CHAPTER 31—Family

 

8 SEPTEMBER 1860

I am reflecting on our treatment of our servants. We think of them as family.

My conversations with our neighbor, Mrs. Barker, gave me a different perspective. Though she is the wife of an overseer, her observations about the treatment of slaves are more nuanced than expected. 

“Mrs. LeBois,” she said to me during one of our rides, “there are things that would turn your stomach. But I’ve also seen slaves treated better than the poor whites I knew back home.”

Her words have stayed with me, echoing in my mind. I now notice the weariness in the eyes of the field hands, the way some overseers bark orders with contempt, the subtle hierarchies even among the slaves themselves.

I wonder if John truly sees these things, or if his beliefs have blinded him to its harsher realities. He believes slavery will wind down naturally, but I see little evidence of that in Alabama. If anything, the rhetoric around preserving the institution has grown more fervent.

It strikes me how much has changed since we first came to Alabama, when we were young and full of ambition. Everything was simpler, more clear-cut, as if the world were a map we could easily navigate. Lines between right and wrong, between wisdom and folly, seemed clearer in those days.

The map has become a tangled web of paths fraught with moral quandaries and unforeseen consequences. The simplicity we once knew has given way to a complexity that often leaves me feeling adrift. We believe progress to be a straight line that we could follow with confidence. But it is a winding road with many detours.

Even our family is not immune to the forces of change. Our children used to be a close-knit group, gathering around the dinner table and joining for evening vespers. We sang, we prayed, and John read passages from the Bible. Our connections were strong.

But our seven children are heading in different directions. Sam lives far away, carving out a successful life for himself. Rufus is pursuing his dental career separate from his father’s occupation a block away. He becomes more jaded with each passing day. Joe... quietly determined, following in John’s footsteps and dedicating himself to the pursuit of the perfect, affordable cotton gin - just like his father. Annie, my outspoken and independent daughter who I struggle to understand. Mattie and Janie, whose upbringing was mostly left to our servants - I must try to get to know them before it’s too late. And then there’s Johnnie, eighteen years old and full of romantic ideals. He is defending the honor of the South and awaits the opportunity to engage in battle because he finds it thrilling.

I cannot help but wonder - will we ever gather around the same table again?

As I ponder how to bring our family back together, starting with my husband and me, I reflect upon the qualities I admire in him. John is a well-known inventor and entrepreneur who also commands respect in the workings of the Methodist Church.

On that point, he fulfilled a milestone last month: the first slave chapel was completed near here on Weldon’s property. The dedication was a tremendous success, with many attending. It caught the attention of an editor in New Orleans, where a long editorial appeared about the occasion. Tributes were given not only to the benefactor, Mr. Weldon, but especially to my husband. I need to be reminded how remarkable a person I married, regardless of our differing opinions.

He means well. This chapel will allow more to be Christianized. But I also have witnessed a plantation where voodoo is practiced, and Lilah writes there is talk about whether it is right to even Christianize them.

John’s accomplishments are legion, and they extend beyond the realm of business. He has always been a man of vision, seeing possibilities where others see limitations. I remember the early years of our marriage, when his dreams were still taking shape. He worked tirelessly, often late into the night, sketching designs and writing letters. He now brings this dedication to his religious endeavors.

Yesterday, I rode out with Mrs. Barker to a neighboring plantation. The day was hot, the air thick with the scent of cotton. We took a leisurely pace, talking of small things. As we approached the plantation, the sound of singing drifted across the fields, carried on a faint breeze.

A group of slaves were working their way through the cotton, their voices rising and falling in a haunting melody that floated above the rhythmic rustle of the plants. My companion reined in her horse, and we sat listening for a moment, the music weaving a spell around us.

“That there’s a freedom song,” she said, breaking the enchantment. “They sing about escape, of a better life, but they dress it up in religious language so the overseers don’t catch on.”

We rode in silence for a while. I stole a glance at Mrs. Barker. As the wife of an overseer, she is close to the world of the field slaves, yet her loyalties stay with her own class. Still, her words and her willingness to share them suggested a deeper understanding.

“Do the masters know?” I asked.

She shrugged, adjusting her bonnet against the sun. “Miss Louisa, most don’t want to. It’s easier to believe the slaves are just singing hymns, that they’re content with their lot. Some turn a blind eye, thinking it more humane to let them have their small comforts.”

We continued along the rutted road, but I scarcely noticed, lost in my thoughts. John believes in a future where reason and morality guide us, where dilemmas resolve themselves through the natural course of progress. But is it as straightforward as he imagines?

“Your husband,” she continued, “he means well with the chapels. Giving them a place to worship is kind. But true faith can be a double-edged sword.”

I bristled, protective of John and his intentions. “He believes that by bringing them closer to God, he is helping them find comfort and strength.”

Mrs. Barker slowed her horse, turning to face me. “Comfort and strength, yes. But also, a new understanding of justice and equality. The faith he teaches them may inspire hopes that go beyond this life. Are you prepared for what those hopes might lead to?”

I found myself unable to meet her gaze. Instead, I gazed out over the fields, where the cotton plants stood like ranks of soldiers, their white flags of surrender billowing in the heat.

“I see,” I murmured, though I was not sure what I saw.

We resumed our ride. When we reached the house, I thanked her for her company and insights. As she turned to leave, she paused, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made me catch my breath.

“Miss Louisa,” she said, “knowledge is a heavy burden. But ignorance... that’s a sin.”

#

This morning, I rose early and walked around the plantation. The air was thick with humidity, promising another sweltering day. I thought of Sally, separated from her husband in order to serve us. 

Oh, how terribly selfish I have been! Though she and the boys get to see Alex every time we are in Greensboro, there is little that she does caring for me I cannot do for myself. That she is here, night after night with her babies but away from their father, pierces my heart with a new and painful clarity. How could I have been so unthinking, so callous in my comfort?

I am resolved. Sally must return to Greensboro, to her family. When I told her my plan, I waited for her to burst forth with happiness. A mix of emotions animated her face—surprise, uncertainty, perhaps even fear. But no immediate elation. Her silence stretched on, and I wondered if she misunderstood my offer.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, her voice measured. She then hung her head in silence, her fingers twisting the hem of her apron. I waited, hoping my patience would encourage her to speak.

“I expected you would be ecstatic, but I see something entirely different.”

Her eyes drifted to the window, perhaps seeking an escape or the courage to say what needed saying. “I like it here. It is an easier life. I don’t have to cook for many folk several times a day and tend to them while my chillun are alone.”

Her face clouded.

“But… I miss him. Aleck. But, missus? Where will we sleep?”

My goodness! She no longer has the cabin for her family, now that the white workers board there. 

“Oh, we have been not only blind and deaf, but dolts!” I took her hand in mine. “What if Alex came here? He could help with the farm work, and you would be together.”

Her eyes widened, a glimmer of hope breaking through her cautious demeanor.

“Sally, we try to do what is right, to be just and kind.” 

She studied me, her eyes searching for the sincerity in my words, for the truth of my intentions. “Do you believe that the kindness of masters can make things right?”

Silence filled the room, heavy and contemplative. Sally quickly wiped tears away with her apron.

Feeling a lump form in my throat, I replied, “We should have done it long ago.”