Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (12 page)

Problem, it wasn’t the life for every man. While he did what he did well – he hadn’t been interested in doing it for the rest of his life. He just hadn’t known
what
he wanted;
when
he was going to want it; and what
it
was going to be. So until he figured that out, or
it
came to him – he did what he did.

Hunting down Asiza had changed everything.

She had become his –
what
–
when
and
it.
The complexity of what she was as a woman, and a negro slave at that – with the power and spirit to shake up so many - gripped him.

He admired her.

He respected her.

She amused him. Her spirit and courage to fight to the death had hooked his attention immediately. She was made of strong and lasting stuff, just what a man wants when it comes to settling down.

On top of all of that, she was a fancy – a valuable piece of property any man would pay dearly to own.

By luck, by chance, by profession he had been given ownership of her and he was not giving her back.

No, as far as he was concerned – she should not die for men who were better off dead themselves. With his head filled with information on all that they'd done to previous fancies – as far as he was concerned, the world was a better place without them. However, they – he and Asiza, dare not push it. It was time to move on and separate themselves from their deeds in the south and start a new life together. 

That was his thinking on the matter.

He just needed to fatten her up with a few babies, have her working beside him on their own land. With her energy used up thus, all else she imagined herself doing, would fade. 

In time, his hope was that she would become content with him. The only problem in that plan was getting her to see it his way and agree. Since he had no experience with a woman like her, he hadn’t a clue of how to make it all happen. So – the first step was taking advantage of his advantage over her – he was white – and could own her. To make it all respectable, he’d willingly married her as well. Which seemed to him a pretty good start in getting things sorted. Now, it was time to figure out the next part.

Now
, she knew why Mrs. Hardy had called her his wife – and no one had felt compelled to include her in on that shocking event as it took place.

Obviously that would be – because she was a negro, a slave, a fancy – a woman. Neither of the things that she was had any rights whatsoever. She could be bought, traded, given away and not at any time would she have been asked or considered where any of that was concerned. Basically, no communication surrounding her, was any of
her
business.

Even when it came to helping her to be free.

Asiza didn’t know a whole lot about marriage and getting married because she had never seen what was done in one.  She’d heard a few tidbits and one of them was that each person agrees to be the husband and the wife. She hadn’t agreed to any such thing because no one had asked her. Yet – the big man Broc, was now her new master, and husband, so he said.

She was trying to get her mind – to assimilate that. It was information easier given, than it was for her to take in and accept.

What she did understand – was that if all he said was true, she was no longer, free.

She now - belonged to him.

The next question in her mind was, why? Why did knowing that, give her feelings that her burdens were finally lifted? Even if a little bit? Besides that, if she belonged to him, why did he turn his back and ride away from her? Leaving her behind to – do what? What did he want her to do? Did he want her to run off? If so, did that mean he’d be pursuing her? If she ran off, and he had to give chase, would it make him mad at her? So far, he hadn’t shown any anger towards her – not one time had he been mean.

Slowly Flower walked in the same direction Nik-Nik had gone with Broc on her back.

“Masta’ Broc?” Asiza tried the name out softly as it flowed from her lips, afterwards, to feel foolish for doing such a silly thing. With her heart starting to weigh in on it all, she felt sure she was in trouble. Troubled because she was starting to suppose – wonder –
hope
.

Asiza shook her head, shocked at how fast she was weakening. The whole situation was throwing a pebble in her smooth waters. She’d sassed him, hit him with a rock and told him as plain as day that she did not want him. Told him to take her in to those looking for her and even told him to go ahead and kill her if that was what he was aiming to do. She’d asked him nicely and a bit impatiently as well to stop following her. None of the above had he done.

But – he’d helped her remain free.

He’d killed for her and with her.

He had helped take slaves to where they were going to be free.

She had taken just a moment to finally give in to her mental and physical exhaustion. Only to wake up and find that he now held papers saying he was her new master, and married to her as well.

But now… he was riding away. Leaving her behind, to do what? Asiza was feeling confused when she shouldn’t be. She should just ride off and be free the way she had been for the last so many weeks.

The problem was – in her
soul
– that part of her soul that led her into doing things, that part - didn’t want her to ride off
alone
, to be free. While she could defend herself in most circumstances, see about herself, feed herself, clothe herself… she would end up being, by herself –
all
by herself - to die alone. Just the thought of it, made her tired – made her sad.

Then, there was also the risk of being captured - if not by those hunting for her, then by someone else. Someone who would try to hold onto her, keep her. They could be of any sort, from any various tribes still existing to white men who would be her new master.

As a woman of color, running around
free
had its risks.

Unable to deny that reality, left her with another option - the big man, Broc - Masta’ Broc that is. In truth, she did not mind him so much, no, not at all. At the very least he was someone she was already getting to know. Since their coming together, she spoke her mind, in her way – and not once did he strike out at her, stifle her or slap her. He knew of her deeds against other white men, yet – he stood
with
her. She had seen him in action, the kind of actions that could not be clearer. She knew as well what to eventually expect from him. Admittedly, he confused her, there was still a mystery to him. A nice mystery if she were to admit it. However, he did not fit in with what she knew about white men, and it was that she feared trusting.

Her choices were in truth, each a gamble.

-Be alone until she was possibly captured by those who would kill her.

-Be alone until captured by a stranger to become a fancy and slave too.

-Or be… Masta’ Broc's?

Better the devil you know. There – decision made.

Simply put, being close to him, hearing him talk, seeing the way he sometimes looked at her - gave her really good feelings she had been trying to ignore. Cora had not raised any of her daughters to be fools. Fact was, her mother had raised her to be a fancy... but taught her to survive if that didn't work out.

Survival - in this land, meant making the right decisions. While all had been fine up to now, it was time to switch tactics - she needed to give the other side of the coin a try. That side entailed her giving in to being a fancy. It entailed giving herself over into someone else's hands to survive. If ever there was a time to concede – this was it – after all, she could end up a whole lot worse, than with Masta' Broc.

It took a while – mainly because she had been riding so slowly, thinking. Flower finally rode into what appeared to be their camp for the night. It had been easy to find from the glow of the fire he’d started in the depth of the forest. She quietly dismounted from Flower, placed the reigns around the saddle horn and just let her go.

As if she already understood her place, she walked over to where Nik-Nik stood quiet and still – there – Flower snorted a bit, and then she too became quiet and still.

Broc glanced at Flower and then up at Asiza, “I’ll brush her down, remove the saddle so she can rest.”

Asiza stood just within the glow of the campfire, she should have done that, but she didn’t feel like it. Besides – she wanted to see what he would do – his words told her.

Broc was feeding the fire with more twigs and limbs, placing bigger ones as the heat grew in intensity. It took him a few more minutes before he spoke to her again.

Looking up at her and then up at a tree where his things lay at the base, he informed her, “You’ll be sleeping up there tonight. I’m thinking that’s a good tree for you. What you think?” He asked.

She walked by him and the fire looking the tree over, and turning back to him, shrugged, “Good as any.”

He nodded his head, “That was my thinkin’.”

“How I know you ain’t tryin’ t’trick me, sayin’ you my new masta’ – sayin’ you my husband too?”

He knelt with one knee to the ground, he leaned on the raised one, once more nodding his head, “Come sit here, close by the fire, I'ah show you. Come on… right here, it’s warm, nice.”

She went, sat down, crossing her legs – it was warm.

He moved away to his saddle and then came back with papers in hand. Kneeling close to her and close to the fire, he showed her.

“This one here…” he stopped and looked at her, “… you can’nah read, but you need to see'em.”

She leaned forward to look them over anyway.

“This one here, say you belong to me – says I took possession of you, I pay two-hundred fifty in gold for you, a fancy-...”

“Did ya’?” She asked wondering.

“Yes, I did…” But he didn’t explain it was the gold he would have been paid had he done what he’d been hired to do. He continued on, “…this one here say, just in case – you belong to me, and I paid top gold for a boy name Asa. That’s you too – just in case.”

“Asa?”

“Closest to Asiza I could think of. You hear that name come out my mouth, you answer.” He ordered, “We can’nah afford no slip ups.”

He folded those away and brought out another piece of paper.

“This here says, that you are my wife. Joined together by Rev. Hardy, witnessed by his wife and daughter, Anna. Married to me and I to you before the Lord God Almighty.”

He gave a terse nod, as if that settled it all, folding it back up, “Proof – right there. Know you can’nh read it, but it says what I’ve told you – that makes it so.”

He stood, returning to his saddle, putting the papers away - tucking them back behind both of her long pretty braids she had cut off, behind other papers he found after his time at Clover Grove. All were tucked away safe and sound, he paused a few seconds, letting his thumb stroke over one of the braids before closing the pouch and turning back to his
wife.

Back at the fire he squatted not far from her, gazing into the flickering flames. “Hungry?” He asked.

She was quiet and shook her head no, her mind once more in turmoil.

“There’s bread, apples,-...”

“I'm sca'ed – sca'ed o'you.” She cut him off, murmuring low the admission of truth that ached in her throat. “Sca'ed o'lot a thangs – like... what tomorra bring? When I die, will it hurt – will they tor'cha me?” She didn't look up, the fire had her mesmerized.

“Asiza...” Broc called her name softly.

She glanced his way, watching his eyes.

“You got nothin' to be scared of with me. Not sure why you holdin' back, but my mind tells me – you know you safe with me.” He sighed long and deep - turning back to the basket before him. “Like I was saying, bread, apples, a pie, cheese, figs, dried venison – I’ve had my fill. It's yours to take up the tree. Nibble on something, don’t want you hungry. We got a long day of ridin’ come morning, get yourself some sleep.” He directed softly.

Her eyes went from the fire to him, gazing for moments before she finally said what was on her mind,

“You be nasty, or'mean t'me jus' one time – I'm gone run – run so, you never will fin’ me again.”

“I been nasty or mean to you yet?” He asked directly with no hesitation. It took a moment but knowing the truth, she had to shake her head.

“So what reason I got to start?”

“You ain’t own me before.”

“You know that don't mean nothin’ Asiza – don’t mean nothin’ at all. You won’t run from me. I keep telling you, we one, we belong together. How could I be nasty, or mean to you knowing that? ‘Sides, I’m not yer master really, I’m yer husband. I plan on treatin’ you – like you my wife – that’s how I’m gone treat you. God as my witness, you’ah never look at me, with the eyes you look at the rest.” He sat gazing into her face, for her to know that he meant that.