Gold Raven (2 page)

Looking to Anna for furth
er encouragement, which was given with a nod, she danced on. Closing her eyes, she did not hear the music, she felt it…it moved her, it flowed into every fibre of her being. It flowed through her blood stream and controlled every nerve ending that made her young body move. Moves uninhibited, moves smooth, fluid and exotic; Cornelius was mesmerized. Anna and Alfredo realized then, there was something special about her. A feeling of wonder came over them; what great fortune brought them, this exquisitely graceful child, growing into a young woman. Anna set to work, sewing Hope an ensemble, which she would wear to dance. In time, Hope became so good at wowing the crowds that their bowl overflowed with coins.

She was a remarkable sight, the young gypsy girl, with hair and eyes of gold; skin so supple and smooth that many gathered for just a chance to see her. In her colorful costume with its flowing skirt, adorned with layers of diaphanous tufts at her shoulders, along her bodice, tied to her wrists and ankles, she was scintillating. Reds, blues, gold and greens blended, flickering about her like sparks as she dipped, shimmied and swayed. Shaking her tambourine in time with Alfredo’s and Cornelius' playing, she kept the rhythm, spinning, her tresses flying freely. Once the crowd had gathered firmly in place around their wagon, the dance would end. Hope, in flirtatious abandonment, would toss one last teasing glance at the crowd and disappear from sight. Job done; the crowd that was gathered stood to be coaxed into purchasing miracle cures and concoctions.

As time passed, Cornelius' guard over Hope intensified. His eyes were forever seeking her out; she was fiery brilliance with a daring free spirit that thrilled him no end. She made him laugh, with her moments of naiveté and acts of mischief. He was in love with the music of her laughter, the gleam of her bright smile, the twinkle in her teasing eyes and the velvety softness of her olive skin. If that were not enough, her young body was developing, growing into something dangerous to any man’s strong will. From just the pleasure of her smile, he became weak and hungry in his longing. Raging within him was a desire to taste her full, dark mauve lips.

To Cornelius' dismay, she was growing up, and he was losing himself in constant dreams of her. Soon, he reasoned, patiently waiting …she would be a woman, when that day came; he would convince his father that they should wed.

VICKSBURG, MISSISSIPPI

WEBSTER FIELDS PLANTATION - 1824

The moment Jordan opened the doors to the study, musty offensive odors assailed him, making him recoil. He looked back at the women who stood behind him with buckets, brooms, brushes and cloths and said, “Ladies, take a good deep breath…we goin' in.”

“
We ready, it's long been due.” Cora returned.

“
Well go’on then, le’s get it done.” Ruby pushed.

Nodding, Jordan flung the doors wide. They could hear his snoring from where they stood, all ready to set things back to order, starting with Manny. Stepping into the dark malodorous room, they knew what to expect. Enough time had passed, they were tired of standing by, enough was enough; it was time to help him up off of his pot of pity. The women set their buckets down and looked around the big room, trying to decide where to start.

“
I can tell’ya now, these here rugs got to go.” Mazie informed them.

Cora nodded agreeing, making a face, “’specially that one near the desk and near that couch. Lord, I can smell’em from here.”

“
We’ah get to them, le’s get some light in here firs’, can’t believe he pin’em close like that, too dark.” Ruby grumbled referring to the drapes. “You two yank them off, and we’ah get this side.” She further directed.

The four went about it, trying as best they could to ignore the lingering odors that hit them square in the nose. The stench of sour whiskey, vomit and even urine - was strong. The smells and looks of the room, and the man passed out within it, ignited Jordan’s anger even more. In the passing years, Manny had gone slowly downhill, until he was where they worked around him now.

As it had been when Michael disappeared, the same scenario repeated in the case of Lena and Hope. For almost five years, with Leon faithful and true by his side, Manny had searched for Timothy Pearson and Harold Casey. It seemed they had disappeared from the face of the earth.

During the search, Katherine, who barely survived his attack, divorced him and returned to Europe; escorted by her mother; further tarnishing his reputation. Even so, his scandalous divorce was the least of his concerns; he paid it no more attention that he had the story of his insane assault on Katherine and Hastings Manor. All tales told, accurate or exaggerated served him well. It suited him just fine that all avoided him when he walked down the street, many murmuring that he suffered from bouts of madness. He did nothing to dispel the belief, behaving in a way that perpetuated the slander against his character. During that particular time in his life, Manny hated them all.

His walk, his heated
glare coupled with the chip on his shoulder, dared anyone to cross him. To give him one reason to exhibit his infamous rage. Bitterness and resentment were his immediate emotions. He fed on them, and
they
– fed on him, consuming him.

They had taken away his Hope, and the woman whom he loved more than life itself. With every passing year, he saw less and less reason to live. Although he had never been suicidal, he spit in the face of danger and activities that could have easily lead to his demise. He often pleaded with God to be done with it…let death be the end of his torment. The passing of years without meeting that end, brought home God’s answer. He would have to live out the hell that was his life to the end. When he had finished his fruitless search for his scattered family, he and Leon went abroad. After six long years he returned as someone unrecognizable to his slaves, employees, Morris and Kayleen. Leon was the only one who bothered with him and rode out his angry outbursts, because he had been with him every step of the way.

Charles and Mildred had long since returned to their home with their daughters. Twin girls, Charles' pride and joy that he refused to expose to Manny’s bitter hatred. The elder, Jacob, tried reading the bible to Manny; finding it uncomfortable to sit through his quiet, long, cold stare, convinced that not even God’s word could console him, he didn’t wish to hear it, his solace was in the rut where he chose to remain, wallowing in self pity.

It was soon clear to everyone he did not want to be bothered. It wasn’t long before he began neglecting his duties when home, leaving them for others to see to. He would leave, going to town for business matters; hours would go by, an entire day gone before his return home late at night. Often times, one night in particular he showed up finally, in a state that made Kayleen’s heart hurt, she could tell he had been brawling.

“
You tryin’ to kill yo’self?” She asked softly, cleaning up a cut by his eye and tending to his bleeding lip.

“
No ma’am, tryin’ ta’get a body to do it for me. Useless bastards all of'em! Here I am, back again.” He gestured grandly, arms out as if presenting himself to her, grinning at the irony of the situation looking up at her, reeking of whiskey.

“
You can’t keep on like this. I can’t lose you too.” Kayleen whispered.

Manny glanced away feeling sorry for her suffering, but he could not help her with what she felt; he was in his own losing battle. He looked back at her again. “My soul is dead….” he murmured, “…only a matter of time, ‘fore the body follows.” Suddenly he stood from the chair, staggering back a bit, leaving her cabin before she could finish with him. He disappeared that night, not to be seen again for over a year.

His father and all those who loved him feared and agonized that he might be dead somewhere.

It was Morris, Jordan, Leon and Patrick Johnson, on a trip to New Orleans, who discovered that he was alive, very much so. He was living in an upstairs apartment in a bordello. He and the madam were in cahoots; He part financing her, they’d bought a gambling saloon. They could not believe he had sunk to such a low state. Morris tried to talk him into coming home; Manny wouldn’t hear of it, his answer being, “Nothing there for me; Leave me ol’man. Leave me alone.” Dismissing them all, he carried on with his business.

Leon wanted to stay there with him, so he was left behind with Manny. A few months later, the two returned to Webster Fields. It came out upon their return that the madam, in a fit of jealousy, having caught Manny in bed with a Negro woman that he was showering too much attention on, as well too many gifts, exploded into a rage. In her fury she burned down the saloon and tried to shoot him; only to be foiled by Leon’s intervention.

Thus, the reason they returned to Webster Fields. Even so, before their departure, Manny sent the Negro woman, Candy, off where she chose to go, with plenty of money to get her there, wishing her the best. She had been the closest thing to Lena he had ever seen. With hazel eyes, smooth brown skin and light brown hair, yet not as pretty as his Lena. In fact, she had been of plain features but a tender nature and kind heart, yes, sweet as candy. She had been a much needed medicine for his ailing soul. For a while, she had brought him a modicum of peace and comfort, calming the beast in him.

He resisted the temptation to take her to Webster Fields with him, simply because she was not Lena, just an imitation of what he so badly wanted back.

Home again, after leaving behind the touch of Candy, Manny alternated between bouts of drinking and sobriety. He tried this time to get back into the running of the plantation but occasionally when he passed Lena’s cabin, he swore to himself he saw her standing there…holding onto that post, waiting for him. Soon, serious drinking began drowning out the image. Kayleen, Ruby or Leon often found him passed out on her porch, or inside the cabin in her bed. Sleepless nights, she called to him; answering her call, he went there looking for her, like a reoccurring nightmare, no Lena – no Hope. Nightmares and a merciless conscience reminded him repeatedly, that they were gone because of him. Michael…gone, because of him.

Now he lay in his office, slumped over his desk unconscious. For Jordan, it was enough. The women had dusted, wiped down, swept, scrubbed, polished and cleared the room with his help.

Due to the state of him and the room, Jordan
had to lift each side of the desk so they could slide the ruined rug from beneath it. Hearing of their plans, Morris passed where they worked; looking in, so forlorn and regretful, it broke their hearts.

“
It looks much better already.” He commented.

The women were done and walking towards him to leave. “It show’do smell better.” Cora said abreast of him. Morris smiled at her.

“
We be getting’ you something to eat in a bit.” She said as Mazie and Ruby continued down the hall.

“
Don’t you min’ me none. I do alright.”

“
Look he’ah masta’ Morris; he in bad enough state.” She pointed towards the room where Jordan and Manny were. “It’s too much t’be worrin’ ‘bout him and
you too
. You’done loss anuf’ weight, I ain’t havin’ it. I’mo fix you some food and you gone eat it too.” She ordered, turning to show that
that
was the end of it.

Morris looked from her, back into the room. Jordan was at the doors about to close them. “If you excuse me sa’…somethin’ I got to do, long overdue now.” Morris nodded in understanding as the doors closed.

Jordan turned back to look at a prone Manny. The entire time they had cleaned around him, he had not moved a muscle. Jordan felt his heart beating in his chest from fear as he approached the desk and sleeping man on it; not because he was afraid of Manny, no, but because he was afraid
for
Manny. He could not let him go on like this.

If someone did not turn him around and soon, it might be too late one day. There was no way he could stand by and let things continue as they were. Manny’s hair had grown past his collar; his beard needed to be trimmed and Jordan's nose told him, his friend was in urgent need of a bath. He was trying to think of a way to wake him, when he reached for the bottle he held and pulled it quickly from his grasp… Manny stirred.

“’
Aye…what, what’yah doin’?” He slurred, more from sleep than being drunk, “Gimme’ – gimme’ that back.” He rasped in a low voice, his eyes squinting from daylight pouring in from the tall, bared windows, “What the - ?! Close the drapes! Close’em!” He ordered gruffly.

“
You want’em closed? Get up from there, close’em yo’self!” Jordan returned brusquely.

Manny’s head slanted down with his hand up blocking the rays of strong light that hurt his eyes. “Who the hell open’em? What do you want!?”

“
We open’em…" Jordan began, "…matter o’fact…they gone! Stank so bad!” He informed Manny as he glared up at him through spread fingers, trying to block the sun. “Gone?!” Manny echoed. “Bring them back!”

“
Lata’…right now…we has t’talk!”

“
Oh bloody hell!” Manny exhaled, falling forward to the desk to hide his face within his folded arms. “Get the hell out – leave me alone!”

“
Not today, an’ by the way. See that stack o’bottles there by the winda’?”

Manny’s head rose slowly as he eyed Jordan with displeasure and suspicion. Jordan nodded towards the tall portals of light to Manny’s right.

“
I’ah be tossin’ them all out now. Jus’ so you know. I don’ had enough o’this. We all has.” Jordan informed him walking to the window that was already open, picking up the first whiskey bottle. They were found throughout the room as it was cleaned. Bottles were stashed everywhere, and now the lift of each bottle punctuated Jordan’s sentences.

He hurled bottles. “You know…you don’ did ever’thin’ in this room, but crap in the corner.” As he said this, Manny shifted his weight and broke wind. With the lift of a brow, Jordan added, "By the sounds of that, you getting' ready to do that too! So lemme tell you now, I ain't cleanin' no'shit! I'm the overseer, not no goddamn stable boy! In the stable where you belong!"

Trying not to, Manny chuckled but as he realized the last of his four bottles were about to go out with a crash, his sense of humor fled.

“
Hold it right there! Don’t you dare - toss another fuckin’ bottle out that window. Or by God, you’ll follow it!” He threatened.

Now it was Jordan’s turn to chuckle. “By God it’ll be! I can tell you now, while you was suckin on yo’ whisky bottle, them spirits done snuck up and suck the muscle right outa you! You ain’t got the strength to toss me out’a no winda’.” Jordan taunted as he threw out the remaining bottle. Manny could hear it smash as it landed. “Well? Get up! Toss me out the winda’!” Jordan dared.

Manny, realizing he was not up for such a battle, ignored Jordan’s taunt and waved off the bottles stating, “I don’t give a shit, there’s more where they come from. Just get the hell out and leave me alone!”

“
Not today my friend. I’s time you face the way thangs is; time you pull yo’self together. B’fore I leave this room today; I plan on setting yo’ feet back to the road. An’ if I have to push, fight, kick yo’tail and shove you around to get you moving…then so be it!”

Manny gave a wry smile, and said. “Well, I’d drink to that, only you threw all my goddamn liquor out the window.” Then it occurred to him, that he had a bottle they’d probably not found. He leaned to the right, pulling out the bottom drawer of his desk and upon his discovery; gave Jordan a smug grin and a wink. Removing the bottle, he brought it to his mouth to pull out the cork.