Moonwitch

“It won’t be, I promise. The household is so well run that I have little to do.” When Kyle looked skeptical, Selena proceeded to tell him of the efficiency and excellence she’d seen, praising Bea and Martha and their staff. She then asked Kyle if he had found the same with the rest of the plantation and listened attentively as he told her of his impressions.

“The cotton crop appears to be in good shape, but it seems strange to me why all the slaves need to be in the fields. There’s hardly a soul in any of the work stations.”

That had concerned Selena, as well. “What do you think of your factor?”

Kyle gave her a sharp glance, as if wondering why she would ask. “I don’t know yet. I never have liked Whitfield much, I admit, but I felt…for Danielle’s sake—” Kyle broke off uncomfortably. “I believe he performed his job adequately when my father was alive. Since then he’s been driving the field hands far too hard, I think, and he’s too ready with the whip. I’ve already had to warn him once to put it away.” Kyle’s mouth twisted wryly. “Whitfield responded with some nonsense about God advocating the lash to punish laziness in slaves. He’s developed a fondness for quoting the Scriptures, it seems, though I doubt he’s interpreting them correctly.”

Kyle picked up his coffee cup, his expression thoughtful. “Trouble is, when it comes to farming, Whitfield could be selling me a bag of moonshine. I don’t know the first thing about running a cotton plantation—” Kyle grinned at Selena, a self-deprecating smile that was filled with charm “—as you can tell. I expect Whitfield thinks me a gull, and no doubt he’s right.”

“It might be wise if you found someone else you could ask questions of, someone you could trust to give you an honest account. You could make a better judgment, then.”

“You, perhaps? Didn’t you tell me you know about growing cotton?”

“I know something about it—my father grew cotton for a few seasons. But I was thinking you should talk to one of the slaves. I could offer you general advice, but you need someone knowledgeable about this particular plantation.”

“There is someone… Saul. I only lived here one summer before I shipped off to sea, but Saul was my age. We used to fish together and swim in the creek. I don’t know how open he would be with me, though. I saw him in the fields yesterday, and he scarcely spoke a word.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to be very forthcoming at first, at least not until he realized you mean to be a fair master.”

Kyle sipped his coffee, his heavy eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Come to think of it, when my father was alive, Saul was the plantation blacksmith. It’s odd that he’s working in the fields now.”

“Have you considered that Whitfield might have overplanted?”

“Overplanted?”

Selena hesitated, deciding how to phrase her words so as not to condemn Whitfield unjustly yet to make Kyle aware that he might be facing a serious problem with his factor. “Perhaps Whitfield planted too many acres for the number of people he has available to work the land. That could explain why he has conscripted all of the plantation’s craftsmen.”

“Whitfield said that at this time of the season, every available hand is needed to thin out the cotton plants.”

“This is an important period, but it’s no more critical than any other, nor does it require more labor. And it shouldn’t be done at the expense of other operations. Focusing all effort on the fields can increase yields for a year or two, but in the long run the plantation will only suffer.”

“And you think that’s what Whitfield is doing?”

“It’s possible, and he may be sincerely trying to increase the plantation’s profit. But in my estimation, it’s wiser to let fields lie fallow than to overplant. Of course, that is my opinion. You should decide for yourself.”

Kyle met her eyes across the table. “But I value your opinion,” he said softly. “Have you seen anything else that I should be aware of?”

“Well…the field hands’ quarters are in a state of disrepair, and the plantation store is lacking some of the most basic goods—like cloth for clothing. There is no school, either—but that can be remedied later.”

Kyle’s smile was wry. “You should be the planter, not I.”

“The most serious problem, however,” Selena said soberly, “is that there seems to be no adequate system of justice. My father believed that slaves should have the means of redressing their grievances and the right to complain of a wrong to the master in person. Yet the slaves at Montrose have had only your factor to appeal to.”

“What about Bea?”

“She said she had given Whitfield full authority to act as he saw fit. And if there truly were problems with him misusing your people, Bea might never have heard of them. A slave would be too afraid of the consequences to speak up.”

Surveying Selena’s intent expression, Kyle nodded. “I’ll look into it,” he promised.

Selena relaxed then and smiled. “Thank you.”

“No. I’m the one who should be thanking you…for advising me about the plantation. And for making the effort to befriend my sisters. I appreciate you taking the trouble, Selena.”

“But I don’t consider it trouble.”

“Even so, it isn’t fair to involve you in our family squabbles.”

“No, truly, I mean to enjoy squabbling.”