The Slave Master's Son (39 page)

“Son, I don’t have much longer. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I’d like for this last bit of time to be on my own terms. Please contact Mary and alert her that she should begin arrangements to come up as soon as possible,” Master Stewart requested.

“I will. I will, Father.” John handed his father the glass of water.

“Thank you for speaking to Mary, Sarah, and Jonah. I know that must have been quite difficult. I’m not surprised at your news that they won’t be coming to visit nor attending my funeral. I just wished they could forgive me.” Master Stewart sipped his water clumsily.

“Father, at this point I’m not certain it’s a matter of forgiveness for the sake of forgiveness. It appears to me that all of them just wanted you to acknowledge your misdeeds. I believe we’re able to move on once we hear that the person who’s offended us is genuinely remorseful. I believe from what they discussed with me, they never received this from you. Thus, the nothing ever changed,” John explained.

“But it was a long time ago, John. I’m not the same person,” Master Stewart said reflectively.

“Yes, it was a long time ago, but an offense is an offense, regardless of how many years have sailed past. There’s something I’ve learned in my short stint of being a parent, Father. Time frames and duration are very fuzzy for children. When you tell them that they can eat or play in a minute, that minute’s an eternity because they desire it so badly. When you tell them that they will be punished upon your arrival, that time to them comes entirely too soon. I believe, we as adult children are no different. When we want something from our parents, we want it right then because we understand that there are certain voids that only a mother or father can fill and whatever we’re asking for, we believe it to be of great urgency. We ask in that moment, it’s a need of immediate attention. If we always long for, whatever it is, it does not matter as much if one hour or one year has passed; it all feels the same once we come to terms with the failure of the parent to respond. These are truly affairs of the heart, Father.” John placed his strong hand over his father’s weak, shaking one.

“It also does not seem to change the scales of fairness if we’ve improved or changed later in life. The damage has been completed. Forgiveness is granted to those where the victims are willing to let go. Sometimes forgiveness never arrives because it’s the only thing left to barter with. Finally, the victim has something the oppressor wants and has the upper hand. The hatred, tying them to their captive oppressor, replaces the fleeting chance of forgiveness. The hatred makes them feel alive and as if they’re in control and have a handle on the situation. They don’t realize they aren’t in control at all because hatred is a response to fear and sorrow. Being afraid isn’t being in control of oneself at all. It’s quite the contrary, but to the person afflicted, there’s no use in trying to convince otherwise. If one was willing to forgive in all matters, it means they would have to let go – to go on with their lives and not place any more blame. That’s difficult to do, especially when you strong heartedly believe the person in the midst of that hatred, the person that caused the bad sentiments, hasn’t given a reason to be forgiven or reached out in a way demonstrative of a – parent, wanting to make things right. When they brandish their face or drop their name, it’s in order to appease themselves, not for the sake and wellness of the child.”

Master Stewart lowered his head as tears ran down his wrinkled face. He cried silently, gripping his son’s hand tightly.

* * *

“And lastly, we have the yams!” exclaimed Hannah as she placed them on the dining room table. She wiped the tears out of her eyes and smiled. John stood behind her while Mary stood up and said grace.

“Precious Lord, we thank you for this bounty before us. We thank you for the time you’ve given us even when we spent it foolishly. Lord, you always found a way out of no way. I want to thank you for my daughter, Hannah. Thank you for keepin’ her safe, just like you promised. I remember after I had her Lord, I begged you to let me have just this one, to make this one baby be different. I remember feelin’ like you said it’d be better, and you kept your promise dear Lord. Thank you for John who’s taken care of my daughter and given her a home to call her own. I never thought I’d live to see this day, dear Lord, where I’d be free – my daughter and her children too. Lord, it seems that you’ve staked your claim on Master Stewart, and I’m not one to argue with you, Lord. I just ask that you make his journey painless please. He’s one of your children, and Lord, please help him along the way in these final days. This I ask in your name, Lord. Amen.” Everyone said “amen” and sat down at the table. Jonathan quickly dug into a small bowl set before him, which was filled with corn while Hannah fed milk to Phoebe. John paced before finally settling in his seat.

“I took the liberty to take Father a plate a few minutes ago. He had no desire to join us,” John said solemnly. Mary nodded in understanding. Hannah picked up a large, clear bowl filled to the brim with mashed sweet potatoes. The aroma of rich butter, brown sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon bombarded the dining room in a delicious avalanche of scents. Just then the doorbell rang. Hannah slowly stood up, straightening out her apron.

“I invited Opal,” she said quietly as she excused herself and made her way to the door. After brief chatter, Opal came into the room smelling like a perfumery and looking ravishing in layers of pale pink spun thread, shining brightly in the chandelier lit room. She removed her gloves, placing them inside of her purse as she approached the dining room table.

“Wonderful to see you again, John and Mama Mary,” she said. John quickly rose and pulled out a chair for her. Opal politely sat down and immediately poured herself a glass of wine. She smiled nervously as she heard the doctor leaving the house.

“Opal, there’s plenty here. Please help yourself,” Hannah said while quickly nibbling on a slice of bread. She passed down the sweet potatoes and pointed to the large fried fish in the middle of the table which was adorned with fresh lemon slices. Hannah smiled inside as she thought about Henry briefly, the man who’d taught her how to gut a fish.

“Well, the food looks wonderful, and I can’t wait. Thank you for inviting me,” Opal stated as she put her wine glass down.

“Your husband was invited, too,” Hannah said as she situated Phoebe on her lap. “Could he not make it?” Hannah asked.

“He sends his apologies. He has a mountain of work to complete before the end of the day,” Opal smiled. The upstairs bedroom door opened slowly, a sliding sound of dishes followed, then the door closed again securely. Hannah gulped and averted eye contact with her husband. A muffled cough from the upstairs bedroom soon followed. Everyone sat quietly, eating with little conversation. The doctor returned as Hannah was clearing the table. John sat in the middle of the floor with Phoebe and Jonathan, rolling a ball back and forth and laughing. Mary stood in the foyer speaking with him, her facial expression appearing placid. Opal stood in the kitchen with Hannah, dumping back another glass of wine and gossiping. Mary escorted the doctor close to John. He looked up, his light blue eyes trying to read between the lines before his ears were forced to hear it. John smiled weakly and handed the small yellow ball to Jonathan and stood up. The doctor cleared his throat.

“John, I was explaining to Mary here the status. I thought I’d come in and speak to you in an effort to not appear redundant. Your father could go at any time. His chest airways are barely functioning. It’s a miracle that he’s still able to stand up and walk a little. I give him no more than one week. In the meantime, make sure he stays warm and in bed. There’s nothing more that can be done. May the Lord be with you.” The doctor patted John’s arm, handed him a prescription for pain medication, and walked out of the house. Mary rubbed her eyes and slumped down in a chair while John rubbed his forehead and fought angry tears. His face turned crimson and he felt his heart palpitating.

“Don’t say anything to Hannah yet,” John whispered, wiping his nose. “It’s bad enough already. I knew that this was coming. To hear the final timeline’s – hopeless.” Mary nodded her head and dabbed the corners of her eyes. She hung her head low, turning to the side every so often as she drifted in memorial thoughts. She rocked in her seat, and quietly hummed, tearing up, dabbing the tears away then starting again. John peered into the kitchen as he got back down on the floor with the children. He half focused as he rolled the ball to his son while occasionally looking up at Opal, and Hannah smiling and laughing. Soon the sun was set and Mary kissed her daughter on the cheek, said farewell to Opal and made her way upstairs to sleep in Jonathan’s bedroom, taking the children along.

“Mama, please sleep in our bedroom. I asked you before,” Hannah said weakly as she watched her mother cart the two youngsters in her arms, up the steps.

“I said ‘no,’ and I won’t have another word about it, Hannah. I’ll be fine. Just stay by your husband,” Mary said as she finished her destination, closing the child’s bedroom door behind her.

“John, speak to me. What’s on your mind?” Hannah finally asked after Opal excused herself to step out onto the front stoop.

“Just the usual, Hannah. Father isn’t doing well and I…I just am not handling it the way I thought I would,” John explained. Hannah patted John’s back and disappeared up the steps. Fifteen minutes later she emerged, helping Master Stewart down the winding stairs. John looked up and saw Master Stewart faintly smile as Hannah helped him into a chair.

“Thank you, Hannah,” Master Stewart said weakly. John took notice of the rapid weight loss over the past few weeks, the age spots and wrinkles he hadn’t seemed to notice previously, and his father’s thick streaks of light silver hair.

“Master Stewart, I think John wanted to see you around us, your family,” Hannah smiled.

“Where are my grandbabies?” Master Stewart asked, forcing a grin.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Master Stewart. Mama took them to bed with her. I can go get them though.” Hannah turned to go up the steps when he abruptly grabbed her arm.

“No, no. Let those babies sleep. Don’t disturb their slumber on account of me.” Silence soon filled the room and colored the walls in shades of forlornness. The sun completely left the sky, offering a thin sliver of the moon in its place. Hannah left and returned with a thick quilt she’d sewn. Master Stewart soon fell asleep, his head lolling about and the nasally snores he was known for, gave a peaceful familiarity to John as he watched his father’s slouched disposition with a heavy heart. Hours passed with only the sound of the clock ticking breaking the stillness. Opal, now nursing a slight hangover, slept in a chair near the front door, her knocked knees buckling together as her slender body contorted into what was her favorite semi-fetal sleeping position. Hannah lay beside her, dozing on and off. When her eyes fluttered open once more, she saw John still staring intensely at his father. It was as if he were counting his breaths.

“Is this the last one? Are there more to come?” his mind appeared to be contemplating. Though obviously tired, he was running on adrenaline. He was terrified he would miss the final moment and never be able to speak to, or see Master Stewart’s chest rise and fall again. John peered closely at his father, leaning over. He saw the shiny clear glimmer of a teardrop forming in each of his eyes.

“What are you dreaming of, Father?” John thought to himself as he stood up and walked over to Hannah. She knew instinctively what he wanted. Without any verbal exchange, she slowly and quietly rose, going up the steps. John looked at Opal then walked back over to his father, this time sitting closer to him, yet still in observation mode. He heard Hannah’s soft footsteps coming down the staircase. Her familiar walk, the swift yet elastic choppiness of her steps was all too familiar. As she passed the foyer window, she took notice of the sun rising. In the distance, rich water colors of orange, purple, and pastel blue blanketed the sky. The soft chirping of young birds entered into the musical number previously mixed with various snores and the clock’s tick tock tune. Hannah folded the blanket over again in her arms. She looked closer, and through the rays of the splendid display, she spotted the silhouettes of three people. All of them tall, one hobbled. They approached from across the street, steadfast and cautious, their movements eerily familiar. The sun bathed them in innovation and crisp morning dew, covering their skin in glistening gold kisses with fuchsia cloud lace lining. As the small crowd came closer, Hannah gasped. She immediately stepped over Opal’s dainty ankles and shook John’s shoulder. Her eyes large, she abruptly took him by the hand and hurried him to the scene being painted right before them. John peered out of the window in bewilderment until his eyes suddenly fixated on what he was brought there to view. Hannah looked up at him, waiting. He looked down at her, smiled and embraced her so tightly she gasped at the strength that swept her nearly off of her feet.

“It’s them,” he confirmed breathlessly. He looked back out the window and watched them descend swiftly, steadily, deliberately, and reminiscently of marching soldiers towards his front steps. One with light-blue, twin eyes, her dark hair in spirals and her skin the color of ripe bananas, one with dark-brown eyes and flowing dark-brown hair that was pinned astutely back, brandishing her majestic and forceful features and the last, hopping with his cane, gaunt, and clothing two sizes too large. He was covered in fresh sobriety and a look of sheer determination, obviously ignoring his immense physical pain.