CHAPTER 32—CHANGING HORIZONS

14 SEPTEMBER 1860

John returned late last night, exhausted from his travels yet buoyed by the progress he had made in securing locations for new slave chapels. As we lay in bed, the darkness a comforting shroud around us, he recounted his meetings and the warm receptions he received. I listened, waiting for the right moment.

“John,” I began, “I have been thinking about Sally while you were away.”

He turned to face me, his silhouette a soft blur in the dim light. “What about her, Louisa?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for his reaction. “We should bring Alex here to be with her and the boys. We should not keep them separated.”

There was a long pause. He shifted onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers he sought. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured. “He is needed at the factory. Every worker has their place, their role.”

“Dearest,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm in the darkness, “we must consider what is right, not just what is convenient. Besides, you and Joe have hired so many new workers that Alex would hardly be missed.”

He exhaled, the sound heavy with the weight of many years of responsibility. “Louisa, slaves are our responsibility. Sometimes that means making hard choices.”

My frustration was growing, but I knew I had to tread carefully. “Providing for them is one thing, but genuine care involves more than material needs. It involves emotional well-being, the comfort of being with those you love. We have always prided ourselves on treating them like family, but can we really claim that when we keep their families apart?”

John rubbed his temples, worn out from his trip and now from this unexpected confrontation. “I understand. But I must find someone else to take his place at the factory, and that is not easily done.”

He rolled onto his side, away from me. Then, in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it, he said, “Every decision we make has repercussions.”

I stared at his back, silhouetted against the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. The silence stretched long and taut between us. I wondered if he was asleep, or simply unwilling to continue this difficult conversation. My mind raced with thoughts of the future, of the kind of world we were helping to create. Could we build something lasting on a foundation of compromised principles?

He shifted again, and I could feel the tension in his body even without touching him. “It’s not that simple, Louisa. We have responsibilities, obligations. And Alex is learning valuable skills that will serve him well in the future.”

“But learning about farming might be a better use for him, and he can learn that here! Maybe he could have a garden for them to grow vegetables we can sell.”

There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with fatigue and perhaps a trace of guilt. “We live in difficult times. If the business fails, not only we will suffer, but so will every family we employ, every person who relies on the factory.”

I bit my tongue, holding back the retort that burned on my lips. 

“John,” I said, softening my tone, “you carry a substantial burden. But we cannot justify every action by saying it is for the greater good.”

He turned to face me again, and I saw the conflict in his eyes. He was a man torn between his practical nature and the ideals he held dear. “What would you have me do, Louisa? We cannot save everyone. We are doing the best we can.”

“I am not asking you to save everyone,” I replied. “Please just consider saving one family. To give Sally and Alex the chance to be together, even if it’s just for a little while.”

John remained silent, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. I could see him wrestling with the practicality of our lives and the moral implications of my plea.

“Think of it as an investment in goodwill,” I added, hoping to sway him. “If we show them kindness, they will return it. They will work harder, with more loyalty and less resentment. This is not only a moral choice, but a wise one.”

Each of us became lost in our own thoughts. I remembered the singing slaves and worried whether we sing our own songs of justification, dressing up our actions in the language of duty and responsibility?

“Perhaps,” John started, then paused. “Perhaps we could bring him here for a season, to see how it goes. If it proves too difficult for the business, we will have to reconsider.”

A rush of relief mixed with apprehension washed over me. This was not a complete victory, but it was a step forward. “Thank you,” I said, my voice soft with gratitude and lingering anxiety. “I believe it will make a difference.”

John sighed and closed his eyes, the lines of fatigue etching deeper into his face. “We will do what we can. But remember, these are temporary arrangements. We must consider the long term.”

“I understand,” I whispered, though I wondered if I truly did. The long term is an ever-shifting horizon, more uncertain with each passing day.

We lay in silence, the fragile peace of our compromise settling over us. I knew this was only the beginning of a much larger conversation. But I take comfort in the small concession, hoping we can balance our ideals with the realities we face.

“Let’s get some rest,” my love murmured. “We have much to discuss in the morning.”