Creole Women and the Men they Loved

The book involves parallel stories about a white plantation owner and a slave woman set in the low country of South Carolina in the late 1800s and a modern day young couple.

 

Claiborne Plantation 1885

 

Rachel placed several covered pies in the wagon and climbed onto the wooden seat next to Jacob, a trusted Claiborne worker of many years.  “It’s hard to believe,” Thomas said, “that the work is nearly none.”

 

“It’s taken a long time but the women are going to give the inside a good cleaning while the men put the final coat of paint on the outside.  Now don’t be late.  Dinner is pot luck at twelve o’clock straight up and it will be some of the best eating you’ve ever had.”

 

Thomas stepped up on the foot hold and gave her a kiss.  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.  Jacob, drive slowly and try to avoid the chuckholes.”

 

“You know I always do with Miss Rachel.”

 

With everyone on the plantation it was always, Miss Rachel instead of Mrs. Claiborne.  In the early years the secret of their marriage, a white plantation owner and a mixed race former slave woman, bothered Thomas and Rachel, but after time it seemed unimportant.  Everyone knew that no stronger bond had ever existed between a man and a woman.  “God knows,” Thomas thought to himself as he watched the wagon carrying his wife, disappear down the lane.  “That’s all that matters.  That’s all that’s ever mattered.”

 

As the noon hour approached, Thomas saddled his favorite horse, Silky, and headed for the site of the new school and church.  The mare wasn’t the fastest horse in his stable but she had the most comfortable ride and could run at a steady gait all day long.

 

Following the war, Thomas had given Rachel’s brother, Johnathon, a small but fertile piece of land to farm.  He had done well at farming and pursued his lifelong dream of becoming a teacher and minister.  They were erecting a building that would be used as a school for black children from the surrounding area during the week and a church on Sunday. This was the last day of construction and the next day the sanctuary would be filled for their first Sunday services.

 

It was being built on the King’s Highway outside of Georgetown. Prior to the war and reconstruction, education for blacks had been against the law and hadn’t gained much support in the years since.  The location stirred some consternation among the white community.  A good many felt that a black church should not be in such plain site for all travelers on the main highway to see so close to town.  Thomas paid their concern little heed as Silky turned onto the main road and he urged her to her steady traveling gait.

 

About a mile before reaching the church he heard what sounded like shots being fired in the distance.  Then he saw black smoke billowing in the sky and instantly pushed the mare into a full gallop.  When the church came into view it was completely inflamed with the roof beginning to fall.  Just past the church was the grizzly sight of Pastor Johnathon swinging from a tree with his hands tied and a noose around his neck.

 

Suddenly, the screaming of a familiar voice, “Master Thomas, Master Thomas, over here.”  Thomas pulled the mare up to old Jacob and jumped off.  “This way,” the old man urged.

 

Behind a small group of pine trees lay Rachel on her back.  “She’s hurt bad Mr. Thomas but she’s alive.”  Thomas knelt over his wife to check her breathing.  She was unconscious and her breathing was laborious but steady.  “What happened here?” Thomas demanded.

 

“The ladies was puttin’ food on the table when a bunch of men came riding in shootin’ and hollerin’.  They surrounded all the folks an’ the one in charge told ‘em to tie up Pastor Johnathon.  One of the dinner tables was under that tree for shade and they stood him on the table.”  Jacob paused to catch his breath.  “They put that rope around his neck and threw it over that big limb.  Miss Rachel, she ran screaming tryin to stop ‘em and the boss man swung his big horse around and knocked her to the ground hard.  They lit torches and threw ‘em into the church.  He yelled at the folks and said the same thing would happen to them if they tried to rebuild it.  Then the big boss looped a rope around the leg of the table and tied it to his saddle horn.  He pulled the table away and left Pastor hangin’. The folks all took off.  Horses, wagons and some jus’ runnin’.”

 

“Jacob, did you recognize any of them?” Thomas yelled.

 

“Not at first Mr. Thomas.  De had their faces covered.  But after the folks took off, the boss man, the one who knocked down Miss Rachel pulled the cloth off his face and de left a gallopin’.”

 

“Did you recognize him?”

 

“He’s dat Mr. Chambers who run the general store in Georgetown.  It was him alright.  I wasn’t feelin so good in the heat and laid down by these trees to rest before it all started.  They neber seen me.  As soon as de left I pulled Miss Rachel away from the church.”

 

Thomas climbed on the mare and directed her next to Pastor Johnathon.  He cut the rope and draped the body over the horse.  “Help me get him to the ground, Jacob.”  Together they laid him in the shade of the tree where he had been hung and Thomas covered his face with a tablecloth he retrieved from the food and dinner items scattered on the ground.

 

Rachel seemed to drift in and out of consciousness and Thomas suspected that she had broken ribs.  They loaded Thomas’s wagon with a thick bed of pine needles and gently lifted her into the back of the wagon.  “Jacob, you drive her home and don’t hit a single bump.  When you get there tell the house people to get her bed from upstairs and set it up in the library.”

 

“I’m on my way, Mr. Thomas,” the old man said as he climbed into the seat and took the reins of the draft horses.

 

“I’m going after the doctor and I won’t be long,” Thomas said as he pulled himself into the saddle.  A heel in the mare’s hindquarter sent her off in a gallop. 

 

The doctor lived on the edge of town and as soon as Thomas arrived he explained what had happened and told the doctor he was needed to see to his housemaid, Rachel.

 

“Thomas, I’d do anything for you but you know I can’t help black folks.  My life wouldn’t be worth two cents if it got out.”

“Doctor,” Thomas sternly replied, “Nobody is going to find out and you don’t have a choice.  Get your bag ready while I saddle your horse.”

 

When they arrived at Claiborne Plantation, Thomas unsaddled the mare while the doctor went in to look after Rachel.  He gently put his arms around the horse’s neck.  “We had quite a journey today old girl and you were as solid as a rock.  Rest well old girl; we’ve got another journey tomorrow.”  Thomas called to the stable hand and told him to wash down the mare and feed her.

 

“The best I can tell, Thomas, is that she has at least two fractured ribs and a bruised lung,” the doctor said as they walked out on the front porch.  “I’ve taped her chest to restrict movement and you will need to keep her as still as possible.  She’s going to be in a lot of pain, but she should be alright in time.”  He pulled a bottle of syrup from his bag and handed it to Thomas.  “It’s morphine.  Just a little for pain when she needs it and no more.”

 

“Doctor, I’m very grateful and no one will ever know you were here.” 

 

“I wish I could come back to check on her but I can’t.”

 

“No matter doctor; she’s just a housemaid.”  Thomas put his hand around the doctor’s shoulder as he walked to the rail where his horse was tied.  “Perhaps you and your wife would like to come to dinner next Sunday after church?”

 

“I think we can arrange that,” the doctor replied.  After all, Claiborne has a reputation for some of the best food in the state.”

 

Over the next several months the doctor and his wife accepted several invitations to Sunday dinner.

 

. . . . . . .

 

The next evening Thomas saddled the mare and headed for Georgetown.  As the sun fell he rode through the alleys to the back of the general store.  He waited until the oil lamps were extinguished inside and knocked on the back door.  When Chambers opened the door, he was surprised to see Thomas.  “Mr. Claiborne,” he exclaimed, “please come in.  I was just closing for the night but we are always open for you.”  Inside the store, Chambers lit a candle and turned to Thomas, “Now what can I get you?”

 

Thomas pulled out his revolver and placed the muzzle against the storekeeper’s head while leaning to blow out the candle at the same time.  “That won’t be necessary.”

 

“My God, Thomas, what are you doing?”

 

Thomas grabbed his arm and swung him around.  Holding the gun in his back with one hand he pulled a looped strip of leather from his pocket with the other and placed it around Chamber’s hand.  In one swift move he had both hands firmly secured behind his back.  “You’re coming with me,” Thomas ordered while grabbing him by his collar and leading him out the back door.  Chambers kept a horse in a small stable behind the store and in short order Thomas had him saddled and pushed Chambers up into the saddle.  “We’re going for a little ride in the country and if you make a sound or even breathe hard, you’ll be dead before your body hits the ground.”

 

Once out of town Chambers said, “Good Lord man, what’s this all about?”

 

“It’s all about you getting shot if you say another word.”

 

Several miles from town they turned off the main road onto a seldom used path that led deep into the marshes.  When they arrived at a grove of Cypress trees in about six inches of water, Thomas jerked Chambers off his horse and tied his feet together.  He dragged him to a tree and set him down with his back against the trunk and tied him with a rope he carried on his saddle.  He circled the rope around Chambers and the tree until it was used up and secured the loose end.

 

“Thomas,” Chambers yelled, “are you crazy?”

 

“Crazy mad I guess.”

 

Thomas bent down on his haunches and looked Chambers in his face.  “You asked what this is all about.  Now I’m going to tell you.”

 

Thomas told him about finding the aftermath of Chamber’s raid on the church the day before.

 

“Jesus, Thomas, that darky pastor was told any number of times not to build that church.  He just wouldn’t listen.  We didn’t have any choice.  And that housemaid of yours I knocked down.  She was in the way and just kept screaming.”

 

“I guess I can understand how she felt,” Thomas calmly stated, “the Pastor was her brother.”

 

“Hell, I didn’t know that, but how can you take up for them in spite of your own kind?  And the housemaid, what’s she to you but just another useless darky?”

 

Thomas repeated his question.  “What’s she to me?  She’s my wife.”

 

Chambers was stunned.  “Your wife!  How was I to know?”

 

Thomas rose and removed the bridle and saddle from Chamber’s horse and threw them into the marsh.  He slapped the horse on the back and watched briefly as he disappeared in the night.  He climbed into his saddle on the mare and sat for a moment looking at Chambers in disgust.  The man who was brave enough to conduct a lynching was reduced to rears and sobbing.  “Thomas,” he cried, “you can’t leave me here.  The tide is coming in.  I’ll drown.”

 

Thomas leaned over in his saddle and replied, “Mr. Chambers, you’re going to die tonight, but I don’t think it will be from drowning.”  With that he nudged the mare and she began stepping carefully out of the watery marsh toward the old lane.  As the horse found her footing on solid ground a twelve foot alligator slid into the water and headed for the cypress trees. About a half mile down the lane Thomas suddenly heard horrific screaming that reverberated through the night air.  The screaming stopped as quickly as it had started. 

 

They faced a long ride home but the mare was up to it and picked up her traveling gait.

 

Author's Note

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