now.

“It is not your job to make those decisions,” Carrie responded coldly.
“My father has given explicit orders that none of his slaves are to be abused. I believe your responsibility is simply to follow his orders.” She fixed him with a steely glare. “I will be taking it up with my father later. For now, I want you not to lay a hand on one of
our
slaves.” As long as she remained on the plantation, she was going to fulfill her responsibility. There would be no abuse. She turned to leave, but quickly spun Granite around to face the furious overseer again. “One other thing, Mr. Adams. I am responsible for the medical care of all Cromwell Plantation slaves. I will be doing regular exams. If I find any signs of abuse, you will be quite sorry.” Having delivered her final shot, Carrie turned and trotted Granite quickly away.

Only when she was out of earshot did she allow the tears to come
—tears of anger and sorrow. She turned away from the river and headed home. She would be there when her father returned.

“Carrie, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Jamison.
He will be staying with us for the night.”

Carrie smiled, her manner gracious, though her fists were clinched with impatience.
Her father had just arrived in the company of the man he was introducing. A conversation with him would have to wait. “Hello, Mr. Jamison. It is a pleasure to have you join us.” She didn’t remember ever having met him before. She was also sure she had never heard her father speak of him. And she was positive they had not been expecting company that day. Not that it made any difference. Hospitality was sacrosanct in the South.

Thomas answered her unspoken question.
“Mr. Jamison came to us by way of my friend Mr. James Thomas.”

“The tobacco manufacturer?” Carrie asked.

“The very same,” Mr. Jamison agreed. “He and I grew up together as children in Caroline County. We were both equally poor back then.”

Carrie laughed at the idea of James Thomas being poor.
He was now the South’s leading tobacco manufacturer, with one of the finest and most pretentious mansions in Richmond. Jamison laughed with her, a hearty laugh that spoke of enjoying life. Carrie liked the man instantly. His eyes shone clearly and the lines in his face revealed a kindness of heart. “How long will you be with us, Mr. Jamison?”

“Just until tomorrow, Miss Cromwell.
I’m only here to check on the quality of the new crops. I represent Mr. Thomas in several concerns in the North.”

“Oh, do you travel often to the North?” Carrie asked, thinking of her earlier conversation with Robert.

“I live there.”

Thomas showed surprise.
“I assumed you were a Southerner, sir.”

“I am, Cromwell.
A Southerner through and through. I just happen to have my current address in the North. I went to college at the University of Pennsylvania. A good business opportunity kept me there. James convinced me he needed me,” he said modestly.

“You might find your
Northern address uncomfortable soon, if my reports are accurate.” Thomas’s voice was cryptic.

Jamison nodded.
“You’ve heard of the rising tension?”

“Yes.”

“There does seem to be more than I have seen before, but so far it hasn’t touched me. I believe my status as a businessman must offer me some protection.”

Conversation flowed as the dishes were brought out to the table.
Carrie found herself losing track of the talk as her mind drifted over the occurrences of the day. She was already planning what she would say to her father when they were alone.

Rose, from her station by the kitchen door, struggled to calm her pounding heart.
She must think clearly. Too much depended on this. When she was sure no one was watching her, she had been casting covert glances at Mr. Jamison. Could he possibly be the conductor for the Underground Railroad? Everything about him spoke of a wealthy businessman. Why would he be involved in helping free slaves? What if he wasn’t
the
Mr. Jamison? She had received the note only yesterday. Surely he couldn’t have arrived so soon. What if it was all a setup? If she contacted him, would she discover it was all a giant hoax designed to capture slaves who had it in their minds to escape? She cast through her mind for a way to be sure, the questions colliding with each other in wild discord. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that there was no way to be absolutely certain. Yet, she had only this night to make the critical contact. With tremendous effort, she maintained her composure. It would not do to direct any attention her way. It would only arouse suspicion later. Her face remained impassive as she picked up the tray and moved back into the dining room. She had a job to do.             

“What a wonderful dinner
,” Jamison said enthusiastically. “Your cook is marvelous.”

Abigail smiled.
“Thank you. She has been with us for as long as I have been married to Thomas.”

Thomas nodded.
“She was born here. My father always said she was the best cook in Virginia. She must be close to fifty years old now. I don’t know what we would do without her.”

“Slave or
free?” Jamison asked casually.

Thomas shot his guest a sharp look.
“There are no free servants on Cromwell Plantation, Mr. Jamison.”

Jamison nodded pleasantly, but he could not completely hide the faint look of distaste as he lit his cigar.
Rose was certain the sudden cloud of smoke from his cigar had veiled his expression from the others at the table but that look had done much to ease her fear. What had she told her students the night before?
We can’t let fear rob us of our dreams. The only way to live is to fight those fears and do what comes to us
.

Jamison stretched his long legs and leaned back in his chair.
“There is still daylight. Would you object to my taking a walk around your plantation? I fear my hours in the carriage have left me quite stiff.”

“Of course,” Thomas agreed instantly.
“You are welcome to go anywhere you like. “I’m sorry I can’t join you. There are some things I need to go over with my daughter. I’m afraid they can’t wait till morning.” He ignored the questioning look Abigail threw him, turned his head away, and winked at Carrie.

Rose quickly gathered up the remaining dishes, already casting in her mind for a way to connect with the
conductor.

“What’s on your mind, Carrie?”

Carrie turned to her father eagerly as they sat on the porch swing. Dogwoods in full bloom demanded attention, but Carrie hardly noticed them tonight. “Thank you for knowing something was wrong.”