Antebellum Struggles

by Dickie Erman

  That reason, alone, could be the ticket that gave Amana some control over her own future, however slight.

  He gently knocked.

  “Come in”.

  The door quietly opened. The hallway candle lights filled the bedroom again with the same soft yellowish glow from a few nights before. This time, Amana was standing.

  He silently closed the door, and turned to adjust his eyes to her dark silhouette. Everything he anticipated was still there: her voluptuous breasts, her firm round ass, her shapely legs.

  He stood still for a long while, taking in her feminine physique until he felt his manhood begin to rise.

  “Come here” he said, slightly above a whisper. It wasn’t a command, but an invitation. Amana remained still for a moment, not sure how to react. She wasn’t being told to come, she wasn’t being forced. Her trembling stopped.

  She, too, drank in his physique. She felt her breasts swell. There was no reason to speak. All awkwardness dissipated. She stepped toward him.

  She now stood straight in front, looking up, and he down, into each other’s eyes. Her chest heaved when he took her hands in his, then placed them on her hips.

  With little effort, he lifted her off the floor, cradled her body, and gently laid her on the bed. Her trembling returned, but out of excitement, not fear. Trent’s heart pounded, as he cupped her right breast in his large hand.

  In less than a minute they were both naked, their bodies pressed together, inseparable.

  Several times his hands felt the raised scar tissue on her otherwise smooth back, then remembering what Mr. Tolivar had told him. He ignored it forthwith, as plenty of other areas amply provided the soft touch he sought so passionately.

  For nearly an hour, they rolled, rocked, and caressed, Amana doused in climax after climax. Finally, Trent sensed that she was now exhausted. He pulled out, his desire now satisfied.

  Sweating and drained, they both laid side by side for several minutes, words unnecessary.

  Suddenly, Trent was gripped with paranoia. He’d rehearsed this triste many times before in his fantasy. The sensations, the eroticism, the tastes. Yet, he’d never planned out the last scene: the departing. He suddenly felt like the black widow’s victim, having been teased with her seductive gyrations, coaxed into decadent sex, and then bumbling to escape without getting devoured.

  He’d thoroughly thought through all the valid reasons why Amana would never dare disclose their secret to Collette. Amana’s punishment would be overwhelmingly devastating, to say the least. He’d prided himself on the fool proof logic of it all. But emotions sometime have the inconvenient habit of screwing with logic, especially when passions are involved.

  It was now all about ‘what ifs’. “What if Amana told Collette? What if I carelessly leaked a hint of what happened? What if Collette found out some other way, like a faux detective accidentally uncovering the smoking gun?”

  Now, it was Trent who was conflicted. The sex was sensational, much better than with Collette, even when she had interest. Well, he was in the thick of it, alright. He smiled devilishly, knowing that whatever danger lurked around the corner, his encounter with Amana was much too pleasurable to deprive himself of. He’d simply take his chances, trusting Amana to keep her promise, and vowing to painstakingly cover his tracks at all costs.

  He left the room without speaking.

  26

  I NCOME WAS SKYROCKETING. The plantation’s ‘docks’, anchored on the mighty Mississippi, were a mere couple hundred yards away. His refined sugar and by-products were being shipped to New Orleans, to Nova Scotia, and everywhere in between. The squeezed juice from the cane produced molasses and sold to cattle farmers as a food supplement.

  Bagasse, a fibrous residue left over after the sugarcane is crushed, was sold to paper factories. The sugar ingredients were also sold to producers of rum, always a profitable product.

  And crucial to it all were the slaves. No profit could be made without their manual labor. No slaves, no product, no money.

  Trent, above all else, was a businessman. Every kettle, cart, shovel, and horse had a purpose and a cost.

  So it was with slaves. Strong men were more valuable than weaker women. Child bearing women more valuable than most men. Gender, age, strength. They were all considered in calculating their value to the plantation.

  Submission to their master’s dominance was crucial. Rebellion, in any form, would threaten the entire business enterprise, and thus given zero tolerance. Any hint of revolt, escape, or disrespect needed to be immediately eradicated, like a plague.

  The majority had no intention of revolting. All had the desire to be free. But most realized that, even if they had their freedom, there was simply nowhere to go. At the plantation they were fed, clothed and housed, although, minimally at best.

  The Colonel even allowed some to be small time sharecroppers, granting them the ability to cultivate a small plot of land, grow vegetables, and sell them, including back to the plantation when Mrs. Winters ran low.

  Obedience then, remained crucial. And it was enforced by punishment, and fear of punishment.

  * * *

  TRENT walked to Tolivar’s cottage and found him sitting on the porch, smoking his pipe.

  “Mr. Tolivar. I spoke to you a few days ago. Have you given Tabari his punishment?” He knew he hadn’t.

  “Well sir, no. Not exactly. You see, we’ve got a lot of harvestin’ ‘bout to begin, and we need all the niggers we have, and then some. And with my arm, the way it is …” he looked forlornly at his splint. “I just felt there was no rush”.

  “Damn” he thought. “The Colonel’s not gonna let this one go”. Even though he hated all niggers, he felt ashamed that he’d made a promise to Tabari that he couldn’t keep.

  “Well, there is a rush. I trusted that slave. He travelled with you and Mrs. Winters all the way to N’awlins. If you hadn’t acted with such bravery, who knows what might’ve happened.

  “I know one thing, Tabari’s a coward. He started that fire, and then ran, not giving a damn if you and the Doctor burned to death. His cowardice could have put Mrs. Winters’ safety at risk. No. He’s got to pay. And now!”

  “I understand, Colonel” he answered with a somewhat firm voice, trying to convey that he knew the Colonel was right.

  The more he thought about it, the more heated Trent became.

  “I’ll have to pay for a brand new house for the Doctor, plus all of his living expenses until it’s rebuilt. That’s maybe thousands of dollars.

  “Take two of your men straightaway and bring Tabari to the tree. Get fifteen or twenty slaves together. I want them to witness this. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes”.

  “Yes sir”.

  “Ah, shit” he thought. “That nigger’s gonna pay for somethin’ he didn’t do, and I told him it wouldn’t happen”. He felt powerless.

  Two of Tolivar’s men mounted horses and rode into the field where Tabari was working. Tabari and the others saw their approach.

  Tolivar’s men halted next to the field manager, who occasionally cracked his whip to ensure the slaves kept hard at work. A brief conversation ensued, then the two pointed their horses toward Tabari, and began to approach.

  First confusion, then worry, then panic. Tabari knew they were riding straight for him.

  “Damn that Tolivar” he thought. “That sumbitch lied. He lied!”

  He started to run as the horses got closer, but then stopped. There was nowhere to run. No, he was destined to take his beating.

  “Now look here nigger” the taller of the two yelled. “You can run, and we’ll just clobber you senseless. Or you can stand down, and we’ll take you quiet like”.

  Tabari just stood straight up, head bowed, sweating profusely and staring at the dirt. He was momentarily calm, his adrenaline having run out.

  The shorter man dismounted, tied a rope around both wrists, and then attached a longer lanyard to his horse. Tabari was led back, step by step,
an expensive piece of property about to be taught a lesson.

  The Colonel was standing next to Tolivar, waiting. The ‘tree’ was a tall straight oak, within easy view of the slave cabins. Most of the whippings took place here, at least those held in public. Private whippings could take place anywhere, depending on the severity of the offense and the disposition of the overseer.

  The men arrived and tied Tabari to the tree. The shorter one pulled out his knife, made a foot long cut on the back of Tabari’s shirt, then ripped it all off.

  “Mr. Tolivar, have one of your men do this. You’re in no shape with your arm”.

  “Sir, if it’s alright with you, I’d prefer to do it myself” hoping he could inflict less pain on Tabari than the other man. “I feel personally responsible, havin’ this happen on my watch” he lied.

  “An honorable man” the Colonel thought to himself. “I respect that”.

  Tolivar took a few paces back, holding the whip’s handle in his right hand. He shook it slightly, allowing its six foot length to unfurl.

  Slowly at first, he reached his hand up and behind him, then whipped it forward until the familiar ‘crack’ whistled through the air. He’d missed. The tip of the whip had fallen inches short of Tabari’s back.

  He let his clenched teeth relax. “Is it possible? Is ol’ Tolivar gonna’ give me a light whippin’?” he prayed.

  The Colonel took a step forward to take the whip.

  “No, Colonel. Please. I’ve got this”.

  Tolivar slowly reached up and behind him, again, and let go with more force. ‘Crack’. This time, Tabari screamed out in pain, but the tip made only a welt mark on his right shoulder.

  “Mr. Tolivar” the Colonel said, expressing his appreciation for Tolivar’s valiant effort.

  “I know you want to do this, but you’re not ready. Let that arm heal properly, and then you can resume these duties”.

  “Ah, shit” he thought. “So sorry, Tabari”.

  ‘Crack’. The Colonel’s first attempt caught Tabari squarely between the shoulder blades.

  Blood squirted onto Trent’s clean white shirt.

  “Damn it” he yelled.

  27

  “N

  O NO NO. I couldn’t eat another bite.

  But it was all so delicious” Collette said as she looked at the huge spread of food remaining. It was her last night at Caroline’s.

  “I agree. Malika is some chef” Caroline said. “Why don’t we take our drinks up to the balcony? It’s a wonderful evening”. She filled both glasses to the brim.

  The two walked up the stairs, Collette almost missing a step, feeling a bit tipsy. “Oh, my. I’ve never drunk this much at home. Trent would think I’m just wretched”.

  Carolina was also feeling rather gay. “Maybe you should drink more at home. You might relax a little, and enjoy letting him have his way with you once in a while” she thought to herself, only half-jokingly.

  Caroline scooted two chairs together. They sat on the veranda facing the street, watching a young couple a half block away, kissing under a kerosene lamp. In the distance they heard the soft sounds of an accordion.

  “Tell me more about Paris” Collette pleaded.

  “Well, I mentioned to you before, it’s certainly more liberal minded than here. For one, slavery is totally outlawed. In fact, if a slave were to travel from here onto French soil, he could be freed simply by filling out an application”.

  “No! How could that be?” Collette considered how such a policy would destroy their business, their entire cane plantation.

  “It’s just the way it is. Mind you, if a slave became freed in France, that doesn’t mean he can return to America as a free man.

  “On our last trip to Paris, Jeb and I met a cotton farmer from Georgia who’d taken two of his servants with him. They met another Parisian, a freed black man, who took them both to the office and helped them fill out the paperwork. Whalla! Instantly free!”

  “My goodness. I had no idea. I’ve got to share this with Trent. I mean, we have no immediate plans to travel to France, or any other country. Their master must have been devastated”.

  “He was livid, to say the least. That’s how we met him. He’d learned that a U.S. Senator, Jeb of course, was visiting, and came to our hotel to see what could be done.

  “We had dinner, and Jeb told him. Jeb has no authority over French laws. He couldn’t help him. Oh yes, the man was furious”.

  Collette stared spellbound into Caroline’s eyes.

  “What?”

  “Oh. It must be marvelous to have a husband who’s a US Senator. Travelling to exotic places, dining with royalty, mingling with the rich and powerful” Collette gushed.

  Caroline looked off into space, contemplating her life with Jeb. “Yes, it is quite wonderful” she said, a touch of melancholy in her voice. “We do meet powerful politicians, dine at exquisite restaurants, attend gala balls”.

  Collette could sense Caroline’s mood reverting back to their conversation during their horseback ride.

  “It’s like I told you, Collette. All of those things are wonderful. They truly are. I’ve been to places and met people I’d never dreamed I’d see or meet.

  “But I want intimacy. I want to be touched, felt, ‘aroused’, I guess is the word”.

  Collette felt powerless to console her. How could she?

  She had no interest in sex, herself. What words could she offer?

  “Caroline, are you thinking of having an affair?” she asked softly.

  Caroline didn’t answer. She stared off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts, not hearing Collette’s question.

  Collette needed to know. “Caroline”. She reached for her chin and turned her face toward hers. “Are you thinking of having an affair?”

  She looked down, unable to engage Collette’s eyes.

  “Caroline?” she whispered again.

  “Yes”.

  “With whom?”

  A pregnant pause left her answer waiting.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know”.

  She felt shame, not for having had an affair, but for wanting one.

  “I could never hurt Jeb. That’s the last thing I would ever do. And not because I’d lose all of this” she motioned with her hand as if to gather all her material possessions into view.

  “No. I could never cause him humiliation. I could never crush his ego. He’s just too good a man”. She reached for a tissue to wipe her runny nose.

  They both took a long drink from their glasses.

  “I’ll tell you another thing about Paris” she said, taking yet another long sip. “Oh, my. I think I’ve well exceeded my limit” she giggled, as she held her glass up and saw it was nearly three-quarters empty.

  “I’ll drink to that” Collette toasted, as they clinked their glasses together and laughed hysterically.

  “Yes sir” she continued. “The women in Paris don’t need men” she smiled devilishly. She looked directly into Collette’s eyes, her mood becoming serious.

  “I told you this earlier” she whispered. “Women have affairs with each other. Not all of them, of course. And the craziest thing? The men don’t care. They think it’s just fine. Hell, most of the men have their own mistresses. Their wives all know about it, and they don’t care.

  “I tell you, it’s more than just accepted, it’s expected of them. The men I mean. To have their own mistress. The wives just don’t talk about it.

  “Oh, they gossip about it. The women love to gossip to each other. But it’s just accepted. And you know what? Their lives go on, just fine”.

  Caroline listened to herself. “Did I just blurt all of that out?” she wondered. “I’ve surely had too much to drink”.

  Collette was, again, spellbound. But not about politics and the rich and powerful. She found herself unexpectedly curious about the cavalier attitude the French had toward sex, and how unabashed it all seemed.

  Affairs, mistresses, two women, not
needing men … these new concepts were a tad titillating. The ideas intrigued her. Shameless, yet somehow attractive at the same time.

  Collette, too, was getting a little shitfaced.

  “To hell with Trent! To hell with sex!” she screamed to herself. She’d willingly allowed the alcohol to rob her of all inhibition.

  She grabbed Caroline’s hand, playfully placed it on her own breast, and reached forward, their noses almost touching.

  “There, I’ve done it”, she said with a big grin. “I’ve officially had sex with another woman” she laughed, uncontrollably.

  Caroline wasn’t laughing. Her eyes looked deep into Collette’s. Her laughter subsided also.

  Caroline took her other hand and placed it on the back of Collette’s neck. She drew her in and kissed her mouth. Collette instantly jerked back, but then released all resistance.

  “Merci beaucoup” Caroline whispered.

  28

  T RENT WAS BEAMING as he bounded down the front porch steps, eager to greet his wife as Tolivar arrived with Collette.

  “My dear! How I’ve missed you these past two months” he joked, as he spread his arms wide. He opened the carriage door and helped her out. Many hugs, many kisses. “You look fantastic”.

  Collette patted some dust off her dress. “Oh, I missed you so. Caroline and I had a simply marvelous time together”.

  She suddenly found some difficulty looking him directly in the eyes, feeling a twinge of shame as she remembered some of her more intimate moments with Caroline.

  “Tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave out any details” he gushed, genuinely wanting to know all about her week away from home.

  “Well, I can’t tell you ‘everything that happened’” she thought to herself.

  “Come, let’s go inside. I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up and relax from your long trip. Mr. Tolivar told me all about your encounter with those thugs”.

  Amidst all that’d happened, the horseback ride, the expensive shopping, the salacious moments, she’d almost forgotten about that horrific ordeal.