The Slave Master's Son (5 page)

“I’m fine, Mama. Really, I am. Thank you for tellin’ me.” She spun around in her chair and started to sew again. Mary looked at her contemplatively. She crossed her arms and looked up and down at her little girl, now a young woman, right before her eyes. Heartbreak is everlasting and has a way of maturing someone.

“These are my thoughts I’ll never say aloud to you,” Mary thought to herself. “I know the pain in your heart. I know it personally. I promise you it won’t get easier. Do you hear me? It won’t get easier! You only live to bear it, Baby. Each day becomes a test to see how much mo’ brutality you can take. You ask God to make you void or to kill you in your tracks sometimes. For some reason, God cursed us African people with dark skin so our enemy could spot us and make us pay for crimes we never did. My life’s been nothin’ but stolen daydreams, painful tears, and anger so strong it could stop a beatin’ heart within a mile. You fell in love. Now you’ll wake up tomorrow morning, full of heartbreak – innocence stolen and spirit broken, like a captured horse.”

Mary slowly stood up and exited the room, closing the door behind her. Hannah continued to sew vigorously throughout the evening. As she felt waves of intermittent grief, she’d quickly gather herself and continue along her line of work. She worked tirelessly until it was time for dinner. Hannah stood up from the chair and stretched. The waning sun cast colors of crimson, pink, and mustard. On days like this, she’d sit on the porch with John with a glass of lemonade as he told her jokes. Sometimes he’d sneak her by the large tree and teach her a few new words and sound out the alphabet. She remembered the first time he kissed her hand and told her that he loved her. She stood there with her skinny wet body and saturated pigtails looking at him with one eye open while trying to keep water from dripping in the other. The sun’s rays spiraled around them, trying to grab them and whisk them away to Heaven.

“Boy, you don’t even know what love is!” Hannah laughed as she jumped back in the water.

“I do, too! I love you Hannah! You’re gonna be my wife! I mean, going to be my wife!” Little John proclaimed as loud as he could as he leaped into the water, his pale body moving freely under the current. Even in the summer heat, his skin never seemed to tan. It made his uncommonly dark hair for such a skin tone all the more alluring. He swam towards her, taking her arm and kissing it all the way down to her hand. “I’m going to marry you. I don’t care if you’re a Negro,” he said, showing his snaggle-toothed, eight-year-old grin.

Hannah shoved the memory out of her mind and exited the drawing room abruptly. She headed down to the kitchen and placed an apron around her small waist. She began to meticulously wash the glasses; fold the crisp, white linens; and prepare the freshly brewed iced tea. She looked out the corner of her eye and noticed John standing there. He held his hat to his chest as he looked at her. It appeared he hadn’t slept in days. Her heart raced. She turned towards him and looked him squarely in the face, then swiftly turned away and walked to the expansive dining room table as she laid out the silverware, trying to push his image out of her thoughts.

“Hannah,” John whispered, clearing his throat. “I need to speak to you.”

“Well then speak, John,” Hannah said harshly. The other servants looked at John then back at Hannah as they went about their duties. Their peering eyes congregated discreetly around the unfolding scene.

“Alone, I need to speak to you alone.” John said, his voice rising with obvious irritation.

“I ain’t goin’ no where wit’ you! Now go ‘head and speak or get!” Hannah yelled, her back still towards him. A hush came over the room. There was alarm at Hannah’s blatantly disrespectful tone. Andrea, the head cook, raced out the kitchen to find Mary.

“I’m not speaking in front of the…” John explained.

“In front of the slaves? In front of all of us Niggers? Why not, John? Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it. You can do whatever you wanna do and ain’t nothin’ we can do about it! Just pretend like we ain’t here, John. You do it so well.” Hannah placed her hand on her hip. She looked sternly down at the dining room table as she continued to place the silverware neatly on the table. Her body trembled with rage. John looked at her before finally turning away and hastily walking out.

“Hannah!” Mary yelled. “I done raised you better than that! You know better than to speak to him like that. If Master Stewart gets wind of this, he’s gonna punish you! You can’t talk to his boy like that!” Hannah twisted away from Mary belligerently. Mary grabbed Hannah’s arm and escorted her upstairs. Hannah resisted, her face swollen with budding tears and hot from the recent confrontation. Her feet stomped up the steps while Mary held her close, her fingers digging into her obstinate daughter’s flesh. Mary shoved her into the bedroom and slammed the door. Before Mary could lay into her daughter, the bedroom door swung back open. Master Stewart stood there looking at the two women. He came inside, closing the door behind him.

“What you here for? You here to rub it in my face what you and John cooked up?” Hannah screamed. Mary slapped Hannah hard across the face. Hannah turned away, her hair falling to her shoulders.

“Mama, your slaps don’t hurt me. Can’t nothin’ hurt me worse than I been hurt today! Go ahead and whoop me, Master Stewart, for tellin’ your child a thang or two! I’m tired of bein’ quiet and watchin’ everyone be miserable for the sake of somebody else. That somebody might even be dead, but the livin’ still stayin’ miserable. Go on and whoop me. It won’t hurt. Let’s just get it on over wit’ so I can go back to pretendin’ I got something to live for!” Hannah begged as tears came down her face. Mary was startled at Hannah’s continued defiance. Master Stewart crossed his arms in front of himself. He sucked his teeth, causing his thick, silver mustache to bounce atop his upper lip.

“Hannah, you and my son have been friendly since you were babes. You need to understand that he’ll always be your friend, but he has the right to be married and have a family. This wasn’t done to hurt you. John is going back to school. The war is still continuing, but my hopes are that he not return to it. Instead, I wish for him to keep forward with school and establish himself. He’s a very bright boy and is quite fond of you. When he makes the occasional visit, I promise to alert you so that you can say hello.” Master Stewart cleared his throat.

“That’s very kind of you, Master,” Mary said as she held her daughter close to her bosom. Hannah wiped the tears from her face.

“I don’t want to think about this anymore. May I please finish dinner preparation?” she asked her mother.

“Yes, but I don’t wanna hear nothin’ like that again. You hear me?” Mary scolded.

“Yes, Mama,” Hannah responded as she walked past Master Stewart and disappeared down the steps, back down to the kitchen and dining room. Master Stewart stood still as he looked at Mary. He looked at the wet, soiled stains on her dress where her daughter poured grief for his son.

“Well, Mary, it looks like it’s happened again,” Master Stewart said curtly as he looked towards the floor and shook his head. “It’s a curse. I want what’s best for my son, and you want what’s best for your Hannah.” He walked out the room leaving Mary standing there alone, reliving her own trauma when she discovered Master Stewart was getting married.

* * *

CHAPTER 6

Hannah sat up in her bed, not saying a word. The music and festivities from the wedding reception boomed throughout the house. Hannah folded the linens for the wedding dinner herself. The bride, Gayle Douglas, had explicit instruction for how she wanted everything. John stayed away from the house while Gayle made the seating arrangements and dinner menu.

“She was a sight to behold!” Hannah heard someone say shrilly. Hannah held her ankles and nestled her head on her knees as she envisioned what everyone was doing. As the wedding began, she stole a peek and saw Gayle dressed like a Queen. Her long veil covered her face and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back and pinned up so high it reminded Hannah of a pinecone. She saw the back of John. He did not notice her as he straightened out his jacket. His hair had been trimmed except for the front and sideburns. A thick swirl of black hair flopped over his right eye. He repeatedly pushed it away from his sullen face. His eyes were bloodshot and his smile unmistakably artificial.

Hannah’s mother was amongst them offering trays of food to the guests. Hannah sat up for hours until her mother came up to the bedroom. She watched as her mother disrobed and put on her long, cream-colored nightgown. Mary looked over at Hannah as she made a fire.

“Baby, what you still doin’ awake?”

“Just thinkin’,” Hannah responded as she covered herself with the quilt.

“Get some sleep – big day tomorrow. We got a big clean-up early in the mornin’ and have to serve breakfast for the wedding party.” Mary sighed as she slid into her bed and drifted quickly to sleep. Hannah gripped her thin pillow, trying to submit to slumber. She finally drifted off only to have sharp, torrid nightmares in which she witnessed the wedding kiss, over and over again. It was two in the morning when Hannah woke to heavy breathing by her ear. She turned quickly, frightened, not sure if she was dreaming. She looked and saw John. The dying fire cast enough light upon him to assure his identity. He put his finger up to his lips.

“Shhh,” he said as he took her hand. Hannah followed, her bare feet cold against the floor. He led her to the rear of the home’s top floor. She’d only been there once and that was years ago. It had huge, arched rafters; uneven floors; and expansive, wide rooms, most of which were empty. It stayed unusually chilly there. They walked past room after room until finally, John stopped at one bedroom door. He took a key out of his pocket, flipped his hair back, and opened the large, barn-like door that seemed oddly out of place. He reached for Hannah’s hand again and led her inside.

She quickly noticed an assortment of white candles lining a dresser on the opposite side of the room, illuminating the quarters with their warm, dancing flames. She looked all around and realized she was in John’s massive bedroom. During all her years, she’d never been in his bedroom. They often would fall asleep together in the sitting room on the first floor or sometimes even in Mama Mary’s bed, one of them on each side of her, curled up like newborn puppies. She continued to scan the room. There was an elaborate fireplace with a roaring, crackling fire. His room was fit for a prince. His bed was much like his fathers – magnificent and stately. His closet door stayed open, exposing his suits, trousers, boots, and horse-riding gear. On the other side of the room was his expansive gun collection of which he took great pride. He took her hand, picked her up, and sat her on his bed like a precious doll. He took a photo from under his bed and sat down next to her.

“You see that? That’s us as babies,” John said, smiling. Hannah looked at the photo with the curled ends. There she was, plump and brown, smiling with a mouth void of teeth. Her hair was dark and soft. She laid close to John who was obviously an older toddler. Hannah smiled.

“I wish I could remember that,” she finally said. Her smile quickly disappeared. “What am I doing here?” she asked.

“This is our wedding night,” he breathed heavily into her ear.

“It ain’t mine, it’s yours!” Hannah retorted, gaining her composure as she sunk back into reality. John walked out the bedroom door. Just as she prepared to go after him, he returned with an elderly Black man, Mason, a slave who no longer worked the fields. Everyone knew Mason. He studied the Bible and was ordained.

“Mason, as I discussed with you this morning, I need you to marry Ms. Hannah and me. This is the woman I truly love. I want to exchange vows – genuine vows this time.” John looked at Hannah lovingly. Mason slowly walked towards Hannah. His wrinkled, sunken skin and glaucoma-covered eyes may have frightened many, but to Hannah, he may as well have been a long-lost grandfather.

“This is crazy. You can’t have two wives. You can’t legally marry me,” Hannah exclaimed as she walked towards the door.

“I don’t care what the law says. Sometimes we have to do what’s best, even if the law doesn’t support it. Yes, I married Gayle tonight. I had no choice. I don’t want her. I wish she could have someone that did, but it isn’t me. I want you.” John explained.

“Where is she?” Hannah asked with worry in her voice. She shifted her weight to one hip, trying to control the anger she felt building up inside.

“She’s at our house, asleep. I’ve been planning this ever since I was told she and I was going to be married. I tried to talk to you about it in the kitchen, but you were too angry to listen. I’m not married to her in my heart, and I refuse to be her husband. I’ll be married to you and only you. Mason is about to marry us before God. Don’t you think that God knows who we really love? Go ahead, Mason,” John said, exhausted.

John stood by Hannah, keeping her close to him. Mason began to speak. Hannah couldn’t believe what was happening. After some preliminary words, Mason looked at both of them and said, “Face each other, children.” Hannah turned and looked at John while he held her hand.

“In the name of Jesus, I, John Stewart, take you, Hannah Davis, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for as long as we both shall live. This is my solemn vow.” Mason led Hannah, line by line, through her vows.