IT WAS MONDAY, JULY 19, 1785, WHEN REECE JOHNSON stepped off the schooner Julie Anne, in Port Roseway. The port was hectic with several schooners tied up and men unloading fish, molasses, dry goods and rum from the West Indies for the King’s Bounty and shops. The air smelled of mud flats and fish and rang with loud chatter and laughter. By luck Reece came across Enos loading his cart with fresh cod.
“Are you going to Birchtown?” Reece asked.
“That is where I’m headed, lad.”
“A lift would be much appreciated.”
“Hop aboard. Just one more barrel to fill. You come from afar, did you?”
“All the way from Carolina.”
“I believe I’ve seen you before.”
“No doubt. I have a little place in Birchtown.”
“Yes, yes.” What is your name again?”
“Reece Johnson.”
“Well, well. Carolina you say. It sure must have changed since the war.”
“The name has changed from Charles Town to Charleston. They are rebuilding parts of the city and plantations. It is a far busier place, for sure, than when we left.”
“Folks can’t leave anything alone, always changing everything,” Enos said. “Port Roseway is called Shelburne now, but most of the people refuse to call it that. Stuck on the old name, I guess.” He climbed up on his make-shift bench in the wagon. “I’m through here. Giddy-up, Doris,” he shouted, then continued, “Did the war change anything in those parts?”
“Not much, Sir. The land still sweats its tobacco, rice, indigo and cotton. The port was busy with the hustle and bustle of merchants, planters and slaves, all making it a wealthy place. There’s nothing but a sea of black with so many Negro slaves. They say they are equal to the population of the white folks or greater. There’s a growing concern over the slaves.”
“I knew that was coming. What are they fired up about now?”
“There’s a lot of talk about creating new laws, the Slave Codes of South Carolina. That much has not changed as far as I could tell—how to control the Negro, keep him as chattel with no rights, keep him from mixing with them and now fearing them as rivals for jobs.”
“Oh yes. Fear is the rich man’s tool all right. The war set many of the slaves free. Surely those who are free have it easier.”
“It’s dangerous for free Negroes and worse for the slaves. There is no real freedom yet, though the air was thick with talk. You know the war got everyone talking about slavery. The newcomers from Europe need to work. The abolitionists do not see the jobs as just slave’s work. Nor do they approve of selling the Negro against his will. Their ideas are met with hatred.”
“Oh, slavery will die in time. Birchtowners talk about having their freedom, but a Negro still has to fear the laws and the hateful conduct and attitudes. Be careful, lad. Free is a double-edged sword. The slave catchers followed us here to reclaim lost property. You could be going back before you know it.”
“Ah, Enos, a Negro spends his life trying to avoid the quicksand.”
“And bad women,” Enos laughed.
The cart slowly jogged along the road and headed out to Birchtown. “Which end of Birchtown are you be headed to, lad?”
“Out the road to Lydia Redmond’s place.”
“Lydia’s place, ah?” He snapped a short whip. “Giddy-up, Doris.”
“I suppose not much has happened since I left in January,” Reece said.
“Well, let me see now. Folks are leaving faster than they are coming in now. It is thinning out. And then there was Fortune Redmond’s trial a while back.”
“Trial? What happened?”
“Well, I imagine you knew Cecil MacLeod, the one who owned the store. Murdered. Fortune was a suspect. The judge let him go because they found Boll weevil Carter, the slave catcher, with the knife that killed Cecil. Boll weevil, well, the sheriff had let him go because he seemed a little crazy, and the man skipped town. Folks are still talking ’bout how lucky it was for a Negro to receive that kind of justice. They still cannot believe it. I was there in the courtroom when the case was dis … dis …”
“Dismissed?”
“Yes, that be it. Folks had poor Fortune hanging, but it wasn’t to be.”
The cart jogged down a side path lined with thick bushes and trees. The smell of sweet pine and smoke from the shacks blotted away the strong fish odour from the barrels in the wagon. Enos made five stops before saying, “We’ll head over to Lydia’s now.”
When Enos pulled up beside Lydia’s step, he said with sadness, “Lydia’s off her feet. She is doing poorly. I hear she ain’t got long! I am going to miss the dear ol’ soul. There is no one here like Lydia. I’ll have to drop by soon.”
Reece took a deep breath, jumped down from the cart and said, “Thanks for the lift, Enos. I’ll do you a turn one day.”
“We had a long yarn, didn’t we? Give Lydia my best wishes.”
IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON WHEN SARAH PULLED OUT A box from under her bed with the intention of sorting through the thread, buttons, ribbons and odd bits of cloth she and Grandmother had been collecting for their quilt. A gentle tapping on the door startled her and thoughts came rushing back of the night her father returned. The tapping came again just as she was making her way around Prince, who was happily rocking on a horse her father had made from wood. “Oh, Lord, my hair,” she drawled and flung a small white bonnet on her head before answering the door.
She cracked the door and stepped back in amazement. He looked much the same, only thinner. She waited before speaking in hopes that her emotions would take hold— force her to cry out his name, fling herself at him, something. She was surprisingly empty and there were no emotions to guide her next words. When they did come, they were not at all with the fervour she had imagined. “Reece. It’s good to see you. Come in. It has been a long time,” she said with the excitement of receiving an old friend. Guilt kept her from looking Reece in the face, forced her to deny it was Thomas Cooper she longed to see come through the door.
She had not changed much, perhaps in height and in some places a little weight. Reece noticed more than anything her discomfort, but the cool welcome did not bother him. He expected to find her a little distant—as he was, what with the news he was about to deliver, news that would alter everything. To avoid telling her, he had even thought about staying away for good, but returning was the honourable thing to do. A man kept his word! Besides, his news needed telling to make things right.
The awkward silence was difficult to bear. He watched her scurry about, fussing with Prince and setting the table with a confidence and maturity he had not seen before. He waited until Sarah had bread, scanty vegetable soup and tea in front of him before he said, “Enos told me that Lydia is not well.”
“She has not been herself for awhile. When did you get back?” she asked.
“Today. Enos was at the wharf and gave me a lift. I came straight here.”
“He must have greased the wheels on the cart! There was no squawking today. I’m surprised he and Doris are not deaf from the noise.”
They laughed. The air felt thinner now.
Sarah asked, “Did you find Rose?”
“Yes, eventually. It took a long time to trace through records of slave sales. She was on a large farm in Kentucky.” He looked at Sarah kindly, knowing that his news would come slowly now, piece by piece.
“Did she know you?”
“No, she did not. I was a child when she last saw me. She is old and worn out. The poor old soul had too many babies, one every year and several at a time to suckle. Her memory is not what it used to be. She hobbles along with her stomach, back and feet giving her torment and she still must earn her keep. The one blessing is that there are fewer chores expected of her.”
“Were you able to find out anything about your childhood from her?”
“It took awhile. I had to paint a picture to jog her memory, take her mind back to the Redmond plantation. Take her back to the night she received a baby from Cecil MacLeod to tend. She never forgot the Redmond overseer. That ‘son-of-a-one-toothed demon,’ she called him. At first she couldn’t remember where the child came from, but then she recalled he mentioned a slave by name.”
“What was the slave’s name?”
Reece stared at Sarah. He was silent for a full minute, stalling. He struggled with wanting to tell her the truth, but he had trouble wrapping his tongue around the words. He reached across the table and took her hands.
“Did she tell you the slave’s name?” Sarah asked again.
“Yes. Rose said the slave’s name was … Lydia.”
“Lydia?” Sarah’s mouth fell open. Her mind was galloping so fast she could not keep up with the pace. “My grandmother Lydia?”
“Yes, our Lydia …” he stammered.
“No, Reece.” Sarah bit her lip. “Such a thing cannot be true!” Sarah slumped over the table. “To think,” she said, “you and I could have married. Tell me you are not my uncle. Oh Lord, tell me this cannot be true.” Her eyes dulled with embarrassment and she sat whimpering over such a tragic thing. For surely the hungry gossips would love such a scandal. She could see them gnawing on the news like a bone until there was nothing left but the splinters. It was a moment, if ever there was one, for tears. She kept her head down, waiting for the tears to come, but none did. This family has enough secrets to fill Birchtown Bay, she thought.
Reece withdrew his hands and leaned back in his chair. “Are you all right?” he asked. “It hurts me as much as it does you, having it all come at once and knowing that we can never be together. I know this is difficult, Sarah, but I cannot change it.”
Sarah raised her head and met his gaze. “Reece Johnson, you are Grandmother’s son, my uncle,” she said. “There is no choice in the matter.”
“No, none, but cheer up, there’s a bright side to what’s happened. We will forget this disappointment with time,” Reece said, a smile breaking across his face.
“Yes, I suppose there is. Grandmother will be surprised and so happy to hear the news. She always speaks of her missing son. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it might be you.”
Like with Margaret, they would all have to face the truth. Sarah looked at the fire pit, avoiding Reece’s eyes. He was not the only one with news. As she slowly turned and held his eyes, she filled with a small measure of regret, and an overwhelming amount of guilt. “I have a confession to make, Reece,” she said. Her words stretched. “You will hear about it soon enough, so I think it is best if it comes from my lips.”
“What is it?”
“You were away so long … well, things changed. I … I became involved …”
“If you have found someone, I have no right to question it.”
Sarah cut him off. “I was seeing someone, but as is my fate, he has gone away, back to New York. I don’t think he’ll ever come back to Birchtown.”
“I am sorry, Sarah. Sorry things didn’t work out for either of us.”
“I’m not sorry. I found a wonderful friendship, more than anyone could ask for in these times. You and I, Reece, we will always be close because we are family.”
“I know that when folks find out about this, their tongues will feast. I hope their stony comments will not worry you. We will just have to remind folks that any of us could be related, seeing the way families were separated.”
“So true!” she said. “I have Grandmother to think about now. She is not well, Reece. She has taken to her bed. Her last wish was to see all of her children before she passed. You will be surprised to learn that you have more family, not just Papa, but two sisters.”
“Sisters? Here?”
“Yes! Margaret Cunningham in Port Roseway is one of them.”
“Surely you are joking. Margaret Cunningham?”
“It is true and we have sent word to Yarmouth in hopes of finding the other one, Amelia Pinkham. You are the last of Grandmother’s lost children.” Sarah smiled and her face lit up as if the sun entered the cabin through the window. “Today has brought us all a blessing. Papa will have a brother and Grandmother will see her lost son. Are you ready to tell her?”
Reece nodded. He followed Sarah into the back room to greet his mother with the news.