CHAPTER 19—PROMISES UNKEPT

 

1 OCTOBER 1856

I promised years ago to do right by our slaves. But I have been swayed by the very thing I wish to conquer—pride. And, frankly, the allure of riches.

For the past few years, John has seen unprecedented success. But at what cost? The goal was never this prosperity but providing quality cotton gins for plantation owners. Yet, as planters continue to admire his gins and sing their praises in town meetings and newspapers, and though he wins state fair competitions, I remain conflicted.

As the profits from our cotton gin business grew, so did our financial freedom. We had the means to buy whatever we desired. But as much as we had achieved success, we could not shake the guilt that came with it. We were torn between indulging in our newfound wealth and preserving our humble roots.

I hope that we have struck a balance. We purchase what we need and little more. Our children attend fine educational institutions and we have wealthy friends, but in both instances, they are local and Methodist.

The thunderous sermon given by our pastor about the struggles of the wealthy to enter the kingdom of God struck my heart with a bolt of shame. I wonder if others in the congregation felt the same way. Do they squirm in their seats, fan themselves nervously, or cough in discomfort at the mention? Surprisingly, many sat with blank expressions on their faces. Perhaps they thought they were not rich enough to be excluded by God. After all, do they not treat everyone kindly and even generously? 

I resolve again to make amends for my neglect. But how? The task seems insurmountable, the gap between my promises and my actions too wide to bridge. Yet, I know I must try, lest my soul be forever burdened by this betrayal of my own principles.

I watched as Sally moved about the garden, her movements graceful and purposeful as she tends to the autumn vegetables. There is a dignity in her bearing that I had never before appreciated. How blind I have been all these years, seeing without truly observing.

I have become complacent, consumed by my own comfort and status. The pledge to better the lives of our slaves now seems empty and insincere.

I walked to where Sally was working. She looked up as I approached, her expression guarded, without warmth or trust. My stomach churned with unease.

“Sally,” I began hesitantly, “I owe you an apology.”

She remained silent, wary, as she waited for me to continue.

“I made a promise to teach, to listen, to make things better. And I failed miserably in keeping it.”

Sally’s gaze softened, but she still said nothing.

I paused, searching for the right words. “I know I cannot undo the harm I caused through my inaction. But I am truly sorry, and I intend to do better.”

Sally’s hands paused on the greens she was tending. For a moment, she remained quiet, her vision fixed on the reddish-brown dirt beneath her feet. When she spoke, her voice was low but steady with both anger and fear.

“Missus,” she said, lifting her head, “I don’t mean no disrespect, but I have learned not to put much stock in promises.” Her eyes held a mix of defiance and pleading, waiting for my response.

I took a deep breath and continued. “I would like to resume our lessons, if you are willing. And not just reading and writing. I want to learn from you as well - about your traditions, your stories. If you will share them with me.”

She glanced around before responding in a hushed voice.

“Missus, that is very kind. But...” she hesitated, wringing her hands. “It ain’t safe for us to be sharin’ such things. Not with how things are now. The others, they don’t trust like they used to.”

A chill ran through me from her words. “What do you mean, Sally? Has something happened?”

She shook her head. “Just... whispers. Rumors of trouble elsewhere. People disappearing in the night. Seeing slave-catchers in town. It makes everyone more cautious.”

I nodded slowly as understanding dawned. The political climate has grown tense over the past few years. Even here, in our corner of Alabama.

I felt a pang of guilt, realizing how my actions might have contributed to this fear. “I understand, Sally. And I promise you, what you share with me stays between us. I will not put you or anyone else at risk.”

She studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for sincerity. She gave a small nod. “I will think on it, Missus.”