The Healer of Waverly: Celia’s Justice

August 17th, 1859. Savannah’s largest slave auction house went quiet when Lot Number 43 stepped onto the platform. Twenty-seven bidders had their paddles ready that sweltering afternoon, but within minutes, only one hand remained raised. The woman in chains was young, healthy, and skilled in important domestic tasks. Her starting price had been set intentionally low. Yet, something made every plantation owner in the room lower their eyes and step back—something they recognized, something they murmured about in hallways but never spoke aloud.

One man, new to the city from Charleston, didn’t hear those warnings. He paid $12 for a woman valued at $200. Within six months, he would understand why silence had filled the auction hall, and by then, it would be far too late to protect himself.

Part I: The Purchase

The auction house on Broughton Street had overseen thousands of transactions since 1842. But the events of that August afternoon would be remembered differently. The air inside was thick with unwashed bodies, tobacco smoke, and fear. Thomas Cornelius Pruitt arrived in Savannah three weeks prior. At 34, he represented new Southern wealth. He had purchased the old Waverly plantation—800 acres along the Vernon River—without seeing it, eager to prove himself.

The auction began at 10 o’clock. By noon, Thomas had spent nearly $5,000. During the break, he overheard two planters: “You staying for the afternoon session?” one asked. “No reason. Already got what I came for. Besides, I know what’s coming. Heard they’re finally selling her. About time. Still can’t believe what happened at the Peyton place. Three men dead inside two months. Four if you count old Peyton himself.”

When the auction resumed at one o’clock, Lot 43 stepped up. She looked to be in her early 30s, skin the color of polished walnut, features sharp. But it was her eyes that caught Thomas’s attention—dark, almost black, holding the stillness of someone who had stopped hoping but found strength in despair. “Lot 43,” the auctioneer announced. “Female, named Celia. Experienced in household duties, skilled in cooking and medical care. Midwife and herb practitioner. Starting bid $10.”

Silence filled the room. “$10 to the gentleman in blue,” the auctioneer said with audible relief. “Sold.”

After the auction, the clerk hesitated. “She came from the Peyton estate… Strange no one else bid. Your total comes to $6,710.”

Part II: The Warning

Thomas moved Celia to the old overseer’s cabin at Waverly. Shortly after, a neighbor named Josiah Crenshaw arrived to pay respects. Over bourbon, Crenshaw got to the point. “I noticed your purchases today. You mean Celia for $10? Did you wonder why no one else bid?” “The thought crossed my mind,” Thomas admitted.

Crenshaw leaned in. “Dr. Harold Peyton died three months ago. Healthy until he wasn’t. His overseer, Kelly, died from brain fever after two weeks of raving. Before that, the driver, Marcus, was found dead with a broken neck. Before that, Dr. Simon Vance died from apparent influenza. Four men died within two months. The only link was Celia.” “You’re suggesting these deaths are connected?” “She had reason,” Crenshaw said. “Six months ago, her daughter fell ill with pneumonia. Dr. Vance treated her, but the girl died three days later. Celia claimed the doctor was careless. Peyton had her whipped. Two weeks later, the men started dying.”

That evening, Thomas visited Celia. “I hear you have skills as a midwife,” Thomas said. “And I hear you came from the Peyton estate where several deaths occurred.” “People die, Master,” she replied calmly. “That’s the one certain thing.” “And the timing?” “Debts come due. One way or another, everything balances in the end.” “Did you kill them?” She gave a faint, cold smile. “I can’t kill men with words, Master. If they died, it was divine providence or their own choices catching up.”

Part III: The Hurricane and the Healer

In late September, a hurricane struck, ruining a fifth of the cotton. Within two days, sickness spread through the quarters—fever, chills, harsh coughing. A white doctor from Savannah arrived, prescribed heavy medicine, and predicted the fever would pass. It didn’t.

After the doctor left, Celia took over. “That medicine makes it worse,” she told Thomas. “If you want them alive, let me treat them my way.” “What would you do?” “Willow bark tea for fever, honey and garlic for cough, elderberry to strengthen them. And separate the sickest.” Thomas agreed. “But if anyone dies, it is your responsibility.” “Responsibility for death always exists,” she replied. “The question is whose?”

Within a week, 21 of the 23 sick people recovered. Her reputation grew. Neighbors began hiring her for difficult births and snake bites. She was becoming indispensable.

Part IV: The Ledger of Debts

December brought a chill. One morning, a strange symbol painted in red clay appeared on a wall in the quarters—old African magic, a warning. Three days later, a prize hunting dog was found poisoned. A week before Christmas, a field worker named Samuel died in agony from plant toxins.

Then, just before Christmas, a young woman named Ruth attempted to throw herself down a well, screaming about “shadows and debts coming due.” Celia calmed her with a tincture. Ruth later confessed she had poisoned Samuel, intending only to “teach him a lesson” for a wrong he had done her, unaware the mushrooms were deadly.

Ruth died two days later in her sleep. Celia declared it heart failure from distress. Thomas began to suspect Celia wasn’t just a healer; she was a keeper of ancient knowledge. He searched her cabin while she was away and found a wooden box beneath her bed. Inside were notebooks.

October 15th: “The power to heal is the power to choose who lives… Every life saved is a debt in my favor. When the scales balance, justice will be served.” December 20th: “The girl [Ruth] came to me… I gave her knowledge… But I also gave her guilt. Guilt is slower than poison, but just as deadly. This is mercy.”

At the bottom, he found a letter from Celia’s mother, Phoebe: “Use them to heal when the scales are balanced. Use them to harm when justice demands it. But always keep the ledger.”

Celia returned and caught him. She didn’t deny it. “My daughter’s name was Sarah,” she told him. “Dr. Vance was drunk. He bled her and gave her calomel. I watched her die while I was tied in the barn. So, I did what I had to do. Vance died from foxglove. Marcus died because he held me down. Kelly died because he laughed. Peyton died because he created the system. I’m not sorry. The scales balance, Master.”

Thomas was terrified. “What happens now?” “That depends on you. Move against me, and there will be rebellion. Or look the other way. All it costs is your conscience. Unless… are you guilty of anything, Master? I don’t punish the innocent.”

Part V: The Indispensable Master

Celia predicted that the overseer Hutchkins’ wife would die within a week, and that Hutchkins would subsequently fall apart. It happened exactly as she said. Hutchkins drank himself into a stupor and eventually committed suicide using Laudanum—a bottle Celia had provided.

Thomas replaced him with Daniel, a man Celia recommended. Under Daniel, the plantation thrived. Celia’s medical practice earned Thomas nearly $800 by March. He was becoming complicit.

In late March, Robert Peyton, the nephew of Celia’s former owner, arrived. “I want to buy her,” Peyton demanded. “That woman is a plague. She killed my uncle.” Thomas refused. “She saves lives here. She stays.” Peyton rode away shaking his head. “When you end up like my uncle, don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Thomas realized he was trapped. He took precautions—locking his door, checking his food—but he knew it was futile. On April 15th, he found a bundle of herbs on his doorstep with a note from Celia: “For your health… Consider it a gift from someone who wishes you no harm. As long as you continue to deserve none.”

The power dynamic had reversed. Thomas was master in name only.

Part VI: Complicity and Freedom

In June, a neighbor, Benjamin Lell, arrived begging for help. His daughter was dying. Celia refused to go unless Thomas permitted it, but she set the terms. “Lell witnessed the whipping at Peyton’s,” Celia told Thomas. “He did nothing. I’ll make him understand pain. Then I’ll decide.”

At Lell’s house, Celia made the man beg. “Do you remember my daughter suffering?” she asked. “I looked away,” Lell sobbed. “I chose comfort. I’m sorry.” Celia helped him up. “Remember this moment. Then when you see another in need, do not look away.” She saved his daughter.

By September, with the Civil War looming, Thomas called Celia to his study. “I will file manumission paperwork,” he said. “For your freedom.” Celia’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve been free since the day you bought me,” she replied. “The papers just formalize it.”