Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [58]
I realized that I was blocking the doorway and stepped aside. “Excuse me. Did you want to go back into the ballroom?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I’d just stepped in here to sit down when you plowed into me. It would seem that you are a dangerous woman to cross paths with.”
There were only two empty chairs in the room, and they were side by side. My feet ached from dancing, and I wasn’t about to let this oaf deprive me of a chance to sit. He was evidently as stubborn as I was, because he followed me over to the corner and took the seat beside me. His insulting manner brought out the worst in me. I wanted to insult him in return, letting him know I despised him for the way he treated Negroes, if for no other reason.
“So, have you grown tired of fluttering around Sally like all the other men?” I asked. “Or isn’t she giving you the time of day?”
He frowned slightly. “Sally St. John? She’s not my type. I’ve never cared much for women whose sole concern is themselves— women who prattle on and on about outward things, such as hair and jewelry and clothes.”
I tried not to blush when I recalled how vain I’d been in Philadelphia— before I joined the Anti-Slavery Society. “I’m surprised you came to her party at all if you have such a low opinion of her,” I said.
He looked at me for a long moment before replying. “My parents adore Sally. I came to the party as a favor to them. Are you a friend of hers?”
“I don’t know her at all. I’m here as a guest of someone who knows her.”
“Ah! And I’ll bet you saw this as a golden opportunity to pass around your abolitionist propaganda.” I felt my anger build as his arrow hit its mark. “Let me give you some advice,” he continued. “I know Sally’s parents quite well, and you would be insulting a highly respected Richmond family if you distributed your garbage in their home. I know for a fact that they have always treated their slaves very kindly.”
“There’s more to the matter of slavery than kind treatment,” I replied. “Just because they don’t whip or abuse their Negroes doesn’t make it right to own them. Slavery denies people the right to benefit from their own labor. Poor whites can work hard and eventually get ahead—immigrants do it all the time. But no matter how hard a slave works, he is still in the same place. The only people who benefit from a slave’s hard labor are his white owners.”
“Listen now. When one of Sally’s servants comes over here, I dare you to take him aside and ask him if he’s content.”
“There would be no point at all in doing that. He’d say he’s content because he’s been trained to give white people the correct answers. But let me ask you this—if the slaves in Virginia are so content, why are slave owners so terrified that they’ll join up with zealots like John Brown?”
“Because most Negroes are ignorant and superstitious. They’re like little children. They can be led to rebel very easily.”
“It’s not their fault that they’re ignorant. If we provided them with an education—”
“Don’t be naïve. It’s been scientifically proven that the Negro race is inferior.”
“Oh! That makes me absolutely furious!” I longed to tell him about Eli, but I didn’t dare. “I’ve seen educated Negroes up north who were employed in all walks of life. Frederick Douglass is an eloquent speaker and a gifted journalist. And I’ve also met plenty of ignorant white people, too.”
“I’ll wager you’ve never been to the Dark Continent and witnessed the ignorance and barbarity of native Africans. The ‘school of slavery’ here in America has civilized the Negro race and brought them true religion.”
“I don’t believe you would know the first thing about true religion. The Bible says that anyone who claims to be in the light but hates his brother is still in the darkness. If there is a Dark Continent, sir, it’s this one.”
As we argued, his blue eyes grew darker and darker, like approaching storm clouds. Suddenly they