Through the Storm

by Beverly Jenkins

  Morse asked, “How’s Carson feel about me looking after the place while you’re gone?”

  “He is resigned to leaving,” she replied, then added tartly, “Damn that Lincoln! He ought to get on his knees and beg the forgiveness of every White woman in the South for what he’s put us through. My sister in Vicksburg wrote me that food got so scarce during the siege, skinned rats were selling in the markets next to mule meat.”

  Sable shuddered as Sally continued, “Carson and I are both convinced our boys will rally and send the Yankees back to hell, but until then, Carson needs care. If I have to take him to a Yankee doctor, so be it. Once the South has won, we’ll return here.”

  “How’s he feel about selling Sable?”

  Sally Ann was silent for so long, Sable thought she wouldn’t reply. Finally she said, “He sees nothing wrong with it. She is a slave, after all. The funds from her sale will help us get North.”

  Sable had been curious about Carson Fontaine’s role in her sale. Last night when she and Mavis sat in her room angrily denouncing Sally Ann’s decision, Mavis had insisted Sally Ann had arranged the deal without Carson’s knowledge. Sable had not been convinced. Carson might have returned home from war bitter and crippled, but Sally Ann never made a decision without his direct approval. Granted, Carson had brought Sable to live in the house after her mother’s death and as Sable grew older he’d allowed her to be educated right alongside Mavis. He’d even let her accompany the family to Europe five years ago as Mavis’s personal servant when Mavis and Sanford took their wedding tour, and he had purchased Sable a whole new wardrobe for the trip. However, never once, in all her twenty-nine years, had he ever treated her or looked upon her as anything other than property; he was the master and Sable his slave.

  Morse’s voice brought Sable back to the present. “Mahti’s so near dying now, I guess Carson feels he can ignore the curse.”

  Confused, Sable heard Sally Ann’s shrill laugh. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Sable knew that shrill note in her mistress’s voice signaled either nervousness or flat-out lying.

  “Come on now, Mrs. Fontaine,” Morse drawled. “You and I have both heard the rumors.”

  Sally Ann replied haughtily, “I don’t sully myself with rumors, sir.”

  Morse laughed softly. “So all that talk about Sable’s mama and grandmama being queens isn’t true?”

  Queens?!

  Sally Ann’s reply sounded evasive. “I admit there were rumors of royal blood, but I never put any stock in them. Half the nigras in the South claim to be related to some jungle ruler in one way or another.”

  Sable, who had never heard any of this before, found the discussion riveting.

  Morse sounded skeptical. “Then it’s not true about Sable’s ma killing herself in Carson’s bed?”

  Sable’s body turned cold. This was by far the most startling piece of information she’d ever heard about her mother Azelia’s death. Sable knew she’d died during an accident on Sable’s third birthday, but little else. If what Morse was saying was true, why hadn’t Mahti revealed any of it to Sable before?

  In reply to Morse’s question about Azelia’s death, Sally Ann answered in her frostiest voice, “Mr. Morse, you and I may be business associates, but I do not discuss my husband’s whores with anyone. Good evening. Let me know when the funds arrive.”

  Sable heard the screen door slam and knew Morse had been left standing alone on the porch. Immediately afterward came the sound of his footsteps descending the front steps and heading down the walk. Once his carriage pulled away, Sable left her hiding place and went to the quarters in search of answers.

  As she entered the small candlelit cabin, she was pleasantly surprised to find Mahti sitting up in bed. For the last few days, Mahti had been in a deep, deep sleep, a state she’d been falling into more and more often lately. Those who loved her best knew that one of these days her dark eyes would remain closed for eternity.

  Now she was awake again, back from “talking with the ancestors” as she called the long slumbers. The brown-skinned woman seated near the bed was Vashti, the root woman and doctor for the quarters and Cindi’s nana. Vashti and Mahti had been friends for many years.

  Holding back her questions for a moment, Sable declared with a smile, “Mahti, you are going to live forever.”

  “Not if I can help it,” she cackled, laughing. She’d lost her teeth long ago and whenever she laughed too hard, such as now, hacking coughs rattled her thin ebony frame. Vashti gave her a sip of water from a battered tin cup. The spasm eased and Mahti pointed at her old friend. “It’s all Vashti’s fault—her old potions are keeping me from going home.”

  Sable knelt beside the bed and kissed her aunt’s wrinkled brown forehead. “We all want you to stay with us as long as you can. The sun shines brighter on my day, knowing you are here.”

  Mahti stared up at her, startled.

  “What’s the matter?” Sable asked.

  For a long moment Mahti continued to gaze up at Sable. Then she gently grasped her arm, and Mahti’s bony fingers squeezed her affectionately. “Someone said that exact same thing to me a long long time ago. To hear the words again from your lips jarred me a bit.”

  Sable started to ask Mahti who had said the words, but Mahti changed the subject. “How’re things up at the house?”

  Sable shrugged. “Nothing’s changed.”

  Sable hesitated telling her aunt about her sale because of the adverse effect the news might have on her fragile health and because Sable had no solid plan for Mahti’s future.

  Mahti would not be fooled, however. “Something has indeed changed, has it not?”

  Sable didn’t know how or where to begin.

  Mahti told her quietly, “I heard about the sale. Vashti told me. Your fate does not lie with him, however.”

  The words lifted Sable’s spirit until Mahti added, “But your fates are intertwined—he will be the jackal and you the antelope until his death.”

  Sable felt the skin prickle on the back of her neck, though she did not understand what Mahti meant. Sable had learned at an early age that asking Mahti how she knew such things was akin to asking the wind why it blew. Mahti saw things others could not, felt things no one else could. She saw signs of fortune or disaster in the phases of the moon and the configuration of the stars. “The old ways still walk strongly within me,” she would sometimes say, as if that were explanation enough. She represented not only the last of Sable’s true female family but also the last link to the time of the Middle Passage and the first African ancestors forcibly brought to these shores. In Mahti lay all the wisdom and experience that had shaped the generations which followed, and when Mahti died, Sable knew she would carry the grief for the rest of her life.

  “Mahti,” she said, “I overheard Sally Ann and Morse talking about curses and queens. Morse said my mother killed herself in Carson Fontaine’s bed. What were they talking about?”

  “Things I have withheld from you.”

  “Why?”

  Her reply was soft. “Because no child should carry such grief until she is strong enough to bear it.”

  Sable thought about that before saying, “I believe I am strong enough now.”

  Mahti took a moment to look deeply into Sable’s river-green eyes before replying, “I believe you are, so let us start at the beginning.”

  The story began in Mother Africa.

  “I had accompanied my aunt to a wedding celebration at a neighboring village. On the way home we were attacked by slavers. My aunt and the fifteen men who guarded her fought bravely. Seven of them gave their lives, but we were captured.”

  “Why did she have guards?”

  “My mother’s sister was both my aunt and my queen.”

  Sable stared in surprise. “Is this queen the woman Morse spoke of as being my grandmother?”

  Mahti nodded and continued, “Those captured that day who did not die on the Middle Passage were sold to a man in Virginia named
Bryce. Later, he said he knew from the moment he saw your grandmother in the slave market that she was someone special, simply by the way she carried herself. He purchased us and twenty other Africans who’d made the journey over in the belly of the same slaver. After he brought us all to his farm, he noticed that the other slaves did her work, that we deferred to her and bowed to her whenever she came near. He surmised that he’d purchased a great queen.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He let her assume her natural place. You see there were a few other royals owned by masters in the region. Over time, these owners had learned that allowing royals or elected headmen to rule the captives made dealings with the African slaves easier, so Bryce followed their example.”

  Mahti took a sip of water before continuing. “My aunt was of mid-age when she was first brought to this country. Bryce treated her like the queen she was and never once approached her to breed her. He took care of her people, even taught us all to read. In exchange, she saw to it that his farms were productive and free of turmoil. We stayed with Bryce for almost ten years, then when he died, we were sold to a man in Maryland named Caufield.”

  Mahti’s voice turned bitter. “Caufield did not respect your grandmother. One night, a few days after we arrived, he forced her to mate with him even though she swore she would kill herself afterward, and that he himself would follow her into death. Laughing, he did the deed anyway and months later, she gave birth to a female child, your mother Azelia. In our kingdom, the royal line runs through the woman, and a baby does not reach true life until the age of three years. On Azelia’s third birthday, your grandmother placed the small queen in my care and kissed me good-bye. Her last words to me were, “The sun shines brighter on my day, knowing you are here.”

  Sable’s heart seemed to stop. Those were the same words she’d said to Mahti only a moment ago.

  As if she’d read Sable’s mind, Mahti said, “Your words are a sign that she is near, and if she is near, it is time.”

  Sable had so many questions, she couldn’t contain them all, but the one most prominent had to do with her grandmother’s fate. “What happened to her?”

  “Later that night, she took a skinning knife and went up to Caufield’s bedroom. After preparing and cleansing herself, she drew the blade across each wrist. She let herself bleed to death atop his bed.”

  Sable felt her stomach roll.

  In a firm angry voice Mahti said, “She was a queen, a royal, not a mare to be used by an illiterate barbarian, but she was avenged. The Society came for Caufield the next night.”

  “Who or what was that?”

  “A group of African men who enforced the traditional spiritual laws. In our homeland they were a secret society and wore masks and robes designed to frighten. They were said to be the physical reincarnation of spirits. They would come in the middle of the night to remind you to stay on the right path.”

  “These societies existed here?”

  “Oh yes. We were able to maintain many of our traditional ways for many years here. The maskers were one of our biggest secrets.”

  “Do these societies still exist?”

  Mahti shrugged. “It is hard to know. There are very few of the Firsts still alive today.”

  “Did my mother know all these things?”

  Mahti nodded. “Yes. Unlike you, she grew to womanhood knowing her history. I regret I didn’t shield her as I did you.”

  “Why?”

  “If I had, maybe she would have chosen a different path.”

  For a moment Mahti’s memories seemed to take her away. Sable saw the sadness in her face as her great aunt reached out and caressed Sable’s cheek. “We are getting ahead of ourselves. I was talking about Caufield, was I not?”

  Sable nodded.

  “The Society came for him in the middle of the night. I was a parlormaid for Caufield’s wife at the time and she allowed me to sleep on the floor in her room. I awakened to the sound of her screams and saw five men in hideous, misshapen masks and red robes standing in the open doorway. They appeared to be taller than any men I’d ever seen, and they were holding the struggling Caufield by the arms. I knew right away what they represented and why they’d come. They began to speak, but just as at home, the masks were designed to alter the voices of the wearer, and so the speech came out distorted and fearsome. They told her they were taking her husband to be judged for crimes committed against the queen. They told her a similar fate would befall the remaining members of her family should any slave be punished for Caufield’s taking.”

  “Was he ever found?”

  “Yes, the next morning. He’d been drawn and quartered. Mrs. Caufield never recovered. She sold every slave on the place the next day.”

  “And you were all sold to the Fontaines?”

  “Yes, your mother was three years old when we arrived. Carson Fontaine was fifteen, nearly a man.”

  “So how did she die?”

  “Just as your grandmother did. I warned Carson beforehand that Azelia was a royal, and of the fate he would reap should she be made to breed against her will, but like Caufield, he laughed. First Rhine was born and two years later, you. He stopped laughing the night he found her dead in his bed. She took her life just as the old queen had done.”

  “Why did she wait until after my birth?”

  “Your brother Rhine was a male child. She needed a female heir for the royal line, so she waited for you.”

  An immense sadness welled up inside Sable. “What made Carson bring me into the house?”

  “Guilt at first. I doubt he had any real feelings for Azelia, but remember, I told him what had happened to Caufield. After Azelia’s death, he went up to Virginia where Mrs. Caufield was staying with her sister and talked to her. He returned home a bit more believing after that. He called all the slaves together and told them he would be bringing you into the house to live, and that you would learn all the things his daughter Mavis learned. He also promised you would never be sold.”

  “Mrs. Caufield’s story must have really frightened him.”

  “I believe it did indeed. After he returned, he took me out of the field and made me overseer of the looms, but I told him at the time, the spirits didn’t care how generous he’d become, he would still be punished for his crime against Azelia.”

  “Is that the curse Morse spoke of?”

  “I’m sure it is, but I didn’t curse Carson. I simply told him the truth. Now that he has sold you, the time has come.”

  “What time?”

  “The time for you to begin your journey and for me to begin mine.”

  Mahti began to cough and Vashti gave her another sip of water. When the spasm passed, she slumped back against the stuffed feedsacks bracing her in the bed. She appeared to be very tired. Her aged hand cupped Sable’s cheek affectionately. “Vashti will tell you what you need to do. You and I will talk more tomorrow.”

  Sable had no idea the talk would change her life forever.

  The next night, Sable stood outside on the front walk watching the Fontaine mansion burn. The entire structure was engulfed, the flames dancing against the night sky. The blazing interior glowed with such a blinding light, it looked like a portal to hell. For Mahti it had served as a passageway home.

  Vashti had awakened Sable less than an hour before and quietly instructed her to rouse Mavis and Sally Ann. She said Mahti wanted to speak with everyone outside as soon as possible.

  Sable had little trouble getting Mavis to comply with Mahti’s request. Upon hearing Sable’s explanation, Mavis took a light blanket, wrapped herself in it, and sleepily made her way downstairs.

  Sally Ann proved more difficult. She snapped, “It’s the middle of the night, Sable. What could Mahti possibly want at this hour?”

  “I’m not certain, but she’s never given you anything but loyalty all these years. Will you humor her, please, just this once?”

  At first Sable thought Sally Ann would refuse, but she finally swung her legs over th
e bed, saying coolly, “Just this once, Sable. And it better not take long.”

  “I’m certain it won’t.”

  Carson Fontaine slept in the far wing. Since Vashti had not given Sable instructions to rouse him, she simply followed Sally Ann outdoors.

  The first thing Sable noticed as she stepped outside was the heavy scent of kerosene. She found the strong scent puzzling, and looked around a moment hoping to find the source but she became distracted by a small knot of people assembled on the walk. On hand were most of the remaining adult slaves. In their hands were torches. Only then did she notice Mahti. Her great-aunt stood off by herself, chanting softly yet audibly in the language of her homeland. Sable had never before seen the majestic red robe Mahti was wearing, or the heavy gold jewelry around her wrists and throat.

  Sally Ann called out angrily, “Mahti, why are we out here?”

  Vashti turned to her mistress and said in a firm but low voice, “She needs silence to prepare.”

  It was the first time Vashti had ever spoken so sharply to her mistress. As if stunned, Sally Ann didn’t say another word.

  While everyone stared enrapt, Mahti held her hands up to the night sky. Seconds later, as if by command, the moon came out from behind the clouds, bathing the silent scene in an ethereal light.

  Mavis slid up behind Sable and asked softly, “What is she doing?”

  Sable shrugged, not taking her eyes off her aunt. In the moonlight, Mahti looked younger and stronger than she’d appeared in years.

  In a loud voice Mahti called out, “The Queens are gathering. The time has come.”

  Sally Ann laughed. “I’m going back inside. I’ve had enough of this mumbo-jumbo.”

  Vashti took her by the arm. “You will stay. Watch and learn.”

  Mahti then began to recite a litany of names. A confused Sable looked to Vashti, who explained, “They are the names of the Old Queens. Out of respect she must summon them all.”

  When the naming ended a few moments later, the night was silent. Mahti stepped up onto the porch. Using what appeared to be a ladle, she dipped it into a weathered bucket at her feet and began tossing a liquid onto the porch and the dry, weed-filled grounds fronting the house. Chanting as she went, she seemed to be anointing the area around her. Once again the smell of kerosene filled Sable’s nose, and a sliver of alarm gripped her.