The Willow's Lament

Bellgrave Plantation

Bellgrave, Virginia

August, Present day

Marian awoke with a start. She looked out the dark window pane to the willow tree branches that were swaying across the pane. A gentle breeze was blowing outside, and the open window caused the wind to rustle her curtains.

But she knew it wasn’t the tapping of the willow tree that caused her to wake. She could hear it – the faint crying of a woman. She had been awoken several times over the past weeks and could never find a source for the sound.

It wasn’t her mother, who lived in the house with her. She was either consumed with television or sleeping after her stroke, and Marian always checked to make sure she wasn’t crying.

As she looked out to the woods beyond the lawn, she saw a blue orb floating amongst the dark trees. Despite feeling a chill, she knew she had to go investigate. As an avid consumer of true crime and paranormal. podcasts, she couldn’t resist a good mystery.

She checked on her mother, the TV softly playing, the glow illuminating her tired face, and tiptoed to the back door. Outside, the night was balmy, crickets chirped, and frogs croaked.

Marian walked toward the blue light with only half a moon hanging in the ink-black sky. She had grown up on this plantation. She knew these woods. She passed the ruins of what were once the slave quarters.

Sadness lingered there, and Marian hated that this was her family’s legacy. She had spent the better part of her adult life trying to rectify it.

The blue light still lingered as if beckoning her. Something, or someone, called her; she felt it. She wandered farther, past the belt of overgrowth. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, soft with decay.

 Then she was there, and the blue orb was gone. She blinked, refocusing her eyes in the dark. She was under another willow, back behind bramble bushes and vines. How had she ever missed this spot? She’d explored every inch of these woods – or thought she had.

Feeling something cool beneath her bare feet, she turned on her phone’s flashlight. A smooth, gray stone was covered in old leaves. Marian bent to brush them away, and her breath caught. There was something carved into the stone. It read:

Thaddeus and Moira Finch

Torn apart in life, together again in death

March 1858

Marker for Thaddeus and Moira

Marian’s arms broke out in goosebumps, and she hurriedly stood, feeling eyes on her. But no one was there. The moon went behind a cloud, and a breeze stirred. She could have sworn she heard “find me” and a soft sob.

Marian took a quick picture and put a pin drop on her phone’s map app and hurried to go. How was this there, and who were they? Slaves? Her ancestors?

She knew she’d never rest until she found out. As she carefully pulled herself out, trying to avoid the blackberry thorns, her foot snagged on a root, and she sprawled forward, her phone flying.

“Crap!” She rubbed her toes and crawled for her phone. As she stood, she noticed a stone foundation, crumbled and half-buried in kudzu.

She had never seen it before, either, not in all her ramblings through these woods. Perhaps she wasn’t as observant as she thought. She walked the perimeter slowly, her toes stinging. It looked like a small hut had once stood there.

She’d come back in the morning. Maybe it was an old set of quarters, long demolished and forgotten. More secrets, she sighed.

As she turned back toward the house, the moon came out again, and she gingerly walked out of the forest.

***

The next morning, after helping her mother with breakfast and dropping her off at her hair appointment, Marian headed to the local library.

It was a small town—barely 1,200 people—with an even smaller library, but she hoped to find something, anything.

She wasn’t sure where to start, so she went to see her friend, Allison, who was a whiz at research.

Allison’s eyes widened as Marian showed her the photo and relayed last night’s story.

“I love a good mystery,” she said. “Especially on those old plantations. So much buried history.”

Marian nodded. And so began the search.

Over the next few weeks, Marian and Allison searched for Thaddeus and Moira. A trip into the local archives proved fruitless, and Marian was beginning to lose hope.

Each day, and on the night of the full moon, she returned to the gravestone, asking them for help. The spirit’s lamentations had not returned – or at least they did not wake her anymore.

One hot afternoon, Marian returned to the house from grocery shopping, frustrated. As she unpacked and tended to her mother, she heard the crunch of tires on gravel. She hurried to the porch.

It was Allison. She jumped out, holding a stack of papers. “I found them, Marian! And what a story.”

“Who is it?” Marian’s mother called from inside.

“It’s Allison!” she called back.

Marian watched curiously as her friend spread the papers across the porch table.

“You won’t believe this. Your great-great-great-grandfather, Emmanuel Montclair, had a daughter, Moira, after his son, William.”

“Yeah, Mama told me all about her great-uncle William. He was not a nice man, and she and all her cousins were scared of him. She never talked about an aunt.” Marian bent down to look at the printouts.

Well…this aunt, Moira, fell in love with a man named Thaddeus Finch. He was a Northerner who came south with dreams of setting up an Underground Railroad station.”

Marian’s eyes widened. “What?”

Her friend nodded, flipping through more sheets.

“He fell in love with Moira, and the two started to plan a station here.”

“Wow,” Marian said, sitting hard in a chair, looking across the expansive lawn. Not all of her family was awful.

“Emmanuel found out and had Thaddeus arrested. Moira was so distraught that she wouldn’t leave the jail. They had to pull her away, half-starving and mad with grief. She died a week after Thaddeus was hanged, refusing food and water.”

Marian’s hand flew to her mouth, and she looked out to the woods where the blue light had been. The willow stood tall in the woods, and Marian could have sworn she saw a flash of white cloth amongst the twigs of the tree. Maybe Moria was listening.

“Emmanuel died of a heart attack a month later, never getting over his daughter’s betrayal and death. His wife had died giving birth to Moira, but William rewrote the history to make it seem she’d died giving birth to him and that Emmanuel died of old age. He had Moira stricken from the record. That’s why your family never knew.”

Marian stared. “I can't believe this,” she whispered. “All this time…Mama never knew.”

Allison squeezed her hand. “But now they won’t be forgotten.”

Marian smiled faintly. “Thank you for finding this.”

***

One year later.

People gathered at the site. A breeze stirred the willow tree.

Marian had contacted the local historical society and, over the last several months, had worked tirelessly to create a monument for Moira and Thaddeus’ bravery. The plantation was now giving historical tours to hopefully help change her family’s dark legacy. The money was being donated to a scholarship fund for minority students.

There, under the willow, stood what was now a full grave marker behind the crudely carved stone for her ancestors and a plaque retelling their tragic story.

“I just want to thank everyone for coming,” Marian began, her voice trembling. “I was always deeply ashamed my family once owned people.”

A hush settled over the crowd.

“There’s only so much I can do,” she continued, “but this… this helps.”

She paused, then smiled through her tears. Allison sat with her mother, who looked around bemusedly. Marian had told her mother the truth about their family, but wasn’t sure much got through. It was enough that she knew, somewhere deep inside her, though.

“I’m grateful to know that at least one ancestor tried to fight to protect the enslaved, and to free the oppressed. And now, finally, we can remember her and the man she loved, who tried to bring freedom to the slaves in this region.”

That night, as Marian gazed out at the woods where the path to the willow tree was now well-marked with lanterns, she thought she heard a woman’s soft voice say, “thank you.”

The Willow

Teacake Tidbits

1. The Great Dismal Swamp Was a Refuge for Freedom Seekers

Deep in southeastern Virginia, the Great Dismal Swamp served as a vital hideout for enslaved people escaping bondage. Its treacherous wetlands offered both danger and protection. Many freedom seekers lived there temporarily—or even permanently—among free Black communities and maroon societies hidden in the dense forest and muck.

2. Norfolk and Alexandria Were Key Escape Ports

Virginia's port cities like Norfolk and Alexandria were major slave-trading hubs—but also became critical escape points via ships heading north. Some abolitionist-aligned ship captains would hide fugitives in barrels, coal bins, or among cargo, sometimes even disguising them as sailors or stowaways.

3. Quaker Communities in Northern Virginia Aided Escapes

In areas like Loudoun County, Quaker families—devoutly anti-slavery—ran quiet but powerful networks aiding freedom seekers. They provided shelter, food, and directions through Virginia’s Blue Ridge passages, despite the grave legal risks.