The Slave Master's Son (24 page)

“Oh, my God, look how much you’ve grown!” John cried. Hannah descended the steps and walked slowly into the living room, rubbing the sleep from her swollen eyes. She glanced at John. Her eyes quickly shifted to the diminutive bundle cradled in his strong arms. She dashed hurriedly towards him, almost tripping on her way. Hannah swiftly grabbed the child out of John’s arms and hugged him close to her face and chest, simultaneously dropping to the ground sobbing. Her tears poured out like a torrential downpour as her heart beat loudly, playing the drums for the entire world to hear.

“Thank you, Jesus!” she screamed. “Thank you, Jesus! My baby is home!” Hannah’s body shook as she embraced the child close to her bosom. The baby began to cry. Hannah kissed all over him, soothing him as she touched his face with her palm. She turned her back, pulling the side of her nightgown down to expose her nipple. John walked up behind her and held her as she attempted to breastfeed after so much passed time.

“He ain’t takin’ it,” Hannah panicked. “My milk might be gone.”

“He’ll take it, just keep trying,” John encouraged as he pushed his face into her hair, his tears falling into her thick, curly strands. Master Stewart closed the front door slowly after witnessing the reunion. Mr. Cole and the officer left. He sat back at the table, with his back towards his family, smiling proudly.

“There he goes,” John whispered sweetly. Jonathan finally took Hannah’s nipple and began to suckle. Hannah smiled and laughed as she rubbed her fingers through his hair. “He looks just the same, only a bit bigger. I missed you, little Sweetheart. Mama missed you, Baby!” she cried.

* * *

CHAPTER 20

“There’s plenty of apple cider,” Hannah teased. “I can’t wait to see Mama. I doubt she’ll be doing any candle making with me, but I’ll at least show her how,” she smiled.

“I really think I ought to get more cider,” John said as he looked at their kitchen inventory.

“John, I’ve never seen you this nervous. You act as if you’ve never seen these people before. This Thanksgiving is going to be wonderful. You just wait and see. I know you haven’t seen your family in a few months, but I’m sure they’re the same!” Hannah laughed and assured as she continued to iron his pants. Jonathan crawled around cooing and rolling his ball around the floor.

“I can’t believe you bought him a ball and cup. I play with it more than he does,” Hannah laughed. “Save something for Christmas,” she urged. John laughed.

“I knew he couldn’t use it yet, but I couldn’t resist. You should see what my father has for him. He told me all about it. Wait until Christmas. I think this house is going to be filled to the ceiling,” he stated. John looked affectionately at his wife.

“You want another baby, don’t you?” he said as he watched her adoring their son. Hannah smiled shyly.

“I want a little girl, too. Then I’d have everything I ever wanted,” she grinned.

“Well, first I believe we need to find out about this cough of yours and why your weight keeps dropping,” John said.

“I feel fine,” Hannah responded. “It’s probably just a little chest cold. I’ve had those before.”

“Yes, but you rarely get sick, and this isn’t going away. You’ve been eating normally, yet you’re still skin-and-bones. Promise me you will see the doctor next week,” he said as he counted the eggs.

“Oh, alright,” Hannah agreed hesitantly.

“Better yet, before our guests get here tomorrow, I’m taking you to Dr. Armstrong,” John insisted.

“That odd, colored doctor?” Hannah exclaimed. “I saw him out and about, and he always gives me dirty looks. I don’t want to go to him,” she pouted.

“You’re going. He’s the only first-rate Negro within a twenty-five mile radius. I’ll go with you. You keep getting headaches, and you have cold sweats. Whatever is going on, it’s getting worse instead of better,” John insisted as he poured himself a glass of milk. “Go on and get dressed.” Hannah finished ironing John’s pants; changed Jonathan’s nappy; and bathed, dressed, and combed her hair for her doctor’s appointment.

“John, I’m ready,” she said in an irritated tone. John looked up from his newspaper, grabbed Hannah’s coat off the hook, and put it on her. She picked their son up from the ground while John placed his coat on, and they left to the square.

* * *

“Thank you for seeing her on such short notice, Dr. Armstrong,” John exclaimed.

“Indeed. It was wise to bring Hannah here as soon as possible. The earlier the treatment, the better. I have her stool sample. The rest of this is just general,” Dr. Armstrong smiled. Dr. Armstrong was tall and well built. One of his eyes was hazel, and the other dark brown. His hair was dark and coarse and cut close with a long part. John held Jonathan as Hannah opened her blouse so that Dr. Armstrong could listen to her lungs. Jonathan squirmed about, cooing and playfully yelling.

“There are some toys just outside the door, Mr. Stewart. Maybe your little one would like to see some.” Dr. Armstrong smiled. John nodded and went outside of the office to find amusement for the infant. Hannah swallowed deeply. She clung to the sides of the examination table tightly as Dr. Armstrong repeatedly brushed his hand against her shoulder.

“Why would you do something like that?” he asked in almost a whisper.

“Pardon me?” Hannah responded in confusion.

“That man. Why would you willingly be with him? Do you not have any pride?” he asked calmly as he continued the examination.

“I don’t believe that this is a proper discussion for us to engage in!” Hannah responded.

“I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I’ll drop the topic,” Dr. Armstrong stated as he continued his examination.

“Thank you!” Hannah said as she crossed her ankles. Dr. Armstrong examined Hannah’s tongue and felt her head. He looked deeply into her eyes, a bit too long and too intensely. After gingerly patting her hand, he stood back and sighed.

“You have
typhoid fever. It’s truly amazing that you’re not feeling much worse,” he said shaking his head.

“Typhoid fever?” Hannah questioned.

“Yes. You probably obtained it from some tainted water. There are plenty of cases of this going around. Have you had a fever or loose bowels?” Dr. Armstrong asked as he crossed his arms.

“Occasionally,” Hannah answered, a blush coming across her face. John re-entered the examination room with a fist full of toys and his son dangling playfully in front of him. John smiled up at the doctor as he took a seat and placed Jonathan down on the ground.

“Mr. Stewart, I just informed Hannah that I believe she has typhoid fever,” the doctor explained.

“I’ve heard of it and know of several people that had it, Dr. Armstrong. Hannah didn’t seem to exhibit all of the symptoms I’ve heard of and seen, so I suspected it was something else,” John said, worry covering his face.

“I believe that at the onset, Hannah’s immune system was very healthy, and that helped her stay healthier longer, but now it’s returned. It’s imperative that she drink plenty of fluids and eat at least six liquid meals a day. Solids have to be avoided as much as possible. This can be serious, Hannah. Many people die from this. So though the prognosis may be frightening, we can try to do something about it,” Dr. Armstrong explained. Hannah closed her eyes and hung her head. John stood up and rubbed his wife’s back soothingly.

“I do have some unconventional methods to help combat this disease,” Dr. Armstrong said quietly. He closed his office door before he continued. “I’ve treated many patients, some of which were in more dire need than Hannah. We can begin those treatments, if you’d like,” Dr. Armstrong offered.

“What type of treatments?” Hannah asked weakly, concern coating each syllable.

“I want you to boil all water that you drink first. The same with ice – boil that water, then proceed to freeze it. Wash all fruit and vegetables completely before consumption. Hannah, I believe this isn’t your first bout with this fever. I believe you’ve been afflicted before. Your body fought it off, then it recurred,” Dr. Armstrong explained.

“Oh, no,” Hannah said. “Master Stewart told me I didn’t look well when I went to Richmond. I just thought it was because of everything we were going through.” She rubbed her forehead in disbelief.

“The blessing here, Hannah, is this time it was caught earlier, but your body isn’t strong enough to keep fighting it. You will need plenty of rest. I’d like to start treatment with you as soon as possible. I’ll need you to come to the office daily for the next two weeks. I’m going to give you licorice powder and massage your intestines. Mr. Stewart, if at any given time you see a rash develop on her or change in skin color, bring her to me immediately,” Dr. Armstrong said with a smile. Hannah felt nauseous. She buttoned her blouse, picked Jonathan off the ground, and walked out of the examination room abruptly. John watched her, mystified.

“Thank you, Dr. Armstrong. I’ll make sure Hannah follows your advice.” Dr. Armstrong nodded and handed John a small vile of milk and honey with unidentified ingredients.

“Give this to her every morning – just a tiny drop in her tea or coffee,” he instructed.

“Thank you, Dr. Armstrong,” John said again as he left the building.

“Hannah! What in tarnation is wrong with you?” John yelled as he yanked her arm. “He’s trying to help you, and you’re treating him as if he’s the enemy!” he exclaimed.

“The good doctor is unscrupulous,” Hannah said, rolling her eyes and readjusting Jonathan on her hip.

“You had your mind set against him before we arrived. I
don’t
believe any accusation you hurl his way,” John stated as he helped her into the wagon.

“He asked about why am I with you. Does that change your mind?” Hannah asked smugly.

“No, it does not. He’s a successful doctor who’s likely endured a great deal to gain acceptance. I highly doubt that white patrons treated him with an ounce of kindness, despite his obvious ability to assist people with their disabilities and ailments. As far as the comment he made, he’d much rather see a woman such as yourself choose someone like him versus someone like me,” John said.

“And that does not bother you?” Hannah asked, crossing her arms over her breasts and clenching her thighs together as Jonathan sat between them.

“Not in the least. I
don’t
care about other people’s opinions. As long as they’re doing their job and not interfering with our life, I couldn’t care less,” John said with certainty. “You should know that about me by now. If I cared about what others said, you and I would’ve never made it. You’re going to have to stop reacting to every single thing that annoys you. There are far more pressing matters to attend to, anyway,” he added.

“You have a possibly momentous disease, so instead of worrying about what Dr. Armstrong thinks of you and me, be concerned about getting through this and getting well again for yours, Jonathan’s, and my sake. I can’t lose you, Hannah. I need your cooperation,” John said with trepidation. Hannah sat in her seat, poked her supple bottom lip out and sulked. She looked out the window and thought about her diagnosis. Panic overtook her. She fought back the building tears and looked up, concentrating on the sky and Thanksgiving preparations for the following day.

“I want my mama,” Hannah thought to herself. “I’m so happy she’s coming tomorrow.” She heaved a sigh and rubbed her cramping stomach.

* * *

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Master Stewart said with a bright grin as he bounced his grandson on his knee. Hannah nodded shyly as she cleared the table.

“Thank you. Did Mama come back in the house yet?” Hannah asked as she looked over her shoulder.

“Not yet. She’s still looking at the garden – what’s left of it,” John laughed. Just then they heard the back door open and close.