The Slave Master's Son

by Laveen, Tiana

  “I apologize,” he said as he walked away into their bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 13

  John stretched his arms and yawned. Gayle was nestled on top of his chest, her hair spiraled in delicate streams of gold and auburn. He looked over his shoulder and slowly removed her arms from around his body. She stirred but did not rise. He fumbled in the dark, searching for his pants and shirt. After dressing quietly, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. He stood at the back door watching the morning sky make its appearance. Suddenly he heard Gayle shuffling behind him. She wrapped her robe securely around herself and smiled.

  “Are you going hunting still?” she asked as she wiped her eyes. “I have an appointment with a doctor today. I thought you may want to wait to find out how far along I am.” She reached and touched his hand. He slowly pulled away from her, causing her smile to transform into a sullen frown.

  “You aren’t happy, John?” Gayle asked as she slid down into a chair.

  “I don’t want to lie to you, Gayle. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel at all. This announcement reeks of desperation,” he said coldly. “If it’s true, I’m afraid….” He walked behind her and patted her shoulders affectionately as he continued to wrestle with his emotions. Gayle reached up and touched his hand.

  “Don’t be afraid, John. I think you’ll be a wonderful father,” Gayle said quietly. “I’ve been missing you more and more. You keep running back and forth to New York on business all the time. You’re finally back and now, well, now you’re running off again. I know you told me about this hunting trip days ago, but in the midst of this news, couldn’t you stay? We need to spend more time together – be a family. We have a family now,” Gayle pleaded.

  “What makes you think you’re pregnant?” John asked suspiciously. “You’ve been trying to get pregnant ever since Hannah was sent away, and nothing has happened.”

  “John, she’s been gone over eight months! That’s a long time. That’s plenty of time,” Gayle said, her words purposefully dipped in double meanings.

  “Now all of the sudden, you’re telling me this,” John continued. “What’s going on here? Why haven’t you seen the doctor up until this point?” he asked with a touch of anger in his tone. Gayle looked at the floor then back up.

  “Well, yes, I want to have your baby. I believe I – I believe I am.”

  “Something tells me you aren’t,” he responded. “I believe you wish you were. We’ve been married for over a year. I lay with you for the first time eight months ago after...”

  “Please don’t say her name,” Gayle urged, throwing her hand up and shutting her eyes.

  “Very well. In any regard, in that time frame I know I haven’t touched you more than three times. The last time was a month or so ago. That was possibly my undoing,” he said under his breath. “Of course, that means that it’s not impossible.” John retreated to the bedroom and slid on his boots. He played back in his mind how he’d overheard Savannah and Gayle speaking in the kitchen earlier that week. She did not realize he was home and just outside the front door. He paused and listened intently to their conversation.

  “Ma’am, if you want to have a baby and you run into problems, you gotta have some mint tea,” Savannah advised as she cleaned. “Mint tea helps. When I was a little girl with my sisters and friends, our mamas would brew mint tea for all the women that wanted a baby.” Gayle laughed mockingly.

  “Mint tea? How silly, Savannah.” She sat down in her chair. “Tell me, did you grow up with that slave girl my husband knew?” Gayle asked with bite in her voice. Savannah stopped scrubbing the floor and hesitated.

  “Well?” Gayle demanded, drumming her fingers on the table.

  “Who do you mean?” Savannah questioned.

  “Hannah!” Gayle raised her voice and rolled her eyes in obvious annoyance.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Savannah answered with trepidation.

  “I’m glad she’s far away from here now. Have you heard from her?” Gayle asked as she rubbed her fingers against the table cloth.

  “My Mama has, but not me,” Savannah said weakly.

  “Well, despite how she tried to steal my husband, as if she were really ever on his level, I do hope she’s OK. Is she OK?” Gayle asked with a smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. She and a blacksmith named Joseph expectin’.”

  Gayle laughed. “Wonderful! I wonder if she had mint tea! Maybe I’ll try. Savannah?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Savannah answered as she pulled out a thin broom and began to work it in the corners of the room.

  “Is there any way that I can make this happen other than with mint tea? I know it sounds just dreadful, but I feel like if I can’t give John a baby – well, I fear he may leave me. You have four babes. You just pop them out!” Gayle laughed obnoxiously.

  “Well, ma’am, you can always just say you is, until you is. Maybe that’ll give you more time. Just drink the mint tea. It should help,” Savannah answered as she gathered ripe oranges and began to cut them into thick slices.

  “I do love John dearly,” Gayle said longingly, still smiling and beaming from the news regarding Hannah.

  * * *

  John grabbed two guns, ammunition, and his hunting knife. He then dropped to the ground and pulled a large box from under the bed, removing a large bag of old dollars he hadn’t yet deposited. He walked back into the kitchen, tipped his hat to Gayle, and made his way out the door.

  “John!” she called out.

  “Yes?” He slowly spun back around towards her.

  “I wish you well on your hunting. I’ll let you know the news upon your return. I’ll expect you in a few days,” she smiled.

  “You do that,” John said with a grin as he headed into the darkness.

  “And John,” she whispered to herself as she watched him get into the wagon, “she’s been gone for over eight months. That’s plenty of time!”

  * * *

  John stood at the entrance of the Danville ferry station. The ferry was primarily for military supplies but did take passengers once a week on Sundays. There were three scheduled departures this Sunday, and knowing his father, he wouldn’t be on the one which was scheduled to leave before sunrise; however, his arriving early crossed his mind.

  “Where’s the ferry going this morning?” he asked an older gentleman who was reading a newspaper and smoking a long, intricately carved pipe.

  “Charleston, South Carolina,” the man answered, briefly looking up at John then back down.

  “Thank you, sir.” John waited at the ferry. He took out his bag of coins and handed a few of them to the elderly man at the boat dock. John rubbed his hands together as coldness ran through his bones.

  “How close can you get me to Charleston?” John asked as he reached down and adjusted his boot.

  “Right at it. We leave in ten minutes. I’ll take your luggage,” the man responded gruffly.

  “No luggage, just me, my guns, and my wits,” John smiled. He walked onto the ferry, sat down, and watched the waves kick up around him. There were very few people on the boat. John sat by himself. His stomach growled. He hadn’t thought about food, only getting to Hannah. A few minutes later, the ferry left the dock. John watched as the trees passed by. He laid his head against the railing and fell into a dream.

  He saw himself on the battlefield – guns popping. He felt his jacket being tugged. He looked down and saw his friend, Sampson, shot multiple times in the chest. Sampson went in and out of consciousness as he gripped John’s uniform. John reached down and squeezed his hand while he watched Sampson slowly expire. He bent down and spoke to another soldier, Benjamin. As they routed out a plan, a bullet grazed John’s ear and struck Benjamin directly in the forehead. John grabbed him as he fell backward, blood spurting from Benjamin’s mouth. Once the dust cleared, he and two other soldiers stood silent and surveyed the carnage. Sixteen dead soldiers were spread amongst them.

&n
bsp; “Goddamn Yankees!” one of the soldiers screamed as he held his wounded arm. John’s eyes flashed opened as he suddenly awoke from his dream. He gasped and looked up at the dawn sky. He was in a cold sweat. He reached for his tan handkerchief and patted his forehead dry. Even in the cool air, he was burning up. He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a chiseled chest. He breathed deeply and heavily, trying to remove the images from his mind. John smiled as he heard a child singing further up on the ferry. He dug into his pocket and pinched off a piece of bread, popping it into his mouth and swallowing.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 14

  John woke up to his shoulder being shaken. “Mr. Stewart!” the elderly gentleman said, the sunshine surrounding him, giving him an angelic glow.

  “We’re five miles from Charleston. This is your stop.” He shoved a tin cup of water in John’s hands. John quickly drank it without leaving a drop before handing it back to the man. He stood up and stretched as he watched the ferry approach the dock. John walked stiffly as he searched around. Stretching, he saw two women, one young and one older, selling assorted fruit. The fruit was so vibrant, it almost looked painted. He immediately purchased two oranges, tearing into them. Juice ran down his chin. He made his way to the train station ticket booth.

  “I need a ticket downtown. When’s the next train?” he asked the man at the counter as he spit a seed onto the ground.

  “We run through Charleston every hour. We only make one stop there though, and you’re in luck, because the next train is it. It’ll be here in forty minutes.”

  He handed John his ticket. John sat down on a wooden bench and contemplated. He worked over various scenarios in his troubled and busy mind. His thoughts unexpectedly shifted to his father and Mary. His father was allowing Hannah to be visited by her mother for the birth of her grandchild who was due any day now. A part of John was sickened by the pending labor. The other part of him just desperately needed to see her even if it were only once more. Now that he knew where she was, he did not want to waste another moment. He clenched his teeth and wrung his hands. Thoughts of his father violently dragging Hannah and locking her away in the dingy, lightless room filtered into his psyche.

  John laid his head back and looked wearily up at the puzzle-piece sky. He watched as the clouds slowly painted cottony pictures of dogs holding fiddles, an old woman sleeping on her side, and three boys bouncing a small ball. Another cloud came rolling past John’s gaze. It looked like two people holding hands. He smiled weakly, wiping a tiny tear from the corner of his eye. Soon he heard the train whistle. He gathered his belongings and hurriedly boarded. He leaned his head against the window and dozed off as the train descended ever closer to his adored Hannah.

  * * *

  “Her name’s Hannah Stewart,” John said matter-of-factly with a fist-full of papers balled up tightly in his right palm as he looked down at the clerk. “I need her address.” John’s knuckles were clenched white. He tried in vain to hide extreme irritation. The clerk looked up from behind his circular rimmed glasses.

  “But Mr. Stewart, if you sold her, how is it you don’t know her location?” he asked with a Southern intonation. John cleared his throat.

  “Because she was sold again. As I’ve already stated to you, several of her items were left at my estate, and she’s expecting a baby. She’ll surely want them, and her new owner would be much obliged.” The clerk looked up at John silently. He stood up and walked over to another clerk, whispering in his ear. The other clerk looked at John, tipped his hat, and walked over to a basket of records not yet recorded and verified. He picked up the basket and walked over to John.

  “If she was sold within the last year, as you state, her new address would be somewhere in here. As you can see, it’d take an eternity for us to sift through this. With all the new freed slaves, estate closings, and casualties of war, we’ve had our hands full. Give us a few days and we can…”

  “I don’t have a few days,” John hastily interrupted. “My name’s Master Stewart of Richmond, Virginia, and I demand this information now!” John shouted, causing people to quickly turn in his direction. A tall, slender, well dressed man with a black top hat swaggered towards John. His narrow eyes centered in closely on John’s. His face was angular and his lips, barely visible, matched the dull paleness of his flesh. His affluence was demonstrated by the expensive watch which hung from a luminous gold chain.

  “Dear sir, what seems to be the matter?” he asked with a kind smile as he removed his hat from his head, exposing medium length, reddish brown locks with hints of gray.

  “I’m not certain what business this is of yours,” John answered with a grimace spread over his reddened face. The man nodded and smiled as he walked up to the clerk’s desk.

  “George, it’s quite obvious that this man just wishes to do a kind deed for a slave – ex-slave of his. It’d be a gentle gesture to give this one allowance.” The man reached into his pocket and slid across a handful of coins. The clerk quickly rose from his seat and hurriedly dug through the basket of papers. John turned to the stranger.

  “Thank you. I didn’t realize bribery would’ve settled this matter, or I would’ve suggested such an offering. Instead, valuable time’s been wasted.” John turned to walk away and have a seat. The stranger followed him and sat down. John sternly examined him. “Who are you, and what is it you want?”

  The stranger smiled and nodded. “I won’t waste any more of your time. I know Master Stewart. He’s your father. You must be John. He used to come here often for business. You and he are mirror images, minus his robustness and graying temples. What’s the true nature of your business here in South Carolina?”

  “I’m here to take care of a personal matter.” John reached into his pocket and handed the man the money he’d given the clerk. “We’re even. Now please leave me.” John turned away and picked up a newspaper that way lying next to him.

  “John, I don’t wish to gain anything from you except mere conversation. My name’s Winston Grant. I own a rice and indigo farm. I’m here waiting for some friends and simply happened to overhear your hardship.” John looked over the man’s clothing once more and thought to himself, “He’s beyond wealthy, even more so than Father.”

  “My original plan, I believe I’ll abandon,” Mr. Grant stated, interrupting John’s train of thought. “John, not only do I know your father, I know the slave you seek – Hannah.” John rose to his feet abruptly. His heart began to pound loudly. Mr. Grant followed suit, standing up.

  “I don’t own her. I do, however, know who does – my neighbor, Mr. Washington. It must be the same Hannah because she too is with child and due any day. She’s residing on Mr. Washington’s property. One of my slaves, Joseph Henry, is the father.” John’s stomach churned. His facial expression was placid as his internal organs gave way to his extreme distress.

  “We can sit here for a couple of hours and allow the clerks to verify, or you can come with me,” Mr. Grant offered.

  “How do I know that you’re trustworthy, Mr. Grant? Something about you moves me to suspicion. My instinct’s rarely wrong,” John added as he lifted his pant leg, revealing the top of a pistol, allowing it to glisten in the sunlight. Mr. Grant nodded, acknowledging the threat presented before him.

  “You’re free to do as you wish, Mr. Stewart. I’m simply trying to offer a helping hand,” Mr. Grant assured.

  “And why would you offer me a helping hand?” John laughed mockingly. “You’ve already admitted you know my father, overheard my conversation, and your slave’s expecting a child which will only add to your riches. I know who you are as well. As I sat here looking at you, my father’s tales from travels far and wide sprung back into my memory. You’re a shark, Mr. Grant. I’ve asked you several times what it is you desire from me.”

  “Do you know that your father is here?” Mr. Grant asked, ignoring John’s accusations.

  “Yes.” John crossed his arms.

  “Do you know why he’s here?” M
r. Grant asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, because Hannah is going to give birth any day now and he wants her mother to see her,” John answered, his defiance growing.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” Mr. Grant questioned with a wide smile.

  “No. Please get to your point. I’m not in any mood for childish games,” John snapped.

  “I’m here to watch for you, and stop you, John. I was sent here by your father to ensure that you don’t find out where Hannah was located. He has no idea that you’re here but wanted me to look out for you just in case. I find it odd that he’d contact me about such a trivial matter. I have more important things to attend to, however, he’s an old friend, so I agreed to assist. Now, if you tell me what brings you here then maybe I could be of assistance,” urged Mr. Grant.

  “Again, why should you be trusted? This isn’t a trivial matter for you at all, Mr. Grant. The insinuation that I could be here to stir trouble of any sort would cause you alarm. You have a vested interest in learning my purpose. You’re purportedly a friend of my father’s, though he describes a different perspective. You’ve wasted enough of my time. I’m leaving.” Mr. Grant took John’s arm. John shook him off, giving stern warning with his eyes.

  “Wait!” Mr. Grant called out. “Yes, yes, I admit that I have a vested interest, but I can be trusted. I know that you need help, and for some reason, though it may cross Master Stewart terribly, I can see all over your face that you’re in desperate need. Your father and I have a long history. I’m a business man first and foremost however something does not sit well with me regarding this entire matter.”

  “So now you have a conscience?” John smiled.

  “Yes. Yes I do. That’s why I’ve demonstrated good faith by paying the clerk rather than informing your father that you’re here. You would’ve been none the wiser. I watched you from beginning to end. I can see your determination and I admire that.” Mr. Grant smiled. John looked at him for a moment, assessing the situation.