John Miller - The First Assassin

“The lady told you to fix the plow,” he said in a low voice.

“I showed you how. Now do it.” He released his grip and walked toward Portia. The brothers did not utter another word.

“Sorry about them,” said Portia as she walked with Joe toward the slave cabins.

“No harm done.”

They walked for a few minutes in silence through the fields. Portia was about to say something when she spotted Tate. The overseer jogged toward them. His whip, coiled through a belt, bounced at his side.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

The two slaves stopped. Portia could tell Big Joe was nervous.

“Joe’s mama asked me to fetch him. She wants him to move something.”

“It can wait. Joe, get back to work.”

Joe started to turn away, but Portia grabbed his elbow.

“Hold on,” she said. “Mr. Tate, Joe’s mama is cookin’ something big for tonight’s dinner in the mansion. She’s got a huge pot of stew goin’ and needs it moved. I’m not even sure what she’s tryin’ to do with it. I just know it’s big and she needs a quick hand. She asked for Joe. He can move it and come straight back.”

Tate glared at her. He said nothing for a moment, and then he looked at Joe. He caressed the lash on his hip with the tips of his fingers. What an intimidator, thought Portia.

“Joe,” he said at last, sticking his finger in the big slave’s chest, “I’ll give you ten minutes. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Yessir, Mr. Tate.”

The two slaves walked off as Tate watched them. Big Joe had an extra spring in his step now. “You didn’t say nothin’ about my mama,” he said as soon as they were out of Tate’s range of hearing.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t seen your mama all mornin’.”

Big Joe paused in his tracks. “What’s going on?”

“Just come with me.”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking in Tate’s direction. The overseer had his back to them now and was starting to holler at some poor slave for not working fast enough.

“He’s tryin’ to bully you,” she said. “He’s probably already forgotten you’re over here.”

He looked down at her, then back at Tate.

“Joe,” she said, touching his arm lightly, “please come with me.”

“All right. But we can’t be long.”

They walked briskly now. When they arrived at a row of slave cabins, Portia stopped and looked around. Nobody in the fields could see them. A pair of old ladies sat stitching shirts and trousers about fifty feet away. Portia knew Mary’s hearing was not very good, and Bessie had gone deaf. Other than these two, they were out of sight and alone. As it happened, they stood right outside the cabin Joe shared with his mother and a few others.

She gestured in the direction of the kitchen, which they could see up the path near the mansion. It was separate from the plantation home because fires so often started in kitchens. It was much easier to rebuild a kitchen than a mansion. “He’ll think we’ve gone there.”

“What’s this about, Portia?”

“I’m leavin’ the plantation tonight.”

“What? You been sold?”

“No. I’m runnin’ off.”

Joe became wide-eyed. “Don’t do it, Portia. They’ll catch you and beat you. A lot of the folks talk about gettin’ away, but they ain’t never made it. Not once. You know that.”

“I’m goin’, Joe, and you can’t change my mind.”

Joe did not reply immediately. Portia could tell he was wondering about something.

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” he asked. “It would be better if I didn’t know.”

“I want you to come with me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Portia, I like you. I like you a lot-”

“I know you do, Joe. And I like you a lot too.” She touched him on the arm again. “That’s why you gotta come with me.”

“I don’t know-”

She sprang onto the tips of her toes, threw her arms around his neck, and planted a kiss on his lips. Joe was so startled he hardly kissed her back. Then she was standing in front of him again.

“Joe,” she said, “I’m leavin’ tonight. We’re goin’ together and I don’t want to hear excuses. The worst thing that happens is they catch us and bring us back here. Tate won’t like it, Bennett won’t like it-but we’ll have tried it together.” She was speaking louder now, unable to contain her excitement. Joe did not say anything, and Portia took this as a good sign. He wasn’t objecting. His resistance was weakening.

“There’s a photograph,” she continued. “It’s a picture of a man who is gonna to try to kill Abe Lincoln.”

“What?”

“We have to help him.”

“Can I see the picture?”

“I don’t have it with me. My grandfather’s got it.”

“Everybody says Lincoln is gonna free us.”

“He won’t if he’s dead. Please, Joe, let’s take the photograph to people who can keep him alive. We’ve gotta escape, and we gotta start tonight.”

Just then the door behind them flew open. It was Joe’s mother.

“Mama! What’re you doing?”

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?” she said, in a voice that was worried and outraged at the same time. Her name was Sally, and Portia believed she was jealous of her son’s affection. She had not gotten along with Sally ever since Joe’s interest became apparent.

“Mama, we’re just talkin’.”

“You can’t do it, Joe! You can’t leave here! You’re my baby!” Sally came down the steps and glared at Portia. “Does your granddaddy know about this?” It was not a question but a scold. “Get away from my baby boy!” Then she hugged her son and started sobbing.

“We’re just talkin’,” said Joe, hugging his mother back and patting her on the shoulder. “We’re just talkin’.”

Portia circled around to where she could see Joe’s face. He continued to pat his mother, but he stared right at her. His eyes were a little moist. He looked torn. She did not know what he was thinking or what he would do. She figured she had done her best to persuade him. The choice was now his. He kept on staring at her, as if he were waiting for something. She raised her eyebrows and without speaking mouthed the words, “The stables. Tonight. After dark.”

Rook was talking to a private in front of the War Department when he saw Colonel Robert E. Lee exit the Winder Building across the street. The gray hair and beard were unmistakable, and they gave Lee a natural appearance of dignity and maturity. His uniform was crisp and clean, as if he had put it on only a few minutes earlier. His white riding gloves looked as though they had never been used before.

The man carries himself like a king, thought Rook. Lee was, after all, a member of Virginia’s aristocracy. His wife was even related to Martha Washington. There was only one reason for Lee to be at headquarters this afternoon: a meeting with Scott about taking command.

Rook tried to guess at the outcome as Lee mounted his horse, but he had no idea. For a moment, Lee sat in his saddle and stared at the Winder Building. Was he sizing it up or giving it a last look? Then Lee’s head turned to the War Department. He caught Rook’s eye, but his face was expressionless. He nodded to Rook and then headed down Seventeenth Street. He was moving south, toward the river.

Rook hurried across the street. He raced to Scott’s office and immediately saw the disappointment on the old general’s face. Locke sat with his hands folded on his lap. Rook knew instantly what had happened.

“I have just received some very unwelcome news,” said Scott. “Colonel Lee has declined the offer to lead our soldiers.”

“I don’t understand how a man could turn down such an opportunity,” said Locke. “What did he say?”