by Kira Saito
Abram nodded in agreement. “We don’t need your food or your silly ideas.”
“No need to be rude,” Emilie said sweetly, as she continued to stir the pot of jambalaya. She was unfazed by our resentment. “Of course, that’s all they tell you about,” she said cryptically. “You see, some people have got hopes and dreams while others have ways and means. I choose to have ways and means. These ways and means can be yours.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, curious as to what she knew.
“They haven’t told you the truth about the 1791 revolt in Saint-Domingue, have they?”
Abram and I looked at one another, puzzled by her question. Our family roots traced back to West Africa. Of course, there were slaves from Saint-Domingue or Haiti on the plantation, but they were too young to remember the details of the much feared revolution. “We’ve heard whispers here and there,” I said, trying to hide my lack of knowledge.
“They don’t want you to know the truth because it gives you power,” she said teasingly. Her blue eyes were wild. They were full of excitement and conviction. It was becoming very evident that Emilie was destined for greatness. I clung on to her every word as if it was the last drop of water in a vast desert. “They love to suppress the truth!” She ate a spoonful of jambalaya and my stomach howled wildly.
“What is this truth that you speak of?” I asked eagerly ignoring Abram’s disapproving glare.
“The revolution started in August 1791 and ended in November 1803, with the French defeat at the battle of Vertières. It is the only successful slave revolution in history. Saint Domingue or Haiti became an independent country on January 1, 1804. How do you think this task was accomplished?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I do,” she said smugly. “I can show you,” she offered ever so sweetly.
“No thank you,” said Abram, refusing Emilie’s very tempting offer.
“Abram!” I was angry that he was so dismissive of Emilie and her offer. I was beginning to feel as if she were genuinely there to help us. She was there to liberate us. She was the one we had waited so long for.
Beth, a kindly old slave rose in protest and took my side. Her usually peaceful face was full of rage. “Abram, we need that food. Look at the children. Look at us.” She motioned to her fragile form which had only gotten increasingly thin over the past few months.
Abram and I glanced around the group and felt the hunger and desperation. Something deep within me told me that this was almost too good to be true, but something else attracted me to Emilie. Her confidence and charisma was magnetic. The slaves looked upon her as if she was the second coming of Christ and I couldn’t blame them. Our savior had arrived.
“What do you think? Should we trust her?” Abram addressed the crowd.
Without hesitation the group came to an agreement. “Let her stay!” They roared.
Emilie was delighted at the reception. She clapped her hands and threw her arms up in the air. “Tonight! You will not live in fear of Bernard or any of the other drivers or overseers. They’ve had too much whiskey and won’t be awake for hours. Tonight you will dance and sing and act as free men and women. Rise you mighty people! Riseeeee! Riseeeeee from your sleep and slumber! You must realize that you’re more than slaves. More than nameless, faceless numbers! From now on you are all survivors! We are David and we are going to slay Goliath!”
Emilie’s enthusiasm was infectious and it caught on like wildfire. She had charisma and a rare spark that made you believe that your wildest dreams could and would come true. The slaves immediately forgot their hunger and pain. I forgot my aches, problems, and fears.
They rose from the ground and ran to grab whatever object they could. When you were a slave common items such as axes, washboards, sticks, and pots easily transformed into musical instruments. Soon, a beat had formed and a song had begun:
My time, time so long. (hah)
Look down, (hah) look down,
That long, lonesome road,
Where you (hah) and I, I must go.
Stand back, stand back
All you five [and] ten cent men:
Dollar man knocking on, on my door.
Hattie Bell, Hattie Bell,
O she's my own, own true love,
Darlin', what have, have I done?
After the singing and dancing had ceased, we gathered around the huge pot of jambalaya and ate like ravenous children at a long awaited feast. Even Abram, who was usually so composed and gentlemanly threw aside his restraint and joined the group. His face flooded with delight as he took a huge bite of the jambalaya. Magically, Emilie pulled out a sack of fine French bread from under her gown. She distributed it out to the crowd. The slaves looked at the bread longingly.
“Go ahead,” Emilie encouraged them. “You deserve fine food just like they do,” she said, as he pointed towards the main house.
Emilie pulled me and Abram aside. “Collette and Abram.”
I was taken aback that she actually knew our names. “Yes?” We asked in unison.
Her eyes were sincere as they peered into ours. “I want to gain your trust. I know that you two are the leaders and the others look up to you. I want you to come with me. I want to teach you things. Things that will help you protect yourselves and the others. In order for this revolution to work I need to gain your trust and the trust of the others. It cannot work if I do not have your trust,” she repeated.
For a split second I hesitated. “I already know how to use the herbs and oils. Marie Beau taught us much of what she knew. I don’t see how else we can protect ourselves. The best we can do is heal the scars they inflict upon us.”
I swore Emilie flinched at the name Marie Beau, but she quickly recovered. Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, that poor soul. No one knows what happened to her. Some say she escaped. Others say that she was killed. I guess we’ll never know the truth. Will we? But none of that matters now. What matters is that you must now lead these poor souls and I can help you do that.”
Unease washed over me, but I pushed it aside. I felt as if she knew more about Marie’s disappearance than she was letting on, but I pushed aside my doubt and chose to believe her good intentions. “Yes, I suppose the weak must get strong.”
“And how exactly are these weak going to get strong?” asked Abram unable to hide his distrust and suspicion.
She stood between Abram and I. Her arms linked with ours and she guided us away from the group. “Let me show you.”
Chapter Twenty
New Orleans Death Rite and other Ways and Means…
Darkwood Plantation 1853- A few months After the Death of Cecile LaNuit…
It was an unbearably hot summer night, but Abram and I paid no attention to the heat or the scars on our backs. For the first time in months, we walked the slave grounds without fear or hesitation. Perhaps, I trusted Emilie too much too quickly, but being by her side was simply liberating. As promised, Emilie had made sure the drivers and overseers had drunk too much whiskey. We saw that their cabin’s were dark and silent and the grounds were empty as all of the slaves were at the party.
“How do you manage that?” I asked. “Bernard is the worst driver I’ve seen in all my years at Darkwood. He watches us like a hawk and he never drinks to excess just so he could continue his torment.”
“I told you I have ways and means,” she said sweetly batting her eyelashes. “Tonight, we will take care of Bernard for good.”
Her words sent a faint shiver up my spine. How would we be taking care of him for good? I wanted to ask, but was hesitant to ruin the moment, mostly because it felt so good to see Abram so happy.
Abram laughed. “This feels… This feels!” He stretched out his lanky arms and shouted a prayer of thanks to the star filled night.
I had to laugh at his reaction. I hadn’t seen his careless, playful side in quite some time. He took my hand and spun me around and around.
Up ahead we saw that the main house was fully lit
in all of its excessive glory and lively piano music drifted out the large French windows and filled the humid air. The grand chandelier on the spacious marble porch cast light on handsomely dressed men and women who sipped on champagne and whiskey.
Even in Collette’s body, my soul froze as I saw a familiar figure with two gorgeous girls draped on each arm. His voice drifted from the porch and into my ears.
“You ladies are simply too much.” He laughed. It wasn’t a sad or tormented laugh. It was happy and carefree as if he had forgotten Cecile altogether.
“Oh Lucus! It’s so good to have you back,” said one girl. She wore Worth and had a mass of gorgeous chestnut curls. I recognized her from the many fancy parties I had attended in New Orleans.
“Yes, it sure is,” said the other girl. She pushed her ample chest into his face. “I was so relieved when I found out that you broke off your engagement with that awful Cecile LaNuit. Imagine, you married to that heathen. Everyone in New Orleans is still gossiping about her. Rumor has it that she ran off to France with yet another wealthy suitor.”
I wanted to kill her. I didn’t even know her and I yet I wanted to throw her into the swamp. My soul ached. Jealousy and anger oozed out of my pores and for a split second I completely shut out Collette’s voice and was one hundred percent Arelia. My lips twitched and my eyes turned into two little slits.
“Let’s not ruin the evening by talking about her, shall we.” Lucus tried to sound light hearted, but I knew him too well. He guzzled the bottle of whiskey he held and gave it to a nearby waiter. “We need more whiskey!”
The girls were oblivious to his pain. They simply laughed and hung on to his every word.
“Collette, are you okay?” Emile examined me. Her eyes hardened suspiciously.
I felt Abram’s finger’s lace with mine. I felt Louis’ soul. “Get your shit together Queen. Ti Jean protected our souls, but you’re acting like such a love sick puppy. It’s so disgusting that it’s breaking Ti Jean’s protection, as well as my motivation. I’m not going to tell you again. Get your shit together!”
He was right. Emilie stopped walking. She looked at Abram and I carefully.
Crap. She was recognizing my soul. Her expression turned from hard to sweet again as she glanced from me to Lucus and then back again. I gave her a deer in headlights look and clutched Abram’s hand harder. Get it together. I looked at Lucus as if he was nothing more than the master’s son.
Emile frowned and tauntingly twirled a piece of her hair around while peering at me with a knowing expression. I forced Arelia’s emotions back down and let Collette take over again. This was not the time to be thinking about myself. I was motionless and focused on the larger task at hand.
“It’s such a shame that Lucus has moved on so fast after the disappearance of my sister. He’s as if she never existed at all,” said Emilie all the while staring at me. Waiting for my reaction. She knew my soul all too well and that scared me.
I didn’t flinch. Instead, I gave her a wide smile and remained strong. “I’m happy for him. He deserves some peace after all she put him through. It’s better this way.” The words came out fast.
Abram interrupted the show down. “What is it that you have to show us, Emilie? We don’t have much time before Bernard and the others wake up.”
Emilie withdrew her attention from me and became her old self again. She linked her arm with mine and I could feel as if I had her trust back. I avoided looking at Lucus altogether and shut out his drunken laughter as we entered the thick forest.
“Where are the hounds?” Abram asked. Usually, the forest was full of drivers, overseers, and hounds, but tonight there was only the peaceful rustle of oaks and the sweet smell of magnolia blooms.
Emilie laughed as she extended her arms and did a carefree twirl. “Ways and means,” she said, as she pulled us further and further into the forest.
“Where are we going?” I asked. My feet wanted to follow her to the ends of the earth, but a nagging feeling inside of me told me that her ‘ways and means’ were definitely on the left hand path.
“I want to gain your trust,” she said, as we approached the slave cemetery’s wrought iron gate. “If I have your trust, I have the group’s trust. That’s all I ask for. Your faith.” She took out a bottle of rum and nine pennies and placed them beside the gate before pushing it open.
“So, this is what fate has in store for us,” said Abram, as he glanced around the gloomy cemetery. “A lifetime of captivity before facing Bon Dieu.”
“No,” said Emilie, as we walked further and further into the graves. “If you decide to join me, your fate will be much different. To prove myself to you, I have something special in store for Bernard,” she said mischievously, as she pointed to a trench.
My heart stopped and for a moment I feared that I would find Bernard’s bloody body in the grave. “Emilie, what have you done?” I asked.
“Nothing yet,” she said, as she kneeled in front of the trench.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” said Abram, as we stood over the trench. We were both too afraid to look inside. We clung to one another in fear of what was going to happen next. I felt small, weak, and utterly helpless.
Unfazed, Emilie looked up at us. “This Bernard has caused you so much pain, hasn’t he? Are those lash marks not fresh? Were your bellies not growling with hunger seconds before I showed up?” The fire in her eyes was fierce and powerful. It set my soul on fire.
“Yes,” we replied in unison.
“Does he not take delight in your torment? Abram, did he not beat your wife? The one person you love more than anything in this world.”
“Yes!” Abram shouted with anger.
“Very well then.” Emilie pulled out a black cat from the grave, along with a black chicken.
“Where did you get those?” I asked, staring at the two wild eyed animals who were shackled together by a little chain.
She merely smiled. “You know this isn’t the time for weakness. Bernard is going to get exactly what he deserves. It’s easy. A good old fashioned New Orleans death rite will make sure that Bernard goes to his grave sooner than later,” she said, as she pulled out a half-foot coffin from the grave.
I should have stopped her. We should have said something, but Abram and I were too transfixed by Emilie and her flair for the dramatic that we just stood there with our mouths agape in wonder.
“Now listen carefully and watch,” she said. “This here is a baby doll. We’ll dress it in black.” She dressed the tiny doll in black cloth. “I’m going to write Bernard’s name on this piece of paper and then place it in this coffin.” She placed the coffin with the Bernard doll back into the grave before turning her attention to the poor cat and chicken.
Something within me suddenly snapped. “No you can’t harm those poor animals,” I protested. Maybe I was too weak, but the second the poor little cat looked at me with wide eyed innocence I knew I couldn’t be as strong as Emilie.
Emilie scoffed before giving me a penetrating look full of conviction. “Samson slew the Philistines with a donkey jawbone. We are Samson and they are the Philistines. This is our donkey jawbone,” she said, as she grabbed the black chicken. With flair she hoisted the confused chicken in the air, as if it were a lethal weapon. She took a bottle of whiskey and poured the liquid down the poor chicken’s throat. “Bernard’s name was left soaking in this whiskey,” she advised. “Now these two shall become Bernard.” She threw the chicken and the cat into the grave. “We’ll cover this grave with this cloth.” She produced a large, white cloth with a few holes in it. “After a month, our donkey jawbone will slay Bernard.” She gave us a stern look. “Now, don’t you two try taking out these animals from this grave. In order for this revolution to work, I must be able to trust you. If you want to learn from me, you have to be strong.”
Abram and I glanced at one another. “Abram, I want to be free,” I said. “Freedom comes with a price, doesn’t it?”
Abram no
dded and took a deep breath. “I too no longer want to be a prisoner.”
“So, we agree then? We’ll fight with Emilie?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Excellent!” Emilie took another bottle of whiskey and took a big gulp from it before passing it to us.
I wasn’t one for drinking whiskey, but I couldn’t refuse. I took the bottle from her hand and took several long gulps before passing to Abram. We drank and danced the night away. I drank so much whiskey that the tormented meows of the cat and the desperate pleas of the chicken became rather entertaining. I felt powerful and alive. Our revolution had started.
Chapter Twenty One
You’re So Naïve, Queen
Darkwood Plantation- Present Day
My eyes opened and I found myself back in my own body. It took me a few seconds to realize that my once aching back had healed from the beating Louis had given me and the blood had dried. My gorgeous Worth gown was tattered, torn, and stained. The humid night air made the now filthy gown stick to my skin. So much for looking like a true Queen. I glanced around me and was relieved to find that I was back in the LaPlante Family Cemetery. The melancholy angel statues and dramatic saints vigilantly stalked my every move as I rose from the ground and tried to make sense of what I had just seen.
The flames had ceased and the cemetery had returned to its once tranquil state. Ti Jean was nowhere to be found, but I could hear his voice whisper through the oak leaves “I’ll show you more when the time is right. I’m so proud of you. You’re learning.”
I let out a small sigh of relief. At last, he was proud of me, but why? I had no idea what the hell had I just seen. I was now totally confused. Had I gotten it all wrong? Was Emilie actually one of the good guys? From what I had seen it sure looked that way. She was helping Collette, Abram, and the other slaves. She was fighting for their freedom. Was I really the one who sowed what I had reaped? Was I really as awful as Emilie thought I was? Was I the bad guy? It was beginning to look that way. Suddenly I realized that I knew nothing.