The Prodigy Slave, Book One: Journey to Winter Garden: (Revised Edition 2020)

by Londyn Skye

  James felt an overwhelming sense of guilt about going back to lay in the comfort and warmth of his bed after that. He begrudgingly left the slave quarters, stood outside for a moment, and looked up at the stars. With tears rolling down the sides of his face, he silently asked God why He would allow such a thing to happen. Young James had been told all his life that this was the way things were supposed to be for the Negro race, but his heart rejected those lies that night. He felt like there was no possible way that any such preaching could be true. He was convinced that nobody deserved a life like the slaves in those quarters … nobody.

  The next morning, Lily woke up with a strange feeling on her feet. She sat up to look and realized that her covers were heavier than usual. She didn’t recognize what was resting on top of her until her eyes fully adjusted in the early morning light. She had made his bed enough times to know that it was undoubtedly James’s comforter that covered her frail body, and so, too, were the socks that now warmed her feet. Lily sat up out of the haystack and nearly smashed the other gift left for her in the middle of the night: a piece of homemade apple pie. She looked over at Auntie, who was staring at her with a half-hearted smile. “You betta’ eat up girl, ’fo Masa’ Jesse catch you wit’ that,” she warned Lily.

  Auntie had already eaten the piece of pie left for her and had long since hidden the pair of socks and the comforter that James had laid upon her too. She had caught him on his way out that night and grabbed his cold little hand as he was adjusting her blanket.

  “You’s a fine boy, James. Don’t you eva’ let the worl’ change that, ya’ hear?” Auntie told him in a weak voice, coughing slightly afterward.

  James stared at Auntie for a moment as he absorbed her words. He then gave her the warmest hug he could muster before he quietly disappeared out of the quarters.

  One year after that night, Auntie was taken away by the Lord, under the comfort of the blanket that James had stolen from his family’s guest bed. That remained the single kindest act that anybody in the Adams family had ever bothered to do for her during the two generations she had worked for them.

  Fortunately for Lily, it became the first of many wonderful acts by young James, many of which were unknown to her. James never mentioned to her the threat that J.R. had made. Nor did Lily ever find out about the hell that J.R. had put him through for nearly a year, so that their Sunday playdates remained a secret. Barns were cleaned, hay bales stacked, animals were fed, and wood was chopped in Lily’s honor. James took on his brother’s duties with pride to ensure that Lily was never sold and that her back was never scarred by his father.

  … Lily reached down and briefly touched the twelve-year-old scar on her knee that James had tenderly taken care of after she fell from the tree. She had grown to hate the man that James had become, but the tears trickling down her face were an admission that she truly missed her childhood friend. She missed her mother, she missed Auntie, and she even missed Mrs. Adams too. Mrs. Adams always treated her wonderfully when Jesse was not around. She figured maybe it was because Mrs. Adams never had any daughters. When Lily began to ache for any of them, she was always able to release her sorrows onto the keys of the piano, but without that, the pain became too overwhelming.

  Overcome with grief, Lily raised the kitchen knife and ran her bloody finger down its smooth side. Blood from her wound trickled down the sharp edges. As she stared at it, she realized that the small mass of metal could be a means of escape from a world she no longer wished to be a part of. One swift clean motion and she could be embraced by the arms of Auntie and Mrs. Adams again. And if the Lord had already taken her mother, then she could be in her arms again too. With shaky movements, Lily lifted the blade higher. It felt cold against the fragile skin of her neck. Her tears stopped and peace overcame her as she began to pray. When her silent prayer was over, the knife fell from her limp hand into the kitchen sink.

  Using her apron, Lily began putting pressure on the still bleeding open wound of her finger. She had been startled by the opening of the front door and dropped the knife in a panic. She kept her back turned to the familiar voices that then entered the kitchen.

  “Ain’t you got lunch togetha’ yet, girl?” Jesse barked at Lily.

  “I’m workin’ on it now, sa’,” she answered, doing her best to sound calm.

  Jesse wiped the sweat from his brow as he sat down with his youngest son at the kitchen table. “What is it you wanted to speak to me about?” James asked him.

  “You decided where you gonna open you up a medical practice in town yet?” Jesse asked.

  “No sa’, I haven’t.”

  “What’s the hold up?” his father asked, sounding irritated. “Don’t ya’ think y’ur time would be betta’ served startin’ up a practice, or at least workin’ with our ol’ town doctor, ’stead ‘a runnin’ off for days at a time?” he asked, referring to the fact that James had left town for several days. His absence was somewhat of a relief for Lily. Feeling his presence now behind her sent a chill down her spine.

  “Well, I been meanin’ to talk to you about that,” James replied, clearing his throat. “You see, I decided I’m not gonna be workin’ in this town all the time.”

  “The hell you mean by that?”

  “I decided I’m gonna be a travelin’ doctor. I’m plannin’ to go from state to state helpin’ out as many sick families as I can, ’specially those with small children.”

  There was suddenly a long silence. Even Lily knew not to make a noise.

  “Lily fix me some gin,” Jesse ordered, staring coldly at his son.

  “Yessa’.” She knew from experience that such a request meant that Jesse was not happy about what he had just heard.

  “Son, I been tellin’ the good folks ‘a this town since you was just a young’un that you’d eventually be this town’s doctor. People ’round here ’spect me to stand by my word.”

  “I unda’stand that pa. But afta’ doin’ some travelin’, I realize that so many towns are in need of a good doctor. And I think I could be of good use with all the skills I’ve learned.”

  “Your gin sa’,” Lily said, placing the drink on the table near Jesse. James caught sight of the blood on her apron and locked eyes with her briefly. She dropped her eyes to avoid a prolonged gaze, then turned around quickly to get back to her duties.

  Jesse never noticed a thing. He picked up his drink just as quickly as Lily had set it down. He guzzled half the glass quickly, as if he was in a rush to prepare his nerves for a verbal assault. “Son, that’s mighty noble of ya’ to wanna help everybody, but the people in this town are like y’ur family. You can’t turn y’ur back on all of ’em.”

  “I’m not turnin’ my back on any of ’em. Just ’cause I’d be travelin’ doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t treat those in need ’round here … when I was in town anyway. But I feel like travelin’ is my callin’.”

  “Son, I’ve done everything in my powa’ to be sure you got y’ur schoolin’ paid for, unda’ the premise that you were gonna be workin’ right here in this town. Way I saw it, you could take ova’ and run this farm when I’m dead and gone and tend to people’s needs occasionally when they needed ya’.”

  “Tend to this farm?! I neva’ had any intention on runnin’ this place … Eva’!” James emphasized. “I neva’ made any such agreement with you for payin’ my schoolin’.”

  Lily jumped when she heard Jesse slam his glass down onto the table. “This plantation’s been in our family for three generations! Y’ur brotha’s done moved on and got married. They got kids and farms ‘a their own to take care of, so it ain’t nobody left to run this place but you!” Lily heard Jesse’s chair creak under the pressure of his large body when he leaned toward James. “Now, this ain’t somethin’ I’m askin’ you to do … I’m tellin’ ya’!” He pointed at James. “Y’ur gonna run this goddamn farm! I ain’t losin’ this place to somebody who ain’t none ‘a my blood, ya’ hear?!”

  Lily continued to listen to their
exchange in disgust, as she stood with her back to them. Her hatred for the man who had paid to have her imprisoned there grew every time she heard a conversation of that sort. The exchange was a reminder of Jesse’s hunger to control everything. She hated it, and she hated him. There was not one thing Lily did not hate about Jesse Adams. She hated his condescending tone and the way he called her “girl.” She hated the way he looked through her and never at her. She hated his walk, his dark yellow teeth, his stench, his wrinkly face, the look of his sunburned dried-up skin, and the sound of his voice. She hated the way his swollen belly protruded over his pants. She hated the disgusting grunting noises he made when he chewed his food, while moving his mouth like he had fashioned himself after a cow. She even cooked his food with hate. Her recipes were good, but she knew they could be great, a fact that she would never allow his tongue the honor of knowing. But most of all, she hated that Jesse was the sole reason she had lost her best friend.

  Jesse had sculpted his youngest son into what he considered to be a masterpiece of a man. Lily hated that he felt so proud of his accomplishment, like some world-renowned artist. He ingrained in James all the traits that were his own, qualities that made her hate James too. However, she wished she felt differently because she knew that underneath the layers of ugly traits that Jesse had painted onto James, there was a boy who had once risked the belt to leave desserts by her bed late at night, and who escaped Sunday family life to climb trees with her. Underneath, there was a boy who once gave her his own blanket to keep her warm, and who looked at her with kind eyes of concern if ever she was hurt or sick. Somewhere inside of the man that James had become, lay a beautiful soul with a heart that was wrapped in pure love and innocence. But Lily knew that so long as Jesse was alive, he would continue to paint and mold his so-called masterpiece, and she would continue to hate him, and his disastrous so-called work of art.

  Lily’s mind had drifted off so deep into her hatred for Jesse that she had become deaf to a portion of the argument he was having with James. By the time her mind reconnected with reality, Jesse had succeeded in convincing his son to do as he wanted. Lily was not surprised at this outcome. However, she was surprised by what she heard next.

  “This ain’t the dream I envisioned for my life, pa. But in this family’s honor, I’ll bear the burden of inheritin’ and runnin’ this farm.”

  “My boy…”

  “Only if…” James continued, interrupting the celebration it seemed his father was about to have.

  “Only if what?” Jesse replied, annoyance returning to his tone.

  “Since I’ll soon be in charge of all the decisions around here, there’s somethin’ that I need to do, immediately. It’s somethin’ that’ll help ensure the stability of this farm.”

  Jesse’s face was cold once again. “And just what the hell is that?”

  “This farm is always in need of a way for us to make more money. Not only that, but we also need to ensure that this plantation continues to have its fair share ‘a slaves. I noticed that there ain’t any young’un’s runnin’ around the farm these days.”

  “Get to it, son!” Jesse barked impatiently.

  James paused a moment and looked over at Lily, evil dancing in his eyes. She still worked on their lunch with her back to them. “Well, Lily’s young and strong.” Lily stopped when she heard her name but kept her back turned. “I think she’d produce plenty ‘a strong farm hands to sell and a few for this plantation to keep.” James turned back to look his father in the eyes. “So, I want you to let me take ’er to a slave breeder.”

  Mortified by what she had just heard, the color left Lily’s face and her body grew cold. She had been fortunate up until then. She was a beautiful slave whose body had not been mutilated by fists, chains, or whips. Her chastity had remained inviolate for her entire twenty-three years, which was a miracle considering that abuse was an inescapable horror for most female slaves before they even reached puberty. But now, Lily’s once best friend wanted to take all of that away and use her body as if she were some meaningless workhorse. The notion made her nauseous. James’s suggestion was beyond a punishment in Lily’s estimation. She suddenly preferred the physical scars from heavy leather lashing her back over the agony of being ravaged, repeatedly, by some strange human being. She felt she could more easily live with disfigured skin on her back than to live with the mental and emotional anguish of having all her babies torn from her arms, just as she had been torn from her mother.

  Lily remembered Auntie telling her that all seven of her children had been taken away from her. Auntie never got to look into their eyes or touch the soft skin of six of them. She never even knew the gender of any of them up until the last one was born. They had let her hold that baby girl for some unknown reason. She got to smell her, kiss her, touch her, and look into her beautiful brown eyes before they snatched her away too. It was a curse and a blessing for Auntie for the rest of her days.

  Auntie began to lose her memory and her connection with the present world in her last few months alive, so much so that she began calling Lily, Sarah. Lily eventually stopped correcting her mistake but decided to ask another slave why she kept calling her by the wrong name. It was then that she heard the story of how Auntie had called her last baby Sarah before they took her away. Lily now feared that she was about to become mentally tortured by the loss of her child in the same way as Auntie, just like so many other slave women, in the name of money and business deals.

  “You see fatha’, that’s what my trip was for: business,” James explained. “I met with a gentleman who was willin’ to strike a great deal with me for usin’ Lily. If you tell me that I can’t use her, you can forget about me takin’ ova’ this farm. If I’m gonna run this place, I wanna get things in orda’ startin’ now,” he said, staring just as coldly at his father as he was at him.

  “What the hell was you doin’ makin’ deals with folks ’fore I even told you ’bout inheritin’ this place? Was you plannin’ on takin’ my property without my knowledge, boy?!”

  “No, of course not. I was gonna come to you about it, but I wasn’t sure what you’d say. I know otha’ men have offered you breedin’ contracts for Lily before, but you’ve declined because you said you didn’t want a pregnant house slave workin’ in here, and you weren’t willin’ to let ’er stay at anotha’ farm durin’ the duration of ’er pregnancy. But the man I just spoke to is willin’ to pay damn good money for her offspring. And afta’ lookin’ at your finances, we need the money bad. And it ain’t no otha’ slave here of baby bearin’ age otha’ than Lily. Hell, we could even keep a few for ourselves to help populate this damn place. So, I figured since we’re at this crossroad, this will ensure that I get what I want … and so do you.”

  Jesse sat there quietly, staring harshly at his son. He took the last swig of his gin and set it back down without removing his eyes from James. “I don’t like you sneakin’ ’round, doin’ shit behind my back.” He hesitated as if the next few words pained him to say. “But you go on and take Lily and let that travelin’ doctor nonsense go to hell.”

  “Fine!” James replied. “But I ain’t takin’ on all the responsibilities of runnin’ this place right away. Afta’ I drop Lily off at the breeda’s, I’ll be headed back up to Ohio University for several months to make some extra money doin’ medical research with an old professor ‘a mine. More than likely, I’ll stay there until Lily gives birth. I’ll be back with ’er afta’ that.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you do in the meantime! You just keep y’ur word about runnin’ this goddamn farm when I’m dead and gone like I’m tellin’ ya’!” Jesse leaned in toward his son and gritted his teeth. “Or by God, I’ll haunt you from my grave ’til the end ‘a y’ur days.” He stood up quickly, stomped out of the kitchen, and slammed the front door.

  James briefly glanced over at Lily. She never bothered to turn around and look at her nemesis. James then got up and walked out without a word. Even after hearing his plans
for her, Lily remained true to her promise never to let James see that his words or actions affected her. Inside, though, her soul was screaming as if it had just been thrown into the fiery depths of hell. As soon as she heard James exit the front door, tears rained from her eyes down into the filthy dishwater.

  Chapter Three

  Slave Code

  Article XI Section I

  Slaves have no right to own any kind of property. All that they acquire, either by their own industry or by the liberality of others, or by any other means or title, including their natural born children, shall be the full property of their masters to do so as they please.

  James rode slowly on his horse with his Stetson hat low and a piece of straw in his mouth. His blue eyes were fixated on nothing in particular. His thoughts were deep, removing him from the consciousness of his surroundings throughout his entire journey into Fayetteville’s town square. He was headed there to pick up some much-needed supplies for his upcoming trip with Lily. Suddenly, though, his train of thought was interrupted by the memory of the fresh blood he had seen on Lily’s apron while talking to his father the day before in the kitchen. James’s heart began to beat rapidly, just as it had when he first saw the blood there. He recalled how Lily had quickly turned away when she saw him glance at the stains. Her reaction made him feel as though something deeper was going on with her, more so than any minor cuts. In that moment, James had to fight his old childhood instinctive urge to ask Lily if she was okay.

  As a boy, James believed that he had a natural propensity to read Lily’s emotions without her ever having to whisper a word. But he had since convinced himself that that was just childish nonsense. His reaction to Lily in the kitchen, however, proved that his intuitive reflex had not faded, even after six years apart. But James was a man now, indoctrinated with his father’s teachings. He knew better than to tend to the emotional needs of a slave, especially in front of his father. James had priorities that he had been taught far superseded the needs and well-being of inferior Negroes. Slaves are property, no different than mules, his father had once told him. Remembering those words kept James from comforting his former friend, despite how confident he was that she had been emotionally broken before he entered the kitchen.