we’re holding a wolf by the tail but cannot afford to let go and he finally begins to understand why old man Thompson went off to that island to get shut of it all.
Richardson manages to slip up to his study uninterrupted. He shuts the door softly behind him and goes to stand by the window, leaving his candle unlit so he can look down through the trees instead of seeing himself reflected. And so no one will know where he is, for a few minutes at least. A pale harvest moon rises huge and fast, dwarfing his whole place and casting its improbable brightness across the broad floorboards.
Richardson, like Thompson, had carried in his mind the picture that had prevailed just after Independence. There had always been slaves but there had also been plenty of free. There had been free negroes Richardson had respected. Done business with and argued with both.
The Revolution had opened a window and he, like many of his fellow soldiers, had hoped slavery would slip right out of it. It wasn’t only a new country they’d wanted, it was a new world. But that window had closed and slavery had strengthened instead, doubling its grip on all of them.
The liquor has loosened his chest some but there’s still not room to draw a deep breath. And he can’t hide in his study. He must go down to dinner. His family has already gathered and sits waiting. They fall silent when they hear his boots on the stairs. Eager to hear the story he doesn’t want to tell.
The smooth golden brown wood of the long table glows in the candlelight amidst the clatter of serving spoons against platters full of food. Roast chicken marinated in a sweet brown sauce and slow cooked until it falls off the bone, legs splayed out as if drunk and coming off with one tug. Wine glows deep red in its glasses. Family silver from Baltimore lies heavy on creamy linen napkins. Late lilies from his garden stand in clusters, pale and fragrant. Everything is beautiful and orderly but Richardson cannot find the pleasure he usually takes in it.
He looks down the table at his much younger wife anchoring the far end. The flatness in Mary’s eyes grows flatter still when something like this happens and tonight his gaze slides right off hers. She’s already decided what she thinks about the double murder and the hanging without having heard a word from him. An unfortunate matter well handled and over with. No need to discuss it.
Most of their children sit gathered between them, eager to hear more. Livia and Lucius sit opposite each other on his left and right hand. They are his undeniable favorites, along with William. Livia is well past grown while Lucius remains runty at twelve, but they mirror one another, each carrying their father’s long narrow face, pale against dark brows and hair. Sharp brown eyes that don’t miss much. They even flush the same pink, high on each cheek whenever their tempers flare, just like he does.
Diana, Caroline and Cassius bunch together in their late teens and early twenties. They all carry their mother’s rounder features with her chestnut hair that Cassius has started to lose as he works relentlessly to usurp William’s favored position.
Only William, Adele and Augusta carry a real mixture of both parents but William has been posted to manage Memphis, Adele has been married off to a merchant named Singleton to establish the Richardson store in New Orleans, and Augusta rarely comes to the table anymore. She always claims to be reading in her room but she can never come up with any titles when Richardson asks. Little James cannot reach the table yet and Mary Patton won’t ever be able to manage it so Emmaline feeds them in the kitchen.
Richardson’s father’s gaze bears down on his from the portrait on the wall. The force of his father’s ambition has poured over him for as long as he can remember and it has carved him into this particular shape. This drive to acquire and expand will gain momentum as it barrels through the family for
Richardson manages to slip up to his study uninterrupted. He shuts the door softly behind him and goes to stand by the window, leaving his candle unlit so he can look down through the trees instead of seeing himself reflected. And so no one will know where he is, for a few minutes at least. A pale harvest moon rises huge and fast, dwarfing his whole place and casting its improbable brightness across the broad floorboards.
Richardson, like Thompson, had carried in his mind the picture that had prevailed just after Independence. There had always been slaves but there had also been plenty of free. There had been free negroes Richardson had respected. Done business with and argued with both.
The Revolution had opened a window and he, like many of his fellow soldiers, had hoped slavery would slip right out of it. It wasn’t only a new country they’d wanted, it was a new world. But that window had closed and slavery had strengthened instead, doubling its grip on all of them.
The liquor has loosened his chest some but there’s still not room to draw a deep breath. And he can’t hide in his study. He must go down to dinner. His family has already gathered and sits waiting. They fall silent when they hear his boots on the stairs. Eager to hear the story he doesn’t want to tell.
The smooth golden brown wood of the long table glows in the candlelight amidst the clatter of serving spoons against platters full of food. Roast chicken marinated in a sweet brown sauce and slow cooked until it falls off the bone, legs splayed out as if drunk and coming off with one tug. Wine glows deep red in its glasses. Family silver from Baltimore lies heavy on creamy linen napkins. Late lilies from his garden stand in clusters, pale and fragrant. Everything is beautiful and orderly but Richardson cannot find the pleasure he usually takes in it.
He looks down the table at his much younger wife anchoring the far end. The flatness in Mary’s eyes grows flatter still when something like this happens and tonight his gaze slides right off hers. She’s already decided what she thinks about the double murder and the hanging without having heard a word from him. An unfortunate matter well handled and over with. No need to discuss it.
Most of their children sit gathered between them, eager to hear more. Livia and Lucius sit opposite each other on his left and right hand. They are his undeniable favorites, along with William. Livia is well past grown while Lucius remains runty at twelve, but they mirror one another, each carrying their father’s long narrow face, pale against dark brows and hair. Sharp brown eyes that don’t miss much. They even flush the same pink, high on each cheek whenever their tempers flare, just like he does.
Diana, Caroline and Cassius bunch together in their late teens and early twenties. They all carry their mother’s rounder features with her chestnut hair that Cassius has started to lose as he works relentlessly to usurp William’s favored position.
Only William, Adele and Augusta carry a real mixture of both parents but William has been posted to manage Memphis, Adele has been married off to a merchant named Singleton to establish the Richardson store in New Orleans, and Augusta rarely comes to the table anymore. She always claims to be reading in her room but she can never come up with any titles when Richardson asks. Little James cannot reach the table yet and Mary Patton won’t ever be able to manage it so Emmaline feeds them in the kitchen.
Richardson’s father’s gaze bears down on his from the portrait on the wall. The force of his father’s ambition has poured over him for as long as he can remember and it has carved him into this particular shape. This drive to acquire and expand will gain momentum as it barrels through the family for
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