The Prodigy Slave, Book Three: The Ultimate Grand Finale (Revised Edition 2020)

by Londyn Skye

  Preston was also very aware of the fact that he was being discreetly watched, and that his presence was no longer welcome. He could only guess that Atticus’s surveillance had everything to do with the debacle regarding “Bella’s” identity. While Preston could only make assumptions regarding that matter, he was absolutely certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that “Bella” was not the true name of the woman who damn near brought him to tears at dinner. For that very reason, Preston’s desire to leave the party quickly was equal to that of the Atkins. He had been desperate to escape the social event the very second that so-called Bella scurried into the kitchen. For another two hours, though, he remained at the party, doing his best to recover from the awkward dinner moment. When he felt he had recovered well, he thanked Evelyn and Atticus for the wonderful evening, and for purchasing the art he had delivered. He then left just as quietly as he arrived.

  From a distance, Ryla watched Preston leave, noting the heated whispers between Evelyn and Atticus afterward. She then tiptoed away from her duties and walked down to the whore floor to check on a woman whose identity she was now unsure of. Upon entering the room, Ryla lit two oil lamps, and quietly walked over to Lily’s bed. Lily still lay in the fetal position, sniffling from time to time, her tears still saturating her pillow. She could feel Ryla staring at her, but she refused to roll over and look in her direction. With this being the second time she had been denied a chance to communicate with Preston, Lily was not in the mood to hear one of Ryla’s lectures about crying. But there Ryla was, looming over her, swirling the wine in her glass. As soon as Lily heard the swishing of the liquid, she knew that Ryla was about to purge what was on her mind anyway.

  Ryla exhaled and sat down on the edge of Lily’s bed. “Years ago, I asked you if you had a story to tell. Do you rememba’ what you said to me?”

  Lily refused to reply.

  “‘We all got a story to tell, don’t we?’ was all you replied,” Ryla reminded her. “I left it alone and neva’ hassled you about it again, even though I could feel in my bones that you were hidin’ somethin’. Hell, it didn’t take me but a few days to realize there was somethin’ different about you. I could tell by the way you carried yo’self. In all my life, I ain’t neva’ seen a slave naturally walk with they head held high the way you do sometimes, like you some damn show pony. Ain’t neva’ met no slave talk with so many big fancy words eitha’. And when ol’ goat cheese caught you readin’ and writin’ years ago, it furtha’ confirmed that there was somethin’ unique about you. But … ‘We all got a story to tell, don’t we?’ was all you were willin’ to say when I questioned you.” Ryla took a sip from her wine glass. “I don’t wanna hear that bullshit now, though. Afta’ what happened in that dinin’ room tonight, I’m convinced that you got a story that’ll blow everybody’s mind.”

  Still not wanting to hear any of Ryla’s rhetoric, Lily suddenly hopped out of bed and headed for the door.

  “Where you goin’, Lily Adams?!” Ryla shouted.

  Lily stopped near the door and spun around. “Don’t call me that!”

  “Why not?!” Ryla sat her glass down, jumped up, and walked toward her. “That’s yo’ real name, ain’t it?!”

  “No, it ain’t!”

  “Liar! I saw you spin around the very second that rich white man said yo’ real name!”

  “You heard him! He mistook me for anotha’ servant,” Lily deflected.

  “He was clearly lyin’ to save your ass! That man knows you somehow! And you must be important to ’em, ’cause ain’t no rich white man gonna look at no servant in the face long enough to recall who she is years lata’! Even if he did, he damn sho’ ain’t gonna rememba’ yo’ first and yo’ last name!” Ryla walked closer and glared at the woman she had only ever known as Bella. “I know you got a story to tell … now come on with it!”

  “No, I don’t!”

  “Then who the hell is Lily?!”

  “I don’t know anymore!” she screamed. She lowered her head and tears suddenly exploded from her eyes. “I th-think she’s d-dead,” she whispered as she continued sobbing uncontrollably. She then opened the door and ran off to be alone.

  Lily indeed felt as though her true identity began a slow painful death the night James attempted to escape with her back in April of 1860. After sustaining such severe head trauma, she had virtually no recollection of that day, nor of the shootout between Elijah and Gideon at the planned tradeoff spot. She was even ignorant as to how she had ended up in Ava’s care in her tiny Negro hospital. Her memory of holding her dead baby, however, was strikingly clear. For years, that tiny, motionless, babydoll-looking face had silently haunted her. The hows, the whys, the wondering if James knew his beloved baby was dead, had damn near eaten away her soul completely. The devastation of that moment left Lily scrounging for answers as to how she had ended up with a lifeless child in her arms, and James nowhere to be found. She was baffled as to why the ironclad memory vault of her mind refused to unlock the memories of those life-altering events. Even her memories of being wrestled out of Ava’s hospital by Ghost Riders were spotty at best. She barely recalled having a cloth sack placed over her head and being shackled to several other women, who had been stolen from various places as well. For days, Lily’s sickly body drifted in and out of consciousness as she traveled in those conditions, not having the mental clarity to even ponder what her fate might be.

  With her body still struggling to heal from childbirth and a severe beating, Lily could barely sit up straight as she was tossed about the bumpy roads, with her battered face cloaked in darkness. She was cold, deathly ill, dehydrated, and underfed to the point that she was constantly dry heaving, making it nearly impossible for her internal wounds to heal properly. Her and the other stolen slaves were treated so poorly that two of them perished as they made their way from buyer to buyer. Ironically, Lily would have been amongst the dead, in just a few short days, had it not been for Atticus purchasing her. She was so close to death before then, she lacked the strength to even utter her own name when Atticus asked her. With the combination of an assigned name and Atticus’s anal-retentive medical routine, Lily was revitalized as a different woman and reborn into a life that she did not want. The tale of her journey to that point was part of the incredible story that Ryla was desperate to know. It was also something she now felt the need to apologize for demanding Lily tell her.

  Hours after Evelyn’s social event was over, Ryla went to find Lily. While everyone in the house was fast asleep, Lily had walked upstairs to the main floor. She was standing by a massive picture window that overlooked the sprawling land of Atticus’s estate. Desperate for fresh air, she had wanted to stand on the back porch. She needed the cool breeze to help dry her tears and clear her mind. But with all the doors to her “prison” deadbolted, the picture window near the back porch was as far as she was able to go. Being denied such a simple pleasure had her tears flowing again as she stared out the window, silently begging God for her freedom. Lily suddenly sensed Ryla’s presence behind her, but she could not stand to pull her eyes away from the beautiful star-filled sky. The sight of it brought back fond memories of her mother and of her first performance on William’s amphitheater.

  “Forgive me for pushin’ to know who you are … or who you used to be,” Ryla said to Lily. She spoke with an uncharacteristic soothing tone, as she stepped beside her good friend and gazed at the sky with her. “Yo’ life story ain’t none ‘a my damn business. I know betta’ than to be so pushy. Most folks here don’t wanna dwell on their past. They got enough to worry about right here within these walls. It’s just with you, I can’t let go of this feelin’ that you’re someone special, Bella. This place … this life … it’s all beneath you. Far, far beneath you compared to the rest of us. I can feel that this place has dimmed the beautiful light you normally shine. And now, I’m startin’ to fear that that beautiful light within you will fade away altogetha’. Somehow I know that would be among the world’s greatest traged
ies.” For once there was no wine glass in Ryla’s hand. She used the free hand to touch Lily on the shoulder and gently turn her around. Ryla then waited for her eyes to meet hers. “I just want so badly for you to shine again … Miss Lily.”

  Lily’s tears instantly ignited again when Ryla’s last two words triggered the beautiful memory of particular man.

  Ryla gently touched her dear friend on the cheek. “Lily ain’t dead. She’s alive … just barely, but she’s still alive. And I believe, deep in my heart, that she will shine again…” She briefly turned to look at the sky. “Even brighta’ than them goddamn stars.”

  Lily turned and watched as Ryla suddenly walked away. She swore she saw a glimmer of tears sparkling in her friend’s eyes before she departed, sincere tears. Lily then turned back toward the window and gazed at the star-filled sky, through the blur of sincere tears in her own eyes. She exhaled as she stood there alone, holding on tightly to words that had managed to instantly reignite hope that had been snuffed out, four long and lonely years ago.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Army of the United States

  Honorable Discharge

  This is to certify that

  Michael Adams

  Lieutenant of the Iron Army Brigade of the East

  is hereby honorably discharged from the military service of the United States of America.

  This certificate is awarded as a testimonial of honest and faithful service to this country.

  Given in

  Summersville, West Virginia

  Carnifex Ferry Battlefield

  Given on this

  20th day of February 1865

  Edward R. Blackshear

  General of the Iron Army Brigade of the East

  General Blackshear loomed over James while he lay in his cot in the infirmary with a brace on his leg. “Lemme get this straight. You have the chance to leave this God forsaken place, and you’re tellin’ me you don’t wanna go?” the general questioned, a puzzled look on his face.

  “I have reasons, General … very personal reasons why I need to be here. I had no intention of eva’ leavin’ this war until the bitta’ end… or until I’m tossed into a pile of bodies no longa’ breathin’.” James inhaled sharply. “I can still smell the stench of rottin’ flesh. Seems to me my lungs are still in perfect workin’ orda’.”

  “Your lungs may be … but you know good ‘n damn well you can’t say the same thing about that leg ‘a yours. Lieutenant, I unda’stand and greatly appreciate your passion, but you’re no good to any of our troops now. That’s just a fact that you have to accept.”

  “General, there must be some otha’ way I can serve in some capacity.”

  “No! There isn’t! You can hardly walk, let alone protect yourself or any of your troops.”

  “Maybe here in the medical tent? The men can surely use my medical expertise.”

  “You can hardly stand long enough to take care of y’ur damn self, Lieutenant! Y’ur no longa’ an asset to any of us … y’ur a liability! That’s just the brutal truth! You’re limpin’ y’ur ass home as soon as you’re healed enough to go. That’s an orda’!”

  James exhaled and lowered his head in defeat. “I don’t have a home,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “What?”

  “I said I’m healed enough to go home now.”

  “Lieutenant, don’t be a jackass! I’m no doctor, but I can clearly see that you’re not ready to travel a long distance with that mangled leg ‘a y’urs.”

  “Well, no disrespect, General. But I am a doctor. And I’m fine to go now.”

  “Amelia?!” the general suddenly called out, still glaring at James.

  “Yessa’?” she said, scurrying over.

  “Do you think Lieutenant Adams is healed enough to travel?”

  Whether he was or not, Amelia had the same answer. “No sir, General Blackshear. Not remotely.”

  “Again, no disrespect meant. But I’m the lead doctor here,” James replied. “My word is final. I can treat my leg along the way, as long as I have the propa’ medication and bandages. Besides, if I can’t be of assistance here in some capacity then I need to make room in this bed for soldiers who truly need it.”

  The general blew out a breath of irritation. “Somethin’ tells me that you’re the one who still needs this goddamn bed a few more days, but I’ll trust your judgement.” He turned and looked at Amelia. “Go on and find ’em a walkin’ cane, supplies, and medication.”

  “Yessa’,” she replied, briefly glancing over at James. After hearing that he was leaving, she suddenly found herself fighting the urge to cry. James’s head hung far too low to notice the sorrow in Amelia’s eyes. Just as her tears began to fall, Amelia turned and went in search of the items the general requested.

  As the general stormed out of the tent, he breezed past Harrison, who had been looking on from the corner. Once the general was gone, he walked over to James.

  “I don’t need any goddamn medical supplies. I need to stay,” James complained, letting his body fall back on the bed in frustration.

  “Neva’ ceases to amaze me that doctor’s always make the most hard-headed patients,” Harrison replied.

  “And you lawyers always have a smart remark locked and loaded and ready to fire at the weak and helpless.”

  “Weak and helpless, precisely. I know you’re probably in a rush to resume lookin’ for Lily, but it’s gonna be hard to find ’er on a leg that ain’t remotely ready for such a gruelin’ journey. I think the general’s right. You need to regain some strength and let it heal a little longa’.”

  “I’ll heal just fine on the road. If I can’t be of use here, I’m leavin’,” James fired back defiantly. “I don’t wanna just lay around here bein’ coddled like a damn baby.”

  “More proof that every doctor has an impenetrable noggin,” Harrison said, shaking his head. “I guess it’s natural to be angry about not reachin’ a goal. But deep down, you know bein’ discharged is for the best.”

  “Makes me sick to admit that you’re right,” James reluctantly replied, staring blankly at the roof of the tent.

  Harrison could not bring himself to look directly at James. Internally, he was glad he had pulled through and was now free to leave. But the thought of fighting a war without his best friend by his side was suddenly causing an extreme tightness in his chest. “So, uh, you headed to Ohio or Manhattan?” he asked, as he fought to settle his emotions.

  “Both,” James replied, sitting up again and carefully putting his feet on the ground. “I’m gonna regroup with Griff and William in Manhattan and resume our search for Lily. But I wanna stop in Ohio first. Got some business to attend to there and then I wanna check on my God kids.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve only eva’ seen my little girl in pictures,” Harrison replied, his emotions reigniting again over that thought. “Zach’s four. Harriet’s three.” He shook his head. “First steps and first words. I’ve missed it all. Hell, they don’t even know me.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell ’em everything about their father while I’m there … well, excludin’ some of your activities durin’ our university years, of course,” James joked.

  “Yes, please pick and choose your stories carefully,” Harrison laughed.

  “No worries. Your children will only hear of the true hero their fatha’ is,” James said with sincerity.

  “Ah!” Harrison waved his hand dismissively, trying to wave off his emotions more so than James’s words. “Fraternity brotha’, brotha’-in-arms, yes! But I think tellin’ my kids I’m a hero may be overdoin’ it just a bit, don’t ya’ think?” he jokingly replied.

  “Fraternity brotha’, brotha’-in-arms. You’re my brotha’ alright.” James looked his best friend in the eyes. “Harrison, you’re the only true goddamn brotha’ I’ve eva’ had. And you damn sure betta’ believe your children will hear the story of how my one true brotha’ saved my life. Until the end ‘a my days, I’ll tell ’em that story
again and again, so they neva’ forget that their fatha’s a hero.”

  Amelia suddenly approached with a walking cane for James and interrupted the moment. Harrison was glad for the distraction. It gave him a chance to settle the swell of emotions that were threatening to explode out of his chest. “I’ll, uh, go and get a horse and wagon ready for ya’,” he said. He then stepped away to give Amelia the privacy he could sense she wanted with James.

  For weeks, James had lay in the infirmary tent fighting for his life. Fever and infection had him in and out of consciousness for most of that time. Amelia had spent nearly every moment by his side, treating his wounds, keeping him cool with a damp cloth, and tearfully whispering words of encouragement. When James began regaining consciousness, it was Amelia he had awakened to holding his hand. After days of weakness, James finally had the strength to speak and to squeeze her hand in return. “Lily?” he had whispered repeatedly, still too lost in a delusional haze to realize who he was speaking to, or whose hand he was holding. Even though Amelia knew he was hallucinating, the utterance of his wife’s name was enough to stir her tears. Despite her envy, she still pretended to be the woman James loved, feeling as though such a small thing would give him the strength to heal faster.

  Amelia’s selflessness was not in vain. After days of nursing him, the way his wife would have, James indeed returned to full consciousness. He had awakened completely unaware of how he had further broken Amelia’s heart. He was far more concerned with evaluating the damage that his brother had done to his leg. When he struggled to even move it, he knew it would not be long before General Blackshear sent him packing. With potential discharge looming, Amelia was not a thought on James’s mind. Instead, he spent days trying to strengthen his leg enough to avoid being sent home. Amelia helped in any way she could; she, too, did not want him to leave.