Before Lawrence: September 15
Chapter ten of Before Lawrence, Jayhawkers advance through western Missouri.
This is the tenth chapter of Before Lawrence. To learn more about the purpose of writing this story, check out the “Forward.” Before Lawrence is part of The Missouri Chronicles. Follow the story by subscribing on Substack, contribute your thoughts, and check out the added resources.
A rider galloped into the village of Osceola and raced into the courthouse. He stormed into the office of the county clerk, Daniel Morgan. It was a Saturday, September 14th. Normally, the courthouse would have been closed. But the county officials decided to keep someone on watch at the courthouse at all times in case news arrived about impending trouble from Kansas. The next minute, Morgan exited the office and rang the bell. People soon gathered into the town square. Morgan waited about 30 minutes, stood up on the top of the courthouse steps and announced, “Red-legs have burned the courthouse in Butler!”
Judge Sutherland, who had just arrived, was standing nearby. “Good Lord. That is just fifty miles west of here.”
Someone in the crowd yelled, “They could be here in two days if they rode hard!”
There was an outburst of dismay from the crowd. It was now apparent that the war may be coming their way. It took several minutes before the clerk could get everyone to quiet down.
“Word is that they are heading south toward the Osage River. We do not know if they are coming here yet. But we need to get the county court together as soon as possible.”
So it was runners were sent out in all directions to gather the county judges, the bankers and the militia officers. And, just as importantly, begin the process of sending out scouts to see if they could find the Red-legs.
So it would be that at dusk Francis Chouteau would see galloping up his dusty drive Philip Jackson.
Jackson did not wait for a greeting. “Francis, the Red-Legs just burned the courthouse in Butler. It is reported they may be heading this direction.”
“Well, let’s see if we can find them before they find us.”
Jackson refreshed himself and Chouteau gave him a different horse. The two men rode west toward where the Osage and Sac River joined, on the west end of Chouteau’s farm. Pastureland was still in development. They rode through a band of trees before coming out to a small patch of prairie grass before riding once again into a narrow band of trees. Leaving their horses tied to trees in the rear, they crept to the edge of a cliff, an ideal place to spy out the land below. They could see for miles. Immediately below them between the two rivers was the grassy field on which 10,000 soldiers had camped only ten days previously. Francis had never seen so many people. He thought to himself what had become of his world, how an isolated outpost of civilization could suddenly be covered with tents and soldiers.
“I doubt we will see anything tonight. But if they travel by night, they will most likely be moving slow and possibly using torches. I am going to leave you here for a spell. I will be back with some water and food. I see you brought your bedroll.”
“That would be great.”
“Just to be certain, don’t light a fire. I can imagine those Redlegs can see a fire up here for miles.”
Chouteau returned shortly with supplies and added cover in the event it rained. It was an ideal night, the clear night sky ablaze with stars. They both slept on and off throughout the night with nothing but darkness as far as the horizon to the west. The following morning, Chouteau returned to his home to help with the morning chores. He returned mid-morning as the two men spent the next two hours looking over the horizon with nothing showing.
Philip Jackson peered through a set of binoculars.
“What do you know? Looks like Obediah Smith down there.”
He handed the binoculars to Francis.
“Phil, I have never looked through one of these before. I have my spyglass, but nothing like this.”
“Try them out.”
Francis adjusted the binoculars and then peered to the road below. Sure enough, there was Obediah Smith riding in his wagon, heading west towards Roscoe.
“Sure hope he knows what he is riding into.”
“What I know of him is that he lives down south near Cedar County. He is a traveling preacher, I hear. I suppose he is heading that way to preach his next sermon.”
“With a whole week to prepare?”
The two men looked at each other. Neither one of them had the habit of attending church, but it now occurred to them that today was a Sunday. Obediah Smith, presumably a devout Christian, was traveling on a Sunday.
They looked out over the expanse. Fall was approaching. Here and there they could see trees beginning to change, most particularly the bright yellow of the black walnut trees.
Francis remarked, “Love this time of year. I could stay out here for days if I did not have a farm to run.”
“You and me both.”
Meanwhile, back in Osceola, David and Paula Anderson were sitting in their parlor. As expected, Sundays could be a very busy day for a pastor. Normally they would join another family for dinner, but Paula was not feeling well. So a couple of families were kind enough to bring over a lunch. After their guests departed, they had a lot to discuss. Of course, the recent news of advancing marauders was on their minds, but their concerns on this Sunday afternoon were on the battles they had to fight as normal people. For David, his days were filled with the duties of running the school and his evenings in sermon preparation. But as a couple they were once again experiencing what families in 1861 encountered in abundance – love and pregnancy. This chapter in their lives began two weeks prior when Paula first began to struggle with nausea and weakness. It was not long before the entire church knew that Paula was expecting. She had no idea how she was going to run a house and care for her two young children. It was apparent she would need help.
And help came in the most unexpected way. One of the predominant supporters of the Methodist church was the Thompson family, and Laurel was the sort that did not take “no” for an answer. She came alongside Paula after the service and told her she would be by Monday with help. Paula was visibly grateful and relieved. She really took no more thought of it, looking forward to getting some relief. David was also grateful.
So it was on Monday morning that Laurel pulled up in her wagon, sitting alongside a black man who held the reigns. Riding in the back of the wagon was an older black woman who was holding a basket. She slid out of the back of the wagon and walked up to the door of the Anderson cottage alongside Laurel.
Paula looked out with some surprise. Little did she think on Sunday that Laurel’s idea of help would be to bring a slave to her doorstep. But Laurel left her little time to think on the matter.
“Paula. This is Bernice. Bernice, this is Mrs. Anderson.”
Bernice smiled and nodded her head, “Please to meet you, mam.”
“I want you to know that Bernice has helped me raise seven children. Trust me, she is a big help.”
Paula, on the surface, responded with politeness and grace, “Thank you Laurel. Won’t you all come in?”
Paula introduced Bernice to the two children. She then asked how long Bernice would be staying?
“That I was wondering about. I have never been in your cottage before, but I see you have a small room over here where someone can sleep. I tell you what. You have Bernice for the day, and if you wish, you can have her stay overnight with you all until you feel better.”
“Well, thank you, Laurel.”
“I must be going for now. I have some errands to run before returning to the farm. I will send my man out to pick up Bernice late afternoon.”
Paula, to say the least, was in knots. As Laurel rode off with “her man”, she was suddenly standing alongside a slave – in her home. But something more awkward dug into her conscience. She realized that this was the first time she had ever spoken to a black person. She looked at Bernice and she could sense Bernice knew it.
Thankfully, the children would not allow either one to consider the situation further. “Well, Bernice, looks like Scott and Melissa need our attention. I appreciate whatever help you can provide.”
“No problem, Ms. Anderson.”
Paula looked on as the children looked at Bernice with intense curiosity. Bernice smiled at them. She soon had them comfortable with her presence. To them, it was clear, she was not a slave, nor was she “black.” She was Bernice. In the days to come, Bernice would forever etch into their memories her no-nonsense approach to behavior, her peculiar stories, the songs she would hum as she worked, her smell, and her cooking.
So it was that on September 15th David and Paula were spending a private moment. For the past two weeks Bernice had lived in their home. Yes, the same David and Paula Anderson that had launched on a mission to disentangle Christians from slavery, were now hosting a slave in their own home.
David mapped it out from the biblical perspective. “We both know that the Bible recognizes that slavery was a condition that some people lived in. It is clear, in the history of our faith, that slavery was never considered acceptable for Christians, but as a small minority in an overwhelming pagan society, they knew there was little they could do about it. So what did Paul teach? To love the slave as you would any other brother or sister in Christ.”
Paula responded. “I must say it has been interesting for me. Before I met Bernice, I had never talked to a black person before. I realized how absurd it was that I could condemn someone for owning a slave, but ignore my own prejudices. Bernice has been a blessing in our home. Yet it is so wrong that she is not free. To be quite frank, I think Laurel treats her as just another piece of property that she could lend to me, as if she let us borrow the wagon. Yet it is also obvious that Bernice and Laurel are quite close. There is something more to their relationship than master and slave. She trusts her.”
David thought for a moment, then added. “I think this is what God meant for us to learn. To be gracious. We can’t change hearts overnight. Only God can do that. In the meantime, we can take this opportunity to love Bernice. And pray for the Thompsons. I must confess that I still wrestle with how a person could profess to be a Christian and yet find the ownership of slaves acceptable.”
Needless to say, the Andersons found that it was the smallest things that demonstrated the awkwardness of slavery. In a large home such as the Thompsons, it was proper for the slaves to not eat at the same table as the family. They ate in the kitchen. Bernice was embarrassed when first asked to join the Anderson’s at the table.
“It is not a servant’s place to eat at the family table.”
David was almost taken aback that it was Bernice who was correcting him on decorum. He didn’t want to embarrass Bernice by making her do something that would place her in trouble. But he had to be practical.
“Bernice, there is no table in the kitchen. Are you going to eat standing up all the time?”
Bernice thought for a moment. “I suppose not. But we can’t be seen. There are people in this town that will not understand.”
David added, “And it is for the sake of the children. They don’t understand why you can’t eat with us.”
So Bernice started joining the Andersons at the dinner table. One day Bernice and Paula were alone, the children napping in the next room. So they sat out under the porch. Paula was mending one of David’s shirts and Bernice was peeling potatoes.
Paula was still struggling with how far to reach into the life of Bernice. She did not want to put her in a bad place, or risk losing her. So the issue of her enslavement was never brought up. Yet Bernice would reveal one thing or another from her past.
“Came up with three other slaves after the family had settled in. We were all from Kentucky. It was quite a journey. We had no idea of what we were comin’ into. The first years were so hard, but God blessed us and we never starved.
“But you know, Miss Anderson? Three of the men had come along with Master Thompson to clear the land before we came. They built a small house, a bit larger than yours. And you know somethin’? The men ate with Master Thompson and his brother at the same table. They lived in the same house. They built some small cabins for us to live in before eventually building the big house. It was at that time that we learned that servants do not eat at the masters’ table. Things changed after that point. And what causes that change? Having a big kitchen.”
Bernice smiled.
Paula smiled back and nodded her head.
“I doubt you have met Cynthia, but she is the slave-woman who runs that Johnson place. She never sits at the master’s table, even when they ain’t there.”
© Copyright 2024 to Eric Niewoehner
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Next Chapter: September 19 — Neighbors
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