Passing to Freedom, Chapter 28: Potiphar and Joseph?

Chapter 28

“Senator, sir, the expense of this thing might ruin you.”

Loving was wrong. He would not be ruined. It was his plan that had been ruined. By sheer incompetence. These fools. He would remedy this. He would remedy it all, and he would get her back, even if it took his very last Virginia penny. But it would certainly never come to that. His constituents would never consent to allow such an indignity to come to pass, and neither would his Commonwealth. They would not be disgraced by those subversives in Maryland and the damned Yankees in Pennsylvania. No, sir. He paid good money to that Yankee insurance racket, and he damned well would have the worth of it.

“Loving, what are you looking at!”

The man was still staring at him blankly, as if pinching a few pennies was going to solve this problem. Loving was usually competent, keeping the estates and holdings in good order. Like Potiphar to Joseph, the Senator prided himself on not having to look to anything under his man’s hand, but right now, his personal secretary was becoming an onerous burden.

“I have told you, Loving. This is my intention. You will write up the claim, as if written under my very own hand and seal, and you will file it with that Yankee company, that they may pay out my dead servants’ value, as they have agreed to by contract.”

“But, Senator, sir?”

Why was this so difficult for the man to comprehend?

“What is it now, Loving?”

“Sir, they, the company, that is, will send an investigator, and they will want more details-”

“I have told you what you are to say. That will have to do for them, and it will suffice.”

“But Senator, sir, if they open an investigation, and if a reporter gets wind of that investigation, then the scandal could reach you in the Senate. Sir, I-”

The Senator rose in indignation, picking up his cane to feel the comforting heft of it.

“There will be no investigation, Loving, and there will be no scandal! I have told you what to do, now you go and do it. You go and you see to it, or I will have your hide, do you hear me?”

His secretary had looked down at the floor, almost as if he were one of the damned darkies, and muttered some nonsense about acquiescence or something, before skulking out of the room.

He looked across the room, to where his new valet stood by waiting for orders, and gave an irritable snarl:

“Call Smith in here.”

The young darkie had given a barely tolerable bow as he left the room. He would need more disciplining, that one.

Smith had entered the room with his hat already in his hand for a change, which was about time. The man’s usual swaggering entrance, his hat still on, arrogantly sweeping it off as if he was some high and mighty thing, annoyed the Senator. Smith looked abashed, and he ought to have, thought the Senator. He has failed me, and he should pay the price. But then, Smith was one of his best men, and had served him faithfully for years, so the Senator decided to show him some Southern graciousness. But not too much.

“Senator, sir.”

The Senator looked Smith up and down, intending to send him a stern rebuke. There was a delicate balance with this man. The Senator knew Smith’s pride, and did not want to risk giving him too harsh a punishment. He needed this one too much. Of all his overseers, Smith was the only one he could trust to see that jobs got done. That was why he kept him on as head overseer, in spite of the man’s arrogance.

He glared at his hired man:

“Smith,”

“Yes, sir, Senator, sir?”

Good, the man was contrite. He had failed, he knew it, and he was admitting to it. Good man. The Senator went on, pleased:

“I am disappointed in you.”

He was even more pleased to see Smith almost stumble over himself, bowing so low he nearly fell to his knees.

“I will do better, Senator. I promise you, sir, we will find her. My two best boys are out there right now, looking, and the rest of the boys and the dogs are coming up from home, sir. I’ll get her back for you, sir, you can trust me.”

The Senator eyed his man suspiciously, and then relented.

“Alright, Smith, I will trust you. But only this one more time. You find her for me, and bring her back. I will stay right here in this inn until you do. You bring her to me, here.”

“Yes, sir, Senator, I will.”

“You had better.”

He nodded his head in dismissal, and his valet opened the door, waiting for Smith to make his bows and exit, before softly shutting the door with a barely audible click. Good, this one’s getting better. Very good.

He would have her back, and soon.

***

Passing to Freedom: Willow’s Story

a historical novel by D. Antonia Jones,

aka Nia

or Ni,

fka Shira Destinie A. Jones

Passing to Freedom, Chapter 27: Misdirection…

Chapter 27

I finally had what I hoped was a workable plan. I knew that I did not dispose of much time, here in the dark. I also knew that I hadn’t the slightest room for error. Moving to the wrong spot, or even to another well hidden spot, but with even the slightest bit of noise, I was liable to give away not only my own hiding place, but maybe even that of poor young Tilly, too. So I edged my head up, scanning for movement, straining my ears for every sound. I could still just make out noises which indicated one crucial thing. Smith and his leeches were still being held up by the good men of Pennsylvania. But the fact that I could hear them meant that they were dangerously close. Silence was the order of the day.

And for the moment, all was entirely silent. Not even the crickets were chirping. Of course, it was too cold for crickets. Empty-bellied as we were, Tilly, especially, would not be able to hold out long. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the breeze helped me by moving the moon out from under the cloud cover. I was in a fairly wooded area, with many thickets all about me. Perhaps this was what Old Mary had been trained to run toward, when fleeing. I spied a likely seeming thicket of small trees, tolerably close to me. I could scuttle along, low to the ground, from here to there. As long as no local area dogs took it into their minds to make the rounds here, it might work.

I took a deep breath and crouched low. My tired legs were already starting to cramp. I had to stop several times to catch my breath, watching for prying eyes. It seemed to take an eternity, but I finally reached my intended destination. It seemed like the kind of spot where Anna would have chosen to hide, and that gave me some comfort. Once again, I scanned the area, seeking signs of young Tilly or of Old Mary. Not even a field mouse seemed to be stirring. Why? Had all of the racket, or maybe the fire, driven away the creatures that usually hung about at this time of night? Then something else occurred to me. I had seen no one working to put out the fire. Had the cut-throats from Virginia managed to set alight an abandoned building? Even then it would be a hazard to the surrounding buildings. Unless… Just then a terrible memory came to me. It was another of his victories the Senator had boasted about, for which he never missed an opportunity.

The Senator was not above using an insurance payout, something he had threatened, when I had run before. To cover the loan on a property he wished to purchase or, to order some kind of work done and then claim that he had improved it. Or on a dead slave. I often tried to keep him talking, using his vanity to keep his attentions away from my own person. The distraction never worked for very long, but I had gleaned what might now be an important piece of information. The means of extracting such a pay out from his insurance claims, as he had told me in excruciating detail, was to sacrifice one of his slaves of lesser value. He would order his secretary to write up a letter alleging an accident at one of his sites, or with one of his insured slaves, and demand the required payment upon the death of that particular slave. Most were deemed interchangeable with any number of others, for whom the Senator was careful to take out life insurance policies for the hazardous work done in certain of his enterprises. Ironically enough, the Beast had gone to great lengths to stress to me the name of this company. He tried to impress upon me the futility of running, proclaiming that even in New York, the very heart of the North, our lives were in his hand. And, he had equally stressed, there was nothing I could do, and nothing that even the laws could do. It was all very hideously legal. So, someone I cared for would always be made to pay, and that pay out would always accrue to the Senator’s benefit, if I tried to run. I nearly broke down in tears as I recalled his long tirade on this matter, immediately after little Sally and I had been forced to watch our friends whipped to bloody shreds after I had run, that first time. I did not have the luxury of time, this night, and so I mastered myself to focus on the task at hand. Why was that building still on fire, and why was no one trying to put the fire out? What did it mean for us? If the Senator had purchased the building here, which was currently being allowed to burn, then that might be the reason that no effort seemed to be made to put out the fire. The Senator wanted that building to burn. But why? It only distracted everyone in the area, to no good… unless that was precisely what the odious man wanted. A distraction so that his hired men would have a free hand to do as they saw fit, while all eyes were on the fire. If the Senator’s boasting had been true, then this fire might draw more local men, putting them at that hideous Smith’s disposal. Fortunately, they had evidently not counted on such firm opposition by the Constables to the use of the dogs.

Unfortunately, the fire might also be keeping Old Mary away. After all, it had been directly opposite the fire, where our mount had cut to the side of the road. It only now occurred to me that the north side was just about the only way that we could possibly have run. No one in his right mind would run toward such a fire. That meant Smith had intended for his lackeys to be searching on this side of the road. I must find Tilly, right now!

Where were her tracks? Now that I was about where I thought we had each come out of the saddle, I could see nothing. Old Mary certainly ought to have left imprints. As the minutes wore on, I feared that I was running out of time to find them. Surely there must be some evidence on the ground that even I could see.

How had our young Tilly managed to disappear without a trace, right under my nose? Had Old Mary come back for her, once again performing that circus trick of sidling right up under the child, who would be much easier to carry than I had been, and taken her off somewhere, further into the woods, perhaps, to relative safety?

“Where are you, child?”

Why had I not seen nor heard any sign of them, as close as they must have been to me? Or was I entirely mistaken, and looking for little Tilly in the wrong area altogether?

One thing was clear. Young Tilly, myself, and even Old Mary, were in terrible danger, and it was my solemn duty to get all three of us out of that danger. I had promised Anna that I would get the the three of us to our rendezvous point with her, no matter what the cost, and that was just what I intended to do. The first predawn light was beginning to shine upon the horizon. To my growing horror, I realized that not only was I going to quickly become a sitting duck, as the light began to grow, but worse, I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. I ducked even lower, desperate to hide. As the footsteps died away, it hit me. I needed to know who was out and about. I screwed up my courage once more, ordering the churning in my stomach to be still. I peered up and over the low shrubs where I had been hiding.

What I saw gave me enough heart to risk coming out of my hiding place.

***

@iraiah8, Black Royalty, wrote:

My dad is 85.
He grew up in the Jim Crow South. This isn’t distant history. it’s his memory.

He told me a story:

(1/5)

#blackhistory #whitehistory #blackwomen #92percent #misogynoir #segregation #whitefragility #blackmastodon

Oops! All Tyranny!

https://piefed.social/c/historymemes/p/2034324/oops-all-tyranny

Passing To Freedom, Chapter 25: Unjust Laws

Chapter 25

We had both seen, it, young Tilly and I, of that much I was certain.

“Don’t look.”

Even though I used one hand to cover the eyes of little Tilly, I could tell that the child had seen the horror. I had urged Old Mary into a trot, hoping to pass by the whipping post unseen and unseeing, but I knew I had failed, by the way both of our hearts stopped. That had indeed been my poor Miss Mary, up there, blood dripping from her ragged back. And that was my dear little Sal, bound in like manner, standing spread eagle fashion, as if being crucified on an invisible cross, right next to her. They had apparently been whipping on Miss Mary for some time. Long enough to have left nothing but ribbons of flesh hanging from her back, torn nearly down to the bone, and visible by the light of that bonfire, even at this time of night. The constables had evidently refused to take part in the terrible spectacle, never ceasing to rain curses down upon the two men who clearly felt it necessary to exercise the master’s right of ownership over my dear friends, by publicly flogging them in punishment for their, or our, attempt to flee the cruelty of that master, and his hired men. That I only saw two of them, head overseer Smith, and that other unwholesome lackey of his who so often seemed to take such pleasure in being the hand that wielded the whip, only increased my dread, for I know full well that there were many more men, and dogs, somewhere, at Smith’s beck and call. In spite of the terrible damage already done to her murdered flesh, I heard Smith’s hideous voice ring out a word:

“Again!”

Only a second seemed to pass before the awful sound of leather striking flesh was heard even over the outraged shouts of the northern men. There followed a low moan, one that could only have come from my poor Miss Mary, and the sound of something hitting the wooden floor of the building. I had not remarked whether it was a tavern, or a home, or even a barn, but it was a large enough structure to have had a wide front porch with columns and stairs leading up to the front doors. And then, an even worse order followed that one:

“This one is done, she got no more for us. Move on over to the little one, here.”

The heart rending high pitched shriek of fear from a small girl pierced the night sky, in the voice I knew so well to be that of my tiny little Sally. Before I could stop myself, I had turned sideways in the saddle. We were just opposite the road from that horrific scene. To my grave chagrin, and possibly to our undoing, my eyes met not those of my poor Miss Mary, but of that odious man, Smith.

In the instant that our eyes met, I knew that he had recognized me. My ears did not tarry in confirming that thought, for the horrid beast of a man, as head overseer, lost no time in calling out to his hirelings. I heard the well remembered voices of two of his most loathed fellow overseers from back down in Virginia.

Although I was the Senator’s personal prized property, and therefore one of the very few non white women who was out of reach to this beast and his own bootlicks, he missed no opportunity, when the Senator was not in earshot, of making lurid suggestions, to be sure that I knew of his lecherous disposition toward me. If I had not been the closely guarded favorite of a man more powerful than Smith, I would have been at the mercy of this predator, just as it seemed that my two unfortunate friends were now. Those thoughts, and the shrill cries of my poor little Sal, moved me to a depth of disgust and fear that I was unable to contain. I heard my words before I knew they had escaped my lips:

“Smith! Stop, you foul creature, stop it!”

As I heard those words tear themselves from my throat, I knew that I had blundered, and blundered very badly, indeed. I saw the look of triumph in the eyes of that loathsome hunter of men, as Smith practically jumped for joy, clearly delighted at having found me, and with another young fugitive, to boot. Even in the darkness of night, I could see that smile of malice. It was the one he wore when he was about to torment one of my fellow bondsmen. This time, that smile was aimed squarely at me.

He had leapt down from the stairs two at a time in his haste to get to me, shouting as he advanced upon us:

“I got you now, you little Fancy whore!”

Then, turning to look back at his two foul helpers, still holding Miss Mary and Little Sal, he cried out:

“Come on, boys, leave them two, they ain’t going no where, come on down here and help me catch this prize!”

As I heard those words, I felt young Tilly stiffen against my chest, even as Old Mary, unbidden, had already begun to surge forward into a full out gallop, her body starting to flatten out as her hooves tore great chunks out of the earth. I was infinitely grateful, once again, for her excellent training, and leaned forward protectively over Tilly as we both stretched across that long neck, both our pairs of feet digging hard into Old Mary’s flanks. And it had not been a moment too soon, for I saw at least one man running to get us, grabbing for Old Mary’s reins, everything a great confusion of shouting and stamping.

I feared every last man there, for I knew that even without proof, every man here was bound by law to render all aid to that horrible man, Smith, at considerable risk to themselves, should they refuse. Their only recourse was if they had verified proof that Tilly and I were not fugitives, which of course, did not exist, for fugitives we certainly were. And now, if it were not for having Old Mary here with us, we would already be back in our bonds. I vowed, as we rode down the feint-hearted attempts of several pairs of hands seeking to stop our flight, that I would not let that happen. Neither of us here, neither young Tilly, nor myself, would be sent back into bondage. I would find a way to prevent that, at all costs.

As Old Mary move faster than I could have imagined her capable, I had only the time to remind myself that our best hope of staying out of chains, and off of the auction block, was to let Old Mary lead the way. I could spare no thoughts for my poor friends, Miss Mary, and little Sal. There was nothing at all that I could do for them, not right now.

I willed myself to focus on that tiny dark space in front of us, and it was a good thing, too, because as Old Mary cleared the last of the hands that sought to seize us, she then abruptly did something I had not expected: she wheeled to one side and bolted off again, making for the woods.

Some part of my mind recalled that this was the north side of the road. I knew this because I had looked up, wistfully, numerous times as we had walked along that road, wondering why we could not simply go due North, rather than following this hazardous road east. As we charged into those woods, finally headed in the direction that I had wanted to go all along, my mind could only register bewilderment. I knew that this very special horse had all sorts of marvelous training, but for the life of me, I could not fathom what had just happened. We seemed to have been saved from capture specifically by her training, exactly to that purpose. How that could be possible, and where we were headed next, I had no way of knowing. Tilly and I had both let entirely go of the reins, each of us holding on to the pommel and to Old Mary’s mane for dear life, as she crashed willy nilly through woods that only she could see. But she fled, on our behalf, from sounds that all three of us could still hear. The last human sounds I could make out were music to my ears. I heard a great confusion of shouts and cursing, including what sounded like those blessed constables objecting to the use of Smith’s dogs, brought up from Virginia:

“… I must remind you that the use of those dogs in this manner is illegal here in the Commonwealth of PA, and that you are to …”

The intelligible parts of the man’s voice died out as we sped away, putting more distance between ourselves and the hubub, but I could still make out the words of that two legged animal, Smith, as he threw curses at the head Constable:

“…only one man … are you blind? I need -”

And then, I could clearly make out, in a still louder shout, as if that Pennsylvania constable were trying to make the heavens open up, in his righteous anger:

“… will remove these animals at once, or my men will shoot them…”

So, it seemed that we were to enjoy just a little bit of protection from these Northern men, here in the blessed Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, after all. Those words were the last I could make out, as we fled, finally headed North, though exactly where, I still could not see. I was about to thank the heavens above for both the legalistic wrath of the constable, and for the fact this marvelous horse, when the pommel rose up, striking me in the neck. I half choked, instinctively letting go of the pommel and Old Mary’s mane as my hands flew up to protect my throat.

Young Tilly must have taken that same pommel strike somewhere lower down, perhaps in her chest, for she, too, had let go, as the child listed to one side, while I tilted in the other direction, scrabbling for a hold on anything, my fingers only closing on thin air. I felt myself falling through, as if time had suddenly decided to move at half of its normal speed, and I realized two things. First, that I must not to make a sound, and second, that I had fallen off of Old Mary, while young Tilly also fell off, from the opposite side. I landed in a patch of bushes, rolling just a bit, as Anna had said one must when one falls from a horse. I could almost hear her warning: “every rider will come off of a horse at some time or other, so you must certainly know how to fall.”

I was glad of that lesson, now, for I seemed to have done myself no harm, when I fell off of Old Mary this time. Apart from a few bruises, perhaps, nothing seemed to be damaged, and no lightening bugs arrived to greet my lifted head. I sat up, looking first for any men who might have been pursuing us. Strangely enough, there seemed to be no one in the immediate area of my fall. I could still just make out the fire, and hear some of the ruckus going on, back where Smith and his foul beasts had tried to lay hands on us, but no one appeared to have followed us. At least, not yet, for there most assuredly would be pursuit.

Smith and his hired men would undoubtedly force some Northern men, in accordance with this new law, to help in his task of finding and capturing us. Find us, he now had accomplished. Capturing us again, we might still avoid, if we were careful. There would no doubt also be other men who hunted fugitives like us hoping to get the reward money for themselves. I therefore made it my first priority to find young Tilly, and then to find Old Mary, who was still carrying our precious documents in those saddlebags. Not to mention enough money that had been given to us by Dr. H. so that we might be able to rent a room in some inn or family home, if I could play my role well enough. First, I looked around as far as my limited sight would allow me, and spied a clump of bushes tall enough to hide me fairly well. There seemed to be no snow here, for some reason, no leave tracks that would betray me. I headed for the brush, crouching as low as I could, hoping that this would be a good enough hiding spot until I could think of a plan. I was counting on those good Pennsylvania constables to continue in their objections, and thus prevent Smith from coming to look for us with his dogs. First, I had to find Tilly. I went back over what I knew thus far. I had seen her head, and even felt, somehow, as I was falling out of that saddle, as if Old Mary had made a sharp turn to our left, hopefully not trampling poor little Tilly in the process. The next thing I needed to do was to find Old Mary. Tilly should have done the same thing that I had done, if Anna’s instructions were any guide. We were always to roll a little bit, find a safe hiding spot, and look about from there, to decide what to do next. The problem was that young Tilly, who seemed to have taken more of the impact from the pommel when Old Mary must have jumped over some obstacle in our path. Neither of us had been able to see much, so Tilly might be lying somewhere injured right now. In this case, she was in grave danger, and even more so if she was exposed. Would Old Mary pull that same trick from back when I fell off of her, and was injured? Could the horse put that particular training into practice without Anna here to make those odd bird calls she had made back then? Then, an even worse problem came to mind. As I lay on the ground, only just having fallen out of the saddle, I could have sworn that, rather than stopping to lie down with young Tilly, as she had with me when I fell, I thought that I had heard Old Mary keep going. That thought was extremely troubling, but I hoped that I could take some small comfort in knowing that no dogs would be coming after us, at least for the moment. How long those Pennsylvania constables would be able to keep Smith and his cronies from using their dogs in spite of the local law, who could say? I knew that I would never trust those overseers to abide by the laws of any locality north of Virginia, maybe not even those of Canada. I had already seen what such ruthless men would do, and I had no wish to wait around long enough to find out what new schemes they would come up with to get around these Pennsylvania men. My head was aching so much that I had trouble keeping my thoughts in order.

What to do? I must figure out where I was, orient myself so that I could make a plan, and begin my search for little Tilly. I must also quickly attend to any wounds she might have, hoping she could not have fallen too very far from where I fell. Then, I must find Old Mary, for she still carried many items that would be of great help to us. And, finally, I must make a plan to get us back to our original route, on the way east, as I had promised Anna.

So, where to start? First, by not giving in to this rising nausea, and above all, by not fainting.

***

This is the third, or fourth, draft of chapter 25, which is part of Act II of my historical novel detailing Willow’s story, with the historical figure of Anna Marie Weems as a second protagonist, but whose historical itinerary has been altered somewhat for story-telling purposes.

«» He was so small they sat him on a Bible so that the electrocution cap fit. «»

#DemsUnited #BlackHistoryWithLana #DemsUnited #BlackHistory #PosthumousExoneration #history

Growing list of those born or died on May 7 in any year

The anger was evident after former Hartford [pig] Det. Robert Lawlor was acquitted of manslaughter and assault charges for [executing] 18-year-old Jashon Bryant in 2005.

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