When Dominic awakened that morning it took him a moment to get his bearings. He and the crew had taken rooms at one of the local boardinghouses, and at first the unfamiliar surroundings were confusing until he remembered where he was. His first thoughts were of Clare, just as she’d been in his final thoughts before sleep claimed him last night. In his mind’s eye he could see her beautiful smiling face, and he wondered how she’d fared her first day back in captivity. It was a given that no one had brought her breakfast, or drawn her a bath, or shown her how much she was loved. At the moment she was undoubtedly running from pillar to post in an attempt to complete all the tasks put to her by Violet Sullivan. Not having her by his side was like having a hole in his soul.
Around him the others were stirring awake. With all their goods now stored in the Calhoun livery, there was no need for anyone to stay with the ship. He nodded morning greetings to Richmond, Gaspar, Tait, and the rest, and once everyone was dressed and ready, headed downstairs to breakfast. The place was owned by a free Black woman named Jenny. According to her there was a small but vital group of free Blacks in the city of Savannah. Many of them were women and made their living doing laundry, cleaning homes, and offering other domestic services.
Downstairs she greeted them with a smile. She was tall and thin and wore a head wrap like many women of color, slave and free.
As she set the fare on the table she asked, “Will you be needing me for any more meals today, Captain?”
“Not if you have pressing business you need to take care of.”
“I do. I have to help out with the church. We Blacks have our own place of worship in Savannah.”
“Really? That’s not very common.”
“No it isn’t, and we are especially proud. Right now we’re allowed to worship on one of the local plantations but we plan to build a place soon with our own hands and using our own coin from folks both slave and free.”
“Then we shall arrange for meals elsewhere.”
“Thank you so much, Captain.”
“Tell me though. Do you know a White family named Hampton?”
“Mrs. Hampton, the dressmaker?”
Dominic shrugged. “I’m not sure of her calling.”
“She and her husband are the only ones I know with that name. They have a rice plantation about twelve miles from here.”
“Can you draw us a map? I’m told she may be interested in some of my merchandise.”
“Be glad to.”
A few moments later the map was drawn and Dominic and his friends left the boardinghouse. They drove back to the docks to drop off Esteban, Richmond, and Washington Julian, who would oversee the day’s selling, and left Tait with the sloop. Dominic, James, and Gaspar headed for the Hampton home.
Traveling by wagon down the poor excuse for a road, Dominic wondered if it was the same one Clare walked on Sundays to see her children. He could only imagine how tired she’d be after the journey there and back, but he was certain the weariness would be secondary to the joy generated by seeing her Sarah and Ben.
They found the house. Outside a little girl dressed in a black dress and white apron was sweeping the doorstep. When she looked up at the wagon’s approach, Dominic’s heart stopped. The small face was an exact copy of Clare’s.
James said quietly, “That has to be her, Captain. She looks just like a miniature of Miss Clare.”
“Aye,” Gaspar added with a smile. “She’s going to grow up and be a beauty just like her maman.”
Dominic continued to stare. The emotions filling him had no name. There stood Clare’s daughter, a little girl destined to be raised as his own. As she continued to look out at them from her side of the road, Dominic’s heart swelled. To keep himself from jumping out of the wagon and carrying her away, he said softly to Gaspar, “Drive on and head back.”
“What about the son?”
“We’ll figure out something in the next few days. I just wanted to make sure we knew the correct location of the house.”
As they drove away, the girl watched them for a moment, then resumed her sweeping.
Clare and Dot spent the morning on their hands and knees scrubbing floors. The lye and harsh soap in the water immediately took its toll on Clare’s hands and turned them red and raw. They’d healed up while she’d been on the island, but were now just as rough as they’d been before. “So, Dot. How did you wind up in Savannah?”
They were upstairs doing the floor in the hall.
“My parents went over to Dunmore two years ago and died on his ship of the pox.”
Lord Dunmore had been the royal governor of Virginia. In ’75, when the crown became desperate for men to aid the loyalists against the rebels, he’d issued a decree promising to free any slaves who joined his forces. Colonial slave owners were outraged, and in the areas where the captive population outnumbered the Whites they were terrified by thoughts of massive slave insurrections. According to the newspaper accounts Clare read at Teddy’s at the time, about eight hundred slaves officially answered the call. Three hundred were trained and outfitted in military uniforms with the words Liberty to Slaves inscribed over the breasts. They fought under the name of Lord Dunmore’s Ethiopian Regiment. They had limited battle success, but because Dunmore had been forced to flee Virginia and was doing his governing offshore, on a ship in the British fleet, he had no land base to house the volunteers or his regulars. The ships were overcrowded, food and supplies were at a minimum, and smallpox spread through the vessels like wildfire.
“After my parents died, me and a few others decided to take our chances in the swamps, but we were caught and I was sold again, this time to a woman in Charleston.”
“That didn’t go well?”
“At first it did, I suppose. But then, one day, I dropped a china plate setting the table for dinner and she spat in my face. I slapped her. She sold me that next day.”
Clare shook her head sadly and was about to comment when Violet called up to them. “Clare, leave the scrubbing to Dot. I’ll need you to help me dress in a few moments.”
It was almost dinnertime and she wondered why Violet needed to change her gown, but she did as she was told and went into Violet’s room to await further instruction.
Violet entered the room saying, “Teddy is having a dinner this evening to celebrate the rebels’ alliance with France. In order to continue the pretense of supporting the so-called patriots, Victor suggested I attend. Once I’m dressed, you get dressed, too.”
Clare was confused, “Why?”
“I’ll need someone to attend me while I’m there and because your Frenchman is supposed to be making an appearance as a representative of his country.”
“But why subject me to his presence knowing what I suffered?”
She offered a cold smile. “Because I can, dear Clare. Because I can. Now, get the blue gown for me. You’ll wear the green.”
Outwardly Clare showed no emotion but inside her heart soared at the idea of being able to see Dominic. For the first time in her life Clare was happy that Violet prided herself on being so mean-spirited.
Down on the docks, Dominic and his men prepared to close shop for the day. They’d done well. There were still enough small items like spices, stockings, cologne, kegged wine, and sets of china to last a long while. Residents of nearby Charleston were also venturing into Calhoun’s livery to buy from the Frenchmen.
In spite of the British ships looming off the coast, there were quite a few ships going in and out of the port. Most were loading up on rice, one of the area’s biggest exports. Male captives both young and old lined the ship’s ramps, moving the heavy bags along and dumping them into the holds.
Dominic was so busy watching the loading that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking and was almost bowled over by a young male slave straining behind a wheelbarrow loaded with bags of rice. In his trying to avoid Dominic, the wheelbarrow tipped before the young man could get it upright and some of the bags tumbled onto the wharf.
Dominic and his men sprang to his aid, hastily helping him right the wheelbarrow and restacking the bags. “My apologies for not watching where I was going,” Dominic offered genuinely.
The young man looked up into Dominic’s face out of Clare’s brown eyes, and Dominic’s heart stopped for the second time that day.
“Thank you, sirs,” the boy said.
Up ahead, a man standing on the ramp of one of the ships called out harshly, “Ben! Get a move on. This ship ain’t gonna wait all day!”
Having the identity confirmed only added to Dominic’s sense of shock. The boy set his feet and pushed the wheelbarrow down the dock.
Esteban said, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“That was Clare’s son.”
“What?”
They all turned.
Dominic was visibly shaken, but now he knew the faces of both of Clare’s children.
Teddy Sullivan had one of the largest homes in Savannah. Everyone knew where she stood on the war; she supported Washington and the rebels. Violet and Victor had been staunch loyalists during the crown’s control of Savannah, but now that the patriots held the city, they, like many other planters, were pretending publicly to embrace the Americans’ cause. Clare supposed it was a simple matter of survival since no one knew who would eventually win the war and everyone wanted to be on the side of the victors no matter the flag. So as she and Violet were driven up to the house by Victor, she saw the Black coachmen of most of Savannah’s wealthier citizens dropping off their owners and moving the vehicles into a field nearby.
“Looks like everyone is here,” Violet remarked.
“Seems that way,” Victor added.
“And as always we’re the only ones without a Black driver.”
His lips tightened. “Right again, Vi.”
Because of Victor’s gambling and his lack of business acumen, the Sullivans weren’t nearly half as wealthy as they once were. Since the death of their father five years ago, the rice plantation hadn’t turned a profit; the reason there were only a few servants in the house. The voyage to England this past April had been undertaken because Violet had been told via correspondence that her father’s late cousin had left her a bequest upon his death. And he had—a brooch. She’d been so furious she’d thrown the thing into the Thames. As it stood now, every bit of coin Victor didn’t gamble away went to satisfy Violet’s needs for gowns, silk stockings, and shoes, which left little for the plantation’s necessities like more field slaves, feed, and seed.
On the other hand, Teddy was one of the richest women in the colony. Because she was forbidden by law to own or sell property, her absent husband’s name was on the deed to her land, but it was she who oversaw her vast holdings, ran the day-to-day operations, and kept the ledgers. She also had over five hundred captives in her rice and indigo fields and a dozen or so working in her home. With so many servants about, Violet’s claim that she needed Clare to attend her this evening was a sham. Making Clare accompany her was nothing more than Violet wanting to place Clare in what Violet thought would be an uncomfortable situation.
The two liveried footmen at the door were men Clare knew from their church out on the Brampton Plantation; they were members of the congregation as was she. Teddy paid her slaves a nominal wage and many of them contributed to the church’s operations. Because the Sullivans paid her nothing, Clare contributed by secretly teaching the members to read.
“Good evening, Dr. Sullivan. Miss Sullivan. Clare. Welcome,” the footman on the right said.
Victor said, “Thank you, Prince. How are you?”
“Well, sir. And you?”
“Victor, we are not here to talk to the slaves,” Violet declared shortly. “Come along.”
Clare glanced over at Prince, who rolled his eyes, and she had to hold in a giggle.
Inside, the large parlor was an inferno. Too many bodies and too little circulation of fresh air made it hard to breathe, even though there were slaves positioned all over the room with large fans made of imported palm fronds doing what they could to cool the air.
“I’ll go out to the kitchen to see if Della needs help,” Clare said. Della was Teddy’s housekeeper.
“Della is a very competent slave. I’m sure she has everything under control. You just stay close. Ah, I see the receiving line. Come, Victor. Clare, you, too.”
Victor looked over at Clare. “Are you comfortable with the Frenchman being here?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why—”
She cut him off and told him with quiet frankness, “I’m a slave, Victor. I do what I am told.”
He pursed his lips and followed his sister.
In the receiving line stood Teddy and Meg, and beside them Dominic. Teddy was outfitted in a fine blue waistcoat and matching breeches. Meg looked as beautiful as a European princess in her stunning gown of yellow silk. Next to them were Esteban, Gaspar, and James. Clare fought hard not to look Dominic’s way, but when she did, his eyes were waiting. They twinkled just long enough for her to see it before becoming hooded and bored. Even as her heart pounded with her love for him, she kept her features masked and braced herself for whatever Violet might do or say.
Teddy said, “Violet. Victor. Hello, Clare dear.”
Clare nodded. Gaspar and Esteban offered her kindly smiles that she met blankly.
“Let me introduce my guests.”
“We’re already acquainted, thank you,” Violet said bitterly.
Teddy glanced over at Dominic, who took a sip from the drink in his hand, his eyes smiling coldly.
“Have either of you been down to the docks to see Mr. deMille’s merchandise? Meg and I were surprised at the quality and the variety.”
“No,” Victor replied, shooting daggers Dominic’s way. “We met him this past spring on the Atlantic, remember. He raided our ship, stole gold, guns, and took Clare from us.”
Dominic held his eyes. “She was intriguing, but since I’m no longer interested, I’ve returned her to you.”
Clare kept all emotion from her face.
Teddy looked into Clare’s face as if trying to see beneath the mask. “Clare, I’m sorry if this has caused you any embarrassment. Violet, I hoped you would leave Clare at home but if you’re uncomfortable as well, I’ll understand if you choose to leave.”
“We’ll stay. Won’t we, Clare.”
Clare didn’t reply.
Violet looked over at Dominic and said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, “Be aware that if she’s breeding, your get will go on the block.”
He froze.
Meg gasped.
His hooded gaze brushed Clare before he replied drolly, “Thank you for that information, Miss Sullivan. Enjoy the evening.”
It was apparent by the shock on the faces of some of the guests nearby that Violet had been overheard. Buzzing began among the people standing closest to her in the receiving line. A few even leaned out of the line to get a look at Clare. Keeping her mask in place, she ignored them. She was a slave, and that reality was far more painful than being the subject of slave owners’ gossip. Inside, however, she was furious at this latest vicious attempt by Violet to break her spirit.
Echoing Dominic, Violet said, “Enjoy your evening.”
Clare followed the Sullivans away from the receiving line. She knew Dominic was watching the departure; her sense of him was as strong as her angrily beating heart. She dearly wished to turn back and meet his eyes, but she kept her feet moving forward.
Victor viewed his sister disapprovingly, and once they were out of range he asked quietly, “Was that truly necessary?”
She took a glass of punch from a tray carried by a white-suited slave. “Of course it was. I want everyone to know that the man’s a slave stealer.”
He sighed. “Clare, I need some relief from this stifling heat. Would you care to accompany me?”
“She doesn’t need air,” Violet declared, voice dripping with contempt. “She’s African, sh
e’s accustomed to heat.”
Victor countered, “Nevertheless, we’ll return shortly.” He gestured tersely to Clare. “After you.”
Having little choice, she led him into the crowd. A discreet glance sent Dominic’s way was met by eyes already waiting. In terms of length and time the connection lasted less than a breath, but it was long enough for her to see his fury. Breaking off the link, she focused her gaze ahead, and he seamlessly moved his attention back to the guests moving through the receiving line.
Once outside in the cooler night air she drew in a series of breaths. Her constricting stays prevented them from being very deep ones, but they were sufficient to gain some relief from the oppressive heat filling the parlor and to calm her pounding emotions.
There were other people out milling about, laughing, talking, and taking advantage of the food and drink being offered on the trays of the circulating slaves. Victor escorted her over to a quiet spot.
“Are you carrying?” he asked in a voice laden with concern.
She looked up at the stars and remembered viewing them at another time and in another place. “I don’t know.”
“If you are, and you wish to keep it with you, I’ll see that you can. I promise.”
Clare shook her head and expelled a soft, bitter chuckle. “And what is that promise worth, Victor? You’ve already sold both of my children.”
“It was necessary, Clare, you know that. I had to pay the back tariffs on the land or lose it. I had no choice.”
“And if a similar necessity arises again? What will your promise be worth to the child that may be growing in my womb?”
He looked out at the night and didn’t reply for a moment, then said finally, quietly, “I wish things were different. If you weren’t…” His words trailed off.
“If I weren’t African?”
Their eyes met in the dark for a moment before his moved away. They were the same age and had been raised under the same roof: master and slave. Over the years he’d given her the impression that he had feelings for her, and had even kissed her once when they were adolescents, but that had been the extent of it. Unlike some slave owners, he’d never forced himself on her, or treated her with anything but respect. However, Clare had no tender feelings for him, at least not in that way; she wasn’t foolish enough to even begin to imagine their relationship being anything but what it was: master and slave. Yes, he’d been kind to her, but the day he sold her children their relationship had been altered forever. Clare would never forgive him for as long as she drew breath. “Why did you ask me about being free?”