The lecturer came to the podium as the audience clapped, including Ada. Francois moved his cane to the front of him, letting the sound of the tip on the wooden floor be his only contribution.
“To my fellow enthusiasts, I humbly rise, to give witness to my ordeal while residing in Alabama not too long ago…” His cadence was good, the words well spoken. Yet to Francois, the irritation grew stronger. No slave spoke that profoundly! Except for LaJoyce and Uncle Jonathan and…he cut the thought immediately. He refused to believe this charlatan.
The crowd, though, adored him. He recalled being cussed at, dragged by chain to the fields, under watchful eyes while working with an armed overseer, being beaten for insolence, for running away and returning, being marked as a thief for having run and that stain was the ‘x’ on his right cheek, and how he and his fellow slaves were starved. As the accusations grew, Francois tightened. The runaway told them everything this audience wanted to hear and with every second counting, as a Southerner, his safety was declining rapidly. He gripped the cane handle tightly, considering it might become his only weapon against a mob if they knew who he was.
Ada cheered with the rest, which dug at his nerves, except her tone lightened as the lecture continued. Perhaps she’d discovered he wasn’t joining her, or maybe she worried that being with him, she too could be pummeled because of who he was.
Finally, the crowd gasped and applauded, standing as the orator bowed. Francois’s gaze narrowed, deciding the man was partially what he claimed to be, though the rest was theatrics. And it was that magic these people devoured. This magic sent them invading his homeland. Finally, the atrocities brought by this made his anger roar in contempt.
“Now,” she started her tone low. “See how bad it is?”
He inhaled, trying to calm frayed nerves. She could turn him in and they’d hang him right away. What was he to say?
Ada watched. The rally had been moving, to her at least, but the heat of tension radiated off him like a fire. His knuckles were white from where he gripped the cane. As the rest of the hall exploded with excitement, she realized she’d maybe gone too far bringing him here. He was her patient and his health should be her main concern, but she let her hatred of slaveholders rule the day. How could she gracefully get them out of there?
He turned to face her, a grin on his face and those sparkling blue eyes alive with fire.
“It appears his life has been horrific. Some households are run poorly.” He shrugged. “Like some of the factories up here and the Irish.”
That comparison stabbed her. “The Irish? They are papists!”
“I’m Catholic,” he replied. “Do you think I’m a papist too?”
“You know what I mean. That religion is ruled by a priest in another country.”
He laughed. “And just like this runaway’s tale, you’ll sweep all slave-owners to being like this?”
Again, he twisted the argument. “You know as well as I that owning another, because of his skin color, is wrong!”
His brows rose as he gave her a contemplative look. “Miss Lorrance. Doctor. There are lousy slave owners. As to their skin color and being a slave, I’ll leave that to the scholars and clergy to argue. But,” he leaned forward. “No bondsman is so badly treated at my family’s home. Slaves are an investment and too expensive to damage.”
“You can’t convince me of that!” Of course, he’d say that, she decided. But how could he prove that?
He raised his chin as he offered her his arm. “I have attended your event, listened to the lecturer and now understand your position. I believe you now owe me in return.”
He was just going to throw this off, as if it meant nothing? She fumed. “We are fighting to gain their freedom! How can you just move forward and expect me to do the same?”
“Because, if we don’t and we continue this discussion, others might realize that I am a Southerner and you are harboring a runaway Confederate. And that, my darling Ada, would do neither of us any good. Now, take my arm and let us leave, peacefully.”
Stunned at his apt appraisal and the sudden pit in her stomach when she knew he was right, she grabbed her shawl.
“Well, thank you for coming with me,” she murmured, attempting to make amends since they were residing in the same house.
“It was an interesting show, one I will contemplate more on. There is still so much more you do not understand. Because my type do exist, the North makes money off our peculiar institution. It funds this country. Cotton is the largest export, prior to hostilities. My family grows sugar, another good selling commodity. If we free the slaves, who will work those fields? You? Hardly. The Irish? Doubtfully. Then who? Because the money made is notable. Consider that in your judgment.”
Totally breathless, she took his arm. If what he said was true, what would this country do?
Thankfully, he guided her out as quickly as he could with his halting walk, without being stopped. Her hope to make him see his wrongs now made her wonder how they could solve this issue and free the coloreds. Otherwise, this war would go on forever.
Chapter 24
“No wonder we cannot find or see a reb until we get right upon them. Swampy, hilly, bushes thick as dog hair, grape vines, rotten logs and fallen trees, make up this pretty picture. A fine place to fight in surely: a perfect quagmire.”
—Dr. David Holt, 121st New York
Battle of the Wilderness
The carriage ride back to the house was deathly quiet. Ada sat still, her back perfectly straight, her cloak pulled tight and her vision focused on the city streets they rode down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Francois adjusting his seat, moving the
