Silas Thorne’s plantation was about five miles from there.
Five miles of dirt road.
It would take more than two hours walking.
But I was going.
I would go on foot if I had to.
I walked about fifteen minutes when I heard the sound of a horse behind me.
I turned around.
It was Mr. Banks, going to town.
“Miss Hattie, where are you going on foot in this sun?”
“I’m going to Silas Thorne’s place,” I said.
He looked at me surprised.
“But that’s far, ma’am. Hop on the wagon. I’ll take you.”
I climbed up onto the wagon seat.
We continued down the road.
Silas Thorne’s place was big.
High wooden gate.
White fence.
Big two-story house with columns.
He had workers.
He had everything.
Mr. Banks dropped me at the gate.
“Are you sure, Miss Hattie?”
“Yes,” I said.
I got down.
He left.
I opened the gate.
Entered.
Walked up the gravel path to the house.
I climbed the steps of the porch.
I knocked on the door.
A servant answered—an older Black man with white hair.
“I want to speak with Mr. Thorne,” I said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need an appointment. Tell him it’s Hattie—Otis Washington’s wife.”
He looked me up and down.
Must have thought it strange that a simple woman—thin, in old clothes—appeared at his boss’s house.
But he went to call him.
I waited on the porch.
Heart beating hard.
Hands sweating.
There were heavy footsteps.
Silas Thorne appeared.
He was a big man.
Pot-bellied.
Thick mustache.
Gray hair.
Wearing expensive clothes.
Gold watch on his wrist.
He looked at me with surprise.
“Mrs. Washington. What an honor to receive you here. Come in, please.”
“I ain’t coming in,” I said.
“I came here to settle a quick matter.”
He smiled.
A fake smile full of teeth.
“I see. I imagine what it’s about. Your husband sent you here to confirm the arrangements we made.”
“I came to undo the arrangements you made,” I said.
The smile wiped off his face.
“How’s that?”
I took the paper out of my pocket.
Showed it to him.
“My husband wrote this,” I said.
“Canceling the promise.”
“My daughter is not merchandise.”
“She is not going to marry you.”
He grabbed the paper.
Read it.
His face started turning red with rage.
“This is worth nothing,” he said.
“I have a document signed by him, legal, with a witness.”
“That document was made under duress and threat,” I said.
“It has no validity whatsoever.”
“It does,” he said.
“And it will be fulfilled.”
“In 1974, I am coming to get the girl.”
“You are not coming,” I said.
“Because if you get near my daughter, I will finish you myself.”
He laughed.
A loud mocking laugh.
“You… you are going to do what? You are just a woman. A poor Black woman with nothing.”
I took a step forward.
Looked him right in the eyes.
“I am a mother,” I said.
“And a mother protects her children no matter what she has to do.”
He stopped laughing.
He saw I was serious.
“Your husband owes me three thousand dollars,” he said.
“He lost it playing cards.”
“That’s his problem,” I said.
“Not my daughter’s.”
“The deal was made,” he snapped.
“No deal,” I said.
“My daughter is not part of any deal.”
“And if you insist on this, I’m going everywhere.”
“To the sheriff. To the reverend. To the judge.”
“I’m going to make the biggest scandal this county has ever seen.”
“I’m going to tell the whole world that you—a fifty-two-year-old man—want to marry a nine-year-old child.”
“I’m going to spread that all over town. All over the state.”
“Let’s see if your reputation holds up.”
His face turned purple with anger.
“You have no proof of anything,” he said.
“I have my husband’s word,” I said.
“And I have the promise you made him.”
“And I have my daughter—who has been scared for months because someone told her.”
He took a step toward me, trying to intimidate me.
“I am not going to forget this debt,” he said.
“Your husband is going to pay one way or another.”
“Then collect from him,” I said.
“Not my daughter.”
I turned around.
Started down the steps.
“You’re going to regret this, Mrs. Washington,” he called.
“I won’t regret it,” I said.
“You’re the one who will regret it if you come near my family.”
I left the plantation.
Closed the gate behind me.
My legs were trembling.
My whole body was trembling.
But I had done it.
I had faced that man.
I had told him no.
I started walking back home.
Legs weak.
Hot sun beating on my head.
But I kept going.
I walked and walked until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I sat on the side of the road under a pecan tree.
And I cried.
I cried everything I had stored up.
Seven months of fear.
Of desperation.
Of not understanding.
I cried for Ruby.
For her stolen childhood.
For the fear she went through.
I cried for Otis.
For the weak, cowardly man he was.
For the marriage that was never a marriage.
For the life we had.
I cried for myself.
For the tired, skinny, scared woman I had become.
I sat there a long time until the tears dried, until I could breathe right again.
Then I got up.
Wiped my face.
And kept walking.
When I got home, it was almost night.
It was getting dark.
Otis was sitting in the same spot where I had left him.
Staring at the wall.
When he saw me enter, he stood up.
“What did he say?” he asked.
“He said he’s not going to leave it like this,” I said.
“That you are going to pay the debt one way or another.”
“He’s going to come for me.”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t care.”
I went to the bedroom.
Grabbed an old sack.
Started putting my clothes in.
The rest of the girls’ clothes.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
“I’m going to get the girls.”
“And I’m going to Atlanta.”
“I’m going to stay with my sister until I find a way to support myself.”
“No, Hattie, don’t do that,” he begged.
“Do you think I’m going to stay here living with you after what you did?” I said.
“I’m going to find a way to pay the debt,” he cried.
“I swear—”
“I don’t want to know about the debt,” I said.
“I want to know about protecting my daughters.”
“And with you near, they ain’t protected.”
I finished packing the sack.
I grabbed the money I had hidden under the mattress.
About twenty dollars I had saved without him knowing.
It was little.
But it was what I had.
“You can’t leave,” he said.
“You are my wife.”
“Not anymore,” I said.
I left the room.
Grabbed the sack.
Went toward the door.
He followed me.
“Hattie, please forgive me. Give me a chance.”
I turned to him.
“You had seven months of chances,” I said.
“Seven months to tell me the truth.”
“To do the right thing.”
“And you didn’t do it.”
I opened the door.
“I’m going to get my daughters,” I said.
“And I am never coming back.”
And I left.
I left home that night of Monday, August 12th, 1968, with a sack of clothes on my back and twenty dollars in my pocket.
It was all I had in the world.
That—and my three daughters.
I walked down the dark road to Mr. Banks’s house again.
I knocked on the door.
He answered in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
“Mr. Banks, I need to go get my daughters. I need to get to the bus station. Now.”
He looked at me.
Saw the sack on my back.
Saw my face.
And he didn’t ask anything.
“I’ll start the truck,” he said.
We drove through the night.
The road dark.
Only the headlights shining.
Me sitting in the truck, clutching my sack, looking forward without looking back.
We got to the station.
And I took a bus to Atlanta.
I arrived when the sun was coming up—Tuesday, August 13th.
My sister Eda was surprised when she saw me at her door at that hour.
“Hattie, what happened?”
“I need to stay here a few days,” I said.
“Me and the girls.”
“I have to go pick them up from the bus depot.”
She looked at the sack on my back.
And she understood.
“Come in,” she said.
I went to get the girls.
When we got back to Eda’s, the house was small but tidy.
Two bedrooms.
Living room.
Kitchen.
She lived with her husband, Robert, and their two children, John and Mary, who were about the age of my girls.
I sat in the kitchen.
Eda made coffee.
Gave me a biscuit.
“Tell me,” she said.
And I told.
I told everything from the beginning.
The 2:47 in the morning.
The seven months.
The night I pretended to sleep.
What Otis had done.
The promise.
Silas Thorne.
Everything.
My sister turned white.
Then red with anger.
“That scoundrel,” she said.
“That son of a—”
I finished telling.
Drank the coffee.
Breathed deep.
“I’m not going back, Eda,” I said.
“I ain’t going back to him.”
“I’m going to stay here until I find a way to support myself and the girls.”
She grabbed my hand.
“You stay as long as you need,” she said.
The girls were there in the kitchen.
When they saw me crying, Ruby ran and hugged me.
She hugged me so tight she almost knocked me over.
“Mama,” she said.
Just that.
Just “Mama.”
But by how she said it, I knew.
I knew she understood that she knew I had gone there to protect her.
Ruth and Pearl also hugged me.
All three clinging to me.
I hugged my girls and cried.
I cried from relief.
From exhaustion.
From fear.
From everything.
We stayed at Eda’s house.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into months.
I slept in the living room on a mattress on the floor.
And the girls—
If you like my story and want to hear more, go ahead and subscribe to my channel.
If you’d like to support me, you can do it through Super Thanks.
It would mean a lot.
In the comments, tell me which city you’re watching from and what time it is so I can see how far my story reaches.
I’ve added two more life stories on the screen just for you.
Click one now and let’s keep spending time together.
Much love.
See you soon.
