Christmas Story - 2015
i apologize in advance for use of the n word. in recent years, i've tried to be as historically accurate as i can. on reading many primary resources, i've found no one using the word slave in speech, only in sale posters. this is part of a book meant for juveniles that i started when i was teaching south carolina history, knowing that i remember most of my history from reading historical fiction. this will probably never reach those children, but parts of the story have bounced around in my head for years. this seemed right for this year. life is complicated and there is so much hatred being voiced right now, especially against people of color. there are limits to what even the best of us can do. i choose to meet these challenges with faith. the ending is yet to come.

peace on earth, good will towards all.

People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them.

James A. Baldwin

Doc Hendricks was a good doctor. He’d gone North to the Penn Medical School, a rare thing in those times.  He never bled a patient in his practice unless it was demanded of him by the family. People said that when he did bleed a patient, he never took more than a cup and always took a sample home to look at through his microscope. Most places in South Carolina didn’t have a doctor, much less one who had gone to medical school and used a microscope. Old ways were generally thought best in the South, but fewer people died in Doc’s care and that counted for a lot.

 What they couldn’t understand was that he brought home a Yankee wife, and a Quaker at that. There was a community of Quakers in North Carolina and a family of Mennonites from Virginia up in the mountains, but she was the first Quaker most had ever seen. She never wore any jewelry and the plainest clothes of any lady around. But lady she was. Gentle and kind to all, proper in her speech, except for saying Thee for you, and a manner that made her accepted in spite of being a Yankee and a Quaker. She was also pretty enough even in her plain clothes to make Doc’s choice clear in that respect. 

Mrs. Rachel Hendricks, the Yankee Quaker, only lived for two years in South Carolina before she died giving birth to their first child. Some said that wasn’t very good advertising for a new doc, but everyone knew that birthing was a midwife’s job, and many women died giving birth. Not that the doc had tried to do it on his own. He’d sent for the Perry’s gal Lily when the time had come. She was the best midwife in the Upcountry. People sent for her from Georgia and North Carolina and let her ride in a buggy. She was that good. But there’s not much to be done when the baby is big and the woman is small. At the end, Lily had told him to try the knife, and he done it. The baby lived a day; the mama didn’t last an hour.

That set the ladies to showing out for the doc. It wasn’t right that a man of his standing should stay a widower, and there were plenty who were willing to end his widowhood for him. Doc Hendricks was born a gentleman. His family had a plantation since the Revolution and was one of the few Upcountry families to be patriots instead of loyalists during that war. Most of the rich loyalists left for the Caribbean or went back to England. Doc’s problem was that his daddy had two wives and ten children, four of them boys. The girls could be married off or live their life out on the homeplace. But there just wasn’t enough land to split between four sons. 

That was the reason Doc, who had been born John but was always called Jack until he became Doc, was sent to train as a doctor. Most doctors were older men with little training and few and far between, but his daddy wanted to give him better than that. His brothers, Amos and Greenberry, had become lawyers. Everybody figured at least one of them would become a politician, but so far, neither had shown much interest. People in the piedmont and alpine region of South Carolina didn’t really tend much to politics as a rule. They weren’t anti-government so much as apathetic so long as the government didn’t bother them. About a third of them didn’t even take part in the Revolution on either side. Just didn’t figure it mattered that much to a farmer who the government was. Most were family farmers and had enough just to keep their family fed. Of course, gentlemen were educated, at least a little, and were expected to be able to talk politics at the dinner table. Anything beyond that wasn’t really necessary.

Another thing Doc’s Yankee wife had done was to forbid any house slaves. People said it had to do with her being a Quaker and thought it strange. Doc had grown up with his own slave and his family home had six or more serving in the Big House, depending on the number of the people living there at the time. Doc hadn’t taken his boy with him up North. Already, there had been trouble with abolitionists and runaways. And with his wife objecting, things just stayed that way. 

That wouldn’t have been possible had he been a farmer. His daddy had over 30 slaves. But Doc, along with Amos and Greenberry, just had a house that didn’t really require that much tending, and Doc was generally too busy to do much entertaining. His brothers had no problems with having house slaves, but Doc’s wife would not hear of it. So they got by with hiring the old maid sister of a white farmer to do the cooking and cleaning, and Doc had to manage his own horses. People said it weren’t natural, but that’s what come of bringing in a Yankee and a Quaker to South Carolina. But most figured she couldn’t help her ways, and she never tried to convert others as so many in the North were wont to do. That probably helped.

Most people figured he’d fire the old maid and get him a female slave after his wife died, but it’d been a couple of years and the old maid was still there. Most of the women contending to be the next Mrs. Hendricks figured that she’d go as soon as they got in the door and there’d be a nigger woman in her place right away.

Some people thought Doc was a smart widower. Various ladies were always bringing him some of their best cooking (or their cook’s best cooking) and he was always perfectly polite. But when he did make it to a ball or supper, he always managed to dance with most of the ladies, but never the same one twice. He also tried to avoid being seated next to the same woman twice in a row. At first, people just thought he was grieving for his first wife, but some took offense and thought he should marry one of the excess sisters of the few genteel families in the area. But some thought he knew that any sons he had would be landless and would have to have a career like he had to do. Of course, most wondered what he did about his manly needs, and again wondered why he didn’t buy him a nigger woman. Not that those kind of things were talked about, but it was understood that it was something men did, both single and some married. Any children born of those unions would be slaves according to the law and wouldn’t expect anything from their father.

But all that had changed. The woman who had kept Doc’s house for the last two years had unexpectedly had an offer of marriage and had gladly taken it. She and her new husband were moving West. Doc had tried and failed to find a replacement and he couldn’t make it on his own. As the only doc for miles and miles, he had so much traveling that he couldn’t cope without help. It was either a marriage of convenience or a slave. Either would break his Rachel’s heart, but he knew without question that she would prefer a marriage of convenience for him. He just couldn’t bring himself to do that. She would want him to learn to love another, but she had left a hole too deep to be filled. He had a heard there was an itinerant slave trader who had stopped for the night in Enoree. With a heavy heart, Doc was going to see him.

*  *  *

Addy was sixteen when the new master first raped her. He probably didn’t think of it as rape because he was gentle, and because he owned her, or at least his wife did. He hadn’t expected her to be a virgin. That surprised him.

Addy had belonged to Miss Sadie since they were both three. At three, her only responsibility was to be Miss Sadie’s playmate. Later, she would learn to fetch and carry, dress her and do her hair. A slave-master relationship could never really be a friendship, but it probably came as close as it could. No one knew Miss Sadie better than Addy. In some ways, they were closer than sisters, almost like twins. But Addy’s mother reminded her every chance she had to never forget her place. Addy could be family to Miss Sadie, but Miss Sadie would never be family to Addy. Miss Sadie owned her, just like her horse. 

Addy’s mother didn’t get much time with her. Addy slept in the Big House from the time she was three and accompanied Miss Sadie on most family trips. But during the few times they were together, her mother always made sure she knew what the boundaries were. The family expected it of her. It would be easy for a young child to be confused.

Miss Sadie married early when she and Addy were both 15. He was a great match, the only son of a Virginia planter on the much larger, adjacent plantation to Miss Sadie’s.  The wedding supper had included over 100 people. Addy, of course, accompanied Miss Sadie to her new home. Addy had been almost as happy as Miss Sadie with the marriage because of the boost to her own status. As a lightly colored personal servant, her status as a slave was already at the top; but the increase in land and Miss Sadie now being the Mistress of her own plantation put her even higher. The Good Book, which she could not read but which she’d heard all her life, said, “Pride cometh before a fall.” That was certainly true for Addy.

The new master never touched her until Miss Sadie became pregnant.  For some reason, quality white folks didn’t think pregnant women should have relations. At least Miss Sadie didn’t. She banned him from her bed almost as soon as she knew. The new master lasted about a month before he came into their dark bedroom and put his hand over Addy’s mouth and led her into his adjoining room.

Addy was terrified of what he was doing. The experience itself was frightening and hurtful, but her greatest fear was that Miss Sadie would awaken and find them out. She knew Miss Sadie well enough to know how angry she would be. She also knew that the only safe recipient of that rage would be her. The master sought her out every night for a week and then demanded that she come to him on her own.

It wasn’t long before she was pregnant, too. The master seemed to have no problem continuing to have relations with a pregnant slave. Addy lived in terror of the birth of her baby. Miss Sadie had been naturally curious about the father of Addy’s child. Addy told her he wasn’t a slave Miss Sadie knew. That was the truth. Addy knew Miss Sadie assumed it was someone belonging to another family that had visited. It would have to have been someone’s man servant.

Come spring, Miss Sadie had a baby girl who looked just like her mama. “We’ll have a boy next time and he’ll look just like you,” she promised her husband. By the time Addy had her son, the master had returned to Miss Sadie’s bed and his visits had mercifully stopped. Addy went to the slave quarters to give birth. Her heart broke at the sight of her son. She touched his soft curls and whispered over and over, “My poor, poor baby.” Her son could have passed. He looked just like his daddy. There was no way Miss Sadie would not know as soon as she saw him.

One of the old grannies took care of Addy’s baby during the day, and a field hand nursed him. Addy’s own milk was given to Miss Sadie’s baby. After two months had passed, Miss Sadie insisted on seeing Addy’s baby. Addy turned her face to stone as she watched the horror on Miss Sadie’s face as she looked on the image of her husband. Miss Sadie didn’t scream or cry and Addy watched with some admiration as she gained control over her face. “ What a lovely boy, Addy. I’m sure that you want to spend more time with him. Tell Polly from the kitchen that she can serve me from now on. You can go to the kitchen.” That was the last Addy saw of Miss Sadie.

It was another two months before she was sold downriver. Addy and her baby were sold cheap to the first trader that came through. The arrangement was made and Addy sent for. She left the kitchen, went to the quarters to retrieve her son and never entered the house again. There were no goodbyes. Father and son never met.

Addy’s son still had no name. His mama only called him “You poor baby” and lived in fear for his life. Being sold down river could mean anything, but none of it good. She was not likely to become another personal servant with her almost white baby, and she hadn’t learned enough of cooking in her two months to hope to get a place in the kitchen. She could not prepare the special foods a gentleman farmer would expect. Her best hope, and she prayed every step she walked away from the only home she’d ever known, was to be able to live at the same place as her son. As a baby, they would be sold together the first time. But she knew as he grew older, his value would increase and he could easily be sold away. She had not been able to say goodbye to her own mother before she left. She did not want to have that happen to her. She also knew that the odds of her spending 16 years with her own child would be much less likely in the Deep South than it was in Virginia.

By the time they crossed the border into North Carolina, there were ten in their group: four men, two boys, one girl, another woman, and Addy and her baby. There was something wrong with the other woman. She would often stare into space while licking her lips. She would stay that way for a minute, and then it would pass and she came back as if nothing had happened. Addy tried to hide this from the slave trader as she and the girl and Addy were tied loosely together as they walked. The men and boys were chained by their ankles. The girl cried for her mama most of the day. She was around eight. Addy tried to shield her from the trader as well, but occasionally, he would come back and slap the girl and tell her to shut up. At night, the girl would cuddle up to Addy when she was nursing her son. They were all so hungry that her milk was only half what it was, but she still gave some of her share to the child. Addy knew this child needed to be healthier to make the trip and hope for a decent place. She held both children close to her as she slept, knowing she couldn’t really protect either one.

They were almost to the South Carolina border when Addy was sold. A yeoman farmer rode up to their group on an old mule. “I heard you got a woman and baby in your stock,” he greeted them.

“ I got two women and a gal, too.”

“Is the woman in milk?” he asked.

“She is,” the trader replied greedily. He knew he had gotten Addy cheap because of her child and should sell her for a good profit.

“ I ain’t got any money but I was hoping for a trade. Your nigger for mine.”

“ Now how am I going to make any money just swapping these niggers around.”

“I’m talking about a strong boy, only about twenty something. His daddy belonged to my daddy.”

“What’s wrong with him?

“Ain’t nothing wrong with him. My son was born two days ago and my wife ain’t got no milk. I’m afraid I’m going to lose him. He’s already thrown up the cow’s milk we tried.  He’s at the house if you want to come look at him.”

A deal was made and Addy and her son became the property of the James McCleod. Addy put the hungry baby to her breast and watched as he struggled to eat. Within five minutes, he had his fill and was sleeping soundly. The farmer nodded, his eyes filled with tears as he gently took his son and went to place him by his still mostly unconscious wife.

The farmer’s son lived, as did his mama; and Addy got her wish to stay together with her son. It was hard going for several years. The farmer had to do the farming that two men had done before and the children were too young to help and still needed tending. Addy had heard the wife crying when she was well enough for her husband to tell her of the trade. She never mentioned it, but Addy saw her wipe tears from her eyes often in those first months as she looked out on the fields where her husband was working. Seemed like she didn’t care for the trade.

Mrs. McLeod insisted that Addy name her son. 

“You should give him a good Bible name, like Peter,” she told Addy. “He was the rock the church was built on. Every child should have a good strong name.”

Everybody worked hard. The wife, when she recovered, was as busy as Addy from dawn to dusk. Both boys were put to weeding and whatever else they could do as soon as they were able. Addy and her son were slaves and ate and slept separate from the family, but they worked together. They also insisted that Addy and her child participated in the family Bible reading and prayer. Addy had done the same with Miss Sadie, but it was different with the McCleods. Miss Sadie’s family had Bible reading only on Sundays. The farmer and his wife read out of the Bible and prayed every night, and they prayed for Addy and her son the same as they did for other family and friends. They didn’t just read, either. They would often discuss what they had read. 

One night they talked about how in the Bible, people had slaves just like they did, but Paul said they should treat them as fellow Christians. They wanted Addy and her son to believe like they did. Miss Sadie’s family would certainly never have said that.  James never once tried to have relations with Addy either. 

“ Wonder where Tom is now,” his wife would sometimes say.

“It couldn’t be helped,” James would always reply and she would nod.

***

Peter became Pete, and Addy and Pete spent 10 years in North Carolina before being sold again. Addy had hoped with all her heart that they could live their lives out with the McCleod’s, but it wasn’t to be. They were sold in 1858. That was the year James McCleod’s wife died giving birth to their fourth child. The baby was born dead, too. James decided to take his children and head West. North Carolina had become a sad place.

Pete was a sturdy lad, if a bit small, and Jame’s first son, Joel, adored Pete. When Joel asked his pap if they could keep Pete with them, Addy had shivered. It wasn’t lost on James. 

“We’ll think on it, Son.”

Two days later, when the children were asleep, Addy approached James. She had searched her heart and knew what she needed to do but her heart was thumping so hard in her chest she could hardly breathe. “ You should take Pete, Master James. You know what a good worker he is.” Her words broke her heart. All she had ever wanted was to be with her son, but she knew the chances of their remaining together this time were too small to risk. He would have a better life with James and his family.

“I’m thinking we might go all the way to California. It ain’t a slave state.”

Her voice came out a whisper. “Pete could pass. You could say he was Joel’s cousin.”

Nothing was said for a long time.

“I know. And I prayed on it.”

He paused again. “I need the money to make it out West and a new start with my children, but I’m praying God will find a way to keep y’all together.”

Addy knew she had lost.

So Addy and her son found themselves property of another itinerant slave trade.  Together Addy and her son crossed into South Carolina, Pete in chains and Addy with her hand holding another child. She was so bitter. What good were James’s prayers going to do them? They were once again at the mercy of a slave trader.