Chapter Two
The rowboat scraped onto the muddy bank of Hutchinson Island, and Alice stepped out into ankle-deep marsh water. She lifted her skirts and followed Richard onto firmer ground. The island’s air was thick with the buzzing of insects. A chorus of cicadas and tree frogs pulsed in waves from the surrounding woods. Overhead, Spanish moss dripped from gnarled oak branches like ghostly lace.
In the daylight, Alice could see that Hutchinson Island was largely wild. A narrow footpath led up from the landing through a tangle of palmettos and pines. William Wise hobbled ahead of them, leaning heavily on his stick as he navigated the uneven trail. The enslaved boatman stayed behind to secure the skiff, leaving Alice and Richard to follow their new master alone.
They soon emerged into a clearing of perhaps a few acres on the north end of the island. In the center stood a rough timber house with a sagging porch. Nearby lay a small fenced pen holding a half-dozen lean cattle and a few goats. Beyond the pen stretched rows of felled trees, where stumps and logs indicated an area recently cleared of forest – evidence of ongoing work to create the “vista” through the island’s woods that General Oglethorpe had ordered. The ground there was littered with branches and sawdust, and the acrid scent of fresh-cut pine hung in the air.
Two other figures toiled at the far end of the clearing. As Wise led Alice and Richard toward the house, a tall, ginger-haired man in a ragged shirt paused from splitting logs to watch them. Leaning on his axe, he squinted warily. Not far from him, an older African man was piling brush onto a cart; he too glanced over. Alice realized these must be the other laborers on the farm – likely indentured servants like themselves, assigned to Wise to help run the cattle operation and clear land.
Wise didn’t bother with introductions. He clambered up the porch steps and gestured brusquely. “You’ll quarter in there.” He pointed to a low outbuilding – little more than a lean-to shack attached to the side of the main house. “Stow your gear, then get to work. Lots to do if you don’t want to feel the lash.”
Alice and Richard exchanged a look. They possessed almost nothing – just the clothes on their backs and a small bundle containing a spare shift and a few personal trinkets Alice had kept through the voyage. Still, they moved to the shack as instructed. Inside, it was dark and cramped, with a dirt floor. Two straw pallets lay on the ground, crawling with palmetto bugs. The smell of mold and old sweat made Alice wrinkle her nose.
Richard sighed. “I’ll clean it out later,” he whispered to her. “At least we have a roof.”
Before they could catch their breath, Wise’s voice rasped from outside. “White! Get over here and hitch the mule. Patrick, Jacob – bring those logs in. Girl, come inside!”
Alice startled at the summons. She hurried out, nearly bumping into the lanky red-headed man hauling a log on his shoulder. Up close she saw he was about Richard’s age, with freckles across sunburnt cheeks. He gave her a tight nod of acknowledgment as he passed. “I’m Patrick,” he muttered quietly in an Irish brogue. “Another one, eh? Good luck.” There was no mirth in his tone.
In the doorway, Wise impatiently beckoned Alice. She stepped gingerly into the main house. It was dim and stifling inside. The single room served as kitchen, parlor, and bedroom all in one. Against one wall was a large bed heaped with rumpled blankets. Flies buzzed around an unwashed tin plate of food scraps on the table. The sour odor of illness hit her – a chamber pot not recently emptied, sweat-soaked bedding, and something medicinal or herbal attempting to mask the stench.
Wise eased himself into a high-backed wooden chair. He grimaced in pain as he settled. “My damned spine,” he grunted. For a moment Alice almost felt a pang of pity seeing him wince, but it quickly evaporated when he fixed her with that same leering gaze. “Well, girl, what are you waiting for? Fetch fresh water from the barrel out back. I need my bath.”
Alice blinked. Bath? She saw no bathtub, just a large oak barrel by the door that apparently served as a water reservoir. A metal pail sat nearby. Realization dawned – he expected her to bathe him here, likely in that chair or in a tin basin.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, keeping her eyes down to hide her revulsion. Outside, she found the rain barrel and filled the pail with water, struggling to lift it. Richard hurried over, having seen her from across the yard as he hitched a mule to a small cart. “What is it?” he whispered, taking the heavy pail from her hands.
“He…he wants a bath,” Alice said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.
Richard’s brown eyes darkened with anger, but he pressed the pail handle back into her grip gently. “I’ll help as soon as I can,” he promised in a low voice. “Be strong, Alice.”
She nodded and steeled herself, carrying the water inside. Wise had shed his coat and waistcoat and sat in only a yellowed shirt and breeches, looking impatient.
“Took you long enough,” he snapped. “Pour it in that basin and get washing. I can’t abide filth.”
Alice poured the water into a wide tin basin at his feet. Her hands shook. She found a rag and a bar of lye soap on the table and knelt beside him. Up close, Wise’s condition was more apparent – his skin was sallow and marred with red splotches of rash, and he exuded the sour-sweet smell of sickness. He must have been suffering from some chronic illness that left him weak and in pain.
Trying to breathe through her mouth, Alice dipped the rag in the water and reached up to wipe his neck. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing a bony chest with sparse gray hair. When the cool rag touched his skin, Wise closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s it… scrub well.”
She bit her lip and continued washing his neck and arms. The task was degrading, but she clung to the thought that compliance might keep him appeased and avoid anger. As she wiped the grime from his leathery skin, Wise suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist. Alice froze.
His eyes opened, fixed on her in a way that made her heart pound. “Not so timid now, eh?” he rasped. He pulled her hand, guiding the rag lower down his chest. “Get all the dirt.”
Alice’s throat tightened with disgust. Her instinct was to jerk her hand away, but she forced herself to remain still. “Shall I wash your hair, sir?” she asked quietly, hoping to redirect him. She had noticed a wooden comb on the table – likely for this purpose, as mentioned when they were assigned.
Wise released her wrist and leaned back, apparently content to be tended to. “Aye, my hair.” Greasy locks of graying brown hair hung past his collar. “Comb out the tangles first.”
Alice fetched the comb and moved behind him. His head was oily and the hair knotted. As she carefully picked the comb through it, Wise continued to prattle. “You’ll be doing this every day. That fool Patrick used to help, but he’s worthless with a comb. The other one, Jacob, he’s a dumb Guinea, no use for anything but hauling wood.”
So Patrick and Jacob were indeed the other two laborers. Alice wondered how long they’d been here under Wise’s command – long enough to earn his scorn, clearly. She exchanged a glance with Richard through the open doorway; he was passing by with the mule cart full of logs, sweat streaming down his face. The frustration in his eyes was evident.
“Lean his head back a bit,” came a low voice behind her. It was Richard – he had paused at the door. He spoke deferentially, addressing Wise. “Sir, if you lean back, Alice can wash your hair easier.”
Wise huffed but complied, tilting his head so it rested against Alice’s midsection as she stood behind the chair. Richard stepped in and picked up the pail, likely intending to fetch more water or assist. But Wise’s eyes snapped open. “I don’t need you here. Get back to work!” he barked at Richard.
Richard’s jaw tensed. Slowly, he set the pail down. “Yes, sir.” He gave Alice one more look – apologetic and angry – then returned to the yard.
Alice poured some water over Wise’s hair from a cup and lathered it with soap. The old man closed his eyes again, seeming to enjoy the feel of her fingers massaging his scalp. He gave a small groan of pleasure that made Alice’s skin crawl.
“You’ve got soft hands…” Wise mumbled. Without warning, he reached up and grasped Alice’s thigh through her dress.
Alice gasped and stumbled back, knocking over the basin. Water splashed across the floorboards. For an instant her mind went blank with shock and fear. Wise’s hand had been like a claw, groping at her leg.
The old man’s eyes opened in a furious glare. “Clumsy slut!” he spat. He lurched halfway up from his chair, raising a hand as if to strike her, but his own frailty betrayed him – the sudden movement made him dizzy. He swayed, and Alice instinctively stepped forward to steady him before he fell.
“You useless girl,” he panted, leaning on her arm. He did not slap her, but his voice dripped with menace. “Spoiling the water like that. Mop it, now!” He shoved her toward a rag on the floor.
Heart pounding, Alice crouched and wiped at the spilled water with trembling hands. She could feel Wise’s gaze burning into her from above. Humiliation and rage warred within her. I have to endure, she reminded herself desperately. He’s my master; if I anger him, he could have me beaten… or worse. In Georgia, indentured servants had little protection under the law, especially ones who were penniless Irish Catholics. She had heard stories on the ship of cruel masters extending indentures on a whim or having disobedient servants whipped until their backs were flayed.
When the water was sopped up, Wise tossed her the comb which had fallen to the floor. “Finish the job,” he growled. “And no more foolishness.”
Alice bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She forced herself to resume combing his hair and rinsing it, this time keeping her body a safe distance from his reach. Her hands moved through the motions, but inside her head she was screaming.
That first day on Hutchinson Island left them bruised and exhausted. Alice’s back throbbed from hauling water and tending the livestock. Richard’s palms were blistered and raw from chopping wood and clearing brush in the humid heat. They had eaten nothing but a few crusts of bread that Wise tossed their way at sundown. In the adjacent lean-to, they could hear Patrick muttering bitter curses at their master before falling into a fitful sleep.
In the privacy of the darkness, Alice’s silent sobs shook her thin frame. Richard held her close, one arm around her shoulders as she buried her face against his chest to muffle the sound. His shirt was damp with sweat and river water from the day’s labors, but to her it was the only comfort in this wretched place.
“He…he put his hands on me, Richard,” she choked out in a whisper. Saying it aloud made her shudder anew. “I was washing him and he… he grabbed me.”
Richard’s arm tightened protectively. She felt the muscles in his jaw clench where her head rested. For a long moment he was silent, and she knew he was wrestling with his fury. “I’m sorry,” he breathed finally. “God, I’m so sorry, Alice. I should have been there.”
“You couldn’t stop him,” she replied, voice trembling. “He’s the master. He can do what he wants to us.” The truth of it tasted bitter as she said it.
Richard’s hand found hers under the blanket. “Maybe not forever,” he whispered. There was a dangerous edge to his tone that made Alice lift her head to study his face in the darkness. She could just make out the faint outline of his features by moonlight filtering through the slats. His eyes were open, staring at the rafters.
“What do you mean?” she asked quietly.
Richard turned to look at her, and in his eyes she saw a resolve that had not been there before. “I won’t let him hurt you again. I swear it.”
Alice squeezed his hand, her lifeline in the dark. “We have no choice… we’re at his mercy,” she said bitterly. “If we run, they’ll catch us. If we fight back, they’ll hang us.”
He was silent for a long time. Outside, somewhere in the swamp, an owl hooted. Alice’s tears had dried, replaced by a numb despair. She felt Richard shift, propping himself up on one elbow.
“What if,” he said very softly, “we did run? Together. We could slip away at first light, take the skiff… cross the river into Carolina.” His words came out in a rush, as if he’d been turning this idea over and now released it. “They say South Carolina doesn’t return runaway indentures. We could disappear inland. Or even find a ship.”
Alice listened, tempted for a moment by the vivid picture he painted: escape across the water, leaving William Wise and all of Georgia behind forever. Freedom. It was all they had dreamed of. But then her practical sense, hardened by years of surviving harsh realities, reasserted itself.
“How would we get past the town?” she whispered. “We’ve no money, no food. And what of Patrick and Jacob? They’d raise the alarm as soon as we’re discovered missing.”
Richard frowned. “Patrick might cover for us a while… he hates Wise too. Jacob, I’m not sure, he doesn’t speak English well.” He brushed a lock of hair from Alice’s cheek gently. “We could steal supplies, travel by night. It’s a risk, but better than staying here.”
Alice felt her heart quicken at the notion. She imagined creeping to the skiff at dawn, poling quietly across the river while Wise still slept, the sun rising behind them. The thought was intoxicating. But her eyes fell on the shape of the house silhouetted against the sky. In one of those windows, Wise was likely snoring in drunken oblivion right now. If he woke to find them gone… her mind conjured the hue and cry, hounds perhaps set on their trail, posters nailed to taverns offering rewards. Runaways in the colonies were relentlessly hunted. And if caught, their fate would be a whipping at best, or a noose at worst.
She shivered. “If we fail… they might kill us, Richard.”
He drew her back into his arms. “I’d rather die free, trying to reach freedom, than live like this,” he whispered fiercely. Then, softening, he pressed his forehead to hers. “But I can’t make that choice for you, love. Only with you.”
Alice closed her eyes. The word love lingered in the air between them – he had never said it outright until now. It warmed her, even as fear cooled her blood. She wanted a life with Richard beyond this cursed indenture, beyond this island. She wanted the future they had whispered about on the ship: a little plot of land, a home, perhaps children and peace.
A sudden clatter from the house shattered the moment – Wise coughing violently, then the sound of something heavy being knocked to the floor. Alice and Richard froze, listening. After a few seconds, silence returned, save for the croak of frogs.
They exhaled. Richard gently cupped Alice’s face in his work-roughened hand. “Tomorrow, I’ll scout the riverside, see if the boat’s left unattended. We might try tomorrow night, if the weather holds.”
Alice bit her lip. “Tomorrow,” she echoed. In her heart, indecision churned. Running now would be rash. Could they endure a little longer, maybe find a safer opportunity? But another day meant another day under Wise’s tyranny.
In the end, she just nodded. “We’ll see tomorrow.”
They held each other in the dark, neither truly asleep. Both silently contemplated the dangerous path ahead – a path to freedom that grew more tempting with every cruel word and wandering hand from William Wise