Papa had Rufus whipped yesterday afternoon. He was caught red-handed with a dead chicken under his arm. Late last night, the coop exploded with cackling and rustling feathers. Cocking his shotgun, Papa raced outside with Philemon at his heels. Silhouetted beneath the full moon, Rufus hunkered, the dead chicken hanging limply in his grasp.
Rufus raised his arms in surrender, and the chicken dropped to his feet. He stepped toward Papa and Philemon, defeated. They tied him up between two posts and left him to sweat beneath the sultry night sky and hot morning sun. In the afternoon, Papa ordered the slaves to witness Rufus's punishment.
The whip flared, tearing Rufus's skin. Blossom Hughes buried her face in her hands and leaned her forehead against the white porch pillar. Mammy stood beside her, wringing her hands in her floral apron. Tears glistened in her eyes and streamed down her dark chocolate cheeks. Rufus was Mammy's husband.
"Lord have mercy," Mammy muttered without averting her eyes. She stared as though transfixed. "Blossom, honey, 'tis no place for a sweet little thing like you. Go on inside with you."
"Oh, Mammy, why must Papa behave so cruelly?" Blossom wailed. She felt sorry for Rufus and the rest of the slaves.
Blossom loved Mammy as much as she would have loved her own dearly departed mother. She never knew her mother. Mama had died giving birth to her—the only girl in a family of four boys.
Philemon was the eldest. At twenty-six, he shadowed Papa everywhere and copied him in everything. Blossom was ten years younger and did not share a close relationship with her oldest sibling. In fact, she did not like him at all. He, like Papa, treated the slaves like chattel property.
Aster, the next in line, had a tender heart. A year younger than Philemon, he kept his nose in a book most of the day. The short, thin young man longed to become a missionary, but Papa kept him home. Papa was as stern with his sons as he was with his slaves. Blake and Beau, the twins, were two years older than Blossom. She had just reached her sixteenth year.
Blossom turned back to Mammy. The plump woman shook her head dolefully. She placed her arm around her charge's shoulder and drew the girl back into the plantation house. The whip continued to crack, but Rufus never made a sound. Rufus maintained his pride.
Blossom slipped through the front door, casting one last look at the punishment. She hung her head in shame—shame for Papa, shame for Philemon. She hated their attitude toward the slaves. If she could do something about it, indeed, she would.
Someday, freedom would come for the slaves. Blossom believed in the Abolitionists and longed to join them. If she could only do something… Tightening her fists, she pledged herself to a right and just cause.
"What a show!" Blake cried, charging down the wide swooping staircase. Beau clattered down beside him. The eighteen-year-old twins halted in front of Blossom. "Did you see it?"
"Have you no shame?" their younger sister wailed, spinning on them. "That's a human being out there getting flogged. It's not entertainment. It's cruel."
The twins exchanged perplexed glances. They shrugged in unison.
"Stealing is still a crime in Georgia," Blake stated, his shaggy blonde hair falling over his eyes. He swiped it away. Beau stood silently in the background. "Papa punished Rufus for stealing. Slaves aren't exempt from everyday law."
"Justify it any way you want, brother," Blossom huffed, lifting her hoop skirt above her shoes. Tossing her golden ringlets, she ran upstairs. Turning at the top baluster, she looked down upon the two boys. "Whipping another human being is cruel. That's all I have to say about it."
Holding her head high, Blossom marched toward her bedroom. She stood in the window, looking down upon Rufus. The punishment had ended, but he remained strapped between the two posts. Papa would leave him there for another day. She shook her head sadly. A tap on the door drew her attention away from the sorrowful sight. Beau entered and closed the door.
"Don't justify it, Beau," she stated flatly.
"I won't," the younger of the twins stated. "I'm on your side, Blossom. It's Blake who doesn't get it."
"They're people too, Beau," his sister remarked, striding toward him. "I cannot understand why we have to treat them differently."
"Philemon says it's tradition." Beau plunked into an easy chair. Blossom remained standing. "Traditions can change, can't they, sis?"
"Yes, of course," Blossom replied, finally smiling. Suddenly, another member of her family supported her. "Old traditions shouldn't control how we think or believe."
"I'm going to set Rufus free," Beau declared. Rising, he sauntered toward the door quickly.
"Now?" Blossom asked, halting him with her hand.
"Of course not," Beau breathed back. "I'm going to see Marshall."
Relieved, Blossom released her grip. Marshall Fleming worked for the Underground Railroad. He successfully helped several other slaves to escape from area plantations. Many were captured and returned to ungrateful owners; others made it into the Carolinas or as far as Virginia. Blossom hoped the ones who were never heard of again escaped into Pennsylvania or even as far as Canada.
Blossom was secretly in love with Marshall. A close friend of Aster's, he grew up on a nearby plantation. Blossom fawned over him as a child, and as she grew older, she began to admire him. Only a few people knew he worked for the Underground Railway. Those who knew gave him their full support.
"Tonight," Blossom whispered to Mammy. Reaching out, she comfortingly pressed Mammy's hand. She hated to lose her old nurse, but Mammy's heart would break if she did not leave with Rufus. "Don't take anything away with you; just go."
Mammy nodded silently, tears of relief glistening in her eyes. Beau would implement the plan at two o'clock in the morning. Marshall would wait in a nearby copse to receive the runaways. Blossom tried to control her nervousness. She would stay at the side door with Mammy. They would each receive severe punishments if they were caught by Papa or Philemon.
Time stood still. The hands on the mantelpiece clock in Blossom's room barely moved. Nervously, she paced the room. Mammy wrung her hands in her apron. Blossom watched her tenderly. She wanted to capture her beloved nurse's image in her mind's eye.
Mammy wore a long blue skirt and white blouse with a red neckerchief around her neck. A white dotted kerchief wrapped her black kinky hair. Her dark cheeks glistened with tears, joy, and the sorrow of parting. Blossom threw her arms around Mammy's neck and hugged her tightly. She kissed Mammy's cheek.
"I love you, Mammy," Blossom cried, shedding her own tears.
"Loves you right back, honey-chile," Mammy gasped, tightening her hold.
A shower of pebbles rattled against the window. The signal, Blossom thought. Slowly, she opened the bedroom door and peeked into the corridor. Papa's door remained tightly closed, as did Philemon's. The girl and her nurse crept toward the backstairs.
"Don't let anything go wrong; don't let anything go wrong," Blossom whispered to herself. Mammy shadowed her closely, barely breathing. She muttered her own prayers.
Blossom stood behind the side door. Cracking it slightly, she peered toward the tree line. The night remained still, the scent of magnolia wafting in the air. After this night, she would always recall the sweet aroma with joy or sorrow. Nothing stirred. Behind her, Mammy gripped her arm. She could feel the woman's nervousness.
In the distance, a horse neighed, and air rushed through its nose. Blossom and Nanny froze like statues. After a minute or two, they sighed with relief. Suddenly, the sound of running feet rushed toward them. A bulky shadow form sprinted past.
"Rufus," Blossom muttered, opening the door slowly. "Go!" Fluttering her hands wildly, she urged Mammy to flee.
Lifting her long skirt, Mammy followed her husband into the copse. The horse neighed again, echoed by another. Crashing through the underbrush, the horses emerged momentarily. Rufus clung to Marshall as his steed galloped away. Mammy held on behind the second rider. In the moonlight, Blossom saw a face she recognized. She could barely believe it.
Closing the door softly, she leaned against it momentarily. She had to rush back upstairs to her room and pretend to awaken. Still, she shook her blonde curls in shock.
"Aster," Blossom whispered. The second rider was her quiet, shy older brother, who was also part of the Abolitionist movement. Bringing herself back to reality, she hurried up the back stairs. She heard activity coming from Papa's and Philemon's room when she closed the door.
"What's happening?" she asked innocently. Blossom stepped into the corridor as her father and brother rushed downstairs. She followed in their shadow.
"Rufus is gone," Philemon hollered over his shoulder. He and Papa stood on the veranda looking toward the punishment posts.
"Get Mammy," Papa shouted at her. He roughly pushed Blossom inside.
For five long minutes, Blossom searched the plantation house for Mammy. She took her time, delaying on purpose. Finally, she returned to report that she couldn't find her.
"Tarnation!" Papa yelled, stamping his foot angrily.
Men who lived in the neighborhood began to appear. A sea of lanterns shone throughout the property for hours. Papa released the hounds. They followed Rufus's trail into the copse, then began to bay loudly. Blossom remained on the veranda, praying for the runaway slave's safety. Beau joined her while Blake searched for the missing slaves. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Aster slip into the house wearing his nightshirt. After a few moments, he appeared on the veranda, pretending to yawn.
"What's happened?" he called out to Papa.
"Tarnation, boy, get dressed and get out here," our father yelled back, his face purple with rage. "Rufus and Mammy run away."
"Well, you don't say," Aster drawled, stretching and yawning again.
"Do as I say, boy," Papa hollered. Aster wandered inside, reappeared fully dressed, and joined the hunt. When Papa pointed at Beau, he rushed to join them, too.
A week passed with no sign of Rufus or Mammy. Blossom began to breathe easier. Beau believed they must have made it to Pennsylvania. Although Papa continued to fume about his escaped slaves, the situation began to calm down a bit.
Blossom sat in a cane chair on the veranda. She sipped a mint julip and casually fluttered her fan in her face. Papa stood close beside her, smoking his cigar. Blake and Beau lounged on the steps. On the long drive to the plantation house, a galloping horse suddenly appeared.
"Evening, Sir," Marshall Fleming greeted, doffing his top hat. Blossom thought he looked handsome in his cutaway coat and flowing white cravat. He wore bluff-colored trousers tucked into long-riding boots.
"Evening," Papa answered.
"I've come to ask permission to court your daughter," Marshall announced, leaping from the saddle. Taking the porch steps two at a time, he bowed deeply.
"You have my permission," Papa granted, nodding slightly. Marshall was well respected in the neighborhood.
Blossom continued to flutter her fan coquettishly. Her blue eyes met Marshall's over the top of her fan. Beneath her frilly bodice, her heart pumped madly.
"Ma'am?" Marshall stated, bowing before her.
"Yes, Mr. Fleming?" Blossom rose slowly and accepted his outstretched elbow.
"Shall we stroll?"
"We shall."
Blossom walked sedately at Marshall's side. They walked beneath the magnolias, and she tentatively breathed in their scent. She recalled the night they set Rufus and Mammy free, but she did not know the outcome. As soon as they put a distance between themselves and the plantation house, she halted.
"Well?"
"They made it to Pennsylvania." Marshall grinned widely. "They're free."
Blossom's joy burst upon her. Her heart leaped, and suddenly, she kissed her companion full on the lips. Realizing her bold action, she stepped back and fluttered her eyelashes coyly. Marshall grabbed her around the waist and swung her off her feet. Blossom's wide hoop skirt flared out around her ankles, displaying her rose-colored slippers.
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