Beauty of Man and Woman - Volume 13: Bomaw

by Mercedes Keyes

  Walking back towards the kitchen in the family room and passed the breakfast bar, he called to his mother, “Guess who that is?”

  “You’re kidding - your father?”

  Shawn shrugged, “Your husband,” he answered instead, “Go pack your things - you know he’s not leaving here without you. Besides, as I said - you’re ready to go home.”

  He moved the vertical blinds aside and unlocked the sliding glass door.

  Gert turned the griddle off - sighing, it was true. She was ready to get back to her own home. As welcome as she was, it wasn’t her own - she was not the lady of this house, Sylvia was - and it was time to leave her to it. She made her way up the stairs, after all - she could just as well not speak to Bart in her own home, as she did there.

  Bart’s truck pulled up and parked. He cut the engine.

  Shawn stood watching, waiting to see if he would be coming in. After a few moments, Shawn realized he was in a battle with his pride. He was going to have to go out there and get him. However, it was too cold for Jesse James. Shawn turned and made his way across the room to the playpen cradle and settled Jesse into it, safe and sound, covering him with a blanket. He was laid on his back, splayed and comfortable, his arms up beside his adorable little head. Over a week old and he was already tanned in color. Sure he’d be fine for the few moments and few feet away, Shawn turned and made his way out the sliding glass doors and up to Bart’s truck.

  The window was rolled up, Shawn lightly rapped on it with his knuckles.

  Bart glanced up at him and blushed a bit, he rolled down his window, “I ah…”

  Shawn reached in, unlocked the door and opened it, “Come on in the house… why you sitting out here?” He held the door open for Bart. Who blushed even deeper, “I - I wasn’t sure - you’d want me in there after the way I was last time I was here.”

  “I wouldn’t have buzzed you in if I felt that way. Come in the house, it’s chilly out here.” He stood waiting, unwilling to turn and leave Bart to follow. Nodding his head, Bart removed the keys and stepped out of the truck making his way towards the sliding doors. Shawn slammed the door, “Mom’s upstairs packing - I assumed you came to get her.”

  Bart took a deep breath stepping into the warm house, unable to speak for the moment. Shawn stepped in and slid the door closed.

  “Some coffee?”

  Bart nodded and followed Shawn to the breakfast bar.

  “Mom was in the middle of making breakfast, I bet you miss that.” He commented pouring the coffee and serving it to him black, it’s how they all drank it, like him.

  “Thank you.” Bart nodded, struggling to look Shawn in the eyes.

  “Let’s see, there’s sausage already cooked, pancakes - two eggs over easy with that?” He asked next, turning the griddle back on for the eggs.

  “Not necessary,” Bart returned.

  “Does that mean you had breakfast already?” Shawn was cracking two eggs, if Bart didn’t want them, he would eat.

  “No… not yet.”

  “These two are yours then.” Shawn went on to crack two more to cook along with them.

  “I - I saw the show - David Letterman.”

  “Oh? Well let me tell you that was some experience. Nervous as could be with no idea how things were going to turn out, but I’m happy to say, my boss, family and friends were with me every step of the way. I’m just glad it’s over.” He knew his words were a subtle cut against his father, but put it out there just the same. He fixed the eggs on the plate, three pancakes, and three sausages for Bart. Passed it to him and set the syrup in reach. Last, a napkin, fork and knife.

  Shawn sat his own plate up there to sit one seat over from him when Jesse James started making noise.

  Bart turned immediately on the stool for the first time realizing the baby was in the room. “That him, Jesse James?” He asked, clearly curious, his eyes were even round with interest.

  Shawn smiled, “Yep… can’t help myself, I keep him with me most of the time.” He walked to the Disney prelude play yard to check on him. Bart whistled, “Will you look at that, they got all kinds of fancy contraptions for babies nowadays.”

  “Oh they do, we have five of these. My office, Sylvia’s office, our room, here and Mama Jojo’s room.” He grinned about the overkill of provisions for Jesse. Shawn picked him up as he was always doing. Jesse drew up into a baby stretch and then outward smacking his little mouth. Bart couldn’t stay away, he stood looking him over. Jesse cracked his eyes open and gazed up at Bart, squeezed out a fart and smiled. Both men burst into laughter.

  “He’s got our eyes, hazel blue I’m thinking.” Bart noticed.

  “Yeah, he does. Looks like he’ll be dark as Sylvia maybe, if Edwin’s my father - he’ll-…”

  Bart’s eyes pooled and reddened cutting Shawn off, “I’m - I’m your father! Me! I - I raised you boy! I did! Don’t matter what blood flows through your veins… you mine… you hear? You mine! I didn’t come for your mother. I came for you. You make me proud - son… you make me proud. Forgive me…”

  Shawn grabbed his father in his one strong arm hugging him tight as he held his son in the other. They were both choked up, and stepped back clearing their throats. Finally they looked into each other’s eyes. Bart spoke up saying, “If you want - like Ben did, I won’t be hurt - if you need to know.”

  “I don’t need to know - but, you have a brother who might wish to know. If he needs it, then I’ll do it. But only if he wants me to, because well - I’m happy with the way things are right now.”

  Bart nodded, “Me too son, me too.”

  Shawn took a deep breath, “So, you’re not taking mom home with you then?”

  Bart chuckled, “Oh hell… you know I got to - just like you mine - she mine too. Yeah I’ll be taking her on with me, but for now, I’m gone get that coffee drank and that breakfast ate, can’t let good food go to waste.”

  …. To be… continued…. *wink*

  Copyright© 2014 Amber Swann Publishing Inc.

  The Origins ® design is a registered trademark of ASPI.

  Due to the direction of BOMAW and where it is going, from this point forward, and in the case of my fictitious character, Jacob Patrick McPherson, soon to be - aka -(Jake Patrick)- all mentioned lyrics, partial and complete, titles, verses, chorus, songs arranged for the development of this character - is strictly and entirely, copyright protected and "Registered" with Amber Swann Publishing Inc. Songs quoted for said character, -(Jake Patrick)- are original and written by, Mercedes Keyes. First title song, lyrics, and chorus, of "Vivian" - is an original song, with the copyright to Amber Swann Publishing inc. Second title song, lyrics, and chorus of, "Good Son" is an original copyright song with the copyright to Amber Swann Publishing Inc. Third title song, lyrics and chorus of, "Here we come" is an original copyright song with the copyright to Amber Swann Publishing Inc. Absolutely without variance - are the above songs to be duplicated in written form to be printed to be distributed, for any means without the expressed and certain notification of their creator, Mercedes Keyes, this would also include her permission. ©Copyright 2014, Amber Swann Publishing inc. - All Rights Reserved.

  Amber Swann Publishing Inc.

  Bomaw Volume Thirteen – Ended...

  What’s next?

  Saoirse

  (pronounced like “Sore-sha”- Irish meaning - freedom)

  Continue on for a bit of an excerpt!

  Soairse excerpt

  Forward

  The other slaves, who were they? Where did they come from? Why were they slaves? And for how long were they slaves? What were they?

  In answering the above questions, it should be first understood, that before Europe landed upon the shores of the new land, before they pushed the Indians and African tribes back and in the process, almost obliterating those proud nations, and before they journeyed to Africa, harvesting many more men and women as slaves; Ireland became the first gathering place for snatching the necessary manpower –(sla
ves)- to be used in the West Indies and main land of the American Colonies.

  As was with the American Africans and Indians, the Irish suffered a great genocide at the hands of the English, who was threatened by the strong tribal structure in Ireland. As far as they, the English could see, to enslave them offered a twofold solution to growing their fortuitous needs and making a success of it. With Cromwell driving it forward, the Irish nation, which was once in the numbers of 1½ million or more, was reduced to a mere 600,000 more or less within a 9 year period of time. Those Irish, named rogues, vagabonds, rebels, neutrals, felons, teachers, priests, women and children, many of them that would not be enslaved and sent to the new lands, were slaughtered by the sword. For political reasons, the disdain of the English was so strong for them, that they were often treated worse than the African slaves that were later captured to replace them.

  So in answer to the opening questions, the other slaves were indentured white servants –(slaves)- that came mainly from Ireland. Some from Scotland and a few Yorkshire men as well. They became slaves by being rounded up and shipped off to the colonies and others that also went, were prosecuted for various crimes, the punishment being shipped off as indentured servants but more often than not, as slaves. Depending on the gravity of their crimes and the means of which they carried them out, they were sentenced. For instance, highwaymen who stole from an unsuspecting traveller, and caused no harm to them, should he be caught, could be sentenced to a period of indentured slavery.

  A robbery violently executed, would mean just that, execution for whatever violent crimes committed, most often in this case, hung by the neck. As for those indentured, often the sentence would mean transportation to the colonies from England, where they were to serve out their sentence on a plantation for a period of 4 to 7 years – in theory. However, to those who were sent as absolute slaves, to make them distinguishable from other whites, they were often branded on the buttocks as if livestock. Also, as in the case of African slaves, without their master’s permission, they could not marry, nor father children, nor own land. Should they somehow step out of line, the punishment dealt out was harsh and brutal; canings, whippings or disfigurement.

  Prelude

  Late 17th Century – Ireland

  “Maximilian Euan O’Shaughnessy – I hereby sentence you, for repeated crimes of highway robbery committed, to a life of indentured servitude with the Virginia Company, in the commonwealth of Virginia.”

  This dictate was repeated over and over again from the magistrate court towards fellow criminals such as himself. With his hands bound behind his back, in sore need of a bath, Max stood wondering how he might escape this fate that seemed to be forced upon him. Among the other men and a few women that were being sentenced that day, there were a few familiar faces. While they recognized one another, they knew not to openly show this. Max wondered if he even had the strength to. Besides being dirtier than he’d ever been in his life, he was hungry. Hungry because the food or better described, slop that was hurled at them could hardly tempt ones new to confinement. There was stale bread thrown in as well – black or red bits baked within, usually flour beetles. The sight of them turned the stomachs of newer ones, while older prisoners dived for the bread and bowls of sludge. Simply put, he wasn’t yet hungry enough. His head felt as if it was crawling with some type of parasite, obviously he was carrying about more than a few, another crawled beneath his shirt down his back, whatever it was, just bit him. Hands bound, it was a torture he must endure. Standing as he was on legs that threatened to allow him to topple, others unsteady as well, meant nothing to the turn-keys that kept a watch over them, none were allowed to sit. They were after all, a scurrilous lot and as of their capture and arrest, all treatment of humanity was stripped from them. Any jewels, any pricey pieces of garment, anything of value stripped and shared among the gaolers.

  Because this was the first time he’d ever been brought before the courts, Max wondered what would become of him now, what of the others? What did it mean to be sentenced and sent off to this new land he’d heard tales of? He supposed that he was better off than most, the alternative was the hangmen’s noose.

  With the proceedings finally over, they were marched out, yelled at or cracked across the back, shoulders or head should one make the error of stumbling. A growling stomach brought about mocking laughter and more taunting. Max made it a point to concentrate and not give into his quivering muscles that signalled him to sit. It was one body impulse that must be ignored, especially with them filing out single cue, with mincing steps due to ankles being bound with hemp to be returned to the cold, damp dirty cells that was their temporary holding place.

  With each step they took, Max’s mind was on what he could possibly do to escape this situation? They’d almost passed through the doors unscathed when the man behind him, pitched forward into him, sending him likewise, domino effect into the next man.

  “Bloody clumsy bunch o’bastids – back t’yer feet! I’ah beat the hide from ye’ – what’ah ya’doin’!” The guard yelled, using his foot to kick the four that went down, Max being one of them, receiving a booted toe to the ribs. Others felt a strap across their backs, one man snatched to his knees by his hair as the guard leaned down, “I said, to yer’ feet – now!” With their ankles bound, he was asking for almost the impossible. Finally, one man used the back of another to get to his feet, and then the next did the same and then next until all four were standing once again.

  “G’down again, you’ll be dragged back t’yer cell.”

  Back at their cells, women in one – men in the other proved to be torture all its own. Besides there being no dry or clean place to sit; the one bench there was taken. Rats were coming in to check for scraps that might be left over. Body odor was stifling; Max knew that he added to the foul stench and had done for the past fourteen days. That was fourteen days without a decent meal; fourteen days of dodging excrement and urine; fourteen days where there were no means to wash his own hair or body; and after fourteen days – he looked and smelled pretty much as bad as the others sharing the one cell; there were ugly sounds to contend with too.

  The sound of women’s cries in the night; cries from being ill; cries from being raped by the turn-keys. After twenty-one days being held, Max thought he would go insane. After twenty-one days, he’d wished to be one of those carried out, now dead from fighting, beatings, suicide or disease.

  Due to the overwhelming smell coming from the cells, all of them were marched out into a courtyard to have bucket after bucket of water tossed on them. No soap, no sponge, just to be soaked down with a hope that the stench that came from them would not be so overpowering. They were left outside while some of the female prisoners were forced to clean out the cells. This did not occur often; it usually took place only when the human cargo began dying off and the ammonia smells mixed with faeces became so horrendous that the officials complained.

  Max could care less why they were out in the courtyard, being practically drowned, what mattered was, he could draw in a deep breath, the air outside infinitely better than the air they were given a reprieve from. Just to feel the water being poured over him, from head to foot was a blessing. He wished they would take everyone’s clothing away, but no, they were to remain. After a few hours, of sitting in the cold courtyard, some of them began trembling from being left outside overnight. Earlier that evening, stale bread, buckets of boiled potatoes and gruel was provided for them. For once, Max fought for food, tearing at a loaf of bread devouring it rapidly. Many of them were so thirsty and desperate; they laid on their bellies lapping at the puddles around them like dogs. Those that watched laughed, pointed, and made sport by urinating down on them as they lay lapping; making them flinch roll away to escape it.

  “There, that be a bit more for’ya t’drink.” One laughed.

  Max sat thinking there was no greater hell; wondering, hoping that it couldn’t possibly get worse than this.

  “Aye, th’blighters – I pr
ay t’stay livin’ long enough t’get’em for this. Aye, th’day will come.” The comment came from one of the familiar faces that Max knew and knew well, Anlon Doyle. Hearing him speak as he did there, brought home to Max how low they’d sunk. Anlon had always had a gentlemanly quality about him. He could dupe the officials or the elite and even take on the appearance of them when necessary, he was an excellent mimic. He had loved to play the role of lord, or earl, or baron.

  “Aye, I’ve long given up such thoughts, now, me thoughts hover for the open gate.” Max spoke finally, leaning as he was against the back of the other man.

  “Aye, and know that’ I’d quickly follow.” Anlon agreed.

  “Look, another lucky bastid.” Max muttered.

  “Who now?” Anlon asked.

  “A lass, it’s over now fo’er.”

  Both men watched as one of the turn-keys nudged her with his booted foot, yelling obscenities for her to get up. No chance of that happening considering she’d been laying in that position for a few hours when they’d been allowed to sit or lay from the dousing. After a swift kick to her ribs, thinking that she was faking, they’d finally drawn the conclusion that she’d expired and thus, she was carried away.

  Both men sat motionless, quiet now, occasionally giving into the need to shiver from the cold fog that rolled in; both wondering when they’d been taken back to the cell.

  They must have dozed, because suddenly they were being yelled and cursed at, ordered to rise to their feet and to get moving; moving in a new direction. With sodden shoes on their feet, hemp not so tight at their ankles, all ninety men and women were herded before dawn through town; to the docks where they were led to finally board the ship that would take them all to this new land where they would begin their sentences.