Tea and Tomahawks

by Dahlia Dewinters

  A pulse beat at the base of his neck. His hair was tousled, like a little boy’s, but even in his sleep, his face held the hard lines of cruelty.

  Annie imagined herself going down to the kitchen and selecting one of her grandmother’s wickedly sharp knives. She would then creep back upstairs, slide into bed and stab him twice. Once in the stomach, then the final slice across the neck.

  The blood would flow red against the white linen sheets as he gasped and gurgled his last breaths. The life-light, his evil essence, would seep out of his eyes until he was dead.

  Then she would be able to live again.

  Realizing she was panting with the visceral image painted by her imagination, Annie threw back the covers and slid out of bed. Restless, she paced over the soft, thick rug and tried to banish the murderous thoughts from mind. What was she turning into?

  Too wired to go to back to bed, she crept downstairs to the parlor.

  The Village Realm…

  “Come, come.” The older woman grabbed Mattie’s arm and pulled her toward the crowd that had formed in the center of the village.

  From what she could gather, a new set of reclaimed people were coming in. Mattie always held her breath when a new group was brought back to the camp. Often, husbands, brothers, and sons were lost on these missions. Her gaze scanned the crowd of tired faces until she spotted Haiola helping a man limp into the village. Only then was she able to focus on what the old woman was saying.

  “Many babies and small ones. We need your help.”

  Sure enough, there were at least seven children with this crew, and several of the exhausted mothers carried babies tied to their bosom.

  Without hesitation, Mattie reached for the nearest woman with an infant. The faster she got them rested and fed, the faster they would be able to take care of their babies again. The journey from slavery to freedom was hard on many of them. “Come with me. Come, sit and have water and food.”

  Tears streamed down the woman’s dark face.

  Mattie bit her lip for fear she would cry in sympathy. She knew what it was to be lost, hopeless and alone. Now it was her turn to make the woman feel safe. “What is your name, chat-ske?” Chat-ske was the term used for mother, young or old.

  “Betty,” she said, sobbing. “Oh, I am so tired.”

  “Betty.” Mattie guided her to a seat in front of the fire. “Betty. Sit.” Using her name seemed to make her pay attention.

  The baby cried, a tiny mewling sound against its mother’s breast.

  “Betty, what is the baby’s name?”

  “Abraham.”

  Mattie took some water and cornbread from the tray of Talisa, who was about ten years old. She offered the food to Betty. “Eat now, so you can feed your baby.” She indicated the iron pot next to the fire. “There is venison stew when you are ready.”

  The woman sobbed still. “They killed my husband and tried to take my baby. Nursed the master’s children but ain’t got no milk for my own. He’s dying.”

  Mattie clasped her hand in combined anger and helplessness. Too many times, she had heard the same story. Her heart ached in sympathy. “Betty. Give me little Abe. We have milk for him.”

  Betty’s hands trembled as she tried to undo the cloth sling holding the baby to her body.

  “Let me.” With nimble fingers, Mattie untied the knots and cradled the baby in her arms. She winced at its light weight and hoped it wasn’t too late. “Talisa!” The little girl hurried over and she handed her the little bundle. “Take him to Nila. Quick, now. Wake her if you must.”

  The little girl nodded and bore the precious cargo off.

  She knelt in front of the newly freed slave. “Betty, Nila is nursing, and she can feed little Abe. Everything will be all right.” Again, she offered the cloth-wrapped cornbread. The woman needed her strength. “Now you must eat.”

  Bettie reached out and took the bread. After the first, reluctant bite, she devoured the rest and picked up the crumbs with a moistened finger.

  Mattie placed the cup of water in her hands. “Drink now and rest. Little Abe will be good. Nila will nurse him.”

  Betty drank half the water in one swallow. “Nila?”

  Mattie nodded. “She will nurse Abe. He will get the milk he needs.”

  Betty’s eyes were already closing from exhaustion. Now that her baby was being taken care of, she too could rest.

  What a journey they must have had! She had heard stories of slaves coming to them from as far away as northern Georgia. She grimaced as she stood, wondering how long the U.S. Army would allow this drain on the Southern resources. She suspected not very long.

  Haiola came over to her then, put his arm around her waist and dipped his head to kiss her neck. “Mattie,” he whispered against her cheek. “I have missed my wife.” He steered her toward their chicksee. “The newcomers are settled. Now we have some time to ourselves.”

  Leaning against his firm, solid body, Mattie nodded. “Yes, we do.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The following weekend…

  The three-hour drive took four and by the time he got to the house, he was looking forward to a drink, dinner and to see what his wife had been up to. Maybe the rest had done her good, made her more tolerable.

  But that was not to be. Even before he shut off the engine, he saw her, sitting on the wooden steps in jeans and a t-shirt. He squeezed the steering wheel in both hands, hoping he would be able to control himself until they were in the privacy of their room.

  She looked like she was on her way to a rap concert as she made her way over to the car.

  “You put your hair in twists.”

  Annie touched her hair as if she didn’t realize the style had changed. “Oh, yes. It was too hard to keep it up the other way.”

  “You don’t remember what I told you?”

  Then his wife did the strangest thing. She pressed her lips together and gave him a look that made her look like the old bitch. She dropped her gaze to her hands and shrugged. “I guess I forgot,” she said softly. “You don’t like it?”

  He climbed the three steps to the porch and brushed past her. “I hate it. You look like a common nig—”

  “Like a common what, boy?” The old woman’s voice cut him off.

  He could just make out a dark shape behind the screen door. She must have been hovering, listening to their whole conversation.

  Richard forced a pleasant smile to his face. “Lise. Good to see you.” He climbed the porch stairs and took his wife’s arm. He marched her past the old lady with the intent of taking her upstairs and questioning her more closely about her ethnic hairstyle.

  However, the old bat seemed to sense his intentions. “Why don’t you take some time for yourself, freshen up after such a long drive.” She sounded almost friendly. “I need Annie to help me with getting dinner on the table.”

  Reluctantly, he released his wife’s arm and was annoyed at how quickly she ran to her Grandmother’s side, helping her into the kitchen area without so much as a backward glance.

  He watched them walk into the hallway, away from him. From the kitchen, the crinkling of paper bags and the relaxed feminine chatter mocked him. Frowning, he climbed the stairs alone.

  ~* * * *~

  Dining with the two of them, with their inside jokes and chatter about people he didn’t know, was such a task that he excused himself, choosing instead to sample the bottle of twenty-year-old Scotch he found in the parlor bar. The rest of the evening was spent drinking and starting at that damned painting, which looked like a cheap paint by the numbers project.

  The two women came in from their evening walk.

  Annie peeked in at him and indicated she was going to bed. Her tone was cautious and apologetic.

  He didn’t even bother to look at her as he continued to sip at the smoky amber liquid until his rage built to its breaking point. Annie hadn’t learned her lesson. She needed a refresher course.

  An hour later, as the liquor gave him co
urage, he felt giddy with strength. Miss Annie would get a lesson tonight that she wouldn’t soon forget.

  Richard stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching his wife sleep. She looked the picture of innocence lying there, but he knew what was in her heart. He’d lay money on the fact that she had a secret boyfriend who visited her during the week, pleasuring her in the same bed that he slept in on the weekends.

  In two strides, he was over by the bed. “Get up.” He yanked the covers off her and pulled at her nightgown.

  She tumbled out of bed and made a small sound when she hit the floor. Her expression was dazed as she tried to get to her feet.

  He knelt beside her and whispered in her ear, “I want to talk to you. You make one sound, and the old hag gets it.” It wasn’t like dear Grandmother wasn’t going to get it anyway, but he had to take care of Annie first.

  The sleepy, confused look on her face made him feel better. It made him feel like he was in control again. She was his wife…he should be in control. He pulled at her arm. “Get up.” Fueled by anger and hatred, he threw her against the mattress. Her behavior towards him could not go unpunished.

  The twists on her head, standing up every which way, enraged him further. He had specifically asked her not to change her hair, but she had gone her way, done her own thing. What else had she taken the liberty of doing under the influence of dear old Grandmother? The woman’s meddling was going to come to an end tonight.

  “Richard, please?” She kept her voice low. “Please don’t do this. Grandmother might hear.”

  “Which is why you aren’t going to make any noise.” He reached for his belt buckle, unable to contain his glee at her fearful expression. “Even though this is going to hurt.”

  ~* * * *~

  Annie closed her eyes. When Richard got like this, there was no reasoning with him. Better to take the beating. She shoved her face into the mattress, muffling her cries of pain. She didn’t know what was more humiliating, being whipped by her husband or having her grandmother find out.

  Panting and out of breath, he pulled her limp body to her feet.

  She had no more fight in her.

  “You’re going to learn, Annie. My rules, wherever you are. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes...yes.” Her hands trembled as she wiped the tears from her face. Why couldn’t she be stronger when she needed to be? Sometimes, she felt she could take his head off, other times she was so afraid. “I understand.”

  “If I even get a whiff of you telling your grandmother anything that went on here...”

  “I won’t say a word, I promise. Please...” Annie touched him on the arm. “Please, may I have some aspirin?”

  “Of course.” He went to the bathroom and brought her two white pills and a cup of water. “Anything for my Annie.” He kissed her temple. “Lie down. You’ll feel better.” He spoke to her as if she had a cold.

  Still trembling, she lay on her stomach on the bed, praying the aspirin would work quickly enough on the searing pain on her back and legs. Soon enough, she fell into a restless sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Village Realm…

  “Mama!”

  “Shhh,” Mattie rocked the little girl in her arms, smoothing her curly hair back from the pecan-colored forehead. The child couldn’t have been more than five and was dressed in a flour sack. “Mama is resting. You’re with me now.”

  “But I want Mama!” The child began to cry.

  Mattie patted her back and did her best to soothe her, humming snatches of a melody she’d heard around the village. “You be a good girl and let Mama rest. She’ll be so happy.”

  The girl’s mother was sick, affected by the fever that attacked some escaped slaves unused to the heavy air and mosquitoes of the Everglades. She would be fine in a few days, but until then it was up to Mattie and the other Seminole women to take care of her children as the mother recuperated.

  “Mama rest?” Her dark brown eyes peered into hers.

  “Yes, Mama rest, so you do too, little one.” Mattie lay the girl down on a cotton pallet. “Go to sleep.”

  Soon, the little girl was asleep on her side with her thumb in her mouth.

  Just then, the next woman to take the shift tending to the little girl and her mother arrived.

  Mattie rose from her kneeling position and made her way to her chicksee. She removed her glass bead necklaces and lay down next to the sleeping male form on the pallet. Pushing her face to his chest, she inhaled his earthy scent and was comforted, as always. She was his, and he was hers.

  “Mattie,” he murmured, drawing her closer. “What good works you do for the village.”

  She slid her hands against his warm chest. “I work out of thankfulness. If your people hadn’t freed me, I would still be a slave.”

  “Yes, my wife. I am thankful that I was able to free you.” He kissed her forehead. “Or I would still be a lonely man.”

  Mattie played with her husband’s dark curls, an expression of his mixed Black Seminole heritage. When he wasn’t out rescuing escaped and wandering slaves, they worked their tasks in the village. Mattie and the other women tended to the sick and young and gathered fruit and vegetables while the men hunted and tended the livestock.

  Runaway slaves were never turned away. Instead, they were integrated into the village, like she was, and shown Seminole customs and way of life.

  Haiola kissed her neck and slid his hand to her breast. A wave of longing pulsed through her, so unlike the feelings of terror she experienced when Richard touched her. She melted against him, letting the simple pleasure of being caressed with such tenderness relax her.

  “Mattie. Cheh moka is cheh. I love you.” He breathed softly against her cheek when he entered her. “You are my forever.”

  “And you are mine,” she whispered, accepting her husband with pleasure.

  The next morning, she woke alone. Haiola had gone into the swamp to be sure there were no other wandering runaway slaves. Some would wander in circles and die of thirst. Others would fall prey to the many hazards of the swamp such as alligators, snakes, and other animals. In addition, it seemed that the slave owners never gave up, risking their lives to regain their human property.

  Didn’t they know people were not property that they were all taken care of by the Great Spirit?

  After dressing, and slipping her necklaces over her head, she walked past several chicksees, nodding her head in greeting at the other women of the village. Feeding the chickens was one of her least favorite chores, but she hummed the cradle song from last night as she scattered corn feed. Pecking at the ground, the smelly birds clucked around her bare feet, and she brushed her hands on her long skirt before leaving the area.

  She checked in with Shana, the runaway slave that had been so sickly the night before. To her delight, the older woman was sitting up and sipping on the broth made from chicken stew.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  The woman’s dark face broke into a smile. “Miss Mattie, so many thanks for taking care of me and my babies. So happy to be gone from that place. Free. I am free.” Tears ran down her face, and she grabbed Mattie’s hand. “God will bless you, yes, he will bless you.”

  Mattie wiped away tears of her own and squeezed the woman’s hand. Emotion welled in her chest, and she swallowed to keep herself from hysterical tears. She, too, had been saved, set free. Vaguely, she recalled a time when she was in bondage, a slave to a tyrannical husband’s whims. No matter that she had everything, a luxurious house, money, and fancy cars. All of that was dust because she hadn’t been free. “I am already blessed, Shana. Believe that.” She gave the older woman a hug. “Now you keep on getting better.”

  A commotion caught her attention at the edge of the village. Haiola’s group had returned. She patted Shana’s shoulder and walked quickly to the group, looking for her husband. “Haiola!” Mattie threw her arms around him. “I missed you.”

  “Chahiwah…my wife.” He lifted her o
ff the ground and nuzzled his face in her neck. “I am here now.”

  ~* * * *~

  Richard watched his wife sleep, fingering the horrid twists in her hair. He wanted to grab scissors and hack them off, but he controlled himself. He got up and went into the bathroom and flipped on the light switch, then exited the bathroom by the hall door. Quickly, he made his way to the second-floor landing to wait. He had waited long enough. Time to put his plan in motion.

  The house groaned in concert with the near hurricane force winds. Cold perspiration tickled his neck, and he swiped at it with an impatient flick of his hand. Unwavering in his mission, he waited in the heavy gloom at the turn of the staircase. The salty fragrance of the ocean made his nostrils twitch, and if he held his breath, the crash of the waves against the shore thundered in his ears.

  When he relaxed his lungs, the breaths came hot and fast, impeding his ability to hear. The old woman was as quiet as a cat when she wanted to be, and he knew he had only one chance.

  There it was, the slight hissing sound of an old hand sliding along the polished wooden banister. The stairs allowed her to mount them in near silence, as if they knew the old bitch needed their cooperation.

  Lise paused to take a breath at the next to last step.

  He stepped forward into the murky light glowing through the small staircase window. “Lise.”

  She glanced up at him, and her face did not register surprise, only annoyance. “You. Get out of my way.”

  Richard shook his head, unable to prevent a smile of triumph from creeping over his face. The old woman was as good as gone now. “Not this time, Lise. You get out of mine.” With that, he put both hands on the old woman’s shoulders and pushed. He had miscalculated how tight her grip was on the banister, and she only stumbled back two steps before recovering.