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  “I will help in any way I can.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. I know I’m not supposed to ask, and I won’t, but whatever it is you’re doing for us, I know that you’re taking a chance.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope one day someone will do the same for me.”

  That evening, after we finished making supper and I helped Clarissa to eat, the cook gave me permission to go to my cabin. I wrote the pass, using the language that I had memorized years before, and signed it as Mr. Wilkes. My only concern was that all of Mr. Allen’s passes had wax seals and this one would not. I put the pass under the bed to let it dry while I had my meal, and I put the pen and ink under the rags in the bucket. I completed the instructions for wrapping the pass in the package and sat down to rest. I fell asleep with my head on the table and awoke when there was a knock on the door. It was Kate. I let her in.

  “How was the jam?”

  “It was delicious.”

  “The wagon driver is taking me to the quarters tonight. I’ll sleep there and come back early in the morning with meat from the smokehouse for tomorrow’s meals. If you want, I can take the empty bottle back and bring you more jam.”

  Two days later, I was in the kitchen when two patrollers arrived. One asked the cook which one of us was Sarah. She pointed at me.

  “You, come with us.”

  “Sir?”

  “Are you Sarah?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then come with us. Now.”

  I followed them, keeping my hands in my pockets so that they could not see them shake. We stopped next to their wagon.

  “Why was Grace in your cabin?”

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You were seen talking to her in the washroom and whispering to her in the kitchen, and then the two of you went to your cabin. What were you talking about and why did you go to your cabin?”

  “Sir, she, well, my mother taught me about remedies for women’s troubles and Grace asked me if I had any. I gave her some when we went to my cabin.”

  “Why do you talk so good?”

  “Sir, my mistress and I are the same age. We played together when we were children and I have been her maid since I was eight years old.”

  “Did Grace ever ask you to do anything for her husband?”

  “Sir? No, I don’t even know her husband. Who is he?”

  “We’re not here to answer your questions. Now go back to the kitchen. If we ever hear that you have been involved in any trouble again, it’s off to the whipping post and jail for you. We’ll let Mr. Cromwell decide what to do with you after that. You’re going to learn how we handle niggers, even yellow ones, here. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. Thank you, sir.”

  When I returned, no one spoke to me. That evening, I told Clarissa what happened.

  “I don’t like the idea of patrollers speaking to you without my permission. I’ll ask that decayed strumpet why they questioned you. Tell her maid that I request an audience with her mistress.”

  Mrs. Cromwell arrived after supper and Clarissa dismissed me. I stood outside the room until she departed, and then I reentered.

  “She said that her maid’s abroad husband who lived on the Wilkes Plantation escaped. They think that Grace, with help from slaves here, helped him escape.”

  “Did he escape?”

  “Well, that’s why I don’t know why there is a fuss. Mr. Wilkes retained slave catchers and they brought him and another slave who ran with him back within a day.”

  “What makes them think that someone from here helped them?”

  “This is the interesting part. The crone said that every year about six slaves escape from here and they think that someone here helps them write passes. Sarah? You were not involved, were you?”

  “Miss Clarissa, how could you think that? I don’t know most of the people here or in any other plantation in Talladega. I don’t leave this place. And why would I risk my life for people I don’t even know?”

  “Sarah, if anyone ever asks you to help them in something like that, you must be certain that you do not. Papa told me about these things, including about fraudulent passes, and this is not the first time it has been tried. Whenever a slave escapes, the owner hires slave catchers immediately and places advertisements in the newspapers. If a slave presents a pass, the slave catchers know it was not written by the slave’s master. And don’t tell anyone that you know how to read and write. You could implicate Mama and me.”

  “No, ma’am. I would never tell anyone that. I know it’s a crime.”

  I saw Isaac the following evening. I did not have to be with Clarissa for several hours because she said she was well enough to have supper with the Cromwells.

  “Somebody told me that patrollers was here today and they talked to you about those slaves who tried to run. Why did they talk to you? You didn’t have nothing to do with it, did you?”

  “No, of course not. Why did you think I did?”

  “Because you like to talk about running away. If you had a hand in this, stop it. You could get us both in trouble. And don’t listen to these fools around here. You got to be a idiot to think you can escape. Ain’t they never heard of patrollers and militias?”

  “Maybe some people think it’s worth the risk. Not every single slave is caught, you know.”

  “Every slave that runs thinks he’s going to be the one to get away.”

  “But some do escape, don’t you know that?”

  “Name one that you know.”

  “My mother told me that when she went to New York, there were freedmen there who had escaped.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Well, before I was born.”

  “That’s your answer, right there. The laws keep getting harder and harder against us, making it tougher to escape. Now how many people do you know bought themselves and their families out of slavery? That’s right, a lot more than those who escaped.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THEODORA ALLEN

  THE RETURN JOURNEY TO ALLEN ESTATES WAS uneventful, until we crossed the boundary into Benton County. Blue patches of sky were being overrun by cobalt clouds, and when we passed the Tutwiler property, the wind accelerated, blowing dust around us. Lightning hit a tree and sawed off one of its limbs. The sound of thunder made me jump in my seat. The front left horse halted, causing the other five to drag the carriage to the right and we veered off the road until the coachman pulled the reins and we stopped. He descended from his seat and tried to calm the animals. Bessie and Emmeline came to my assistance.

  “You all right, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I am well. Thank you.”

  The coachman inspected the wheels of the carriage and shook his head.

  “Ma’am, one of the wheels hit a rock. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get out, please, ma’am, so I can try to fix it.”

  Bessie and Emmeline helped me down from the carriage. I put on my hat and lowered the veil to prevent particles of grit from getting into my eyes. My servants covered their faces with their shawls.

  “Ma’am, I don’t think I can fix it, and the horses is scared from the lightning and thunder. And it’s going to rain real hard, soon. Ma’am, I think I should take one of the horses and go get some help. Ma’am, should I go home or try to find somebody closer?”

  “You should go home and come back with my carriage. Tell an overseer to send someone with you who can fix the wheel.”

  The coachman covered the horses with leather blankets and their heads with fly masks before departing. I told Bessie and Emmeline to come into the carriage with me. At first, they hesitated.

  “Come in, come in. It’s too dusty outside and it will begin to rain soon.” When the coachman had been gone about ten minutes, drizzle turned into torrent. “Let us pray,” I said.

  I thought that we would have to wait only about three hours, but the coachman and a blacksmith did not arrive until more than six hours had elapsed.

&nbs
p; “Were sorry, ma’am, but the rain’s coming down harder closer to home. They say it’s been raining since yesterday without stopping.”

  “Did you see Master Allen?”

  “No, ma’am. They say he’s been at the fields most of the time since the weather’s been so bad.”

  It was still raining when we arrived home. There was no sentry posted at the front gate or at the house. Bessie and I waited in the carriage while Emmeline went inside. She returned with the overseer, who said that just he and Belle were at Allen Hall, as Mr. Allen had ordered all the other house servants to help in the fields.

  “Ma’am, I stayed behind to wait for you, but I’m going down there to help to try to save the cotton plants.”

  “Is there any hope?”

  “Well, ma’am, we’ve been putting tarpaulin over the shrubs and draining water from the roots. Mr. Allen said that when it stops raining and the sun comes out, they’ll dry out. Ma’am, Mr. Allen said that Bessie and Emmeline are to stay with you. He’ll be back late.”

  The overseer left for the fields. Bessie served me supper and helped me to bed. I fell asleep quickly, and when I awoke, I thought that it was still night. I called Bessie, who said that it was afternoon. She opened the draperies. It was still raining.

  “Did Mr. Allen come home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He slept for a few hours, had breakfast, and went back to the fields.”

  “Who else is here?”

  “Just you, me, and Miss Emmeline and Belle, ma’am.”

  I spent a quiet day reading and writing, and when I went to bed that night, I told Bessie to wake me when my husband arrived. Around eleven o’clock, Bessie said that he was having supper. I told her to ask him to see me before he went to bed. He did not appear, and I went to sleep.

  The next day was identical to the prior, except that after supper I did not dress for bed and waited for him in the parlor. When I heard the front door open, I went to the foyer. Emmeline was there to help him out of his wet outer clothing and handed him a jacket. His eyes were sunken and he needed to shave.

  “Theodora, how are you, darling?”

  “Mr. Allen, I am well, but how are you?”

  “It appears that we may lose much of the crop. The plants, which are still young, are already showing signs of water damage. How is Clarissa?”

  “She is better, but there is something else I wish to discuss with you privately.”

  “Certainly. I will go upstairs to see you after I eat something.”

  “Shall I sit with you at the table?”

  “No, Theodora. I promise I will speak with you afterward.”

  He arrived as I was fighting sleep.

  “Yes, Theodora. What did you want to say?”

  “Mrs….Cromwell, she…well at first, she said that, just before we left Talla….”

  “Theodora. I am exhausted. Speak.”

  “Mrs. Cromwell at first asked that you give them twenty field hands now instead of waiting until the child is born. She said that it was because they heard a rumor that Clarissa was courted by Mr. Evans in Montgomery at the same time as she was courted by her son.”

  “What did you tell that numskull?”

  “That Clarissa was visiting her grandparents in Montgomery, not Mr. Evans, and that you said that the law presumes a child to be of his mother’s husband.”

  “Well done, Theodora. You do listen to me, after all. What did the ugly dunce say in return?”

  “She spoke with her husband and then gave me their apologies. She asked that I not speak of it to you.”

  “Let us hope that this is the end of that nonsense.”

  “How do you think we will fare with the crops?”

  “Unless it stops raining soon, harvest will be ruined. We may have lost thousands of cotton bales these past three days.”

  It rained for two more weeks, not a downpour as before but steadily, and then a cold mist supplanted the precipitation. The skies remained gray, and I stayed indoors with the fireplaces lit and saw more of my husband, who by then was spending only a few hours a day in the fields. He was quiet at dinner and supper, and with no guests, we had nothing to say. Each night, after eating only a small amount of food, he drank a bottle of wine by himself and at least two glasses of brandy. One evening he did not come downstairs. I asked a servant where Emmeline was, and he said that she was in the kitchen. I went upstairs and found my husband at his desk, his head on a pile of papers. I woke him.

  “Let me help you to your bedroom.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “No, I have a letter to complete and other work to finish regarding my appointment of the new circuit court judge by the end of this month.”

  “Why is that always your responsibility? Is there no one else who could handle that matter? It would be better if you rested and finished it tomorrow.”

  “No, Theodora, I cannot. The state judiciary committee depends on me, as the planter with the largest landholdings and plantation in the county, to appoint the judge and prosecutor on a timely basis. Tell Emmeline I will have my supper later. You go ahead and eat.”

  When I had dined, I returned to his office. He was asleep again with his head on the desk, but this time he was holding a glass of brandy. I woke him again and he did not resist as I took him to his room and helped him to bed.

  “Mrs. Allen, do you make it a habit of undressing helpless men?”

  I did not answer him. He went to sleep. The next day, when my husband did not appear for the midday meal, I went upstairs. I found him in his bedroom, alone. He was unclothed under the linen and his face was drawn.

  “You’re not well?”

  “It depends on how you define ‘well.'”

  “Will the loss of the cotton be devastating?”

  “Theodora, Theodora, do not worry about my financial concerns. We will still be able to purchase your pretty frocks.”

  “That was not what I was thinking about. I was asking because your health has deteriorated since the storms began.”

  “Thank you, dear. Well, let us see. It’s not just the lost cotton but the lower cotton prices in Europe and the Northern states and the increase in slave prices. I intended to invest in a new plantation in Texas as well as in Cromwell’s shipping business, and now I may not have sufficient capital to participate in either venture. So you see, I am in a bind. Oh, yes, in addition, I promised twenty slaves to Cromwell to prevent my grandson from being born a bastard.” He closed his eyes.

  “I am so sorry about all of this. I will leave you to your rest,” I said.

  “No, sit here with me for a moment. Speak to me. I have not heard an intelligent voice in quite some time.”

  “I am thinking of Clarissa and of going back for the baby’s birth. I’m also wondering about the Tutwilers. Should we visit them?”

  “I’ve thought of doing that. Perhaps there is sunshine where they live. Some days, I think of leaving this place. They say the Indies are beautiful, that the rains there are delightful, and that they even have a fanciful name for them: tropical storms. What do you say, Theodora, shall we board a ship in Mobile and go to Barbados or Jamaica?”

  We laughed.

  “Theodora, the boys say that the roads are still muddy. We should wait until the sun returns to travel.”

  I stayed with him until he slept. That afternoon, I found a book in my library that I had purchased when we went to Charleston. It depicted scenes of Barbados, the ancestral home of the South Carolinians, and I painted a watercolor for my husband. When I presented it to him later, he was pleased.

  “This is what I saw in my mind, dear Theodora, azure skies and palm trees. Thank you.”

  A few days later, a servant interrupted our breakfast to say that there were gentlemen waiting to speak to us. He gave my husband one of their calling cards. We went to the parlor.

  “Gentlemen, welcome to our home. Thad, go to the kitchen and return with coffee and tea for everyone. Mr. Fitzhugh, perhaps you care to speak on behalf of our neighbors
? Does Mrs. Allen need to be present?”

  “Yes, Mr. Allen, I will speak. And, yes, Mrs. Allen should be present because this is a situation that concerns our families. Mr. and Mrs. Allen, two of my slaves escaped yesterday, and they have not been caught.”

  “Before we say anything else, let’s go where we may close the door and speak privately,” my husband said.

  He told another servant to tell Thad not to disturb us when he returned. We continued the conversation once we were in the drawing room.

  “Who has been after them?” my husband asked.

  “Two of the most successful catchers with the Pinckney & Jenkins firm, but as you know, if we don’t find them within a day, the likelihood is that they’ll move beyond our grasp and someone else may find and keep them.”

  “Was there an event that precipitated their running away?”

  “One of my overseers disciplined a slave two weeks ago, but he went too far and killed him. One of the escaped slaves was due for a whipping for theft, and apparently he ran to avoid his punishment.”

  “Was not the overseer who killed the slave the same one who was almost prosecuted for murder?”

  “Yes, and that’s another reason why we are here. As you know, sir, we successfully argued against any prosecution because it was not murder, as one cannot murder property. But first, may we discuss the issue of the escaped slaves?”

  “Of course. Please proceed.”

  “Pinckney & Jenkins has information that the Methodist church in town may have helped the slaves to escape, in tandem with a free nigger….”

  “Mr. Fitzhugh, do not use coarse language in my presence.”

  “My apologies, ma’am. The free Negro in town is a tailor who belongs to that church, and we believe he is working with other church members to steal our property.”

  “Do you have any evidence of this activity?”

  “No, sir, we don’t, but we have paid Pinckney & Jenkins to post people in the church who pretend to be new members and to watch the Ni…Negro. We realize that you have your own searchers, patrollers, and slave catchers, but we ask that you join us in paying Pinckney & Jenkins to provide this service until we apprehend these lawbreakers.”