Master of My Fate

by Sienna Brown

  When Stella better, a few more seasons had to pass before she big with child. And after she go through all the moaning and heaving and screaming, she have a baby girl. Stella just love her up. You should see how happy Massa was when him come look pon her that first time. Another little breeder to add to him collection. Him even let Stella have a hand in naming the pickney. Come up with three names and was Stella decide she like Eliza best.

  At first Eliza was a skinny, sickly little thing. Must be because of Stella sickness, but as she start to grow, she come to be like a colt. All legs and belly running this way and that. Her skin the colour of sugar when baked in the sun. What a sweet smile, lit up her whole face. Made everybody smile right along with her.

  Eliza just turn six and Stella don’t let her out of her sight. She have plenty plans for her girl pickney. Plenty big plans she going lay out for her future.

  Must be not too late, because I can still hear the slave women getting ready to go to market. They always grumbling and carrying on bout how heavy them load is. Knowing full well the heavier the load, the greater sales them going make.

  Reminded me how Sunday used to be, before my brothers and sister came into the world, pushed me out of Stella life. I was the one that used to help her load up the big basket she carried on her head. Walked with her to the market in the nearby town. It was always a happy time them market days, when Stella, far away from the eyes of Massa, her face would turn soft and she treated me kindly.

  Now Stella, she one good higgler. Her produce always good, always fresh, and she not pretend otherwise. Used the coins she got to buy saltfish, rice, flour, a little more rum.

  Once in a while, specially close to Christmas when she wanted to sew a new dress, we visited the Jew stall, the one that belonged to Mister Jacob, to buy some cloth. A little crowd would gather when Stella entered him shop. Stood outside to listen, to point and giggle when she and Mister Jacob higgled. I come to see was a game they both enjoyed.

  First Stella walked round and round eyeing off this cloth and that. Picked one that cost a lot. Never the one she wanted. Started to higgle till the price went right down. And when she had Mister Jacob cornered, she smiled her snake smile and pounced on the one she wanted. Him had to start the asking price well below the price she done bargain for. Stella always walked out with a smile on her face, except when Mister Jacob son was looking after the shop. Crowd got even bigger to watch. Was like a fight between mongoose and snake. Him was a mean, hard seller. Still is. Stella had to higgle harder and longer, but she usually got her way.

  On market days, she used to tell me how is best to put some coins aside, hide them, save them for the future. Lowered her voice when she said, ‘Every coin me save, open the road a little wider to freedom. And when me buy it, me going work even harder, save enough to free you.’

  Some slaves, when them Massa dead and the will get read, him set aside money to pay for them freedom. But even back then, I knew Stella fooling herself. Massa never going let her go free. She his prize possession. Is onto death till them two part.

  When all the selling was finally done, Stella used to take me to the rum shop owned by Molly, a tall, big-hipped mulatto woman. After her massa free her, she set up the shop special for slave them to come spend them hard-earnt market coins in. Stella would buy us a treat – a piece of bread and saltfish. For herself, a quarter calabash of rum she’d mix up with a little water. And whenever we used to go visit the rum shop, I noticed how Stella always had a special visitor. The Maroon man, Robert McKellar, the friend of old cripple Jonnie. Must be how them meet, when Robert was passing through Rock Pleasant. Robert lived in the Maroon village hidden high up in the hills. And in between the eating and drinking, I learnt a lot when Stella and Robert talked.

  ‘Dat Sydney women still causing you trouble?’ Robert asked.

  Stella nodded, took some rum.

  ‘She always running to Mistress Margaret, telling her any little thing she see. Specially if it bout me. Make up lies, keep saying it till Mistress Margaret believe her. Then Mistress Margaret go tell Massa, and all hell brek loose. Massa carry on, shouting angry words from morning till night, then him march down the path into me hut, into me bed still shouting. Sydney one big misery in me life. Me tell you, one of dem days, she going bring me down. Bring me down for good. Wish she was dead.’

  ‘Don’t fret bout Sydney. She just jealous. Full up with envy. All she doing is throwing stones at Massa favourite,’ McKellar said. ‘If anything happen,’ looking at her straight, ‘me know what to do. Come to me. Ask me. And me will do it.’

  Stella nodded, and a secret smile passed between them.

  ‘What news? Is true soldiers catch the Rose Hall runaway slave dem?’

  ‘All five of dem.’

  ‘How come you don’t hide dem up in Maroon town?’

  Robert looked round to see if anybody listening.

  ‘Must speak quiet, woman. Everywhere you look is ears.’ Then Robert looked at me, looked at Stella. ‘And some big ears with big eyes staring at us.’

  ‘Don’t fret bout little Will. Him know what going happen if open him mouth.’

  Robert lowered him voice. ‘Stealing from backra is one thing. Runaway, even worse. But burning down backra canefield dem? Is like pushing a stick in a wasp nest and poking it round. Dem runaways know not to make dem way to Maroon town. Treaty with backra mean we have to catch dem, turn dem in. Nobody going hide dem runaways. Bring trouble down pon our heads.’

  ‘How they catch dem?’

  ‘How you think?’ filling him pipe and lighting it. ‘Slave lead soldiers right to where the runaway dem was hiding. Get a big reward.’

  ‘Not right. Not right,’ Stella say. ‘What going happen now?’

  ‘They dead already. Get whipped so much they can’t stand up.

  Rub lime juice and pepper into the wound dem. Slow burn dem. Chop off foot, chop off leg, chop off hand, chop off arm. Chop off dem head. Put the heads on a spike by the gate to the plantation. Make dem stay there, till dem turn rotten, fall off.’

  ‘Lawd have mercy on dem souls!’

  ‘One of dem was a woman. Backra treat her no different.’

  ‘Is a wicked thing, this. A wicked, wicked thing. Backra think him own us, but all him ever going get is the husk.’

  And with that, Stella took one long drink of rum.

  Later when we got back to the plantation, she gave me a beating to show me what going happen if I ran round telling secrets, even to Calla. I didn’t need the glimmering to learn that lesson.

  Seem like a long time ago I was going to market with Stella, but that Maroon man, Robert McKellar, him still friendly. Come visit sometimes. Bring him permission note to show Massa him out looking for runaways, but I know him also coming to see Stella. At night, when she sneak out to visit him, don’t sleep in her hut, I say nothing. I learn long time ago to keep me mouth shut, not get mixed up in nobody business.

  Something feel different this morning. The air in the hut heavy like fowls when they brooding and the light that poking through the wattle is brighter than the day before. Is getting warm too early, the day going be a hot one. Mean is time to rouse meself, do some weeding and watering in the provision ground. It sit on the edge of the plantation close to the plantain walk. Stella used to plant it out, but now she have one beside her hut, so is left to me and James to tend it. We plant it out with okra, greens, yams, corn, have a little ackee tree. We lucky we have two places to grow food, is how Massa show him favour us. I know the other slave them envy us, think Massa treat us special. But is a hard road to walk on, living in a half world you know is yours by birth, yet you have no power to rule in it.

  By noon I finish weeding, so I decide to have a wash and head to the river, the part flowing right cross the top of the plantation. Try avoid the part flowing near the Great House. Don’t want Melon chasing me down to help chop wood, take away garbage. Might even do a little bit of fishing. If I catch something, must give the fish to
Melon to cook up for Massa. Him always telling us the river belong to him, mean anything in it is the same way. But today, I going keep one of them little fish back. Cook it up in secret, share a piece with James. Must be careful, though. The plantation full of eyes and ears ready to look, to listen, if a slave doing something they not supposed to. Run go tell Winston, Busha Davis or, if big enough, run tell Massa. Troublemakers. Only think bout what reward they going get. Let them take that little reward, but when they need help, see how long it going take before somebody come running.

  Before I get there, hear the sweet sound of the river. Now me big enough, strong enough, to wade out into the middle where the water run deep and the current sometimes swift. When I was a pickney, used to walk upstream to find the little rock pool to lay down in. Look up through the trees, feel the sun on me skin. Feel it heal the sadness lying underneath. The last time I come cross it, it seemed so small, made me wonder how I even fit in there. Now me too big for that little rock pool, the dreams I used to have bout freedom. And I no longer wait and listen to hear William the Second calling out to join him in the cow pasture. Childhood over long ago, but I miss that time when everything was new, special. A time before learning me just a nobody. Nothing but chattel.

  As I come up over the hill, I see Eliza and Stella on the riverbank doing the washing, close to a grove of tall bamboo trees and where some big boulders piled up. Is a pretty spot them choose, green everywhere, orchids clinging to the tallest trees. Smell of jasmine on a sudden breeze. A bright doctor bird, green and black with a long tail, moving quick, from flower to flower. Even the sunlight on the river pretty today, bubbling cross the water. I stop, look pon them. Eliza a strong little Stella the way she move, the way she hold her head up high, but her body slim like Massa. Them holding the end of a sheet, squeezing it tight, can’t see me watching. Notice how Stella act different, not have a look that say ‘Me too busy, don’t bother me’. So I creep up a little closer, hide behind one of the boulder them.

  ‘Hurry up, girl,’ I hear Stella say. ‘We not got all morning. Put the clothes on that bush over there.’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ I hear Eliza say. ‘Clothes going dry in no time.’

  Then is only the sound of the river. The slapping of cloth against rock, till I hear, ‘Mama, me can ask you something?’

  ‘Yes, child,’ Stella say sweetly because try as she might, she find it hard to be stern with Eliza.

  ‘What this day call?’

  ‘Washing day.’

  ‘And the next day?’

  ‘Cleaning day. Scrub all the floors. Dust and tidy everyting.’

  ‘And the day after that?’

  ‘Sewing day.’

  ‘And the day after that?’

  ‘Is when we polish all the silver. Make the knife and fork and spoon and teapot dem all bright and shiny. Mistress Margaret want to see her face in dem.’

  ‘Why we not call dem the way Mistress Margaret call dem? She say, Monday is cleaning day. Tuesday is sewing day. Wednesday is …’

  Stella stop her right there.

  ‘Listen to me Eliza. Listen to me good. We and dem is not the same. You hear me? Not the same at all. You must know that by now, child.’

  ‘What you mean, Mama?’

  ‘Backra live in one world. You, me, live in another one.’

  ‘World look no different to me,’ Eliza say.

  Stella sigh. Some crows call out to each other in the distance. I wait to hear how she going answer.

  ‘In slave world, every one of the day dem is a day of work. Make no difference if you call it Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Make no difference at all,’ she say, before she turn stern. ‘Now hush up, help me wring the sheet dem out.’

  Eliza ask a lot of questions, just like I used to, but Stella, she no good at answering them. She need Calla to tell these things.

  ‘Can’t play no mama to every slave born on this plantation,’ Calla told me when I asked her why she didn’t take Eliza under her wing. ‘Must learn to leave tings as dem is Will. Now is not the right time. She going need me later.’ And that is all she had to say bout that.

  I start to sneak away, when I hear Eliza start up again. ‘Mama?’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Why we born this way? Why we not look like backra? Why we not white?’

  ‘Lawd, Eliza! Not again! Not again! You going drive youself crazy. Drive me crazy too.’

  Then I hear Stella voice soften. ‘Come here, baby girl, come sit beside me. When you born you was such a pretty little baby,’ Stella say, and I hear her sigh. ‘Everybody used to come look pon you, just to see you smile. Is true, is true. Now you is a fine-looking girl. Just like the wildflower dem that come up out of the earth after it rain. Pretty like how the petals shine with dew, when the sun first kiss dem. And dem all have different colours and dem all beautiful. So you don’t need worry bout white, bout black, bout brown.’

  ‘Then why Massa look at me like that?’

  ‘What you mean? How Massa look at you?’ and I hear something catch in Stella voice.

  ‘Me don’t know. Him look at me funny. Look at me sideways like him going say something. Or give me a beating. Even if me do nothing wrong.’

  Stella have nothing to say. What she going say? Try explain to Eliza, Massa is her father, but him also own her. Tell her Massa look pon her like any backra going look pon her. A slave girl, soon ripe for the picking.

  I start to feel shame for spying, decide to go, but is too late. As I stand up and turn away, Stella see me. Call me over to help with the washing.

  ‘Woman’s work,’ I tell her and try to keep going.

  Stella shout out, ‘Who you think you talking to, boy?’ then come charging up the hill like a wild hog. ‘Have some respect for you mother,’ she say, and cuff me bout the ear.

  Whatever sweetness she have for Eliza, none of it there for me. I suddenly want to grab her up, shake her. Give her a piece of me mind. Lift me hand to strike her, like I wanted to so many times before. But standing there in the strong light of the afternoon sun, I see Stella in a different way. Hiding in her eyes is a frightened, angry creature. A creature wriggling in the web of slavery, filled with a bottomless despair. A despair she keep hidden, inside her anger, when she veil her eyes, put on her snake smile. And she not so young no more. Not so pretty. She worn down. When I come to see this, is me that soften. Bend down, kiss her forehead. Wipe away a bit of dirt I see on her face.

  ‘You feel good today, Mama?’ I ask. ‘Any sign of sickness?’

  Stella shake her head. ‘No sickness, praise the Lawd. But me getting weary, Will. So weary. Have to stay up half the night help serve Massa visitor from the plantation close by. Water down the liquor. Make sure they don’t get too drunk, start roam the grounds. Cause too much trouble.’

  ‘Like what happen to Mary?’

  Stella nod and I can see the sorrow of it pass cross her face.

  ‘Poor little ting. She only twelve, too young to learn what it mean to be slave woman. Don’t know she must hide when she see backra coming along the path carrying torches, looking for tender young flesh. Not know she must run fast so they don’t catch her. Drag her to the ground. Have dem way with her, one after the other.’

  It happened a season back, late at night, right on the path up to the slave village. We all heard the screaming before Massa go stop the men.

  Massa did nothing much else. Gave her a few coins. Told Calla to fix her up.

  We all felt shame for Mary, but shame can’t change the pain and hurt she felt. Was wretched to see how she turned back into a pickney, stared at nothing, her mouth hanging slack. No more singing. Wouldn’t look at me when I stopped by the kitchen. Melon kept her busy scrubbing pots and pans, feeding the dogs, till she started to return to the living. Never the same though. If anybody shout at her, she wet herself and start to shake.

  I see Stella looking back at Eliza sitting quietly by the rocks. I know what she thinking. Going take all her strength to prot
ect her daughter, and is a battle she know in her heart she may not win.

  Is close to sunset, Sunday, the day of rest, soon going be over. I see James as him coming up along the path through the slave village. Watch as him getting closer. Notice he is rounding out, getting taller. Him have copper skin like me, but just like Massa, him eye them the colour of young caneleaves and him hair curly not so raggedy like mine. He is what Massa call handsome and him have a way bout him. A gentle way, a kind way. Make people turn to him. Befriend him. Not like me. When people look pon me, they move a step back. Calla tell me is because I have a stern heart. A heart that hope for the best, but only see the worst.

  After we fix up the traps, me and James going crab hunting, set off to the woods cross the edge of the plantation. We don’t have long to wait before the moon start to rise, so we can put out the torches, save them for the long walk back. As we walking I notice James turn quiet, hang him head down, look pon him feet. I learn is best to not say much, wait till him ready to speak, so I just enjoy the freedom of walking at night. Feel the cool breeze on me skin. Wait for the peenie wallies to start coming round, flickering them soft light. Smell the big white blooms of the moonflower vine as they release them sweet scent into the air of the night.

  Finally James turn to me and ask, ‘You ever tink bout turning runaway?’

  Of course I think bout it, plenty times, but me don’t want to tell James that. Don’t want to see him try it, get caught, get whipped. Get branded runaway, if Massa mad enough.

  ‘Even if me think bout it, me never going do it,’ hoping him believe me. ‘Would cause too much trouble for all of you.’

  I look at James, notice him still dragging him feet. He is still a boy waiting to be a man. Must be some big thing happen for a pickney like him to think bout runaway.