The Song of the Wild Geese

by India Millar

  Oscar led me to William. The dog bounded up to me, huffing happily to himself as he capered around my legs. I patted his head and tickled behind his ears, pleased that he was so obviously delighted to see me. He dashed off again and then paused, looking back at me. I followed him. Why not? I was fond of the boisterous pup, and today my time was my own to do with as I liked.

  “Missy Terue. I should have known it was you when Oscar dashed off and left me to fend for myself.”

  William got to his feet as I approached him. He had been sitting at the side of a small lake. Simon had brought me here and had warned me to be careful as the water was deeper than it seemed. William had a fishing rod pushed firmly into the soft earth at the side of the lake.

  “There are fish in there?” I asked curiously. “Fish worth eating?”

  “Sure are. Trout and bass. Both good for eating. Catfish as well, but the mistress don’t like them so well. She says they taste muddy, but I get on well enough with the taste of them.”

  Oscar plonked himself down and I sat beside him more cautiously, wriggling my toes happily in the sandy earth. William watched me and smiled. I was comfortable in his presence.

  “William, are you a slave?”

  He stared at me thoughtfully. He was so different from the slaves I had seen in the garden, and the men and women who worked in the house—none of them would even look at me, still less speak—that I wondered if I had made a mistake. But it seemed not.

  “I am, Missy. Born a slave here at High Grove. Daresay I’ll end my days as one as well. Just pray it’s here and not somewhere I ain’t comfortable.”

  “But you’re not like the other slaves,” I said. William tilted his head to one side and watched me as I pulled Oscar’s silky ear through my fingers.

  “Guess not,” he said finally. “But why you interested?”

  “I was as much a slave as you are, when I was in Japan,” I said simply. “I was owned by somebody, just like you are. She was going to make me marry an old man. If Simon hadn’t taken me away, I suppose I would have had to take him, in the end.”

  William stared at me. “Well, that may be so. But begging your pardon, missy, I guess you weren’t in quite the same situation as slaves are here.”

  “I was,” I protested. “I had no more freedom than you do, William.”

  William pursed his lips and stared at his rod. He seemed to make his mind up suddenly.

  “I think maybe I’m a lot better off than the rest of the folk about the place. Nobody told you, I guess, that Master Simon and me had the same father?”

  My mouth opened and closed, just like one of the fish in the lake. No words would come out. I hid my head in Oscar’s silky coat to hide my dismay and confusion.

  “I thought not.” William smiled and shook his head. “Don’t you worry about it, miss. Ain’t nothing unusual in these parts. Nothing to be ashamed of neither.”

  I took courage from his kindness and looked at him questioningly.

  “That’s how I come to be favored.” William smiled. “The old master took a real fancy to my mama. She was a truly good looking woman when she was young. I understand Mistress Simone was never what you could call a warm sort of lady, if you understand me?” I thought of Mama Simone’s cool expression and colder words and guessed at once what William meant. I could not imagine Mama Simone ever taking pleasure in the delights of the futon. “The master took my mama to his bed soon as he saw her and she was his favorite for years. That’ll seem odd to you, I guess?”

  “No. Not at all. In Japan, it’s normal for wealthy men to have a wife and concubines. Generally, they all live in the same house. The poorer men have to make do with visiting courtesans, but their wives still expect it.”

  I had surprised William, that was obvious.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe Japan is more like America than I would ever have thought. So my mama was the master’s concubine, eh?” The thought seemed to amuse him as he laughed out loud, showing his teeth in a wide grin. “Anyway, that’s how I come to be a house slave. I worked in the kitchen when I was a young ‘un, fetching and carrying. When I got a bit older, master told me off to look after his horses and the carriages. And when the old house-steward died, the master put me in his place. I thought when my mama died, I was gonna be sent back to the fields, but Mistress Simone said no, I was to stay in the house.”

  That puzzled me greatly. “Why? I can’t imagine that Mama Simone would be happy to have the son of her husband’s concubine in the house. Begging your pardon, William,” I added politely.

  “No offense taken, missy,” he said promptly. “You’re right. Mistress was always picking fault with my mama. Whatever she did, it wasn’t right. Mistress had her whipped time after time. Said she was a cheeky slave and was too fond of talking back.”

  “And Simon’s father allowed it?” I was amazed. “But she was his concubine. She had his son. Why didn’t he stop it?”

  “Because mama was nothing more than a slave,” William explained patiently. “He might have been fond of her, after a fashion, but she weren’t nothing to him, and the mistress was his wife. Mama always said he was a good man and she was thankful he told the overseer not to lay it on too hard when she got a whipping.”

  I shook my head. The ways of men were truly strange!

  “So why didn’t she throw you out of the house when your mama died?”

  “I thought a lot about that, missy.” William nodded for so long I thought he had lost track of my question. But I was wrong. “In the end, I decided she done it to punish the master. While I was there in plain sight, she would never let him forget how he had doted on my mama. I saw her looking at me sometimes, and she was sort of gloating, if you know what I mean. I just knew that ever they had an argument, she would throw how he had been good to my mama in his face. How sweet she was, letting me stay in the house. That sound like nonsense to you, Missy?”

  I shook my head. Not nonsense at all. It made perfect sense to me. William seemed pleased. We both sat in silence for a while. William watched his rod, and I stroked Oscar, thinking about all he had told me.

  “You’re a great deal older than Master Simon, aren’t you?” I asked finally.

  “That I am, Missy. That was another reason the mistress hated my mama so much. For the longest time, it looked like she wasn’t going to have any children of her own. None that survived, anyway. She caught pregnant a couple of times, but always lost the babes before they had any chance of being born alive.” I thought of my own, dear Kazhua and the pain was intense. “When she managed to hold on to Master Simon, the whole house was celebrating for weeks. That’s how he came to be called Simon, after her. But there weren’t no more babies after Master Simon. Not any sign of them.”

  I stared at the placid lake water. Time after time I had held my breath when my monthly courses had shown signs of being late, only to be disappointed when they arrived. Could it be that Simon was going to be like his father and that only one baby would be given to us?

  I was in a very somber mood as I walked back to the big house.

  Twenty-Seven

  Rain falls on my face

  With the same pleasure as a

  Much loved friend come home.

  “I heard Samuel Jacobs lost more than a dozen slaves last week. Just spirited away into clean air. Seems like there’s some folk around think they’re above the law. Of course, old man Jacobs got the hounds out to hunt ‘em down, but they found nothing at all. And further south, I understand it’s even worse.”

  Simon was furious, I could tell from his voice. Mama Simone nodded sympathetically. I tried to look concerned, but it was difficult. My sympathy was with the slaves, and I wished them well. I had heard the hounds baying, night after night, and it was only too easy to think what it must feel like to know they were on your heels, intent on ripping your flesh with their hungry teeth. And I doubted that any of the planters would think there was anything at all wrong in allowing them to tear apart
any slave who had been foolish and uppity enough to attempt to escape. Mama Simone obviously agreed.

  “It’s organized, Simon. I’m sure of it. Any slave who’s stupid enough to try and make a run for it on their own would never get more than a mile or two. Any piece of white trash is going to ask them for their pass in hope of picking up a reward if they get a slave on the run. And none of them can swim, so no hope of getting across open water to put the hounds off the scent.” She shook her head angrily. “Of course, if everybody treated their slaves as well as we do, they wouldn’t want to run away in the first place.”

  I stared at her, barely able to believe she wasn’t making a joke in the worst possible taste. The slaves on High Grove plantation were treated well? It was only a month or so ago that all of the slaves were summoned in from the fields to watch one of the young women being whipped for some misdemeanor. Mama Simone had suggested that I should witness it as well.

  “After all, she’s going to be mistress when I pass away. She needs to know how these things are done.”

  Simon pulled a face but agreed.

  I watched in horror as the slave was stripped to her waist and hauled to the stocks, where her neck was forced into a large central hole, and the top wood slammed down to hold her fast. Why, I wondered, didn’t she shout and scream and struggle? But she did not. Instead, she stared at the ground, her face blank.

  “Ready, Master Simon?” The overseer, a man I saw rarely, raised a whip with a number of lashes dangling from the handle. “How many you want me to give her?”

  “Start off with twenty. See how she takes it.”

  The girl started to scream after the first few lashes. I watched dumbly, praying to any god that was listening that the sound of my own heartbeat might drown out her agony. But the gods were elsewhere that day, and after a bare minute or two, I could stand it no longer.

  “Simon, stop him. He’s killing her.”

  “She has to be punished, dear.” Simon patted my hand gently. “If we let Shula get away with it, the others will think they can do the same.” He spoke loudly, to be heard over her howls.

  “What did she do?” I asked, hoping that somehow her crime might be so bad that it deserved this terrible pain.

  “She ran away. We sold her daughter to another plantation. When Tom caught her—” He nodded at the overseer. “—she told him she was trying to get to the child. Stupid bitch. She must have known she would have been sent back to us, even if she’d managed to reach her daughter.”

  I stared at my man in complete horror. Could he not understand Shula’s pain? Had he not felt the same when we had left our own daughter far behind us? Perhaps he read my thought in my face. He shook his head and frowned.

  “I know it might seem harsh to you, dear. But she’s young and healthy. She’ll have lots more children. In a few months’ time, she’ll have forgotten she ever lost this one.”

  “Simon, please. No more,” I whispered hoarsely. He sighed and glanced at Tom. I guessed the first twenty lashes had been administered, as the overseer was standing with his whip raised, obviously waiting for instructions. Simon shrugged.

  “Give her another ten, Tom. And then let her go. My lady here is tender-hearted, so I’ll spare Shula for her sake.” He raised his voice, so the entire crowd of slaves could hear him. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. I’m letting Shula off lightly because my lady here feels sorry for her. Not for any other reason. But if any one of you tries to run away, you’ll get your own punishment and hers as well. Understand?”

  The crowd murmured, stirring amongst themselves. I was amazed to find Mama Simone was looking at him approvingly.

  “A nice touch, that. Well done, Simon. Makes you look merciful but at the same time gives the slaves a warning they’re not going to forget for the future. Lets them know that none of them can get away with mischief, no matter what.”

  Shula’s cries tailed off as Tom lowered his whip for the final time. He beckoned at one of the slaves and he ran forward at once with a bucket in each hand. Tom threw the contents on Shula and she screamed again.

  “Saltwater,” Simon explained. “Might sting a bit now, but at least her skin won’t suppurate.”

  “You’ll sell her on now, Simon?” It was barely a question. Mama Simone was obviously sure she already knew the answer.

  “Soon as she heals,” Simon said. “Always a market for a fertile slave down Carolina way. Should be far enough away.”

  Simon and his mother exchanged a glance I could not interpret. I walked back to the house between them, wondering if I would get home before I was sick.

  Twenty-Eight

  All are born to die

  The important thing is what

  You do with your life

  No matter how I tried, I could not forget Shula’s painful humiliation. Bewildered, I asked Simon time and again why running away to find her daughter had been such a crime that she had needed to have the skin whipped from her back. He shrugged my questions off impatiently, as if I was deliberately trying to annoy him by refusing to understand the obvious.

  “It’s just the way it is, Terue-chan,” he snapped. “You can’t be sentimental about slaves. If we’re too lenient with them, they’ll think they can get away with anything. Don’t worry your head about it.”

  The sound of carriage wheels distracted him. I heard his voice exchanging pleasantries with Mama Sydney, and a moment later he left the house, calling that he was going to the drying sheds with Mr. Sydney. That pleased me greatly. Papa Sydney never said anything impolite to me, but then again, he had no need to. I could feel his lust lingering on me whenever he was in the same room as I was. He made me shudder. I didn’t mind Mama Sydney, but I found Johanna very hard work. Now, Mama Sydney closeted herself with Mama Simone, and it was made clear with turned shoulders and lowered voices that I was not welcome.

  I really didn’t feel comfortable with Johanna at all, which was unfortunate as she had taken a great liking to me. But she was so very difficult to talk to! Ask her a question, and her answer was often simply “yes” or “no,” after which she simply stayed silent, obviously waiting for me to take up the threads of the conversation again. Sometimes, I wondered if she might be a bit simple. For sure, whenever I was alone in her company I wished I had never let it be known that I had learned to speak English.

  “Don’t pull him about, Johanna,” I said. She was fussing Oscar roughly, far beyond the bounds of his patience. “He’s not some sort of doll.”

  She pouted and stared at me and tugged hard on Oscar’s silky ears yet again.

  “You can’t tell me what to do.” Her lower lip jutted stubbornly. “You’re only a high-class black whore.”

  “Am I? And who told you that?” I blinked at the vicious words.

  “Oh, nobody.” She saw my expression and grinned. “Well, nobody actually told me. But I heard Papa say it to Mr. Withers.”

  “Really? And what else did Papa say?”

  “He said much the same as I did the first time I saw you.” Joanna smirked, suddenly talkative. “He said you were the best looking high yellow slave he’d ever seen, but that there was no way Mrs. Beaumont would ever let Simon marry a foreigner. Especially one who had been no better than a whore in her own country.”

  I managed a tight smile. “Is that so? Well, it’s a good job Simon doesn’t feel the same way, isn’t it?”

  “Papa says it’s only a matter of time before Simon comes to his senses.” She chirped, pulling at Oscar’s ears again. He gave a warning growl, but this time I let her continue. “And when he does, he says there’s going to be a queue a mile long at your door, competing to see who’s next in line. What did he mean by that, Terue?”

  “I have no idea. I told you not to do that,” I added as Oscar snapped at her and Johanna snatched her fingers away.

  Her unconscious cruelty blasted away the barriers I had erected around my own thoughts. Of course, I knew that Simon was in mourning for his father’s death.
He had explained that we would not be able to marry until the proper period of mourning had been observed. Even if he had not, I would have seen from the approval showered on Mama Simone by the good people of Virginia that the family was only doing what was expected. I had agreed willingly that we could not marry at once. But as the months dragged on, I had begun to question to myself: how long? Still, I pushed my concerns away, convincing myself that all would be well if only I had the patience to understand the way things were in my new world.

  Johanna had shattered my illusions. I was bitterly ashamed of my own foolish naivety. Simon had no intention of marrying me. How could he, when I was just as low born as Shula and the rest of the slaves on the plantation? And not just a slave, but a whore as well. Of course, my place was as his concubine, not his wife. I cringed at the knowledge that everybody had understood that except me. I felt ill when I thought how they must have laughed at me behind my back.

  When Simon came to my bed that night, as had become his habit, I was waiting for him impatiently. I could have taken him to one side earlier, told him I needed to speak to him in private. But it had seemed to me that the words that needed to be said had to be spoken here, in the place where he had deceived me for so long.

  I had drawn the shrouding drapes fully back, allowing the cold, white moonlight to flood in. Simon paused on the threshold, his head on one side, like a dog sensing a strange scent.