Princess Ces'alena (Webster Fields)

by Mercedes Keyes

  “Ya’see if I don’t straighten ya’ out now, while ya’ still young, you just may go on through life thinkin’ you ever’ bit as good as the white. That just ain’t so, ya’ blood been polluted, ain’t no sense in ya’ thinkin’ otherwise. These thangs got ta be nipped in the bud ‘fore they become a habit in thinking’. Best I nip it in the bud here and now.” He stated in a calm and matter of fact voice, pulling the leather belt from his pants. Mike at that point knew that he was actually going to be beaten; panic struck as tears raced with the hammering of his heart. “Please Mr. Grady, let me be. I promise not t’come back near your place no more!” Mike desperately cried, struggling for his freedom, but the old man’s grip was firm.

  “I can’t just up and let ya’ go on hittin’ on innocent white boys, ain’t right…you got to learn respect for your betters, ain’t right at all!”

  “I’m sorry…please let me go!”

  “You ain’t sorry yet, but you will be - ‘cause when I turn your white covered black hide loose, it’s gonna be a good while ‘fore you ever thank to leave off that plantat-… ai-i-i-iyhh!!” Grady bellowed dropping the belt and his hold on Mike to grab his throbbing shin following Mike’s delivery of a good sound kick to it with his hard bottomed shoes.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Mike shot out of his reach into a sprint that took him off to safety, leaving old man Grady behind screaming. The throbbing pain traveled up his leg and through his body, as his voice echoed behind Mike. “Stop! God damn you – you blasted bastard freak!! I get you for this, you hear?! I get yooou!!”

  * * *

  Webster Fields was the second largest plantation located on the outskirts of Vicksburg Mississippi. There were five hundred acres of green, fertile, thriving land…abundant in live stock and vegetation, and Morris Roland Webster owned it all. In the event of his death, everything there would be his son’s one day. It was practically his now, ever since the stroke eleven years previously triggered by the shocking death of his wife and Maynard’s mother… Royal Sun Webster.

  He’d been away attending college at the time and returned in time for her funeral. Because of his father’s mourning, he’d lost an interest in running the plantation, so he’d given the running of it over to his son Manny. A few weeks later, he’d suffered another mild stroke leaving him with a slight limp.

  Needing to get away from the home he’d built for the only woman he loved or would ever love, he took off to the first land they owned near New Orleans.

  A small place with ample space near Lake Charles; there with his physician’s care, he recovered enough to where he now used the support of a cane to get around.

  Maynard Ramsey Webster -(Manny)- ran Webster Fields with the aid of two overseers and ninety-five men and women slaves. Five of which were house servants, and fifteen old timers too old to work, so they were allowed to stay and live out the rest of their lives in peace on the land they all considered home. With the plantation in Manny’s care, he carried over the wishes of his mother, Royal Sun… she had always loved their slaves. To her, they were one big family needing each other in this rough new land. Therefore, the older ones were treated with much respect and honor; free to sit, tell tales and provide the freelike lifestyle atmosphere found at Webster Fields that all the present slaves depended on and trusted in. From the very beginning, the Webster’s undertook the raising of cattle, having on hand four bulls; which were Manny’s pride; as well, his small herd of horses, three Arabian stallions, two black, one chestnut, and ten mares. As for the slaves, they were divided into different duties. A small group helped in the caring of the live stock. Another much larger group had the responsibility of the food crop that fed everyone on the plantation; consisting of vegetables, fruit from an orchard grove and livestock. The rest of the slaves worked in the fields cultivating the eighty acres of cotton.

  There were two large barns, the one farthest from the mansion kept the ten milking cows and thirteen prize hogs and piglets. The layout of the land and plantation was one of basic efficiency, where everything had its place and was cared for by someone who took pride in their responsibility for it. Found often by Manny’s side, were a small clique group of slaves that were Manny’s friends. Two of whom were Jordan and Amos, both were head of seeing to the the horses and cattle.

  Maynard Ramsey Webster, land owner, slave owner, profiled as one with a serious, determined and ambitious nature; intelligent and caring when it came to his slaves, treating them better than his father’s hired on overseers. As far as Manny was concerned, they were an un-necessary expense, but his father insisted upon their presence. The burden that followed Morris was the same that started with Royal — the very name that tagged her, tagged his son as well; nigger lover. A label that his mother took on as a compliment, therefore he saw no reason to feel a need to prove it wrong. Manny was no more concerned over it than Royal Sun, to Morris’s chagrin. Of course, the spreaders of the title had been the overseers who resented his treating the slaves as equals instead of live stock, as they saw them. Often these overseers spent their time off in town concocting tales and cultivating gossip about the goings ons of Webster Fields.

  If his father would only allow it, they would be gone…but for some reason which Manny failed to understand, he hung onto them. Manny, due to his forthright nature found that there was little in life that frightened him.

  Standing at an impressive six-four and close to, if not, two hundred twenty pounds of large bone and muscled brawn didn’t hurt, what was there to fear? His philosophy was to mind his own business and get on with matters at hand, working just as comfortable in the fields along side his slaves, as he did in his study or den behind the desk. His mother had always believed as her own father believed, have no one working for you doing things you aren’t willing to do yourself. She pressed that ideal home upon her son. At first appearance, people mistook him for a man of little intellect, but quickly learned otherwise. Another part of his character make up, much to his mother’s discomfort was that he was a rake, deep down to his thirty-one year old virile soul. While his mother blanched at some of his virile antics, his father stood proud although, worried over his sons tastes in women, sampling where he wished he would not.

  Many evenings the older slaves were found laughing and teasing him because of his ‘past’ habit of frequenting various cabins if welcomed within, if not…a trip to town always proved successful. But of course, as they all joked, they knew that it was before ‘she’ came to the plantation; back so many years ago. Before ‘her’ arrival, Manny made it a point to enjoy the favors of the willing only once or twice. Always in the back of his mind, were warnings from his father, “I want no lil’dark slave, ninny bastards carrying my blood through they veins! So you do like I say, hit’em once, then leave’em be! That way, you get yo’ pleasure without taken chances on fillin’ they bellies.” That constant reminder had last been delivered with success twelve - thirteen years before college. The lecture had done nothing to prepare him for ‘her.’ He’d been back a year or more settling into the life he would lead as a plantation owner when his father sent him into town to pick up slaves he’d won playing poker while in New Orleans; supposedly recovering from his stroke. Nothing on earth could keep Morris from a good poker game, and it was that one so many years past, that drove Morris crazy, seeing what his son, thanks to him playing one game too many, had come home with.

  Chapter Two

  1799

  After thoroughly looking the men over to his satisfaction he gave the order for them to be shackled and loaded into the buckboard. The chaining of new slaves was necessary until they reached Webster Fields and realized their good fortune. Until then, it was done to discourage any attempts to run away, which would be more to their harm than good. But after settling into their new lives they would realize the benefit of being a slave under Manny’s care. He left them to the overseers, and went to check on the women, who were being held in the trading warehouse; where livestock and slaves were aucti
oned off.

  With heavy strides, his statuesque form forged onward, square shouldered and commanding through the large warehouse passing the stables and pens for holding cattle or horses; in his progress, he could hear a faint commotion going on in back, growing louder as he approached the room, a small office for registering newly acquired slaves and other livestock.

  Not far from the door, screaming and angry screeching loud and alarming filled the area, along with it, cursing; a bang; the sound of furniture crashing and breaking! “What in hell?” He mumbled reaching for the door knob, just as the door came flying open. Quick reflexes saw him rearing back just in time to keep his nose from being clipped by the doors’ edge as it flew open at top speed, slamming against the outer wall.

  Recovering from a close call of getting his nose broken; frowning, he looked down for his eyes to lock onto a vision that would forever imprint upon his memory. In wild disarray, frightened and desperate for an escape, he beheld a dark and beautiful, noble creature, momentarily frozen as her eyes traveled up his stature, they were amber golden eyes, that immediately went through him, the portal; his own aqua blues.

  Manny did a quick inhalation as he traced the breathtaking contours of her face. His mind and all its thinking came to a complete halt, as his heart thrilled in reaction to her presence. Never had he seen anything so magnificent in all of his life.

  Her skin was a flawless, caramel brown, her eyes…her eyes, held him in their golden gaze, large and mesmerizing; surrounded by dark thick spiky lashes wet from her tears. Her nose straight, with a slight low ridge and delicately rounded tip above a full, shapely mouth with trembling lips. All set in an oval shaped face of regal exquisiteness. The hair on her head, light tawny brown, a dark golden bronzed like hue that fell past her shoulders in a mass so thick with curls and waves he wanted to bury his face in it then and there. He remembered in school looking into a text book that depicted a lion with its mane surrounding it’s head. Her hair surrounding her face reminded him of the very same depiction.

  Her body was wrapped in a colorful silk garb from her bodice to her ankles, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. While time worn, soiled and loose, it boldly detailed her full heaving breasts, tiny waist, flaring hips and rounded bottom. Reluctantly, his gaze slid back up her deep breathing body, over breasts that rose and fell with each struggle to breath she took. He forced himself to look back at her face and flinched; stunned to see a look of utter indignation and contempt - that he dare look at her that way. All of this took place in a fraction of a moment.

  Excitement, a thrill, a sensation he’d never experienced shot through him, he wanted to laugh, as a sudden surge of inexplicable joy came to rest in his soul. Never had he witnessed such spirit and boldness in a slave wench before now, ‘God, does she know what a fetching sight she is?’

  The sudden spell was broken as the slave keeper shouted, “Catch her! Grab her! Don’t let that hellion go!! I should’ah known not to untie her!”

  She attempted to dash around Manny, but his large hands were there, clamped around her slender upper arms sure and strong. She wanted to kick herself - that moment when her eyes were drawn to his, was the moment she should have been fleeing for her life; but it had cost her - her freedom.

  She regained enough of her senses to try once again to struggle free, but the more she fought, the tighter his grip. Desperate to escape, with teeth bared she charged at his chest to bite him.

  “Whoooa! Hold it there! What do you think you’re doing!? Ow! Stop that!” Manny yelled, letting go one of her arms to push her head away from biting him.

  “She’s a wild one…that one is! She bites and more! They tied her, sorry I didn’t know and untied her! She’s yours now and good riddance! She’s more than I care to deal with! Needs a good skinnin’ you ask me! But they won’t mar the skin of a fancy.” This bit of information came from the keeper, as Manny chuckled in disbelief as she screeched and growled trying to bite him.

  His laughter stopped however as her free hand reached up and slapped him. “Where in hell have you come!?” He reacted trying to get a hold of that arm, but suddenly all of her appendages were swinging and kicking! He couldn’t believe it!

  “See what I mean! See! Take a whip to her! Do it now! Show her now I tell’ya! She’ll be hell – that one!”

  Manny suddenly found himself needing to duck and weave or else risk a black eye or injured lip; he had finally had enough. This little wisp of a wench was fighting him, as large as he stood over her, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, who did she think she was? He grabbed her flying fist in his palm as her head shook while screaming out her anger and fear, despite his efforts, she was able to get in one last slap to him, scratching his ear and neck when he dodged away. “Hell and damnation you – you – hit me again – and I will you!!! Hold still now!!” He barked, shaking her to try and get control of her. He couldn’t believe she had actually hit him, twice! No woman had dared such a thing, let alone muster the nerve to actually try it twice.

  “Eeeeee, let m’go! You hear – let m’go I say!!” She continued to thrash and scream, twist and shove at him as Manny grew more and more impatient with her. Finally he gained control by turning her and twisting her arm up behind her back; forcing a cry of pain from her. Now easily holding both wrists behind her back in his one hand, he felt the stinging scratch on his ear and neck, clearly incredulous to see blood on his finger tip.

  “Ooow!! You hurtin’ me! You have no right to hol’me! Let me’go I say, do you know who I am!?!” She demanded, her native accent thick with her fear.

  “I’m tellin’ ya’ - a beatin’s what she need. But what’eva you does, don’t be lettin’ her go in here! I’ve had me fill of her!” Simpson the keeper warned, huffing from his exerting ordeal of having been her first victim. He was a round overweight man, much too out of shape for his job.

  Before today, it had never mattered. The majority of the slaves he handled were meek, defeated and submissive, accepting their fate, on rare occasion there were the males that would put up a good fight, but there had always been men around knowing that to keep them under control. This lot were women, with her in it and tied up, that should have clued him in. While the other’s seemed to have no fight in them, no doubt experienced in being slaves, therefore beaten into submission; this one had obviously not tasted the snap of a whip – she was a new one – handled with care, mainly because, she was tagged as a fancy. It would be up to her eventual master to decide to whip her, until then, no one would risk the price of her with injury to her. Reason she’d worn him out, running circles around him, biting, screaming and scratching like someone possessed.

  “Don’t worry, I have her now. Are you alright?” Manny questioned trying to hide his mirth, noticing the scratches on Simpson’s face and the blood running from his nose. It really wasn’t funny…he could have done serious injury to her in retribution for what she’d done to him. He would have to teach her to accept her lot in life. Accept who she was, and who she belonged to now - him. He’d taken possession of her for only a few minutes, yet he somehow felt responsible for her already…as well protective. “Hey! -(he shook her)- quit it!!” Manny barked at her for kicking backwards at his shins with her bare heels, it didn’t hurt…but it was annoying. Simpson shook his head looking from her to Manny.

  “I’m okay. But you got your hands filled with that one; beat her now.” He warned.

  “You shet up! You hear! No more from you!” She ordered, amazing Manny and Simpson. Manny’s mouth dropped open stunned, he wanted to laugh again, “An’ you! Let me go! Please, if you would only listen! My father would make you a very rich man! Listen to what I -…” She pleaded before Manny broke her off, shaking her again. He realized he needed to get control of her and keep it, “No! You listen!”

  “No! You listen!” She blazed right back at him. Manny shook his head, she would get herself killed – obviously she didn’t know that. “Hey! Don’t you force my hand! Now I’ve
had about as much of this as I’m going to take! Now be still - and be silent!” Manny bit out in warning, as he yanked her back against his hard body, his patience at its end.

  “No! No! No!” She protested, stomping her foot and shaking her head to emphasize her displeasure. “You let m’go now! Do you hear!? I will not be treated this way! No further will I take more! You both will pay for this! All who has been a party to my capture will pay! My father will kill you!” She spat, grunting and pulling herself away from Manny, only to be snatched back.

  The heat of him burning through her back was unsettling. “I am Princess Ceś alena Huebana! First daughter to King LuMaden! My father will come after me! He will! And when he does, he will kill you both for what you have done!” Her hysterics were building again, frustrated at being unable to break free. “Do you hear me!? You stupid men! You don’t know who you have taken!! I am Princess Ceś alena!! Release me now while you still can!!” She screamed on the verge of tears, trying her hardest not to cry. “I’m tellin’ you, if you would but listen! My home is Makia, my father is King LuMaden! He will give you anything for my return - anything! Please! I beg you! Please — please! What must I do to make you listen to me?! I am Princess Ceś alena!! Let me go!” Taking breaths to calm herself, she heard loud silence around her. She turned her head to look up at Manny; he was staring at her with some strange look in his eyes. Turning quickly from him, she looked to the other slaves held captive. They looked at her, some with sympathy, and some with disdain… others …vacant. She spun to the keeper, Simpson. Realizing, that they didn’t believe her; in fact, they looked at her as if she was crazy.