Leaving Uncle Tom's Cabin (Burning Uncle Tom's Cabin Book 2) Read online

  George sputtered. This woman was just trying to find a reason not to pay Jim full price—that much was obvious. But Jim had said that this was a consistent customer and a very good one at that. How could that be, when she was so obviously going to try to cheat Jim out of his money? Furthermore, the marring in the wood could easily be fixed. Even George could see that much.

  And yet the woman would rather pay less for the piece than have it fixed. Which was outrageous. And with that he knew, quite surely, that this wouldn’t have happened if he was white. This wouldn’t have happened if Jim was white. No, Montreal claimed to be a land where blacks could work freely, and perhaps the government permitted that. The people, though, still had their own ideas of what was right and wrong.

  “Ma’am, I can assure you that this is easily fixed,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. What would he do if he had to return to Jim with only seventy-five percent of his payment? On his first delivery! Jim would never let him out into the city again. “If you’ll just allow me to get home to Jim, so he can return and mend it for you, I—”

  “Shoddy work!” the woman interrupted shrilly. “I won’t stand for shoddy work, and I won’t pay for it, boy! You’ll take the shorter payment, you’ll be glad for it, and that’s that!”

  “But missus, Jim worked hard on this piece. He can’t accept a partial payment. No businessman would!” George retorted. He could hear that his voice was rising, his tone becoming more belligerent, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. This woman was trying to cheat his friend, and he wasn’t going to let her.

  The woman’s face was now red with fury. “Boy, it wasn’t too long ago that a speech like that from a boy like you would have led straight to twenty lashes. I suggest you watch your mouth.”

  George drew himself up at that, suddenly back in his element. Was this woman going to threaten him? Threaten him? Well, he’d show her exactly what he was made of, in that case.

  “Those days are long gone, ma’am, and if you want to try to follow through on your threat, I suggest you get back in that house of yours and find someone who might be able to do it. For I guarantee, missus, that I won’t allow it. I would never allow it!”

  The woman’s mouth grew firm, and she narrowed her eyes. “Take this cabinet back to your master, boy, and tell him that not only will I not be paying for it, but I will also no longer be using his services. He may be the best carpenter in Montreal, but if he cannot employ decent help, then I have no use for him.”

  With that, she spun on her heel, huffing impatiently, and stalked back to her horse and carriage, leaving George to watch in horror, knowing that he’d just lost Jim not only a commission, but also one of his best customers.

  Returning to the shop with a shorter payment would have been preferable than returning to the shop with this news. Suddenly, Montreal didn’t seem like such a friendly place to him, and he wanted to be back home, in his bed, with people that he knew respected him, in a world that made sense.

  13

  When Tom and Haley arrived at the courthouse, they found a mixed throng gathered around the courthouse steps, smoking, chewing, spitting, swearing, and conversing, according to their respective tastes and turns, and waiting for the auction to commence. The men and women to be sold sat in a group apart, talking in low tones to each other. The woman who had been advertised by the name of Hagar was a regular African in feature and figure. She might have been sixty but looked older than that thanks to hard work and disease and was partially blind and somewhat crippled with rheumatism. By her side stood her son, Albert, a bright-looking little fellow of fourteen years. Haley glanced down at the paper in front of him.

  “Boy’s the only one the mother has left.” Haley said harshly. “Everyone else’s already been sold to the Deep South. Hmm.”

  Tom glanced from the boy to the woman, his heart breaking. They would be separated here too, he knew, and with the boy would go the woman’s last piece of family.

  He didn’t want to think about what would happen to her. Or the boy. He didn’t want to be here at all. He knew, though, that he had no choice and hoped only to find a way to do some good while he was here.

  “Don’t be afraid, Aunt Hagar,” he suddenly heard one of the other men say. “I spoke to Mas’r Thomas ’bout it, and he thought he might manage to sell ya both together.”

  “They needn’t call me wore out yet,” said she, lifting her shaking hands. “I can cook, and scrub, and scour. I’m worth buying, if I do come cheap. Tell them that, will ya?”

  At that moment, Haley forced his way into the group and walked up to the first man, pulled his mouth open and looked in, then stuck a finger in his mouth and felt around to check the condition of his teeth. He made him stand and straighten himself, bend his back, and perform various movements to show his muscles and then passed on to the next and put him through the same trial. Walking up last to the boy, he felt his arms, straightened his hands, looked at his fingers, and made him jump to show his agility.

  Tom watched from afar, paying close attention to these actions and wondering what was considered good and what would be a detriment.

  “He isn’t to be sold without me,” the old woman said passionately. “He and I are to go in a lot together. I’m real strong still, Mas’r, can do heaps o’ work.”

  “On a plantation?” asked Haley with a contemptuous glance. “Likely story!” And, satisfied with his examination, he took up his place in the crowd and stood with his hands in his pockets, his cigar in his mouth, and his hat cocked to one side, ready for action. He gestured sharply for Tom, who moved to stand just behind the trader.

  If he was in the crowd, he thought, surely it meant he wouldn’t be sold here. If he’d been put with the slaves, on the other hand …

  “What d’ya think of ’em?” asked a man who had been following Haley’s examination, as if to make up his own mind from it.

  “Well,” said Haley, spitting, “I shall put in, I think, for the younger ones and the boy.”

  “They want to sell the boy and the old woman together,” said the man.

  “Find it a tight pull. Why, she’s an old rack o’ bones, not worth her salt.”

  “You wouldn’t, then?” asked the man.

  “Anybody’d be a fool to do it. She’s half-blind, crooked with arthritis, and foolish to boot.”

  “Some buy up those old creatures and find there’s a sight more wear in ’em than a body’d think,” said the man reflectively. “Kind of a pity, now, to separate her from her son. Seems her heart is set on him. Bet they’ll throw her in cheap.”

  Haley shrugged. “If you’ve got money to spend that way, that’s fair enough. I’ll bid on the boy for a plantation hand. Wouldn’t bother with her, not if they’d give her to me. She’ll take on, but that’s no difference to me.”

  The conversation was interrupted by a busy hum in the audience, and the auctioneer, a short, bustling, important-looking fellow, elbowed his way through the crowd. The old woman drew in her breath and caught instinctively at her son when the auctioneer announced that the auction was about to begin. A place was cleared, and the bidding began.

  Tom clenched his hands, both horrified and fascinated by the scene in front of him.

  The action went quickly from there. One by one, the slaves stepped up onto the small podium and were sold very quickly, their prices going high enough that they shocked Tom. Haley bid craftily and won one of the men.

  Then it was the boy’s turn.

  “Come, now, young one,” said the auctioneer, giving the boy a touch with his hammer. “Be up and show your springs, now.”

  “Put us two up together, do please, Mas’r,” said the old woman, holding fast to her boy.

  “Be off,” said the man gruffly, pushing her hands away. “You come last. Now, darky, spring!” And with that, he pushed the boy toward the block, as a deep, heavy groan rose behind him. The boy paused and looked back, but there was no time to stay and, dashing the tears from his large, bri
ght eyes, he went up on the block. His fine figure, alert limbs, and bright face raised an instant competition, and half a dozen bids went out immediately. Anxious, half-frightened, the boy looked from side to side as he heard the clatter of contending bids—now here, now there—until the hammer fell.

  Tom glanced at the trader in front of him, surprised. Haley had won the boy, and he’d done it quickly. Why, Tom had barely heard him bidding. But now the man was grinning, his mission complete. The boy, for his part, was pushed from the block toward his new master, but stopped one moment and looked back. His poor old mother, trembling in every limb, held out her shaking hands toward Haley.

  “Buy me too, Mas’r, for the dear Lawd’s sake! Buy me, take me with my son! I shall die if you don’t!”

  “You’ll die if I do, that’s the kink of it,” said Haley. “No!”

  And he turned on his heel. The bidding for the poor old creature was summary. The man who had spoken to Haley before the bidding began and seemed more compassionate than anyone else there quickly bought her for a trifle, and the spectators began to disperse. The poor victims of the sale, who had been brought up in one place together for years, gathered around the despairing old mother, whose agony was pitiful to see.

  “Couldn’t they leave me one? Mas’r always said I should have one, he did,” she repeated over and over, in heartbroken tones.

  “Trust in the Lawd, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the men sorrowfully.

  “What good will it do?” she sobbed.

  “Mother, Mother, don’t!” said the boy. “They say you’ve got a good master.”

  “I don’t care, I don’t care. Oh, Albert! Oh, my boy! You’re my last baby. Lawd, how can I?” And she grasped at him, holding him to her breast as if she could hardly bear to think of him being gone.

  Tom, reminded of some of the older women on the Shelby plantation, very nearly moved to put his arms around the two of them. He’d been the foreman for Mr. Shelby and had taken care of the people on the plantation. This separation of two family members broke his very heart.

  But before he could do or say anything—as badly advised as it might have been to do it—Haley jumped toward the woman and dragged the boy away.

  “Come, take her off, can’t some of you?” snapped Haley dryly. “Don’t do no good for her to go on that way.”

  The old men of the company, partly by persuasion and partly by force, loosed the poor creature’s last despairing hold, and as they led her off to her new master’s wagon, strove to comfort her.

  For his part, Tom comforted himself with taking poor Albert’s arm and murmuring softly that it would be okay, and that Tom would watch after the boy. It was the least he could do, he thought—at the very least, the boy needed to feel as though he had a friend here.

  “Now!” said Haley, pushing his two purchases together and producing a bundle of handcuffs, which he put on their wrists. He fastened each handcuff to a long chain then drove them before him back toward the jail.

  Tom followed, his heart clenched in a fit of disbelief and self-doubt. For though he was trying to hold onto his faith in the Lord, his rational mind told him that his faith—once so good and strong—was beginning to grow thin.

  14

  By the time George reached Jim’s shop again, he had talked himself into believing that all was well and truly lost. He’d done a terrible job at helping Jim in the shop itself—so much so that Jim had turned him out, for all intents and purposes, and sent him on deliveries instead. And though it had seemed like the clearest possible solution at the time, and an opportunity for George to be out in the city working on his own and perhaps building his own network, that too had turned out as badly as it could have.

  He had never expected to come across the same prejudices here in Montreal as he’d seen back home in Kentucky. Never thought he’d have to stand up for his own rights to be a man again. Hadn’t he run from that very thing when he left the plantation back home and left the US behind for good? Hadn’t he spent much of his life fighting against that very attitude, only to escape in the dead of night with his family and risk life and limb to escape to a better place? How was it that here, in this so-called free country, white people had the same judgments as they had back home?

  At the thought, his heart sank anew, and he dropped down from the wagon, all the hope that had been burgeoning in his chest wiped out at this revelation. If he couldn’t get along here—and he knew he wouldn’t be able to if the people here believed as that woman at the house had—then where would he be able to turn? How was a man like him meant to take care of his family, if he wasn’t going to be allowed to work? And worse, he had now caused the loss of one of Jim’s customers and a large payment. He had no idea what Jim was going to have to say about that, but he didn’t think it would be good.

  If Jim was upset enough, George and his family might find themselves on the street that very night, without a friend to turn to.

  George went slowly around to the horse’s head and took hold of the reins, then walked back toward the wagon and tossed the whip into the bed of the contraption. Taking his time, he led the horse slowly toward the stable, threw open the doors, and strolled toward the row of stalls. He was in no hurry to speak with Jim about what had just happened and, besides, he thought, it was important to see to the horse, which was responsible for pulling deliveries, not to mention the entire family. The two other horses hung their heads out, still chewing on their breakfast, and George wished fleetingly that they could go back in time to when that breakfast had been served. If only he could do the entire day over again and keep from making the mistakes he’d made.

  That wasn’t an option, though. And before long he’d have to tell Jim what had happened and hope that his friend forgave him.

  * * *

  George took as much time as he could over unharnessing the horse and putting it back into its stall, and by the time he was finished he’d forgotten entirely about how bad he’d felt. Instead, he had talked himself into becoming truly furious. How dare that woman treat him as if she was better than he was? Hadn’t he been trying to deliver her new furniture to the best of his ability? Hadn’t he merely tried to get Jim the full price, as agreed between the carpenter and the client? Hadn’t he been as reasonable as he could, standing there and discussing things with this Mrs. Smith as if they were both civilized human beings?

  He stormed toward the shop, steam practically flowing out of his ears, but drew up short when he saw Jim. The carpenter had a large smile plastered on his face as he stared at his newest creation: a beautifully wrought toy horse for a child—one that had poles along the bottom, bent up at both ends so that the horse would rock rather than sitting still. Jim had worked hard on the carving of the horse and was now adding the paint. George had to admit to himself that it was a beautiful toy. Jim had a gift, he thought, and those who purchased his furniture were truly lucky to have it.

  This reminded him, though, of Mrs. Smith, and the appreciation for the rocking horse quickly disappeared.

  Just then, Jim looked up and noticed George standing there. His beatific smile turned to a wry grin. “Saw you came back with the chest. The Smith house empty today?”

  George shook his head. “No, there were people there. But I couldn’t deliver it.”

  “Why not?” Jim asked, his face creasing into a frown.

  George took a deep breath, trying to decide on the best way to deliver the news, but realizing that there would be no softening this blow. In fact, he thought, Jim should know that the Smith family was prejudiced against people like him. “Got into a discussion with that Mrs. Smith,” he said harshly. “In the end, she didn’t want to accept the furniture, and I have to say, Jim, that I don’t think you should be doin’ business with them no more, anyhow.”

  Jim walked right over to George and put his hand on his shoulder. “Tell me exactly what happened, George,” he muttered. “And don’t be leaving anything out. If they wouldn’t take my furniture, I want to kno
w why. Did you get any payment? Any explanation?”

  “I went to drop it off, and Mrs. Smith answered the door. Said her men were busy doing other things, but that she’d take the delivery. But when she went over the chest, she claimed to find a chip—a place that wasn’t painted. I went over it myself, and said that it wasn’t any trouble. That we’d fix it. Just a little splinter, wasn’t anything more than that.” He looked at Jim, knowing that he’d done the right thing in that, at least. “She said she didn’t want to pay full price, but I told her that she’d have to, as the two of you had agreed. I told her that we’d fix the flaw, but that she had to pay full price. And then …” He paused, his face growing dark and stormy at the memory of what had happened next.

  “And then what?” Jim asked quietly, as if he already knew the answer to his question.

  “She told me I was getting uppity, and that it wasn’t so long ago that a boy like me would have been sentenced to twenty lashes for speaking to her that way,” George spat out. “I told her I wouldn’t allow it, that this was a free country, and that I’d like to see her try!” He yelled the last words, unable to keep his temper any further, and jerked away from Jim. “How dare she speak to me that way? How dare she try to pay less than what that cabinet is worth, just because she believes we’re less than her?”

  But Jim seemed to have entirely missed the point, because, although he was furious, his dark face harsh and horrified, he wasn’t angry at the client. He was angry at George. “George, how could you?” he shouted. “That family is my best source of money! They order more furniture than many of my other clients combined!”

  “And treat you as if you’re less than they are!” George shouted back. “Didn’t you hear a thing I just said?”

  But Jim was pacing, hardly listening to George now. “And it’s not only them,” he yelled. “Every time they refer me to someone else—every time one of their friends needs something done, and they say my name—they’re giving me more business. They’re the ones who put food on our table, George, and you’ve just run them off in a single morning!”