The Slave Master's Son (15 page)

Hours passed. John stayed alert, his legs stiff and his bones cool. The tips of his fingertips occasionally lost sensation. He shoved them back into his pockets and continued to wait. His father, now sitting on a chair, was sound asleep outside the front door. Suddenly, a baby’s cry was heard. It was harsh yet sweet, pulsating with confusion, need, and wonder. John came alert as he listened, trying to hear how Hannah was doing. Mary’s laughter lit the room. Then suddenly, there was silence. It fell over the small house with an abrupt, forbidding hush. The baby continued to cry, yet all dialogue ceased. The front door slowly opened, emitting a small ray of light and wafts of warmth from the fire inside. John listened intently as the doctor tapped Master Stewart on his shoulder, waking him from his stiff slumber.

“Mr. Stewart I believe you may want to get Mr. Grant down here. The baby has been born,” he said with trepidation. Master Stewart jumped to his feet.

“What’s wrong? Is the baby ill?” he asked urgently.

“Not exactly. It’s a boy,” the doctor said carefully.

“OK – well – what is it then?” Master Stewart inquired.

“I just think you better get Mr. Grant. It appears to me that – well…” Master Stewart abruptly pushed the doctor aside and raced into the small cottage home. The crackling fire and the baby’s cooing were the only sounds heard. His footsteps were slow as he approached Hannah who held the baby tightly to her as tears streamed down her face. A smile a mile wide expanded across her taut brown skin, making her cheeks shine like two bright, freshly polished apples. Mary smiled but held her head down as Master Stewart drew closer. The baby suckled at Hannah’s breast. Master Stewart cleared his throat and peered down at the baby. Initially, he gasped. He stared expressionless for what seemed like minutes. John waited for a sign – a word – anything – to no avail. The confusion and lack of information was eating him alive. Master Stewart cleared his throat once more, broke his gaze, and turned away abruptly.

“I see, Doctor?” he said softly.

“Yes,” the doctor responded, holding his hat in his hand.

“I should safely assume this is a full-term baby, correct?” Master Stewart asked cautiously.

“Yes – yes he is – healthy in all regards and definitely nine months, possibly even nine-and-a-half.”

“And can I safely assume that this is – how he looks?” Master Stewart asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes. There appears to be no medical reason as to why he’d look that way other than his heritage.”

“I need for someone to alert Mr. Grant,” Master Stewart said reflectively. “Please let him know that the baby isn’t to be his. I’ll pay monetarily for the inconvenience.”

“Certainly,” the doctor responded as he gathered his bag and equipment. “Mary, keep Hannah cool with ice water. I’ve stitched her up, and she’s not to walk any long distance for at least two days.” Mary nodded. John stood up and continued to listen. His breathing was erratic and heavy. The thick, dark swirl of hair once again hung in front of his left eye. He swung it back as he strained to eavesdrop. The doctor left the house and got into his carriage. Moments later, Mr. Grant rode his carriage towards the house. He jumped out, stomping towards the door enraged. He entered the house, not closing it behind him, allowing the cool air to bathe all of them and the flames of the fire to jump in twisted, eerie convulsions.

“What the hell is going on here? What do you mean the baby is no longer mine? I hope you’re prepared to pay then!” Mr. Grant yelled.

“Keep your voice down!” Mary warned without thinking. “The baby is asleep!” The room quieted. He looked over at the baby and walked up to Hannah to get a closer view.

“Oh my!” he gasped. “He’s – he’s…”

“He’s my grandson!” yelled Master Stewart. “Get out!” Master Stewart pulled out a balled up handful of dollars and stuffed it into Mr. Grant’s palm. “Leave us! Leave us at once!” Mr. Grant smiled nervously and ran out of the house. He rode away. The sound of the carriage dissipated just as a pebble skipping across a pond. John bit his hand to contain his exuberance as he continued to listen in. He smiled bright as the sun as warm tears flowed down his cold cheeks.

“I want to see him,” he said to himself. “I want to see my son.” John sat back down and waited patiently. His father finally exited the house and walked away. John waited a few minutes then slowly entered the house. Mary’s back was to him as she poked the fire. Hannah was asleep as was the baby.

“Mary,” John whispered. Mary jumped.

“Oh, my Lord!” she exclaimed as she put her hands to her mouth in disbelief. John rushed over to her and hugged her tightly.

“How did you get here, boy?” She hugged him again.

“Any way I could,” John chuckled. “I heard what my father said,” he whispered as he turned away from Mary and approached his sleeping Hannah and baby. He looked at his son’s mouth, partially opened as he rested his tiny full, pink lips softly against Hannah’s dark nipple. John’s eyes welled with tears. He wiped them away as he gently stroked the baby’s silky, black waves. His skin was soft, with a honeydew coloring, and it almost seemed to glow. Light hair covered his plump shoulders, and the rest of the baby was wrapped in a small beige blanket.

“He has Hannah’s lips,” John said softly.

“Yeah, but he looks just like you ’cept for that,” smiled Mary as she sat down, exhaling deeply.

“Yes, he does,” John nodded in agreement as he leaned down and kissed Hannah’s forehead.

* * *

“I must be dreaming,” Hannah’s voice slurred slightly as she awoke forty minutes later. She saw John folded by the side of the bed, sound asleep. Mary was in her chair knitting a baby blanket. Mary did not look over at Hannah; she kept knitting.

“No, Hannah, you’re not dreamin’. You really do see John layin’ there,” she answered matter-of-factly. The baby began to stir. John woke startled as he heard the baby whimper. He jumped to his feet. Hannah looked up at him. Her mouth was open, but no sound was uttered. John sat at the edge of the bed. He leaned down slowly towards her, kissing her passionately.

“If this is a dream, please never wake me up,” Hannah pleaded. “I’ve dreamt of you almost every night.”

“It’s not a dream, my love. I’m here. We’re all here. Can I – can I hold him?” he asked with a weak smile.

“Yes.” Hannah slowly sat up and handed the baby to John. “Yes, like that. Keep your hand under his head. He can’t control it yet.” Hannah smiled.

“Yes, of course. He’s so little,” John smiled happily, his exuberance exploding and filling the room. The baby looked up at him, moving his lips as his puffy eyes strained to focus. “He’s beautiful, Hannah,” John said as he held him closer to his chest.

“I know. I don’t know what to name him. I ain’t thought that far.” She frowned as she tried to sit up.

“Let me help you,” Mary said as she stood up and set her knitting needles down. Mary moved Hannah’s pillow and gently pulled her daughter into a more upright position. John looked at his son intensely, studying and memorizing his every feature. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white, wispy shadow. When he turned, whatever may have been there disappeared. John rubbed his tired eyes and looked back down at his son, smiling appreciatively.

“How about Jonathan?” Mary asked as she sat back down.

“That’s just fine,” Hannah smiled. “We’ll call him Jonathan. What do you think?” Hannah asked.

“Would you find me vain if I agreed that it was an excellent idea?” he smiled. Hannah laughed. She looked down at their son in John’s arms and said, “That’s your name, baby – Jonathan Abraham Stewart.”

“I hate to leave after all of this time, Hannah. I have some important business to tend to, and I don’t want my father to discover me here like this, at this second. Time is of the essence.”

“Please stay!” Hannah urged. She fought her physical pain and gripped the side of John’s shirt, bringing him towards her.

“Hannah, Sweetheart, I promise you I’ll be back soon. Your dreams are real and the nightmares are over. From this point forward, everything will be fine,” he assured her as he quickly kissed her, handed her the baby, and abruptly left the house.

* * *

“Under the current circumstances, that seems reasonable,” answered Master Washington. He poured John a cup of tea as the two men sat down. It was four in the morning, and Master Washington was still groggy from being awoken by Mr. Grant who informed him of the entire, sordid tale.

“Tell me, John, does your father know of your arrival?” he asked as he dropped a cube of sugar in his tea.

“No, he does not, and I’d like to keep it as such,” John said as he took a sip of his tea, warming his throat.

“I understand.” Master Washington got up and locked the study door before returning to his seat. “I want to make sure he does not overhear us. Mr. Grant’s already informed me. He was to watch over this matter, and I was only to receive a confirmation update, but due to the fact that the baby in question isn’t Henry’s,” Mr. Washington gave a quick glance towards John and looked away abruptly, “you’re surely entitled to your son. I think it’s unfortunate that Mr. Grant allowed your father to pay for his own grandchild. He’s an excellent businessman, but has a heart of coal. I apologize and will talk to Mr. Grant about his unscrupulous behavior,” Master Washington assured.

“I’m not concerned about Mr. Grant,” John guaranteed. “Men like him weave their own webs and end up trapped themselves. Time will eventually take care of him. At this point, I want to get Hannah away from here as soon as possible. I understand that she just gave birth, but in the next twenty-four hours I need to have her and my son on a train. I’m taking her up north,” John explained.

“You know, John, your father confided in me that you may try to find Hannah. He was hesitant to elaborate. I’m sure that was due to pride. I did spend a lot of money for her, but I wouldn’t expect you to pay me nine hundred dollars. Mr. Grant’s already been compensated for the child situation.” Mr. Washington adjusted his robe. “I’m deeply sorry that you had to go through all of this in order to get her back. Though I’m not what I’d call a sympathizer, your father knew I’d take good care of her. I don’t treat my slaves badly. I think they deserve to be treated like you or me unless they show disobedience. I told Hannah she needed to be with Henry. She complied though it was obvious it was upsetting for her. I figured it was simply because she was young. We didn’t know she was already pregnant. I don’t believe she knew either. If my calculations are correct, she couldn’t have been more than a couple weeks along upon her arrival,” Master Washington explained.

“I didn’t know either, obviously. If she’d known, she would’ve told me,” John said. “So, what do I need to do in order to take my wife and baby from here?” John asked as he leaned forward, looking Master Washington directly in the eye. Mr. Washington looked at John and paused. He placed his tea cup down on the grand table between them and folded his hands together.

“Your wife? She’s here?” Mr. Washington asked.

“No – Hannah. We in fact were married quite some time ago,” John smiled. Master Washington smirked with confusion but dismissed it.

“John, you will need to speak to your father. I’m not going to stop you from taking her. Just pay me back a reasonable offering on the percentage I paid for her, and she’s all yours. I’ll give you the paperwork should you run into any issues along the way. You don’t seem like the type of man that’s afraid of your father, so I wonder what’s truly driving your behavior. You know that this is inevitable.”

“I know it is. I just don’t want Hannah subjected to any more of his antics.” John went on to explain to Mr. Washington what happened right before Hannah was sold.

“I see,” he responded as he shook his head. “That fills the void as to why you don’t wish to have discourse with him about this matter. You know, John, it’s none of my business, and I really don’t condone this sort of thing between Negroes and whites. I think we need to stay separate as far as things such as that. But I’m not in a position to tell you what to do nor would I interfere especially since you now have a child with Hannah. I can see that you care for her very deeply or you wouldn’t have gone through all of these things to be with her. The bottom line is you’re your own man and will have to make your own choices,” Master Washington explained. John nodded as he stood up. He handed Master Washington five hundred dollars and shook his hand. Master Washington opened the study door as the two men walked out. John approached the front door, then stopped in his tracks. He swung back around and marched to the guest room from where his father’s snoring was emanating.

“John, where are you going?” whispered Master Washington.

“I think you know. It’s time he and I get this over with,” John said as he opened the door, allowing a thin veil of candle light to seep into the room, cloaking his father in a warm bath of yellow luminescence. His hard, slow footsteps approached the canopy bed, covered in cream tapestries. The faint odor of kerosene filled the room. Master Stewart’s eyes flew open suddenly. He looked to his left and saw his son’s silhouette in the doorway. John was leaning against the frame, his ankles crossed and arms folded across his chest. Master Stewart sighed and slowly sat up.