The Slave Master's Son (12 page)

“I exist – I don’t live,” he thought to himself as he continued to ride. He wasn’t sure why he was on the bike since he rarely rode, but it just seemed fitting for his mood. He arrived at his father’s house and walked up the familiar front porch with quick, determined steps. His thoughts immediately drifted to carrying Hannah up them, her wet hair touching his face, the soft curls tickling his pronounced jawbone. He snapped out of his daydream as he saw Mary sweeping the porch.

“Ahhh, you’re up and about.” John smiled as he walked towards her.

“Yes, I needed some fresh air. I’m still quite ill though, but stayin’ in there felt worse. You rode a bike? I ain’t seen you on a bike in years!” she laughed. John nodded, then approached the door to go inside when he felt Mary grab his arm. He looked at her with concern.

“John, Hannah asked about you in her last letter. Master Stewart didn’t lemme see it, but I could see your name and a question mark by it. I can’t read that good, but I knows a little bit and I know what I saw. I can recognize all the books in the Bible. Since ‘John’ is one of those books, I knew it was you. I’m going to go see her tomorrow mornin’. That’s all I’m saying.” Mary let go of his arm and continued sweeping. John smirked. He felt his blood start moving in his veins again. He wondered if his sudden desire to ride that old bike was his soul’s way of telling him he was going to feel like a kid again soon.

“Happy day,” he said to himself as he opened the door. John entered and greeted his father. He then ascended to his old bedroom. He noticed things that were amiss and disheveled.

“He’s been in my room,” John said aloud in anger. He began to walk over to his gun rack when he stopped momentarily and looked at his dresser. Running wax trailed in twisted, ivory knots. He rubbed his head as he recalled the candles burning all night as he and Hannah shared their first lovemaking experience together right there under those quilts that lay folded atop his bed now. He pictured Mason standing there, guiding them through their vows and the golden ring he held for his beloved Hannah. He closed his eyes as he reminisced about the way her skin smelled. He snapped back into reality, shaking off the comforting thoughts to complete the task at hand. John gathered his guns and placed them in a sack which he wrapped around his body. He headed back down the stairs, said goodbye to some of the servants, and rode back home in record speed. The sun was setting. He smiled as his body filled with anticipation. Air suddenly smelled fresh again. That evening John practiced shooting his rifles. He reviewed every detail of his plan, a plan that had been in the making for months. It was about to be implemented.

“I’ll see you soon, my dearest Hannah,” he said aloud as he shot another bottle. He reloaded and placed three more bottles as targets. Just then, something caught his eye. He ran frantically through the thick brush, lifting his gun. A shot rang out, deafening anything within earshot. A bloody rabbit lay on the ground, its eyes fixated. John walked over to the rabbit and scooped it up by the ears. His boots sank into the moist soil. He headed toward the kitchen. Gayle sat at the table reading her Bible. Her face turned to horror as he threw the reddened rabbit onto the table in front of her.

“Shave it. Clean it. Cook it,” John ordered as he looked down at her. Her hazel eyes grew wide. She looked at the blood on the table and her Bible, then back up at John.

“Dear, that’s what Savannah is for. She’ll cook dinner. If you want rabbit, then she can…”

“No! I want you to do it.” John’s eyes burned. “You do absolutely nothing. It’s the least you can do instead of being so indolent. You’re spoiled!” he shouted. “You so desperately want to be a wife – then cook!” Gayle hung her head, afraid to make eye contact. She slumped in her chair and began to cry. John sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Oh, Lord, not the crying,” he sighed. “What are you crying about?”

“Please don’t yell at me John. I think I’m in a – family way.” John turned away, crossing his arms over his strapping chest. He looked out the window, daydreaming. His thoughts drifted to a time when he was a child, free and naive. He longed for those days right then. John exhaled and turned back to his wife.

“I apologize,” he said as he walked away into their bedroom, closing the door behind him.

* * *

CHAPTER 13

John stretched his arms and yawned. Gayle was nestled on top of his chest, her hair spiraled in delicate streams of gold and auburn. He looked over his shoulder and slowly removed her arms from around his body. She stirred but did not rise. He fumbled in the dark, searching for his pants and shirt. After dressing quietly, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. He stood at the back door watching the morning sky make its appearance. Suddenly he heard Gayle shuffling behind him. She wrapped her robe securely around herself and smiled.

“Are you going hunting still?” she asked as she wiped her eyes. “I have an appointment with a doctor today. I thought you may want to wait to find out how far along I am.” She reached and touched his hand. He slowly pulled away from her, causing her smile to transform into a sullen frown.

“You aren’t happy, John?” Gayle asked as she slid down into a chair.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Gayle. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel at all. This announcement reeks of desperation,” he said coldly. “If it’s true, I’m afraid….” He walked behind her and patted her shoulders affectionately as he continued to wrestle with his emotions. Gayle reached up and touched his hand.

“Don’t be afraid, John. I think you’ll be a wonderful father,” Gayle said quietly. “I’ve been missing you more and more. You keep running back and forth to New York on business all the time. You’re finally back and now, well, now you’re running off again. I know you told me about this hunting trip days ago, but in the midst of this news, couldn’t you stay? We need to spend more time together – be a family. We have a family now,” Gayle pleaded.

“What makes you think you’re pregnant?” John asked suspiciously. “You’ve been trying to get pregnant ever since Hannah was sent away, and nothing has happened.”

“John, she’s been gone over eight months! That’s a long time. That’s plenty of time,” Gayle said, her words purposefully dipped in double meanings.

“Now all of the sudden, you’re telling me this,” John continued. “What’s going on here? Why haven’t you seen the doctor up until this point?” he asked with a touch of anger in his tone. Gayle looked at the floor then back up.

“Well, yes, I want to have your baby. I believe I – I believe I am.”

“Something tells me you aren’t,” he responded. “I believe you wish you were. We’ve been married for over a year. I lay with you for the first time eight months ago after...”

“Please don’t say her name,” Gayle urged, throwing her hand up and shutting her eyes.

“Very well. In any regard, in that time frame I know I haven’t touched you more than three times. The last time was a month or so ago. That was possibly my undoing,” he said under his breath. “Of course, that means that it’s not impossible.” John retreated to the bedroom and slid on his boots. He played back in his mind how he’d overheard Savannah and Gayle speaking in the kitchen earlier that week. She did not realize he was home and just outside the front door. He paused and listened intently to their conversation.

“Ma’am, if you want to have a baby and you run into problems, you gotta have some mint tea,” Savannah advised as she cleaned. “Mint tea helps. When I was a little girl with my sisters and friends, our mamas would brew mint tea for all the women that wanted a baby.” Gayle laughed mockingly.

“Mint tea? How silly, Savannah.” She sat down in her chair. “Tell me, did you grow up with that slave girl my husband knew?” Gayle asked with bite in her voice. Savannah stopped scrubbing the floor and hesitated.

“Well?” Gayle demanded, drumming her fingers on the table.

“Who do you mean?” Savannah questioned.

“Hannah!” Gayle raised her voice and rolled her eyes in obvious annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am,” Savannah answered with trepidation.

“I’m glad she’s far away from here now. Have you heard from her?” Gayle asked as she rubbed her fingers against the table cloth.

“My Mama has, but not me,” Savannah said weakly.

“Well, despite how she tried to steal my husband, as if she were really ever on his level, I do hope she’s OK. Is she OK?” Gayle asked with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am. She and a blacksmith named Joseph expectin’.”

Gayle laughed. “Wonderful! I wonder if she had mint tea! Maybe I’ll try. Savannah?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Savannah answered as she pulled out a thin broom and began to work it in the corners of the room.

“Is there any way that I can make this happen other than with mint tea? I know it sounds just dreadful, but I feel like if I can’t give John a baby – well, I fear he may leave me. You have four babes. You just pop them out!” Gayle laughed obnoxiously.

“Well, ma’am, you can always just say you is, until you is. Maybe that’ll give you more time. Just drink the mint tea. It should help,” Savannah answered as she gathered ripe oranges and began to cut them into thick slices.

“I do love John dearly,” Gayle said longingly, still smiling and beaming from the news regarding Hannah.

* * *

John grabbed two guns, ammunition, and his hunting knife. He then dropped to the ground and pulled a large box from under the bed, removing a large bag of old dollars he hadn’t yet deposited. He walked back into the kitchen, tipped his hat to Gayle, and made his way out the door.

“John!” she called out.

“Yes?” He slowly spun back around towards her.

“I wish you well on your hunting. I’ll let you know the news upon your return. I’ll expect you in a few days,” she smiled.

“You do that,” John said with a grin as he headed into the darkness.

“And John,” she whispered to herself as she watched him get into the wagon, “she’s been gone for over eight months. That’s plenty of time!”

* * *

John stood at the entrance of the Danville ferry station. The ferry was primarily for military supplies but did take passengers once a week on Sundays. There were three scheduled departures this Sunday, and knowing his father, he wouldn’t be on the one which was scheduled to leave before sunrise; however, his arriving early crossed his mind.

“Where’s the ferry going this morning?” he asked an older gentleman who was reading a newspaper and smoking a long, intricately carved pipe.

“Charleston, South Carolina,” the man answered, briefly looking up at John then back down.

“Thank you, sir.” John waited at the ferry. He took out his bag of coins and handed a few of them to the elderly man at the boat dock. John rubbed his hands together as coldness ran through his bones.

“How close can you get me to Charleston?” John asked as he reached down and adjusted his boot.

“Right at it. We leave in ten minutes. I’ll take your luggage,” the man responded gruffly.

“No luggage, just me, my guns, and my wits,” John smiled. He walked onto the ferry, sat down, and watched the waves kick up around him. There were very few people on the boat. John sat by himself. His stomach growled. He hadn’t thought about food, only getting to Hannah. A few minutes later, the ferry left the dock. John watched as the trees passed by. He laid his head against the railing and fell into a dream.

He saw himself on the battlefield – guns popping. He felt his jacket being tugged. He looked down and saw his friend, Sampson, shot multiple times in the chest. Sampson went in and out of consciousness as he gripped John’s uniform. John reached down and squeezed his hand while he watched Sampson slowly expire. He bent down and spoke to another soldier, Benjamin. As they routed out a plan, a bullet grazed John’s ear and struck Benjamin directly in the forehead. John grabbed him as he fell backward, blood spurting from Benjamin’s mouth. Once the dust cleared, he and two other soldiers stood silent and surveyed the carnage. Sixteen dead soldiers were spread amongst them.

“Goddamn Yankees!” one of the soldiers screamed as he held his wounded arm. John’s eyes flashed opened as he suddenly awoke from his dream. He gasped and looked up at the dawn sky. He was in a cold sweat. He reached for his tan handkerchief and patted his forehead dry. Even in the cool air, he was burning up. He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a chiseled chest. He breathed deeply and heavily, trying to remove the images from his mind. John smiled as he heard a child singing further up on the ferry. He dug into his pocket and pinched off a piece of bread, popping it into his mouth and swallowing.