Miss Margarets' Defense

The man I married was not a good man, to say the least. I knew this even before I married him but the day I experienced it fully was the day I left him. My husband, Tom Weylin, was a man of system and discipline, and our marriage was arranged. I was raised in a wealthy home with my Mother, Daddy and my older sister May in Baltimore City. May and I were privileged debutantes, in the prime of our youth with much promise and even more money. May had always been the prettier one and subsequently Daddy’s favorite. He exhausted the entire city looking for a fiancée good enough for his little Mayflower. When he finally found one, I grew excited for my time to marry. May’s husband was a wealthy, handsome, young politician by the name of Jeffery Walters. I hoped Daddy would find me a husband to rival Mr. Walters. But Daddy died before he could even begin the search. Mother and I were told by the bankers that we must forfeit our house and belongings to pay his debt. So when the widower Weylin rode into town one morning with a large amount of money, Mother arranged the marriage. I rode off with him the next day. I felt like I was riding to my doom in that bouncy buggy, with silent, old Tom Weylin next to me. We sailed across the Chesapeake Bay in silence, away from my youth, my happiness and my prosperity. We traveled east toward the end of everything. Neither Tom’s family nor mine came down for the wedding. Mother sent me her silver hand mirror and brush that I had coveted since I was five. May sent me one of her old dresses she no longer needed now that she was a member of the high society. I felt as if I had been pawned like a common slave and banished to the fields to be forgotten.
The house he meant me to run was dull and unsightly. There was a stable that looked a hundred years old and a plantation in the fields out back. Hundreds of niggers sneaked around the house night and day. Just the sight of them made my skin crawl. I was unhappy and bored to tears. Then, seemingly without delay, Rufus was born and my life was fortunate again. He had been born with a head full of blazing red hair, same as my own. In the instant I saw him, I fell head over heels in love with him. I had a purpose now. My life was filled with joy. I wanted to name him Theodore after Daddy, but Tom would not hear of it.
“Rufus” he said emotionlessly when he came in to see the baby for the first time. Then he turned and was gone. After that, I was able to only tolerate Tom for about five years and then it all turned sour.
Then came the day I had had enough, the day I left. The day began like all the others. I had just finished dressing and went to go check on Rufus. Usually I awoke before him, but ever since the incident at the river, he hadn’t been sleeping so well. I reached his door and quietly pushed it open. The sunlight flooded in the window and onto his empty bed. I sighed. He was probably playing with that little nigger girl, Alice. Disgusting.
I made my way down to the parlor and began to work on my needlepoint. I buried myself in the intricate stitchery and then, riotous shouting wafting in through the walls, made me stop and listen. I moved to the window and peered out. Probably just some nigger getting whipped, I thought. The slaves were shouting and pointing west. I stepped out onto the porch and immediately saw the dark shadowy smoke billowing up into the clear blue sky. Bright orange flames licked the dry wooden walls of the stable in the distance. I stood mesmerized for a moment, just watching and then something caught my ear and made me turn away.
It was a high-pitched angry shout peppered with screams and cries of the same nature. And in the second before they came into my view, I realized with a sickening horror, just what all that racket was. Tom had Rufus by the upper arm and was dragging him toward a large tree in the backyard. Rufus was screaming something directly at his daddy, his face was twisted up angrily and he was dragging his boot heels in the dirt. Tom had his usual stone cold face on, lips drawn tight and thin, his brow furrowed. He looked just like he did when he was ready to….
Oh my god.
My heart began to pump faster. I knew what Tom Weylin meant to do with my son. He shoved Rufus against the tree trunk. I stood frozen and trembling, watching the shafts of sunshine alight on the shiny black leather of the whip as Tom extracted it from his side. I screamed and gripped the porch railing to keep myself from falling in a faint. Tom paused and looked up at me. There was no emotion on his weathered face; he meant to do this come hell or high water. Rufus saw me watching and stopped struggling. He lowered his head in shame and prepared to take his punishment. A great rage filled my bones and I glared fiercely at Tom Weylin, hoping to literally kill him with my stare. He paid no attention to me and brought the whip down hard across my child’s fragile back. Rufus let out a blood-curdling shriek and crumpled against the tree. I was off that porch in no time, moving faster than I ever had in my life but somehow not moving fast enough. By the time I reached him, Tom had already given him six or seven good lashings. I found myself hoping Rufus would pass out before Tom hurt him too much. I grabbed Tom’s mighty arm just as he was about to lash Rufus again. He tried to throw me off but I had a death grip and would not let go. Finally he quit struggling with me and with a quick disgusted look toward the boy, he turned his attention towards me.
“He burned down the stable, woman!” he said with much effort.
“I don’t care what he did, you monster” I cried. “You apologize this instant!” I demanded. Tom pushed his hat up on his head a little and furrowed his brow at me.
“I said you owe him an apology,” I whispered through clenched teeth. He chuckled a bit and walked away from us, dragging the whip so it hopped along the dry yellow grass behind him.
“YOU ARE AN EVIL MAN, TOM WEYLIN. YOU ARE A BARBARIAN.
WHO BEATS THEIR CHILD LIKE THIS? HOW CRUEL! IT’S JUST DISGRACEFUL.” And then I felt my eyes began to water and I knew this was the end of my rant. Soon, I would break down.
“YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HIM!” I screamed with the last of my energy. Tom Weylin didn’t even turn around. He continued walking toward the stable until he disappeared over the hill.
I suddenly became aware of the slaves on the plantation standing, watching me with a stupid scared look on their faces. They probably took great pleasure in seeing this spectacle.
“You all mind your own business now” I advised them. They turned and slowly began to resume their chores.
“Would you like your children beaten like this?” I asked the back of their heads. I crumpled down next to Rufus and slid my arms under him. I brushed his gorgeous hair away from his clammy forehead with my hand and kissed his soft cheeks.
“I’m so sorry honey.”
I saw Luke in the distance and hollered for him. He trudged over leisurely, and placed his hands on his bent knees to get a better look at the boy. I bent over him, shielding him from sight and gave my orders.
By the time the carriage arrived, I was more than ready to go. My trunks had been packed with both Rufus’ and my own clothes and a few other small belongings, my silver mirror and brush and some of Rufus’ marbles, which he loved to play with. Luke lifted Rufus’ limp body into the buggy and I climbed in right beside him.
“Don’t drive too bumpy, boy” I instructed Luke absentmindedly as I continued to wipe the sweat from Rufus’ small brow with my handkerchief. And we were off. I looked back at that old ugly house as we drove away and didn’t care if I ever saw it again.
Rufus regained consciousness sometime after we boarded the boat for Baltimore City. I had dressed him in clean clothes and thrown his bloody shirt away. His wounded back was a menagerie of fresh intersecting scars, bold, red and nasty. There was a deep one running diagonally across his entire back and laced with purple and blue bruise marks. I fingered the marks gently and had to bite my tongue to keep from crying in horror. I did my best to clean them, licking my fingers and erasing the dried blood from his pale skin.
When we docked in Baltimore City, Rufus was up and walking around. He was asking questions and I tried to ignore them at first but later succumbed to his innate curiosity.
“Where are we going Mamma?”
“To Aunt May’s honey”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know”
“Is Daddy coming?”
“No”
“Why not?”
“Because your Father is a beast”.
That seemed to hush him up, at least for a little while. Five minutes later however he returned with a new set of inquiries:
“Did Daddy tell you why he hit me?”
“You burned the stable down”
“But I wanted that horse”
“Well it’s gone now. Your father sold it to Reverend Wyndham.”
“I know…. Doesn’t he have enough money?”
“I guess not honey…I guess not”.
Exactly three days after we left, we pushed open the iron cast gate and made our way up the walk to May’s gorgeous Victorian house. Luke had left us at the boat on the Eastern side of the Bay so I held Rufus’ hand with one of mine and dragged the trunk behind me along the bumpy cobblestones with my other. The house slave made us wait in the parlor while she went to fetch my sister. I imagined we looked like a couple of peasants, dirty and worn and smelling of all kinds of odors.
Twenty minutes later, May came down dressed in her finest. I saw her immediate reaction, disgust and horror but she managed to pull off a smile and look pleasantly surprised. I supposed that life as a politician’s wife had made her well adept at lying.
We stayed for a few lovely weeks. Rufus’ back was healing nicely now that he had a proper doctors care. May and I tolerated each other as only sisters can. I was happy to be somewhere without slaves crawling under my feet all day and Rufus was happy to play with May’s expensive toys. I never forgot the look on her face when she saw Rufus tossing around her precious porcelain dolls. One day, May and I had just come back from shopping for new dresses, when her house slave came running down the walk to meet us.
“Miss Margaret” she cried at me. I became alarmed. The look on her face was one of sheer terror and despair. She looked like she belonged back on the plantation with Tom. I glanced past her to the porch and saw my trunk turned upside down and open. My clothes were strewn all over the yard. I saw the silver mirror lying on the ground and knew it was broken. I grabbed the slave’s wrists and shook her violently.
“Why did you do that?” I asked her furiously. May tried to loosen my grip but I would not release. Finally the slave woman said
“No, Miss Margaret. Not me.”
And then in a hushed voice she hissed,
“Mr. Weylin”.
My blood turned cold and I dropped her wrists and pushed past her as May stayed behind to comfort her. I pulled my skirts up off the ground and began to sprint towards the house.
“RUFUS,” I screamed. I ran screaming his name up the stairs, throwing open every door and down into the garden in the backyard until my throat was sore. Finally May caught me and tried to embrace me into surrender. When I finally relinquished, she told me what her slave must have told her. Tom had come and taken Rufus back home. I cried until I had no more tears left.
Eventually, I went home. I became lost without Rufus to take care of. I spent most of my time staring into space and twisting locks of my hair around my finger. May steered clear of me, as did her house nigger. I didn’t care. Four days after Luke was sent to retrieve Tom and Rufus from the boat that brought them home, he arrived there again to wait for my arrival. I felt broken and miserable. Luke tried to lighten my mood but it seemed nothing could lift my spirits. Then saw Rufus run to greet me as I rode up to the drab house, and at the sight of his scarlet hair, I felt enormously relieved. All of my misfortunes were temporarily forgotten. Tom steered clear of me for the rest of the day but as night fell, he took me into the bedroom and lashed me across the back of my legs with his belt. I bit down on the pillow to keep from screaming and waking Rufus. He needed his sleep now. In a couple of hours he would wake up, crying and dripping with sweat, muttering gibberish about the river again.