A Slave of the Shadows, page 16
“What are you doing here? I told you to never show up here.” Father sounded anxious.
“The contact was murdered—gunned down in a back alley,” the captain replied.
“So what happened to the shipment?” Father’s voice shifted toward panic.
“The human cargo was delivered as expected. I wanted you to know our connection is void.”
Mammy’s hefty footsteps startled us, and we scurried into the sitting room to avoid getting caught eavesdropping.
I couldn’t stop myself from pacing as an eerie suspicion chilled my blood. What was my father up to? “Shipment” and “live cargo”? “What do you make of that conversation?” I asked a wide-eyed Whitney.
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it sounds like your father is smuggling slaves for trade. I can’t be positive because we could only pick up parts of the conversation.”
My shoulders, already feeling leaden, slumped in defeat. Her assessment matched my fears. I stared at Whitney; her horrified expression matched what I imagined mine looked like. A cold resentment seeped into my chest. Were our sins as slave owners not bad enough? How could he do this?
WINTER CAME AND WENT. SPRING was bountiful and the plantation was filled anew with a net of greenery. The apple and cherry trees were masses of blossoms. The honeysuckle and camellias were in full bloom and their heady fragrances filled the air. The daffodils leaned back, their yellow bonnets gleaming like a morning sunrise. The lambs bleated after their mothers. A newborn foal struggled to stand on its wobbly legs; its mother stood tall and proud, letting out a long nicker. In the neighboring corral, twin calves suckled on their mother while she ate the fresh blanket of green grass.
Today was my nineteenth birthday. After a long winter, I decided to use my birthday as an excuse to throw a party with a few friends. Kip was in town and promised to attend. Mammy, as usual, insisted on making me a special birthday dinner, and I had requested shrimp and grits.
I was determined to let nothing sour my day. I strolled out of the main house and made my way to the kitchen house, knowing I’d find Mammy there.
The delectable tang of lemon filled the room and tickled my nostrils as I swept through the narrow doorway. Mammy was baking a square, four-tier lemon cake. Two layers sat on a cake platter, layered with white fluffy frosting. “It smells heavenly, Mammy,” I exclaimed, inhaling deeply, soaking in the scent.
“I hope so, Miss Willow—et is for a special birthday gal.” Her smile was broad and gleeful.
I leaned over and kissed her round cheek before dipping my finger into the dish of frosting and sticking it in my mouth. It was smooth and buttery, with a hint of vanilla; the shredded coconut she’d added made it simply divine. The ends of the cake that Mammy had removed lay on the cutting board. Lifting a piece, I slathered it with the coconut frosting. My eyes closed involuntarily and a soft moan of pure enjoyment escaped my crumb-covered lips as I bit into it. “Oh Mammy, this is beyond the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” I said after I’d swallowed the first mouthful.
Mammy grinned proudly. “Aw, shucks, Miss Willow, you do have a way of making your ol’ Mammy blush like a newlywed bride.”
“I’m only stating the truth, Mammy.” I smiled warmly. “Any chance you know where the lovely Mary Grace is at this moment?”
“Dat girl allus off wastin’ time. Her head is all swelled up wid dreamy ideas. Et ain’t practical for a slave to be talkin’ ’bout freedom. Dat dere Gray—good-lukin’ boy, but he’s done gone and filled dat purty head of me gal’s wid dat nonsense,” Mammy grumbled as she stoked the coals in the open fire.
I knew Mammy’s worries for Mary Grace oftentimes consumed her. Mammy had grown complacent after all these years of being a slave. But I had to remind Mammy of her own words. “Mammy, a wise woman once told me that dreams are all we have in life. Mary Grace is a brilliant girl who should long for a future of freedom. Slaves should never settle for being property. You all deserve so much more. The chains forced around your neck are wrong, and this needs to be made right.”
“Hush, chile,” she warned, frowning.
“No, Mammy, you hush!” I retorted angrily.
Mammy’s eyes grew round at my sass. I had both disturbed and bewildered her, I knew.
“As long as I breathe I will fight for the rights of the Negro race. You’ve loved me more than my own father. White, black, purple, yellow—who cares? We are all the same. We all walk upright, we breathe the same air, and we all have hearts that beat like the good Lord gave us. You are no different than us. No one, and I mean no one has the right to tell you what you can or cannot do. No one!” Frustration twisted my face. The delight shared between us but five minutes ago was lost.
“Shh, chile. Please, I beg of you. I don’t want you to ’danger yourself for us. Your pappy for sho’ hear you talkin’ lak that, et be de end for you and your Mammy.” Sorrow brought the lines out on her face.
“All right, Mammy.” I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry for back-talking. I love you, and seeing that you have settled into and accepted this life fills me with such anguish.”
“Et be my Mary Grace dat made me settle.” Mammy’s eyes flashed. “I know et ain’t right, what de white mens do to us. I know fear has guided me most of my life. When dat gal was growin’ inside of me I made her a promise to protect her. So far, I kept dat promise to my gal. When you hold a babe of your own you will understand dis.”
I was silenced by her words, and there was no more to be said as she turned from me. I judged her harshly in my anger, but my convictions stood strong. I left the kitchen house without another word to the woman who had mothered me, loved me, and guided me without prejudice.
MY MIND WEIGHED DOWN WITH the disagreement Mammy and I’d had, I meandered past the boundaries of Livingston. I had been upset at Mammy for losing the will to fight. For giving up. But was she not as helpless to the cause as I at first considered myself? The burden resting on my shoulders was crushing. My perception of these incalculable transgressions consumed me. But guilt now devoured my thoughts. No matter my feelings, Mammy didn’t deserve my ill treatment, and I needed to make it right.
“Miss Willow,” a female voice called out.
I jumped, startled, and turned. Mary Grace was jogging to catch up to me. Her flowered head rag was a rainbow of color in the bright sunlight. I held a hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun and waited, smiling in response to her infectious white smile.
“Mary Grace, what are you doing off the plantation?” I asked her as she arrived, breathless. “Mammy will be fit to be tied.” I couldn’t maintain my stern face; I was elated to have her company.
“I was chasing you. I was in the woods on the plantation gathering these.” She opened her tucked-up apron; inside were various berries and wildflowers. “I saw you leave the grounds and have been calling out for you ever since.”
“I never heard a thing. I’ve been all up in my head. Mammy and I had some cross words, which I’m feeling right awful about.” My voice quavered.
“Mama will be understanding. You can talk it out. After all, you be her ‘angel gal,’” she mimicked, placing an arm around my shoulders in an attempt to comfort me.
I laughed at her teasing.
“I promise it will be fine.” She gave me an extra squeeze.
I smiled at her, cheered by her optimism. “Thanks, Mary Grace. You always have a way of dragging me out of my own head. For this, I love you more than before.”
She giggled and let her arm drop.
I peered around, realizing I didn’t know where we were. I’d walked a great distance from home. “Mary Grace, I’m not sure where we are.”
“You mean that?” She frowned. “When I followed you, I never considered getting back. I know the woods on the plantation like the back of my hand, but this is all new to me.”
“I was wandering around so aimlessly, I never paid attention to where I was going.” I’d never been good with directions. My anxiety rose. Keep calm, Willow! I drew a deep breath and took in my surroundings. If I panicked and we roamed around frantically, we would be lost for days, and I had no intention of letting that happen. I had ridden these hillsides and woods all my life, but the landscape looked a lot different from a saddle.
I led us back the way Mary Grace had come. As we walked, Mary Grace became skittish. At first I believed it was her unease at being off the plantation. This unknown territory, this adventure that didn’t lie in the pages of a book, was proving to be too much for a sheltered slave girl.
I soon realized it wasn’t just Mary Grace, as I got a case of the jitters too. I knew we were being watched. There was no doubt about it. Every fiber of my body shot warnings at me. I glanced around, trying to find the culprit or culprits whose prey we had become. “Something’s wrong, Mary Grace, I can feel it,” I said in a low, urgent voice. “We need to hurry.” Mary Grace looked at me, her eyes wide with terror. I didn’t wait; I grabbed her hand and dragged her along until she caught up and matched my stride.
I spotted them coming in from the left, the side Mary Grace was on. I opened my mouth to shout a warning but a whip cracked loud and encircled Mary Grace’s waist, pinning her forearms. The tip of it struck along my neck. I screamed, dropping her hand, and instinctively raised it to cup my injured neck. Mary Grace let out a bloodcurdling cry of terror.
Two masked men approached and circled us. One held the whip that had captured Mary Grace, pinning her arms to her sides. The taller one roughly grabbed my arm, restraining me. I struggled to break free, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh, securing my obedience.
Mary Grace began fighting like a frightened wolf trying to free itself from a hunter’s snare. The shorter of the pair arrogantly sauntered up to her and pulled her head rag from her head. Her long hair bounced out and fell down her back.
“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be looking like no nigger slave. You should be stripped down to your lady bits and paraded around like the rare exotic beauty you are.” A malicious laugh flowed from the mouth behind the mask.
Terror beyond anything I had ever experienced choked me. The short man turned to his burly, pigeon-toed accomplice and remarked, “Naked and a dog collar around her pretty little neck. What do ya say?”
The other laughed as the heinous idea appealed to him. The man who held Mary Grace captive took a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back.
“Stop! Release my nigger now.” I choked off the panic rising in my tone. I glared with unrestrained malice at them.
The smaller man moved to stand inches from my face. His eyes were hooded by the mask, but a familiarity tickled at my memory. “I suggest you shut your big mouth, nigger lover. White or not, you will suffer the same fate as your nigger friend.”
There was no way I could back down. My knees wobbled but I willed myself to call on an inner strength. I must try to save us from a dire fate. “I am Willow Hendricks, and I would suggest you, sir, release my slave, or my father will make you live to regret the day you were born.”
The larger, pigeon-toed man chuckled, rolling his head to his partner. “She is feisty like her mama,” he crowed. “Maybe she should suffer the same—”
“Silence!” the other man growled.
My mother? My brain seized on his words but I couldn’t allow myself to delve into his meaning.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t…” the larger man stammered to the other.
Seeing my opportunity, I swiftly reached up and pushed my thumbs into the holes in his mask, digging with all my strength into his eye sockets. His eyes squished and rolled under my thumbs as blood squirted out and ran down his mask in a crimson stream.
He screamed in pain and staggered backward. “My eyes!” he squealed, hopping around in a frenzy.
Catching the small man off guard as he stared at his mate, I sent a hard kick into his shin. He groaned and staggered away, loosening his grip on the whip.
I grabbed at Mary Grace, desperately trying to free her from the whip.
“No, Miss Willow, run!”
“I’m not leaving you!” I yelled, tears spilling down my cheeks.
The little man regained his balance and sent a punch to the side of my temple, knocking me off balance. The tall man moved into my line of sight and, fueled by my attack on him, he hauled back and sent a fist at my mouth. I choked off a scream as pain surged through my already pounding head. The blow split my lips and warm blood spilled over my teeth, filling my mouth with a metallic taste. I spit out a mouthful of blood.
“Miss Willow!” Mary Grace cried, struggling to get loose. Her captor yanked on the whip, sending her sprawling on the ground. She lay wrapped in the whip, her eyes wild with terror as the man turned to her. Her heels scrabbled at the ground as she tried to push herself away from him. Chuckling at her determination, he advanced, pulling on the whip to stop her from moving any farther. Kneeing and straddling her hips, he ripped open the front of her dress, exposing her breasts.
“No!” Mary Grace shook her head. “Please don’t!”
“Don’t you touch her! I’ll kill you, you bastard!” I shrieked. I broke free from the man and ran to her, but my captor looped his thick arm around my neck from behind and squeezed. I couldn’t breathe! I clawed at the arm like a woman possessed, but my vision blurred, and as he felt the fight leaving me he released my neck and shoved me to the ground. I struggled to sit up and clung to my throat with my hand, gasping for air.
“I’ll teach you, you stuck-up, rich wench,” he roared. Balling up his fist, he planted it between my eyes.
The impact rocked my head and slammed me flat on the ground. I lay there, crippled by pain. In seconds swelling set in around my eyes and he became but an obscure object in my narrowed vision. I tried to move to fight him off as he lifted my skirt.
“No, not her, only the slave,” the other man bellowed. Without the sense of sight my hearing sharpened, and I recognized the voice of Mary Grace’s captor for the first time.
Rufus.
My world began to spin from the impact to my skull. The last sound I heard before I lost consciousness was the tearing of cloth and Mary Grace’s scream.
THE PROFUSE LICKING DREW ME back to the world of the living. I brushed a hand across my battered face to push away the furry head of the animal licking my wounds. The whine of a dog alerted me that Beau had come to search for us, but I sensed no human rescuers. I groaned as I became aware of the radiating pain hammering at my head. The groan grew sharper as fear clawed at me. I recalled what had happened before everything went dark. The men left me untouched. But—Mary Grace! I scrambled to sit up.
Fearing what I was about to find, I tried to open my eyes, but they were swollen to slits. Through my narrowed vision, I could see the sun was setting. “Mary Grace!” There was no reply. I started to gasp for breath and screamed her name before I started to hyperventilate. “Mary Grace!”
“Over here,” came a weak reply.
Following the sound, I crawled to her. I peered at the outline of a figure curled in a fetal position. The figure rocked back and forth and as I drew near, I gasped. Mary Grace had been beaten almost beyond recognition. In her struggles, they’d fought to silence her. She clenched the front of her bodice together in an effort to hide her shame.
No, please, no! Why? I demanded of God the merciful protector. Why do you allow the sins of mankind to be visited upon the helpless? Why! I challenged angrily.
I reached out, gently touching my friend.
“Don’t touch me!” She recoiled from my touch, instinctively protecting her body from further trauma.
“It’s all right, Mary Grace. We will get help.”
“How will it ever be all right again?” she asked bitterly.
“I’m so sorry, Mary Grace; I didn’t mean it like that. I only mean we have to find help and make them pay for this.”
“What does it matter, I’m a disposable slave,” she said bitterly. “You were spared because you are white. Rape a nigger, no one cares. Rape a white woman and there would be a posse of white men out looking for the criminals. Tell me I’m not right, Miss Willow.” She sat up, venting her resentment at me.
Tears spilled down my face. I fiercely tried to wipe them away, but they flowed like sheets of springtime rain. I knew she was right. We’d endured this exact reality. “I can’t deny it, my friend. Please forgive me for this fact I cannot control,” I pleaded feebly.
Mary Grace pushed herself up to sit with her knees drawn up, her arms hugging them tightly to her chest. Burying her face against her knees, she sobbed, the sounds gut-wrenching. Her body trembled.
I sat in uncertainty, not sure what I should do. My heart told me to comfort my friend, but she shunned my attempt. I sat for a few more moments, letting her be lost in her feelings.
“Mary Grace, we need to get out of these woods and find help,” I said. “Beau has found us; he will know the way home.”
Mary Grace controlled her sobs and she turned her face toward me. Both her eyes appeared sealed shut. “How are we to get out of here? I can’t even see to walk.” She sniffled.
“Let my eyes be your guide.” My voice became a growl as my fear was replaced by venomous rage. “We will make them pay for what they have done.”
“How do you suppose we do that? Who would care?” she snapped.
“I swear on everything that is holy and pure, I will get justice for you, Mary Grace,” I said with a frantic determination.
Mary Grace shuffled to her feet. Through my swollen eyes, I noticed the broken arm that hung limp by her side.
My snarl of rage didn’t sound human. I will seek justice! I swore silently.
“We need to go now,” I said through clenched teeth.
Mary Grace nodded and allowed me to put my arm around her waist. She leaned on me for support and took the first step toward the plantation.
I called to Beau, “Come on, old boy, lead us back.”
