Runaway

PART ONE

The night was clear and crisp as Rachel Leighton quietly finished packing her bags. The sun had set an hour ago, and the last faint pink glow of day had faded into the deep indigo of night. She worked quickly and quietly, almost frantic in the way that she threw different articles of clothing into a small bag. She was rifling through her clothes, picking out the ones that were the most plain and unassuming of her dresses and skirts. All the while she wondered, what did a woman wear on a farm? What kind of work did a woman do on a farm? Was there ever a need for elegant dresses for dinner parties? She felt nearly certain that the answer to that last question was no.

Rachel felt her resolve shake as she continued packing clothing and things she might need. She knew that she loved Michael, but the weight of this decision pressed down on her very soul. Was she truly ready to leave behind everything she knew about life and dive into this great unknown? But what choice did she have? As the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner in the heart of Virginia where owning another human was a very normal part of life, never would her father agree to or approve of her running away with a poor farmer who paid his Black workers. Rachel knew that she loved Michael, but she didn’t know if she was ready for the change. Yet there appeared no other way to be with him. 

It had been seven months since Rachel had first met Michael, having nearly been run over by his wagon in the middle of town. It was a momentary, honest mistake, but one that would change everything. He stopped his cart just before it destroyed her, and flew out to make amends and potentially bribe her to not make any complaints to her father (who was obviously wealthy). 

In a rush they made their introductions. His name was Michael Daniels, a farmer who lived just outside of Richmond. Rachel nodded to him and sank into a small curtsy (even though her mother would have told her that there was no protocol for curtsying to a man of his station), and introduced herself in turn. The two made awkward conversation for a moment as Rachel searched for a way to continue speaking with him without doing anything improper. She managed to continue talking with him for several more minutes, learning that not only was he a farmer, but he paid all his help–even his Black help. Several northern states had outlawed slavery by the time that 1850 had come around, but Virginia was still decidedly neutral. Slavery was legal in the state, and many people still endorsed it, including Rachel’s father. All of Rachel’s beliefs and feelings went against the very idea of slavery–how could she endorse buying and trading other humans as if they weren’t real people? Rachel thought of many of her family’s slaves who had done so much to raise her, like the Black slave Margaret who had worked in her parents’ house for as long as she could remember.

Margaret was an older woman, kind and gentle with Rachel despite her being the daughter of a rather unkind slave owner. She remembered fondly all the years growing up, when Margaret would tell Rachel the stories of her parents, her people, and her culture. If Rachel’s parents knew the stories that Margret told her in the evening as she drifted to sleep, Rachel could only begin to imagine what kind of punishment would be dealt to her. The thought made Rachel shudder. Margaret had taken a gamble in sharing her stories with Rachel, but that somehow didn’t stop Margaret when Rachel begged for more. 

Rachel was therefore intrigued by this man who seemingly shared a value for all life. When Rachel and Michael were forced to finish their conversation or draw attention to the length of time that they spoke, they parted ways and Rachel found herself unable to stop thinking about his hazel eyes and slightly unkempt brown hair as she went about her day. 

As the weeks passed, Rachel began to learn the pattern of when Michael was likely to be in town, bringing his supply of wheat and corn to markets. She started a routine of going for walks in town on those days, always being cautious to visit other vendors and shops so as to not seem single minded in her reasons for going to town. But she always stopped to talk with him, and as they held more and more of these conversations in passing, they inevitably grew longer and more personal. Michael shared more about his family and his life growing up on a farm. His parents and his one brother had died three years ago from smallpox–Michael had been north in Fredericksburg at the time of their illness and had returned home to bury his family. Life had been consumed the last three years with fully stepping in and taking over his family's farm. 

Rachel was hesitant at first to share about her family and their views on slavery, but when she did she found him sympathetic to living amongst people and a practice that she didn’t agree with. Slowly, yet also suddenly and deeply, Rachel was smitten. 

Their first secret rendezvous had taken place three months after meeting. Michael had met her after dark in a secluded part of woods near her family home, and they had talked for hours. Their behavior was never improper, but secrecy was a necessity as Rachel’s parents would never approve of her being courted by a poor farmer. As months went by and they continued to meet as casual acquaintances in the daylight and as more intimate companions in the dark, the pair found themselves thinking about the future. They had considered making their courtship public and asking Rachel’s parents for their blessing, but Rachel was confident after seventeen years of knowing and seeing her father’s harshness and commitment to their way of life that Thomas Leighton, Sr. would never agree. Alternatively, asking his permission would alert him to their relationship and make it near impossible for them to see one another. 

They bared their souls honestly and violently to each other, and after six months of secret courtship, Michael asked Rachel if she would run away with him. Rachel barely even took a breath before agreeing.

The pair decided since they were confident of their plan to not delay, as waiting too long may give Rachel’s family time to become suspicious. They agreed that Michael would return after dark the following week, and Rachel would meet him with what belongings she could bring. While he was home in the country, he would talk with the pastor of his small church and arrange for a small wedding ceremony with witnesses after their arrival. 

A week later, Rachel’s heart raced as she finished packing the few belongings that she decided to bring with her. She had never felt more confident in a decision or more afraid. She was torn between the sadness of walking away willingly from her family and the desire to be with her love. She was uncertain what to tell them in her note, and had settled on writing one that gave them the rough details of her love, without notifying them of where exactly she was going so they would not be able to follow her. 

Heart expectant yet heavy, Rachel opened the window to her room to find her love below. Quietly, she slipped her bags and then herself into the night and never looked back.

PART TWO

In 1903, the Leighton family of Richmond, Virginia was very proud and prestigious. Having access to every elite social group in town, they prided themselves on their image and reach into the politics and workings of the city and state. Their fortune had started with the plantation that the family had owned since 1769, and in 1891 Timothy Leighton had risen to the family’s forefront as its head at the passing of his grandfather Thomas Leighton, Sr., and father, Thomas Leighton, Jr., in a tragic fire. Timothy was the direct inheritor of the family estate and fortune at the time of his father and grandfather’s passing, and there were no other living relatives eligible to inherit. His father, Thomas Leighton, Jr. had a sister who had been disinherited. As the family told the story, Rachel Leighton had run away pregnant at seventeen. The family had eventually learned where she had run off to, but they made little effort to reach out to her as the years went on. At some point, the Leighton family had gotten word that she and her new family resided somewhere near the town of Chester outside of Richmond. 

Timothy’s father had spoken little of his sister over the years, but from what he had been able to glean, his family was not surprised by Rachel Leighton’s infamous flight from the family. They described her as stubborn and ill-suited for high society–a true bad apple amongst the Leighton family’s otherwise glowing pedigree. 

So in 1891, Timothy Leighton had taken up the family business, giving little thought to the faction of his family that he had never met. He had no time for dishonorable relatives, and he planned to continue the family business in all its former glory. He was proud of his work–he had become integrated into the local and state government (even though he was not an elevated official) and had an invitation to the Virginia Constitutional Convention of 1902. His voice and his influence at the convention had helped secure the decision to grant suffrage to those who met certain understanding and literacy requirements, in conjunction with poll taxes. These requirements effectively excluded the vast majority of potential Black voters. His family had a long history of slave ownership that had ended in 1865 with the Civil War, but he agreed with the vast majority of Virginia leaders that universal suffrage for Negros would be “a crime against civilization and Christianity.” 

From that mindset, he had worked to continue his family’s legacy–a legacy that had no room for disgraceful, harlot aunts.

PART THREE

October 24, 1929 hit the Hutchins family hard and the Leighton family even harder. Abigail Hutchins watched at twenty-five years old as her father, John Hutchins, and her uncle, Steven Leighton, tried to keep their two families afloat in the wake of what would come to be known as Black Thursday. Her mother was Julia Leighton Hutchins, sister to Steven Leighton, the current head of the Leighton family and estate. Their father, Timothy Leighton, had passed away a mere month ago from a self inflicted gunshot wound. 

The last five years for their family had been turbulent–a loss of popularity for the Leighton family had grown as Abigail’s grandfather–Timothy–had been charged with tax evasion and fraud, as well as having numerous affairs come to light. Abigail's grandmother hadn’t divorced him, but in their later years they were relatively estranged in the same home. Abigail watched as year by year, her grandfather had crumbled under the social implications of his shame before putting an end to his life. With the stock market crash immediately following, it seemed that the Leighton family’s influence and wealth were doomed to fade. 

In the wake of the stock market crash, Abigail and her mother began to go through their belongings and retrieve items that had little historical or personal value to the family but could be sold to help keep them afloat. They sorted through different sets of fine dishes and bone china, silverware, tapestries and candlesticks, until they had a small collection of items that would not be missed terribly but would help the family get by. They packed them into several baskets to take to a shop to sell. 

As Abigail and Julia cleaned up the considerable mess they had made, Abigail’s gaze turned to a small box that had been placed aside unopened. She reached for the brown box and opened it to find several old photographs, worn and faded at the edges. The top photograph was a family portrait, with a well dressed man seated on a chair, a woman standing at his shoulder with a stern expression, a young boy sitting on the father’s lap, and a girl of around five standing beside him. Abigail gazed at the faces in the photograph before showing it to her mother.

“Do you know these people?” She asked.

Julia gazed at the photograph for a moment before explaining, “That’s your great-grandfather Thomas, Jr., sitting in the lap of Thomas, Sr., your great-great grandfather. And that’s Martha, your great-great grandmother.”

Abigail waited for a moment, realizing that her mother hadn't said a word about the young girl standing to the side. “Who is she?” She finally asked, pointing to the girl.

Julia paused, looking at the picture for a moment longer before answering. 

“That’s Rachel.”

Abigail felt a small flutter in her chest–she had heard about Rachel. She was the shame of the Leighton family (even considering the shame that Abigail’s grandfather had accumulated before his death), cursed for generations and held responsible for any ill events. Rachel was Abigail’s great grandaunt, the sister of her great grandfather. Over the years, Abigail had heard Rachel’s name at family dinners whispered in wicked tones as stories of their family were told.

Rachel, the pregnant runaway who married a drunk and tainted the family name.

Rachel, who stole family heirlooms as she ran away in the night.

Rachel, no better than a harlot, who forced the family to work endlessly to gain back their reputation. 

Rachel was disinherited the second she fled from the Leighton home in 1850, creating a scandal that would haunt her family for years. Many families had a black sheep, but for the Leighton family, Rachel had brought shame that they had never seemed to be able to forget. 

As Abigail sat there looking at the photograph of the innocent young girl that she had heard her family curse and speak ill of her whole life, she couldn’t help but question how reliable the family narrative was. For as long as Abigail could remember, she had heard her family speak ill of anyone around them who didn’t fit into their small idea of what an upstanding, respectable, White American should look like. Mercilessly, they spoke ill of and looked down on their neighbors that were sympathetic to the plight of Black Americans all around them; in turn, they spoke of the Leighton family and their societal standings as if they were without fault. And yet, here was a young girl who was a Leighton, yet was infamous for her poor life choices. 

Did this girl deserve the hate that her own family had shoveled on her for generations? 

Looking at the photograph, Abigail suspected that the answer was no. There could be strands of truth in this story, but Abigail strongly suspected that if she could go back in time she would find the story would be much different.

After all, the Leighton family was known to be prone to gossip.  

EPILOGUE

Rachel Daniels Smith stood at the grave of her younger brother, Henry Daniels, on Thanksgiving Day 1945. The pain of losing him so close to the end of the war had hit her family hard, and she sometimes wondered if they would ever be the same. Their close knit family had known so much joy and love over the years, and Rachel was torn between laughing and crying as she thought about her brother. From what she had been told by his fellow soldiers, Henry had been well loved and had made their band of soldiers into a family–one that was just as real as the blood relatives that Henry now lay beside. 

This corner of the cemetery in Chester was lined with family members, ones who Rachel knew and ones she had never met. Henry was buried next to their parents, John Michael and Elizabeth Daniels. Just down from them lay Rachel’s grandparents, Mark and Allison Daniels, who had each passed peacefully in their own time when Rachel was very young. A tree rose nearby, and under that tree lay Rachel Leighton Daniels, Rachel’s namesake and great grandmother, and her husband, Michael. They had each lived to be nearly eighty years old, and had raised and loved three children and eight grandchildren. 

Rachel’s family spoke highly of them both–telling tales year in and year out of Michael and Rachel’s love for each other and how they had challenged every obstacle placed in front of them to marry and live the life they dreamed of together. It wasn’t a perfect story–it was full of challenges and good years and bad years, but rumor has it Michael and Rachel had never regretted a single day of their life together.