Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  In other words, he was given special authority to take good people to good places and bad people to bad places after they die. But, this being stopped obeying orders and decided to end the lives of people before it has been decreed or ordered by the source of his Authority.”

  “What is that Authority?”

  “You mean ‘Who is the Authority?’ You encountered the Authority briefly before your resurrection: the One and Only Almighty God.”

  “Now, that the lesson is over, I was wondering if I could ask you a question, sir”

  “You and your questions, boy! You never did obey that order. Proceed.”

  “If you have the use of your imagination and you could control everything, how come you never went inside of the mansion on the plantation?”

  “I do not have many good memories associated with mansions. I told you I was born into slavery. My most painful experiences are associated with the existence of mansions.”

  “As I said earlier, I was born into slavery, and my childhood was plagued with uncomfortable events. I remember as a child, I asked my father if I could go inside of the mansion. He answered my question by beating me, unmercifully. I did not understand what I had done wrong until I began to realize what happened to slaves who tried to do things Whites did. It was not that I necessarily did anything wrong, but my father wanted me to understand that if a slave or a someone black aspired to have or do things that many prosperous whites did, the results could be very devastating for the slave or black making the attempt.

  I had to work in the plantations in all types of weather. It did not matter whether we were sick or not unless we were gravely ill and the plantation’s owner risked losing a profit. The weather could have been freezing during the harvest, and we were still expected to work as normal, while the slave owners and their families sat comfortably in their luxurious abodes. I am not by any means trying to tell you that working inside of the house was a picnic for many slaves, either.

  My mother used to have to work in the house at all hours, scrubbing all surfaces that could be seen, cleaning all manner of items, cooking various types of food. It was not as simple as working for a period of time and then leaving. If neither the master nor his wife were satisfied with the work, she would either have to do it, again, or she would get beaten. Unfortunately, the master’s wife did not have a good sense of fairness.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “She would purposefully do things to intentionally make my mother’s work harder. The master of the house had a partiality toward my mother that made his wife extremely jealous. She would constantly interfere with my mother’s ability to complete the different chores and the cooking. The woman was very malicious. The irony was my mother did not want to have the master’s attention, but he liked her appearance more than that of his own wife.

  Apparently, his wife knew about it, and my mother was never the same. It was common for the wife to involve herself with my mother’s tasks, but one day was particularly trying. The master of the house ordered my mother to cook all of the meals and clean the house from top to bottom because a very distinguished guest was coming over for dinner. My mother must have scrubbed every surface from the ceiling to the floor of each room. She finished the house at least one hour before it was time for the diplomat to arrive.

  My mother came back to the cabin where we were staying on the plantation to rest. An hour later, she returned to the mansion to see the diplomat giving the master a very disapproving glance. The master immediately directed his angry gaze at my mother. She was at a loss for understanding until she saw his wife giving her a sheepish grin along with her daughters. My mother quickly rushed into the house only to have the greatest shock of her life.

  All manners of blemishes, marks, and stains covered the walls from the foyer to the back of the house. My mother saw the master walking behind her, and she rushed to him only to find herself lying on the floor after a vicious blow to the face followed by several pounding blows to the ribs with the heel of his boot. He proceeded to beat her with all kinds of blows that could be inflicted from one person to another. His amused wife and daughters looked upon her misery as though they were attending a carnival. The master would retain my mother overnight nearly every night despite her finishing her tasks, daily. I would not see her until the following morning. She was nearly too tired to do anything else for her family.

  “So what happened?”

  “I am getting to that. I would usually see her at our quarters in the morning to get some sleep for a couple of hours before the master would require her services, again. She was always tired and exhausted. Any other time, I would have been upset with her for not spending time with me as a child or my father, but I knew what she was going through because we all had to endure some degree of it in one fashion or another. I really felt sorry for my mother.

  My father and I always looked at the master with squinted eyes without his noticing. I would usually see my mother coming to our cabin after she had been working in the house for an extensive period. I did not see her that morning. Sometimes, some of the slaves would get items they were not supposed to have such as books, candy, cigars, and other treats. Sometimes, they would store it in places they knew the master would not go such as the tool shed or woods around the plantation.

  I saw some men carrying a really large bag to the shed. The older slaves told all of the boys to stay away from it. I figured it would have been a nice distraction from what happened. I decided to go to the shed with a lit torch when everyone else on the plantation was supposed to be sleeping. I went into the shed to see where the bag was hidden. I must have scrambled for it all night.

  I was frustrated until I noticed the ground was mostly soil. I saw a patch of soil that had been disturbed, recently. I eagerly dug into the ground until I saw what I thought I was looking for. I decided to cut into the cloth that was surrounding the contents to get an immediate view of what I thought I would be enjoying. I finally got through the cloth to its contents. I was definitely surprised, but it was not pleasant. I saw matted hair, with red stains and lesions on pale, brown skin. I was not prepared for what I discovered next. I realized that I did not see my mother that morning because I was never going to see her alive, again; however, I did see her when I opened the black cloth. I saw her lifeless pupils with the flushed color on her face, and I noticed the progressive stiffness that was all over her body.”

  A few tears trickled down Trouble’s face because he knew exactly what Hezekiah was feeling at the time. He wiped a tear from his eye and asked, “What did you do?”

  “I could not take it. I went back to the cabin where my father was the following day. I went to sleep and woke up as if nothing had ever happened. I woke up and my father was wondering how come I never asked about my mother since I was usually the one to have questions regarding her whereabouts. I just said I figured she was still in the master’s cabin. He looked out of the window for a very long time that morning.

  He turned around before we got ready to leave the cabin for our daily chores. My father looked at me solemnly, and he told me my mother ran away, and that we would probably never see her, again. I knew he was lying to comfort me and himself, so I acted as though I believed him rather than let him know I found out by rambling in places I had no business looking. What I did not tell him was I could not stay in that place. I would rather die than to stay at the place, which was a constant reminder of my mother’s death.

  I started paying attention to when the patrols would walk on the roads and watch for runaway slaves. I became so familiar with their routines; I could even anticipate when one of them would search different areas with the amount of time between rounds. I decided to wait until a holiday to make my move. I noticed the patrolmen went home early on Thanksgiving Day. I made my move. I learned how to read and write after I tricked one of the white kids into teaching me.

  I told him a black person could learn better than someone who was white, and he indirectly taught me
in the process of attempting to prove me wrong. I eventually studied the handwriting of different people, including the man whom I was attempting to leave behind me: the master. I eventually learned how to write letters because I was constantly sent to various places by the master to pick up things. I read the letters daily, so I could become familiar with them. However, I did not dare allow anyone to see me reading them. I wrote my own letter to freedom by copying one of the many letters the master gave me for running errands.

  I made it through enough checkpoints to hit the outskirts of town, and I never looked back. I traveled by day through the woods, so I could avoid the roads where the patrolmen were, and I stayed near the water, so the dogs they used could not smell me. I always walked in the fields close to the ground to avoid any unwanted attention. I continued like this until I reached the outskirts of Virginia. I actually met a man who smuggled me past many of the patrols.”

  “How did you manage to get that far, and how did you know the person that smuggled you across state borders would not have turned you in?” asked the inquisitive teenager.

  “I didn’t. I was just willing to take a chance because anything was better than staying in the place that led to my mother’s death. I managed to make it to Washington D.C. with some serious luck and a little work. I thought I would get a good head start with trying to go to school in the North, but I was in for a rude awakening. I quickly found out just because a slave was free in the Northern States did not mean they would be treated with dignity and respect. I tried to go to school, but I was laughed out of the schoolhouse.

  I tried to go to more than one, but I got the same response. I met some people who were willing to educate me along much further than I had been previously by the boy when I was younger. It came with a price though. I had to chop wood all day and work at all hours of the night. I became bitter with the results of what I thought would be a successful transition from slavery to citizenship. I got educated nearly as well as the people who educated me, but I still was not accepted in the North as I had initially hoped I would have been.

  I did not have anything to look forward to except one single, consuming emotion on the back of my mind: vengeance. I did not have anything to live for or look forward to. I was at a loss for what I would do until I heard the Northern States were fighting against the Southern States. Many free blacks were joining for various reasons. Some were joining because they wanted to free their families. Others were joining for the greater cause of freeing the slaves. I was enlisting because I wanted revenge.”

  “Did you ever make it back to the plantation that you were enslaved on?” asked the inquisitive listener.

  “I will tell you if you ever let me get to it! We

  endured a tremendous amount of what would have been grueling training for the other recruits, but my experience as a slave gave me the strength and endurance to make it through with little or no difficulty. There was not really a guarantee I would be assigned to a platoon that would be near the plantation I was a slave in although I figured we could fight, and I would take out my frustration on whatever plantation we were assigned to at the time. The time came for us to engage in combat. I heard rumors the platoon leader was having problems with becoming familiar with the territory.

  I did not really care until I heard the territory he was navigating through was near the plantation I was a slave on before. I was really motivated to speak with him, then. Some of my superior officers gave me some resistance. I kept on going to the extent I was punished for disobeying a direct order from a commanding officer to stay away from him. I was prepared for flogging, which was nothing new for me until I saw the uniformed man with many badges walking toward me. He gave me a peculiar look and asked me why I wanted to speak with him, so badly.

  I told him about why I would be able to help him, and I pointed out different things we passed to show him I could support my statements. The man immediately ordered my release, and he asked about why he was not told about my requests. I just shrugged my shoulders and looked at my commanding officers and told him it was not for a lack of trying. They just put their heads down to avoid eye contact with him. That was not the last time we met.

  I was in my tent getting ready for combat when he visited me. He looked at me in a very peculiar manner and just stared at me as though he were peering into my soul. He asked me about why I wanted to speak with him so badly. I told him I knew the territory, and I could help him. He just glared at me and told me that was not the only thing motivating me to speak with him.

  He glanced at me and said, ‘I know why you wanted to help me get through the area so badly. I can tell when a man has the taste for revenge upon his lips. I am normally not supposed to condone this type of mentality or behavior; however, I would really like to receive a promotion and commendations for bravery in the field and victories. If you get me what I want, I can get you what you want.’ It was not like the thought had not crossed my mind. I had been focused on combat scenarios on and off the battlefield ever since I joined the military.

  I was not scared of dying because I did not have anything to live for, anymore. The man did not have to say another word: he just looked at me with the intense desire for revenge in my eyes, and he knew I was willing to die to obtain this objective. He smiled wickedly and walked away. When I looked into his eyes, it was like I was looking into an abyss filled with hungry lions willing to do anything to get fed. He saw my vice for revenge, and I saw his vice for power and recognition.

  I thought about how many ways I would make my former master suffer when I got the chance. I imagined shoving my bayonet through his skull and throat. I wanted to drive my sword through his crotch for the many times he abused and killed my mother. My sole purpose in life was to devise strategies against Confederate companies and platoons. It was useful because we won battle after battle against the Confederate soldiers. The platoon leader was pleased, and he visited me in the section I was assigned to when he received reports I was responsible for most of our squadron’s victories.

  The smile on his face resembled that of a man discovering the secret of immortality and infinite riches. He leaned toward me and whispered ‘We are almost there, and if you if want to get an early start, I can say that I sent you to scout out the terrain for us. Anyway, I hope you have fun.’ He rode away on his horse and left me with my personal vendetta much like a parent allowing a child to play unattended. I walked through the plantation to see other black soldiers tormenting some of the white residents. I could see I was not the only one with a quest to fulfill or the opportunity to act wildly and uninhibitedly.

  There was not much left. I even saw some of the slaves rioting with the soldiers. Fires were set to the mansions and some of the quarters for slaves. Crops were burned and plundered beyond recognition. What once looked like the Garden of Eden had the appearance of a burnt forest. It did not look like there was much left for me to work with, but I still wanted my turn. I scrambled though the quarters to look for the cabin that I once resided in with my mother and father. I was about to approach the residence to be intercepted by a former slave I grew up with. She approached me and asked me a very pointed question: ‘Do you remember me?’

  I looked at her loving face and started reminiscing about what growing up was like with her. We consoled each other and comforted one another when relatives were killed or sold like fruit at a market. She told me about some of the things her mother endured. Anyway, I still recognized those compassionate and caring eyes only she and my mother shared. The awkward, compassionate girl I had grown up with had blossomed into a very beautiful woman.

  I was lost in thought and her eyes until she interrupted me with the same question. I asked why it was necessary to ask that question, and she told me some of the former slaves who ran away returned to the South only to treat other slaves released from captivity more recently with rudeness and arrogance. I looked at her again and answered her with a hug, and she clung to me as though I were a tree giving her securit
y from a very fierce storm. I almost forgot my purpose for coming back. It had been such a long time since I actually gave any consideration to the idea I actually had friends who cared about me.

  I was about to enter the cabin, but she urged me not to. I refused to give in to her request. When she finally realized that my mind was made up, she looked up at me compassionately and whispered, ‘Hezekiah, you not gonna like what you see.’

  She had her hand on my shoulder to console me for what I was about to see. She regretfully and respectfully released her hand from the top of my shoulder. I started to walk into the shack. I opened the door and entered the darkness of the cabinet, and I looked into what seemed like a tour of my life. I saw many of the same items that were around from my childhood by the dim light of the moon.

  My mind went into a distraught frenzy when I looked near the back of the dark part of the cabin. The pale light of the moon illuminated a coffee-grounds man with a blank expression on his face hanging over me. I remembered his face when he was whipping me. I saw the hands that held me when I was sick.

  When I was too tired to continue working in the field, I remember those strong, bulky arms that use lift me up and carry me on his back as he continued his labor. I remember the intense hatred in his eyes when he glared at the master. My personal vendetta had almost shattered before my face. My pain was so great; I was wondering who was responsible for his death when a gentle voice interrupted my thoughts. The same woman who had comforted me earlier had walked in behind me and gently told me he committed suicide thinking about his deceased wife and lost son.

  He tried to start over, but the thought of having another family ripped from him was too great to bear. He was never able to get as close to another woman as he had to my mother. My grief became much greater upon realizing I was the one who pulled the noose and kicked the chair out from underneath him. I thought about contacting him and using my painstakingly acquired gift of literacy to write him, but he was not supposed to know how to read. I did not want to get him in trouble by sending letters to the plantation addressed to him. I thought about going back on many occasions and freeing him, but I barely managed to escape successfully and thought about the risks I would be taking if I were to do the same thing.