The Wedding Gift (25 page)

“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.

“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.”

“Permit me to add that Pinckney & Jenkins believe that this church is affiliated with abolitionists, as the former and current ministers, father and son, were educated in a divinity school in the North. I think we should find a way to close the church,” another planter said.

“That is a serious allegation,” my husband said. “Yes, I will absolutely participate in this endeavor, but only if we find evidence that the church is engaging in illegal activity should we consider disbanding it, encouraging its members to join other places to worship and its minister to find another flock elsewhere. As to the tailor, if we find any proof of his participation, he should be told to go to another town. If he refuses to do so, we can threaten to commence proceedings in court to revoke his freedman’s status.”

“Thank you, Mr. Allen. The other matter concerns your appointment of the circuit court judge and prosecutor. We cannot have a prosecutor who does not respect our property rights. The prosecutor should not have arrested my overseer. We ask that, when you appoint the incoming judge and prosecutor, they take an oath that they believe that the rule of law should not extend to our treatment of slaves when they are inside our property lines.”

“I am in absolute agreement with you. I will suggest to you, however, that with regard to the discipline of slaves, we should similarly instruct our overseers and slave drivers to have respect for our property. Thank you, gentlemen, for promptly notifying me about these concerns. I will send for Pinckney & Jenkins and speak with them concerning my involvement in the resolution of these problems.”

Dark skies during the day and constant cold at all times spent us. Another week elapsed where we did not leave home. I was in the parlor reading by the fireplace when I heard my husband’s heavy steps upstairs in his office. I heard him slam the door and go downstairs. His hands were trembling and his face was red. He pointed at me.

“Come upstairs. Right now. Now, I said. Hurry.”

I followed him to his office.

“This can’t be. It can’t be. They are lying,” he said.

“What has happened? Who is lying?”

He pointed to his desk. “This…is…all your doing.”

“What? What have I done?”

“Read the damned letter.”

I sat down because I was afraid of fainting as I read and reread the first paragraph.

8 June 1854

Dear Mr. Allen: