Page 10 of The Indigo Heiress
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A variety of imployment gives my thoughts a relief from melloncholy subjects, tho’ ’tis but a temporary one.
Eliza Lucas Pinckney
Juliet sat at her father’s desk, having arranged the letter books and ledgers into manageable stacks, making a note that new ones were needed. At least the dog days of August and the lingering burn of September were now a memory. Today the house was even cool, the shutters open.
Inking her quill, she recorded the latest field work and other happenings.
27 October, Thursday
Began this day to sow wheat and another trial of French Indigo. Sowed ninety-six hills from seed in rich pastureland, three to four seeds per hill. Finished breaking up the tobacco ground with the plows. The smallest tobacco house was robbed. Advertisements have been posted offering rewards. A severe distemper has befallen the livestock.
As far as tobacco was concerned, theirs had sailed for Scotland, where it would be inspected from November through the following August. Sometimes Royal Vale wouldn’t learn the profits from a particular crop for two years or better. Another reason to follow Nathaniel Ravenal’s lead and switch to farming grains instead. Corn and wheat depleted the soil far less and, she firmly believed, were Virginia’s future.
She refilled an inkpot and began hunting for the letter from their London factor that begged addressing. Her reply to Aunt Damarus’s latest post needed finishing too. Father had invited Mama’s sister to visit, but Juliet felt certain her bluestocking relation would never venture south. Still, letters flowed between her and her aunt like the James River, thus Father failed to suspect the underlying connection.
He’d said little when he learned the last returned runaways were again gone, despite Riggs’s uproar. Did Father not realize the pattern? Every few weeks, slaves went missing. Trouble between slaves and overseers, or sales or auctions to split a family or separate children from parents, were things neither she nor Loveday could abide. They were willing to risk exposure to keep that from happening. But what would being found out entail?
It had all begun when Father had taken her south to the Caribbean island of Nevis when she was sixteen. They’d spent a year at Vasanti Hall, leaving Mama and Loveday at Royal Vale. She’d learned much about agriculture there, though Father had been flummoxed by her fascination with farming instead of the fawning men from prominent families who sought her company.
Her memories of the West Indies were raw and had little to do with romanticized trade winds, parrots, and bottomless blue waters. She’d never been able to conscience brutality toward animals, much less human beings. Yet the trade with all its complexities and tragedies and injustices continued.
As the plantation bell sounded to end the day’s labor, she finished rifling through Father’s letters. There, hidden beneath all the others, was a distinctive post, its broken scarlet seal of a ship bearing an ornate B . Was that for Buchanan? Would she always feel that breathless sinking in the pit of her at the thought of him?
When she opened it, a bond fell out. In a few terse words the matter was laid bare. Buchanan had obtained security on Royal Vale because they were so deeply in debt. The bond enabled them to pay interest on the amount owed. Common enough among indebted planters, it was nevertheless a stinging blow. All the air left her lungs, and she released the bond as if it burned her fingertips.
Dear Lord in heaven, can we not cancel the debt?
Numbers danced in her head, impossibly high, which no amount of tobacco—or indigo—could possibly repay for years on end. How had it come to this? Because the tobacco lords grew rich by making the planters poor.
To add insult to injury, word came just yesterday that Leith Buchanan had arrived in Virginia. His ship had not sunk.
Abandoning the desk, Juliet went out a side door, taking great gulps of air to offset the tightness in her chest. Clouds skittered overhead, thunder-dark, the wind bending the autumn-burnt foliage low. She smelled rain and saw lightning flash but didn’t heed them as she walked about the walled garden, uncaring if the heavens burst above her. Only an unexpected summons to Father’s chamber curtailed her pacing.
She always froze at his call. Would this be the hour he discovered her and Loveday? When their part in their mother’s and aunt’s mission became known? Granted, they didn’t act alone. Ravenal was in the thick of it, as were others nearby who decried owning another human being.
She trod the staircase slowly, dread in her steps. No sooner had she darkened Father’s doorway than her unease went another direction.
“Juliet, you’ll have to represent me in Williamsburg at the annual tobacco meeting,” Father announced from the edge of his bed, his attempt to take a few steps a failure. “I can’t possibly arrive at a meeting with all the merchants and planters in such a condition.”
“Of course,” Juliet reassured him, helping him back into bed while Hosea put away the accursed cane, as Father called it.
“Which means you must leave posthaste, as the price setting is about to begin.” Father grimaced as she arranged the pillows behind him.
“You know they don’t want a woman present,” she said. Though some planters, especially neighbors on the Upper James, were more obliging than others.
“Only because you have a better head for business than they do. Besides, they dare not deny or naysay you as my daughter. I must have a voice.”
“Alas, I have far more on my mind than the annual meeting.” She sat down on the bed steps, noting the discarded handbill on the floor. Continuation of the Letters on the Pernicious Effects of Tea. Below the article were a number of alternative teas to drink instead while the British boycott lasted. Would the controversy never end?
“What more can be on your mind, pray tell?” Father looked at her, his bald head covered by a silk negligé cap. When she hesitated, he added, “Ah, the ball, of course.”
Across the room Hosea began powdering a new wig. For courting? Or their upcoming entertainment?
Juliet tried to muster some enthusiasm. “Now that you’ve approved the guest list and invitations have been sent, I’ve received confirmation from a French horn, harpsichordist, and two violinists for our gathering in a fortnight. Country dances are the order of entertainment.”
“Why is no one smiling?” Father looked from her to Loveday, who’d entered the room with another tonic. “Need I remind you this fête isn’t a funeral but a festivity?”
Loveday eyed his swollen leg. “I worry you won’t be on your feet by then.”
“I shall, even if I have to use a cane to do it. You’re proving a better physician than the errant, harried Dr. Blair, at any rate. I hope you’ve struck him from the guest list.”
“Unkind of you,” Loveday chided gently. “He can’t help it if he’s been overly busy. A little entertainment might cheer him.”
“I’ll certainly be cheered meeting your lady love,” Juliet said, thankful Father had finally confessed he was courting. “We’re very excited to meet her since we know so little about her.”
“What do you wish to learn that can’t wait?”
“Well...” Juliet glanced at Loveday as she handed Father a glass of murky contents. “Her disposition, perhaps. Is she garrulous or quiet? Fair or dark? Plump or slight?”
He drank the tonic down, then leaned back against the pillow-flanked headboard. “She is a woman of many merits, second to your mother.”
Juliet was glad to hear it yet sorry, too, the widow must henceforth live in Charlotte Catesby’s shadow.
“Alas, my love life is none of your concern, though I am very concerned about yours.” He skewered both Juliet and Loveday with a look. “I have high hopes that this ball will bring about a change in your matrimonial fate as well as fête Buchanan.”
“I don’t suppose Mr. Buchanan’s wife has come to Virginia with him?” Loveday asked.
Wife? Juliet hadn’t thought of that in her estimation of him as a doddering old coot.
“Let the ball answer.” For a trice Father’s expression seemed more pleased than pained. “Ravenal has sent word Buchanan is to arrive at Forrest Bend by sennight’s end.”