Authors: Charlotte Swanpol
Epilogue
And that’s how a lovely man such as Ashton came to be mine. He kept his word, and as the years passed, our loved stayed strong. And his speech, the words he made up on the fly as a mob was trying to break into his estate, seemed to have an impact.
Over the next few years, the world began changing. The video camera allowed us to go to the movies and watch moving pictures. Our estate soon had electricity that allowed us to have a much easier life. We soon drove around in automobiles.
And even though there was a lot of work to be done, I saw my people slowly beginning to integrate with his. I don’t know if Ashton’s speech had anything to do with it, but I’d like to think so!
For Ashton himself, his business boomed. With the automobiles, he had even more of a reason to find and sell oil to the people. We soon started a family, and together, we promised to make this country into something unbelievable as the 20
th
century began. Together, humanity would settle our differences and go forward. At least, that’s what I hoped. Who knew with humans? We were so unpredictable.
But whatever would happen, we’d be there to go with the flow or change the direction.
The End
Chapter 1
From the first moment she glimpsed at the Jackson Plantation, Lucinda knew her life as she knew it was over. Not entirely convinced that this was a good thing, she kept whispering to herself, “It gon’ be betta here. It gon’ be betta.” She took a deep breath of the thick Tennessee air and sighed, considering her cracked and weathered feet as she walked. Six days she had been walking, barefoot, to her new home; after those six days, she barely winced when a breeze brushed her cotton shift against the week-old tears in her back. For six days she walked away from the torturous Master Sanders and his ranch, toward what she hoped would be, at the very least, an indifferent master; one who didn’t care if she sang, as long as the cotton got picked. A Master who, she really hoped, would be the fabled ‘gentle’ kind. Though it was a fantasy she often entertained, she stifled a bitter laugh – she wasn’t free of Sanders yet. The rough, dusty rope, wearing deep welts into her wrists, went slack as the horse-drawn covered wagon attached to it reached its destination.
It was a grand house, indeed, if a titch smaller than the Sanders’. Wide, white steps led up to an even wider, whiter porch that wrapped around the entire main floor of the house, its big arched windows empty eyes watching over the property. With the open screen door allowing a gentle breeze to ripple through the house, the light lace curtains fluttered, blinking the unseeing eyes sleepily. Big, drooping willow trees dotted the yard, a swing swaying slightly, the great shadow cast by the high, midday sun a haven from the harsh rays. Though there was a relaxed air about the house, the fields seemed abuzz, a sea of glistening black amidst the fluffy white. Lucinda wondered how many of the slaves here were born on this plantation, and how many were brought here, shackled like her.
Suddenly, she found herself nose to boot, a sharp jerk on her tether having yanked her to the hard ground, the tender flesh of her wrist torn and bleeding anew.
“I said, are ya’ gonna answer Mister Jackson, or are ya’ deaf and dumb?” Sanders spat.
“Yes sir, and no sir,” Lucinda coughed; she’d swallowed a lot of dirt upon landing on her face. Slowly, she got to her feet, and for the first time, observed her new owner. He was a large man, both tall and wide, a head and a half taller than Sanders, at least, with a bushy blonde moustache atop a thin-lipped, down-turned mouth. Wearing a three-piece ivory suit of perfectly starched linen, his style most definitely put Master Sanders’ to shame. Mister Jackson stood rigid at the top of the stairs, staring down a crooked, hooked nose, contemplating his new acquisition, and puffed on his bent billiard pipe. The polished bone bowl fit his hand perfectly, the commissioned craftsmanship surely costing a small fortune. And something about his eyes – Lucinda couldn’t put her finger on it – did she recognize the twinkle of laughter? She reckoned it was, but couldn’t be sure; it was gone in the blink of an eye.
“Well?” Sanders’ gruff voice boomed from above her. He leered down at her, seething with repulsion, as he wrenched her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.
White-hot fury brought a snarl to her full, cracked lips, her hatred for this man bubbling out in the only way they could, her big chocolate eyes threatening tears. After a moment she checked herself, and the fire in her eyes subsided. She refused to let him see her cry, again.
“What was’a question, sir?” she asked, as meekly as she could muster.
Before Sanders had finished rolling his eyes, a deep voice echoed from the steps.
“I asked if you were tired from your journey,” Master Jackson replied, and Lucinda’s mouth gaped with surprise. “Though, clearly you are delirious with thirst, girl. I say, Sanders, if you’ve brought me a housekeeper ready for anything less than work first thing in the mornin’, I will take my money back right here and now.”
As Master Sanders dove into urgent assurances that Lucinda had been worked much harder and longer during his ownership than simply the walking she had done, and she was most certainly fit to work that very moment, she lowered her head and clutched her shift with shaking ebony hands. By the sounds of it, this new Master cared about her wellbeing – and did she hear correctly? Could she be lucky enough to have been bought for work in the Big House? She very nearly held her breath.
Deep, hearty laughter brought her back to reality as clammy white hands roughly untied her throbbing wrists and thrust her forward. Lucinda caught herself before she fell, and stood upright, fingering the delicate rivets in her skin. A wiry young woman in a charcoal dress and white apron approached with a silver tray, upon which a glass of water shimmered, condensation beading on the cool glass. Her curly black hair was pulled into a tight bun beneath a frilly white maid’s cap, and her thin black arm – darker than Lucinda’s own – remained unwavering beneath the weight of the tray. Instead of walking past Lucinda to Master Sanders, however, she stopped directly in front of her, and offered the glass.
Lucinda could have dropped dead from the shock of it, but the confused contempt on Sanders’ face held her where she stood. A friendly smile spread across the girls face as she urged the tray forward. Hesitantly, Lucinda reached to pick up the glass, every bit as cool as it looked, the cubes of ice clinking gently as she brought it to her lips. Intent on savoring the chill, she tilted it slowly at first, but as soon as the first drop hit her tongue, she couldn’t resist. The whole glass was gone in two gulps. Embarrassed, she replaced the glass on the tray, and wiped her mouth on her arm, already feeling revitalized. The girl flashed Lucinda a big, bright smile before turning on her heel and walking back into the house. Left to her own thoughts as the men continued their discussion of fees and penalties, Lucinda peered around the yard once more.
Beyond the willow trees she could see a large wooden barn and adjacent coop; the attached white fencing held acres of rolling pasture with cattle and horses grazing lazily in the stifling heat. Long since her first day as a slave, she silently added the collection of eggs and milk to the list of duties she’d likely be assigned. The early morning grunt work was often the responsibility of the newest addition.
As she assessed her new surroundings, movement beneath the willow caught her attention. How it had been overlooked, originally, she did not know, but against the broad trunk of the tree now leaned a tall, pale slip of a man; a heavy open book in one hand, finger marking his place, he looked up at her through a shock of blonde hair with the clearest, bluest eyes she had ever seen. Even cast in shadow as he was, the clarity of his eyes and the directness of his stare raised bumps on her skin, and despite the summer sun, she shivered. Time stood still as he took her in and, though she wanted to cower under his scrutiny, she stood taller, challenging any judgement he considered.
The bang of the screen door shattered the moment, and he turned his head to see, exposing a strong, clean-shaven jaw beneath his full pout, and a straight, perfect nose. Lucinda wanted nothing less than to look away from this mysterious man, but she followed his example.
By this time, Mister Jackson had descended and had Master Sanders’ scrawny hand in a firm, plump handshake. The woman who replaced him on the steps, and the cause of the banged door, could only be the Madam of the plantation; her long, willowy limbs were a sharp contrast to both her husband, and the severe auburn bun at the top of her head, a curtain of ringlets cascading down her thin frame. Also adorned in cream, she wore a fine cut of linen, tailored in all the right places, with a fine, vertical silver pinstripe running the length of the gown. The owner of a perfect nose as well, she was stunning. She had large, sad eyes, with a grace and poise Lucinda was unaccustomed to. This certainly would be unlike any plantation she had ever worked, before.
The server woman whispered something to the young servant girl, who had taken her place beside her mistress, and the girl hurried down the steps and approached Lucinda. She dipped into an obviously practiced curtsy as she introduced herself.
“Aft’noon, miss,” she began, trying her best to sound professional. “I’s Tessie, and I’s gon’ getcha washed up.” As Tessie led the way, Lucinda looked back for one final peek at the boy, but he was already gone.
It took twenty minutes to walk from the front yard to the servants’ housing, and in that time Lucinda said not one word. It wasn’t that she was particularly shy, or that she didn’t have anything to say – it was Tessie. She barely took a breath between sentences, but did a good job of making Lucinda feel welcomed and comfortable, if over-informed.
Tessie was born on the plantation, her momma the head cook in the big house, and her daddy one of the gardeners. They, too, had been born into slavery, but didn’t mind much – Sir and Madam were mighty kind, and rarely yelled. Only one whippin’ she ever saw, and that was because a young man tried to run off with Sir’s prize stallion. He disappeared after that. She assured Lucinda that she’d like it here, to which Lucinda replied she already did, garnering Tessie’s widest and brightest smile yet. As she ushered Lucinda into the quarters, Tessie began telling her about Sir and Madam.
“They wasn’t able to have babes of they own,” Tessie explained as she led Lucinda to a basin of murky water, and stripped her down. “And that’s why they took in they nephew, Jimmy, when Sir’s brother and brother’s wife died.”
“So he’s they nephew, then,” Lucinda murmured to herself.
“What?” Tessie paused.
“That yella-haired boy under the tree today. He’s they nephew?”
“Yes, that’s what I say,” Tessie continued. She rambled on about the myriad family trees, and the heritage of the plantation. She really was a wealth of knowledge, if poorly spoken, but the friendly chatter was a nice change from the screaming and whipping of the Sanders’ Ranch.
Then it struck Lucinda: she would never be back there, again. Never again would she have to endure his beatings, or his wife’s hot iron. Never again would she experience the whispers and pointed fingers of the other workers; no more of the jeers and cold, judgmental stares of the white folk. Unconsciously, her hand went to her belly, scarred in its own right, as Tessie nattered on and scrubbed her back. It felt good to sit in this water, tepid and dirty as it was; Lucinda felt like she was finally being absolved of the past, baptized into a new life. She breathed in deep and sighed, and, there in the patchy afternoon sunlight, with a strange girl she’d met not forty minutes before, she began to weep. Wrenching, uncontrollable sobs overtook her, causing Tessie to lose her ever-chugging train of thought.
“Good heavens, girl, why you cryin’?” she asked, softly. “You really will be happy here, I swear. Sir and Madam may seem scary at first, but it’s all an act. They’s gon’ love you! Don’t cry.”
“It ain’t that,” Lucinda sniffed. How could she explain that she was glad? How could she make this girl understand that she was crying because she was grateful? How could she tell Tessie that she was lucky she had known no other life, no other owner? This thought brought around a new wave of tears, and the girls spent the remainder of the bath in silence.
Chapter 2
That night, as she drifted to sleep on a firm, itchy cot – another surprising change from the Sanders’ blanket-on-the-floor generosity – her mind swam with all that had happened that day. Meeting the rest of her ‘roommates’ confirmed her opinion that if she couldn’t be a free woman, she’d want to be here at the Jackson Plantation.
Dinah and Solomon Baker, Tessie’s momma and daddy, were just about the nicest folks Lucinda had ever met. Sol, a strong and wiry man with a mop of greying curls, gave her a firm handshake and a warm smile; his wife, Dinah, was full-figured with a giant heart to match, and pulled Lucinda in for a delightfully smothering hug, and even kissed her on top of her head! When she finally released Lucinda, Di looked her up and down, approvingly, knowingly, and carried on preparing their dinner.
After such a physically and emotionally exhausting day, she should be sleeping like a log, but Lucinda’s thoughts kept returning to the boy by the tree, and his strong hands holding that thick volume. She memorized his long legs beneath the sand-colored breeches; the curve of his jaw; his crystal-blue eyes.
“Shake ya head, girl,” she whispered. “He’s a fine lookin’ man, but your momma would beat ya bloody if you made the same mistake twice.” And with that thought, she turned over to begin the first night’s sleep of her new life. The first night, of many nights, wrought with unspeakably delicious dreams.