before. She longed to be back in the security of The Forks. "I hate
soldiers."
At The Forks, all was calm and peaceful. Angel, who was almost as old as
Sally, climbed breathlessly up the stairs to wake her mistress from her
nap, for visitors were expected. Sally was asleep on top of her covers,
and woke to Angel's nudging. She drank her tea while Angel fixed her hair,
and prepared herself to receive. She heard the gig in the driveway, and
sighed, for she was not looking forward to her afternoon.
Henderson was wearing his best suit and had polished his
446 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
boots to a military shine, for he was seldom invited to the big house for
social purposes, and wanted to impress. His new wife, Letitia, wearing one
of the fine dresses she had brought with her from Charleston, stood beside
him, agog with anticipation at this sudden and unexpected leap in her
standing, and determined not to be overawed by her surroundings or her
husband's employers.
But she could hardly- restrain a squeak of amazement as Parson Dick
opened the door and they swept into the hall, grander than anything she
had ever seen.
"The Mistress is in the sitting room," Parson Dick said. He led the way,
opened the double doors, and announced them. Sally, dressed in stem
black, rose to greet them, and Letitia Henderson moved forward, took
Sally's offered hand, and bobbed a tiny curtsy, which she immediately
regretted.
Alec Henderson had not been immune to the talk of war, He had taken stock
of his life and had decided to put his domestic house in order. He had
advanced beyond his wildest imaginings. As he had predicted and intended,
he had assumed the function of overseer when Mitchell retired, and worked
hard and well in his new capacity. His was a tougher regime for the slaves
than the previous overseer's had been, but something of Mitchell's
attitude to the slaves had rubbed off on Henderson. He had been raised to
believe blacks were scum and less than animals, but Mitchell had persuaded
his able student that they were simply animals, valuable ones at that, and
responded better to reasonable treatment than to ruthlessness. The abuse
of his power, Mitchell told him, would simply lead to runaways and less
productivity. At first, Henderson had dismissed the arguments. Seething
with resentment toward his martinet father and the way he had been treated
as a boy, he tended to vent his frustrations with his own life on those
less fortunate than he, the niggers. Mitchell had seen this and had spent
long hours with the young man, and become something of a surrogate father
to him. By example and patient instruction, Mitchell had calmed
Henderson's rash temper and persuaded him that the proof of true power was
in how little you needed to prove it. Whites were the natural masters of
niggers, and they knew that and accepted it. Any brute fool could have
QUEEN 447
a nigger whipped for. any small justification, but what did you do if the
justification became greater? Have them whipped some more? Flog them till
they were dead? Dead they were useless, and alive they were valuable
livestock.
Henderson had never appreciated that slaves had actual and considerable
monetary value before, and while Mitchell never changed the young man's
basic attitude to blacks, his financial arguments had a profound effect.
For Henderson worshiped money, and was determined to have his share. He
knew he would never be rich in the way Massa Jackson was rich, but if he
did his job well, and saved carefully, he could look forward to the day
when he would have a small farm of his own, and several slaves, and live
in comfort and security for the rest of his life. It was all coming to
pass as he had hoped. For ten years he had been overseer, living in the
cottage provided for him, cooked for by a Jackson slave with provisions
acquired from the big house kitchen, and had been able to save most of
his wages. Once a year he gave himself a treat, a week's holiday by the
sea at Charleston, and during that week he allowed himself a couple of
visits to whores, but otherwise he lived a spartan existence and now had
a reasonable stash of gold, which he kept in a strongbox under the
floorboards of his cottage. He was not wealthy by any means, but he was
better off than many of his unlanded peers. He was tough and aggressive
with the niggers, and demanded hard work from them, but although he used
the whip occasionally, he controlled his urge to flog them on any prov-
ocation, and things at The Forks were running smoothly, if not as
moderately as once they had.
Success and security had mellowed him, and for a couple of years he had
been thinking it was time to find himself a bride, but he couldn't work
out where he might meet one. His position gave him occasional access to
women of his new class, but he had no social skills with them, and was
happiest in the company of other men. He wouldn't touch mulattas and
despised white trash, for he had grown up in their company and they
reminded him too much of his disadvantaged youth.
Talk of war had given an urgency to his intentions for matrimony. If
there was a war he would fight, for the idea of free niggers was
viscerally repugnant to him. He had come to re-
448 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
spect the skills of many of the slaves under his command, and guessed that
some few of them would cope with the unthinkable, with freedom; some might
even be -good farmers, and that made a mockery of his dear dead mother,
and of the way she had worked herself to the grave, and died poorer when
she left this world than when she came into it. But if there was a war and
he had to fight, he would be away from The Forks. He doubted he would lose
his job-the Massa could hardly dismiss him for defending the Massa's
existence-but his cottage would be empty or, worse, occupied by some tem-
porary overseer, and his store of gold left to the mercy of looters. He
could not carry the precious metal with him, and he had no faith in banks.
A dutiful wife would solve the problem by remaining in residence and
protecting his interests while he was away. The right wife would increase
his standing in the local community. A good wife would look after him,
provide him with a bed partner, and give him a son, whom he could teach
to be as good a man as himself,.and who would inherit all that Henderson
was single-mindedly working for. Without an heir, his good fortune was
meaningless, since he had no intention of leaving anything to his
wretched brothers and sisters.
But where to find such a wife? Happily, the same possibility of war that
had accentuated his problem also solved it for him. After harvest he had
gone to Charleston for his annual leave and, bored with taverns and
whores, had attended a meeting of militant Southern loyalists in a church
hall. South Carolina was already threatening secession
from the Union if
Lincoln won the election, and the debate was firebrand stuff of white
supremacy and Yankee knavery, and of the joy and prosperity that must
dwell in every Southern heart if the slave states were forced to break
away from the North. In Henderson's case, as with most of those present,
it was preaching to the converted, but it stirred his blood anew, and he
decided on a visit to the whorehouse afterward. He never got there. When
the speeches were done, refreshments were served by the women of the
Church Ladies' Union, and Henderson's eye had been taken by the lovely
Letitia.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but perhaps only Alec Henderson
could have thought Letitia Palmer lovely. Most
QUEEN 449
would have called her plain, but she was everything he was looking for in
a wife. Moderately educated and obviously able, Letitia had a commanding
personality and was always on the lookout for a spouse, for she was
terrified that her prospects of a husband were close to nothing. Oldest
daughter of a drunken father who held on to his job as manager of a lumber
store by his fingernails and the fact that he was white, and of a
hardworking mother who ran a moderately successful millinery shop, Letitia
had nursed and raised her siblings, cooked and cleaned for all the family,
coped with her sottish father when her mother could not, and spent her
free time stitching in the hat shop. Now her younger brothers and sisters
were old enough to fend for themselves, and she, with time for herself at
last, found that she had missed the carefree boat of youth, and was in
sharp danger of being left stranded on the lonely island of spinsterhood.
Because of her mother's hat-making business, she had teamed to conduct
herself properly on the shopgirl rung of society, but no one had ever
taught her how to enjoy herself. She had no idea where to find a husband
and put her trust in God to provide a solution. A devout woman, she
joined the Social Club of her local church, but she was so used to or-
ganizing her wayward family she overzealously organized everyone else,
and was not popular. To compensate for this, she made herself
indispensable, and now any social function connected with the church saw
Letitia in command.
Thus she met a clean and sober young man from Alabama, and on discovering
that he was unmarried, had prospects, and was looking for a wife, Letitia
almost wept her thanks to the good Lord for showing her the way out of
her valley of despair.
"Some more tea, Mrs. Henderson?" Sally asked politely.
The grace and elegance of the Jackson mansion, and the simple unforced
authority that Sally possessed by right of rank, breeding, and money, had
made the new Mrs. Henderson speechless with awe and envy for the first
few moments of their visit, but she had quickly recovered, determined not
to let her husband down, and equally determined not to let this rich old
biddy get the better of her.
450 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
"I think not, Mrs. Jackson," she responded in her plummiest tones,
learned in the millinery shop. "I believe I have had an elegant
sufficiency."
There was a tiny pause while Sally prayed that Jass and Lizzie would come
home soon and save her from this dreadful creature, but she was gracious.
"Cake?" she inquired, when she could think of nothing else to say.
There was a commotion outside, and the sound of horses, and Sally could
hardly hide her relief.
"I think that's the Massa now," she said.
Jass, carrying two small boxes with him, was in curiously high spirits,
given the momentous news that they had learned in Florence. Lizzie was
weeping at that same news, Mary was weeping because she'd told her mother
of the incident with the three boys, and William and Queen had been
severely scolded, and were pretending to sulk.
Isaac and Polly helped Lizzie and Mary from the coach, and Poppy with the
youngsters, while Queen and William scampered after Jass.
"Mr. and Mrs. Henderson are waiting, sir," Parson Dick told him.
"Oh, damn," Jass responded. I'd forgotten-"
Lizzie was already on her way upstairs with Mary, giving orders to Poppy
about baths for the youngsters, and telling William and Queen it was time
for their supper. Jass knew he was on his own.
He went to his study, locked the small boxes in his safe, and strode into
the sitting room.
"Sorry, the time slipped away," he announced, kissed his mother, and
looked at the overdressed, over made-up, overeager woman sitting
expectantly on the edge of the sofa.
"Is this your bride, Alec?" He shook hands with Henderson. "You're a sly
one, keeping such a pretty woman secret."
Mrs. Henderson was his loyal servant from that moment, and simpered,
while Sally did her best to hide her amusement.
"Happened so fast, sir, on my leave," Henderson began, but his wife was
way ahead of him.
"Took one look at him and I said to myself, Letitia, I said, that's the
man for you," she gushed.
QUEEN 451
Queen and William had hung back from Lizzie's commands and had their ears
to the keyhole of the sitting-room doors. Parson Dick saw a perfect
target, two round little rumps stuck in the air, smacked them both lightly
and ordered them upstairs, where their supper was waiting.
"Young ladies and gentlemen do not listen at closed doors," he commanded.
They yelled at his gentle smacks, and giggled their way upstairs.
When they were gone, satisfied that the coast was clear, Parson Dick
leaned down toward the same keyhole.
"My dear mother's heart is broken, of course, that I'm living so far away
from home, and my poor father"-Mrs. Henderson took out a handkerchief and
dabbed her eyes--all this talk of war, and me getting wed, his only
comfort is the gin."
Jass did not dare look at Sally, but knew he had to give them the news.
"Then I'm afraid he's going to need rather a lot of comfort," he said
with a poker face. "Abraham Lincoln has been elected president."
He remembered his promise to tell Becky, but saw no sense in disturbing
her evening. He would send Ephraim first thing in the morning.
53
said to myself, Letitia, I said, that's the man for you!" William
giggled, in fair imitation of Mrs. Henderson's affected tones. "Isn't
she awful? Why did he marry her?"
He was already in his nightshirt, and Queen was folding his clothes, as
she always did.
"I think he's worse than she is," Queen said. She didn't have much to do
with the overseer, but whenever they met he was sarcastic to her, and to
her mother.
"Perhaps they were made for each other." William was
452 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
bored with the subject and sat on the window seat. He was in a curious
mood. The events of the afternoon ha
d excited him. He'd seen plenty of
fights at school, had taken part in several, but had never seen adults
beating anyone up before, apart from when one of the slaves got whipped,
and that didn't count. The short, sharp, ruffian violence of it had
exhilarated him and he had felt like cock of the walk, a few minutes
later, at his ability to cope with the hooligans. The talk of war, the
pounding hysteria when news of Lincoln's election spread like wildfire
from the telegraph office, and the fun of Alec Henderson's matrimony had
invoked some new, exciting emotions in him, which somehow all had to do
with girls. They were on the brink of stirring times just as he was edging
into manhood, and he longed to be older and part of it all.
He wondered if he was old enough to have a proper girlfriend, not like
Harriet Peters whom he escorted to Sunday school. Ten years old, she
sometimes allowed him to hold her hand, and once, sweating with
embarrassment, he had pecked her on the lips, but she screamed, and
slapped his face, and told him never to touch her again. Of course, she
hadn't meant it, and sat next to him at Sunday school the next week, and
shyly held his hand.
"I hope there is a war," he said, staring out at the moonlit, winter
landscape. "It would be such fun." He had an adventurous soul, and found
much of his life at The Forks boring. Lizzie was trying to mold him to
be a Southern gentleman in the way that Becky had molded Lizzie to be a
Southern belle, and William resisted it strongly, He was his father's
son, and, like Jass when he was young, he wanted adventure, he wanted to
be a pioneer, like Gran'ma Sally, only there weren't many frontiers left.
The South Seas, perhaps, or Australia.
Queen was also thinking of the afternoon, but had a different view. "I
don't think I'd like war," she said. "It might be dangerous. "
"Oh, pooh," William laughed. "You wouldn't know very much about it. The
men would all go off somewhere a long way away, and have a big fight,
that's all. We'd beat the Yankees, they'd beg for mercy, and then it
would be over."
"What if the Yankees won?" Queen wasn't convinced it would be so simple.
QUEEN 453
"That isn't possible," William said seriously, "because they'd try to
free the slaves and God doesn't want that. God's on our side."
Queen didn't say anything, because there was no point in arguing with
Massas about slaves, but turned down William's comforter, and made the
bed cozy with the warming pan.
William's thoughts turned from war to love again, to Letitia Henderson
and Harriet Peters.
"I wonder what it's like to be in love?" That surprised Queen, because
her mind was still with a possible war. She allowed herself to dream.
"I'm going to marry a prince on a white horse one day," she said, but
William laughed.
"Oh, Queen, don't be silly. You're just an itty-bitty slave girl,"
William told her, kneeling beside the bed. "Who'd marry you?"
Queen knelt beside him and said something privately, to God: "Someone
will, one day."
William had begun the formal prayers, of lying down to sleep, and souls
being kept. His soul, and his family's, and even the soul of Harriet
Peters. Not Queen's soul, of course, because nigras didn't have souls.
His papa had told him that, years ago.
"And please let's have a jolly fine war that lasts a long time," he ended
up, but wondered if God would approve of his prayer, so he added a little
charity. "But only let Yankees get killed."
In case that wasn't enough, he added a little more. "And send someone
nice for Queen."
"Amen," both prayed, and laughed.
William climbed into the big four-poster with its warmed sheets and cozy
blankets, while Queen snuggled into the uncomfortable pallet at the foot
of the bed.
"Good night, Queen," William said affectionately, for they were friends.
"Good night, Massa Bill," Queen said to her brother. They lay in silence,