Free Forever Waiting by DeVa Gantt Page A

the refuge,” Michael whispered. “Apparently, she chose it to spare me the shame of fornication. According to this, she didn’t want me to leave the priesthood, something she feared I’d contemplate if I had known about the baby. So she sacrificed herself instead.”
    Laying the letter in his lap, Michael pressed his hands together in prayer and brought his fingers to his lips, tapping them in deep thought. “Now, what am I to do, John? Do I track down my daughter? Do I tell her I’m her father? I know she despised the man she thought was her father.”
    “How would you know that?”
    “She grew up at the refuge, attended Sister Elizabeth’s school. I heard many of her confessions.”
    “Find her first,” John suggested, “and make certain she’s all right. You can decide about telling her the truth later.”
    “You’re right,” the priest nodded, reconciled. “Marie would want that.”
    Barking dogs and a rap on the door drew them away from Michael’s problem. Annoyed by the interruption, John opened it to five men staring up at him from the lawn below, their horses tethered to the hitching post at the edge of the drive.
    “Good evening, Mr. Duvoisin,” said a sixth man who’d parted from the pack and stood on the porch, seemingly oblivious to the snarling hounds. “We’d like a moment of your time.”
    “Concerning?” John queried.
    “Two runaway slaves. We have reason to believe they are in the area and traveling at night.”
    John listened, expressionless. When he didn’t respond, another man stepped forward with a newspaper clipping, which he shoved into John’s hand. John glanced down at it. “A strong buck and his woman—spotted about thirty miles south of here the night before last. Take a good look at that paper, Mr. Duvoisin, and tell me if you’ve seen any nigger fittin’ that description.”
    A reward of one hundred fifty dollars was offered for the fugitive. The article gave the date of his escape, the state from which he’d fled, his owner’s name, and a description. The bounty increased the farther from home the slave was captured.
    John shrugged, passing the paper to Michael. “They all look alike to me.”
    The men grunted in agreement, the remark putting them at ease. The ringleader remained staunch. “We understand you’ve freed all your slaves, Mr. Duvoisin, that they work for you here. There’d be a high price to pay if your niggers were harboring someone else’s property. Best we speak with them.”
    “The men and women on this plantation know better, Mr. … ?” and John waited patiently for the name.
    “Reynolds,” the man supplied.
    “Mr. Reynolds,” John acknowledged. “They’d lose their position here. Unlike the Yankees, I don’t fault the South for using slave labor. After all, my family’s wealth has been built on it. Freeing my slaves was a business decision, nothing more. I find they work harder because they’re paid; I don’t need a whip, and I don’t have to hire expensive bounty hunters like you to track them down. They don’t run.”
    The men eyed him suspiciously, but could not refute what he said.
    “All the same, we’d like to see their quarters,” the first man replied.
    “As you wish,” John relented.
    He descended the porch and led them to the humble Negro quarters behind the plantation house, passing Stuart’s abode first. Stuart stepped out and nodded to them. “My production manager,” John explained.
    As they approached, the children swiftly abandoned their games. John singled out one cabin and rapped on the door. Brian opened almost immediately, evidence he’d been watching from the window.
    “Brian,” John began, “these gentlemen are looking for two runaway slaves from North Carolina. They were spotted south of here two nights ago. Is that right, gentlemen?” They nodded. “Have you or anyone else seen them?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Unfortunately, I cannot take your word for it,” John said. “I’m sure these