I was hugely pregnant when he showed up late one May afternoon. I was hoeing in the kitchen garden. I had waited until evening to get out so it would be cool. I saw a figure coming towards us. The dogs set up a ruckus, ran to the man and jumped joyfully on him.
I didn’t know whether to hope it was Lewis or not. It sure looked like him from a distance, but where was the rest of the travel party? I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see him again, since he left me last October with most of the Negros to go down to the Mississippi River and sell some of our goods. They had harvested the hemp and tobacco from the fields before leaving and took most of the crop and household into the deep South.
Lewis said he’d be back Christmas at the latest. Here it was May and I was keeping my own gardens and children and the entire farm. I had my family - six of seven children still home, most of them old enough to do chores, 2 older Negros helping me best they could. The older children helped in the household and gardens. James at 16 was doing the work of three men.
Our farm was taking a beating. We didn’t get a spring crop of tobacco in the ground. We did manage to plow one field and get hemp in the ground.
We didn’t have the manpower or the will to plant tobacco with nobody to buy the seed and nobody to plow the lands. It was all we could do to keep the household running.
Here I am seven months pregnant because that cruel husband of mine had to spill his vile seed before leaving. My last baby was five years ago - Arabella. She’s a sweet handful. Nancy and Sarah keep up with her mostly so I can get other things done.
It looked all the world to be Lewis walking towards me, silhouetted by the sun. My anger and my need to have some help warred each other as he approached.
Then there was Alex striding up, the mulatto negro man who had been a boy when I first married Lewis so many years ago. It was as veils lifted from eyes as I saw this young colored man, strikingly similar to Lewis. I wondered why I had never seen this before. How could I have not understood their relationship - father to son…
Alex saw the alarm spreading across my face, halted and waited for me to acknowledge him.
"Miss Sarah Jane", he said when I asked him where in the world was Lewis and why was Alex here without him?
"Miss Sarah Jane, Master Lewis been kilt in those swamps in Louisiana from yellow fever. I came back to tell you."
"Where are the others, Alex?" I asked, not comprehending what he was telling me.
He looked at me, naked pain tearing at his features. "He sold them, Miss Sarah, he sold them."
Alex’s face broke into a million pieces and slowly rearranged itself in a placid acceptable look for a negro’s countenance near their owner. I was torn asunder.
I had been listening to the Presbyterian abolitionists. My ideas and attitudes were shifting like sand blowing in the wind. I could see the costs paid by this man, who I now understood was Lewis’ son, fathered during Lewis’ young teens. I now understood several things which had never been clear to me before.
I wanted to throw up as I silently named to myself the ten negros who traveled with Lewis down the Ohio to the Mississippi into the Deep South. He went to sell “household goods”, also the two pigs, tobacco and hemp. Not the Negros. He had never said he was selling the negros.
I reached across a great gulf and touched Alex's arm and I said I was so sorry. So sorry.
Alex backed away from me, looking terrified of my concern. "I am sorry for your loss", he countered, somewhat unconvincingly.
I realized he had told me Lewis was dead. Me and all these children and another one on the way, this farm, hardly any help, all mouths to feed. I was furious. Furious unto tears. I felt no sorrow at the loss of the man. He had been a cruel person and hell to live with. I was glad I’d never have to smell his stench again.
I also was afraid, afraid of all the uncertainty and work lying ahead. And humiliation. The Negros would be in mourning when they heard news of their own being sold. This was a day of sorrow in this household, but not about Lewis’ demise. Our son James, the children might grieve. I would have to be careful, not unlike Alex, in naming my grief.
"Alex, you may go and talk to the other coloreds and let them know. I need some time to figure out how I am going to manage" - and I waved weakly around at the fields, garden, orchard and house.
Alex looked at me, like he really saw me. "I will help, m'am. I am back. I can’t goes nowhere. I’ll help you get this place squared away".
"Thank you", I breathed as waved him away. I slowly made my way back to the house, walked in and through the kitchen and made my way to my bedroom. I laid down, fully clothed and stared at the wall. Tears made tracks down my cheek onto the quilt.
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