The Slave Master's Son

by Laveen, Tiana

  “John always said you had a good head on your shoulders and raw talent. You’re proving him right daily. That’s quite an accomplishment, Hannah. Especially while juggling a husband and a baby as well as the home. John tells me he’s never missed a meal, that you’re a good wife, and attentive despite these extracurricular activities. You appear self sufficient and gifted. You surely will be a good influence on your offspring,” he added as he coughed into the warm fabric. Hannah nodded and continued to slowly eat her late dinner. After the feast, Mary rose from her chair and brought out the peach cobbler. She placed it atop the table and sliced into it, removing thick, hot pieces onto the individual plates. Everyone again ate quietly.

  An understanding filled the room. Each person looked at one another, making mental marks of the evening. There was full comprehension that just the way the evening was would never exist again. The realization was painfully obvious, begging for acceptance, acknowledgement, and nonverbal discussion. No one dared uttered the words, however. Somehow speaking it’d make the surrealism into a stark reality that no one, except Master Stewart was willing to accept let alone embrace. He looked over at his son. He watched John’s eyes glaze over twice. He watched as he strained to regain his emotions and continue on, business a usual. He looked over at Hannah. She was intensely studying John. The look of helplessness consumed her. He only wondered if he’d see his second grandchild before it was all over. Master Stewart turned to Jonathan, sleeping snuggly on the floor and wrapped up in the warmth of the house and the blankets. His thick curls were in disarray and a look of total peace was painted on his soft, buttery skin.

  Finally, Master Stewart turned to Mary. As usual, she looked strong. Her face rarely told her true feelings. She’d learned repression from an early age. Under the exterior, under that rich, velvety skin were timeless secrets, keys to the past, questions of the present and uncloaked shadows of the future. Mary was a fable. She was the truth. She was a walking lie. She was a mirror to the souls of others. She was kindness and warmth and repressed hatred from decades ago. She embodied the mental slavery and emotional servitude. She never was free in her mind, though she pretended to be. That’s all she felt Hannah needed. If she could pretend to be OK, that would make Hannah OK. Mary was overwhelmingly proud of her daughter, to the point that she honestly believed every near death experience, every rape, every beating, lashing, and smack across her smooth face and full lips became worth it in order to ensure that her daughter was here, safe and secure. Mary looked at Hannah’s stomach and grinned.

  Master Stewart couldn’t read her thoughts at that moment, but in that space in time, if he could, he would’ve heard, “You wasn’t born free. You free now, though. That boy of yours is free. My grandbaby in your womb is free. Your tears are the salt of the earth. With them, new hope’s sprung. We sit here with the slave master, eating at his table. I on one end – he on another. All the other slaves are gone. It just me, Master Stewart, his son and hidden mistress, and my dear Hannah. Though he never lay with me, we understand that I’m his and he’s mine. What a difference a day makes. What a difference the Lord makes. I want to scream. I want to scream into the clouds and give glory to God for giving my daughter what I always wanted but never could have.”

  “I don’t know where my other children are. The pain of the memory is too much for me to bear, but I thank you, Lord, for leavin’ me one, just one. Look at my hands. They’ve been worked to the bone. Look at my daughter’s hands. I see a weddin’ band shinin’ like a pair of new shoes and two small, dark-red spots on her fingertips that she got from stickin’ herself with a needle, no doubt. She got paid for that blood. She got to be with who she loved. Though her life wasn’t easy, not one iota, all is well that ends well.”

  * * *

  Hannah made her way back into the house, lugging Jonathan inside. She breathed heavily as she quickly made him a meal then proceeded to unpack. John was still in Richmond, by his father’s side. That morning soon turned to night, then night to day. Hannah feverishly sewed creating masterpieces that looked as if they were made of spun gold, silver and emeralds. Opal had a knack for sneaking some of her old jewelry that she no longer cared for in Hannah’s bag or pretending to leave it at Hannah’s home. Hannah would sometimes use them as embellishment for the expensive handmade dresses ordered which put a bright smile on Opal’s face.

  Though Opal wasn’t in the least domestic, she had a knack for making the best lemonade Hannah had ever had. She refused to reveal her secret but assured it was also good for her health. Opal would sometimes stand in Hannah’s kitchen, stirring a large pitcher of lemonade while Hannah had strewn material all over the bedroom, causing it to resemble a spider web only they were in colors of crimson and violet. Sometimes Opal would play with Jonathan, getting on all fours or allowing him to ride her back as she pretended to gallop like a horse. Hannah always doubled over with laughter when she’d watch the scene play out. It helped make the days and nights easier while John was still away.

  One evening, Opal spent the night. She stood in back of Hannah and gathered her hair, stroking her tresses before loosely braiding them into an updo, pinned with real gold hair pins. She handed Hannah a mirror. Hannah gasped. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “I told you that your hair was beautiful. Yours is thicker than mine, so it will stay in place.” Opal helped Hannah put Jonathan to bed. The two women returned to the dinning room, drinking midnight cups of tea and polishing off the delectable lemonade.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” Opal asked as she studied Hannah’s face, her arm lying lazily over the side of the chair.

  “Terribly,” Hannah admitted. She winced as she felt a swift kick and relaxed as it subsided.

  “It’s been a long time – three weeks now,” Opal added. “It’ll be alright, Hannah. It’s important that he spend this time with his father,” Opal explained.

  “I know,” Hannah said weakly. “I just wish I could be there with him – with them all, actually – my mother and Master Stewart.” Opal rested her head on her hand.

  “Hannah, stop callin’ that man ‘Master Stewart!’” she cackled. “I know that he was at one time, but that man is your father-in-love, Sweetheart. I say ‘father-in-love’ instead of father-in-law because your and my marriages aren’t recognized by the law of course. From what you’ve told me, he simply adores you even though I can’t phantom getting over what he put you two through so quickly. Nevertheless, the poor old man is dying and looks to me, by the assistance of tracking down your little one, that he’s earnestly tried to make amends. That’s more than what some can say,” she smiled reassuringly.

  “I suppose at this point it’s just a form of respect and such a habit. I doubt I’ll ever stop calling him that. I don’t hate him for when he sent me away. He thought he was protecting John. I did detest him at the time – that’s for certain. But as time’s passed, I really do know that old man’s heart,” Hannah smiled, wiping several tears away. Opal hugged Hannah tightly before hurriedly removing her lilac dress. She stood still, in her white brassiere and panties, and laid a blanket on the living room floor, fluffed the pillow she’d brought from her lavish home and fell fast asleep. Hannah looked at her and smiled weakly.

  “Thanks for being here,” she whispered before falling asleep alongside her beloved friend. That morning Hannah cooked scrambled eggs. Opal played with Jonathan in between quick bites.

  “Opal, do you think you and I have any of the same interests? I’m confused because we act as if we’ve known each other for years. I’m closer to you than even some of the girls I grew up with. We seem from different worlds, though. Why do you think that is?” Hannah asked as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. Opal picked up her cup of coffee, holding the mug with both hands and she lifted it to her pouty lips.

  “I believe you and I are more similar than you imagine, Hannah,” Opal responded as she grinned playfully at Jonathan. “You don’t know who your father is. I don’t know wh
o mine is. I did see my biological mother twice, though.” Opal’s thoughts trailed away.

  “We both adore clothes,” Hannah laughed.

  “We have good taste in men. We both aren’t traditional or conventional in the sense of our beliefs and what we do, yet we make our husbands feel we are,” Opal smiled slyly. “I could continue, but I hope that that helps illustrate that we’re in fact more similar than you may have contemplated initially.” Hannah shook her head in agreement.

  “Opal, you just seem to understand me. I think you’re beautiful, funny, and smart. You’ve told me so much about your life and I feel especially proud that you and I met,” Hannah complimented.

  “Now don’t go getting all mushy on me, woman!” Opal teased. “I knew I had found a diamond in the rough when you opened your mouth and that beautiful voice came out.” Hannah laughed.

  “Thank you.”

  “I heard you sing Jonathan to sleep last night after we took him up to his room. You’re just housing a multitude of talents. Hannah, you may appear quiet and docile to some, but I know you – your husband does too. Your mind is constantly thinking and you have a mean streak if you’re pushed too far. We’re cut from the same cloth,” Opal nodded and smiled.

  “Now, you received the telegram this morning that John will be returning in a week. In that timeframe, we’re going to decorate this house fabulously. We’re going to get you dolled up for his arrival and he’s going to think he just stepped into Heaven! First, I need to get home and take care of some things, but I’ll be back this evening. Get out the buckets and rags. Get out the flour to bake some delicious bread. Get out that sewing machine. I’m going to teach you a thing or two!” Opal slid on her shoes, kissed Jonathan on the forehead and hurried out the front door, waving behind her as the white feathers on her new hat swayed lazily behind her saying their farewell.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 22

  “I can’t do that!” Hannah giggled. “Look how big I am, Opal! What do I look like making an outfit such as that, with lace, feathers and pearls? I’ll look like a dolled up duck,” Hannah teased herself. Opal burst out laughing.

  “Silly girl! No you won’t. That man worships you. I want you to copy this to the letter. Of course change the colors how you see fit,” Opal instructed as she flung her negligee in Hannah’s shocked face. “Despite my pampered lifestyle, Hannah, I do know how to clean and care for the basics. So while you’re doing this, I’m going to clean your already immaculate kitchen and then head down to the corner store to get some odds and ends for decoration. Don’t you move a toe.” Opal pinned her hair in place and stormed out of the house as if she were on fire.

  Hannah sat at her sewing machine in utter confusion. She looked to her right and watched the sun ease down slowly, waving goodbye to the clouds, the treetops, and the tall buildings before being tucked in for the night. It was brilliant in shades of orange and pink, flashing its soft light for the last of that day, wishing everyone farewell. She turned back to her sewing machine and held up the flimsy garment.

  “I haven’t the slightest notion where Opal would’ve purchased such a thing. I’ve only heard of such attire but never laid eyes on such a sight,” Hannah laughed to herself. She then pulled out pieces of dark purple fabric and white trim, going to work, laughing between stitches so often she sometimes had to stop and catch her breath. Before she knew it, Opal was slamming her front door, tearing her kitchen to bits as she shoved hot water, vinegar, and lemon juice around. Hannah heard cabinet doors opening and closing, a broom and off-key singing. Before long, Jonathan was asleep in his room and Hannah was still sewing away. Opal tiredly ascended the steps. Hannah turned around to face her. Opal’s hairline was plastered to her face. Beads of sweat accumulated on her brow and her delicately pinned up hair, now looked like a partially melted ice cream cone.

  “OK, Mrs. Stewart, “Opal said out of breath, “you have to come down and see this,” Opal breathed heavily. Hannah eagerly rose from her sewing machine and followed Opal down her steps. To her left, she saw a beautiful display of canary and crimson flowers. To her right were two new large paintings that looked as if they belonged in a French museum. Opal took Hannah’s hand and walked her into the living room. A new shiny rug, rich in color and depth, lay on the floor along with a small statue of a child with wings. To accent the already spectacular window treatments that Hannah had created, Opal took thick, shiny white ropes and tied them around the curtains, drawing them to the sides.

  “What’s that smell?” Hannah asked pleasantly. Opal pointed to a pretty glass bowl with crushed cinnamon in it. Inside, she’d placed small sea shells and shiny rocks. Opal then led Hannah to the dining room. A beautifully intricate table cloth covered the long table. It was a creamy ivory with gold, blue and red thick trim. Three large paintings were on the wall, all of them picking up the colors from the table cloth. Lastly, they went into the kitchen. Hannah gasped. It smelled like lemons and clean air. The window was partially opened and the early evening sky brought its refreshing, mysterious scent all wrapped up in a swirl of refreshment as it kissed the lemon particles floating about. On the kitchen counter was another large vase of wild flowers and a giant paper bag.

  “Opal, you’ve outdone yourself.” Hannah shook her head in disbelief.

  “Now look in the bag,” Opal instructed. Hannah opened the bag and saw an expensive assortment of cigars, a bottle of John’s favorite whiskey, perfume, and two long, silver hairpins that had swans for adornment. Hannah squeezed Opal tightly.

  “You want to make his home coming just perfect, don’t you?” she sobbed. Opal patted Hannah’s back.

  “This is what friends do. You’ve been beside yourself with worry, and I felt that my expertise would find you in good standing this evening. I do have a way with men, and I know what they want. I’ve had years of experience.” Opal rolled her eyes while smiling devilishly.

  “Now, let’s get your bedroom dolled up. Go on and finish that number and I’ll take care of everything.” Hannah walked back up the steps while Opal laid out the whiskey, placed the cigars on a platter and set them in the living room, then came up the steps with another bag she’d laid by the entrance. While Hannah continued to sew, Opal changed the bed linens, adorned the bedroom curtains with ropes as well, hung a large gold framed painting of a lake and put a new lipstick on Hannah’s dresser along with the hair pins.

  “Hannah, how are your wifely duties?” Hannah turned around and faced Opal.

  “What you sayin’? I beg your pardon? I know you ain’t said what I think you said.” Hannah’s mouth was open in disbelief. Opal laughed, holding her stomach. She shook her finger.

  “Hannah, one thing I love about you is that you speak prim and proper for as long as you can, but if you’re overly energetic, surprised or mad, Richmond, Virginia comes out, and a bunch of discombobulated Negro slang that no one can barely understand.” Opal continued to laugh while Hannah shushed her and rolled her eyes.

  “Are you giving your husband everything he needs is what I’m asking,” Opal said as she placed her hand on her hip.

  “I s’pose so. When he ask for it, I usually give it to him.” Hannah answered seriously. She felt her whole body get warm with embarrassment.

  “What about now?” Opal asked.

  “Well, I’m…”

  “That has nothing to do with it. Your husband is hurting, Hannah. When he comes home, approach him. He may not approach you, but he may need it,” Opal informed as she picked up the empty bags. “Give Jonathan a kiss for me. I’m going to give you some space so you can get yourself together and be with your husband when he gets back in a few days. If you need me, you know where I am.” Opal smiled and winked, then slowly went down the steps, closing the door gently behind her.

  * * *

  Hannah put the finishing touches on her hair. She couldn’t help but think that the shiny, silver swans in her hair were a bit overboard. She sat at the vanity and rolled up the lipstick. It was a
rich, deep red.

  “Mama would say this is what harlots wear,” Hannah giggled to herself as she traced her upper lip, just as Opal had taught her and then the bottom. She slid on the tiny diamond drop earrings Opal once again conveniently left behind and sprayed the rich, sweet and musky perfume behind her ears, on her neck and her wrists. She slid the negligee on she’d made. She looked at herself and laughed. Her large stomach protruded and her ample bosom overflowed. The neckline plunged, showing enough cleavage to drown in. Hannah put her hand to her mouth coyly as she turned around and looked over her shoulder into the mirror. Tiny giggles escaped her ruby red mouth. She heard the door. Hannah’s nerve almost gave way. She finally went down the steps after checking on Jonathan to ensure he was in his room playing with the door closed. Hannah walked slowly in the shiny shoes Opal had let her borrow. She stood to the side of the door and saw her husband walk in. Initially he did not notice her.

  “Hannah! Hannah! We’re home!” John shouted. Hannah’s face contorted.

  “We?” she thought frantically. John turned and faced her. The color in his face disappeared as he looked at her up and down. Just then, Master Stewart ushered his cane past the threshold. He looked at John then over at Hannah, covering his mouth with his handkerchief.

  “Well, Hannah,” Master Stewart said with a wide smile, “that sure is some get-up you have on,” he laughed. John quickly escorted his father to the guest bedroom, leaving Hannah standing there, half-naked, face made-up, swans sticking sharply out of her hair, and the door wide open allowing the brisk late-afternoon air to laugh at her too. Hannah slammed the door, hurried up the steps and quickly closed the master bedroom door behind her. As she began to scrub the lipstick off, the bedroom door slowly opened. John stood there for a moment, lingering, with his arms crossed. He then broke out in a grin and then uncontrollable, loud laughter.