The Black Knight's Tune

by Naomi Finley

  “Miss Willie, I asked…I tole you…” He turned and leaned his hands on the workbench. “It ain’t possible. My gal is daid, gone, I tell ya.” Tears labored in his voice and his shoulders sloped forward. His eyes closed and silent tears etched his cheeks.

  I swallowed down the badgering in my brain telling me to run. To leave before he rejected me—I couldn’t bear it.

  Willow gave me a gentle nudge.

  My feet crept forward despite the protesting inside me. I cast a glance over my shoulder at her. She gave me an encouraging nod.

  I stood beside him, unsure what I should do or say. His body trembled, and I lifted a hand and touched his shoulder. He stiffened. And I flinched.

  But something pressed me forward.

  “Papa…”

  He straightened, his face never lifting.

  The need to touch him to make sure he wasn’t a dream pulled me closer, and I raised a hand to stroke his cheek. A gasp came from him.

  “Is et you…” Tears poured from him.

  “I am Mag.”

  In the silence that fell between us, I heard the rustling of Willow’s skirt as she turned and walked out without another word.

  His jaw locked and his expression hardened. “Turn.”

  “What?” I gawked in confusion.

  “Ef you’re my gal, you’ll have de mark.”

  “What mark?” I turned as instructed.

  His fingers pulled back the edge of my head rag, and he bent my left ear forward. A sob escaped him. “Sweet Jesus…you’ve found mussy on Ol’ Jimmy.”

  I turned back to him. “Is it there?”

  He nodded, his body trembling. “Y-you’re Magnolia.”

  Magnolia.

  “And you be my gal.”

  He gathered me into his arms, and the familiarity of his scent came rushing back to me. Horses, smoke, and leather provided a haven of safety, and I melted into my papa’s arms.

  I LEFT THE FORGE THAT day changed. For years I’d thought if only I’d borne the brand of a master, I’d have a connection to my past. Little did I know that an anchor-shaped mark behind my left ear would be the proof my birth father would need that I was his daughter.

  After I’d left the forge, I’d gone to the main house requesting to speak to Willow, but her handmaiden had said she’d gone to her chambers with a headache. All the next day I’d not seen her around the grounds. When I saw Mr. Hendricks saddling his horse, I’d approached him and inquired about Willow’s well-being. He’d informed me she was doing better. Yet she never made her rounds that day either.

  The next evening—my papa didn’t stay at the forge after his daily tasks were done—a rap sounded on the cabin door.

  I took one last look in the mirror, thankful for the head rag that concealed my hair. My eyes were alive with excitement. Turning away, I ran my hands over the bodice of my yellow dress and adjusted the plates laid out on the table before going to the door.

  The door squeaked in protest as I opened it. At the sight of my papa’s retreating back, my breath caught.

  He swung back at the sound, his eyes wide. “I thought maybe you changed your mind.” He wiped his palms on his trousers and inched forward.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Please come in.” I stepped back and opened the door wide.

  His boots scuffed the ground as he moved forward, his eyes shifting about as if he was reconsidering.

  Nerves twisted my stomach. I’d spent the afternoon in the kitchen house with Henrietta, preparing the meal spread out on the table.

  Papa stepped into the cabin.

  “Take a seat wherever you like,” I said, and closed the door.

  He stood, unmoving. “Luks lak you been working hard.”

  “Yes, Henrietta was most kind and helped me prepare this meal. I’m not the best cook, and my mother is far worse—a horrible teacher, in fact.”

  “Can’t git much better dan Miss Rita’s cooking.”

  “So I hear.”

  He looked sideways at me. “You happy in New York?”

  “Yes; I have a wonderful life, fulfilling in many ways.”

  “No husband?”

  “Sit, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” I placed a hand on his back, and he stiffened. He moved to the table and pulled out a chair and sat down. I sat beside him.

  “Can I give you some?” I reached for his bowl, and he nodded. I ladled two spoons of fish stew into the bowl and handed it to him before serving myself.

  He eyed me as he lifted his spoon and took a bite. I’d learned in our brief interactions since our reunion that he was a man of few words. Human touch made him nervous, and he felt at ease among the horses.

  “I do not have a husband. But it’s something I want very much, along with children.”

  “Ain’t no man dat’s caught your heart?”

  “There is, but it’s something that can’t be.” I stared into my bowl, allowing my thoughts to drift to Kipling. With most of his time being spent at his family’s plantation, I missed him.

  He sat silently, waiting for me to go on.

  “There has been one man for a time, but we can never be together.”

  He waited.

  “You see…he loves another. And he is white, and I’m…well, me. I suppose his kindness and his unprejudiced views of people and his fairness made me fall for him. I refuse to spend my life pining after him. I’ve resigned myself to forget the matter, if that is at all possible,” I said solemnly.

  “De man you speak of is Miss Willie’s friend, Mr. Reed, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, but how did you know?”

  “You said you work wid him at de newspaper place. You made de journey here wid him. And I seed de way he luks at Miss Willie. De boy loves de gal.”

  “But he can never have her…nor I him.”

  “Life ain’t easy. Et holds lots of hurts, but et ain’t meant to be lived alone.

  “After your mother died and de masa sold you, I stopped living. Thought I’d curl up and die. When I was sold to de plantation in Georgia, I tried to do away wid myself a few times, but de Lard wouldn’t let me go. De masa got tired of et and thought he’d best be gittin’ some coin from me ’fore he had no investment at all.

  “Masa tied me to a rope behind his horse and was taking me to be sold when a lone rider rode up on de most beautiful horse I’d ever laid eyes on. Masa stopped to talk to him. De man pulled his horse up beside me, held out his riding crop, and lifted my chin to luk at him. Dere was somepin’ in his eyes…a pain I recognized. An ache for somepin’ lost to him.

  “He offered my masa a price twice my worth. But Masa refused. A deep rumble came from deep in de rider’s throat, and his jaw locked real hard lak. Den he offered double dat amount. From de corner of my eye, I seed de masa light up lak he’d stuck a vein of gold.”

  “What happened?”

  “Course he took de monies and released me into de man’s possession.”

  “Who was this new master?”

  His eyes softened with reverence. “Mr. Charles Hendricks.” He folded his hands on the table. “De day I came to Livingston, Miss Willie was but a small child. She ran out to greet her pa and den she luked up at me wid big innocent eyes and said, to her pa, ‘Why does he luk so sad?’ I don’t recall what Masa Hendricks said. But Miss Willie, she got dis luk in her eyes—de one she gits when she ain’t gonna listen no matter what ya say—and she slipped her li’l hand in mine and says, ‘Don’t you worry, Mister, you’ll lak dis place, and I’ll come to visit you evvy day.’ And jus’ lak dat, Miss Willie’s bin pesterin’ me ever since.” His chuckle was loud and infectious and drowned out the emptiness I felt over the fatherly affection he held for Willow. Immersed in the heartiness of his laugh—one like no other—I smiled.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “After Masa Hendricks brought me here, I learnt to live again. At fust, I was put in de fields, but den Miss Willie convinced her pa dat I needed to be wid
the horses, lak she knowed dose critters is where I’m meant to be. And true to her word, each day, Miss Willie came to seek me out at de stables or forge and followed me around. Her chatter and company soothed de pain.” Tears welled in his eyes. “She was my fair-skinned Magnolia.”

  I slipped my hand across the table to cover his, and my tears came freely. “I believed I’d been granted my one miracle in life. One is blessed to receive one, but two…” I swept my fingers across my cheek to brush away my tears. “Each day I will thank God for the day Mr. Hendricks found you. And I thank Him for giving you Willow to mend the emptiness in your heart. Without the Hendrickses, we’d never be sitting here now. I’ll always remember what they’ve done for us. God has not forsaken us.”

  His face fell, and his shoulders curled forward.

  “Papa?”

  “I was right awful to de gal. She came to me in de middle of de night wid de notion she may have found you. I know I hurt her. I was angry and scared to stir around in de past. I’d done de best I could to forgit. To hear your name or to think on your ma, et…et grieved me so. I didn’t want to forgit you, but I had to. Ef I was gonna live, I had to block you out. Den Miss Willie wiggled et out of me one day, ’bout you and Nellie. I didn’t want to forgit, you understand. Right?” His pained eyes searched mine.

  “Yes, Papa. One must do what is required to survive. If life has taught me one thing, it is that we are fighters, and we will prevail.”

  “Dat what Miss Willie keep saying.”

  “Beautiful and wise. Maybe that is why she has secured the hearts of great men.” I laughed.

  “’Bout de heart…et be best to let dose feelin’s for Mr. Reed go to de wayside. Find yourself a man dat can give you all his heart.”

  “A sprinkling of wisdom you and my parents share in common,” I said, my thoughts running to Saul’s proposal. “There is another man…”

  “Well, I’ll be, gal.” He shook his head with a grin.

  My cheeks heated. “H-his name’s Saul, and he’s the chief editor at the Manhattan Observer where I work. He declared his love for me before I left New York.” Avoiding his gaze, I picked at the crumbs wedged between the planks of the table. “He’s a good man and would make a worthy husband.”

  “But you don’t love him,” he said.

  “In time…I believe I could learn to.”

  “I didn’t love your ma at first.”

  “No?” I lifted my head to look at him.

  He shook his head. “Bin shy since I was a youngster. Never much cared to have a wife. Learnt from watching others dat ef a masa ain’t got nothin’ to hold over you, dey can’t hurt you. I did my work as I was tole and kept to myself. When de masa put Nellie and me together for breeding, I hid from her. But not for long—your ma, she sought me out and tole me I warn’t her fust man, and she’d teach me all dat went on between a man and a woman. I was scared—oh my, was I scared.” He laughed at the memory. “But she won my trust, and made me a man.” His cheeks flushed. “I learnt to love dat woman wid evvy bit of me.

  “Den came de day we found out she was wid child, and a fear lak we’d never felt ’fore grew in us. By our bed at night, we prayed to her Gawd dat you’d be born a boy. He didn’t answer dat pray, and I was angry wid Him. Den when I lost my Nellie after de masa whipped her so badly she never recovered, de anger festered in me. When he took de rest dere was to me by selling you, I cursed Gawd dat day for forsaking me. After dat, I became daid inside.

  “You see, Mag, it ain’t right, what I said to de Lard, and dat’s somepin’ I aim to make right—ef he’ll hear me. Dose days wid your ma and you were ’bout as happy a life a slave can have. A family’s what makes life worth livin’.”

  Together in that marriage cabin, we chatted long into the night about my life in New York and the decision that lay ahead of me. I heeded his words. After all, what was life if you didn’t have someone to share it with?

  New York

  ON A SATURDAY MORNING THAT spring, the carriage stopped in front of a brick two-storey home in the black village in uptown Manhattan. The congestion and noise of the city had faded away into the serenity of farmland. I glanced with pride around the small village, first established in 1825, two years before the enslaved people of New York were emancipated. I’d gone to church and was enrolled in school in the community. Black people with financial means could purchase land here, and some landowners even earned the right to vote.

  The driver opened the carriage door and lowered the step. For a moment I sat still to quell the nerves roiling my stomach, inhaling the fresh air not befouled with factory smoke.

  “Miss,” the driver said, holding out a hand to assist me. I laid my gloved hand in his and disembarked.

  Gripping the sides of my gown, I ascended the steps to the front door. I didn’t knock. Instead I paced the landing, hands clasped together to stop the trembling.

  You need to do this before you lose your nerve.

  I lifted the bronze knocker and rapped three times, then stepped back. Sweat dampened the inside of my gloves, and I glanced back at the carriage.

  The instinct to flee rose, and I turned. What am I doing? I can’t—

  The door opened, and I froze.

  “Miss Stewart? What a surprise,” his rich voice said. I spun on my heel to find Saul in the doorway. His dark flesh glistened against his crisp white shirt. My stomach fluttered.

  “I-I’m…are your parents home?” I finally blurted.

  “Mother is. Have you come to see her?” Puzzlement shone in his eyes.

  “Well…no. I wanted to make sure someone was.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “You see,” I rushed on, “I’ve come to see you. But seeing as I’m showing up uninvited, I wanted my visit to be proper because I wouldn’t want anyone thinking—”

  “Ruby.” He used my name for the first time in all the years I’d known him.

  I stopped, my eyes resting on his lips. Goose pimples blossomed over my flesh. The way he said my name revealed a yearning that came from deep within the giant man. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Did you travel all the way out here to blabber on my front step?”

  “No…However, I do wish to speak to you, but somewhere more private.”

  “Come, we will go to the garden.” He took my hand in his and led me down the corridor to a set of garden doors that opened onto a lush garden.

  My heart hammered and fear surged through me. What would he think of me coming out here? What would he think of what I had to say?

  The heels of my shoes clicked over the stone pathway as he led me through a wooden archway entangled with green vines to a seating area. “Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the wrought iron bench nestled in a forest of blossoming cherry trees. He took a seat beside me and turned to face me, his long legs touching my knees.

  I laughed nervously at the image. Resting my hands in my lap, I released a calming breath and pushed on with what had brought me here. “While I was away I had a lot of time to think. I’ve considered your proposal for courtship, and I’ve come to a conclusion,” I said. Looking into his eyes, I found the reassurance to go on. “I would be delighted to accept your proposal.”

  His breath caught. Then a smile touched his eyes. He lifted a hand and his palm cupped my cheek. “The finest among woman you are, Ruby Stewart.”

  I leaned into the warmth of his palm. The gentleness of his touch and the love in his eyes filled me with certainty. Yes, I will come to love this man. I’d devote my life to being a good wife.

  His head lowered and I arched my neck to receive the earnestness of his kiss. And found a wholeness I’d searched for all my life.

  Coming Soon:

  THE MASTER OF SHIPS

  Novella Two

  Pre-order Available

  Naomi is a bestselling and award-winning author living in Northern Alberta. She loves to travel and her suitcase is always on standby awaiting her next adventure. Naomi’s affinity for the D
eep South and its history was cultivated during her childhood living in a Tennessee plantation house with six sisters. Her fascination with history and the resiliency of the human spirit to overcome obstacles are major inspirations for her writing and she is passionately devoted to creativity. In addition to writing fiction, her interests include interior design, cooking new recipes, and hosting dinner parties. Naomi is married to her high school sweetheart and she has two teenage children and two dogs named Ginger and Snaps.

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