The Golden Hour: Arledge Hall, #1

By Fayla Ott

In 1852, deep in the Delta of Mississippi, the choice to sell one slave sets in motion a series of

tragic events for two families that will test the honor and faith of all.

Years before the brutality of the Civil War, acts of callous cruelty were already a way of life. In the rich alluvial soil of the Mississippi River, the master of Arledge Hall Plantation decides expansion is in order. To raise money for more land, he sells a young slave to
Five Oaks, a neighboring plantation. This act rips Thomas from his parents, Joe and Lucy,
and puts members of the Banks family at odds with each other as some of them know how dangerous the Stanford's abusive overseer can be. Merciless and vindictive, the overseer is a brute who has no respect for any man, regardless of skin color, and even less respect for women.
Joe and Lucy grieve the absence of their son, knowing only God alone can protect Thomas. But trying to find acceptance that the usually docile master sold their child requires a strength they're not sure they have. As they grapple with heartache, circumstances find Joe protecting a woman from the overseer's advances, and that guarantees retribution via Thomas, which forces him to escape.
This creates an unimaginable domino effect of vengeance, intimidation, and eventually,
murder, rending the two southern families' friendship and fracturing the budding romances between the Stanford and Banks children, although forbidden fruit tempts all the more.
As a vengeful enemy continues to threaten the occupants of Arledge Hall, Joe's courageous faith shines like a beacon in a storm. But when a cruel twist of fate plays out, can the two families endure while facing the approaching threat of war?

Spend a decade at Arledge Hall in this first book of the trilogy and discover why you'll want to visit again and again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fayla Ott
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201364953

Book preview

To all who live in a world they don't understand

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.[Micah 6:8]

Part One

Chapter One

Arledge Hall Plantation, Delta, Mississippi, September, 1852

Lucy’s bare feet ran fast, but they couldn’t outrun the panic in her chest. She’d dreaded this day since she first heard her baby’s weak squall as the missus placed him on her breast. Her big toes kicked dry earth as she ran through the cotton rows, her eyes scanning and begging for the sight of her husband.

Joe! she screamed. He stopped talking to a field hand and looked her way. In seconds, he stood in front of her, grabbing her shoulders.

What’s the matter? What’s wrong?

They’re selling him, Joe. They’re selling our boy Thomas.

Joe dropped his arms and ran. She called after him, but he didn’t stop to wait for her. Panting for air after running all the way to the field and back, she reached the overseer’s house to see Joe grasping their son’s roped hands in the back of the wagon.

No! She rushed toward the wagon. Thomas!

Mama! Her boy’s face wrinkled with anguish. She reached up and wiped his tears and placed her forehead against his, just as she did sixteen years ago when he first cried in her arms.

Coffey! Joe said. What’s happening?

The wagon driver held up his hands. Now, look here, Joe, I don’t know nothing. All I was told was to put Thomas in the back of the wagon and wait to drive him and Mr. Giles over to Five Oaks.

Five Oaks was a plantation three miles from Arledge Hall. Lucy knew it might as well be three hundred. She’d never see her boy again. Panic made her yell out when Mr. Giles appeared at the wagon.

You can’t take my boy, Mr. Giles! He works hard for Massa Banks. He works hard!

Joe stepped up with his hat in his hands. Mr. Giles, why Thomas?

Now, Joe, you need to take hold of your woman there and step back. I have my orders.

Whose orders, Mr. Giles? When the overseer climbed into the wagon, Joe asked again, Mr. Giles, who ordered you to take Thomas? And why must you rope his hands? He won’t run, Mr. Giles.

I’m sorry, Joe. Coffey, let’s go.

Coffey joined him on the seat and grabbed the reins. He didn’t look back at his friends, but stared straight ahead. Joe jumped into the back of the wagon and wrapped his arms around his son, while Lucy grabbed his hand from over the side of the wagon and kissed it, holding it to her wet cheek.

It’ll be okay, boy. Just have faith, and you’ll be okay, Joe said.

Daddy, take Mama. Don’t let her watch me leave, Thomas said. His nose ran with tears.

Joe nodded. C’mon, Lucy. We have to let him go.

Lucy resisted. No! Please, don’t do this, Mr. Giles. Please!

Coffey! Mr. Giles shouted. Coffey clicked his tongue and shook the reins. The wagon jolted forward. Lucy struggled against her husband’s arms as the wagon pulled away. Joe whispered something to her over and over, but she couldn’t hear anything other than the beating of her anguished heart as desperation filled her lungs and clawed its way through her senses. Her head dropped as darkness claimed her.

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After Thomas watched his grieving parents collapse into each other on the dusty ground in front of the big house, the wagon pulled into the windy driveway of the Five Oaks plantation. He could see why it bore its name. Five large oak trees stretched tall in front of the big house, and the driveway circled around them. He couldn’t see the slave quarters from there, but he knew they would be a distance from the area surrounding the big house. The wagon stopped, and Mr. Giles hopped down. An ugly white man emerged from the side of the house. Suspenders prevented his pants from sagging down to his wide bottom half, and his pitted face made Thomas want to look anywhere else, but he couldn’t look away. He hadn’t seen anyone quite that ugly before. His eyes reminded Thomas of a snake’s. Thin and wide, with an evil glint, as if he couldn’t wait to strike at prey. His ruddy complexion emphasized his fat cheeks and flat nose.

Well, Mr. Giles. Mr. Stanford will be glad to know you were prompt with the delivery of his new slave.

The Arledge Hall overseer didn’t respond, but he cut his eyes at the snake-eyed man. He walked around to the back of the wagon and motioned for Thomas to climb off. The fat overseer stepped up and looked Thomas over, grunting. Taking off his hat revealed thin hair barely covering his large bald spot underneath. He fanned his face with his hat and poked at Thomas’ muscular arms.

Is he strong?

Yes, he’s strong, Mr. Giles answered without looking at the man. Thomas got the idea that Mr. Giles didn’t care for the Five Oaks overseer. Thomas, you obey and do what you’re told, you hear? He stared into Thomas’ eyes and held his gaze for about two seconds.

Yes, sir. Was he warning him? Thomas’ stomach sank. He had heard of bad overseers before, had even heard rumors of the Five Oaks overseer, but there were always rumors amongst slaves, so he could only wonder if they were true. Thomas guessed he’d find out soon enough. Mr. Giles pulled himself up onto the wagon seat beside Coffey, who looked down at Thomas with eyes that shined with moisture. Thomas swallowed hard as he watched them drive away. Coffey had taught him how to drive a wagon. He remembered the days when the older man had laughed with him when he was a boy, showing him tricks with his hands that made shadows on a wall in their cabin. Coffey and his daddy had known each other a long time, and he had been a part of the family since Thomas could remember, often sitting at their table for supper through the years. Watching Coffey drive away made this nightmare real.

C’mon, boy. Let’s get you acquainted with Five Oaks. If he had not heard the tone in the overseer’s voice and felt the tight grip on his arm, he might have thought it a friendly invitation. They walked a bit before reaching the slave quarters. Shock hit Thomas at the sight of the cabins. Far from the solid structures he had grown up in, these quarters sagged from the rooftops, while the wood planks slapped the gaps in between each other. Mosquitos competed with flies and gnats for space to fly. Men, women, and children worked outside while swatting the pests away as if they had done so in their sleep. Thomas figured they had.

Olie! Take this boy and show him the fields where he’ll be working. He ain’t used to tobacco crops, so be sure to make him used to it. If you don’t, I will. He turned back to Thomas. We don’t plant cotton at Five Oaks. We plant tobacco, so you’d better forget what you know and remember what you learn today. With the only tobacco crop in the Delta, we’re in high demand to produce. You know what that means, boy? That means you are here to work. We know all about your overseer, Mr. Giles, and how he runs Arledge Hall, letting a slave be the driver over the field hands. We do things a bit differently here. He sneered and showed his brown teeth before shoving Thomas toward Olie.

Olie had at least ten years on his daddy, so Thomas figured him to be in his mid-fifties. He walked with a broken stride but continued at a pace that rushed Thomas as he followed. They ended the walk at a shelter housing a long wooden table, which stretched almost as long as the shelter itself. Men, women, and children stood along both sides of the long table, and they stripped the leaves from the tobacco stalks.

This here’s the tobacco harvest. You just happen to come when we’re about to be packing these here leaves into the hogsheads. But first you need to learn how to strip these leaves from their stalks. If you would’ve come last year, you would have found yourself over yonder on the west side of the plantation. That’s where we were last season. Next season, we start all over again, and move to the north side. You got the best side to start with ‘cause those are the best quarters.

Those are the best? I’d hate to see the worst.

Oh, you will. Olie shook his head. C’mon, now, best get to it. Mr. Timmons will come to watch as soon as he’s had his lunch.

Thomas’ stomach growled. Olie laughed. You better teach that stomach of yours to wait. At Five Oaks, we got to wait to eat ‘till all the important work is done.

What’s the important work?

During harvest, it’s all important. We get two meals a day right now. Breakfast and supper, with a bit of hardtack in between. So, if you want to eat, you get the work done. And don’t go slacking no matter what. You’ll get the whip on your back.

Thomas spent that first day in agony. His back had hurt before when working in the cotton fields, but Mr. Giles let his daddy manage the field hands under his watch, and Daddy let them have water and stretching breaks. He had heard Mr. Giles say that the slaves did better work when they could rest. Thomas wished Mr. Timmons could understand that. By the end of that first day, he scratched at bug bites that itched, but later burned raw from his scratching. His back felt like it would break in two, and his fingers blistered from stripping the tobacco stalks. A terrible thirst grew from the heat, which slowed his movements throughout the day, causing the other slaves to grumble at his work pace.

Mr. Timmons rang the large bell by his house to signal that the work should stop for mealtime. Thomas couldn’t wait to eat, but he had always eaten with his parents in their cabin, so he didn’t know what to do. He followed Olie, who looked back and stopped.

Oh, no, boy. You’ve got to go to your cabin and get your own bowl. It’s right there. He pointed to the worst shack in the second row. Thomas walked in, noting its one-room layout with a tiny wood stove. A bed stood on the opposite wall that looked as though it needed to be replaced a decade ago. The buzzing pests swarmed all around the cabin, and the stifled air made him turn on his heel and sit on the steps outside. He sucked in the warm air, which proved little comfort. He missed the shaded steps of his father’s cabin. No, that wasn’t right. It was Mr. Banks’ cabin. Just like his father was Mr. Banks’ slave. He had become comfortable in his life at Arledge Hall. His daddy had always warned him not to do that. They were slaves. They were property. To white people, they meant nothing more than that broken bedstead inside. When they’d used him up to nothing, they’d just let him sit and rot, too. He couldn’t help but remember how he, Silas, and Massa Richard once played by the small pond in front of the lush gardens near his parent’s cabin, chasing minnows with sackcloth. Whoever caught the most won, and whoever lost, had to eat one. They laughed until their bellies ached when Silas lost three times in a row and gagged when he tried to swallow the third minnow. Now, Massa Richard spoke to them both in the same manner his father spoke to Thomas’ daddy. Not cruel or nasty, just separate. Always separate. Thomas thought of those childhood days often and wondered how the years could change so much. The minnows still swam in that pond, but Thomas hadn’t laughed there for a long time.

He watched as everyone brought bowls to an old woman, who cooked over a pot outside, just as the old cook Abraham did at Arledge Hall. Thomas rose from the steps and looked inside his cabin for a bowl and a spoon. He found them on the only table inside. Dirt smudged the sides of the bowl, so he searched for the washbasin to scrub it and the spoon clean. He ached at the thought of his mama putting supper on the table for Daddy, Cissy, and Ben. He pictured the sadness on their faces and swallowed the tears in his throat before walking to the supper line to await his supper. No one paid him any attention, but Thomas figured it was better than the wrong attention. He stepped up to the woman, who turned the dipper over into his bowl. She stopped and squinted. Then she scooped up some beans she had just put into his bowl and dumped them back into the pot.

You gotta earn yo keep around here, boy. Tonight, you eat that. You want more, you learn to do more. That was a sorry first day on the stripping table.

He looked down into the small serving she gave him, and wondered if the flies ate more around there than he would. It was going to be a long night.

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Lucy woke at midnight. She climbed out of bed and wondered where Joe could be. She peered around the partition in the middle of their cabin and noted that her children slept in their beds. Thomas’ empty bed stood out from beneath the window. Walking over to his pillow, Lucy picked it up and pulled it toward her face, stifling the sobs that came over her. If she had swallowed an anvil, she couldn’t have hurt more in the deep part of her chest.

Mama? Cissy whispered nearby.

I’m sorry, baby. Go back to sleep.

Cissy jumped up and rushed to her mother’s side. I can’t Mama. It’s not right without Thomas.

No, baby. It’s not.

Why did Massa Banks sell him? How could he be so cruel?

I don’t know.

Daddy will fix it. Right, Mama? He can’t let Thomas stay away.

Cissy, yo daddy ain’t got no power over what the Massa does. If Massa wants to sell our children, he’ll sell ‘em.

But Massa likes Daddy.

Liking ain’t the same as respecting. You need to remember that. No matter who it is that likes you, that don’t mean they respect you.

Joe walked in, so Lucy stood up. She kissed Cissy. Go back to bed, child. We’ll talk in the morning.

Mama?

Yes?

Ben cried himself to sleep. He didn’t know I was listening, but I heard him.

Lucy looked over at her youngest son and sighed. She figured they’d all be crying for many nights to come.

She and Joe embraced for several minutes, and he let her cry on his shoulder.

Did you carry me back here today?

He nodded. It was okay. The missus looked shocked; she didn’t know nothing about Thomas, and she said you needed to rest. She told me you don’t have to work at the house tomorrow if you want to take a day to recover.

Recover? How could I recover from losing my child? Could she? Lucy shook her head. No. I need to work. If I think about him all day, I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe. Right now, I can’t see nothing but him gone. That’s all I see, Joe. If I don’t work, that’s just hours of seeing him gone. Seeing him gone is worse than not seeing him. Oh, I know that makes no sense. I can’t make any sense!

It makes sense, Lucy. It’s about the only thing that does right now. He placed his forehead against hers and cried with her.

Chapter Two

Richard and his father arrived home from Jackson on the following day to find his mother waiting in the parlor for them. She did not look happy.

Arledge, how could you?

His father handed his hat to Squire, who hung it on the hall tree before taking Richard’s. What have I done now, Lillian?

Lucy’s son! He’s gone!

Oh. So, Giles took him, eh?

Father, what’s this about? Where’s Thomas? Richard said.

His mother answered. He’s gone to Five Oaks; that’s where he is. Lucy is sick with grief. She tried to work today, but I sent her to her cabin to rest.

Five Oaks? Richard turned back to his father. You sold him?

Now, Richard…

Father, why would you sell Thomas? Has he done something wrong?

No, no. Nothing like that. It’s a business deal. We needed some extra funds, and Stanford needed another hand on his place.

He sat down and took the water Squire handed him. Richard shook his head when Squire offered him some, and the man dipped his head in acknowledgement, leaving them to discuss Thomas.

Arledge crossed one leg over the other, stroking his dark beard. I didn’t sell the boy on a whim. You know I never sell my slaves without cause. We needed some capital if I’m going to expand the crops.

We’ll need extra hands, too. Did you think of that? Richard said.

Stanford needed a hand now, and we have enough hands until we expand. Joe always manages so well that we stay on schedule. Stanford’s overseer is a terrible manager of the field hands, and they won’t trust a slave to be a driver under him, so they run into trouble. You know Stanford, son. He’s a stubborn cuss, and he won’t listen to my advice.

Why did it have to be Joe’s son? his mother asked.

It must be someone’s son, Lillian, and frankly, Thomas caught Stanford’s eye when he visited last month. Thomas is a good worker, much like his father.

I think it’s a terrible thing to do to Joe and Lucy.

I agree, Richard said.

It’s a good business deal, son.

Not for Thomas, Father. Have you seen how that overseer treats their slaves?

Yes, there is that. I’m sure it won’t affect the boy. He’s not one to falter in meeting his quotas. He’ll do fine.

Richard didn’t like it, but he knew why his father sold Thomas. They needed to expand their cotton distribution, and to do that, they’d have to purchase more property along the backside of the plantation, but they needed to pay off debt before they could purchase the new land.

I still don’t understand why Mr. Giles didn’t tell Joe and Lucy that Thomas would be sold. They needed a proper warning, Arledge, his mother said.

Well, I guess I didn’t consider it. It can’t be helped now, anyway.

His mother frowned and walked out. She didn’t hide her disapproval, but Richard didn’t know what to think. His father’s conduct with the situation bothered him, but why, he didn’t know. Thomas was a slave, after all. Still, he couldn’t help glancing toward the pond near the gardens when he walked to the fields to talk to Joe.

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The next day, Arledge Hall buzzed with talk about Thomas. Joe focused on working, so he wouldn’t think about what might happen at Five Oaks.

In the fields, Joe saw Jefferson’s boy, Silas, carrying a bucket of water and a ladle from the well at the edge of the field. Afternoon, sir.

Afternoon, Silas. He touched the boy’s shoulder and grabbed the ladle. Scooping up the cool water, he poured some over his head, then drank the rest. Be sure Abraham gets the first drink.

Yes, sir.

Joe watched as he went straight to Abraham, where the old man prepared the noonday meal over the furious flames. His wrinkled hand shook as he tried to bring the ladle to his mouth. Silas took the ladle from him and held it as Abraham swallowed in slow gulps. Jefferson had a good boy there. At only fifteen, he already had more insight and compassion than most. Joe wondered if losing his mother at such a young age contributed to his early maturity.

Watching Silas, the memories rushed back to Joe, and he saw his mother screaming as they dragged him away. He could still smell the blood that ran down his face that day after he tried to hold on to her. They had hit her, too. She fell and didn’t wake up. His last memory of his mother was the sight of her lying on the ground with blood spilling from her nose.

Mr. Joe? He blinked. Silas peered up at him, shielding the sun from his eyes.

What is it, Silas?

I don’t want to give you bad news after all you’ve been through with Thomas, but something’s been bothering me, and I think I should tell you.

What is it?

You know that white boy that lives down the road?

Joe didn’t have to ask. Clarence. What about him?

"Well, he’s been showing up here in the fields whenever you or Mr. Giles ain’t here. It’s like he be watchin’ or something, you know?’

What does he do?

He glanced over at Cissy and the other girls in her gang of hands. He was fussin’ around the girls. I just think he’s out for trouble, Mr. Joe.

Joe looked over at his daughter, where she picked from her row of cotton in a steady rhythm. Cissy had a beautiful and mature face, even at the young age of twelve. She looked at least fifteen, with smooth brown skin and long eyelashes. She had a yellow hue in her brown eyes and her full, rosy lips complemented her when she smiled. Lucy had been hoping Cissy would move to working in the big house like she did, which might be best. He’d miss seeing her, but her beauty called attention to her in ways that worried Joe. On the other hand, she’d be in the sights of any male guests that would frequent the big house. He hated that being born pretty could be such a problem for her when he couldn’t do much to protect his only daughter.

Silas, how long has Clarence been bothering Cissy?

How’d you know it was her?

Your eyes told me.

His face flushed. What should we do, sir? He comes every day.

Leave it to me, Silas. I’ll handle it. Take that water bucket and fill it again. That sun scorches the throat and leaves it drier than dust.

But Mr. Joe, we’re only supposed to have one ladle at midday.

Silas, it’s a hot day. Fill it up, and make sure you drink, too.

Yes, sir. He turned to go.

Silas?

Sir?

I guess I should be glad you follow Cissy around as much as you follow the rules.

His face flushed again, but instead of stammering out an answer, he turned and raced for the well.

Don’t fall in, Silas! Joe said, laughing.

Sobering, he mulled over the information Silas gave him. Clarence could be a problem. Although Massa didn’t take kindly to that boy and his family, Clarence was still white. If he wanted Cissy, there wasn’t much Joe could do about it under the law. The slave code was clear. You couldn’t strike a white man even if he intended to do you wrong. He sometimes wondered if it had been better for her to be born ugly or deformed. The sun moved its position in the sky, so he hurried to oversee the cotton harvest. He’d have to focus on his worries with the children on his knees that night.

That evening, he sat at the table with Lucy, Ben, and Cissy. Thomas’ chair sat empty, so the sadness of missing him hovered over the meal. Lucy served them a plate of rice, beans, and cornbread. She often brought leftovers from the big house if the missus gave them to her. Lucy worked in the big house as head servant. Like her husband, she had to oversee other slaves. Their prominence as head slaves provided them with other privileges as well, such as one of the few larger slave dwellings on the property. Typically, the field driver would live in the dwellings at the back of the property, but since Lucy was a house slave, Massa gave them a garden dwelling.

Joe watched Cissy clear the table while Ben mended the sole of a shoe. Leave it for tomorrow, Ben. His ten-year-old son worked as hard as his older brother.

But I need it to clean those stalls tomorrow. If I don’t have this shoe fixed, I must step in that mess, Daddy.

Joe laughed. Guess you’d finally have a reason to be so filthy every night. Here. He motioned for Ben to hand off the shoes. Go wipe down and get into bed. Cissy, you, too.

Cissy kissed him on the cheek. Ben said goodnight, and they went to the only other room in the house.

Now that the children are in bed, tell me what else has happened. Have you heard any bad news about Thomas? Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong. I’ve lived with you long enough to know better. Are you worried they’re hurting him? If we tell Massa Richard, maybe he can do something. He said he’s going to do his best to buy Thomas back once they are able.

No, Lucy. I’m sure Thomas is fine. The worry he felt over his boy bothered him, but he shrugged it aside. Another worry gnawed at him. He told her what Silas had told him today.

That Clarence is no good. I knew it when he was little, and he showed up at the house begging for charity for his mama. He stole Massa’s watch from the parlor. Remember that? Boy oughta be whipped.

Seems to me you said no one oughta be whipped, that it’s an abomination to humanity.

I don’t use those big words, Joseph. You’re the only one around here who can read and use those fancy white words.

Words aren’t divided by race, Lucy. Language is universal. Not that it does me any good these days, anyway. I’m too tired to read. He finished Ben’s shoe and put it by the other one near the door. He pulled Lucy into his arms. You know, there’s talk of a dance on Saturday night. He sure wanted to bring the light back into her eyes. Maybe a dance would help.

Oh, Joe. Last time it was just so hot. I’d rather swim in the creek.

He laughed. "I think that’s a good idea.