Cells paced in my parlor. “The British government is going to keep pushing until a rebellion happens here. Shortsighted fools.”
“What are you talking about? We’re supposed to be thinking of another baby gift for Charlotte.”
My darling girl had birthed Mary Fullarton two years earlier and now Sarah King Fullarton rested upstairs in my house on Robb Street.
Nothing was better than seeing those pink bundles laid in a polished cedar crib.
Maybe it took her man coming and going to renew their love. “Cells, we need to think of Charlotte. She has her dream. Two little babies of her own.”
He pushed at his high cravat like it made his neck sweat. It was a thick linen. Perhaps it did.
“I’m excited for Charlotte. I love those little girls, but a rebellion could endanger her, the children, all of us.”
“What?”
He paced now, back and forth. “They’re sending missionaries like Wray, and now this Reverend Smith is spreading talk about freedom of the spirit. That’s nothing but abolition.”
“Abolition is needed. It should be done.”
“The planters here in Demerara, of which you are one, don’t want this. There will be insurrection. The damages from the civil unrest will be staggering.”
“Abolition must happen. The fear of freedom being stolen must end.”
“Dolly, you own more slaves than anyone. You’ve passed the numbers I ever kept at the Hermitage years ago. Do you know how much you’ve paid? How much money you will lose?”
“If I don’t own them, someone cruel will. The hunger for black flesh is too great here.” I shot him a wink. “You should know.”
He went pink in his cheeks. Though we enjoyed each other’s company again, the man never knew how to walk away from an argument. “Dolly, you’re a slave owner, but you’ve been listening to the missionary’s drivel? Has William King been sending you Wilberforce’s pamphlets?”
Yes, he had. He and Elizabeth quietly supported the cause. Those two knew right from wrong. They were a quiet force for good.
“Cells, I do all the things Lord Bathurst, the secretary of war and the colonies, wants. I adhere to his fancy Amelioration Laws—I allow my enslaved to go to church on Sundays. I’ve always given them off on Saturdays and Wednesday nights. I pay wages and give them plenty of clothing and shelter. No families are separated, they get big provision grounds. And, never, ever, ever have I allowed flogging. Stocks for a thief once, but that was as much as I could tolerate.”
“Yes, you run your plantation and businesses with fairness.”
I squinted at him. “All that makes me is a good slaver. None of that replaces freedom. Abolition should happen.”
He pulled his hands together around his hat, a boxed beaver pelt dyed black. “Dolly, the planters are too strong. They control the council and the militias. People will die. If tensions are allowed to fester, the people you’ve been good to will die.”
“Everyone needs to be brave. I’ve been called to be strong all my life. Others should be too. You see how Coxall’s brothers cheated Lizzy’s children, their freeborn children? No one of color is safe if slavery still exists.”
“Dolly, I won’t be able to protect you. There’s talk about you and Miss Ritchie, all the women of the Entertainment Society. People fear the power you have with your money. They are pushing me to make you aware.” He shrugged. “They actually think I might have some influence, but only because they don’t know you as I do.”
Every man in that council had dined at my table. Now they were pulling on Cells’s coattails to quiet me. That was an awful position for him to be in when he had divided loyalties.
Mine were clear. I’d push for as much change as I could as long as there was strength in my hand.
I put my fingers against his lapels. Part of me wanted to curl my palms about the dark revers and not let go.
But I had to let go. I’d choose for him.
“I’m no better than the others, the good planter folk, except my story, my life, is written in my skin. The world has to change. I’ll send a collection to Pastor Smith.” I bit my lip. “Holy Father, forgive me sending tithes to Anglicans.”
“That only stokes rebellion. Why don’t we go away? We can take all the grands like you did before.”
“How do we protect my grands from your daughter Louisa? Her children will say they should have Kensington Plantation?”
“They’d never do that.”
“It’s money, Cells. If whites can cheat mix-raced heirs out of their inheritance, they’ll find a way to do it to mine. Look what the Coxalls did. I’m paying for each of my grand’s education. Until the world changes, the white side will squeeze mine.”
My dreams weren’t done. No sitting on porches waiting to become ghosts. That was the problem now. Loving while you’re old meant sooner or later one of us would get sick and put on a death mask. I didn’t want that. Couldn’t stand to have any more in my head.
“Cells, I’m going away. You’ll have to argue with me about this in a few months.”
“You’re leaving and you didn’t say anything?”
“Little Emma, Crissy’s daughter, is ready for Kensington House. Then I’ll head to Glasgow.”
His face reddened. “You’re going after Crissy? The daughter who keeps dishonoring you. She frittered away every cent you’ve ever given her.”
“Yes, I’m going to Crissy in Scotland. I have to see if she’s being treated well. I may not approve of what she’s done, but I can still see about her.”
“You just overcame a fever. Dolly, might I remind you that bulam killed two sons and your sister. You’re not invincible.”
“I have to go. If you still want to argue, you’ll have to wait until I return.”
He backed away from my sofa. “This Major Gordon is almost husband number three.”
“You’re adorable when you are mad, but don’t go getting that heart racing too fast.”
“Then I should come with you. We could marry in Scotland.”
“No. This trip is for Emma and Crissy. Harry will come with me. He’s all the protector I need.”
“I’m just to dither waiting for you? I feel like a kept man without much keeping. You trot me out for special occasions. Here’s John C. Cells who’s Dorothy Thomas’s dinner guest, her dance partner upon occasion.”
“I don’t invite you to everything. Charlotte does. Coseveldt, you need a woman who’ll make you her priority, one with fewer hats. My children are my priority. All I want is a friend who shows up, shares a little supper, and surprises me.”
He took off his lenses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “I thought every woman wanted to be cherished.”
“They do until they can’t stomach the terms of the contract. I’ve learned to cherish me.”
His smirk returned. “Then I want to be cherished. Let me be one of yours. I want some of that famous Dolly Thomas attention. Chase me about.”
Now I released a laugh. “At least you finally have owned what you want.”
“What are you talking about, Dolly?”
“You want me to chase you like I did all those years ago. I won’t follow you around, pine for you, or put your needs first.”
“Is that wrong when two people love each other? To want to be together, to grow old, well, older together. Maybe I want to leave my hat next to yours, just once in that fancy closet with the tissue paper and shelves.”
I drew him close and kissed him, long and with all the passion I could muster.
“And I want to remember us young and wild, not waiting for the other to get sick and die.”
My hand trailed his cheek, my fingers tracing his frowning lines, the mustache that was trimmed and silky silver. “I saw your face when I was sick. I don’t want that image of us to be the one that’s left.”
“You remember the good about us? I can’t tell sometimes.”
“Always, Cells.”
“Woman, I know you love me. I know you’d rather spit than say it. I need you to bend just a little.”
He wasn’t listening, and I was tired of explaining, tired of the sadness in his hazel eyes. “You are free to go—”
“Stop it.” He clapped his fingers and folded them to a prayer. Then he closed his eyes. “Travel safely, Dolly Thomas. Godspeed.”
With his black hat popped onto his head, he went out the door.
“Coseveldt.”
I whispered his name as if it was the last time I’d ever say it.
Saying good-bye to him always hurt, but this was for the best. I had a boat to catch, children and grands to make secure.