The Slave Master's Son (33 page)

“And you want me to help you find them? You want to see them before you pass away? Father, in all sincerity and with all due respect, they will more than likely tell you to go straight to Hell!”

“Of course that’s their option. It’s a choice that they could make, and I’d accept that graciously since I fully grasp the notion that I’m not a good father in the traditional sense of the definition. I’m flawed, but I love my children. You will discover John, that as your family expands and more demands are made upon you, that you too may fall short of your own glory. Don’t look down upon me. You
don’t
know what it was like,” Master Stewart snorted.

“Really, Father? I
don’t
think Mother would’ve appreciated you creating children with other women during the marriage,” John snubbed.

“Well, aren’t you one to throw stones! You made a child with another woman while married to Gayle!” Master Stewart yelled. “And you didn’t know for certain that Gayle wasn’t with child, yet you left her anyway. Don’t wave your judgments at me young man!” Master Stewart yelled. Hannah wiped her hands clean on her apron, untied it, and made her way up the steps. She stopped as she heard the commotion.

“Gayle? The arranged marriage I was bullied into against my will? Surely you jest! I knew in my heart she wasn’t pregnant, and if I had of found out otherwise, I would’ve done right by that child. There’s no excuse for the heartbreak you must have caused, Father. Sarah and Mary are older than me. Jonah is only a year younger than me. You stated previously the two that passed away were – well, one was about the same age as me, a boy named Harold, and another girl was only three months older than me. I’m completely taken aback by your lack of judgment, honor, and discernment. I couldn’t imagine seeing Jonathan, watching him grow up over a period of time, and then abandoning him. Monetary gifts don’t appease the broken heart of a child.” Hannah quietly walked into their bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“They don’t, but they help lessen the load that the mother has to carry as she tends to their needs. I’m not sitting here to…” Master Stewart coughed violently. John stood up and poured his father a glass of water and handed it to him. Master Stewart took three big gulps and set it down. “I’m not sitting here to try to make what I did right or explain myself to you. I have enough explaining to do to myself and you’re not my judge.” Master Stewart’s voice trembled.

“I’d like to see them before I pass away. I’ve given you their information. If you can find them, I’ll be always grateful. If you can’t, I’ll accept that, and thank you in advance for your assistance. If you do, but they
don’t
wish to see me, I’ll accept that as well. I’ve made this bed, and I’ll surely lie in it. My life took several turns that many would find questionable, but I was doing nothing differently than anyone else. I just covered my tracks better,” Master Stewart said, his facial expression serious yet thoughtful.

“And that somehow makes it right? Lest you not be judged by your own son? Your own children? If we’re not to condemn you for your abandonment then who shall? The victims of such actions surely have a stake in this,” John said angrily.

“God is my authority, not the fruit of my loins,” Master Stewart rebuked.

“God shall sort us all out and straighten us firmly and correctly upon the last draw of our breath once we face Him but, here on Earth, there are laws, rules, and regulations. As a lover of law, surely you understand that this is necessary, and it does not surpass or negate that of which is between families.”

“And some laws were made to be broken. Like being married to a negro woman,” Master Stewart rebutted flippantly.

“Yes, some of which should be broken but not the ones between that of a parent and child! We have the right to tell you of your misdeeds for we’re the ones that suffered greatly. You can’t tell us that you were a good or bad parent, for we as the children see you differently than you see yourself. That’s like a cook telling the patron that the meal was satisfactory. Only the patron can assess such. You have no right! I had siblings that I never got to know. I was a very lonely boy, stuck in my own world and sheltered due to no fault of my own. You kept me away from far lands until it suited your desires. Several fleeting memories of mulatto children, one of which had my same eyes, were in the bloodline, and you didn’t make me privy to such information!” John stood up.

“It wasn’t knowledge for a child!” Master Stewart’s hands shook as he raised his fists. “I couldn’t, nor would I entertain such tales to a child! Not all conversation is fit for children! It was an adult concern and situation. Your mother’s and my personal relationship is none of your affair, as well. This has always been my greatest issue. You were a precocious young lad, always trying to take things apart and reassemble even the finest details of mundane conversations. I knew early on your calling was that of law. You could recall conversations verbatim that occurred several weeks prior and you’d collected a variety of interpretations and motives. This was an annoyance to a father who wished to have his privacy respected, in every way.” Master Stewart asserted.

“And yet you still mistook me for a fool. We all knew, Father. The only missing piece was your admission, but if an apple sits under an apple tree, even though it no longer is flourishing from the limb, it’s still an apple from that very tree, despite the lack of affirmation. Now here you lie dying and expect your children to come flocking to you. It’s your wish to have your children draped around their dying father, giving you peace and comfort so that you may meet your maker, forgiven by your offspring, but I say unto you that you don’t deserve such an event. You perplex me, Father. One part of you appears to love me whole and completely, the other detests me and possibly regrets the day I was born. Another part of you exists in the air of open dialogue and honesty with a high concentration of love and affinity. The last part of you is deceptive, dark, arrogant and devoid of wrongdoing in this most obvious of circumstances. This is what causes me to love and hate you throughout any given day. I’ll do your bidding, however. The last thing I desire is to have your soul, wrought with unrest, visit me due to your wishes not being fulfilled. Some say that’s folklore, but I saw my mother and know it to not be.” Master Stewart perked up.

“You saw – your mother?” he asked, his eyes wide and curious.

“Indeed. When I held Jonathan for the first time, a white silhouette of a woman stood close to me. I could see through her. She just stood there and watched and finally disappeared. Initially, I felt my eyes were playing tricks on me. I’ve seen her only once since then, and it was right before I was told of your illness,” John explained.

“I’ve seen her, too,” Master Stewart nodded appreciatively. “In any regard, thank you. Again, I didn’t expect to be exonerated from your condemnation. However, it does not change my pleas or plans.” He lit his pipe and sat on the edge of the bed, staring off into space. John looked at his father and lowered his head before turning away and walking slowly out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stood in the hall, deliberating over the conversation. Images of tawny children with wild, curly light brown hair danced into his thoughts. John suddenly remembered playing with a dark jade frog decorated in yellow and ebony splotches. He was trying to catch it with the assistance of a thick, broken tree branch he gripped tightly in his right hand. His ankles and feet were wet and covered in bits of moist bark, mud, torn blades of loose grass, and a variety of red, itchy insect bites. The summer air stung his nostrils as the stench of decaying areas of stagnant water waived in front of him, hurrying him along his way to catch the wayward amphibian.

In the distance, he heard the laughter of the tan children and saw the bright, dancing sun shining upon their round, creamy faces and lion mane hair. One had sparkling blue eyes and full lips. She looked at him suddenly, stopping in her tracks, causing John to suddenly forget the frog and look at a piece of him in the mirror of her image. No words were exchanged. Their acknowledgement of one another was a meaningful conversation devoid of further exploration. The child turned away, grabbed her brother by the arm, and headed away back to the slave quarters. Their laughter began again, only now it was in the distance until it finally completely disappeared. John was left standing there holding his stick and feeling that he wanted to just go home and lie down, but he wasn’t sure why.

John shook the adolescent thought out of his head and walked into his bedroom to find Hannah lying silently under layers of warm sheets, fast asleep. He closed the door and headed into Jonathan’s room to find him asleep in an awkward position atop a pile of toys. He picked his son up, placed him delicately in his crib, and covered him with one of Hannah’s beautifully embroidered blankets. He stood there leaning over Jonathan’s crib.

“I’m not perfect, Son, but I’ll do my best by you as long as I live.” John smiled and patted his son’s cheek right before he disappeared from his son’s room and retreated to the warmth of Hannah for the duration of the evening.

* * *

“Hawthorne. Taylor. Stewart.” whispered the magistrate. “Attorney Stewart, the only records I’m able to find with those names exist in New Jersey. Are you and your father certain they live in Albany?”

“That’s where he stated his last correspondence of their whereabouts was confirmed. This was, of course, easily ten years ago. None of his mail was returned however, and the monies were accepted, so someone was in fact receiving the funds,” John explained.

“I suppose it’s possible that they relocated to New Jersey. There was an opportunity there for banking positions several years ago. Perhaps that was the motivation for a potential relocation?” the magistrate asked, his thick, swirled, dark-reddish-brown mustache bouncing with each word he uttered.

“Yes, it’s feasible,” John said as he flipped through a small stack of papers on the long, worn desk.

“It appears that I’ll need to take a business trip,” John said as he resealed an old envelope. He picked up his coat, dusted it off, slid his long arms into it, and nodded “good day” as he left the magistrate’s office. John daydreamed while in the wagon on the way home. In his mind, he smelled sweet yams, hot buttery corn on the cob, cold slices of thick, juicy tomatoes and pink slices of spiraled ham, dripping with molasses.

“I’m desperately hungry,” he smiled to himself as he got off the wagon. John entered the house to find it strangely quiet. The faint smell of baking chicken filled the house. He went into the kitchen to find a chicken only partially cooked and the oven cold.

“Hannah?” he called out, concern saturated his voice. He went from room to room to find them all empty.

“John!” he heard his father call faintly from the guest room. John hurried and swung the door open, revealing Master Stewart in a partial state of undress and a silly smile on his face while he held the bottle of liquor close to his pale, gray-haired chest.

“Hannah is giving birth. We had no time to alert you,” Master Stewart coughed. She already had her – actually – it happened suddenly.”

“What? Had the baby? Here?” John exclaimed with shock, happiness and slight dizziness.

“Don’t run off! She’s on her way back home. Her friend Opal has her. It happened right after you left this morning. She stayed around here cleaning and started dinner, and before you knew it, well, I’m sure you can imagine the rest,” Master Stewart explained.

John’s eyes glazed over in disbelief. He needed to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He raced down the steps back into the kitchen. Placing the chicken back over the heat, he pulled out three tomatoes and sliced them, sprinkling them with salt and pepper. He then found a few ears of corn in a basket and husked them while humming to himself. He dropped them eagerly into boiling water, watching them bob up and down with a few thin whisks of husk swimming in the bubbling, searing, clear water. He raced back up the steps and picked up Jonathan’s toys and belongings. He then went to the attic and pulled out the old cradle they used for Jonathan after he was first born. John took out a hot cloth with soap, and scrubbed it down. He set it up in their bedroom and neatly folded all of Hannah’s blankets and linens, placing them out of the way so that their bedroom was ideal for the new baby. Finally, he heard the front door open. He ran down so quickly, he tripped and almost fell.

“Mr. Stewart!” Opal yelled out as she looked over her shoulder.