CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
1830
James
IT WAS LATE afternoon when our coach deposited us at the Hornblower Tavern in Edenton. There we spent the night, and in the morning the Spencers’ driver awaited us with their personal carriage. The girls were excited to be going home, and as we made our way to their farm, they eagerly pointed out landmarks. The land, though heavily treed, was as level as any I had ever seen.
“Look! Look! There is the house!” Both girls looked eagerly out the window as their home came into view. We had traveled an hour or so, and as we neared the farm, the young Negro maid joined the girls in their merry chatter.
Clora had not been formally introduced to me, but through the girls I learned her name, her age of thirteen, and that she had early ties to the Southwood plantation.
“When Father bought Clora’s mother for our housekeeper, he bought Clora as well, but of course he had to pay a substantial sum for her—”
Addy was interrupted by her father. “That is my business you are discussing,” Mr. Spencer said.
“Yes, Father, but this is about our Clora, and I am only telling of your generosity in watching out for her,” Addy explained. “I don’t see how that—” Surprisingly, she stopped herself after exchanging a look with her father.
So they did sell slaves from Southwood! How helpful to learn! And surely this must mean that Mr. Spencer had a good relationship, or at least a working relationship, with those at Southwood. Yet I saw how upset he was with Adelaide for bringing up what appeared to be a sensitive subject, so I decided to rest any questions I might have put to him.
I HAD EXPECTED the Spencer house to look more like Tall Oaks, but though this white clapboard house appeared well built, it was much smaller in size. The terrain surrounding the home was flat, and the soil, I was told, was rich and fertile. Mr. Spencer was a farmer, but he operated on a small scale and owned, counting Clora, four servants. Although he appeared to be a kind and fair man, that he spoke of owning Clora in her presence did not escape me; nor, I believed from the lowering of her head, did the meaning of it elude her.
What a relief it was to finally arrive and leave the carriage, with one of us more travel-fatigued than the other. At the door, a middle-aged Negro woman welcomed all three girls with open arms amid exclamations of how they had grown in their two months away. Clora and Patricia wept in her embrace, while Addy encouraged me to follow her indoors, where I was soon shown around the house. While the other bedrooms were up a flight of stairs, I was led down a stairway to the simple but well-furnished bedroom offered me. What struck me—what pleased me—was that the room had its own entrance to the outdoors. Here I could come and go without question, and because I was uncertain what lay ahead, I welcomed the freedom.
After I was left to myself, tired out from traveling, I was tempted to lie down on my bed, but instead I opened my trunk. First I removed the soiled clothing from my travels and set it aside, hoping that the woman who had met us at the door would see to it. Next I set my leather traveling case atop the dresser. Finally, I brought out my jackets, pants, and shirts and made use of the pegs on the wall. On removing my last pair of boots from the trunk, I found the heavy packet of coins that Robert had tucked into a bottom corner. Next to it was a package, one he hadn’t mentioned. I opened it curiously, wondering what Robert had included that warranted a double wrapping. Of course! It was my old jacket, the one with my grandmother’s jewels still sewn in place. I fingered it to feel for the jewels, then tucked it back in the trunk. How well Robert knew me.
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. Was Pan really only a short distance away? Impatient to retrieve him, I reminded myself that I had one chance, and I must plan his rescue carefully.
And where was Robert? I wondered. Was he on his way to Williamsburg with the baby, and what kind of reception would they receive there? The thought that I was a father still surprised me, but it also made me feel uneasy. From the beginning I had questioned my ability to care for a child, but since I’d met the Spencers, any confidence I might have mustered was waning. After observing Mr. Spencer with his two daughters, I saw more readily what awaited me as a parent. The responsibility of raising a daughter on my own was beginning to feel overwhelming. I knew nothing of children, and the more immediate problem was that I had no home for her. How could I care for her when I was homeless myself? And yet she was all I had left. My throat tightened at the thought of Caroline, and a dark wave of grief threatened, just as whispers and then a knock sounded on my door. I leaped up to slip on my jacket before I invited my visitors to enter. When the door opened, the three girls presented themselves as one.
“Father is in his study, but he said we might invite you to take a walk with us, or would you prefer a rest?” Addy asked.
“Please, come in,” I said.
“Father said that we are only to stand at the door. It is not proper for young women to enter a man’s bedchamber,” Patricia announced importantly.
Adelaide stepped in, pulling her sister along. “I’m sure he meant that we had to be invited,” she said, her eyes eagerly darting about. Clora waited outside the room, but when I waved her in, she did not hesitate to join the other two.
Addy tried to restrain herself as the two others gaped openly at the small oak table and my case of art supplies on the table. Then curiosity won out and Adelaide, drawn to my open traveling case, moved in to take a closer look. “Oh, what is in that one?” she asked. I withdrew the cut-glass bottle and unscrewed the silver top to let her sniff my Bay Rum cologne.
She closed her eyes. “Heavenly, Mr. Burton!”
I offered the experience to Clora, who put her face too close. She sputtered and coughed, then looked at me as though I had tricked her. “Here,” I said, showing her how to better take in the scent by wafting the bottle under her nose.
“You are a patient man,” Adelaide said. “I wish I shared that virtue.”
I chuckled at her outspokenness. When she smiled back, I reminded myself to use caution. The girl was immature and had lived an insulated life, and because of it I supposed that she might misinterpret much.
I threw on my old straw hat and slung a pair of field glasses around my neck. “But now you must take me for a walk,” I said. “Do you think we might spy a Carolina parakeet? Are we far from Southwood? I hear there are many in that area.”
“Oh, we don’t have to go as far as Southwood. I have seen them everywhere!” Adelaide said.
“When did you see them? What do they look like, Addy?” Patty asked innocently.
Adelaide blushed as she scowled at her sister and then looked at me. “I believe they are . . . colorful, are they not?”
I took pity on her. “You are so right,” I said. “They are exceptionally colorful. Their forehead and upper cheeks are orange, while their neck and head are yellow. The rest of their plumage is green, and their legs and feet are a pinkish brown. Imagine that.”
“Exactly so,” agreed Adelaide. “Those are the ones I have seen!”
“But have you seen the purple ones?” I teased, and when the three looked at me in disbelief, I winked at Patricia. For the first time Clora spoke up. “We don’t see no purple birds ’round here,” she said emphatically.
“I might have seen one or two,” Adelaide said.
“No, you don’t,” Clora answered.
Addy shot her a dark look. “You shouldn’t sass, Clora.”
Patricia reached for Clora’s hand. “She’s not sassing, are you, Clora?”
Clora shook her head.