Worthy Brown's Daughter (4 page)

PART TWO

WORTHY BROWN’S DAUGHTER

CHAPTER 8

M
atthew Penny paid eighty dollars a month to rent an office on the second floor of a three-story building on the fringes of Portland’s commercial district. The rent was a little more than he wanted to pay, but the cost was offset by a high-ceilinged loft above the office, which was intended for storage but served as the lawyer’s apartment. Matthew had furnished the empty space with a pine table and a rocking chair he’d taken in trade for legal services. He’d used credit to purchase a cot and a stool, which he used as a washstand. Each day, Matthew brought the water he needed from a nearby well, and, with a tin basin, a pail, a piece of soap, a toothbrush, a razor, a comb, blankets for the cot, and a few towels, his apartment was all rigged out.

Three weeks after his trip to Phoenix, Matthew was in his law office with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, seated on a high stool, hunched over a slanted wooden desk, making copies of court papers that had to be filed by noon. Summer was hanging on, and the sound of steamer whistles, the conversations of passersby, and the clatter of wagon wheels invaded through his open window. When he looked up from his task, he could see sailing vessels bobbing at anchor at the end of a dusty street lined with two- and three-story whitewashed clapboard buildings.

Matthew’s hand cramped constantly, and his eyes burned as he worked on the legal papers. He hated every minute of this scrivener’s work, but he didn’t have the money to hire a scrivener on a regular basis, so he did the small jobs himself. Matthew dipped his quill pen into the well, then shook off the excess ink carefully so none would spatter on his white shirt. The copies had to be duplicates of the original, and, worst of all, they had to be neat and legible. He sighed with relief when he had blotted the last copy of the last page dry.

A freckle-faced boy was waiting impatiently for the documents. Matthew told him what to do with them then flipped a coin to him when he repeated his instructions accurately. The boy pocketed his pay, opened the office door, and froze in midstep. Worthy Brown filled the doorway, a floppy, wide-brimmed hat held before him in his thick calloused hands.

The messenger squeezed past Worthy and bounded down the stairs, casting several curious glances over his shoulder on the way. Though the weather was warm, Worthy wore a red flannel shirt. His feet, which had been bare in Phoenix, were encased in badly worn, homemade shoes, which Matthew was willing to bet were brought out only on special occasions.

“I wondered when you’d come calling, Mr. Brown,” Matthew said as he showed his visitor to a chair in front of his rolltop desk. The rolltop, the desk at which the scrivener’s work was accomplished; two wooden chairs; and a potbellied stove that provided warmth in winter were all one could find in the way of furnishings in Matthew’s office. Its sole decorations were Matthew’s framed certificate to practice law and a landscape showing Mount Hood that Matthew had purchased from a street artist.

“I still don’t have money for your fee, Mr. Penny,” Brown said as his hands worried the brim of his hat in nervous anticipation of rejection.

“You needn’t worry about legal fees. Your assistance in Phoenix was much appreciated. Now how may I help you?” asked Matthew, who had been wondering about Brown’s legal problem since the Negro had tantalized him with his vague references to it during their clandestine meeting.

“Suh, Mr. Barbour has my child, and he won’t give her up.”

“I’m not certain I follow you.”

“He aims to own Roxanne, but that ain’t by our agreement.”

“What agreement is that?”

“May I explain? I don’t want to take up your time, but the story goes on some.”

Worthy looked anxious, and Matthew saw that his hat brim was taking a beating.

“Mr. Brown, where children are concerned, I have an infinite amount of patience. Take all the time you want.”

A look of gratitude suffused Worthy’s features.

“Thank you, suh, thank you.” Worthy took a deep breath and gathered himself. “My wife, Polly, she’s dead,” he said sadly. “But when she was alive, we was slaves to Major Whitman in Georgia. Then Major Whitman fell on hard times and sold us to Mr. Barbour for his debts.

“I was a field hand on Mr. Barbour’s plantation, and Polly worked up to the house waiting on Mrs. Barbour. When Polly took sick and died of fever, Roxanne went up to the house to look after Mrs. Barbour. Roxanne be about ten then.

“Mr. Barbour was hard on Mrs. Barbour. She took to drink then she died. Soon after Mrs. Barbour passed, Mr. Barbour fell on hard times and sold off most of the slaves. One evening, Mr. Barbour fetched me and Roxanne and said we was going. Why he had to leave I don’t know, but I know he was a dear friend of the cards, and I ’spect it was something like what happened to Major Whitman.

“We went off in the middle of the night so no one would see, me driving the wagon with Mr. Barbour’s trunk and such in the back, Roxanne huddled in among his belongings and Mr. Barbour seated beside me, casting fearful looks every way until we was clear of Georgia. I didn’t say nothing, of course. I just do like Mr. Barbour say. Soon, we was in Oregon, and I was working for Mr. Barbour like I done in Georgia.”

Worthy looked embarrassed. “Mr. Penny, I can’t read. Never could.” Then he smiled proudly. “But Roxanne is very smart. While she was working up to the house in Georgia, she sneaked looks at Mrs. Barbour’s books and she figgered out some reading by herself. I ’spect Mrs. Barbour helped, too, even though it was against the law for a slave to read. But Mrs. Barbour was a kind woman, and she took to Roxanne.

“After Roxanne got some reading in her, there was no stopping her. She was all the time trying to read and learn. Well, suh, one day Mr. Barbour left the newspaper in the house and Roxanne saw where there was a new constitution with no slavery. I pretended I learnt that in town, and I asked Mr. Barbour about it. All that did was make him mad. He said we was his slaves and that was that, but I kept at him and I wore him down. Finally, he said if I worked for him for one more year he would free us. I helped clear his acreage and plant his crops. Roxanne done his washing and cooking. After he promised I never said no more about it. Finally, the week before court in Phoenix come the day to be free. Only Mr. Barbour said he never made no such promise.”

Worthy’s fist clenched, and his jaw stiffened with anger. “I didn’t know what to do, but I thought on it all week. The day we returned from Phoenix I faced him again. I told him what you said ’bout the constitution saying no slaves. I said he’d given his word. Mr. Barbour been mad ever since you made him look foolish, and he was drinking more than usual. He fetched his rifle and ordered me off the property, only he wouldn’t let me take Roxanne. He wasn’t thinking right from the drink, and I was scared he would shoot me if I stayed, so I left, figgering to come back for Roxanne when he was sober and calmed down. I been back there twice since, and each time he told me he got investments in Roxanne and is gonna keep her till the debt is paid off.”

“What kind of investment does he claim to have made in your daughter?”

“For clothes and feeding her and giving her a roof over her head.”

“How old is Roxanne?”

“Almost fifteen.” Worthy’s voice cracked. “She is a very good child, Mr. Penny, very mindful. If you can see your way to helping me . . .”

Matthew saw how hard it was for Worthy Brown to ask for help, and he raised his hand to stop the man’s plea and allow him to keep his dignity.

“No need to go further, Mr. Brown. You and your daughter are clearly the victims of a terrible injustice, and I’ll help you.”

Worthy looked stunned. Matthew guessed that he had never truly believed that he would be able to convince one white man to take up his cause against another.

“Have you thought of taking Roxanne when Mr. Barbour is not at home?”

“Yes, suh, but we is colored, and there ain’t no place we could hide. Then, too, I don’t want to chance Roxanne getting hurt.”

“So you’ve come to me.”

Worthy sat up straight and laid the hat in his lap. He looked very serious.

“Mr. Penny, I believe things should be done legal and by agreement. I made my word with Mr. Barbour that I would work for my freedom, and I kept it. I want him to keep his word.”

“Quite right, and we will make Caleb Barbour keep his word. I intend to file a petition for a writ of habeas corpus. That’s Latin for ‘bring the body,’ and we will get the court to order Caleb to transport Roxanne to your arms. You have my word on it.”

Worthy Brown sat ramrod straight for a moment. Then he clasped Matthew’s hand, shaking it up and down like a thirsty man working the handle of a water pump.

MATTHEW SPENT ANOTHER HOUR ASKING
detailed questions about Brown’s history in Georgia and Oregon. When Worthy left, Matthew wrote a draft of his habeas petition, which he put away when the fading sun cast shadows across the room. There was an inexpensive café across the street that catered to sailors, workingmen, and neighborhood businesses. After finishing off a glass of beer and a plate of sausage, potato, and cabbage, Matthew climbed the outside stairs to his office.

A chessboard lay on the floor of Matthew’s apartment. It had taken Matthew a month and a half to make it. When he had finished the board, Matthew had begun carving the pieces. Two white knights and the white king’s bishop stood on their appropriate squares. A half-finished queen’s bishop lay on its side, unable to stand because Matthew had not yet whittled the base. It was almost dark when he sat down on the narrow landing that fronted the office and settled in his rocking chair to work on the bishop’s miter. He whittled slowly on the half-finished chess piece until the night sky filled with stars.

Matthew put down his knife and walked to the railing. There was a constant din from the street below. Matthew welcomed the noise. It was a comfort to someone who lived alone and missed the company of the woman he had loved deeply. When Rachel was alive, he had never felt alone, even when he was by himself.

Time had softened the pain caused by his loss, but there were moments when a memory would blindside Matthew. At first, he had fought the grief that could make him howl like a dog. Then he came to believe that his grief was a tribute to the depth of his love for the woman he would never hold again, and he’d learned to let it flow through him like the river that had carried Rachel away.

Matthew pulled his thoughts away from Rachel and focused them on Worthy Brown. There had never been any question that he would take on Worthy’s case. Some cases demanded to be taken: cases that nourished the spirit, uplifted the soul, and gave a lawyer the strength to pursue all of the tired, often petty, lawsuits that make up the bulk of a practice. For Matthew, the deciding factor had not been the loathing he felt for Caleb Barbour or the incredible inhumanity of the man’s actions or the value of Worthy Brown’s information to the case in Phoenix. What convinced Matthew that he had to represent the former slave was Worthy Brown’s unwavering belief in the sanctity of contract and his willingness to resort to the legal system that permitted his people to be treated like cattle. Brown had demonstrated a belief in principle that transcended personal experience and an ability to understand the idea of law sorely lacking in many people of Matthew’s acquaintance, including members of the bar.

What worried Matthew was the possibility that he would not succeed. They were in Jedidiah Tyler’s district, and Tyler was still bitter about the defeat of the pro-slavery platform at the Constitutional Convention.

Matthew leaned on the railing and thought about the feelings of rage and impotence Worthy Brown had to harbor as a black man unable to save his own daughter without the help of a white man. Then he remembered his own feelings of impotence and rage, pinned to the ground, screaming helplessly, as the river took Rachel from him.

Matthew’s chest seized up. Heat seared his cheeks, and his eyes began to water. He had not been able to save the most important person in his own life, but maybe he would be able to save the most important person in Worthy Brown’s life; maybe he could spare Worthy Brown the pain of separation that Matthew himself felt so deeply. He stood up straight and took deep breaths. When he was calmer, he brought a lantern onto the porch, sat back in the rocker, and whittled away on the bishop’s hat.