The Wedding Gift Read online

  “I wanted to be certain by examining you first.”

  “Or perhaps you wanted to remain on retainer.”

  “Madam, that is not true. I…”

  “That is all that I require from you. Your services are no longer needed. Please take your leave and speak to my husband about your compensation.”

  “Mrs. Allen, you are in the midst of a grave event and you are not thinking clearly….”

  “My mind is functioning well, and I will not engage in further discourse with you. Good day.”

  “Mrs. Allen, perhaps….”

  “I said that you are dismissed, Dr. Atlas.”

  When he had departed, Bessie asked if she should call for my husband.

  “No. Not at this time. Mr. Allen is in the fields, and I do not want him to be disturbed. Bessie, do the field hands and servants trust Mary, the midwife?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They say she never lose no babies or mothers.”

  “Without telling anyone else, I want you to go to the fields and tell Mary that I need to see her. Do not tell anyone else that you are going to get her. If an overseer asks, say that we need remedies for one of the servants. Dottie can stay here with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But, ma’am, can I say something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ma’am, Miss…uh…Emmeline…everybody say she know a lot about women’s troubles. Miss…uh…Mary teach her all about medicines and such. Since it’s going to be some time before I can come back with Miss Mary, maybe you can talk to Miss Emmeline.”

  Bessie was loyal and knew me at least as well as my family. With regard to my well-being, I decided to accept her counsel and to disregard my husband’s illicit conduct with Emmeline.

  “Yes, Bessie, that is good thinking. Dottie can call Emmeline and you go to the fields to bring Mary.”

  Emmeline arrived in about ten minutes.

  “Emmeline, Bessie tells me that you know about women’s problems, that the midwife has taught you about herbal remedies.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I have lost my child. Dr. Atlas has recommended that I take tansy to expel the rest of the blood. What do you think?”

  “Ma’am, I can’t say I know nowhere as much as the doctor, and I don’t want to go against his advice.”

  “I’m asking you to do so.”

  “Well, ma’am, tansy is too strong. And it make your stomach sick so you don’t want to eat. You need to eat right because you lost so much blood and must get your strength back.”

  “Is there something else that you think I should take?”

  “Yes, a tea of black and blue cohosh.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re going to make you push out the rest of the blood and make your womb strong again. You take these teas, day and night, for about seven days. You take ginger tea too to calm your stomach and make you want to eat. After the seven days, you take more teas to make your womb strong again, like raspberry leaf, blue vervain, dandelion root, and rose hips.”

  “Do you have those herbs?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have them dried.”

  “I would like those teas, Emmeline.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make them now.”

  “Thank you, Emmeline.”

  She curtsied and left, and Dottie helped me to wash and changed the bed linens. Emmeline returned with the teas, which I drank as soon as they cooled, and she said that she would visit me periodically. I asked Dottie to call Eliza and my aunt. When they arrived and Dottie was gone from the room, I related to them what I had done and about my conversation with Emmeline.

  “Angel, do you really believe that taking counsel from her was wise?”

  “I have heard from two of the planters’ wives that the midwives are rather knowledgeable about these matters. Bessie confirmed that the midwife here taught Emmeline about these remedies. When she is here, I will ask her to confirm Emmeline’s advice.”

  Aunt Lucretia and Eliza stayed with me, and Bessie returned with Mary about two hours later.

  “How many babies do you assist in delivering?” I asked her.

  “Sometimes three a day, ma’am.”

  “How long have you been a midwife and how did you learn your trade?”

  “Ma’am, they told me we been midwives from way back. My grandmother and my mother was the ones that teach me.”

  “I understand that you are very valuable to us, that you have never lost a baby or a mother.”

  “No, ma’am, not one.”

  I told Mary what Emmeline recommended, and she said that Emmeline’s suggestions were the right ones.

  “Mary, I am going to speak to my husband about having you assist me the next time I am pregnant.”

  “Yes, ma’am. If you and Mr. Allen want me, I’m happy to do it. But, ma’am, since Miss Emmeline is here by you, I think that she can help you out too.”

  “That is what we will do then. I will rely on both of you.”

  I was bedridden but not bored, because Eliza, Papa, my aunt, and sometimes my husband took turns sitting in my room and reading to me. Papa gave me pencil drawing lessons, which I found challenging. My family stayed with me for another month to make certain I had recuperated. Bessie was no longer treating me like an invalid, and after my family was gone, my husband asked me if I was well enough to accompany him to Mobile, Charleston, and New York.

  “We have shipped most of the cotton from this year’s harvest, but I must go to those cities to negotiate prices for next year and to attend to other matters,” he said.

  “How long will the voyage last?”

  “About three months.”

  “Will I be able to take Bessie?”

  “Certainly. We’re also taking my body servant and. Emmeline.”

  I knew better than to ask him why we needed to take Emmeline and was certain that, even if I declined to go, he would still take her.

  “Yes, I would like to join you.”

  “Good. Emmeline and Eddie have made this journey with me and they know everything that we have to do to prepare. My secretary has made transportation and lodging arrangements. You and Bessie must be ready to depart by the middle of next month.”

  Bessie and Dottie packed my luggage over the next two weeks. My husband instructed me to write my measurements, as well as Bessie’s, Emmeline’s, and Belle’s, whom I learned Emmeline would not leave behind, and his secretary sent the information to a tailor in New York. Cornelius said that winter clothing for all of us would be waiting at the hotel when we arrived and that we would purchase goods and other clothing that we needed in Mobile and Charleston. We departed on a cold and cloudy November morning, in the largest carriage drawn by a team of Cleveland bays. Bessie settled me in my seat and covered me with a fur lap robe. She sat in front with the coachman and Eddie, and Emmeline and Belle followed in another carriage that was loaded with our baggage. Overseers had left the plantation at daybreak, in wagons loaded with small quantities of cotton bales, mainly as samples for the New York market. The majority of the harvest had been shipped to England and France weeks prior, via the Tennessee and Mississippi rivers and then through New Orleans.

  The carriage took us to my husband’s landing on the Coosa River by Talladega, which, because it was after harvest, was crowded, chaotic, and noisy, as overseers watched slaves from different plantations load cotton bales onto steamboats. The ground was muddy, and I was glad to be wearing boots for travel. My husband and I boarded the boiler-deck level of the General Brown, and our servants took their places on the main deck below us. I was afraid of steamboats because the newspapers carried reports of accidents such as fires, falling trees, running into shoals, and boilers exploding. Bessie accommodated me in my berth, and Eddie helped my husband in his, which was adjacent to mine.

  I stayed in my compartment most of the time, as I did not care for the loud men in the saloon, some of whom were itinerant gamblers. The men in the saloon smoked, played cards, chewed snuff, and spit into buckets.
My husband, however, enjoyed boat travel because he met other planters on board, and they spoke mainly about cotton and slave prices. I entertained myself by reading and watching the scenes when we stopped at the landings. Slaves even loaded cotton at night, by torchlight.

  The journey was slow because we stopped at every planter’s landing to receive cotton. It took us six days to get from Talladega to Montgomery, where we rested for a night at the home of my parents-in-law and arrived in Mobile ten days later, on a bright and balmy day so unlike the cold weather at home. We stayed at a hotel that was convenient to the business district so that my husband could meet with factors from Northern firms that provided marketing services for cotton and with representatives of the Bank of Mobile. We spent Christmas with my husband’s acquaintances and departed for Charleston the twenty-eighth day of December. On New Year’s Day, we dined on seafood, of course, and the captain and his mariners entertained us by playing music.

  I had imagined that Charleston would be slightly larger than Mobile, but I was not at all prepared for what I saw when we disembarked. There were so many Negroes in Charleston that they were the predominant people. I moved close to my husband and he put his arm around me as we walked to the carriage. Mr. Peabody, my husband’s associate at the Second Bank of the United States, was waiting to escort us to the Charleston home of Mr. and Mrs. Ezekiel Heywood, our hosts. On the way, I commented to Mr. Peabody that I was surprised to see that there were so many Negroes in town.

  “Yes, ma’am. There are about three times as many of them as there are of us, but you need not be troubled. You will see that we have armed city guards everywhere.”

  I noticed houses of worship that I had not seen anywhere else, and Mr. Peabody explained that the city was home to Papists who had built a Roman Catholic church and Hebrews who worshipped in their synagogue.

  Mrs. Heywood planned activities for me during the day while the gentlemen transacted commercial matters. The morning after we arrived, she took me to a garden and nursery at King and Meeting streets. We returned to her home that afternoon for tea. She advised me to rest for the remainder of the day because the social season was frenetic, as all the planters were in the city with their families and everyone hosted dinners and balls. When we did not attend dances during our visit to Charleston, we went to concerts or the theater. Saturday afternoons we attended horse races and the gentlemen played golf at Harleston’s Green. One afternoon I visited the Orphan House with Mrs. Heywood, where we donated food and clothing for unfortunate children.

  Instead of resting in the bedroom at the Heywood home afterward, I decided to read in the library, which was next to the parlor. I fell asleep on a settee and awoke when I heard my husband, Mr. Heywood, Mr. Peabody, and another gentleman speaking in the parlor.

  “Mr. Heath wrote that he and his partners are prepared to invest fifty percent in the venture if we agree to the other half,” said Mr. Peabody.

  “I’m not certain that I’m willing to risk so much without a written agreement,” my husband said.

  “I relayed your apprehension to him, but he said that we cannot put this in writing because the authorities are authorized to prosecute anyone who is caught participating in such an endeavor which, in fact, is a capital crime, punishable by death. He said that, when you arrive in New York, you and he will meet with the captain to give him his deposit. The two of you and Mr. DeWolf will then use the balance of the funds to jointly purchase the ship. Every term of the contract must be oral, but I know that Mr. Heath and his partners are trustworthy because I have conducted a number of these transactions with them,” said Mr. Peabody.

  “I have as well, and I know them to be honorable,” said Mr. Heywood.

  “Well then, let’s proceed with the arrangements,” my husband replied.

  We left Charleston after three weeks, arriving in New York late one morning at the Fulton Street piers, which were crowded with ships and boats. Men were loading and unloading crates of goods, and others were peddling wares of all kinds. As we stepped off the gangway, a gentleman, Mr. Merritt, and his two servants were there to greet us. The servants handed us coats, hats, and gloves. Bessie helped me with mine and Eddie assisted my husband. We stepped into a carriage that was waiting for us on Water Street, which could not move until the coachman dug soil out from under the wheels. Once we were traveling, I noticed a pretty boy with pink cheeks chasing a piglet, and there were beggars stationed at various points on the streets, holding their filthy hands out to the people in the carriages. A man standing in front of a butcher block on Fulton Street was throwing entrails and fish heads into a bucket as a dirty child filled a bowl with the discarded viscera. Chickens picked at the mud.

  We passed Pearl Street, which was muddy and full of fishmongers, sailors, and numerous people of different provenances. We crossed smaller roads until we reached a marvel that did not exist in either Mobile or Charleston, a street that was paved and more than one hundred feet wide. There were bricked footpaths on either side of Broadway and unlit lamps, which Mr. Merritt said functioned with gas. Broadway had shops wherever one looked: booksellers, print and music shops, jewelers and silversmiths, coach makers, coffeehouses, and hatters. The carriage took us to the City Hotel, which had elegant stores on the ground level, and we were escorted to an apartment on the second floor. The hotelier spoke to my husband and me in the sitting room as Bessie put away my belongings.

  “Please do not allow your servants to leave the hotel without your supervision; it is not safe. If you need anything but don’t wish to go out, our staff will send someone to fetch what you desire. The reason for this precaution is that there has been an increase in the kidnapping of Negroes for resale in the Western Territories and elsewhere.”

  We did not question his advice. He took his leave and another employee returned to escort Bessie to the servants’ quarters. I asked my husband why his luggage had not arrived.

  “I have leased a separate apartment on another floor. Eddie is there now unpacking.”

  That afternoon, my husband left to attend to his business and told me to rest after dinner. “We will have supper at the home of Mr. and Mrs. DeWolf, where you will meet ladies who will show you the city during our stay here.”

  The next day, Mrs. DeWolf and her friends took me to see St. Paul’s Chapel and Trinity Church and the adjoining cemeteries. They showed me parks filled with elms, willows, and poplars, the gravel walks adorned with shrubs. In the evenings, our husbands joined us for dancing at the City Assembly in our hotel.

  New York had more than twenty newspapers, weekly and monthly magazines, a public library at Nassau Street, and public reading rooms. I felt as if in heaven, there was so much to read. Mrs. DeWolf took me to lectures on moral philosophy and botany, and I purchased books for my library. I could not help but stare at the foreigners, who seemed to be everywhere, speaking among themselves in various tongues. New York was also noisy, mainly because there were constant fires and the engines created a cacophony of sound.

  One afternoon not long after our arrival, I went downstairs to the ground level of the hotel to get the New York Evening Post and other newspapers. As I was walking to the staircase, a well-dressed lady with hair arranged in the Continental fashion approached me.

  “Good afternoon, madam. I am Mrs. Oldwick of Boston, Massachusetts.”

  “How do you do? I am Mrs. Allen.”

  “How do you do. Mrs. Allen, I noticed that you purchased reading materials. Please accept this complimentary newspaper. In it, you will note a session of the American Anti-Slavery Society, which will be held at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon at 83 Pearl Street. I invite you to the meeting and I hope to see you there.”

  She handed me the newspaper, which was folded, and quickly walked toward the front door of the hotel. An employee of the hotel was standing by the staircase, watching us. When she was gone, he spoke to me.

  “Mrs. Allen, is everything all right?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”


  “I thought that woman was disturbing you.”

  I told him that she was merely being friendly, and he went on his way. When I returned to my rooms, I opened the folded newspaper, The Liberator, and saw a pamphlet inside called the Narrative of James Ezekiels, an American Slave, Who Was for Several Years a Driver on a Cotton Plantation in Alabama. I read the newspaper and the pamphlet in one sitting.

  When Bessie knocked on my door at five o’clock to help me dress for supper, I put the writings in luggage containing the books that I had bought in Charleston and New York. I let Bessie in and we selected my clothing for the evening. She had already ordered hot water, and when it arrived, she readied my bath. I could not stop thinking about everything that I had read. So these were the firebrands who sought to abolish slavery that my husband and the other planters complained about in Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina. They evidently had never been to our plantations. The planters that I knew cared for their field hands and servants and disciplined them only when they refused to work or tried to escape.

  What nonsense to suggest that the slaves should be freed. They would not be able to care for themselves. The publishers of the pamphlet claimed that one of James Ezekiels’ brothers could read and write, but I had never known of a Negro who could do so, although I knew that Northerners published books that they claimed were written by Negroes. Papa, however, taught me when I was younger that there was scientific evidence that the race of the slaves had limited mental faculties and that their brains were smaller than our own. Even President Thomas Jefferson said in his Notes on the State of Virginia that Negroes had inferior minds. The narrative that Mrs. Oldwick gave me related tales of the vicious treatment of field hands by an overseer, who supposedly had bloodhounds tear a boy into pieces and had whipped pregnant women, one of whom had died after the beating and another thereafter delivered a dead infant.

  I did not seriously think of attending the meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society, but I was curious about it, and Mrs. Oldwick seemed like a polite, educated lady. I thought that it would be fascinating to speak with her, to engage in frank conversation about the reality of slaves’ lives on a plantation. I could tell her that her understanding of slavery was incorrect and could give her examples of how well our servants and field hands were treated.