The day had already been a long one for Sophia. She knew that her exhaustion was obvious—it had been the explicit basis of Georgiana’s insistent pleas that she return to Mr. Randolph’s house and immediately go to bed—yet she ruminated deeply on the fact that even after her hardest day’s work on the homestead or the plantation before that she had never felt a fatigue like that. An afternoon’s worth of sewing left an ache in her fingers that seemed mild in comparison to the ache she felt in her spirit; she doubted that even a day plowing under the hot sun would have left her body more weary than her soul was after that day in court. How she would be an encouragement to Isaac when she felt so little hope remained a mystery to her, but she had visited him every day since arriving in Richmond and refused to fail him that evening.
The gruff jailer silently ushered her in when she arrived. Sophia had never asked what Mr. Page had done to make her visits possible, but whatever it had been, it had certainly left an impression on the man who had treated her so rudely on that first attempted visit.
Upon arriving at the cell, she was surprised to find Isaac exactly where she had found him every other evening: crouched in the corner, craning his neck in a most uncomfortable position, so that he could read the small Bible that she had procured for him with the last bit of light that trickled in through the barred window on the far wall. She had almost expected to find him fast asleep or anxiously pacing—either one would have been understandable—but instead he seemed almost unnaturally tranquil.
Isaac looked up as the jailer began working at the heavy lock and shut his Bible. He smiled and said, “My darling Sophia. I’m glad you came.”
The jailer leaned toward the couple as if he had been about to say something, but then merely closed the door and left the couple alone as they embraced.
“Of course, I came, Isaac. I’ve been here every day, haven’t I?”
“Yes, of course, but . . .” His voice trailed off.
“But what?”
“Today was harder than the rest. I couldn’t always get a good look at you, but just before court was over I did. I’ve never seen you more downcast in my life.”
Sophia let out a deep sigh. “I know. I want to be strong for you, to support you as much as I can, but . . . well, things just look so bleak now. That’s probably the worst thing I can say to a man sitting in jail, and I’m sorry. Isaac, I just don’t think I can bear this any more. This—”
“It’s too much.”
“Yes! It is too much. I don’t know how you can seem so calm in all this.”
“I’m not.” Sophia’s face scrunched into an involuntary look of skepticism and Isaac quickly added, “I’m not as calm as I seem. You came at a good time; I’m glad you haven’t been here for many of the bad times.”
“If I were in here instead of you, I couldn’t do what you’re doing right now; I would go out of my mind.”
“Yes, you could be just this calm.”
“But how can you know that?”
Isaac shifted his sitting position before speaking. A flash of the discomfort that was his constant and unwelcome companion passed quickly but noticeably across his face.
“Well, I suppose you’re right; I can’t know it, not with certainty anyhow. But some things I do know: God is good. I know He declares the end from the beginning. I know that He ordains whatsoever comes to pass.”
“But this is your life at stake,” Sophia pleaded.
Isaac shook his head gently. “I am not my own,” he began, before pausing.
Sophia hung her head and tears began welling. Isaac tenderly placed his manacled hands on the sides of her face and lifted it until they were once against looking into each other’s eyes.
“But belong—body and soul,” he continued, his voice soft and barely audible over the din of the jail.
Sophia joined her voice to her husband’s as they completed the familiar lines in unison: “in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.”
“These chains won’t hold me here a moment longer than God allows. One way or another they’re coming off, and then I’ll be free.”
“Time to leave!” the jailer bellowed, following up his demand with a gratuitous pounding on the bars of the cell.
Sophia kissed her husband on the cheek and rose to leave. She desperately wanted to give him some final word of encouragement, but was able to manage only a desperate, “I love you,” before the rising tide of tears became too much. She turned briskly and hurried out the door, lest the last picture in her husband’s mind that night would be his wife racked by uncontrollable weeping.
----------------------------------------
It was after dinner before Georgiana was able to leave the house and visit Camden. Her parents both had been full of questions about the trial. Her father had other business to attend to that day and her mother could not abide the thought of crowding into a stuffy courtroom with all those people. So it was rather late when she arrived at her uncle’s house to find Camden hunched over one of his law books in the office, straining at some difficult passage.
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“Is it all that complicated?” she asked.
Georgiana rarely bothered to announce herself any more. Camden did not look up.
“Cam, are you all right?”
“Oh, um, yes. I’m fine. Have you been there long? I apologize. I was concentrating on this paragraph.”
“No, I haven’t been here long. You seem engrossed. Do you want me to go?”
“No, please stay. I feel as if I’m getting nowhere, so I should probably set this aside for a few minutes at least.”
He slid the book slightly to one side and sat up fully in the chair stationed on the far side of the desk. Georgiana ventured fully into the room and walked around to the large window seat where she carefully arranged the cushions before sitting down. She hoped that Camden would recognize the invitation and he did.
“Can you explain the issue to me? Sometimes my uncle would try to put the problem in terms that I could understand and that would lead him to a solution.”
Camden turned to face her and began talking. “I suppose I can try. I didn’t seem to be able to explain it terribly well earlier today when I spoke with Isaac, but perhaps a second try will prove beneficial.”
Georgiana sat up a little straighter, hoping the sign of her increased attention would help stimulate his thinking.
“In the law of wills and estates there is a rule against perpetuities. That is, if someone wants to leave property to an heir, but only if some condition is fulfilled, the condition must be one that can be satisfied within some reasonable period of time. The idea is that property ought to be passed on, rather than tied up by the dead hand of the past”
“I think I see,” Georgiana said. She was not entirely sure that she did see precisely. She had an aptitude for understanding legal concepts when her uncle explained them—and Camden was almost as capable as Mr. Randolph in that regard—but this was rather abstract. “Perhaps you could give me an example?”
“Let’s see.” Camden scratched his head for a moment before continuing. “A legal treatise would probably talk about a piece of land . . . let’s call it ‘Burwell Plantation.’ Suppose in his will your father conveys Burwell Plantation to you for life and then to the oldest of your brother Randolph’s children. The property interest of your brother’s oldest child is uncertain at present, but if he or she ever actually acquires Burwell Plantation it must be upon your death. So it would vest, as they say, within twenty-one years of a life in being, that is within twenty-one years of your life.”
“So then there are situations where it would take more than that number of years and then . . . I’m sorry, this one seems a little harder to grasp.”
“It definitely is. It gave me fits when I first studied it with Mr. Randolph. It hasn’t gotten much easier in the interim. An example on the other side would be something like ‘Senator Burwell conveys Burwell Plantation to Georgiana for life then to Randolph’s oldest child when he or she reaches the age of thirty.”
“And the difference would be . . .”
“Well, heaven forbid, but suppose you inherited the plantation upon your father’s death and then you were to die when your brother’s oldest child is only two years old. Can you see the problem?”
“Well, this niece or nephew of mine would not get the plantation for another twenty-eight years, when they turn thirty, but that’s . . .”
“Yes, you’re on the right track. That would be more than twenty-one years after the death of a life in being at the time your father made the will. So that entire section having to do with the conveyance of the plantation would have to be thrown out.”
“It’s enough to make my head swim, Cam!”
“And mine too. But I can’t leave it at that. Now listen to what the Tasker will says: ‘all my slaves now born or hereafter to be born, whilst their mothers are in the service of me or my heirs, to be free at the age of thirty years.’ I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but the judge may be right. I have to come up with a convincing argument that this is an interest that has a definite time limit on it. Isaac’s life depends on it.”
Georgiana laid her hand on his. The problem her beloved faced was, in this instance, beyond her ability to assist. Perhaps his explaining it to her would jostle loose some mental logjam, but she could not hope to find the solution for him, especially not by morning. She settled for allowing him a few more minutes’ distraction before he continued his work.
“Was that John Marshall who left the court with you earlier?” she asked. “I would have stayed myself, but I wanted to make sure Sophia got back safely.” Camden nodded. “I wonder what he could have wanted to talk to you about. The trial, I suppose?”
“It was. In fact, he offered to help on this perpetuities issue.”
Georgiana started at the remark. “Then why are we sitting here? If I cannot help you, surely he can.”
Camden started to speak, but stopped himself. Georgiana seized the opportunity and said, “There is no shame in seeking help when it is needed. That’s what my uncle would tell you if he were here.”
“If Mr. Randolph were here, he would have spotted the issue immediately. In fact—”
“Cam, you mustn’t do this. You give yourself far too little credit and doubt yourself too much. I do not doubt you. My uncle certainly does not doubt you.”
Camden sighed then raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “What could I possibly have done to deserve such a devoted love?”
“I’m sure I do not know,” she said. “If you ever discover it, please be sure to let me know. What I do know, however, is that it is getting late. Mr. Marshall’s willingness to help might not dwindle away, but the hours between now and when court convenes in the morning will surely not cease their march forward. Will you go now?”
“I will,” Camden said as he rose. He kissed her hand one more time. “What will you do?”
“I must return home soon, but I will look in on Sophia before I leave. Please don’t wait for me.”
Camden rose from the window seat, collected his hat from beside the door, and was gone in an instant. Georgiana watched him from the soft light of the moon, which was full and had just risen over the roofs of the neighborhood. He rounded the corner and disappeared into the night.
She wasted no time in climbing the stairs and found the door to Sophia’s room closed. She tapped gently on the door, but heard no response. Tentatively pushing the door open, she saw Sophia asleep on the bed, still fully dressed. Georgiana could not fathom how difficult the day had been for the woman. Surely her emotions had swung from one extreme to the other and then back again more than once.
Georgiana stepped quietly into the room and knelt beside the woman’s bed. Putting her hand on Sophia’s arm, she whispered, “God our Father, have mercy on this woman, your child, and on her husband. Your mercy, Lord, stands beside your justice and it is to your holy justice that I appeal on their behalf. We have perverted justice by holding men and women in bondage, but may justice be done for Isaac and for Sophia.”