The Southern Gentleman

by jfclover

A story of culture and traditions.

1860 

Pa can’t keep his hands off me, always gripping my shoulder or touching my face.  He’s had a hard time over the past few years.  My brothers also, but I was oblivious.  I’d been taken to a land of quality, culture, and traditions.  A place where people are different in their thinking but cared about my welfare and offered me the best life has to offer.  I had everything I needed.  I never lacked food or housing or any of the comforts a growing boy needs to make his way into manhood.  I attempted to learn all I could about my new life and felt proud of my efforts to succeed.

For years, something in my life was missing but for the life of me, I didn’t know what it was.  It would be silly to think I’d been deprived of anything because that wasn’t the truth.  I was deprived of nothing.  I was loved by those who knew me.  In fact, I was treated like royalty, and nothing about my new life proved awkward or wrong.  I lived the high life for most of my time away.

Letting my mind wander takes up a generous part of my new life with Pa.  Trying to put everything in place requires time and energy but with my father’s help, we’re managing to put some of the pieces together.

“Are you hungry, Son?  I believe they’ve started seating for dinner.”

“Sure, Pa.  I’m ready when you are.”

Pa’s hand slides across my shoulder as we make our way to the dining room.  The food never disappoints and even though I enjoy every meal, Pa doesn’t think I eat enough.  I don’t know what he expects.  Maybe he’s used to Hoss and has trouble separating the two of us.

I’ve been away for a long time, and I’m anxious to see the rest of my family.  The last time I saw them, I was still a schoolboy not yet working the ranch, but things will be different now.  I’m grown and will be working alongside Hoss and Adam, a dream I’ve had for years but left behind during my absence.  My brothers weren’t a part of my new life.  How I lost all contact with my past is still a mystery I’ve yet to solve.

“How about over here, Son?”

“Perfect, Pa.”

Once we were seated and gave the waiter our orders, Pa did what he always does when he has the chance.  He apologizes for his part in this mess.  I remind him over and over that it’s not his fault, but he insists it is.  Nothing I say changes his mind.

“If I hadn’t hired that man.  If I could’ve seen what kind of person he was.”

“Pa, there’s no way you could’ve known what Asher had in mind.  The plan was set, and the object was me.  What makes you think you could’ve stopped him?”

“You’re my son, Joseph.  I hired a man without references, a man who had every intention of taking you from your brothers and me and didn’t see the signs.  It’s a father’s duty to protect his children, and I’ll never forgive myself for what that man did to you.”

“That’s the problem, Pa.  I’m not sure what he did to me.”

“Did he tie you up?  Beat you?  What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.  All I know is that he erased any memory I had of you or my brothers or the Ponderosa.”

“Would he have pistol-whipped you?  A child?”

I shrug my shoulders.  “Believe me, Pa.  If I knew the answer, I’d be the first to tell you.”

Our food arrives, and I’m glad for the diversion.  I can’t let my father go on blaming himself for something he can’t change.  It happened and it’s over, and we’re heading home.

“I hate to say it, Pa, but it wasn’t all hate and bitterness.  There were good times too.”

“What do you mean, Joe?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course, I do.  I want to know everything that happened to you.”

“Some of it you might not like.”

“Try me, Son.”

***

1857 – Fifteen-year-old Little Joe

If memories of better times could put my life back on track, I would’ve been the first to call on them, but that wasn’t the case.  My name was Joseph; at least, that was the name I’d been given. Where I came from and what I was called before I was brought to this place remained a mystery.

Straight from the beginning, I fell into a routine.  I’d been placed in a second-floor bedroom inside what felt like a grand house but where or why were questions I couldn’t answer.  Chained to a chair during daylight hours and then to the bed in the evening had been standard procedure.  My captor didn’t want me to leave.

A young lady served me meals and was also in charge of emptying the chamber pot.  She followed up on any other needs I might have, but she never spoke a word.  I assumed she was born in a faraway country, but every time she walked into the room, I wished she could stay.

For the first three days, I refused to eat, but when I began feeling dizzy and weak, I gave in and ate everything on my plate.  No one cared one way or another and the girl only did what she’d been told.  If there were other captives like me in the house, I wasn’t aware of their names or whereabouts. 

Every night before bed, I was brought a pot of hot tea.  Though I wasn’t that fond of the taste, I was bored to death, and drinking several cups of tea passed the time of day, but I began noticing changes I couldn’t explain.  Sometimes, I felt dizzy.  Other times, I stared into space like a lost soul.  I couldn’t explain the effects, but something wasn’t quite right.

A tall, thin man popped into the room once a day and took my pulse.  It seemed like a waste of time, but I didn’t understand much of what went on.  My head swam most of the time.  Visions I couldn’t distinguish much less describe floated through my mind every evening after I ate supper and sipped my tea.  It was difficult to explain, but I was at peace with my surroundings and at peace with my captors. 

Days passed, then weeks and months.  The seasons changed though I’d lost track of how many.  I’d been given a new set of clothes.  My status had been upgraded from simple clothes to a young gentleman’s wardrobe and the change suited me fine.

Freedom came slowly.  At first, the chains were removed, but I was still locked inside the bedroom.  As summer turned to fall, I’d been given the entire upstairs floor to navigate as I saw fit.  I stared out the windows for long periods.  I watched the leaves change colors and saw flocks of geese and migrating birds take flight. The world around me was a beautiful place.

The young black woman still brought meals and my evening tea.   Never once did she address me by name or ask a simple question.  Later, I would learn that she’d been disobedient, and her tongue had been cut out.  Any further details weren’t necessary.

My education began during those first few months.  I came to the house a naïve young man, but I was learning more about life and human behavior than I ever thought possible.

Ignorance wasn’t tolerated, and I was eager to learn.  At the beginning of every week, I was given books and new periodicals.  Two of the newspapers, one from Charleston called The Post and Currier and another from Yorkshire called The Yorkshire Enquirer were regulars.  The current events were about six months old, but the remaining articles taught me about life in South Carolina.

A report of my findings was due by the end of every week.  Given that I always jotted my thoughts down on paper, my penmanship improved, but I didn’t think I lived anywhere near South Carolina.  I wasn’t exactly sure where it was, but somewhere in the depths of my mind, I remembered hearing about the South, the land called Dixie.  Even though I couldn’t remember many details, I felt a connection to Southern ways, and I was learning to appreciate the teachings of important Southern gentlemen.

There was nothing new about different classes of people.  In simple terms, the haves, and the have-nots.  I happened to be one of the lucky ones and if I kept up my studies, I would be introduced to a whole new world of like people. Those who didn’t have to lift a finger.  Those whose station was situated high above the less fortunate.  Those who found pleasure in the finer things life had to offer.  A night at the opera or a day at the races was just the beginning of my venture into high society.

Though I was anxious to begin my new life, I still had much to learn.  My studies came first and, as always, a steaming pot of tea helped me concentrate on what was important.  At least, it made me dream of the days ahead and my new life, whatever that was to be.

When I was given the authority to discipline the young, black girl as I saw fit, the journey into life as a Southern gentleman took on a whole new meaning.  But, I had to laugh.  My girl never did anything wrong.  I doubt I could ever say a harsh word much less strike her.

When I gained access to the entire second floor, I learned that Glory, the young girl, had been given a room at the far end of the hall.   When I gained all rights to do as I wished, she’d been moved upstairs from her original quarters so I could keep an eye on her day and night.

A new woman was assigned to bring meals and remove any waste from my room.  Knowing that her only job in this world was to please me, Glory rarely faltered.  She filled my bath, laid out my clothes, and arranged my study schedule so I wouldn’t become distracted or overtired.  I reserved the right to punish for a later date.  The way I saw things, any form of mistreatment was a joke.

The next few months were snowy and cold.  Although I wasn’t allowed off the second floor, I often opened one of the windows and enjoyed the clean, fresh air.  Flashes of memory came in bits and pieces.  A large roaring fire or bundled-up child who threw the first snowball of the season.  But the memory was over as soon as it began.  It seemed that they were almost forbidden.  My mind shut down so fast that I wasn’t sure if the visions had been real or not.

Glory kept the fireplace in my bedroom stoked, but the rooms were large and drafty and on the coldest nights, I took the girl to my bed.  Two bodies were warmer than one and because she couldn’t speak, she didn’t complain.  She learned that I wanted her close.  I wanted her back against my chest for warmth but in time, my hand began to roam.

She was close to my age, perhaps a year or two older, and I wasn’t sure if she’d been used before, but I had no intention of taking advantage.  I only wanted to know what it was like to explore a young woman’s body.  After all, I was fifteen years old, nearly a man, and I had to know these things.  She shouldn’t get upset over something as simple as letting me cup her breast. 

The feeling of her naked body lying next to mine made my head spin, and things gradually progressed.  It wasn’t long before my hand slipped down her stomach and into her thick thatch of curly, black hair.  Most nights, I fell asleep with my hand resting between her legs.  Moisture seeped and heat radiated.  I found it difficult to assert control, but I was determined to remain a gentleman.

With my studies finished for the day and supper behind us, I took her hand and led her to the two velvet-covered chairs that sat close to the fire.  We polished off a pot of hot tea and when I laid my head back and closed my eyes, the most miraculous thing happened.

Glory spread my legs and lowered herself to her knees, and as she ran her hands up the front of my shirt, I lost all control and my manhood came to life.  The girl stood to her feet, pulled me up from the chair, and unfastened my trousers.  After they dropped to the floor, she pushed me back onto the chair and cradled me with her hand before dropping back to her knees.

The joy I felt as she took me inside her mouth was an experience I would never forget.  Even with a clipped tongue, her movements were magical, circling and sucking, and when she scooted me forward and reached for my balls, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out.  

I clutched the arms of the chair and much to my surprise, she took it all in.  With my head spinning like a top, Glory had given more than I ever asked for.  She was God’s gift from above and from that moment on, our lives would never be the same.

But my little black slave wasn’t finished.  After leading me to the bed, she pulled down the covers and finished undressing me.  There were no words.  There never would be, but when she stood in the golden lamplight and removed her simple, cotton dress, I watched in awe at the seductive behavior of the young girl.

Again, my manhood betrayed me, and when Glory climbed onto the bed and straddled me, I knew what was to come.  In all my fifteen years, I’d never turned myself over to a girl, but Glory took charge, and after palming her hands on either side of my shoulders, she lowered herself and slipped my swollen cock inside her. She eased her hips back and forth and when I reached out for her; she pushed my hands back to the bed and held them in place.  Her pace quickened from gentle rolling to hammering the hell out of me.  She led me down a path I’d never been before. 

I began to wonder if there was something in the pot of hot tea that gave a girl as young as Glory such a voracious appetite that she would satisfy a man twice in one night, twice without complaint or hesitation.  I never asked for such favors.  I’d kept myself under control, but she seemed eager to please, and I found no fault in the way she handled herself.  In time, I would return the favor.  I would make her beg for more.

After reaching for the bedclothes that had been kicked to the foot of the bed, I motioned her to lay beside me like always.  The calendar might say spring, but the room was frigid and we snuggled close together but within minutes, it happened again.  I was rock hard, but it was my turn to please.

As I maneuvered lower in the bed, I rolled her to her back and bent her legs at the knees.  I was venturing into unknown territory and hoped I wouldn’t disappoint. My tongue did most of the work, but I reached up for those perfectly rounded breasts with both hands.  If she was half as excited as I was, we were good to go.

My tongue ventured deep inside, and then I toyed with a little ridge I found not far from the outer surface.  I must’ve hit the jackpot because Glory could barely contain herself.  As I fluttered my tongue against her wet, silky skin, she squirmed and shifted her weight until her hips rose off the bed, but I left her wanting until I sensed she was ready for my cock to do the rest.  As I eased myself inside, she turned her head but reached for my waist and encouraged the rhythm of the dance. It took longer to come this time, but with Glory easing my sense of urgency, the result was much more satisfying.

I studied hard that spring.  I learned the inner workings of plantation life and how things were done to the satisfaction of one single man—the master of his domain. As the owner of a plantation, he oversaw a vast operation.  His work life revolved around either cotton or tobacco, the two main sources of income in every Southern state.  His social life was a separate issue.  Whether he held an intimate dinner party or a gala event, he was the king of his castle, a leader of men, and a showman.  Even his own family would bow at his feet as though he were as vital as royalty.

I began to envy men who proved their own worth, who enhanced their plantation from the generation that came before.  Those were the men I wanted to emulate, and I prayed that someday, I could prove my own worth as a Southern gentleman.

On several occasions, Glory would sneak under my mahogany desk. Sometimes, she’d start at my ankle and slip her hand past my boot just to play with my leg. I would remain as still as possible, pretend I didn’t notice, but she was a smart girl and knew how long I could last before I unbuttoned my trousers and let her have at me.  The release took some of the pressure off of composing my weekly essays. 

On a Monday afternoon in late spring, an unknown man dressed like a high-society butler entered my room.  I stood from my desk and greeted him.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, you may, Massa Joseph.”

Who the heck was this guy and how did he know my name?  Massa?  I’d never been called that before.

“A request has been made that you attend a small dinner party this evening with Mr. and Mrs. Spaulding, and the gentleman’s brother, Edward Spaulding.  Formal attire will be sent to your quarters promptly.  I suggest you bathe and do something with that hair.”

“Yessir.  What time should I be ready, Sir?”

“Seven-forty-five.  I will be at your service to escort you to the main dining room.”

“Fine, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

After the man closed the door behind him, I looked for Glory, but she was nowhere to be found.  When she came to my room a few minutes later, we shared a pot of tea and I told her what the “butler” had said.

Though I thought she’d be happy for me, she walked toward a south-facing window and looked out.  I moved in close and rested my hands on her shoulders.  I couldn’t ask questions, but I knew she was sad and I didn’t know why.  I turned her toward me.

“I wish you could say something.  There’s so much you could tell me about this house and the people who live here.”  I pulled her to my chest.  “You know the Spauldings, but today was the first time I ever heard the name.  I haven’t lived here forever, but I was brought to this house for a reason, and maybe I’ll never know why, but you do. You know everything about me, don’t you?”

She hugged me tight and that’s when I realized there was a change in the air. For reasons I didn’t understand, everyone knew the outcome of tonight’s dinner but thought it wise to leave me in the dark. Glory was either frightened or … I couldn’t figure her out, but she clung to me like a dead weight.

I sat down to continue my studies, but my concentration had flown the coup with the aftermath of the invite.  Who were these people and why me?  Why tonight? What if I’d said no?  Would I have been punished or sent away to fend for myself digging through other people’s trash?  I never felt so alone.

As usual, several young ladies were in charge of filling the tub for my bath. Climbing a flight of stairs with two full buckets would be a challenge for anyone, but for the young ladies, it must’ve been a nightmare.  My clothing had been delivered earlier, and I chuckled out loud when I picked up a bottle of hair tonic.  The “butler” wasn’t kidding.

Glory knelt next to the copper tub to wash every inch of me.  She never missed an opportunity to take me in her hand, but today’s bath was different.  This was an important day, and she resisted any urge she might have. She lathered and rinsed and nothing more.

When I stepped out of the tub, she had the towel spread wide and ready to swaddle me like a baby.  I held my arms out level and when she gathered the corners in one hand, I grabbed her up and carried her to the bed.  Lying beside a beautiful young woman was every man’s dream, and Glory was my dream.  Never one to disappoint, she lowered herself to my crotch and worked her magic.

I curled on my side and slid my hands under my head.  I was too nervous to sleep and when Glory brought me a pot of tea, I sat up and drank so fast that my head swam. What the hell?  I could barely catch my breath. I crawled back into a fetal position and reached for Glory’s hand.  My vision began to blur and a strangled darkness descended from the ceiling. 

Though I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t say anything.  I didn’t want her to assume I was some kind of loon, and I kept the weird sensations to myself, but with Glory’s hand tucked between mine, a feeling of ease came over me. I needed this girl more than I could say.  She’d been my lifeline on more than one occasion, and when a feeling of absence would come over me, Glory was the only person who could bring me back.

Not knowing who I was and where I came from would always haunt me, and that’s why tonight was so important.  Maybe I’d get the answers I longed to hear.  The Spauldings had taken me in and given me a fine education, but there were drawbacks to the type of environment they thought a growing boy would find invigorating.

I moved to the edge of the bed and sat up.  Glory looked at me as though she knew I was coming back to myself again.  Sometimes I wondered if my whole existence was a dream.  Without my little slave to keep me grounded, I didn’t know what would become of Massa Joseph.  

By seven o’clock, I’d dressed in my new suit of clothes and tamed my hair as much as possible.  “How do I look?”  Her eyes welled with tears.  I didn’t understand, but I needed to know if I was fit to join my host and hostess.  “Good enough for the Spaulding’s?”

She took my hands and lifted my arms from my sides.  After giving me a once-over, she smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed my cheek.

The “butler” showed up at exactly seven-forty-five.  When he knocked on the bedroom door, I knew my life would never be the same again.  I didn’t know what the changes might be, but Glory’s eyes had given enough away that I knew that a change would happen tonight. 

***

Chapter Two

I tried to take in my surroundings as we ventured through massive hallways and grand ballrooms I hadn’t seen before.  Flocked wallpaper along with several pieces of eighteenth-century furniture lined the halls, but my escort walked too fast for me to take in every room we passed although I was impressed with the things I saw.  When we reached the dining hall, the “butler” stopped, turned, and straightened my cravat.  He brushed away a lone piece of lint and gave me a nod of approval.

“May I ask your name, Sir?”

“The name’s Albert.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance, Albert.”

“Are you ready to be announced?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Wait here.”  Albert opened the heavy double doors and stepped inside the dining room.  With his heels locked together and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he announced me.  “Massa Joseph, Sir.”

“Send him in.”

Albert turned and motioned me forward.  As I stepped inside the room, a medium-sized man with hair the same shade as mine stood and walked toward me.  He offered his hand and I accepted the friendly greeting.  

“Come with me, Son.  My name is Howard Spaulding, this is my home, and there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Walking alongside a man I didn’t know to meet another man I didn’t know was more than bizarre.  Like a fish out of water, I  felt every nerve react as if I’d stepped out of the bath and into the wrong body.  Who were these people and why had they taken a liking to me?

A man seated at the long cherrywood table stood and smiled when I approached. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him or anyone else.  A fine-looking woman stood next to him and another woman remained seated.

“Edward, after years of searching, the day has finally come.  I present Master Joseph Spaulding, your long-lost son.”

Son?  I didn’t know this man.  Edward extended his hand and though I held my hand out, my heart wasn’t in it.

“It’s been a long time, Son.  A long time.”

“Yessir.”  My, God. Was I losing my mind?  I didn’t know the man so how could he be my father? “I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

“Sit down, Joseph.  It’s a rather long story, and I’ll fill you in on all the details as soon as supper arrives.  Hopefully, my voice or even my mannerisms will strike a chord and it will all come back to you.”

“You really are my father … my blood father?”

“I am, Joseph, and the beautiful woman sitting next to me is your mother.”

“I have a mother too?”

All four of the Spaulding’s chuckled at my response.  I couldn’t find humor in my statement, but they sure did.  I never felt like such an outsider before.  The four of them were laughing at my expense, and I didn’t appreciate being the butt of the joke.

“Why did it take you so long to find me?”

“You can’t believe what we’ve been through, Joseph.   We searched every inch of the country, but I wasn’t alone.  I hired men from the Pinkerton agency years ago, but there was no trail to follow.  Every corner they turned ended up another dead end.”

“Why … I don’t understand why … did I run away?”

“No, Joseph.  Nothing like that.  None of this is your fault.  Please don’t blame yourself.”

“But—”

“There’s plenty of time for explanations.  Let’s have a nice supper before we delve into all that unpleasantness.”

As I stared down at the empty place setting, my “mother” stopped me.  Tears formed in deep green eyes that stared into mine.  “Joseph.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The woman lowered my face close to hers and brushed a soft kiss on my cheek.  I wasn’t sure how to respond.  Everyone knew me but I knew no one.  “I’ve missed you so much.  I’m afraid the last several years have taken their toll.  I was a much younger much prettier woman before you were—”

“Later, Loraine.  Let’s have our supper first. I want to hear about Joseph’s time away before we discuss Tom Asher and the day that changed our lives.”

I tried to remember a man named Tom but my mind was blank about a lot of things including Mr. Asher.  The name didn’t ring a bell and all this talk about people I didn’t know made me want to run like hell.

Moments later, supper was served.  Bowls of thick, hot soup and baskets of brown bread were placed in front of each of us, but I didn’t move. I had no idea what to do.  With my “mother” on one side and a man who professed to be my father on the other. I waited for them to begin.  But that was only the beginning. Platters of roasted beef, potatoes, beans, corn, beets, and much, much more were set at our end of the table.  More baskets of bread were brought out for the men.  Bottles of red wine flowed freely.  

Although I watched everyone closely, I drank my share of wine and was feeling lightheaded when Edward began question-and-answer time.

“Howard tells me they found you in a town called Placerville.  Is that correct?”

“If you say so.”

“Can you tell your mother and me a little bit about your life?”

“There’s not much to tell, Sir.  I don’t know how I got here and I don’t remember much about my life before this house.”

I heard my mother sob as she clutched my hand with both of hers and looked up at my father.  “How could we have let this happen.”

“I’ll explain all that to the boy in time.”

“I’ll never let you out of my sight again, Joseph.”

I smiled at the woman who seemed to have my best interest at heart. If only I could remember something about my mother or father, just a little clue, but there was nothing.  A blank slate was all I had. 

By the time we finished dessert, I was a dead man.  The anticipation of the evening’s events took its toll, and all I wanted to do was fall into bed with Glory and sleep like a baby.

“I wonder if I might be excused for the night.  The evening was more than I hoped for but I have to admit, I’m exhausted.”

“Of course, Son.  Why don’t I walk you to your room.”

“Yessir.  That would be nice.”

After kissing my mother’s cheek and thanking my hosts, Edward and I left the dining room and headed for the stairs.  “I wanted to talk to you alone before tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“I’ve kept a few details of your kidnapping from your mother.  As you can see, she’s a petite woman and often fragile when it comes to unpleasant situations.  I don’t want her to have to relive the horrors of that time.  It nearly killed her to know you were gone from our lives. It took months for her to recover and step outside the house.  Socials were a thing of the past.  The opera, plays, a night out all ended when we lost you.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Yes.”

“Tom Asher?”

“That’s right, Son.”

“It was a matter of sour grapes.  My cotton crop sold for a higher price than his and … it’s a long story, Joseph, and you’re tired.  Let’s talk tomorrow when you’re up to hearing all the details of that horrible day.”

“As you wish … Father.”  The word felt wrong, but I was beginning to grow fond of the man.  He’d been nothing but kind and straightforward, and I appreciated that.”  

Edward offered his hand, and I shook it, but when I turned to enter my room, he pulled me to his chest and held me tight.  “I never thought the day would come that I could hold you in my arms again.  You’re my pride and joy, Joseph.  Your mother and I love you very much.”

I was caught unaware when I heard my father sob, so gentle yet so heartfelt.  Tears welled in my eyes for a life I should’ve known but was stripped of early on.  I would make up for the time lost, and I would show them the respect they deserved.

After saying good night and closing the door behind me, I felt a new sense of purpose, a reason to live, and above all, a reason to show gratitude to those who spent so much time and money searching for their long-lost son.  I was a very lucky fella.

By the time I stripped off my suit and crawled between the covers, I wondered why Glory hadn’t come to my room.  She rarely let me fend for myself but most of all, I wanted to tell her everything that my father had said.

The next thing I knew, the sun was shining through lace curtains that covered my eastern window.  The day had begun and I was at a loss without Glory.  I didn’t realize how much I depended on her for everything.  Hot water for a wash.  My razor and tooth powder laid out next to the basin and a fresh set of clothes for the new day.  I seemed to be on my own for the first time in months.  But where could she have gone?  Although I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do after I got dressed, I would question Mr. Spaulding about my past as soon as I saw him. 

When no one bothered to bring breakfast, I ventured out of my room and stood at the top of the stairs.  When Albert motioned for me to come ahead, I did.  

“Hurry, Massa Joseph, or you’ll be late.”

“Late, Sir?”

“For breakfast with the family.”

“Oh, of course.  Breakfast with the family.  Why didn’t I think of that.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you that you were expected downstairs by eight?”

“No, Sir.”

Albert stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into his back.  “Massa Joseph.  It’s time we got things straight.  Mr. Spaulding is my employer.  After all your book learning, don’t you know better’n to call me sir?”

“I … I guess not.  What should I call you?”

“Massa Spaulding brought me to Nevada from South Carolina, but I’s a free man now.”

“So you can leave if you want, right?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

“You were his slave then, right?”

“I was, but he let me buy my freedom.”

“Oh … I see.”

“We best hurry, Sir.”

“Yessir.”  When the black man turned and glared, I realized what I’d done.  “Yes, Albert.”  I also realized that everything I’d learned about Southern ways and Southern gentlemen was barely enough to get by.  My education was lacking.  I still had much to learn.  I wasn’t sure why I didn’t already know these things.  Why was I learning about customs and etiquette and Southern traditions at my age?  Why hadn’t I been schooled in certain behaviors since the day of my birth?

Like the evening before, Albert opened the double doors and announced me.  Then, he stepped aside so I could pass.  Maybe I was a slow learner.  It never occurred to me that he was a former slave.  Why did I take for granted that Glory was and Albert wasn’t?  I should be smarter than that.

“Good morning, Son.  Please join us.”

I walked toward the table and saw that everyone had been seated in the same places as the night before.  The empty table setting clued me as to where I was expected to sit—in between my mother and father.

“Good morning, Father, Mother.”  I leaned down and kissed her cheek before I took my seat.  “Good morning, Mr. Spaulding, Mrs. Spaulding.”

“He’s done well with his studies, hasn’t he, Edward?”

“I agree, Younger Brother.  He’s on his way to becoming a mighty fine gentleman, a man any father would be proud of.”

A sharp pain sliced through my head and though I tried not to grimace, I had trouble hiding the discomfort completely.  I shook it off as fast as I could; I didn’t want to be seen as weak or sickly, not in front of people who had my best interest at heart.  At the same time, I wondered why the sharp pain came when “any father would be proud of” was said.  They were words I should’ve been proud of too.

“Eat up, Joseph.  I think you’re a bit small for your age, aren’t you, Son?”

“I suppose I am, Sir.”

“That’s enough, Edward.  My son has endured a great deal of trauma in his short life, and I won’t have you minimizing his efforts to please you in ways that can’t be helped.”

“Your mother’s right, Son.  I don’t want you to worry about a thing.  My comment was thoughtless and I apologize.”

“No need to apologize, Father.  I don’t remember much before I came here to live; in fact, I don’t remember anything at all.”

“Tell us your first memories, Joseph.”

I thought hard but the story never changed.  My memory had been removed, and I didn’t even know how it happened.  If I was starved or beaten within an inch of my life, I don’t remember.  I was beginning to think I was slow or just plain stupid. 

“There was a fancy coach, and I remember it pulling up at the back door of this house.”

“Nothing before the coach?”

“No, Sir.  I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Don’t be, Son.  Go on.”

“An older man dressed all in black brought me here.  He said that this was my new home and I should feel honored to live among the socially accepted elite.”

My father smiled and glanced across the table at his brother.  “Anything else?”  

“Not really.”  I took a better look around the dining room and realized the grand magnificence.  

“Do you know anything about gold fever, Joseph?  After our parents died in the spring of ’49, Edward and I wanted to try our luck in the California gold fields.  We were two of the lucky ones and to use the term loosely, we struck it rich.  While I convinced my wife to come west and make our home here in Sacramento, your father, Edward, sailed back to South Carolina to join your mother, Loraine, in our ancestral home.”

“That’s great, but was I born in South Carolina?”

“Yes.”

“Then how did I end up in California and why was I chained up for months?”

My uncle continued.  “I’ll fill you in on the second part of your question, Joseph.”

“Okay.”

“You were as wild as a bobcat when you came here.  The sheriff suggested I cuff you to keep you safe.  It was either that or throw you in his jail, and I certainly didn’t want to do that.  You were my only nephew—my blood kin—and I wasn’t about to hand you over to the authorities.  I took his advice and secured you until you calmed down and I thought I could trust you not to run.”

“My memory isn’t very good.”

“I know but let me finish. Your father hired the Pinkerton agency, and when they realized you were the boy they’d been sent to find, they were instructed to bring you to our home.  Your aunt and I were closer than dragging you back to South Carolina.  Your father would make the trip west to escort you home himself.  I’m sorry I had to go to extremes, Joseph, but I felt I had no other choice.”

“I understand.”

“Do you want to take it from here, Edward?”

“Do you want anything else to eat, Son?  Ham? Potatoes?  Grits?”

“No, Sir.  I’m fine.” 

My father looked up at one of the servant girls.  “Could we have our tea and coffee, please?”

I would finally hear the story.  I’d waited almost a year to get my bearings, to know who I was and where I belonged.  After the tea and coffee were served, my father began the long and difficult story of a life I never knew.

“Drink up, Son.  The whole pot was brewed especially for you.”

“Thank you.”  Not wanting to disappoint, I drank the first cup, poured a second, and then sat back and waited for the story.

“When we ventured out west, my brother and I left our womenfolk behind and as it turned out, it was the worst decision I ever made.  You were only seven at the time and the gold fields were no place for a woman and her child.  Howard and I were away from home for over six years and during that time, you were taken by a man but we’ll discuss him later.  Your mother tried every way she knew how to reach me, but communication in those days was almost nil.  By the time I returned home,  there was nothing I could do but hire people to try and find you.”

“Do I have brothers and sisters?”

“I’m afraid you’re our only child.  I nearly lost your mother when you were born so we never tried again.  And then you were gone.  To say we were devastated is an understatement.  Your mother took to her room, and I worked day and night.  The trauma nearly cost both of us our lives.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

My mother reached out and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.  “Oh, Joseph.  Don’t ever feel like any of this was your fault.  That horrible man hated your father and he—“”

“Not now, Dear.  Let’s save those details for another time.”

The room grew deathly quiet.  I wasn’t sure what to make of the situation so I stayed silent too.  It didn’t seem like the right time to ask a lot of questions.

“We’ll be leaving a week from Friday, Joseph.  I think that will give everyone enough time to feel comfortable with each other before our journey.”

Although I heard something about a trip, my mind had taken a turn and it became hard to even see across the table.  This had happened so many times before but I always had Glory by my side.  I didn’t dare tell anyone in my new family.  I didn’t want them to think I was anything but their long, lost son, but boy they craved to have with them.

My father’s words didn’t make sense.  Didn’t they just arrive?  Now they were leaving?  I’d studied a lot of geography and I knew how far South Carolina was from California.  I also knew it was a helluva journey from coast to coast. My mind had calmed, and I felt brave enough to speak up.

“A journey, Sir?”

“Yes, Son.  The three of us will be traveling back home.”

It wasn’t the answer I expected, but my father continued to fill me in.  “Howard says you’ve finished your studies and are well aware of what will be expected of the son of a Southern gentleman.”

“I hope so. Sir.”

“You must know that from the day you were taken, your identity as a young Southern boy was lost.  Your education ended that day, but we all feel that you’ve worked hard and are ready to take your place amongst South Carolina’s finest.

“I’m overwhelmed, Sir.”

“Don’t be.  You’ll come home with your mother and me and take your rightful place in society.  You’ll be able to court debutants from all over the state.  By the time we arrive home, the coming out season will have begun and with your looks, I expect you’ll be seen with the cream of the crop.”

“Edward.  Don’t be crass.”

“Just look at him, Sweetheart.  He has my coloring and your fine features.  The best of both of us.”

“You’re terrible, Edward.  You’re going to embarrass the boy.”

“I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn, Son, but you do have very fine features and I can’t imagine any intelligent young lady would find fault or turn down an invitation.”

My mind went straight to Glory.  Although she couldn’t speak, she was very intelligent and highly motivated, but my father wasn’t talking about girls like her.  She didn’t have to be either to please a common man like me and if I believed everything my father said, I wasn’t common at all.  I’d been gifted with my own intelligence and a place in high society that most men didn’t stand a chance of reaching.  It wasn’t a God-given right.  It all boiled down the men who came before me.  My ancestors.  My heritage.  It all played a part in the Southern way of life.

“Uncle Howard?  May I call you uncle?”

“Of course, Son.”

“Can you tell me what’s happened to Glory?”

***

Chapter Three

I slept alone.  Glory had been assigned different household duties, and I was no longer included in her daily routine.  Even though I talked and she listened, we’d grown very fond of each other.  I missed my friend.

My studies were complete.  My books and tablets had been removed from my desk and I had a lot of spare time on my hands.  After breakfast the following morning, I began to explore parts of the house I’d never seen before.  For months, I’d been locked in one room.  Then I’d been given reign over the entire second floor.

I hadn’t thought about my captivity for a long time.  When a man lives a certain way for an extended period, it becomes normal behavior with normal surroundings and Glory made everything seem right.  

When I opened a door at the far end of the hallway, I didn’t know what I expected to see, but it wasn’t another flight of stairs.  Feeling adventurous, I climbed up the dark passageway and pulled open a door to an attic.  There wasn’t much to see, and I walked toward a window that resembled a ship’s porthole.  Enough light showed through that I could see one more door to my left and when curiosity won out, I tried to turn the knob but the door had been locked.  I didn’t think much about it until I heard a pecking sound coming from within.

After swallowing my fear, I pressed my ear to the door and listened for more signs of life.  “Is someone there?”  The odd sound had stopped.  Maybe I imagined the noise, but no.  That wasn’t the case.  It began again.  Frantic and loud pounding. Someone was trapped behind the door.  

I slid my fingertips along the top ridge of the doorframe and found what I was looking for—a long brass key.  My heart beat like a man walking to his death.   “Hello?”  Still no answer, but I couldn’t quit now.  I had to know.  I turned the key in the lock and the door gave free.  

“Glory?  What the—what’s this all about?”  She threw her arms around my neck and clung to me like I was her lifeline. “Why are you here?  What’s going on?”

Her hands were all over me, in the hair that curled at my neck, down my back to my waist, and up the front of my chest.  Her breasts pressed against my shirt as tears flowed down her cheeks. 

“Where are your clothes?  Who locked you in that room?”  With her sable-colored skin, it was hard to tell but I’m sure she had bruises marring her neck and shoulders.  “Did someone hurt you?”  

It was obvious she missed me too, but why had I been lied to?  Why had she been taken away from me?  So many Questions without answers.

Had she been starved too?  I carried her feather-like body to the safety of my room.  Anyone who disliked her new living arrangements would have to contend with me.

Beaten and starved.  What kind of person did things like this to a poor defenseless girl?  The tongue thing was bad enough, but I could stop anyone else who thought they could send her to an early grave.

After tucking her into my bed, I sat on the edge and rubbed her back till she fell asleep.  I wanted to fetch a platter of food, but I didn’t dare leave her side.  As soon as I was able, I would inform Uncle Howard about the situation and pile a plate to the ceiling with a good nutritious meal.

My mind worked overtime.  My days of studying from dawn to dusk were behind me, and a new adventure would take its place.  I wondered what Father would say about taking Glory back home with us.  If money was an issue, I could always pay him back later.

It wasn’t long before Glory woke and sat up with a start.  With fear in her eyes, she reached for me and tucked her black head of hair under my chin.

“Don’t you fret now.  You’re safe with me.”

I patted her back like a mother soothes her crying child.  Soft and even, with a gentle rhythm, I calmed my sweet girl and felt her tied-up muscles relax. When I heard a gentle tapping on my bedroom door, I should’ve thought better before I said, “Come in.”

My mother stood under the doorframe.  She stared at the two of us wrapped in each other’s arms on my bed.  Since Glory was naked, I wondered what my mother would think of her dear, sweet son.

“I’m intruding.”

“No, Mother.  It’s not what you think, but I’d like you to hear the story.”

“I won’t be part of this, Joseph.”

“No, you don’t understand.  Glory is my friend.”

“I must speak to your father.”

“She was locked in a closet, Mother.  She was frightened, and I brought her to my room.  Please don’t be angry.  What else was I to do?”

“I can’t … I won’t be a part of some sordid affair with a whoring negress.”  The door slammed behind her, and she was gone.

Glory heard every word, and I was ashamed of everything my mother said.  Overnight,  I’d become part of a family I didn’t know existed.  Though I didn’t want to be disrespectful to either of my parents, Glory was a human being like everyone else.  She had feelings too.

Most of my studies had portrayed images of Southern life, but how could I feel superior to a girl who’d been with me night and day for nearly a year?  A girl who helped me through the horrifying spells that would come crashing down on me just before bedtime.  She soothed my nightmares and eased the frustration of graduating from boy to man.

When a knock came the second time that morning, I hesitated before answering.  “I’m busy.”

“This is your father, Son.  May I come in?”

I tucked Glory under the covers and opened the door partway.  “What can I do for you, Sir?”

After pushing me to the side, my father plowed straight toward the bed, flung the blanket off Glory, and grabbed her by the arm.  “Get out of my son’s room.”

“Father, please!”

Glory tried to cover herself with her hands, but I rushed to her side and wrapped my arms around her.  “What are you doing?  This girl is my friend.”

“There’s something you need to learn, Boy.  Black whores are nothing but trash.  They’re a dime a dozen, and I don’t ever want to see you in a predicament like this again.”

“What are you saying?  She’s not a predicament she’s my friend.”

“Not anymore.”

When my father tried to grab her away, I held on tighter.  “Please, Father.  She’s done nothing wrong.”

“Fine.  Send her out of the room so we can talk man to man.”

Tears glistened on Glory’s cheeks.  I leaned down and whispered, “Can you find someplace to hide while I smooth things out with my father?”  Still trying to cover herself, she slipped out the bedroom door.

“Mighty fine-looking woman, Son.  I see why you took her to your bed.”

“She’s more than just a whore, Father.”

“You have a kind soul, Joseph, but I’m afraid your studies have proved fruitless.  Have you learned nothing this past year?”

“I learned plenty, Sir.”

“Then why are you insisting this girl means more to you than just a decent bed warmer?”

“Because she does.  Because she’s a human being and we’ve become friends.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Son.  She’s nothing more than chattel.  She’s no better than a milk cow or a plow horse.  Do you understand what I’m saying?  You slept with the girl.  Your mother has a problem with that but I understand completely.  I’ve had my share of whores and you will too.  Once we’re home, you can have your pick of any young girl that suits your fancy.  Just try to be discreet around your mother.”

Though I’d read about such things, I never thought it pertained to me.  How naïve had I been?  I hadn’t been reading about other people’s lives, I’d been reading about my own family and what would be expected of me.

“Think hard, Son.  It’s a way of life and in no time, you’ll grow accustomed to your new life.  I guarantee that there’s nothing  more gracious and satisfying as Southern living.”

***

Chapter Four

We left the house early Friday morning, and I was never to see Glory again.  Uncle Howard drove us to the docks where we would begin the first leg of our journey east.  After seeing me with Glory, my mother had kept her distance.  Father said the shock of seeing her young son with a black whore was too much to bear and she’d taken to her room for the better part of the week. 

My father and I took long walks and had inspiring talks during our final week in Sacramento.  He made sure I understood what was expected of a son who was young and privileged, and I listened to every word he said.  Rarely did I ask silly boyish questions.  He expected more of me, and I began to adhere to his philosophy of life.

So many aspects of my new life sounded like a string of parties and formal affairs, of lovely debutantes and heated debates.  Trouble was brewing in the South, and if I wasn’t clued into the latest developments, I’d be left in the dark.  He wanted a man by his side, not a sniveling little kid who might embarrass him or his wife, my mother.

I did more nodding and agreeing that week than I thought possible.  I was learning the ropes.  I was learning everything a Southern gentleman needed to know. And most of it didn’t come from books.  Had I wasted a year of my life?  Maybe, but even though my father may have faults, he was a fine man, and his assurances concerning my well-being were accepted with much gratitude. 

By week’s end, I learned to respect my father.  I’d learned to trust his words and abide by his values.  He trusted me to do the right thing, and I didn’t plan on letting him down.  He was quickly becoming my hero.

Boarding the ferry that would take us from Sacramento to San Francisco was the biggest thrill of my life.  Everything from this day on would be an adventure I’d never forget especially the massive steamer that would take the three of us all the way to Panama.

Most days, I stood on the deck and stared at the fine line that separated the sky from the sea.  At times, I’d see a gull passing by and take note of which of us was the fastest.  Father and I talked and my mother was able to forgive me, which made for a more pleasant existence.  Between the first steamer, the railway through the isthmus, and a second larger ship, we landed in the Port of Charleston.  Father wasted no time hiring a carriage and driver and we were on our way to my father’s plantation.

The eye-catching structure was a remarkable sight to see.  As I hung my head out the carriage window, the driver sailed up the tree-lined drive toward the house.  I’d never seen so many flowering trees in my life, and they were as striking as the home I would call my own.  I didn’t deserve such a palace, and I was mesmerized by its grandeur.

Standing in perfect form in front of the main entrance we’re better than a dozen butlers and the same exact number of maids.  

“Welcome to Rosewood, Son.”

“I’ve never witnessed anything so grand.”

My father turned in his seat to face me.  “Someday this will all be yours.”

“Your generosity overwhelms me, Sir.”

My mother had urged me to sit next to her in the carriage and when she pressed her hand to my knee, I knew my indiscretions had been forgiven.  “You’ll fit in splendidly, Joseph. Not only are you one of the most intelligent young men I’ve ever known, but you also have a look about you that women will find to their liking.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Loraine.  The boy is a natural go-getter.  He’ll do nothing less than make us both proud.”

I accepted the praise though I was more anxious to venture inside the house and see where I would spend the remainder of my life.  Was I living a dream or was this place for real?   It hardly seemed possible.  I thought Uncle Harold’s place was the largest home I’d ever seen, but it didn’t begin to compare to Rosewood.

When I jumped out of the carriage and reached up to unfasten the strap that secured our luggage, my father shook his head.  Damn.  I should’ve realized that wasn’t my job.   Being a proper gentleman took a lot of getting used to.  We all had our place, and we all had a job to do.  My job was to be waited on.  Every aspect of my life would be handled by someone else.  I wouldn’t be doing the chores; I’d be giving orders to those less fortunate.  

“Come on, Son.  Your life will begin the moment you step inside your new home.” 

My mother and father held hands.  As far as I could tell, they were a loving couple.  They adored each other and they adored me.  What else could a guy my age ask for?  

Two of the highfaluting butlers opened the double front doors and my father and mother stepped aside so I could enter the residence first.  I learned later on that I had it all wrong.  There was only one butler, the head butler.  The rest of the men were nothing more than domestic servants, often called footmen, but they were still a class above a field hand.  Those poor bastards were the lowest of the low.

I was overwhelmed by the grandeur of my surroundings.  Nothing could’ve prepared me for the height of the ceilings, the spacious foyer, the fancy millwork, or the extravagant parquet flooring.  I stood in awe of it all.

“There’s more to see, Son.”

I chuckled at my father’s remark.  Of course, there was more, but I was so taken aback by the initial sight of my new home, I’d stopped dead in my tracks and tried to take it all in, but that was an impossible task.  It would take years to get used to such elegance.

“How about I have Sarah May show you to your room?”

“That would be fine, Sir.”

The woman seemed to know she was needed before Father called her over.  “Take my son, Joseph, to his room, Sarah May.”

“This way, Massa Joseph.”

She already knew my name.  I wondered how long she’d worked for my family.  Was she here when I was taken?  Someday I would ask but today wasn’t the day. 

The staircase was as wide as a street.  It had a slight curve and when we reached the landing, we turned left.  “This way to your quarters, Sir.”  She continued down the hallway to the second door on our right.  I didn’t count all the doors on the second floor.  I’d save that for another day.

“Here we are.”

The young lady entered the room first.  As she moved toward one of the windows, I stood in the doorway and took in my surroundings.  After she lifted the first sash, she moved to a second and third window and did the same.  There wasn’t much of a breeze but I’m sure she had her orders.  I’d learned enough about Southern black women to know she had no choice but to do as she’d been told.

I didn’t see my mother or father until suppertime.  My trunk had been brought to my room, and I’d been given time to get settled.  Instead of a young lady like Glory, I’d been assigned a personal servant named Peter, and he knew just what to do.  My luggage was unpacked and all of my belongings were arranged in proper order.  

Day and night, Glory was always on my mind.  I never had a chance to say goodbye, but I hoped she was doing okay.  Her life only seemed precious to me.  No one else cared and someone took it upon themselves to make her life miserable.  I’d heard the term that life wasn’t fair, but it didn’t have to be so harsh.

Supper that night was a casual affair.  I didn’t have to dress for guests; it was just the three of us and it would stay that way until Mother’s strength returned after the grueling trip east.  My mother was a frail woman, slight in every way possible.  Some would say I took after her more than my father.  Her green eyes dominated and she passed down her fine features; at least that was the consensus of my closest relatives.

The smell of the sea didn’t follow us to Rosewood, but it was a different kind of air than I was used to.  Somewhere, in the far-off reaches of my mind, I remembered the clean, fresh scent of pine.  I don’t think it was Placerville or Sacramento, but it was there all the same.  An odd little memory that made no sense at all.

At times, I had odd flashes of a man with a deep, distinct voice.  He was probably a relative I was fond of when I was just a boy before I was taken, but I’d like to put a face to the voice.  Maybe someday.

Father summoned me right after breakfast the following morning.  It was my first full day back home, and I wanted to make the most of it.  I would be entering adulthood soon, and I was ready to begin my new life as the son of a plantation owner.  Father wanted my future to begin today, and he led me straight to the barn.

“A man isn’t a man unless he owns one of the finest mounts in the entire country.  These three came straight from Kentucky and the choice is yours to make.”

“They’re beautiful, Father.”

I stepped forward and inspected the gray.  He had a chest like no other.  Strong yet sleek.  The reddish-colored bay came next.  A thoroughbred.  She had the legs of a beautiful female … horse, that is, and I could barely take my eyes off her to look at the black, the third and final mount.

Something about the black struck me.  He wasn’t the largest and he may not have been the strongest, but the way his eyes glistened when I rubbed his nose made him an easy choice.

“I’ll take the black.”

“Are you sure, Son?”

“Yessir.  I believe he will serve me well.”

“Fine.  Pick out a saddle and mount up.  I have a route picked out that will give you a layout of the land.”

I moved toward the row of finely tooled saddles and ran the palm of my left hand over each of them, but one had me curious.  “What’s this, Father?  Surely it’s not a saddle.”

“Oh, but it is, Boy.  It’s an English saddle.  Lightweight and good for racing.”

“I see.”

I didn’t really, but I wasn’t about to laugh at the absurdity of such a funny-looking waste of leather.  The fourth in line looked like a winner, and I tossed it on top of the black.

“He’ll need a name, Joseph.”

“I’ll have to think about that.  I’ll see how he rides first.”

“Ready?”

“Let’s go!”

After riding to the top of a lush, green hill, I got a glimpse of the vastness of the land.  As far as I could see, there was row after row of cotton plants.  Father had filled me in on the look and size of the plants this time of year but in my wildest dreams, I  never realized one man could own thousands and thousands of perfect-looking plants. 

“All of this is yours, Father?  

“This is just the beginning. Son.”  

We rode until the sun was high in the sky.  Field after field and more fields.  Did my father own the entire state?  I wasn’t a fool and I didn’t want to sound like one so I let him do most of the talking.  “That’s enough for one day, Son.  We’ll head out again tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure what to say.  I’m speechless.”

“Hard work pays off, Joseph.”

““`

After luncheon, I took a stroll of the immediate grounds.  Cast-iron tables, chairs, and benches were scattered around the lawn under the most magnificent shade trees I’d ever seen.  There was always a place to relax and get out of the hot sun.  It made perfect sense, and I liked that.

Four large white columns decorated the front of my new home and to the rear was a carriage house where several different types and sizes of conveyances were kept.  I noticed that two men, perhaps footmen who always dressed in formal wear, stood outside as soldiers would stand at attention.  There were other men too only they were dressed in shoddy rags and were lacking footwear.  I tried to reason why there would be such a difference, but I couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense.

As I widened my perimeter, I noticed a long line of dilapidated shacks.  From a distance, I wondered if they were chicken coops, but the closer I got, the more I realized I’d read about such types of housing during my year of preparation. 

These had to be slave quarters, and when I heard a baby crying, I headed in that direction. An old black woman was bent over a washtub, and crying came from inside.  When she looked up and saw me approach, she stepped back from the tub and bowed her head toward the ground.

“The baby.  It’s crying.”

She didn’t look up and she didn’t move.  I ducked under the low wooden doorframe and picked the child up.  The baby was around a year old and was stark naked.  I carried her outside and under the shade of a tree.

“Hello, sweet thing.  Aren’t you a fine-looking little girl?”

The old woman hadn’t moved an inch.  I could’ve walked away with the child and she would’ve stayed glued to that spot.  It wasn’t her baby.  She was too old and bent to have a child this young, but she was the little girl’s keeper.

“Where’s her mama?”  The old woman pointed toward the green hill Father and I had ridden up first thing this morning.  “She’s working?”

“Yes, Massa.  She not back till dark.”

“I see.”

The baby had quieted in my arms.  She laid her head on my shoulder and in no time, she was fast asleep.  What was I supposed to do now?  I hadn’t planned to hang around the slave quarters all afternoon.  Even though the old woman didn’t move, she seemed nervous, maybe even frightened by my prolonged visit.  “You can go back to your washing. I think the baby and I will take a walk.  Does she have a name?”

“Clementine her name.  Her mama call her Clemma.”

“Come on, Clemma.  Let’s have ourselves a little stroll.”

***

Chapter Five

The dining room table was filled with so many mouthwatering dishes, I barely knew where to begin.  My mother was coming back to herself.  Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright and observant.  The journey had tired her out, but that was history now.

“I watched you from my window this afternoon.  It looked like you were walking toward Mobley Hill.”

I glanced at my father and he filled me in.  “The first hill we rode over this morning.”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am”

“Did you find the journey satisfying?”

“I’m not sure satisfying is the right word, Mother.  I found the slave quarters if that’s what you mean.”

“I despise that dirty business.”

“Loraine, please.”

“Well, I do.  They’re nothing but—”

“That’s enough, Dear.”

“I held a crying baby.  She was a pretty little girl.”

“Did you wash up good, Joseph?”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mother, but what exactly are you saying?”

“Don’t be naïve, Joseph.  Those people are filthy, and they live in squalor.  I don’t want you bringing some hideous disease into this house.”

My mother’s attitude toward the men and women who served her well was a bit rough. Slaves might not be as intelligent as the rest of us, but they weren’t animals.  They had homes and families just like we did, and I didn’t understand her harsh words.

“All your mother meant, Son, was that you need to be careful.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Father.  I held a crying baby.  That’s all.”

“That’s fine, Joseph.  Just realize that the overseer handles those people.  It’s best that we stay away and let them do their job.”

“Their job?  What does that mean?”

“Avery Messing is our overseer.  It’s his job to keep the men and women working as fast and efficiently as possible, and any interference by one of us only makes his job more difficult.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Then pardon me for being blunt, Son, but stay away from the quarters.  It’s no place for a boy your age.”

“I see.  May I be excused?”

“Certainly.”

I headed for my room and flopped down on the bed.  I wasn’t prepared to hear anything my parents said.  What was the harm?  What did they think I would do that might upset the overseer?  I rocked a baby to sleep.  Was that such a sin?

Now that I knew I was being watched, I would find different routes to take on my afternoon strolls.  Not that I’d walk straight to the quarters every day, but I was intrigued by the way those people lived and how they managed a family when they worked from sunrise to sundown.  Did husbands and wives work together?  Where were all the children?  I didn’t see more than two or three little ones when I walked baby Clemma.

I was more anxious than ever to find answers to my questions. I wanted to see the children’s faces.  I wanted to visit with their mothers and fathers.  Was that so wrong?

As the evening progressed, my curiosity got the best of me, and I was too restless to sleep.  I knew it was wrong and I knew I might be punished, but I slipped down the back stairs and out the back door anyway.  I picked up a lantern from the porch but didn’t dare strike a match until I was over the ridge and out of sight of the house.

Following the same path I took earlier in the day proved the best route to the quarters.  Why did Mother hate it so and what exactly made her caution me about setting foot down there when those people were essential to our way of life?

After reaching my destination, I hung back and watched several adults milling around.  Just like most of my peers, the ladies formed their own little groups as had the men, and a low hum of conversation filled the night air.  But only moments later, a woman ran down the slope from my direction screaming and waving her hands, and the men she ran toward stood to their feet.

“Who there?”

My, God.  Was he talking to me?  I looked around, but I was the only one he could be addressing, and I stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the cookfire.  

“My name’s Joe.  I live up at the big house.”

“My ‘pologies, Massa.  I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

“None taken, Sir.”  

Men and women both seemed confused by my presence or maybe my statement.  I realized too late what I’d said.  

Another woman came out of the crowd and ran toward me.  Before any of the men grabbed her and held her back, she addressed me personally.  

“You!  What you want with my baby?”

“Your baby, Ma’am?”

“The old woman say you take my baby.”

“Oh, you mean Clemma.”

“She my baby.”

“She’s a beautiful little girl.”

A tall, black man stepped forward.  “Nelly, no.  Leave that boy be.”

“No!  Why he touch my baby?” 

“It’s okay, Mister.  I heard her crying and I picked her up.”

“You look at her to sell?”

“Of course, not.  Why would I do that?”

The woman dropped to her knees.  “I sorry, Massa.  I thought …”

I lifted the young woman to her feet and continued to hold her arms so I could get a good look.  She wasn’t any older than me, maybe even younger and she already had a family.  In the moonlight, I spotted tears glistening against her cheeks.

“I’d never take your baby from you.  Never.”

The tall man stepped forward.  I wondered if he was her husband, but as I looked closely at his features, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.  When I turned and glanced behind me, I understood why.

“What’s this all about?  Who the hell are you?”

Brawny, a bull of a man, with dark, piercing eyes and a way of dominating the crowd around him, he carried a gun on his hip and a whip in his hand, but I wasn’t going to be intimidated by some overgrown bully.

“Joseph Spaulding, Sir.  Who the hell are you?”  

“Messing.  Avery Messing, Sir.  I didn’t realize—”

“That’s okay, Messing.  I’ll forgive anything once.”  The man stepped to the side and tried to hide his whip, but it was too late for nonsense like that.  “Is there something you wanted?” 

“I came to ask you the same thing, Sir.  Maybe a young thing to warm your bed?  There’s plenty to choose from.  Maybe a young mama?  They’s already broke in and be glad to spend the night in the big house.”

“I didn’t come here for anything like that.”

“I see.  Still a bit too young?  There’s always a first time.”

“You had Nell on her knees.  I figure you wanted—”

“No, Mr. Messing.  Do you understand English?  I didn’t come here for a woman.”

Messing grabbed Nell’s arm and hauled the young woman back toward her quarters.  He bent low and whispered something in her ear I couldn’t hear, but I doubt it was anything pleasant.

“I’ll be going now.”  I stared at the tall man who hadn’t moved from his spot.  “It was nice to meet all of you.  Goodnight.”

With my lantern turned low, I walked up and over the hill and back to the house.  I never meant to cause trouble.  I’d have to check back again someday.   Tonight was interesting at best, but it was time for bed.

***

Chapter Six

I lay on top of my covers and reviewed the evening I spent down at the quarters. It was the most excitement I’d had in a long time, and I was eager to know those people better.  So many of them were my age, and I wondered if I was allowed to make friends with the workers.  According to my mother, associating with anyone of African descent was nothing less than a mortal sin.

I was anxious to go back over the hill, but I’d have to be careful.  It’s not that I wanted to go against my mother and father’s wishes, I just wanted to make new friends and get to know the people who worked for us.  Was that a problem?

Father and I saddled up the following morning and rode in the opposite direction.  After a half hour of riding, we came upon another long line of shacks surrounded by acres and acres of cotton.  

“Don’t tell me you own this too.”

“We sure do, Son.”

“I’m impressed, Father.  I don’t know what else to say.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I’m confused.  Does Mr. Messing oversee these people too?”

Father pressed both hands on the pommel.  “No.  It’s too much for just one man, Joseph.  A man named Gerard, Leo Gerard, takes care of this section.”

I didn’t dare tell my father I met Avery Messing last night.  Since we started off on the wrong foot, I should probably make amends but truthfully, I wasn’t fond of the man at all.  I wondered if he ever took advantage of his position.  He seemed like the type that might.

After our morning outing, I was left to my own devices.  I didn’t want to go down to the quarters during working hours.  What was the point?  My goal was to meet the workers, get to know them—have a chat.  My mother might disown me, but it seemed like the right thing for a newcomer to do.

I hadn’t seen much of the inside of the house, and I spent the afternoon wandering the halls and peeking into the bedrooms on the second floor.  After I’d snooped enough, I walked down to the main floor to get my bearings and began with the kitchen.  

As I stood in the doorway, I watched women bustling away preparing our evening meal.  Two long wooden tables sat in the middle of the room; the chairs had been moved against the walls so there was plenty of room to work.  The first was surrounded by women who chopped vegetables, needed dough, and whipped different batters in wooden bowls.  The second was reserved for the women who handled the meat.  Sharp knives sliced chicken legs and thighs like warm knives cut through butter.

These people were efficient and smart.  Nothing was wasted and no one complained.  The environment was of the highest quality.  I doubt there was a finer kitchen in the whole state of South Carolina, maybe none finer in the entire Antebellum South.  The sight made me proud.

“Sir.  May I help you, Sir?”  

“Oh, no.  I’m just getting to know the house.  Don’t let me disturb you.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.  Thanks anyway.”

As I walked away, I had the oddest sensation.  Somewhere, sometime long ago, I’d been in someone else’s kitchen where the back of a man nearly my size stood next to a small chopping block.  I tried to concentrate but nothing was clear, and I discarded the memory as quickly as It came.

***

Chapter Seven

The farther the sun dipped in a cloudless sky, the heavier my urgency became to talk with the workers.  I took the same route as the night before, and by the time I reached the hill, it felt safe to light my lantern and let them know I was coming. I must’ve had friends in my younger days and with plantations so far apart, had I played with the little black children, or had Mother kept me isolated from everyone?  I had no memory of running over the hill to play. 

 Excitement grew as I barreled down the hill to the quarters.  Though the men were gathered outside, there were very few women, not half as many as the night before.

“Where is everyone?”

“Ain’t you heard?”  The tall man appeared to be their leader.

“Heard what?”

He pointed to the second shack in the long row of housing.  “See for yourself, Massa.  See what happens when—”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Before I walked inside, I blew out the lantern and set it outside the shack.  The only light inside the narrow room came from a candle and I waited for my eyes to adjust.  At least five women were gathered around a pallet that was nestled into the dirt flooring.

“What you want now?  Ain’t you done enough?”

I must’ve looked dumbfounded, but when all five women backed away from the bed, my reaction was hard to conceal.

“My, God.  What in—” I was speechless.  Nell’s back had been shredded.  The crisscross wounds were fresh, some still oozed blood and some needed stitching.  Nothing but a bullwhip would leave such marks.  “Why?”

“She disrespect you.”

“Me?  No, she only asked a question.”

“She give lesson.  She won’t bother you no more.”

“She needs a doctor.”

The spokeswoman stepped forward.  “No!  White man done enough.”

“Messing?  Did Messing do this to her?”  Everyone became tight-lipped.  The women were finished with me and crowded back around the bed.  I turned and left the shack only to face an angry crowd of men.  “I’m sorry.”

Hanging my head. I walked away.  The lantern remained outside the shack, but it could sit there forever. Though I’d been told to stay away, I didn’t catch the underlying message and didn’t understand the consequences that my presence could bring.  I’d never felt so alone or so ashamed.  

***

 Chapter Eight

“Aren’t you hungry, Son?”

I came down for breakfast only because it was expected of me.  After seeing Nell’s back, I didn’t know if I would ever eat again.  I couldn’t dismiss the fact that I was the cause of the whipping.  Did Messing think she was bothering me, a petit, pretty woman like that?  Even if that were the case, I’ve always handled my own.  I didn’t need some overgrown bully hogging in where he didn’t belong.

“I saw something last night, Father, something I’m not proud of.”

“What is it, Joseph?”

“I’m not too proud of my name this morning.  If the name Spaulding means belonging to a family that approves of a man nearly killing a farm worker for no reason at all then maybe I belong somewhere else.”   

My father raised his hand to his forehead and gently shook his head.  “Let’s see if we can sort this out, Son.  What in the world are you talking about?”

“A young woman named Nell.”

“Nell?  I don’t think I’m acquainted with anyone named Nell.”

“She’s one of your field workers, Father.”  I glanced at my mother and hoped she wouldn’t faint dead away when I explained the last couple of days.  “I spoke to Nell the other night and when your man, Messing, found out, he whipped the hide right off her back.  The woman did nothing wrong. If anyone did, it was me.  Mother told me not to go down there but I did anyway, and now that young mother is clinging to life by a thread.”

“We both asked you not to go down there, Son.”

“I know and I disobeyed you, but that’s not the point.”

“Messing does what he thinks is right.”

“Nearly killing a young mother isn’t anywhere close to right, Father.  If that’s what this family is all about, I’m finished.  I’ll set sail for California tonight.”

“Let’s not be rash, Joseph.  There’s no need for such talk.  You’ll only upset your mother.”

“What about Nell?”

“What did you learn about property in your studies?”

“I learned that Southerners own property that includes human beings, but in all the books and periodicals I was instructed to read, nothing was mentioned about the brutality I witnessed down in the quarters that’s less than a half mile from this house.”   

My father didn’t answer right off, and my mother had both hands covering her mouth so she wouldn’t speak out of turn.  She knew what would happen, and I did too.  When he was ready, my father would set me straight on the ways of a Southern gentleman.

“I thought you’d be better informed by the time we arrived at Rosewood, Joseph.  As you’re beginning to learn, our ways are different from those who reside in any of the new western states.  South Carolina was one of the first states to join the union nearly one hundred years ago and what you don’t seem to understand is that traditions and customs play a major part in our way of life.  

“Our ancestors have owned Carolina land for decades and the workers we have now are products of their own ancestors who have also been here for decades.  If a wrongdoing needs to be righted, it will be done by the overseer, otherwise, we all live in chaos.  If the work doesn’t get done, the plantation goes belly up and everyone who works here is left to their own devices. 

“We can’t let that happen.  We feed and house those people otherwise they have no permanent home and no food to eat. The children would be the first ones affected, then the elderly, then women like Nell and her husband if she has one.  A lot of those people don’t bother to marry, but that’s a whole different subject, one that I won’t discuss in front of your mother.  If chaos ensued, they’d all be dead within a year’s time.  There’s a fine line, Joseph, a line that you need to learn should never be crossed.”

Nothing about the conversation improved my appetite.  My coffee had grown cold and I wished I was just a boy and could run off and hide, but I was a man though I wasn’t sure how to get my point across.  I still thought Nell was whipped for no reason, and I still wanted to do my part to make things better for her and her family, but how could I convince my parents or Nell’s people that I hated the customs and traditions that gave anyone the right to inflict pain on a defenseless human being.

“May I be excused?”

“I thought we’d go riding, Son.”

“Whatever you wish, Father.”

“I’ll be down at the stable in half an hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

For the next two days, my father kept me occupied and I promised I’d stay away from the quarters.  The days were warm and muggy and the nights weren’t much better.  I often thought of Nell and her baby and how miserably hot those little cabins would be.  At least at the main house, we had large windows, and often a gentle breeze would blow through.  The shacks had nothing but a narrow doorway, which is why I’d find everyone milling around outside in the evenings.

My father was anxious to introduce me to some of his closest neighbors.  The Jacksons, Arthur, and Sissy, and their five sons—Tommy, Jimmy, Timmy, Johnny, and Ronny—ages fifteen to twenty-two were the first new people I met.  Even though I was dressed in riding clothes per my father’s request, I didn’t expect to see five young men dressed so formally during daylight hours.

“I’m happy to meet you, Sir, Ma’am.”

I played the part well and Father was proud of his newfound son.  Had I been friends with the boys when I was young?  I didn’t remember them, but that was par for the course.  I didn’t remember a damn thing about my early life.

The second family was much more interesting.  Charles and Vivian Carver and their twin daughters, Della Marie, and Dora Mae age sixteen.  

“Happy to meet you both, but how do I tell you beautiful ladies apart?”

Both girls giggled.  “Dora is the oldest, and I’m the baby of the family.”

The young ladies were toying with me and I loved every minute.  I wanted to match wits with the beautiful blondes, but I didn’t have time to think, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Are you saying I should reserve the right to take Dora to a formal dance and save you for a Sunday picnic?”

“Your son is quite a clever young fellow, Edward.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.  It won’t be long until he’s a full-fledged gentleman.  I’m very proud of this boy.”

As Father and I left the room, we could hear the girls giggling again.  I’d read about Southern belles, but these were the first I’d been formally introduced to and I was delighted by the prospects.  If I had my way, I’d court them both.  

During supper, my father explained our day’s travels and Mother seemed pleased that I was getting to know some of the surrounding neighbors.  Social gatherings were part of the whole customs and traditions lecture I’d been given more than once since we’d arrived home.  I expected the Carvers and their daughters would be dining with us before the month was out.

I begged off an evening game of chess and took to my room where I could try and figure out how I would ask out one of the twins and leave the other behind.  What if I picked the wrong one or what if she turned me down?  Should I ask her sister?

It wasn’t long before my mind flittered over to Nell and the marks I saw on her back.  For my parent’s sake, I hadn’t been down to the quarters, but I was itching to see if she was up and around and if the healing process worked without a “white” doctor.

Did I dare?  I hated going against my father and mother’s wishes in any way, but I had to know.  The truth was just over the grassy hill, and I’d be back before anyone knew I was gone.

The minute I stepped out the back door, a light rain began to fall and for once I’d be able to sleep without having to lift every sash in my room.  It had become a nighttime ritual.  Let the air blow through or sweat to death.

I stood in the shadows and watched.  Southerner white men weren’t the only ones who had customs and traditions, the workers did too, and they were celebrating some type of ritual that was different than anything I’d seen before.

It wasn’t my place to burst in on their festivities, and it had really started to rain. I wanted to back away, but before I turned around, someone grabbed my arms and forced them behind my back while another man pulled a burlap sack down over my head.  My wrists were bound and I had no choice but to let my captors drag me across the soft earth and tie me to a wooden pole in the driving rain.

I was at a loss.  I didn’t think the workers hated me enough to do what came next.  I’d only tried to make friends, but when my shirt was slit down the back and then yanked off my shoulders, the nightmare began when the leather tales of a whip left trenches of bright red blood across tender skin.

One of the men counted.  One, my jaw muscles tightened.  Two, my entire body quivered … five, six, seven … tears streaked my face and my chin dropped to my chest and desperate cries began when my knees buckled.  I hung from the ropes tying my wrists, the man with the whip had finished, and if his intention was bringing me to my knees, he reigned supreme.  When the rope was cut, I dropped like a sack of potatoes, but before the men walked away, I heard mumblings I’d never forget.  

“I hope Messing’s happy.”

***

Chapter Nine

After three days of lying flat on my stomach, I was no better off than when my father brought me home.  One of the workers, I don’t know who, found me the following morning and carried me up to the house.  Though my father was grateful, I doubt he even thanked the man for his trouble.  Traditions always won out.

The ”white” doctor did what he could but he wasn’t used to seeing men like me in this condition.  The first couple of days, I ran a fever and scared my mother to death but after she saw the lash marks on my shoulders and back, she chose to keep her distance and have my father and the second-floor staff tend to my needs.

I’d never known such pain.  Every movement had me gritting my teeth and praying I wouldn’t break down and sob like a baby, but often I did.  I couldn’t help but cry out at the searing flames of heat that still burned through layers of flesh. 

No one came to visit, but I doubt any of the surrounding neighbors knew what had happened.  I thanked God for that.  It was bad enough that my immediate family had to see the results of a night’s outing, but for an entire section of the state to bear witness was more than I could stand.

I didn’t know where the two men had taken me, and I didn’t know where I’d been found, but I hesitated to tell my father who was behind the lashing.  When I think back on what I went through, the layers of sutures, and the nights I lay awake just trying to get past the tormenting pain, I vowed to deal with Mr. Messing on my own terms.  As soon as I was able …

After a week, I was allowed out of bed, but I had to be dressed to leave my room.  Strolling the halls half-naked was some kind of sin, but even the loosest shirt I tried on felt like sandpaper.  The cuts were still raw and if my shirt had been pure silk, it wouldn’t have mattered.  I was in pain.

It didn’t take long before I gave in, dressed, and walked down the hall to the far end of the house.  I was weak from all the time spent in bed and ran my hand along the wall for support.  When I reached my destination, I heard noises that shouldn’t be happening in the middle of the day.  

At first, I thought it was my imagination.  The house slaves were too busy to take time out for nighttime activities, but I couldn’t stop myself.  I pushed the guest- room door open.  “Father!” 

I slammed the door shut and hurried back to my room.  Standing at the open window, I stared at the rolling hills below.  I wasn’t exactly shocked then maybe I was.  My father lay on top of one of the house negroes.  I believe her name was Sally.  Had I done the same with Glory?  Had I used her just like my father was using this girl to satisfy his own … God, how could I have been such a rat?

When my door was pushed open, I didn’t have to look up to know who was there.  He walked up behind me and pressed his hand on my shoulder.  Because I flinched, he quickly took it away.  “I’m sorry, Son.

“Sorry for what, Father?”

“Everything.”

“I guess we’re both sorry.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I did the same thing as you in Sacramento.  Her name was Glory.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“Are you asking for another bedmate?  We couldn’t let your mother find out but if that’s what—”

“Why does everyone think that?  Why is everyone so eager to find me a woman to sleep with?”

“I thought you—”

“If I want one, I’ll find her myself.”

I never circled around to face my father, but I heard him turn to leave.  “I’ll see you at supper, Son.”

“Yessir.”

***

Chapter Ten

Time marches on.  Nothing more was said about my father’s indiscretion and nothing more was said about my last trip to the quarters.  My back was coming along.  I would always have scars, but I was ready to move on with my life.  Like my father and the traditions everyone holds dear, I had become friendly with a light-skinned young slave named Elsa.

Whether friendly was the right word or not, I had a woman I could call on when the urge hit, and the urge hit quite often.  No one could replace Glory, but Elsa was a fine woman.  A few years older, she didn’t have a man of her own and she didn’t seem bothered at all about coming to my bed.

We educated each other.  It was time I learned about the people who worked at Rosewood, and the first thing that was revealed was that Nell, Clemma’s mother had died five days after being flogged by Avery Messing.  The child would never know her mother and I wondered if there was anything I could do to make amends.  I had to go back to the quarters, but this time I would go in broad daylight.

Today was as good a day as any, and I hoped that truth was one of our sacred traditions.  I didn’t care who saw me take the path that led to the quarters.  Wasn’t I a free man, and couldn’t a free man go anywhere he chose?

The books I read hadn’t been much help when it came to the actual workings of a Southern plantation, but I guess that was only natural.  Who’s going to let the truth be known to those who aren’t vested in such degrading customs?

Mr. Messing didn’t want me snooping around his territory, and he let me know firsthand the brutality he inflicted on those who never stood a chance of fighting back.  He had ultimate power over the weaker and the outnumbered.  Who might be next on his list?

The old wash woman was surprised to see me.  Her tired eyes rounded and she started to back away from the low metal tub.  I raised both hands hoping she’d understand that I meant her no harm.

“I just came to ask about the baby … about Clemma.”

“She fine.  What else you want to know?”

“Does she have a father?”

“Everyone gots a father.”

Maybe I said that wrong.  “Is her father able to care for her?”

“He more’n able, but he want no part of that baby’s life.”

“Why not?  If he’s her flesh and blood.”

“Don’t you know nothin’, Boy?”

“I guess not.”

“That little girl your sister.”

The old woman thought I was a bit dim, and when her words sunk in, I realized she was right.  I was as dim as they came.  What would happen to the baby now?  Not only did she lose her mother but … my, God.  How many of the children living in the quarters were my siblings?

“I want her.”

“Say what?”

“I’m taking her home with me.”

“But Massa.  What about your mama?  She ain’t gonna take kindly to no mix breed baby.  Maybe she hurt the child.”

“She’d never do anything of the sort.  You’re wrong.”

The old woman looked down at the ground.  She’d said enough and knew if she spoke out again, nothing good would come of it.  “I get the baby.”

“Thank you.”

When she laid Clemma in my arms, I stared at her little face.  I never had brothers or sisters and part of me was excited by the prospect of caring for her.  Mother never had to know we had the same blood; in fact, no one in the big house had to know the truth.  That could prove a big mistake.

The kitchen door stood open and the baby and I slipped inside.  Every degree of laughter and merriment in the large room halted, and everyone’s eyes turned my way.  Clemma and I were on display, and when one of the younger women stepped forward, an older woman grabbed her arm.  No one spoke.  No one knew what to say.

“This is Clemma.  She’ll be living in this house from now on.  I’ll be needing a few supplies, diapers, to start.  Is anyone here a wet nurse?” 

Again, the young lady stepped forward but this time, she wasn’t stopped.  “I am, Massa.”

“Good.  They’ll have to do without you for a few months.  I’ll need you upstairs.  I assume you have a small child?”

“Yessir.  I be happy to feed your baby and mine.”

“Oh, she’s not mine.”

“No?  I assumed—”

“Don’t assume, just gather your things and be ready to … you know, as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Massa.  I come upstairs right quick.”

The young mother’s name was Esther and her daughter who was only a month older than Clemma, was named Cynthia.  They all took the last name of Spaulding.  Although I was scared to hear the answer, I managed to ask.

“Where is the baby’s father?  Does he work inside the house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Excuse me?”

“She half white, but it hard to guess who the father might be.”

“You mean you’ve been with more than just one white man?”

“More’n I can count, Massa.”

“I see.”  She must’ve seen the look on my face.  How naïve could a man be?  I still had a hell of a lot to learn about traditions.

***

Chapter Eleven

Weeks passed and I found myself without purpose.  I visited Clemma and Cynthia twice a day, but I had no job which left too much time to think about my life and my future.  The girls were in good hands with Esther, and no one had even asked the burning question.  Who the hell was the kid and why was she living in the house?

Mother planned a dinner party for Saturday night, and a new suit of clothes was purchased on my behalf.  I had no input on any decision, not even my own wardrobe.

Friday afternoon, I rode hard and fast.  I had no destination in mind and ended up sitting on a hilltop looking down on the Carver’s home.  I hadn’t planned to cross over onto their property but in the end, it turned out to be a pleasant experience.

A golden palomino with a golden-haired girl in the saddle soared passed me like I wasn’t even there, but I took it as an invitation to follow.  She was an excellent rider and I was so out of practice, it was a strain to keep up.

As soon as she slowed, I did the same—thank God—and we both dismounted.  “Hello, Joseph.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Do you want to guess or do I have to tell you who I am.”

“You must be the youngest.  The older of the two wouldn’t ride so recklessly, would she?”

“You’re very clever, Joseph, and I like clever men.”

“Do you now?”

“You still haven’t called me by name.”

“Just an oversight.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Fine.”  Damn if I could remember who was the youngest.  “I hear the whole family is coming for supper tomorrow night.”

“Yes.  I heard that too.”

“Maybe you and I could be seated next to each other.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

“So what name will you have your mother write on the place card?  No, don’t tell me.  I like surprises.”

Our time together was over and I gave her—whichever one she was—a leg up, and she was gone, flying across the meadow like the wind.  I mounted, but I had no intention of flying like the wind.  Every muscle ached, even my back, which I thought was healed but was far from it.  How long would it take?  Slaves were sent back to work after only two days, and I was still stiff and sore after two weeks.

When I entered the dining room on Saturday night, I rearranged the place cards, but I still wasn’t sure.  I closed my eyes and picked one.  Della Marie.  I set her card next to mine.  It wouldn’t be long before I found out how clever I’d been.

Dressed in our finest, the three of us were sitting comfortably in the drawing room when our guest arrived.  Jeremy, a footman I only laid eyes on at dinner, escorted our guests into the room.  As is customary in these situations, my father and I rose from our chairs, and Mother stayed seated.

I noticed the girls first.  Both were dressed immaculately but not identically.  I appreciated that.  Different personalities deserved different attire, but I still didn’t know which was which.  I crossed the room and stood between the girls.  

“You both look beautiful, tonight.  How could a young man like me be so lucky?”

Mr. Carver’s eyes shot straight to my father’s and they both smiled.  The night was off to a good start and it was up to me to keep it that way.  I escorted both young ladies out a side door and to the veranda where I sat them on a cast iron bench and I took a nearby chair for myself. 

A footman followed us outside.  He toted an empty tray and asked if he could interest us in an apple toddy.  Both young ladies nodded and I did the same.  I was willing to try anything once.  By the time we finished our drinks, dinner was served and we were summoned to the table.

I stood from my chair.  “Ladies?”

My mother had done herself proud.  The table was decked out with flowers from our garden, and layers of plates, knives, forks, and spoons that I wasn’t sure which to use for what but determined not to embarrass myself.  Observant became my middle name.

When Miss Della Marie saw her name card next to mine, she turned to me and her lush, rosy lips formed the most stunning smile I’d ever seen.  “How did you know?”

“How could a man ever mistake a lovely woman like you?”

“I’m impressed, Mr. Spaulding.”

“Where did that come from?  I chuckled at her sudden glint of formality.  “Just Joe, Miss Della.  There’s nothing formal or fancy about me. Shall we be seated?”

Dora Mae sat across from us and I don’t think she was at all pleased.  She had to know I could only see one of them at a time.  Someone would be left out, but there had to be more young men in the county than just me.  In fact, I knew there were.  The Jackson boys.  There had to be one or two the right age for courting.

“Tell us about yourself, Joseph.  I’ve known you since the day you were born, but there’s an obvious gap that I’m sure my wife and daughters would enjoy hearing about.”

“I’m not sure there’s much I can tell with ladies present.  As you know, a man named Tom Asher took me from this place almost five years ago.  If it hadn’t been for my father’s diligence, I’d still be living in Placerville, California.”

“Is that one of those mining towns?  How did you get by?”  

Though I smiled at Della’s question, I didn’t want her to know I was oblivious to that time of my life.  It made me sound like an idiot who wasn’t worthy of being a plantation owner’s son.  “As I said, there’s not much to tell.”

“You must be grateful to—”

“That’s enough, Sweetheart.  Joseph said he doesn’t want to discuss his time away and we should respect his wishes.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I hoped my mother understood my refusal to discuss all the sordid details with strangers.  Ruining her party was never my intention, and I worked hard to get the conversation back on track.

“Have you ever seen this young lady’s palomino, Father?  It must be one of the finest mounts this side of the Mississippi.”

Under the table where no one else could see, Della reached for my hand and squeezed.  Maybe we had a future after all.

***

Chapter 12

At least I had one purpose in life and that was to keep Della happy.  Before the evening was over, we made plans to ride at noon the following day.  I’d meet her on top of the same rise that she’d found me just last week.

I arrived early.  After romping on the thick carpet with Clemma and Cynthia, it was time to dress for the day’s events.  Anxiety won over.  I was as nervous as I ever remember being, but I hadn’t been with a real lady before.  Glory and Elsa had warmed my bed, but that was a whole different scenario than courting a young woman with all the social graces of a girl properly raised in the confines of South Carolina.

My heart skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of her rounding the final bend and making her way up the hill.  Damn, she was beautiful.  “You made it.”

“Did you have any doubts?”

 “Maybe one or two.”

“Are you ready for some fun?”

“Lead the way.”

There was no mistaking that the girl was an excellent horsewoman.  She left me in the dust and I had to work like a dog to keep up.  Through a narrow valley and over another rise, the landscape dipped down toward a stream that led to a small cove where a hidden little lake was surrounded by cattails and boulders large enough to sit on.

“Who else knows about this place?”

She shrugged her shoulders, dismounted, and took off toward the nearest flat rock.  I was right on her heels but surprised when she unbuttoned her riding jacket and removed the heavy garment. What surprised me more was that she only wore a chemise underneath.  Before I could get used to the idea, off came her boots and trousers, which left her legs shielded by a delicate pair of cotton bloomers.  

“Are you coming in?”

From the rock, she pushed off and dove under the water wearing nothing more than thin undergarments.  Did she want me to do the same?  Like Della, I shed my jacket and boots, but for good reason, I didn’t remove my trousers.  I, too, dove into the well-hidden lake and our heads bobbed to the surface together.

Della’s laughter was contagious.  She giggled like a girl without a care in the world, and I enjoyed her playful nature.  Every time she dove under the water, she came up for breath where I least expected her.  She swam between my legs and hurled herself on my back.  I kept far enough under the water that she couldn’t see the raised scars Messing left on my back, but I feared she might run her fingers over one of the more protruding marks where stitches had broken open and the healing took longer than it should.  If she felt anything abnormal, she never said a word.

When I lost track of her completely, she fooled me and climbed out of the water and onto the large, flat rock.  Though I wanted to follow, I was too self-conscious to get out of the water.

“The sun’s nice and warm, Joseph.  Are you going to join me?”

I didn’t have much choice.  I couldn’t stay in the lake all afternoon and I gave in to her wishes.  “On my way.”

Protecting her eyes from my scars, I faced forward as I climbed up on the rock beside her.  Although I should’ve been, I wasn’t prepared to see right through her chemise at her breasts and darkened nipples.  Shock number two came when her thin wet bloomers gave me a glimpse of the area she shouldn’t want me to see.  When she rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand, I did the same.  

“Would you like to kiss me, Joseph?”

“Now?  Here?”

“Of course.  Did you want to go somewhere else?”

“No.  I didn’t mean … I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

I don’t know why, but with a half-naked white girl lying next to me and I couldn’t bring myself to kiss her, what the hell was wrong with me?  She wasn’t Glory and she wasn’t Elsa and I never hesitated with either of them, but Della was different.  

When she reached for my free hand and laid it on top of her breast, I had no choice but to caress the tender flesh, but one thing led to another, and I pulled at the delicate pink ribbon that ran from the waist up and held her bodice together.  The ribbon came loose, and I replaced my hand with my mouth.

The rock should’ve scraped her delicate white skin, but she never cried out.  She thrust her breast farther inside my mouth and ran her hand down my thigh, back to my groin, and down my leg again.  I had no doubt she’d been with a man before.  Whether he was someone my age or a handsome, black buck who lived in the quarters, I didn’t know, but no young, white female knew the intricacies of controlling a man as she did.

I released her breast and reached for the hand on my leg.  “I’m sorry, Della.”

“You won’t make love to me, will you?”

“Not today.”

“It’s my sister, isn’t it?  You want her instead.”

“What?  No.  I don’t want your sister.  I can’t do this.  We’re neighbors.  Friends, and I’d like to remain that way.”

“You think I’m a whore, don’t you?”

“No.  I’d never think such a thing.”

She pulled her chemise closed and yanked on the little pink ribbon, but it tore in half and fell into the lake.  By the time she was fully dressed, I was too, but I stopped her from running off.  I didn’t want her to leave.

“I like you, Della.  I like you a lot, and I think we could be friends.”

“We can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“I made you touch me.  I wanted … I wanted you to like me best.  How could we ever be friends now?”

“Forget all that.  Pretend it never happened.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have.”

Women were impossible.  “Like me best.”  What the heck was she thinking?  Maybe I should stick with Elsa and leave the prim and proper ladies to the Jackson boys.  Life would sure be easier that way.

***

Chapter Thirteen

Elsa warmed my bed that night.  Though I didn’t at first, I understood now why my father summoned negress women for pleasure.  Life was so simple when men and women realized their place in society.  Had I fallen for Della’s charms, I could’ve found myself in a very precarious situation if she announced she was with child.  I was too young for marriage.  I had a bunch more wild oats to sow first.  Elsa suited me just fine.

Something had happened.  Something was wrong.  Father sat at the dining room table, his head in his hands, and my mother stood looking out a tall, spotless window.  Did Della tell her parents that I … what?   Disgraced her?  Did I dare announce my presence or back out without a word?  Maybe telling my side of the story would be best.

“Good morning.”

Mother turned around.  “Oh, Joseph.  How could you?”

Oh, dear.  I had to respond and I looked toward my father for support but a sorrowful headshake was all I received in return.  The disappointment in his eyes said it all.

“It’s not what you think, Mother.”

“What is it then?  What am I supposed to think when I find those heathens have taken up residence in the bedroom next to yours?”  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Thank God it had nothing to do with Della, but I had a whole set of different problems now.  “That little hussy you have in charge of that heathen nursery said one of the babies was hers and the other was yours.”

“I might have misled her, Mother, but I assure you the child isn’t mine.”

“Then why are they holed up in that room?  Don’t you dare lie to me, Son.”

“Come and sit down, Mother.  I’ll do my best to explain.”

I didn’t blurt out who fathered the baby.  No good could come of that, but I told my mother about Nell, about how and why she died, and that I felt responsible for her death.

“Clemma has no one, Mother, and she needed a wet nurse—”

“Joseph, please.  Must you talk about such things?”

“In this case yes.  I must.  How else would the baby survive?”

“How long must we entertain these three in this house?”

I didn’t have an answer so I changed the subject.  “I was wrong not to get your permission, and I apologize.”

“I don’t like this one bit, Son, and as soon as they’re able, I want them gone.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And another thing.”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“It’s plain to see that they both have white fathers.  Do you know who these men could be?”

I didn’t dare look toward my father.  “I haven’t a clue.”

“One more thing, Joseph.”

I thought we were finished talking about the babies, and I’d just shoved a piece of smoked ham in my mouth.  “Yes, Ma’am?”

“There’s a soirée at the Tierney’s on Saturday night.   Maybe you and your father can ride over one day this week, and he’ll introduce you.”

“That can be arranged, right, Father?  Father?”

“Oh … say that again?”

“The Tierney’s.”

“Oh, yes.  An introduction.  Of course, Son.”

“I’ve arranged for you to escort the eldest Carver daughter.  I believe Dora is her name.”

“Yes, Ma’am.  I’d be honored.”

Oh, God.  Could life get any worse?  Was I the only available young man in South Carolina?

Father and I saddled up and rode to the Tierney’s not long after breakfast.  I had time to romp with the babies before we left, but that was all.  Father was eager to get going.  After about an hour, he pulled up under the shade of an old oak tree.  I did the same.

“Thought we could use a breather, Son.”

“Fine by me, Sir.”

For good reason, my father had been preoccupied since breakfast.  I don’t think my mother caught on, but I was aware of his silence.

“You know, don’t you.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t play dumb, Joseph.  It’s not becoming of a gentleman.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How did you find out?”

His question was vague, and I prayed we were talking about the same thing.  I looked straight at my father.  “The last time I had contact with one of the workers, she was whipped and she died.  I won’t give you a name.  Let’s just say I know that Clemma is my sister.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out, Son.”

“I’m not, but there’s something else I’d like to know.”

“Feel free.”

“How many more siblings do I have?”

“That’s enough, Joseph.”

“Two?  Three?  One hundred?”

“I told you that’s enough.  Some things are better left unsaid.”

“That many?”

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?”  You think lying with a negress is some dirty little game we Southerners play.  Am I right.”

“I didn’t say that, Father.”

“Listen up and listen good, Son.  You thought no one knew about you and Glory, didn’t you?  Everyone in the house knew she was your whore, and what do you think became of her once you were gone?  She and her bastard child were sold to slavers.  She’s not living the highlife anymore.  She’s someone’s field hand.”

“My child?”

“He’ll be working the fields in no time.”

Although I wanted to, I didn’t say a word.  What could I say?  I was no different than my father.

“Your mother doesn’t know about Elsa, but I’ve known since day one, and I understand the need at your age, but there’s one thing you must keep in mind.  I have spies on every floor of the house.  Nothing gets past me, Joseph.  Nothing at all.”

“I’ll remember that, Sir.”

“Good.  Let’s ride.” 

***

Chapter Fourteen

Another suit of clothes had been purchased.    I wondered if the day would come when I could order my own attire.  How old did a man have to be before his mother thought he was fit to make that kind of decision?

The festivities wouldn’t begin until eight, and being a traditional Southern lady, my mother wouldn’t consider showing up at the Tierney’s before half past.  I excused myself after lunch and decided on a leisurely afternoon.  After all, my mother and father did the same only in different rooms of the house.

Mother made a hasty exit to her bedroom and my father used the excuse of delving into a new book in his library.  Of course, he had no intention of reading the afternoon away.  He and I were more alike than I cared to admit.

Elsa loosened my belt and then worked the buttons of my shirt and my trousers.  She wasn’t afraid to mix things up a bit and after she tossed the last piece of clothing on the floor, she slipped off her simple cotton dress and pushed me back on the bed.

With my feet still touching the floor, she ran her hands up my thighs and leaned down far enough that her tongue only tickled the tip of my penis.  Then, with both hands, she spread my legs far enough apart that she could slip in between.  When I reached for her, she slapped my hands away.  The woman liked to be in control and I let her pretend she was. It’s the only time in her entire life that she’d have control over a situation.  Why not let her have a fantasy or two?  Why not give her a little bit of pleasure in life?

She climbed on top and fucked the hell out of me.   When she collapsed, I moved her aside, found a housemaid to fill my tub with hot water, and took her in the bath with me.  The least I could do was give her a nice wash.  Elsa was a special girl, and I had confided in her long ago.  Anytime she wanted to leave, she could, but she stayed.  I gave her no reason to leave.

Even though Dora was my assigned partner for the night, I was to meet her at the Tierney’s.  It was a matter of distance between homes, and meeting at the soirée was a smarter way to go.  Per Mother’s wishes, we arrived in front of the house at eight-forty, the socially accepted time, but we weren’t alone.  Everyone else had the same idea and the string of lavish carriages in the driveway was long.

After helping my mother down, I escorted her into the house.  We were announced and made our way into the grand ballroom where music played in the most majestic space I’d ever seen.  I was honored to be part of a society that prided itself in opulence and grandeur.

Across the room, Miss Dora Mae stood with her parents and younger sister, Della.  It was my place to make Mother comfortable, and then slip over to the Culver’s and escort my date onto the dance floor.  With all the unattached young ladies that lined the room, I could’ve had a gay old time meeting them all, but that wouldn’t happen tonight.  At least they could get sight of me, which meant I would show them the best parts of a Southern gentleman.

“Miss Dora.”  

I bowed at the waist and held out my hand.  She accepted my gesture and we moved onto the dancefloor.  Although it was hard to tell them apart, I noticed a slight difference.  Their eyes.  Dora’s were sky-blue and Della’s were aqua-green.  I didn’t notice the first time we met, but now I know the difference and will never forget.

I waltzed her around the room as though I’d danced like this all my life.  My intention was to let all the other young ladies observe my presence and appreciate my genteel way with a woman.

Parading ourselves like a couple of show-offs, Dora’s grin made me smile.  I wasn’t doing her justice, and that wasn’t fair.  I wasn’t like that, and I don’t know what had gotten into me.  For the remainder of the night, my eyes were focused on my date and nobody else.

By the end of the evening, I was so impressed with Dora that I asked her to attend the Sunday social with me.  I’m sure things like this happened all the time—one sister chosen, but it was hard to leave the other behind.  

Perhaps Della found herself a new fella.  Though it was none of my concern, I still felt bad for her.  She tried so hard to be the right sister that she overcompensated with her unbridled attempt to seduce me.  I would’ve kissed her, but that was as far as I planned to go, and I believe that’s why she took things too far. 

When Dora asked if I’d take her outside for a breath of cool air, I wondered if she had the same thing in mind, but not Dora.  She kept her hands to herself.  Only our fingers touched when I handed her a glass of punch.  The rest of the time, she let me take the lead on and off the dancefloor.

Mother was overjoyed when I told her I had a date for the social.  “It’s not a wonder, Joseph.  You’re an attractive and well-mannered young man.  You’d be a catch for any young lady of substance.”

“Well, substance or not, Mother, I’m not at all ready to settle down with just one woman.”

“I trust that when the time comes, you’ll make the right decision.”

“I hope so too, Mother.”

***

Chapter Fifteen

Soirées, socials, and dinner parties were all part of Southern living, and dressing for those events was left to my mother’s discretion.  She knew best and didn’t hesitate to tell me so.

Dora and I had been an item for weeks.  We attended every affair our parents were invited to and more.  We rode together and we dipped our toes in cool water.  We took long walks and talked about anything and everything.  Neither of us was shy with each other.  Thanks to my mother’s interference in my social life, I have to say she was right again.

There were things a proper gentleman didn’t discuss with a lady.  I had secrets that would remain hidden from everyone but Elsa. But the irony was that the existence of Elsa and Clemma would be hidden from Dora.  How could I explain either of them to the woman who might become my future bride?  

I thought twice about crawling under the bedsheets with Elsa after time spent with Dora, but she was as much a part of my life as my mother and father.  She kept me sane when visions I found hard to handle flashed through my brain like bolts of lightning.  A black and white pinto or the odd little man with a braid running down his back.  How many times had those ghostly images driven me to distraction, but Elsa was there to handle me with care and soothe my tormented soul.  

Being with Dora had become tougher each time we were together.  I’d kissed her a hundred times, but I hadn’t dared let my hand roam across her breast or between her legs.  Her layers of clothing gave nothing away, and I should’ve been comfortable just being with her, but I was ready for more, just a touch, a simple caress of her soft, white skin. 

She wasn’t quite the horsewoman her sister was, but I wasn’t bothered by that.  It wasn’t a competition by any means and Dora and I often rode side by side.  She was such a lovely girl, and she was willing to ride wherever I wanted to go.  There was still a lot of countryside I’d yet to discover and it was nice having a companion that was adventurous too.

But on an average day when the sky darkened to a rough-looking gray, we headed for a breach in the rocky ravine and discovered a cave with enough room to tie our mounts and take shelter.  As I gathered her in my arms, she didn’t hesitate to lay her head on my chest and wrap her arms around my waist.  With her breasts pressing against me, I felt my trousers tighten.  What happened next surprised both of us.

After her hands left my waist and moved lower, she pressed herself tighter against my groin, but did she have any idea what she was doing to me?  There was just so much a man could take before he acted on impulse rather than good sense.  “Dora …”

“I want you, Joe.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m not naïve.  I’m a grown woman and I know what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure in my life.”

I spread my slicker on the dirt floor and helped Dora to the ground.  Before I sat down beside her, she already unbuttoned her red velvet jacket and had started on the tiny pearl buttons of her blouse.  Her chemise still protected her breasts and I covered the cotton material with my left hand but, as though I touched a hot stove, I pulled away.

“This isn’t right, Dora.  I don’t want it to be like this.”  Tears formed in her eyes.  “Oh, no, Sweetheart.  It’s my fault, not yours, but a cave in the middle of nowhere isn’t a good place.  I want our first time to be special, not spur of the moment. Do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand, and it only makes me love you more.”

I smiled at my beautiful girl.  “Good.  We’ll make plans together, okay?”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

***

Chapter Sixteen

The days were growing cooler, and I talked Esther into taking the babies outside. “You know.  A little fun in the sun.”

“What about your mother?”  

“She’s at a luncheon at the Jackson’s.  She won’t be back for another two hours at least.”

“Okay.  If you wish.”

I picked up Clemma, and Esther reached down for Cynthia.  “May I?”

“Yes, Massa.”

I grabbed the quilted blanket from her bed for us to sit on.  “Do you have to call me that?”

“Yes, Massa.”

“Fine.”  

We scurried down the back stairs and through the kitchen to the yard.  The children had been deprived of the most basic elements.  No walks down the lane.  No feeling the breeze on their faces.  Had I caged these two little ones and sentenced them to an abnormal life?  I wanted my sister where I could see her every day, but the consequences were decidedly harming the child.

Another plan had to be made, but I only saw one way to remedy the fact, and that was to send all three to the quarters.  Esther would have to work the fields and the old wash woman would be in charge of the girls.  I didn’t want that.  I took Clemma away from that, and I didn’t want to send her back.  

Neither child was fair enough to pass for white.  Clemma was lighter than Cynthia, but I doubt she could pass.  If she did, who could I declare as her parents?  She couldn’t just live here and be raised by the staff.  That was no good either.  The answers were slim.

The kids had a great time shuffling their short little legs around in the lumpy grass.  They’d never tried to walk on anything so uneven and their little bottoms hit the ground often.  I chuckled more than once at their antics.  They were two very happy little girls.

***

Chapter Seventeen

My new suit of clothes arrived yesterday.  Mother said nothing but the best for the party.  It would be a big day for all of us.  Working out the logistics wasn’t as much up to me as it was the parents of the soon-to-be formally engaged couple.

The announcement would be made Saturday night in front of nearly a hundred people who’d been invited to attend the formal reception for Dora and me.  Whether my intended was nervous, I didn’t know, but I sure was.  I’d just turned eighteen and though my mother was thrilled by the prospect of marriage and grandchildren, my father had reservations.

“There will be a number of changes you’ll have to make, Son.”

“I know that, Father.”

“Elsa, for one.”

“Elsa?  Why?”

“Think, Joseph.”

“About what?  Dora and I will be living with you and Mother for at least a year.  Elsa belongs to this house so I don’t  see the conflict.”

“Your wife will demand all of your physical attention that first year.  On down the road, after a couple of children are born, the urge for that same type of fulfillment wains.  That’s when you take up with a fresh, young, negress.   You see what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“I do, Father, but I can handle both.”

“Trust me, Son, I tried, and it doesn’t bode well for any of the parties involved.”

“What will become of Elsa?”

“Say goodbye, Joseph.  It’s for the best.”

My feelings for Elsa had grown strong over time, and I had a difficult decision to make, but she wasn’t the only female involved.  My heart belonged to Clemma, the bastard child that could become a common field hand if I wasn’t around to watch but plans for either of my girls didn’t have to be made today.  This was only an engagement party.  The wedding was still six months away.

The night of the party came faster than I could imagine, but I looked quite dashing in my new suit, new boots, and new woolen cape.  We needed to be at the Carver’s early enough that my parents could stand alongside Dora’s folks to greet the guests.  My fiancée and I were to remain in hiding until we were presented just before everyone sat down for dinner.

As soon as we walked in, I noticed Mr. and Mrs. Jackson and their five sons—Tommy, Jimmy, Timmy, Johnny, and Ronny.  I tried not to chuckle, but the boys were lined up like stairsteps, each half a head taller than the next.  The other guests smiled and dipped their heads, but they were all strangers to me.

Dora and I were each allowed one cocktail and were instructed to “hide out” in her father’s library.  We were glad to have time to ourselves.  Though we hadn’t had marital relations, we’d done everything else to try and satisfy the needs of a young woman and young man.  As soon as I closed and locked the double doors, Dora cornered me and pressed her hand where it didn’t belong.

“Not now, Sweetheart.”

“I want you so much, I can’t keep myself from—”

After sliding the lacy rose straps off her shoulders, she arched her back and brought my head low enough that I could toy with her hardened nipple and feel the shudder of excitement that ran through her.  Her left hand held me close and her right found its way back to my penis.  Hard as a rock with no way to release was a miserable feeling, but I didn’t want to yank her hand away and embarrass her, especially tonight.

When I pulled away, she took a deep breath and adjusted her straps, and when I flopped down in the nearest chair, she straddled me.

“Darling Dora.  You must let me catch my breath too.”

“Mother will be here soon, and I suppose we shouldn’t look a sight.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I’ll get our drinks, and if we look a bit flushed, we can blame the liquor.”

Dora was no dummy.  She was as smart as a whip, just horny as hell.  An unmarried woman wasn’t allowed the comfort of a bedmate.  After the marriage took place … let’s just say I’d heard stories.  I didn’t think she’d ever go that route.  I hoped I’d be the only man she ever needed.

Something was wrong.  Something was happening in the main hall and we were locked inside the library and afraid to make an appearance.  A woman screamed.  It sounded like my mother but I couldn’t be sure.  I wanted to stick my head out and see, but Dora grabbed my hand and held tight.

“No!  You can’t go.”

“Something’s not right.  We have to go.”

The commotion only got louder.  More than one person was yelling, and a strong and violent-sounding knock rattled our door.

“Open the door, Son.  I know you’re in there.”

That wasn’t my father’s voice, and I looked down at Dora.  I didn’t respond, but I pushed my fiancée behind me and the two of us backed away from the double doors.

“Joe, I’m scared.”

I didn’t want to admit I was too, but we kept stepping back until Dora’s backside connected with her father’s mahogany desk.

“Joseph, it’s Pa.  Come on out, Son.”

Dora looked as puzzled as I was.  I only had one father and I never called him Pa so who was this man who claimed to know me?  We had no way of escape.  We were stuck in the library and when the locked double doors began to rattle back and forth, our time clad in safety was soon to end.  

Men’s voices raged with angry overtones and nasty remarks.  The doors continued to clatter, and if a mob of men broke through, I’d have trouble protecting Dora.  Who the heck was out there and what did he want with me?  The poor man was mistaken, but he seemed convinced he was in the right place and talking to the right person.

“Maybe I should go out there.”

“No, Joe.  You wouldn’t leave me here alone, would you?”

“No one’s after you, Dora.”

She held on tight.  She was frightened and she had good reason.  Our special night had turned into a night of terror and chaotic behavior by people we didn’t know.  And then it happened. Both doors swung open and a large imposing man rushed in.

“Joseph.”

I stared at the man’s face.  If we’d ever been acquaintances, it was news to me.  “Who are you, Mister?”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”  

Dora had loosened her grip and I brought her to my side.  I saw no reason to fear the man.  The danger had passed when I heard his gentle voice.

“It’s been nearly four years, Son.  A lot has happened since the day we lost you, but I’d rather not discuss that just now.”

“Four years.  I don’t understand.”

My father moved in between the angry man and me.  He stepped forward and winked at Dora and me before addressing the stranger.  Mr. Carver rushed through the crowd of men I didn’t know and pulled his daughter from the library.

“That’s enough, Mister.  You’ve seen the boy and surely you realize your mistake.  It’s time you moved on.  We don’t want any more trouble in this house.”

“I assure you, Mr. Spaulding.  I’m not about to move on.”  Two men dressed in everyday attire moved in closer to the angry man.

“We’ll see.”  Father turned to me.  “Come on, Son.  This man has become quite a bore.”

“I’m staying at Planters Inn in Charleston, Son.”

My father knew best and I let him drag me from the room.  My world had been temporarily shattered but Father brought everything back down to earth.  Who was that man?  He lost a son, but what did that have to do with me?  I’d been a Spaulding all my life.  What gave him the right to come barging in and disrupt our lives like this?  My mother must be beside herself.

Negros weren’t allowed to own weapons, but it wasn’t long before the Carver’s overseers and four other men hauled the angry man and his associates out of the house.  We were safe now and I went to find Dora.  She’d be crying her eyes out if I didn’t show up soon.  The party was ruined and we’d never made our formal announcement.  It was no way to begin our new life.

I hated leaving Dora behind, but I had to work out the man’s intrusion.  Mother cried all the way home but that was expected.  As fragile as she was, an incident like this would send her to her room for days.  Father remained silent.  I often saw his jawline clench and relax as if holding himself in check was painful.  The entire affair was a mystery, but between Father and I, we’d find a way to send the angry man on his way.

Mother’s personal domestic, Clara, stood outside the house and guided my nearly disabled Mother into the house.  Everett took care of the buggy and James was there for Father as if climbing the stairs might be too much after a night of barefaced gaiety.  

On nights like this, my parents slept in separate bedrooms.  A kiss goodnight and Father would let my mother get her “beauty sleep,” but the real reason was crystal clear to me.  Her name was Alva.  She was young and eager to leave the fields behind.  She serviced my father well.

Elsa had turned down my bedclothes and guided me toward the bed as soon as I entered the room.  She knew I’d be tired, but she didn’t know the half of it.  After removing my clothes, she did the same and crawled in next to me, but when she reached for me, I brought her hand to my lips, kissed it, and said, “Not tonight.”

She’d be disappointed, but I couldn’t fill her in on the incident.  She didn’t have the mental capacity to understand things like dealing with multiple fathers.  She was equal to anyone in the bedroom, but more than that would sail right over her head.

It was predawn when I woke and found Elsa wiping sweat from my forehead.  The dream had taken me to a far-off place where big men and big trees towered over the landscape.  I’d been fighting my way back to Rosewood, to Mother and Father and a life I knew, when I woke in a panicked state.  Elsa worked her magic to calm my fears.

“The dream was so real.”  Elsa didn’t bother with conversation.  She wrapped her arm around me and stroked the side of my face.  Her fingertips were so soft and gentle that I let myself reminisce over past events.

I’d had bad dreams before and more than once, I had glimpses of two men stopping me on a main street of town.  After being dragged into an alley, the situation became grim and I was soon on the ground, blindfolded, and carried off in the back of a wagon with a stretched-out tarp attached to the upper side of the conveyance.  Everything after that was blank.  

Had any of that really happened?  Why did the dreams reoccur so frequently, especially when I lived with Uncle Howard? I didn’t know at the time, but I’d been given a pot of tea every night, and I realized now that there was something about that stuff that made my head spin in crazy directions.  It was a nighttime brew and should’ve put me straight to sleep, but I was afraid to sleep, afraid I’d be thrown into another bad dream.  I begged Glory to keep me awake.  “Don’t let me fall asleep.”  She tried her best.  She had magic hands, but at some point, we both drifted off.  Some nights were okay.  Others brought nightmares I couldn’t escape.

Father said we’d talk at breakfast.  Dawn was breaking and I hadn’t slept a wink.  Today would be a very long day.

***

Chapter Eighteen 

Mother didn’t appear for breakfast.  I didn’t expect to see her, and it gave Father and I a chance to speak freely.  Neither of us wanted to have the needed conversation, but after I filled my plate, I began.

“Who was that man, Father?  How did he know my name?”

“I wish I knew, Son.  The way I figured, the man, I didn’t catch his name.  Did you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well, he’s a father too and I pity him.  He must’ve lost a son too, and the Pinkertons that were backing him must’ve tracked his boy to the east coast.  Someone in Charleston might have mentioned our name.  When Howard wrote about finding you, we booked the trip west as soon as possible.  The Post and Courier picked up the story and with the name Spaulding, of course, the news of a long-lost son made a big splash on the society page.

“That man scared Dora to death.”

“I’m sorry, Son, but before we knew what was happening, that man and his bullyboys had barged through the Carver’s front door and demanded to see you.  I tried to get to the meaning of the disruption, but he was … I don’t know … out of his head with rage.  He frightened me, Joseph.  Something about him—”

“Don’t feel bad, Father.  I’m not blaming you, and I’m not blaming any of the other guests.  Dora will get over the disappointing evening, and I’m just glad he’s gone.”

Father nodded in agreement.  “I’m glad he’s gone too, Son.  Let’s go check in on your mother.”

By mid-afternoon, my only thoughts were of the angry man, and how the circumstances of his lost son brought him straight to me.  I had to assume Father was right. The story he told made sense.  His theory made sense, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.  Would it hurt to see the man again?  If I rode down to the Inn, who would I ask for?  If only he’d told me his name.

I’d have to wait till morning.  It was too late in the day to go traipsing off to Charleston, and I needed an excuse to be gone all day.  Dora would have to do.  She’d never know and neither would my parents.  It was a good plan.  I could talk to the man without interruptions and satisfy my curiosity without anyone being the wiser.

Like a good son, I greeted my mother and father at the breakfast table.  Although Mother looked a bit pale, she made the effort to leave the confines of her room and sit down with Father and me.

“Good Morning, Mother, Father.”

“How are you feeling this morning, Son?  Were you able to put all that nasty business behind you?”

“I think so, Sir.  I need to speak to Dora today and see how she’s holding up.”

“She’s a strong little girl, Joseph.  I think she’ll fare fine.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you think that horrible man has left the state?”

“I’m sure he’s long gone, Mother.”

“He should be locked in a cage.  Harassing people like that.  He’s no Southern gentleman, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t give him a second thought, Loraine.  The man has been persuaded to leave the state.  You needn’t worry.  We’ll never see or hear from him again.”

Did my father harm the man?  Is that what persuaded really meant?  Would he sink so low that he’d send Messing or Gerard out to hurt or even end a man’s life?  I didn’t want to think the worst, but I excused myself from the table and went straight to the stable to collect my horse.  Even if the facts proved he’d done something that despicable, I had to know the truth.

Though I rode right by Dora’s place, I didn’t take time to stop.  I had to know if the stranger was alive or … don’t think the worst, Joe.  Keep an open mind.  I’d known Father all my life, and he wasn’t that kind of man.  He was kind and patient.  He kept my secrets and I kept his.  Ending a man’s life wasn’t part of his nature.

I reached Charleston before noon.  All I had to do now was find the Inn and then locate a nameless man.  Luck was on my side, and the first main street I rode down the Planters Inn sat in plain sight.

After hitching my horse, I walked up to the main desk.

“May I help you, Sir.”

“Yes.  I’m looking for a man.”

“His name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Pardon me?”

“I don’t know the man’s name, but I can tell you what he looks like.”

“I’m sorry.  I can’t give—”

“It’s very important, Sir.”

“I’m sure it is, but I still can’t—”

“Can’t isn’t a word I want to hear, Sir.  The man has gray hair.  He isn’t dressed properly.  His clothing is more casual, more in line with a trail hand or ranch hand.  He wears a large tan hat and carries a pistol on his right side.  Do you know the man?”

“As I’ve tried to explain before, I can’t give out our guests—”

“He’s here, isn’t he?  You’ve seen him. You know who I’m talking about.”

“Joseph?”

I turned toward the sound.  “Yessir.”  I turned back to the clerk.  “Thanks for all your help.  If I ever need help again, I’ll come straight to you.”

“Son?”

I didn’t know how to answer.  The man was desperate to find his son but insisting it was me didn’t get us anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but you must know better.  Edward Spaulding is my father and has been for nearly nineteen years.”

The man motioned to a table and chairs in the courtyard.  “Why don’t we sit over there?  Did you ride all morning?”

“Yessir.”

“I was just coming down for lunch.  You must be starving.”

“There’s just one thing I need to know.”

“What’s that, Son?”

“What’s your name?”

The man chuckled and then guided me to an empty table.  “ I guess it never came up, did it?  My name’s Ben Cartwright.  I have three sons, Adam, and Hoss, and the youngest we call Little Joe.  We live on a ranch in the Utah Territory.”

“Little Joe?  And you think that’s me?”

“I know it’s you, Son.  There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“As far as I know, Mr. Cartwright, a person can only have one father.”

“I agree.”

“And you think I’m your son.”

“I do.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why do you think I’m your Little Joe?”

“The day you were born, your brother, Hoss, was six years old.  He took one look at you in your crib and said, “My Little Joe.”  The name stuck, and you’ve been Little Joe for the last eighteen years.”

“Yeah.  Maybe I look like your son.  Maybe I talk like him, but I hate to say this, Mr. Cartwright, but I—”  When a slash of pain soared through my forehead like I’d been stabbed, I held my head with both hands.

“Joe.  What’s wrong, Son?”

“Pain.”

“Your head hurts?”

After a couple of deep breaths, the pain subsided and I looked up at the man who was determined to convince me of a situation he believed to be true.  “I’m fine now.”

“The doctor said this might happen.”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t say anymore.”

“No, I want to know everything.”  

“Something happened nearly four years ago.  I don’t know what, and I doubt you remember, but you and I drove down to Genoa for supplies.  Your brothers had work to do so you volunteered to go with me.  While I was at the feed and seed, you wanted to look at a new saddle Dak Hollister had in his shop window.  You were supposed to meet me back at the wagon in half an hour but you never showed.  The sheriff formed a posse and we searched the countryside for nearly three weeks but found nothing.  No tracks, no signs … nothing.

“The hardest thing I ever had to do was return to the ranch without you.  As you can imagine, your brothers were devastated.  The only thing we could put together was that I’d agreed to deliver five wagonloads of twelve-foot lodgepole logs that had been commissioned to expand the trading post in Eagle Station.  Three of us bid on the job, and the Ponderosa won the contract.”

When the pain struck again  I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could.

“That’s it.  Come with me, Son.  I want you to see a doctor.”

“No, no doctor.  It’ll pass.”

“This has happened before?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

A waiter stepped up to our table.  “Think you can eat something?”

“Yessir.”

“Two steaks with all the fixin’s.”

I didn’t know how hungry I was, and I shoveled food into my mouth until I realized how much I resembled a wild animal.  That wasn’t my intention and I’d embarrassed myself in front of the stranger.

Cartwright was a pleasant gentleman.  I’d give him that much, but every time I glanced up, I found him staring at me and it was unnerving.  He made me self-conscious of every move I made.  It was difficult to understand how someone with any intelligence could be so wrong about another person.

“You realize I’m only here for a short while,  Mr.  Cartwright.  I’ll ride back to Rosewood and that will be the end of our time in each other’s company.  Don’t get me wrong, Sir.  You’re a nice man, and you’ve come a long way.  I hope you and your son are reunited soon.”

“I appreciate the compliment and your concern for my welfare, Joseph, but I won’t be heading back home until my son is ready to make the trip.”

“You’re referring to me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

What in God’s name would it take to convince him?  We could play this game forever and never come to a civilized conclusion.

“Tell me the one thing that would convince me to go with you.”

Mr. Cartwright moved his luncheon plate to the side and propped his elbows on the table.  “On the underside of your left wrist, there’s a thin white line.”  I knew what he was talking about, and I covered the scar with my right hand.  “You were ten years old when you fell from the top rung of the corral fence.  Your brother, Adam, was on the back of a bronc and you were cheering him on.  You lost your balance and fell.  The bone protruded and you had to have a doctor set your arm.”

A memory of that day flashed through my mind.  The pain was unbearable and a man gathered me in his arms and held me close to his chest.  I ran a finger over the scar and looked up at the man sitting across from me. 

“You were there?”

“Yes.”

“You carried me?”

“That’s right.”

“In the back of a wagon.”

“You remember.”

I held my hands to the sides of my head.   Nothing made sense.  My name was Spaulding, and I’d been Joseph Spaulding all my life. Why was this happening to me?  Why was the memory of that day so clear in my mind?

“I get it now.  You were one of the hands at Rosewood.  You saw me fall and … and carried me up to the house.”

Mr. Cartwright smiled.  “Tell me this, Son.  You’ve made the trip through the Isthmus, right?”

“Yessir.”

“Why?” 

“Because I was kidnapped and taken away from my … how did you know?”

“Because it’s the fastest route from west to east or vice versa.”  

“Anyone could get hold of a passenger list.”

“You’re right, but don’t you think it’s odd that someone would kidnap a fourteen-year-old boy and take him clear across the country?   That’s an expensive venture for an abductor to undertake when a kidnapping normally means a man is only dreaming of a ransom, not a cross-country adventure.  One more thing.  Do you remember taking a ship from New Orleans to San Francisco?”

“No, Sir.” 

I dropped my head.  Everything he said was the opposite of what I believed to be true.  Mr. Cartwright gave me time to think.  He never pushed.  He only stated the facts, and he didn’t force me to believe him.  He left it up to me to decide what was true and what was fantasy.

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I’m so sorry this happened, Joe.  I know you’re confused, but I’d like to give you one more piece of information.”

God, what now?  “Go ahead. Mr. Cartwright.”

“Edward and Loraine Spaulding had one child.  His name was Joseph.”  Yeah, that’s me.  “According to reliable sources, their son drowned in Forest Lake on September 13, 1856.  

The Post and Currier released the boy’s obituary, but the Spauldings insisted he wasn’t dead.  The story they wanted people to believe was that their son had been taken and that the boy Joseph was swimming with was hysterical and didn’t realize what had happened.  The quote from Edward Spaulding was, ‘Our son has been kidnapped and I plan to do everything in my power to get him back.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t have all the answers, Son.  All I can do is guess.”

“If you had to guess …”

“The Spauldings only had one child, one heir to inherit Rosewood.  With his brother Edward residing in Sacramento, a plan might have been devised to find a boy who was the right age, the right height and weight, and the right coloring.  If he had men on the lookout for such a boy, they thought you were the perfect candidate.”

“That’s pretty far-fetched. Mr. Cartwright.”

“Yes, it is, but I’m a father too, Joseph.  You and your brothers and I live on a ranch called the Ponderosa, and I fully intend for my three sons to take my place someday.  Edward Spaulding had to give up that dream the day his son drowned.  He needed an heir, and I assume your mother couldn’t have more children.  That’s where you come in.”

“It’s just a story, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I agree.”

“But that’s what you believe.”

“From what the Pinkerton agents have discovered along the way, I believe the story is true.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m willing to listen.”

“I have a fiancée, and I intend to be married in the—”

“Arrest that man!”

I jumped up from my seat.  “Father!”

“Get out of the way, Joseph.”

“Why’d you bring the sheriff?”

“I don’t want that man within one hundred miles of you, Son.  He’s a menace and he needs to be locked up.”

The sheriff moved toward Mr. Cartwright.

“No, Father.  He’s not a bad man.  He’s only looking for his son.”

“Why did you ride all the way down here, Joseph?  Don’t tell me you believe Cartwright’s lies.

“I needed to hear what he had to say.  That’s all.”

“Come on, then.  Your mother’s worried sick, and it’ll be dark before we make it back home.”

“Goodbye, Sir.  I hope you find your son.”

“Thank you, Little Joe.”

The crushing pain came on quick as if my head was thrown into a vice.   I almost fell to my knees but Mr. Cartwright reached out for my arm and steadied me.

“Don’t manhandle my son!  Arrest this man, Sheriff!”

“Stop, Father.  No one’s manhandling anyone.”

“I’m okay, Mr. Cartwright.”

He let go of my arm, and I gave him a quick nod and stood to my full height.  The shooting pain was gone and I was able to function again.

“What was that all about, Son?  Aren’t you feeling well?”

“It’s nothing, Father.  It happens sometimes but it goes away.”  I glanced at the sheriff who stood with a gun pointed at Mr. Cartwright.  “You can put that thing away.”

The sheriff checked with my father.  “I won’t be needing any more assistance, Sheriff.  We can manage now.”  Father took hold of my arm.  “Let’s go.”

As my father dragged me across the courtyard, I hadn’t realized that every table outside the Inn was full of people expecting to enjoy a nice quiet lunch.  The excitement we caused gave them all something to talk about for the next week or two.  Mr. Cartwright didn’t move.  He stood silently looking on as we left the outdoor café.

We didn’t return home until after eight o’clock.  The staff had kept supper warm, but I was in no mood to eat.  I kissed my mother’s cheek and said what was expected.

“I’m sorry I worried you, Mother, but it’s been a long day and I’m not very hungry.  I think I’ll go on up to bed.”

“Good night, Sweetheart.”

Elsa was a godsend.  Most of all, she knew me better than I knew myself.  After removing my clothes, she lowered the bedcovers and slipped in beside me.  She knew this evening was different and what I didn’t need was a night filled with rambunctious sex.

There was a lot on my mind and I had to sort through the details before they slipped away.  Father was too quiet for my taste.  There was no talk about Mr. Cartwright or Rosewood or Dora or anything else.  Total silence and I wasn’t sure what that meant.  Had he disowned me?   Was he afraid I’d come to a conclusion he didn’t like?  Was my whole life a lie?  How was I supposed to decide?

The scar on my wrist was slightly raised, and I ran my fingers across the narrow line.  How would Mr. Cartwright have known such a thing if he wasn’t there?  From the sound of his voice, I knew all along he’d never worked at Rosewood, but I was scared he might be telling the truth, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.  But I needed more.

“Little Joe.”

What kind of name was that?  Elsa’s questioning eyes almost made me laugh.  “That’s what Mr. Cartwright said his family called me before … never mind. It’s nothing.”  She knew nothing of my problems and I wanted to leave it that way.  Having a break from the world and all its problems was a blessing, and she made it possible for me to fall asleep.

***

Chapter Nineteen

Even though it’s all my father was concerned about, my mother wouldn’t allow talk of the Southern cause or of Northern aggression at the breakfast table, this morning was a whole different scenario.  There wasn’t any talk of war, only of Mr. Cartwright and what needed to be done to remove the intruder from our lives.

I listened to Father rant and rave but I didn’t hear what his solution to the problem might be, and that caused me to think he was planning something I wouldn’t like.

When I first met the man, I was angry that he intruded on one of the most important days of my life, but sitting and talking to him changed my thinking altogether and I wanted to hear more.  I wanted to know about the life he and his sons—whether I was one of them or not—lived on his ranch in the wilds of Utah.

God knows I didn’t know what to think.  A man my age shouldn’t have problems like this, not when most of the talk was about a pending war between the states.  It may not be long before I’d have to make a crucial decision about my life and my future.  Would I enlist and fight for our way of life?  Why was it all crashing down so fast?  And then there was Dora and Clemma and Elsa.  What would become of them if I was no longer here to protect them?

“May I be excused, Mother.”

“Do you have plans for the day, Son?”

I turned toward my father.  “I’m not planning another trip to Charleston if that’s what you mean.”

“Don’t be rude, Joseph.”

“I’m sorry.  I have a lot on my mind and I need time to sort it all out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out, Son.”

“No?”

“If you’re thinking of seeing that man again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, Father?  Have him whipped to death or shot?  I know what overseers like Avery Messing can do to a man.  I’m living proof.”

My father bolted from his chair.  “What kind of man do you think I am?  Do you think I instructed him to take a whip to your back?”

“It’s all part of the system, isn’t it, Father?  It’s how people are kept in line.  I was out of line when I cradled a crying black baby in my arms, and I have the scars to prove it.”

“I don’t understand you, Son.  The beating you received was a terrible ordeal.  It never should’ve happened.”

“I see Mr. Messing is still a part of our outfit.  If someone did that to my child, he’d be dead.”

“You’re still learning, and you have much more to learn, Joseph.  Our world can’t survive without the people you’re concerned so much about.  The tradition of land owner and worker goes back two hundred years.”

“You can’t even say the word, can you, Father?  You’re a slave owner.  Your slaves are whipped and beaten to keep them in line.  That’s all on you.  That’s your choice.”

“Yes, it’s my choice.  Have you not heard a word I’ve said?  It’s tradition.  It’s how we live and you better think twice before you go on another rampage.  Do you have any idea what this place means to your mother and me, and do you have any idea how far I had to go to make Rosewood your home and your inheritance?  Rosewood will be yours someday.  Don’t you get it, Boy.  I’m doing this all for you.”

“I’m sorry, Father.  It’s just that … I’m sorry.”

Before I could collect my thoughts or leave the room, my mother stood and gave me a gentle hug.  When she finished, she leaned back and looked straight into my eyes.  

“Let’s not have any more of that kind of talk, Joseph.  You know how much your father and I love you, and I hate to see such resentful behavior in this house.”

“I’ve had so much on my mind that I said things I shouldn’t have.  I’m sorry, Mother.  It won’t happen again.  I think I’ll ride over to Dora’s this morning.  I haven’t seen her since … since that night.”

“Good idea, Son.  I’ll ride partway with you.”

“I’ll saddle the horses.”

We rode alongside the river that supplied enough water for our crops in case of a drought.  Father said there’d only been two dry years in his lifetime so it wasn’t much of a worry.  This year there had been plenty of rain and—fingers crossed—the future would hold the same.  After rattling on about cotton prices and a new interest in tobacco, it was time for me to turn off.

“This is where I leave you, Father.”

“Have a nice day with Dora, Son.  Say hello to Charles and Vivian.”

“I will.  I’ll see you at home later.”

When Father rode off, I wondered if he was heading down to Charleston to see Mr. Cartwright.  All this talk about water and crops and cotton, was that his way of turning my thoughts back to the business at hand and away from choosing a different father?

I couldn’t get Cartwright out of my mind.  He’d been very convincing and seemed genuinely sincere.  He knew things only a father would know, but was any of it true?  Was he just telling stories he figured a young man like me would want to hear?  

Part of me wanted to turn my horse around and follow my father.  All that I said at breakfast was true, and I made a fool of myself, but I feared for Mr. Cartwright’s life.   Surely Father wouldn’t go that far.  Surely he wasn’t headed to Charleston and to Planters Inn.

When Dora flew down the stairs to greet me, I put all of my unfounded assumptions out of my head.  This is the girl I promised to marry.  “Let’s take a walk.”

“I better grab my shawl.”

We walked hand in hand along the side of the house where men hoed weeds and women gathered vegetables from the Culver’s personal garden for luncheon and supper.  A path led down toward a babbling brook and a little waterfall.

“Della and I used to come down here and play when we were kids.  Of course, Tilda was never more than an arm’s reach away.  Papa built the waterfall so the creek would pool in just the right spot.”

“Tilda?  Was she—”

“Our mammy, silly.”

“Of course.  What happened to her after you were grown?”

“I have no idea, Joseph.  She’s probably dead by now.”

“Probably.”

Something didn’t feel right.  I’m not sure why but I began questioning our way of life.  Dead nannies and whippings and two hundred years of traditions didn’t bode well anymore.  I didn’t say anything to Dora.  I’d already spouted off to my father.  That was enough for one day.

We kicked off our boots and stockings and both of us waded into the cool pool of water.  Dora lifted her skirts with one hand and held my hand with the other.  Again, I tried to put the fathers out of my mind and enjoy the time spent with my fiancée.  She was such a pretty girl, there was no reason to think about anyone but her.

“Let’s sit over there, Joseph.”

“Fine by me.”

The sun warmed our wet legs and feet.  The buffalo grass was soft and lush and a body could fall asleep in minutes, but when Dora unfastened a button of my shirt and laid her cold hand on my chest, my eyes jerked open in a flash.

“Hey there.”

“You don’t like?”

“Well, yeah I like but—“

“But what, Joseph?  Don’t be so provincial.”

“Someone needs to be.”

“We’re adults, aren’t we?”

“Yeah but—”

“I just want to play … you know.  Have a little fun.”

“You’re nothing but a troublemaker, Little Girl.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Big Boy.”

“Just watch where you put those hands, Little Girl.”

“I’ll put them anywhere I want, Big Boy.”

I rolled her over in the grass and covered her lips with mine.  I loved the fact that we could laugh and have fun with each other.  It wasn’t all grown up, play by the rules, and bore each other to death.  We didn’t have to put on airs or assume we were too pretentious or sophisticated to enjoy the lighter side of life.  I loved Dora.  She was the only one for me.

“Mama will be expecting us for luncheon.  I guess we should head back to the house.”

“I should be getting home.”

“Oh no you don’t.  You’re not getting off that easy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll sit down with Mama and Papa and Della and me and have something to eat before you leave.”

“Aren’t you the little dictator?  Your sister hates me you know.  She looks at me like I’m some sort of heathen.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Joseph.  She’s jealous.  She needs a man of her own.  That’s all.”

“Then find her one quick.  It’s not easy sitting in the same room.”

“Just today, please?”

“When you put it like that.”

Dora hoisted her skirts and hung onto my arm so we could cross the creek, gather our shoes, and ride back to the house.  To my delight, Della had gone riding with friends and wouldn’t be home in time for luncheon.  I mentioned my father’s good wishes and Mrs. Carver said that Della had sent the same sentiments to me.  We all sat down to eat, and the room soon filled with laughter and the prospect of a good life for Dora and me.

“Since we’ll be living at Rosewood, you know you’re welcome any time.  Mother is so excited that she’s started redecorating a suite of rooms on the second floor that she hopes will be ready  by the time Dora and I are married.”

“That’s fine, Son.  Rosewood is a wonderful place to begin your lives together.”

“I think so too, Sir.”

“I hate to bring up unpleasantness, but has that awful man left the area?”

“I don’t think so.  I believe he’s booked a room in Charleston.”

“That’s awful business … awful.  He should be ashamed of himself.  Disrupting lives and causing such unnecessary chaos.”

“Yessir.”

I could feel Dora’s eyes piercing straight through me.  I didn’t dare look up and give myself away.  “You believe him, don’t you, Joseph?  You’ve been to see him, haven’t you?”

“It’s just that some of what he says makes sense.”

“I don’t understand.  You’d give up everything and … what?  Leave all of this and me behind?”

“No!  Never.  That’s not my intention at all.”

“What is your intention?”

“I don’t know.”  I held my head in my hands.  “I don’t know anything anymore.”

***

Chapter Twenty

I needed to see Cartwright again.  I would ride back to Charleston and either be convinced he was telling the truth or tell him I wasn’t interested in his lies and he should go home.  One way or the other, the mystery needed to be solved.

Using Dora for an excuse wouldn’t work again today.  I’d have to come up with a different plan.  After pulling on my boots, I headed to the girls’ room and flopped down on the floor.  With smiles on their faces, both of them came toddling over and fell into my lap.

“Has Esther taught you your ABCs?”  Then I remembered the obvious.  “I’m sorry.  Maybe we could all learn together.”

The girls were too young anyway.  When I rolled backward, the girls and their giggles followed me, and when I played dead, they banged their fisted hands against my stomach to wake me up.  Our morning routine never lasted more than a half hour, but my little ladies were tired and ready for breakfast. I kissed both of them on the cheek, and we all waved bye-bye.

I was never the first one to the table, but I never failed to show up completely.  Mother and Father sipped tea and coffee respectively, and each had a special section of the Post and Currier they liked to read.  I don’t think there was much if any conversation until I arrived.

“Good Morning, Son.”

“Good morning, Sir.”

Mother looked up from the paper.  “I see the oldest Jackson boy has become engaged to Eliza Monroe Caulfield.”

“I’ve  never met either one, Mother.”

“You and Tommy have known each other all your lives, Son.  You just need to be reintroduced.  I think you’ll remember him fondly.”

“Maybe.”

“Why are you so down in the mouth this morning?”

“I don’t know.  My apologies, Mother.  Think I’ll take a ride.  Maybe that will clear my head and improve my disposition.”

Trying not to smile as I left the dining room, I’d pulled off the perfect getaway and no one suspected a thing.  I saddled my beautiful mount and headed in the wrong direction.  If anyone was suspicious or if I was being tailed, I’d learned enough about the countryside that I could take various obscure trails that would confuse the best tracker in the county.

I rode faster than I should.  Heck, I didn’t even know if Mr. Cartwright was still at the Planters Inn or not.  He could’ve given up by now and boarded a ship back to the West Coast.  That might be best for everyone involved.  No more worries, and no more piercing headaches.

What did a man do in The Utah Territory anyway?  Were there even towns or trading camps where a working man could buy and sell goods?  I didn’t know much about the West except that Indians took scalps and killed settlers.  I’d read that buffalo roamed the prairies and that deer and elk were plentiful, but I knew nothing of its people.  Even if the man was my father, had fate brought me back to civilization, to a way of life that had been its tradition for two hundred years?

Something my father said earlier is what brought me back to Charleston for a second visit.  At the dining room table, he said, “Do you have any idea how far I had to go to make Rosewood your home and your inheritance.” It made me wonder how far a man would go to set his plan in motion.  I had to know more before I made any kind of decision about my future.

After handing the reins to the doorman, I strolled inside the Inn and up to the front desk.  “Mr.  Cartwright, please.”

“It looks as though he’s left his room key at the desk, Sir.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No.  I’m sorry, Sir.  You may have a seat in our lobby if you wish.”

“No.  I think I’ll look around some.  If Mr. Cartwright returns, tell him Joseph will stop by later.”

“Last name?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Sir?”

I turned and gave a backhanded wave to the clerk.  He’ll have something curious to think about.  When I heard a crashing sound against the rocky shore, I knew where I wanted to be and walked down a wooden boardwalk until I reached the highest overlook facing the ocean.  

As I stared into the distance, I pictured my ancestors on sailing ships seeing land after all those weeks at sea.  What a sight it must’ve been.  I didn’t know where I came from.  Was I English or German or—

“I met your mother in  New Orleans.”  I flinched at the sound of his deep voice.  “I made the trip from California to Louisiana to sell my furs and though I never intended on meeting a woman, especially not one so beautiful, fate brought us together.”  

When Mr. Cartwright slid his hand across my shoulders, I didn’t cringe or turn away.  Something about his touch felt right. How did he know where to find me?  All this couldn’t have been coincidence or had fate intervened?  My stomach felt a little shaky but nothing I couldn’t handle.  I needed to hear the rest of the story.

“Following a brief courtship, Marie, that’s your mother, and I were married.  You were born just shy of a year later.”  As he reached into his vest pocket, I covered my face with my hands, but as soon as he produced a large gold locket, he handed it to me.  “This is yours.”

I looked up at the man.  “What?”

“You didn’t have it with you when you were taken.  It’s been lying on your desk for nearly four years.”

He placed the locket in my hand, but I didn’t open it.  I ran my fingers over the ridges and valleys of the ornate figures and tried to remember something, anything that would render the truth.

“Go ahead, Son.”

I released the latch and the locket sprung open.  One glimpse of my mother and the truth was plain to see.  I’d always been a Cartwright and would always be a Cartwright.  He’d saved the best for last.  He wanted me to remember on my own, but I was having difficulty going back four years and putting it all together.  

“Pa …”

My father smiled.  Tears filled our eyes as we embraced for the first time in almost four years.

“Hoss and Adam?  Are they here?”

“I’m sorry, Son, but no.  We couldn’t all come, but I’ll send a wire this afternoon.  You don’t know how happy they’ll be.”

I didn’t know if my legs could hold me.  “I think we ought to sit down.”

“You might be right.”

A cast-iron bench was just a few feet away, and Pa kept hold of me until I could sit down and think this thing through.  “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Well, it doesn’t all have to be done today.”

“Yes, it does.  I have to be back at Rosewood or Fath—Mr. Spaulding will send men looking for me.  What do I say?  It’s been fun but I have to go back to my real home now?”

“Slow down, Joseph.  We can leave tonight.  You have nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t understand.  I have ties here.  I can’t just walk away.”

“Ties.  You know, people that count on me not to mention the woman I plan to marry.”

“Marry?”

“Yes.  Marry.”

“Oh, that does complicate things, doesn’t it?”

“Life is different here, Pa.  I have responsibilities.”

“Tell me about it, Son.  Tell me how life is different.”

“I can’t.  Believe me.  You don’t want to know.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Joe.”

“No, I can’t.”  I looked up at Pa.  

“Another time then.  What would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t even know what I should do.”  I looked up at my real father.  “How do I tell Dora that I’m not the man she thinks I am?  How do I tell Elsa …”

“Dora is your fiancée?”

“Yessir.”

“Elsa?”

“A friend.  A real good friend.”

“She’s a negress?”

“Yessir.”

“She’s more than a friend, isn’t she?”

“How did you know?”

Pa’s hand clasped my shoulder.  “Old customs die hard.”

“If I leave Rosewood, she goes back to the fields.”

“I figured as much.”

“That’s not all.”

“It’s enough for now, Son.”

“No, it’s not.  I have a half-sister.  We’re close.  I brought her up to the house.  If I leave—”

“She goes to the fields.”

“That’s right.  I can’t let that happen.”

Pa looked me straight in the eye.  “We can’t take them with us.”

“Why not?”

“You know the reason as well as I do.  They’re the property of Rosewood.  We’d be stealing, Son.”

“God-damnit!”  I couldn’t sit any longer.  “Then I have to stay.”

“Listen to me, Joe.  You’ve had a long day and a lot to think over.  Let’s not make any decisions right now.”

“There’s nothing to think over, Pa.  I can’t go with you.”

“It’s getting late.  I think you ought to head back home.”

“Then what?  Pretend everything is normal?  I’m not that good of an actor.”

“We need time to work this out, Joe.  It can’t all be done in one day.”

“It can’t be done at all, Pa.”

***

Chapter Twenty 

I rode like a man who just escaped a long prison term—fast and hard—and without much regard for my horse.  At least no one had followed me, and perhaps I could pull off the dutiful son for the next few days.  I was almost home and at this rate, I could slip in through the kitchen, wash, and dress for dinner, and no one would be the wiser.  

Not considering the consequences, I wanted to go home.  I wanted to see my brothers, and I wanted my life back to normal.  Now I know what Father meant when he said, “Do you have any idea how far I had to go.” 

A part of me understood why he’d gone to so much trouble to bring home a stray, a boy he could mold into a son of his own.  After the Spaulding boy drowned, there wasn’t an heir to Rosewood, and I was chosen to assume that role.  Most men would consider themselves the luckiest man on earth.  I should keep my mouth shut and accept the generosity that was handed to me on a silver platter.  I should tell Mr. Cartwright the show was over, that Edward was my father and I couldn’t be persuaded to go anywhere with him.

It was an easy answer to everything.  Ben Cartwright would leave South Carolina, and I would remain at Rosewood with loving parents and a bright future.  It all seemed so simple.  I could marry Dora, sleep with Elsa, and watch over my baby sister.  A perfect scenario for everyone.

When I made it up to my room,  I shed my jacket and shirt and sat on the edge of my bed.  As I passed through the kitchen, I told Sally I wanted a bath as soon as possible and before I could kick off my boots, she and four others carried buckets of hot water up to my room and filled the copper tub.

As soon as they were gone, Elsa slipped into my room, pulled off my boots, and loosened the belt on my trousers.  I didn’t know if I had it in me to perform.  I was spent in every way possible.  

I ran my fingers down her cheek.  She was a lovely girl and leaving her behind was more than I could bear.  Sending a girl like her back to the fields after working in the main house was the worst thing possible.  She’d be forced to perform several times a day.  Fieldhands knew that anyone who worked in the big house was light in color, but they wondered what else she had to offer.  My Elsa would be dead within a month.

I pulled her cotton dress over her head and brought her into the tub with me.  We suds each other with a bar of lavender soap, washed our hair, and lay back until we nearly fell asleep.  How could I leave this lovely creature behind?

““`

“How was your day, Son?”

I had to play it right.  I had to be convincing.  

“Pretty good.  I needed a good ride.  I could think about Dora and our future, and I could think about Rosewood and my future.  Riding across the countryside can put a man’s mind straight.”

“I’ve done that many times, Joseph.  Sometimes a man needs time to think, but sometimes he assumes he’s the smart one in the family, but he doesn’t consider his father’s intelligence.  He doesn’t consider the fact that lies aren’t appreciated and wrongdoings must be punished.”

“What are you saying?”

“Don’t annoy me more than you already have, Joseph.  I know the truth.  I told you a long time ago that nothing in this house gets past me.  I know everything that goes on, every move that’s made.  Every word that’s spoken.”

“Then you know I rode down to Charleston.  Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Of course, I know.”

“Then you also know that Mr. Cartwright and I talked.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m still here, Father.  I didn’t run off with him nor do I plan to in the future.  The stories he fed me didn’t make sense.  He’s nothing but a liar.”

“I can’t trust you, Son.”

“Why not?  I just told you how I feel about the man, but you can’t trust me?  How do you think that makes me feel?”

My so-called father summoned two of his footmen.  “Jacob.  Moses.  Please escort my former son to his new quarters.”

“Former?  What’s this all about?”

“Enjoy your new home, Joseph.  I won’t remain the father of a lowdown, ungrateful traitor.”

As the two black men dragged me away, I knew for sure who my real father was.  If I had any doubts, they were gone the instant my “father” threw me away.

***

Chapter Twenty-One 

The flame of a burning candle was the only light in the cabin.  I wasn’t taken to my room in the big house, I lay on a wooden pallet that had been plied with straw and covered with a woolen blanket.  My jaw felt twice its normal size, and the bone beneath my left eye was swollen and tender.

The more I came alive, the more I remembered the bashing I took.  Two men held my arms while … I should’ve known straight away.  Messing beat the shit out of me and had me thrown onto the pallet, my new home.

When I started to rise, I realized what lengths my so-called father had Avery Messing go to so I wouldn’t run away.  I’d been dressed in a white cotton shirt and trousers, no fancy boots, no shoes at all, and my ankles were chained.  I’d been given a new lot in life.  No longer was I Massa Joseph in a fancy house with fancy clothes, fancy meals, and Saturday night socials, and … what would become of Dora?  Would she think I left Rosewood without a word?

I wanted to laugh but the cuts and deep bruises prevented me from doing much of anything.  Even a slight grin was too much to ask.  

So this was Father’s idea of punishment.  He didn’t have the guts to have me murdered so he throws me in with the rest of his property but tells everyone I’ve been killed.  Perhaps a riding accident.  That would bring another round of sympathy to the Spaulding house.  I could see the headline now …

—That poor unfortunate family.  After four desperate years of searching, Edward and Loraine Spaulding find the long-lost heir to Rosewood only to have the young man fall victim to a riding accident.—

Mother would pull the same old routine.  She’d bury herself in her room and only accept those visitors who drove all the way to Rosewood to give their condolences.  My grieving father would take time from his busy schedule to make all the necessary arrangements.  The burying would take place on blah, blah, blah.  A finely carved granite stone marking my passing would take center stage in the family plot.

Damn.  Edward had it all worked out.  Pa would never look for me in the quarters.  If I didn’t find a way to escape, I’d never see him or my brothers again.  By stripping me of my clothes and boots, he made it impossible for me to not draw attention to myself away from Rosewood.  There were plenty of mixed-race slaves in South Carolina and with my dark coloring, I didn’t stand a chance.  I’d be apprehended and sold to the highest bidder.

The chains were cumbersome.  Just maneuvering my feet off the bed took effort and walking across the room was challenging but when I pulled the thin, wooden door open, the intensity of the noonday sun blasted against my swollen face  I didn’t see a soul, not even the old washwoman, and then I realized I’d been thrown inside a shack at the farthest end of the row, farthest from the big house and closest to the fields.  I understood Edward’s intent.  He never wanted to lay eyes on his deceitful son again.

I didn’t have the energy or the incentive to walk to the other end of the quarters and back.  Every part of me ached and the damn chains were too heavy to lug around.  No one in their right mind would take an evening stroll with chains chaffing the skin off their ankles.  I might be a liar, but I wasn’t stupid.

I brought out a chair from inside the cabin and plopped down.  I wasn’t accustomed to sitting around in the dark where the air was as hot as an oven. Out in the open, at least there was a breeze and more than four rickety old walls to look at.

Since I’d taken Clemma up to the house to live, I hadn’t been back down to make friends or to make an impression.  I doubt any of these people knew who I was and why would they care?  To them, I was just another picker, another pair of hands to get the crop in on time.

I was one of them now.  For how long, I wasn’t sure.  A week?  A month? A lifetime?  If Edward had rigged up my demise, this was my home for the long haul.  How soon Messing would put me to work was his decision.  Could be tomorrow.  Could be he had other jobs for me and wouldn’t send me out to work the fields.

If I never returned to Charleston, what would Pa think?  The last thing I said was that I couldn’t go with him.  He could easily board a ship and be gone by tomorrow.  No goodbye.  No seeing my brothers after almost four long years.  No riding through meadows and through forests of pines that reached the sky.

A sparse line of lanterns glowed in the distance.  It was too dark to see anything but waving hints of light as the pickers returned to their homes.  With their eyes staring at the ground, no one bothered to look at me as they passed.  No one much cared about the new guy who sat outside his shack and whose ankles were chained.  Was being chained commonplace?  There was so much I didn’t know, so much I let slip to the back of my mind so I wouldn’t have to think about it.

The parade of workers was long.  Their feet must be calloused from all the walking and standing they did every day.  My feet were as soft as a baby’s behind, and I began to consider what my life had become.  It wouldn’t be long before I was marching alongside men and women who worked fourteen-hour days and then had to cook a meal for the family.  

How was it possible?  How did these people survive a life that was so cruel and unforgiving?  As men lit cookfires down the row, the women worked inside preparing the evening meal.  I didn’t know where the food even came from.  These men weren’t allowed to handle weapons, so the thought of venison or elk was out of the question.   They didn’t have time to snare rabbits or squirrels.  I was at a loss.  And I was starving.  I’d ask questions tomorrow.  

I was just about to turn in when a light-skinned woman handed me a wooden bowl filled with stew and a spoon.  I looked up to thank her for her kindness and— “Elsa?”

She was gone before I could say anything more.  Were we being watched?  I looked out into the darkness.  Messing stood at the tree line, whip in hand.  Not only had Edward sent me to live with people he would never associate with, but he also directed Mr. Messing to watch every move I made.  One step out of line and my life was over.

I gulped down Elsa’s stew and carried my chair back inside the cabin.  Everyone knew to keep their distance from the new white boy and when they finished their meal, it was bedtime.  I did the same.  I found no comfort in sitting alone staring at nothing.

***

Chapter Twenty-Two

The banging sound came before dawn.  I rolled off the pallet and dragged my chained legs to the door.

“Let’s go, Spaulding.”

“What do you want, Messing?  The sun’s not even up.”

“Let’s go.  You have a job to do.”

“A job?”

“Yeah, rich boy.  You weren’t sent here on holiday.  Get a move on.”

When Messing moved out of the way, I realized the workers were heading toward the fields and I was expected to do the same.

“Hey, Messing.  What about the chains?”

His laughter said it all, and I fell in line with the crowd of people dragging themselves in an easterly direction for another day of picking.  After I was given a cotton sack and positioned at the end of a row, the game was on.

I watched the woman next to me slip the strap of the long, heavy bag over her shoulder.  She bent at the waist and began pulling soft, white bolls of cotton and pushing them into the sack.  When I did the same, the woody husk tore my fingers enough that they bled.  The same thing happened again and again, but I didn’t know how to get the damn cotton without ruining every finger on my left hand.  

When I made it to the end of the row, I needed to sit down and rest my back, but that wasn’t how things worked.  The woman next to me did an about-face and bent into position.  There was no cool drink of water, no wooden bench or pallet to give a person a brief respite.  

By mid-morning, I could barely haul the chains forward.  When I was informed that one hand wasn’t enough, that both hands were needed if I wanted to avoid the whip, every finger bled and every muscle ached.  I’d never felt such agony or such deep humiliation before.  

We were given a break for lunch, and I hadn’t brought anything with me.  I didn’t know the rules, but I was learning faster than I wanted.  Two middle-aged women shared their meager rations with me.  I could never pay them back for their kindness, but I doubt that they expected a white boy to care anything about black women.

Sweat dripped steadily from my brow and into my eyes.  Though I tried to blink it away, the salty wetness irritated the hell out of me.  The old women were ten times faster than me.  I couldn’t begin to catch up, and I wondered how long it would take before my friend Messing showed up and chastised me for being slower than a couple of females.  He prided himself on degrading anyone who didn’t perform to his standards.  When I straightened up and arched my back, I saw the overseer heading my way.

“Think you’re better’n everyone out here, don’t you, Rich Boy?”

“Not at all, Messing.”

“That’s Mr. Messing to you, Joseph.”

“Just leave me be.”

“What’s that you say?”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Messing.”

His smile came across as more of a vicious sneer than anything else.  “You have a lot to learn, Boy.  I hate to do this to a fine, young white man like you, but you stepped over the line.  You’ve made me angry.”

If the man wanted an apology …

“Let’s try these on for size.”  From his waistband, Messing pulled out a pair of manacles for my wrists.  “I thought the leg irons would be enough, but it seems you need more persuading than most.  Raise your hands.”

The heavy irons were locked in place and Messing—never without his whip—remained in place and watched me pull out a fluffy white boll and the next and the next.

“Everybody suffers, Joseph.  Remember that.”

By the time darkness fell, I heard the far-off sound of a whistle.  All the pickers straightened their backs and hauled the last heavy bags of the day to be loaded onto wagons.  I looked for the two women who had spared some of their lunch for me and noticed them heading back to the field.

“Hey, why aren’t they coming with us.”

A tall, lanky fella answered.  “They’s pickin’ the cotton you don’t deliver to the wagon.”

***

Chapter Twenty-Three

As bone tired as I was, sleep still didn’t come easy.  With my hands and feet chained, it was tough to find comfort on my pallet.  All I could think about were the two women who had to stay and do the work I hadn’t finished.  That’s what Manning meant when he said, “Everybody suffers.”  

Tomorrow wouldn’t be any better.  I was dead to the world, and I’d never be able to keep up.  If those ladies had to stay a second night and finish my work, I’d never be able to make it up to either of them, but that’s what Edward wanted. Humiliating his ungrateful son was at the top of the list.  I wasn’t sure what came next but his act of vengeance had only just begun.

Workdays came early.  I rose from my pallet when Messing’s club banged against the wooden door.  There wasn’t a change of clothes or a washbasin so I walked outside to get a drink of water.  With chains on my wrists, I had trouble lifting the ladle from the barrel to my mouth, but I had to have water to start the day. 

As I fell into the line of downtrodden men and women, I realized how many children worked the fields too.  Little scamps clung to their mother’s dresses.  Others, too young to work,  were strapped to their mamas’ backs.  There was no fairness reserved for field hands.

The day proved to be hotter than the day before and by the end of my first row of cotton, I was struggling to stay on my feet.  The same two women worked on either side of me, but they’d already moved ahead.  Their sacks were almost full, and mine wasn’t even halfway.  Were they already contemplating working long after the rest of us had fallen into bed?

I hated everything about Rosewood and Edward, and the most used word in the South—tradition.  It was just another word for slavery.  For confinement.  For injustice.  For brutality that should be unveiled for all the world to see.  I was a nobody.  I could do nothing to right the wrong, to end the suffering, or to call attention to the people’s plight.  If I should die in the fields, maybe the workers would feel that a slight bit of justice had come their way.

Day two dragged on and on.  I worked myself up mentally and physically, and I was so far behind that the ladies would have to work half the night to make up for my incompetence.  When I hauled my third bag of the day to the wagon, Messing was waiting.

“You’re as worthless as they come, Rich Boy.  You ain’t no faster’n a ten-year-old girl.”

He wanted a reason to punish me.  I could see the look in his eyes when he taunted me, but I wasn’t about to provoke him.

“You have nothing to say, Boy?  A fella your age does twice the work you do.  Those chains startin’ to rub raw patches?  They getting heavier by the minute?”

I stared at the overseer but kept my mouth shut. 

“Listen good, Boy.  I’m the only man who decides your fate.  If I want you to live, you live.  If I want you to die, you die.  If I want to make your life miserable, I’m the right man for the job.  Don’t give me reason to hate you more than I already do.”

I slipped the empty sack across my shoulder and walked back to the row I’d just finished.  There was no end in sight.   As far as the eye could see lay field after field of cotton.  The picking season lasted three to four months, and the rush to get the first wagons to market was every owner’s concern.  The earlier the wagons rolled in, the higher the price the mills paid.

When I caught my toe on a damn root, I fell to my hands and knees, and a snapping sound turned my stomach.  Had I cracked a bone or was it my imagination?  If Messing saw any of this, I was a dead man, but in my rush to stand, my head spun, and I was on my knees again.

As two men rushed to my side, I was glad to be given a hand, but the picture I had in my head was all wrong.  Messing had sent two of his henchmen to haul me across the field any way they knew how.  As my feet dragged across the earth, my arms were pressed tight to my body to keep me upright.  I couldn’t hold my head steady, and my chin bobbed off my chest more than once.

I knew now that my wrist had broken, and I also knew that if I didn’t splint it soon, my hand could become lame. The men released both arms at Messing’s feet.  

“Stand up you useless sack of shit.”  I did as I was told.  “Set him up for the night, Boys.”

Messing strode off and left me with his two helpers.  “What happens now, Fellas.”

“You’s gotta hang.”

***

Chapter Twenty-Four

Thoughts of Pa and my brothers had become a fantasy I dreamed about.  Life on the Ponderosa was a world away from the cotton fields of South Carolina, but it was a place where trees touched a sky so blue that it almost hurt to stare too long.

More than anything, I wanted that life.  I wanted to run free, climb the tallest mountains, and swim in water that was so cold, it took my breath away.  I wanted to mount the most beautiful horse in the territory and ride like the wind.  

When the man said I was going to hang, I assumed he had something else in mind.  I ran through a list of things I’d never be able to do, but there were two types of hanging.  As far as I knew, there wasn’t anything known as death by manacles.  Instead of a rope around my neck, a pair of chains were slipped around the chains on my wrists, and I was left to stand on the ground with my hands pulled high above my head.  Except for the throbbing in my wrist, I was a lucky man.  I was still alive and being alive meant hope for the future.  Even if my future was here at Rosewood, I wasn’t ready to die.  I’d learn the ropes and be able to pick like the rest of them. 

I made it through the night and watched the fields fill up with pickers the next morning.  By lunchtime, I was hungry and thirsty and needed to relieve myself, but I held my bladder in check and wondered how long a man could survive without water or food.

Salty sweat burned my eyes, and everything began to itch.  Licking my lips only made things worse, but I continued the tedious task over and over again.  Even with my arms pulled over my head, my legs had grown weary, and my back ached as much as my damn wrist. The only way to give my legs a rest was to let my shoulders and arms do all the work, and the only good that could come from hanging was that the bone in my wrist might straighten and knit together properly.

I looked toward the fields for Messing or one of his henchmen, but all I saw were the rounded backs of field hands.  In the silence of morning, as I hung from the wooden pole, Messing’s club slammed against my back.  Tears blurred my vision, but I kept from crying out.  Preventing my knees from buckling was impossible, and my back arched involuntarily.  I wanted to scream, but when I recovered my footing, Messing’s husky voice shattered the morning stillness.

“Had enough, Boy?”

“Yes … sir.”

He crossed his arms over his thick chest.  “Your attitude is much improved.  Think I should let you go back to work?”

“Yes … sir.”

“Think you can get the work done.  That’s at least six full bags.”

“Yes … sir.”

“Let him down, Boys.”  I started to walk away.  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”  I looked at the evil man.  “How ‘bout a thank you?  I could’ve done much worse, you know.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Go pick up your sack.”

“Yessir.” 

My pa taught me not to hate, but he’d never met the Spaulding’s overseer.  I hated Messing more than I could say, and even though it had to be done, I hated kowtowing to such a despicable human being.  I’d never fill six sacks and he knew it.  Most of the pickers had delivered one or two to the wagons already.  I didn’t stand a chance of completing the job before nightfall.

I still had chains around my wrists and ankles and my movements were slow and deliberate.  Just walking out to pick up my sack was torture.  Every muscle in my back screamed for respite.  Messing knew how I felt and how hard it would be for me to accomplish anything, but that was the point.  That was his plan for executing the next punishment of the white boy he hated. 

Knowing I couldn’t pull my weight, I’m sure the two older women were cussing me out.  Without a splint on my wrist, my right hand was useless, and I cradled it close to my body.  By day’s end, I’d turned over three full bags, half of what was expected. 

“Stop right there, Boy.”  I knew it was coming, but what kind of man finds pleasure in sneaking up behind his victim and spouting off a command?  “Three?  You could only muster up three?”

“Yessir.”

“Maybe you didn’t understand what I meant when I said six.  I thought rich boys had years of schoolin’.  I assumed you knew how to count to six.”  I didn’t reply.  What did he want me to say?  “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, Sir.”

“Blindfold him and take him to the pillory.”

“You’re not serious.”  I’d only seen pictures, and they were the most archaic forms of punishment I’d ever seen.

“I’m very serious, Boy.  I have a job to do.  If one of my pickers can’t pull his weight, it’s up to me to set him straight.”

I feared telling him why I got so little done.  If he knew, he’d probably break the other wrist and still demand six bags a day.  His henchmen pulled out a neckcloth and blinded me from seeing where we were going.  Each man took an arm and 

hauled me and my clanking chains farther than I expected to go.  The uneven road to the pillory was murder on my feet.  Ruts nestled into cracked, dry ground made it difficult to walk.  Had I been able to see, the trip might’ve been easier to make.

I hadn’t realized what Edward and Messing were capable of until I became a field hand with no legal rights, and no ability to walk away from my life and live like a normal human being.  Avery Messing was out to break me, to have me crawl on my knees and beg for mercy.  Whether I’d be able to stand tall like a man or kneel before Messing for the remainder of my life was yet to be seen.

The pillory was barbaric.  I’m sure they’d been outlawed in non-slave states, but nothing was forbidden in the South.  Using any kind of restraints or hideous contraption to break a willful man was commonplace and not against Southern law.

“Sorry ‘bout this, Massa Joseph.”

“You know me?”

“It’s Silas and Marcus, Massa.  Everyone in the quarters knows ‘bout you and your troubles.  Everyone here wants to help but they’s too scared.”

“Do what you have to do.  I don’t want anyone getting in trouble over me.”

“Wish things was different, but I gots a family to care for.”

“I know.  I’m not blaming you.”

Marcus held me against the post while Silas unlocked the shackles and slipped my hands and my head through the proper openings.   After closing the top half of the pillory, I was locked in.  The blindfold stayed in place.  I didn’t know where I was and wondered how many onlookers would see me like this.

I’d only been sentenced to the quarters for two days, and I could feel myself slipping into a state of despair.  I’d barely eaten, and water was sparse.  As if the leg irons along with the pillory weren’t enough, this was my second night without sleep.  My stomach made ungodly sounds that I hoped no one else could hear.  When my head began pounding, I didn’t know if I would walk away or if this was the end.  

Pa and my brothers would never know what happened.  They’d think I didn’t want to come home, and it saddened me to think that’s the way I’d be remembered.  No more kid brother to kick around or teach the ropes of running the best ranch in Nevada.

***

Chapter Twenty-Five

I woke to Messing banging his heavy club against cabin doors.  He wasn’t shy about making his presence known, and he never went anywhere alone.  At least two henchmen followed in his wake in case there was trouble.  I hadn’t seen anyone else punished, but I was his pet project, and he was having a good laugh at my expense.

I heard people rousing, getting ready to head for the fields, and from the sound of their movements, I knew they were close enough that everyone’s eyes were on the white boy being punished.  Being locked in the pillory was embarrassing and being blindfolded only made things worse.

Intuition told me people were gathering and all I could think was that Messing wanted to see how far he could go to ruin my life and make me feel like the scum of the earth.

“Right there, Boys.  Get on with it.”

The first thing to hit my face shocked the hell out of me, but I was locked in.  I couldn’t move, and no one had to worry about the white boy fighting back.  I hadn’t realized how vulnerable I was until Messing instructed his henchmen to pelt me with garbage.  I don’t know what was thrown, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t defend myself or get away.  Though I was a stinking mess, I was thankful to be blindfolded.  I didn’t want to know who stood in front of me.  I didn’t want to know who his henchmen were.

The soles of my feet were learning about life without footwear.  Cuts and blisters from the heat made it difficult to stand in one spot for hours on end, but Messing knew that, and I’m sure he chose the only two punishments that forced a man to remain on his feet.  He enjoyed his role as dictator, making and enforcing the rules.  His name said it all.  He messed with people’s lives.

How far would he go?  How much did it take to break a man without killing him?  Killing was accidental, and he’d have to report the death to Edward, so he stayed clear of murder, but he would bring a man to his knees and have no regrets.  Sleeping well while someone else was suffering gave him complete satisfaction.  Edward’s overseer was a madman.

People began milling about. I could hear footsteps shuffling along the dirt path to the fields.  There was very little conversation, only mumblings that Messing wouldn’t hear and have reason to punish.  Womenfolk could be hung by their wrists, or locked in a pillory like me, or whipped in order to teach their men the proper way to behave.  There were all kinds of ways to keep workers in line.

Everyone that passed probably gaped at the white boy from the big house—the slave owner turned slave.  Though I dripped with garbage, and the pungent smell of feces that lingered on the cotton blindfold, I was forced to hold my breath, but it was no use.  Messing hadn’t held back.  He’d thought of everything.

I hungered for my release, but nobody came.  No Messing.  No henchmen.  The quietness of the quarters was eerie and had a desolate feeling that made my spine tingle.  There was no movement at all.  No babies crying, not even a hint of birdsong. I was truly alone.

Partway through the day, a ladle of water was held to my mouth.  I wondered if it was the old washwoman who stayed behind with those who were too young to work the fields.  Did she have permission or was she risking her own life to save a young white boy?  Neither of us spoke.  Neither of us dared make a sound.

I didn’t pick six bags of cotton.  Would the old woman have to do my chores again today?  I did nothing but try and keep the weight off my broken wrist.  Messing may have done me a favor when he hung me by my wrists.  Straightening the bone like that was as good as slapping on a splint.  If I was careful from here on out, I might be okay.

The two men who locked me in the pillory were the same men who let me out.  Messing trusted his hand-picked henchmen with a set of keys to all the various locks and chains that were used for disciplinary measures.

“Your time up, Massa Joseph, but remember, he always watching.”

“I’m sure he is.”  Before I could ask if the man who released me was Silas, he was gone, vanished into the dead of night.

***

Chapter Twenty-Six

The chains were removed, and I was sent to the field.   The nausea I felt when I removed the soiled bandana nearly made me hurl, but I stayed strong.  No one would see me surrender under Messing’s punishing ways.  A grown man who found pleasure in punishment and humiliation was no more than the scum of the earth.  Hell was too good of a place for a man like him.

After gathering my bag, I was directed to a row near the tree line.  I studied my location—a godsend, but I wasn’t stupid.  How easily a man could escape, but  I knew Messing was nearby and was just waiting for me to try something he could punish me for.  How long would I last as a runaway?  One day?  Maybe two?  I was nearly nineteen, and I wasn’t looking to die by shotgun or whip.

After filling my first sack, I walked back to the end of the row and turned my eyes toward something glinting a few yards away.  The sun gleamed off a shiny object, and then it came to me.  Messing or one of his henchmen was waiting just inside the tree line for me to make my move.

I was alone with no women to take up the slack or urge me on, but that was part of Messing’s plan.  Humans needed contact with other humans, and he singled me out just to show me how miserable life could be.  If I lived alone and worked alone, I’d be acting like a nutcase in no time, and he’d have reason to set me up with the next form of punishment.

Next to the shiny piece of metal, I heard a rustling sound.  I glanced again and smiled.  Either Messing or one of his men was standing guard over me. Though I hated being watched, there wasn’t much I could do, but if I could explain what happened next, I’d spell it all out in terms everyone would understand, but it all happened so fast that I could only describe the end result. 

Out of the tree line, guns fired!

I hit the dirt and covered my head with both hands.  Although I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, I assumed the shots were aimed at me, but that wasn’t the case.  My pa and at least five other men—some wearing badges—burst onto the field to take me away.  While Pa grabbed my left arm and dragged me passed the tree line to horses that were waiting, he and I mounted and rode off and left the sound of gunfire to Messing and the law.

Not only was I shocked by the whole situation, I wondered how Pa found out where I was and how he convinced the law to back him up.  The men who’d busted into the engagement party with Pa were Pinkerton agents.  Maybe they were above the law.  I didn’t know about that, but I’d gone from prominent Southern gentleman to property of Rosewood, and the law rarely interfered with the tradition of ownership.

Pa and I rode fast.  Nothing was said though I caught my father sitting tall in the saddle and smiling.  His plan had worked and we were headed straight to Charleston. I knew nothing more and I didn’t ask questions.  

Ben Cartwright had saved me from an early death, and I’d be forever grateful to him and my brothers for never giving up hope.   Four years was a long time to search for a lost son and brother.

Messing would’ve enjoyed every form of punishment he could muster up until he crippled or maimed me and eventually killed me, and he’d be proud to explain my unfortunate demise to the man he knew as my father.  Edward had been willing to hand me over to his top man and let the vile creature take charge of my death.   More than likely, the overseer would then be granted a bonus or a pay raise to keep the unpleasantness—as  Mother referred to anything concerning the ancient custom of human ownership—under wraps.

Pa’s timing had been impeccable. He and I rode straight to the docks and boarded the Lady Gay, a steamer that was scheduled to leave Charleston in less than a half hour.  The Sheriff, his deputy, and the others would keep Messing and his henchmen busy for an allotted time, and the Cartwrights would be on their way to the West Coast before anyone was the wiser.

My pa wasn’t one to mess around.  He didn’t act on impulse like his youngest son, but he was quick to right a wrong.  Having his family intact was his number one priority, and by year’s end, we’d all be celebrating a victory that was more of a miracle than anything else.

After leaving the port of New Orleans, I began to breathe easy again.  Pa did too.  We were far enough away from Rosewood and Charleston that no one could catch us now.  Often, he and I would stand on the deck and gaze to the west, to our final destination.  His hand often rested on my shoulder, and that’s when I realized that Edward had only touched me once.  Never again. 

There had been so many clues along the way, details I should’ve picked up on, but I see now that we were all like characters in a play.  Maybe not Shakespeare, but everyone had a part to play. It made me wonder if Glory and Elsa were actors in a sense.  Both women had fawned all over me but was that natural or was it Uncle Howard and Edward’s way of making sure I’d never want to leave?

Epilogue:

One evening, after we’d passed through the Isthmus and were halfway home, Pa and I took our familiar places on the deck.

“Fine supper tonight.”

“Yeah.  Right up my alley.”

“Did I notice you giving our lovely server a second look?”

“She’s a right pretty girl.”

Pa’s hand gripped my shoulder.  “She sure is.”

“I was engaged to be married.”

“Yes.  You mentioned that before, Son.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about things, you know, what was real and what wasn’t.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about Dora.  I loved her, Pa.  I wanted to marry her, but now I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“Was she part of the game?  Had Edward set us up to keep me at Rosewood forever?”

“Oh, Joe.  I guess you’ll never know for sure.”

“He ruined so many lives.  Not just mine, but …”

“It’ll take time, Son, but the memories of the last four years will fade.  I’m not saying they’ll vanish altogether, but the future can still be bright.  You have your whole life ahead of you.  Make the most of every day.”

“You’re right.  Rosewood was just a bump in the road.”

“You’re a smart young man, Joseph.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

Pa had been hesitant to take his eyes off of me during those first few weeks, but now that we’d grown accustomed to each other again, I was free to walk the deck alone.  

When he packed a bag of clothes for me to wear home, he’d gotten the sizes just right except for the boots.  They were tight on my feet and by the end of the day, I couldn’t wait to kick them off and wiggle my toes.  I didn’t say anything.  I was too grateful for everything he’d done to free me from the culture and traditions I could have accepted as my own if Pa had never shown his face in South Carolina.

Standing on the deck on a Friday afternoon gave us a chance to see San Francisco from afar.  The port city was a feast for my eyes.  I couldn’t wait to step foot on Western soil.  

“We’re almost there, Son.”

“It’s been a good journey, Pa.”

After pulling into the dock, the gangplank was lowered, and we each carried our carpetbags and moved into the line forming ahead of us, but Pa hadn’t mentioned his surprise.

“Is that?”

“It sure is, Joe.”

Hoss and Adam and Hop Sing stood on the dock just below us.  I shot my hand in the air and waved like a wild man.  Once they saw Pa and me, all three did the same in return.

It was the best day of my life.  My entire family was in one place, and I was almost home.  We had a lot of catching up to do, but we had the rest of our lives to live and work together and be a complete family.  Only one thing needed to be done before we celebrated my return.

Secure a larger pair of boots!

The End

2023