But no, she was reading too much into his looks and the words he’d spoken to a housemaid named Nora.
Dr. Drummond returned that afternoon as promised. Again he examined Lewis but found no change in his condition. After the physician took his leave, Nathaniel sat at the library desk with the newspapers, while Helen sat nearby at Lewis’s bedside.
Several minutes later, Nathaniel tossed theTimesonto the library desk and laid his head in his hands.What next?
Helen looked over at him, alarmed. “What is it?”
“News from Barbados. A slave revolt.”
“No!” She pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.
He nodded. “Estates damaged. Cane fields burned, property destroyed. By the time soldiers crushed the revolt, a quarter of the island’s sugar crop had gone up in smoke.”
“Our estate?”
“It is not mentioned. Thank God we got our harvest in early.”
“What else does it say?”
He picked up theTimesonce more. “‘Approximately four hundred slaves, men and women both, armed with pitchforks and a few muskets fought against the well-armed militia and regulars. Hundreds of rebels were killed.’” He shook his head as images of Upchurch slaves flashed before his mind’s eye. Tuma, Jonah, Cuffey...Please, no.
He forced himself to continue, “‘Hundreds more were captured and will be executed or sold elsewhere.’”
Nathaniel had warned his father what might happen if planters rejected the registry bill. But even he had not predicted such a grisly outcome.
Helen asked, “Were any planters killed?”
He shot her a look, surprised she was concerned only for the white owners. But he couldn’t really blame her. She had never met an enslaved person. Did not know dozens, as he did. He shook his head. “Only two soldiers apparently, one white and one black soldier from the West India Regiment.”
“That’s a relief. I mean... that Papa and his neighbors are all right.”
He bit back a bitter retort. It wasn’t Helen’s fault. “I shall write to Father directly to make certain. But no doubt we will hear from him any day now.”
Helen nodded. “In the meantime, I shall pray for his safety.”
Nathaniel thought,And I shall pray for theirs.
Margaret carried an armload of yellow chrysanthemums and purple verbena into the stillroom. It was late in the season, and these were the only flowers she could find to brighten the sickroom.
She drew up short at seeing Connor standing again at the worktable—Hester’s domain. “Oh. Hello, Connor. Where’s Hester?”
“She’ll be in the servants’ hall about now, I expect.”
He was in shirtsleeves, wearing a black bib-apron to protect his clothing.
Margaret nodded, then hesitated, wondering what he was doing. A mortar and pestle stood on the worktable before him, a jar of something beside it, a bit of powder spread about. “Making something for Mr. Upchurch, are you?”
He looked up at her. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged easily. “Some elixir or restorative, I imagine.”
He glanced at her, then back to the worktable. “I am not an apothecary, Nora.”
She smiled at him. “Hester says you prepare your own shaving soap and hair tonic. Don’t be so modest.”
He shook his head. “I am only grinding a bit of tooth powder.”
“Then I shall leave you to it.” Margaret turned to the sideboard and set about trimming and arranging the flowers in a green glass vase.
