The Slave Master's Son

by Laveen, Tiana

  “John,” Gayle said breathlessly. She stood up and walked towards him. He stopped moving but still looked straight ahead. “John, we need to talk.” Gayle said as she delicately placed her hand on his wrist. John looked down at her hand and slowly moved his arm away.

  “About what?” he asked as he grabbed a box of bullets and tossed them into the box.

  “Why did you lie to me? You told me you were going hunting. You know that I love you. You know that you and that slave girl aren’t really married! Do you know how much you’ve hurt me?” Gayle shuttered. Her lips began to tremble as she held herself tightly. John looked over at Gayle and briefly studied her before speaking.

  “Gayle, I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. I told you already though, before we got married, that I wasn’t interested in being married to you. Gayle, I can’t force it or pretend or go through the motions like your father, my father, and so many other people that we know. We only get one round and I want to use mine wisely.” He neatly folded a linen shirt and put it into the box.

  “I’m not going through the motions, John! I really do love you. I’m in love with you!” Gayle threw herself into his arms. “Every evening you were gone, I slept with your jacket. It smells like you. I cried every single night once I realized you weren’t coming back. John, give us a try, just try!” Gayle pleaded. John looked at Gayle sternly.

  “I’d be doing you a grave disservice and wasting both of our time. I – don’t – want – you,” John spoke stiffly.

  “What does she have that I don’t?” Gayle insisted as she took a step back from him. “What could an immoral, dirty, wretched, wild, bastard Nigger have that I can’t give you?” Gayle’s face grew flush with shades of pink, red, and cinnamon as the blood in her body pumped twice as hard. John sucked his teeth, cocked his head to the side, and plopped onto the edge of the bed.

  “You say those ugly things because you’re hurt. I’ve never heard you say such filthy words. It makes you look bad, Gayle. Anyway, there’s no competition. You could never be her, and she could never be you. You two are like day and night. Nothing I say is going to make you understand. You’re troubled deep in your heart. You blame me for it all when I was nothing less than honest and upfront with you. I still apologize. I understand that you believe that you love me, so I imagine it must be quite painful. Regardless, she’s who I want. We’re together, we have a family now. I can’t.”

  Gayle raced towards John and smacked him across the face as hard as she could muster. She breathed heavily and moved quickly back from him, pressing her back against the wall as her bosom heaved. John rubbed his jaw while he looked down at the floor. He slowly stood up and continued to pack.

  “That’s it?” Gayle asked frantically. “You’re just going to pack your things and go back to her? I hit you, and you just ignore me. I wish she were dead! I hate her!” Gayle yelled at the top of her lungs. “I wish she and your bastard…” John turned and grabbed her by her neck. Gayle’s hazel eyes bulged as she scraped at his long, thick fingers which were wrapped compactly around her thin, fragile collar. She gasped, exposing the tip of her wet, pink tongue. John unhurriedly released her. She fell to her knees coughing. John spoke calmly as he finished packing.

  “You can call me whatever you want. You can say whatever you want about her. She and I are both adults. We can handle it. However, don’t you ever, and I mean ever, call my son a bastard again. Gayle, I don’t beat up on women. I’ve never hit a woman in my life. You’ve brought shame on me with your unruly tongue. Watch what you say and what you do. I would’ve done whatever I could for you, short of being your husband. There are plenty of men who would’ve loved to have you as their spouse, men similar to me with similar position. I was prepared to introduce you to any one of them, but with this behavior, I couldn’t subject a rabid dog to you. You’ve shown your true colors. You’re a controlling, manipulative, disturbing, and arrogant woman. No wonder your father runs around weekly with whores from the brothel. You’re just like your mother,” John sneered as he stepped over her weak, slumped body, taking his box in tow.

  Gayle jumped as she heard the front door slam. She marinated in her own tears and anger for hours on end. The sun had set, and the moon had taken its station. She stayed there until the sun returned, glowing red and fire-struck with the warmth of Hell and the softness of Heaven.

  * * *

  “When you said you’d be in and out, I see you meant it,” Mary said as she hugged John.

  “Yes, I have to get back home to Hannah and the baby. I’ve only been gone for a few days, and I already miss her,” he said.

  “She sent me some letters,” Mary said proudly as she took John’s plate away from the table. John looked around his father’s house. It felt strange having less people. Usually his childhood home was bustling with activity. Some of the slaves remained, but they were now paid a wage. John smiled.

  “Yeah, when I come home from work she usually has a new letter for you that she wants me to have delivered. I hope that you can come visit soon,” John said. Mary smiled weakly.

  “I’d like that. I want to give you two – well, you three – some time alone now, though.” She turned away and began to wash the dishes. John stood up and stretched. He gathered the second box from his old bedroom and reviewed the divorce papers.

  “I’m divorcing Gayle, Mary. This hasn’t come without consequences. I didn’t even have to. I offered her money to help her although at this point the mere sight of her sickens me.” He bit his bottom lip.

  “She don’t know what she does,” Mary said flatly as she worked her hardened hands along the sides of the tea cup with water. “Feelin’s like she got makes people do some foolish things – sometimes harmful.”

  “Yes, I know.” John walked up to Mary and hugged her, kissing her cheek. “Please tell my father to get hold of me as soon as he can. I didn’t know he was gone for the day. I must be on my way.” He kissed Mary’s cheek once more before departing to the train station.

  * * *

  John busted through the door of his home with boxes, a long-stem red rose, and a desire to embrace Hannah. His eyes quickly scanned the perimeter. The silence was deafening.

  “Hannah! Sweetheart, I’m home!” he smiled as he placed the boxes down. He walked into the kitchen. John’s grin quickly faded. He looked at the stagnant water in the sink. He covered his nose as he made his way towards the trashcan, peering inside to see rotten fruit skins and uncooked meat. The stench made his eyes water. He looked on the kitchen counter and saw a half-sliced onion, dried-out lemon wedges, and a fork with caked-on food.

  “Hannah!” John screamed out as he raced up the steps, dropping the flower behind him. Petals slowly flowed downward, resting like crimson snowflakes, leaving a bread crumb trail of his journey. He ran into his son’s bedroom to find the crib empty. John raced frantically into his bedroom. The lemon-colored sheets were disheveled and intertwined with two quilts, in a massive embroidered knot. The cherry wood nightstand was turned on its side, the contents spilled out into a colorful mess of spools of red and gold thread, a spray of sharp needles, and balls of loose yarn. A broken lamp lay near the long window, and the new burgundy curtains were half-torn, exposing a partial skyline on a beautiful day. John raced down the steps, falling midway. He stood up quickly and galloped out the front door. The wind whipped his face as his legs glided without him down the pavement. He frantically bumped into people.

  “Hey! Watch it!” yelled an angry fifty-year-old Englishman holding a bag of bread. John couldn’t catch his breath. He began to cough, his lungs filling with air then releasing quickly, his chest heaving in uneven patterns causing a shooting pain to cross by his heart like a hot dagger. He grabbed his shirt. Sweat ran profusely down his face as if it were raining. The salty perspiration mixed in with the silvery tears of anger that coated his cheeks. John bust into the police precinct. He heaved his tall body in strange jarred movements as he continued to grip his shirt. His heart was pounding
at an alarming speed. Two police officers stood up and raced in his direction.

  “You OK, partner?” one asked as he ushered John to a long, wooden bench. John’s stark-white skin was clammy. All of the blood from his body seemed to be moving frenetically to and from his heart valves. His complexion began to take on a blue cast.

  “My,” John hesitated, “my housekeeper is missing – and her son.” The two police officers looked at each other before speaking.

  “OK, when was the last time you saw her?” asked one of the officers as he sat down next to him.

  “Five nights ago. I went away on business,” John explained.

  “Is it possible she just quit?” asked one of the officers with a slight grin. John bit his tongue and restrained himself.

  “No. That’s impossible. There’s evidence of a struggle – in her bedroom. She stayed in my house.” John looked at him, trying desperately to read the officer’s mind.

  “What’s your name?” One officer asked while pulling out a piece of paper.

  “John – John Stewart.” John stood up straight. The air around him was thick. The slight smell of cigars and hot coffee filled the air. His heart began to beat more normally now, however, a deep anger was conceived and growing rapidly from the pit of his abdomen. He towered over the two officers who quickly took a defensive stance.

  “Are you two going to help me find her or not?” John asked dryly, taking out handkerchief and wiping his brow.

  “Mr. Stewart, your housekeeper was arrested four days ago for miscegenation and fornication.” John looked at the officers. He warned himself to carefully choose his words.

  “Where is she?” John asked, his tone stern and defiant.

  “She’s in jail awaiting trial,” the officer said stifling a smile.

  “Where’s my son?” John screamed.

  “He’s a little ways away at the colored orphanage. Don’t worry. He’s safe,” the officer assured.

  “Do you know who I am?” John asked calmly. The two police officers stood back and looked John up and down slowly.

  “No. Should we?” one answered sarcastically.

  “My name again is John Stewart. I’m an attorney. I’m a war veteran. I’m from Richmond, Virginia, and you’re messing with the wrong person,” John warned.

  “Are you threatening a police officer, Mr. Stewart?” one of the police officers asked as he moved closer to John. John smiled pleasantly.

  “No, I’d never do that, gentlemen. I’m simply letting you know that this was a mistake on your part, and it does not bode well for you. I hope you have job security,” John added.

  “What you’re doing is against the law! You should be thanking us for not arresting you right now!” one of the officers said as he tightened his grip on his billy club.

  “Thankful? Thankful that my tax money is paying your salary so you can arrest my wife in her home and drag her around in her bedroom forcing our son to watch before casting him away in some strange place for abandoned children? I should be thankful? Really? Are you certain of that?” John yelled.

  “The mulatto infant’s fine, Mr. Stewart.” The police officer said as he took out a couple of papers. “Look, don’t get mad at us.” The officer looked at the top of the paper. “It was reported, so we had to make the arrest. Normally…,” the police officer looked around before continuing, “normally, we just turn a blind eye to this sort of thing. If you want a little horizontal refreshment with a colored gal, that’s your business. We leave you alone, especially a man in your position, but once we get a report, we have to follow up. A Mrs. Gayle Stewart said…”

  “Gayle Stewart?” John shouted. “You received correspondence from Gayle Stewart?” John shrieked.

  “Yes, it says so right here. What is she – your sister or mother?” The officer questioned.

  “I need to bail Hannah out. Where is she so I can start the process?” John asked semi-calmly. The two police officers led John to the precinct building where he filled out a slew of paperwork. One of the police officers sat back and stared intensely at John. John looked up and made eye contact. The officer crossed his barrel shaped arms over his protruding stomach and chewed his bottom lip.

  “What is it?” John asked as he flipped the next paper over.

  “You can skip that step if you hand me some shin plasters. At this rate, it could take four or five days for her to be released. You can skip the trial and everything right now,” he said as he whispered to John.

  “I could lose my license to practice law by doing that. No thank you,” John stiffly said, annoyed. The police officer shrugged and walked away. Hours passed. John waited impatiently, only getting up to relieve himself. As the evening drew closer and the stars came out to play, he looked downward at the floor. Suddenly he heard footsteps running towards him.

  “John!” Hannah screamed. John looked up, catching her gaze like a falling star. He raced towards her, lifting her up and swinging her around. Her eyes were swollen and red. He could feel through her clothing she’d lost weight. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her firmly.

  “Are you OK?” John asked as he stepped back and looked at her closely. “Did they hurt you?” Hannah shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “No. I tried to stop them from taking the baby out of my arms, but they did it anyway and drug me to jail. Nobody hurt me, though. Where’s the baby?” Hannah looked around anxiously, quickly letting go of John.

  “Hannah, they told me he’s at the orphanage. We can…”

  “I want my son now!” Hannah exclaimed at the top of her lungs. John nodded and fastidiously escorted his wife out of the precinct. On the way, Hannah was visibly shaken. Her whole body vibrated. Her hair was disheveled and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. John drove through the back roads, trying desperately to keep Hannah calm. The trees held on desperately to their few leaves. Some were still green, others were dying but beautifully so, brandishing colors of gold, ruby, and emerald hues with touches of shimmering bronze. Hannah looked out, daydreaming and wringing her hands. Her stomach growled, but she did not take any notice.

  “Here it is,” he said two hours later. They both stepped out of the wagon. Hannah walked briskly towards the large, gray building. Her weakened state did not stop her urgent movements. John chased behind her as she ascended the huge, numerous concrete steps. Hannah reached the front door and tugged on it. She quickly turned around towards John and yelled, “It’s locked.” John was soon at her side. He put his hands around his eyes and pressed his face up to the cloudy glass, looking inside. He saw a long hallway with lanterns, several large bookcases, and a bin that appeared to be filled with toys. He began to pound on the door. This went on for over two minutes but felt like an eternity to Hannah. A large, robust Black woman teetered towards the door. She wore all black with a thick cross around her neck. She looked at John and Hannah without opening the door.

  “We’re closed. You will need to come back tomorrow” she said suspiciously.

  “Our son is in there,” informed John. “I’m an attorney. My wife was unfairly arrested, and he was sent here!” he screamed more loudly to ensure she heard him through the glass. The woman looked apprehensively at both of them again, then dug into her pocket and pulled out a large ring of keys. She opened the door slowly, not taking her eyes off them.

  “Please, come inside.” She stepped away, allowing Hannah and John to pass her.

  “My name’s Mattie. I manage the evening shift here at the colored orphanage.”

  “My name’s John Stewart, and this is my wife, Hannah,” he said as he extended his hand to Mattie. She declined. She looked at Hannah intensely before turning away and leading the couple into a small office. “Please, have a seat,” she said mildly. Mattie pulled out several files.

  “What’s your son’s name?” she asked as she slid on a pair of reading glasses.

  “Jonathan Abraham Stewart.”

  “I assume he’s mulatto?�
�

  “Yes,” Hannah said anxiously. Mattie silently flipped through various papers.

  “Here he is,” she said quietly. She read over the paper and then looked up hesitantly at Hannah. Hannah folded her hands in her lap and tapped her foot impatiently. Mattie looked back down and continued to read the information. The only sound heard was the tick-tocking of a grandfather clock.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah asked, standing up abruptly.

  “Mrs. Stewart – Mr. Stewart, it appears that your son has already been placed for adoption. A couple came here two days ago and wanted him. I didn’t handle the case, but according to this paperwork, he’s already in the process of being legally adopted. He’s with the new family now. At this point, it’s out of our hands,” Mattie explained.

  “What! This is impossible!” John yelled. “Give me the people’s names and address.”

  “Mr. Stewart, I can’t do that,” Mattie responded. Hannah glared at Mattie.

  “How can you give our baby away? He wasn’t an orphan. You were supposed to keep him temporarily. A couple strangers walk into your orphanage, and you just hand him over! He’s mine!” Hannah screamed and lunged towards Mattie attempting to get the papers out of her hands. John quickly took his wife by the waist, holding her close to him as she convulsed and screamed, her body still lurching towards Mattie violently. Hannah suddenly turned towards John like a writhing snake.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Hannah looked at John, a deep anger seeping into her eyes he’d never seen before. Hannah pushed John’s hands off her as she ran towards the front door, leaving Mattie and John standing there silently.

  “Mr. Stewart, I’m very sorry about this misunderstanding. We were told that the child had been abandoned and that the parents couldn’t be located.”