On the Backs of Women: A Story About Family and Generations

By Linda Bakken

The story follows five generations of strong and brave women as they raise their children, provide help and encouragement to their husbands, cope with primitive surroundings, and triumph over their struggles. The tale begins when Maggie, an indentured servant in New Jersey in 1789 overcomes her obstacles when she meets and marries Ashe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Linda Bakken
• Release date: Dec 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218115906

Book preview

PROLOGUE

January 2008

She hadn’t seen the quilt squares in years—and she couldn’t remember why she was digging in the old cedar chest in the attic anyway. But she took the squares carefully out of the tissue they were wrapped in and laid them on a blanket she placed on the dusty attic floor.

I remember Gram telling me about these quilt pieces. Here are her sisters’ squares—there’s Edith, Lou, Frankie, and Florence. Here’s Great-Gramma French and Great-Gramma Raymen. Oh, and here’s Grampa’s grandmother. These are beautiful pieces of work, and each has the name of the woman who embroidered it… she thought as she ran her hand over each square. Helen thought about her grandmother—she had idolized May French all during her adolescence and throughout her adulthood until May died in 1970.

She and Great-Aunt Florence were my heroes, she thought as she reminisced about her own childhood in a company town run by the sawmill’s owner. She had been poor as she grew up, but her grandmother had instilled in her the fortitude to pursue her dreams. And now here she was recently retired as a professor of psychology; she had had a distinguished career—she loved teaching, and she had really enjoyed her research. In fact, she was well known in her field for her studies on early childhood. Gram always said to aim high, work hard, and nothing can stop you.

Gramma! Gramma! Where are you? Scott yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

In the attic, Scott. Come on up! Helen called back.

Shortly, Scott joined his grandmother, and the two stared at the twenty squares laid out on the floor.

Wow! Scott exclaimed. What are these?

Helen leaned back against the cedar chest and replied, In 1908, your great-great-grandmother had a wedding shower. Everyone at the shower created one of these squares to make a quilt for her. But I guess they visited so much that all they finished were the individual squares. Your great-great grandma never did complete the quilt, and she gave the squares to your great-grandmother, my mother, when my mother married. Well, my mother wasn’t much for sewing, so she put them in a trunk and left them there until I got married. Then she gave them to me, and I put them in my cedar chest, and here they are—still just quilt squares.

Why didn’t any of you ever finish them? Scott asked.

Good question—I always intended to, and your mom used to beg me to make the quilt every time she dug in the cedar chest and saw them—I’m not sure why they’re just still squares.

Well, they’re a hundred years old now—maybe it’s time to make a quilt, and Scott nodded his head wisely.

You’re right, Scott. It will make a pleasant surprise birthday gift for your mother.

As Helen looked at each of the beautiful and intricate squares made of cotton, silk, velvet, wool, and flannel and stitched with fancy embroidery stitches, she thought about those women in her family.

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PART I

THE DREAMER

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CHAPTER 1

In the beginning,

— Genesis 1:1, King James Version of the Bible

November 1789

Oh, no! I’m late again. It’s almost four-thirty. Maggie jumped from under the warm comforter, feeling the cold as her bare feet touched the icy floor of her attic bedroom. Quickly, she yanked her skirt over her shift, put on and laced up her bodice, then pushed pins into her long auburn locks to get it as neat as she could in the five minutes she allowed herself to prepare. Maggie was tall and big boned; she had too much mischievousness in her face to be called a beauty, but she was pleasant to look at and she had a sunny nature.

I wonder why Charlotte didn’t wake me, she thought, and after pulling on the heavy black woolen stockings and pushing her feet into her indoor slippers, she rushed over to the other bed in the small room. Charlotte. Charlotte, are you sick?

She received a moan for an answer, then a husky, I’m so cold, and I can’t get warm.

Maggie felt Charlotte’s forehead; it was hot and clammy. I’ll add my quilt to help warm you. An’ don’t worry; I’ll help Mrs. Brent with the breakfast. Then I’ll ask her to check on you to see if we need to call the doctor.

Charlotte murmured her gratitude, and after covering her with the comforter from her own bed, Maggie hurried down the back stairs, skipping as many steps as she dared. Rats. I forgot to get the wood ready for the fireplaces last night, she lamented as she grabbed the wood basket next to the fireplace in the kitchen, donned her cloak from the peg in the back hall, opened the door, and started across the porch. Then she spied the cut wood, piled neatly in the wood box at the side of the back entryway.

Oh, Titus must have done this for me. He even has kindling ready so I can get the fires started. How will I ever thank him?

Titus had also placed a bucket full of water on the bottom step. Great—now I won’t have to go to the well. I just might get through this morning without Mrs. Brent yelling at me once. Maggie always planned to get everything ready for the morning fires and tea before heading to bed in the evening, but she usually spent the last hour of her day hiding and reading and forgot her intentions.

Maggie put the kindling and the chopped wood in the basket and dashed back into the kitchen. She quickly put on the habitual bib-apron hanging on a hook just outside the kitchen door; then she knelt in front of the huge fireplace at one end of the oversized kitchen and started a fire. Filling the tea kettle from the bucket, she set it on the hook over the fire. She next rushed into the new office that Mr. John had recently added to his home. She needed to have his fire started next because Mr. John rose early and always went immediately to his office.

After starting fires in the office, dining room, and morning room, Maggie returned to the kitchen to prepare tea for breakfast. Mrs. Brent, the cook, with the help of Charlotte, oversaw preparing the meals, but it was Maggie’s responsibility to have the fires built and tea ready for the family and staff at the beginning of each day.

Although the new country discouraged drinking tea, John Corlis and his household kept to the ways of the Mother Country. We will never give up tea, Mistress Mary, John’s wife, could be heard saying almost daily.

Before the war, John Corlis had not seen the need to separate from the Mother Country—he was a staunch Englishman even though his ancestors had come to the Americas more than a hundred years earlier. But he had kept quiet about his loyalties toward England during the Revolutionary War, so he wasn’t evicted from his fine home as were those who were vocal about their allegiance to the losing side. He and his family continued to live not far from the Four Corners, an important intersection of King’s Highway and the Burlington Road, in the small town of Shrewsbury, New Jersey.

Shrewsbury Township covered all the land south of the Navesink River, but almost everyone referred to Shrewsbury as the village that grew up around the Four Corners. Churches and businesses were generally built to either side of the intersection, onto the King’s Highway or Burlington Road. Farther along both streets, settlers had built their houses and farmed the land.

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As the tea was steeping, Maggie could hear Mr. John descend the stairs and enter his office. He was a tall, spare man with spectacles and a small mustache. Besides running his farm and iron foundry, he was a town councilman and a friend of the New Jersey representatives who helped frame the new Constitution.

The country’s first attempt at government had ended in near disaster, but enough men had realized the weaknesses and dangers of the Articles of Confederation. These men had met and developed, just this past year, a more effective way to run both the country and the individual states. New Jersey had been one of the first states to sign the new Constitution, and John Corlis was among those who had pushed for this attempt at a new kind of government. He was a pragmatist and was content to move with the times.

After helping with the onerous chores that accompanied the daily heavy breakfast, Maggie’s chief responsibilities were to assist Mistress Mary Corlis in whatever tasks the mistress of the house set forth for the day.

Magdalene, somewhere I either missed a stitch or sewed one too many. I need you to find the mistakes and undo the embroidery in this piece of silk, Mistress Corlis ordered Maggie as she entered the small morning room off the dining room.

Yes, ma’am, Maggie answered as she took the fabric from Mistress Corlis and sat on a stool nearby.

As Maggie unstitched, she reminisced, My ma had such small hands, but she could turn any piece of fabric into a thing of beauty with her stitches. If only she hadn’t died when I was young, I wouldn’t have to be here.

After her mother’s death when she was eight years old, Maggie remembered the trip by boat from Long Island, New York, to Shrewsbury, New Jersey, with her father Cornelius. They had suffered from the cold, a lack of food and drink, and the jostling and discomfort in the back of the small vessel. When they arrived in Shrewsbury, Cornelius and Maggie had moved in with George Hagerman, Cornelius’s brother, who worked in the iron foundry owned by John Corlis. George was a member of a small militia group and had fought for the Colonists during the Revolution.

Uncle George had never been able to convince Maggie’s father to join him; instead, Cornelius went to work on John Corlis’s farm. It was there, in 1783, just after the war was over, that Cornelius had met some colonial soldiers who mistook him for a Loyalist and killed him. That was six years ago, when Maggie was eleven, and Uncle George placed her soon after her father’s death with the John Corlis family as an indentured servant until she was eighteen.

Magdalene! Mistress Corlis grumbled. Maggie jerked her attention back to her employer. Mistress Mary Corlis was a large, buxom woman with a nearly constant frown on her small heart-shaped face. She wore her dark brown hair in an elaborate braided bun at the nape of her neck, and her fine cotton and silk dresses were always custom-sewed for her according to the latest fashions.

What are you doing with that silk? You could have removed the stitches twice by now. Stop what you’re doing and go help Mrs. Brent in the kitchen with the dinner preparations. Charlotte is ill; she’s been vomiting and feverish all morning. Mrs. Brent insists that Dr. Swift come to check on her. So, you’ll need to replace her this noon. Just leave the silk with me.

Yes, Mistress, Maggie answered, and jumping up from her stool, she ran into the kitchen, eager to leave the crotchety mistress of the house.

Mrs. Brent, large, red, and angry, berated Maggie for her tardiness, her slowness, and her general lack of respect. Mebbe you can get the veg’ables without burnin’em. Go to the root cellar and get me some taters, carrots, and a head of cabbage. D’ya think ya can ’member that? And don’t dawdle.

Maggie rushed to the back door, grabbed her cloak from the hook, picked up the basket sitting on the bench, and dashed into the yard before Mrs. Brent could give her further orders or complain more about her behavior and demeanor. She opened the root cellar door and descended the ladder to the gloom of the room below. As she gathered the vegetables from the stacked bins, she wondered aloud: Dare I run over to the fields where Titus and his men are working today? No, Mrs. Brent will surely yank out all my hair if I’m late. I can wander down to Titus’s shanty tonight, after supper dishes are finished.

And with that happy thought, she completed gathering the vegetables and returned to the kitchen to help complete the noon meal. As soon as her chores from the meal were finished, Maggie returned to Mistress Mary in the morning room to continue undoing the botched embroidery. As soon as the mistress dismissed her in the late afternoon, she ran and hid in the alcove behind the back stairs. There was just room to sit on the floor comfortably, and she was invisible to anyone going up the stairs or through the hall to the front of the house. Charlotte had shown Maggie this hiding place the first year she had come to the John Corlis house to work. And Maggie used the spot every chance she could find. Although her mother, Geisje Hagerman, had died when Maggie was young, she had instilled in Maggie a love of reading and learning. Thus, whenever an opportunity arose, Maggie took a book and read. Most times the only book she could get was the Bible, but she loved the poetic language of the scriptures.

While Maggie sat in her lair reading about Esther, her favorite heroine in the Old Testament, Dr. Swift, accompanied by Mistress Corlis and Mrs. Brent, went up the back stairs to Maggie and Charlotte’s attic bedroom. Maggie waited until the three came down the two flights and listened while they stood in the hall discussing Charlotte.

I’m afraid there’s no hope, Dr. Swift said as he shook his head. She’s got the fever and there’s no help for her. I doubt she’ll make it through the day.

Well, she has no family, so I guess we’ll just put her in the pauper’s field in the cemetery. There’s no point in wasting time and money, Mary Corlis stated.

I think us needs to have a funeral for ’er. Her’s been a good hard worker here for more’n ten years. I’ll miss her a lot. Maggie’ll be a poor substitute for ’er, Mrs. Brent said, disagreeing with her employer’s disparaging remarks.

Well, if you’ll take charge of all the arrangements. I’ll get John to offer what’s needed for the expenses. Can you manage with that? Mary Corlis responded.

I guess us’ll have to, Mrs. Brent replied. I’ll get Maggie to do most of the preparin’.

As soon as the three moved toward the front of the house, Maggie rushed through the kitchen and out the back door to the porch, sobbing as she ran. No, Charlotte; don’t leave me, she cried as she pounded on the porch railing with her fists.

She remembered her first day coming to the Corlis house on Burlington Road when she was eleven. Maggie had never seen such a fine building. It sat just around the corner from Christ Church, the Anglican building where all the Corlises worshiped. The house had two floors plus an attic, with a large parlor and dining room on the front of the house, a small morning room behind the dining room, an overly large kitchen across the back of the house, and an elegant staircase to the second floor. A back stairs went from the hall outside the kitchen to the second floor and on to the attic rooms for the female servants. When Maggie arrived at the back door that first morning six years ago and was ushered into the kitchen by Mrs. Brent, Mr. and Mistress Corlis stood before her looking large and grim.

Now, Magdalene, Mr. Corlis began, we want a girl-of-all-jobs for you, and—

Mistress Corlis interrupted, Magdalene, you will be my special helper during the day. You will not bother Mr. Corlis or John, our son. You will talk to me only.

Maggie wilted; she didn’t remember being called by her birth name before. And while Uncle George had been harsh, he had never frightened her as Mistress Corlis now did.

Mrs. Brent, I leave Magdalene with you. You will tell her what her early morning duties are before breakfast. After the chores from that meal are finished, you will send Magdalene to me.

With that, John and Mary Corlis left the kitchen, and Maggie turned to face a frowning Mrs. Brent. Before Mrs. Brent could open her mouth, however, a voice interrupted from the niche on the side of the fireplace. Are you always called Magdalene? and Charlotte, a short, thin, ugly girl of sixteen stepped out of the shadow.

I’ve never been called Magdalene before now that I can remember. I’m always known as Maggie, Maggie replied.

Then, that’s what we’ll call ’er, won’t we, Miz Brent?

And Mrs. Brent’s face broke into a rare smile. If you think so, Charlotte, then Maggie she’ll be.

Charlotte seemed to know everything; she had started as a maid as Maggie now was, but because Mrs. Brent liked her and helped her, she had risen to become Mrs. Brent’s assistant. She had at once become Maggie’s protector, ally, and first friend. She helped Maggie navigate the challenging task of pleasing Mistress Corlis and kept Mrs. Brent from becoming angry with her too often. Unfortunately, Maggie, although generally trying to please the adults, was a dreamer given to flights of fancy.

Charlotte had also provided relevant warnings about John, Jr. Master John had an eye for girls and, as the son of the house, felt he should be accommodated by the female staff. Charlotte had learned how to predict where and when Master John would appear; it just behooved the two girls to be absent at those times.

Although Maggie was repelled by Master John, who was thin with a well-developed sneer, she was much attracted to his cousin, Asher Corlis. Asher, tall, blond, and with a pleasant, rather than handsome face, was the son of Mr. John’s younger brother Obadiah. They lived on a farm past the Four Corners on the King’s Highway, and Asher was a frequent visitor in John Corlis’s house. He usually sought out Maggie wherever she was when he came to visit.

Hi, Maggie, Asher called as he walked into the kitchen after dinner one afternoon when Maggie was sixteen. He found her washing the pots and kettles from the large noonday meal while Charlotte put away the leftover food and Mrs. Brent sat at the scrubbed pine table with a cup of tea. I’ll help you wipe those pots, an’ then we can take a walk. I asked Aunt Mary, an’ she gave permission.

Maggie ducked her head and blushed while Charlotte giggled and Mrs. Brent just said, Humph.

When the pots were finished and stacked into the cupboard next to the fireplace, Maggie removed her apron, hung it on the hook outside the kitchen door, and walked out of the kitchen to the back porch with Asher.

I thought we’d walk through the apple orchard. There might be some apples left for us to eat, Asher said as he took Maggie’s arm and turned her to the right of the house.

As they meandered through the fruit trees, Asher said, Maggie, I’m goin’ to West Jersey soon. Me and my brother Uriah want to learn about sawmills an’ the lumber business. I think that’s a good way to make money. And Asher continued to tell Maggie about his plans and what he wanted to do with his life.

Maggie enjoyed each time Asher looked for her; he always received permission from Mistress Mary to go for a walk or sit on the back porch and talk. Nobody else succeeded in getting the mistress to let her out in the afternoon.

One morning when Maggie had been with the Corlis family about three years, Charlotte said to Maggie, I’m goin’ to visit Miz James Corlis. Her likes me to help with the bakin’. If Miz John Corlis don’t need you after dinner, do you wanna go with me? Miz James Corlis is ever so nice, and her’d be glad to meet you.

Do you still go there even though the boys are big now? Maggie asked.

Yeah. Her likes to visit with the likes of me. Her’s lonesome most times because her men folk are gone so much. Do you wanna come? Charlotte asked again.

Asher’s father Obadiah had died when Asher was only two years old, and his mother, Sarah, remarried John and Obadiah’s nephew, James Corlis. When Sarah and James’s two sons were little, Charlotte had often gone to the James Corlis farm on the King’s Highway in the afternoons to help Sarah with her young family. Now that the two boys were older, Sarah continued to ask Charlotte to visit and help with chores.

If you think it’ll be all right with Mrs. Sarah. I can sneak away from Mistress Mary—she falls asleep when we’re sewing. Maggie smiled at the thought of leaving her mistress alone this afternoon.

Maggie loved the jaunts to the James Corlis farm; Sarah was warm and inviting. She had a smile just waiting to emerge if you said anything humorous, witty, or just about anything. It was a ready grin and always welcoming. Maggie wasn’t certain she was much help, but the house was so warm and friendly that she sneaked away as often as she could to join Charlotte.

Oh, Charlotte, what’ll I do without you? How’ll I manage? With that, Maggie ran back to the kitchen and up the back stairs to the attic bedroom. If she saw Charlotte, she’d give her the will to live.

As she stepped into the room, the smell of balm tea, the common antidote for high fevers, hit her nostrils. Tiptoeing up to Charlotte’s bed, Maggie whispered, Charlotte, can you hear me? Please don’t go. I’ll work extra hard to help you, so you won’t get so tired. Don’t leave me; what’ll I do without you?

But the mound under the covers didn’t move, and there was no response from Charlotte.

At that moment, Mrs. Brent, Mistress Corlis, and Dr. Swift entered.

What are you doing here, Magdalene? Mistress Corlis demanded. You should be at your tasks downstairs. Besides, what Charlotte has might be contagious and we don’t want another sick girl here.

I think it’s too late to worry about contagion at this point, Mrs. Corlis, Dr. Swift broke in. If Magdalene is going to catch the fever, she would be ill by now.

Be that as it may, replied Mary Corlis, she has no business here, and she’s shirking her duties.

Maggie needs to hear what Doctor has to say, Mrs. Brent said. Her’ll need to help me take care of Charlotte’s belongin’s.

No, no! cried Maggie. Charlotte’s going to get better. You’ll see. She’ll be up and helping you sooner than you can turn around.

Dr. Swift had been checking Charlotte during this exchange and now shook his head. I am sorry, ladies, but Charlotte is gone. I knew when I checked her earlier that the end was near. This fever is always fatal. I’ve known no one to survive it.

Well, Mrs. Brent, I leave everything to you. And with that, Mistress Corlis swept out of the room.

You’ll have to prepare her, Dr. Swift said as he turned to Mrs. Brent. Mr. Corlis talked to me and said he’d be good for the money for a casket and a small funeral.

Thank you, Dr. Swift. Us’ll plan a funeral at the Christ Church with Father Dahlke. It’ll be simple. Charlotte had no family, so there’ll just be us.

The two had evidently forgotten Maggie was still present. Snuffling into her apron, she sidled out of the room unobtrusively. Running down the back stairs, she shot through the kitchen, grabbed her cloak, and ran out the door. Skimming the steps off the porch, she ran down between the barn and laundry house, and on to the path to the slaves’ shanties. If I can just find Titus, he’ll tell me what to do.

John Corlis owned five male slaves who lived in huts down a trail between the back of the barn and the farm fields. Titus was the first slave purchased by John Corlis and enjoyed the status of senior slave. He was in his fifties now and bent from the hard farm work he had been forced to do during his more than forty years in slavery.

When Maggie had first arrived six years ago, Titus had found the tall, shaking, and angry young girl after she had run out of the house and to the back of the barn after being beaten by Mistress Corlis for spilling tea in her lap. Titus was a kind man and tried hard to live his life as he thought a Christian should. As he had neared Maggie then, he had remembered a verse from the Bible in which Christ said: Inasmuch as you do it for the least of these, you do it unto me.

He had helped her stop crying and advised her how to deal with the Mistress; he had decided he had a calling—helping this forlorn and lonely child. He really did live his Christian faith. In the last six years, he had often come to Maggie’s defense when she had either forgotten or was too slow to accomplish some task. Now that she no longer had Charlotte as an ally, Titus would be her only champion in a house where she continually felt like an intruder.

Titus was sitting on his front porch, whittling, and singing—his usual activity after his long day’s toils. Maggie ran up on the porch and burst out, Titus, you won’t believe it. Charlotte’s dead—what’ll I do without her?

Now, then, Maggie, Titus drawled in his soft voice, these things be sent to try us. The devil’s always findin’ ways to trip us up. We jus’ hafta learn to turn our backs on ’im.

Titus visited with Maggie for about an hour, comforting and counseling her. He paused and sang one of his church songs. He had a beautiful baritone voice and it helped soothe her.

Fare ye well, fare ye well, fare ye well, fare ye well,

If I never, ever see you anymore, fare ye well,

Fare ye well, fare ye well, fare ye well,

I’ll meet you on the other shore."

The song helped Maggie say goodbye to Charlotte and eased her pain and loneliness. As always, she left Titus feeling as if she could conquer whatever the Corlis family threw at her.

It was dark by this time, and Maggie worked her way back over the trail until she reached the barn. As she moved between that building and the laundry house, she was startled by a whisper near her.

I’ve been waiting for you, Magdalene. I watched you leave, and I know you go down to see the slaves in the evenings.

Oh, Master John, I’m sorry. Did your mother want me? Maggie asked as she started to walk around the figure standing before her.

No, she doesn’t want you—I do. John Jr. grabbed Maggie’s arms and dragged her behind the laundry house.

No, Master John. I need to get inside and help your mother with her bed preparations. Maggie gasped as she tried to release his hold on her. What had she been thinking? She had forgotten Charlotte’s admonition about watching out for Master John’s presence.

Oh, I think my mother can get into bed by herself tonight. You have more important things to take care of—me. John threw her down on the ground and pushed her skirt above her head.

Maggie screamed and writhed to free herself. John sat up, leaned back, and struck her in the face with his fist. You’ll get more than that if you don’t shut up and enjoy yourself.

With that, he lowered himself on top of her and penetrated Magdalene, while at the same time warning her to be quiet. If you’ll just shut up, you’ll enjoy this as much as I do, he said, smirking.

When John left, Maggie sat up and sobbed into her torn skirt. What am I gonna do? she cried. Where can I go, an’ who’ll listen to me?

CHAPTER 2

"And the song, from beginning to end

I found again in the heart of a friend."

— Henry W. Longfellow, The Heart of a Friend

March 1790

Magdalene, where are you? Mary Corlis barreled through the back hall to the kitchen. I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes. You’re supposed to be mending my stockings.

Mrs. Brent met Mary at the kitchen door. Maggie’s out back in the privy. She’s sick again this morning.

Well, send her to me as soon as she returns, Mary snapped as she whirled and stomped down the hall.

You’d best go an’ get it over with, Mrs. Brent said when Maggie, ashen and wobbly, entered the kitchen from the back entry. I’d wager she’s guessed by now what’s the matter with you. And I’d not try to blame ’er golden-haired boy if I was you.

Maggie smiled wanly and went slowly out the door toward the front of the house.

Come here, Magdalene, and stand in front of me, Mistress Mary ordered when Maggie tottered into the morning room. Now stand sideways—no, so I can see your profile.

Maggie obeyed and turned to the side. Maggie had never been thin; as Mrs. Brent suggested, she was thick through. Nevertheless, as she stood sideways, her condition was obvious.

You’re with child, aren’t you? You’re just a worthless slut. Who have you been with? Mary shouted as she leaned forward, her face red and her entire body shaking with anger.

I’m so sorry, Mistress Corlis. But your son, John, forced himself on me some months ago, Maggie stammered through her tears as she slowly sank to her knees.

Don’t you dare blame my darlin’ boy for your slovenly ways. He’s our pride and joy, and I won’t have him shamed! Mary roared as she rose to her feet and kicked Maggie so forcefully that she toppled over on her side. Get up, you whore, and get out of my house immediately. I’ll give you a half hour to gather up your belongings and be gone. If you haven’t left by then, I’ll have one of the slaves whip you ’til you’re dead. Mary marched out of the room.

Maggie dragged herself painfully to her feet and limped back to the kitchen.

I’m sorry, Maggie, Mrs. Brent said, but there’s nothin’ I can do. You should’a taken Charlotte’s warnin’ more serious than you did. Then you wouldn’t’ve been caught out by young John. Miz Corlis won’t hear nothin’ bad about that boy—he’s the only one of ’er six young’uns who lived an’ her thinks he’s the sun an’ the stars combined. You’ll have to get packin’ and get out. Mrs. Brent turned away and sat down heavily. I do have a valise you can have. It’s under the bed in my room.

Maggie trudged up the back stairs, holding her side where the pain remained from Mary Corlis’s vicious kick. She opened the door of the slightly larger room next to hers, knelt by the bed, and dragged out a small brown valise. Then, turning into her room next door, she packed her few clothes, put on her outside boots, and walked down the two flights of stairs for the last time.

Mrs. Brent had her back to the door and didn’t turn around as Maggie entered the room, so Maggie just went silently out the door, took her cloak off the hook in the back entry, and went outside.

Maggie considered going down to the shanties, but Titus had run away last month after a beating by Mr. Corlis. Evidently, Mistress Mary had accused Titus of peeping in the parlor windows. It was the first time Mr. Corlis had struck one of his slaves, and Titus reacted by setting himself free. Maggie hoped he was somewhere safe, and she prayed fervently that he remain free.

Maggie walked down the long drive into the dirt of Burlington Road, which had started as a footpath worn by the Lenni Lenape Indians in the 1600s and widened to accommodate