New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [106]
And if all these black people were chattels, why then—most people nowadays agreed—it must be that God had created them inferior. And if they were inferior, then it stood to reason that they shouldn’t be free. Besides, people hadn’t forgotten the slave disturbances, like the burnings of 1741. Blacks were dangerous.
So if most people assumed that he was John Master’s slave, Hudson didn’t much care. “At least that way,” he pointed out, “people don’t give me no trouble.” All he could do was count himself lucky and hope, one day, for better times.
He’d run the house smoothly for old Dirk Master while John and Mercy had been in England. Hudson and John’s father had always got along well, and Dirk had sent a letter full of praise for him to London. Had Hudson sent a report on Dirk Master, however, it wouldn’t have been so glowing. The trouble was young Miss Susan.
Susan Master had not only grown up into a beautiful young woman; she was even-tempered, practical, and knew her own mind. As her grandfather remarked to Hudson, “At least I don’t have to worry about her.”
But Hudson wasn’t so sure about that. When young Mr. Meadows had begun to court her, it was clear that Susan liked his advances very well. He was a handsome young fellow, with a strong face, a splendid horse, and heir to one of the best farms in Dutchess County. In short, although she was still very young, he was just what she wanted.
Just so long as things didn’t go too far before they were married. And they might. There had been times when the two young people had been left alone in the house for far too long. “You have to tell her,” Hudson urged his wife, “to take care.” And he himself had summoned the courage, to remark gently to old Dirk that the young people were spending a lot of time unsupervised together. “If she gets into trouble, and maybe young Mr. Meadows changes his mind …” he’d lamented to Ruth.
“I reckon the Masters would make him marry her,” Ruth assured him.
“Maybe,” he’d answered, “but it won’t look right.” And again he’d tried to warn her grandfather.
But old Dirk Master had refused to be worried. He was enjoying his time in New York. The burden of the business was light. It seemed that he was unwilling to allow anything to disturb his peace of mind. And indeed, Susan’s cheerful face and sensible character seemed to give the lie to Hudson’s worries. But when his son Solomon came running into the house, one summer morning, to tell him that the Masters had returned and that he was wanted at the waterfront right away, he’d experienced a huge sense of relief.
To be followed, instantly, by panic. For when he got the cart to the waterfront, he’d found Mercy almost giving birth to a child. He and Master had helped her into the cart, Solomon had been sent running to the doctor, the midwife had been summoned, and Hudson and Master had carried her into the house and up to her bedroom, both wondering if the child would be born before they even got her upstairs.
What a day that had been. But what joy it had brought. For not two hours later, little Abigail had been born.
Hudson loved Abigail. Everybody did. She had rich brown curls and hazel eyes. She was a little plump. As a baby, she seldom cried, and as a little girl, she seemed to love everyone around her. “That’s the most sweet-natured child I ever saw,” he’d say to Ruth. His own face wreathed in smiles, he’d play with her whenever he could, as if she were his own.
The presence of Abigail had also compensated Mercy for the departure of her other children. Later that year, Susan had been married. The following summer, James had been allowed to return