Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (20 page)

Outside, Asiza tried her best not to look up, not to look around. However, because she was practically hidden within the legs of their horses, she glanced up, scanning the activities before her. 

She couldn’t help but wonder where all these people had come from? Where did they live? She could easily spot those of the
“haves”
, and those that,
“have nots”
. The
haves
were wearing all sorts of colorful clothing in fashion. Bold, vivid, bright colors always meant wealthy.  

Drab browns and grey, were colors of the
have nots
. 

As her mind absorbed that from her observations, she suddenly heard a squeal, an outcry of pain. Her head jerked around to locate the sound. It was easy to spot - a tall skinny white man was carrying on as if the sky had fallen. It appeared that he held the one he considered responsible for this, a little Negro boy, no more than four or five. The sight and sound of what was happening right in front of her, made her heart race. She could barely make out what he was saying, because her eyes and all other senses were tuned in on the child. Fright filled him - his little head was rapidly nodding yes - quickly shaking no – whatever it would take to placate the man who stood menacingly over him.

His face was wet with sweat and tears - his eyes wide open in terror. The next that she knew, the man slapped him so hard it knocked him off of his feet.  

Sensations assailed Asiza equivalent to being punched in the stomach, seeing this violence directed at the child. The air felt as if it left her body. The atmosphere - the world around her slowed to a snail’s pace. Surely, it was a dream she couldn’t awaken from. She watched the man grab the child once more by his shirt, ripping it – to shake him in the air before slamming him into the dust and dirt. He carried on displaying a madness that was shocking to see. Yelling vile obscenities at him – the little boy curled up, covering his head to bear up under more slaps to it as well a few punches. Finishing it all off, he received a well-placed kick to his side.

It wasn’t that the sight of this towards the child was new to her - it was that she thought she’d run away from it, thought that she’d escaped it – and would never have to see this again.   

Asiza’s eyes filled as her vision blurred. Her ears started ringing and her body seemed to fill with heat, she began to shake. She must obey the voice inside her head - screaming at her to stay still,
‘Don’t move! Don’t look! Don’t see it! Look away, look away!’
If she rose from that spot – if she ran to him – if she interfered – she would die. She would die, because she would kill that man – gut him where he stood. The force that it took to ignore what was happening, built up a pressure inside of her mind and body that she thought would kill her. She began trembling as if it were the dead of winter. Her head shaking, her teeth chattering, her eyes tortured and wet because she was forcing them to close.

But she could still hear.

Inside the ticket office - Broc saw it all.

His face was red.

He broke out in a cold sweat.

His mind pleading,
‘Shhh Asiza… stay still… stay still m’darlin’… don’t do it Asiza… don’t move.’
He felt as if he stood waiting hours instead of moments. Finally the clerk called him forward.

“Passage, first class. Myself, my boy, five horses, please.”

“Where you goin’?”

“New York.”

“You takin’ ya’negra there? You gone lose’em - free there you know? He’ah take off on’ya. They always do.”

“Boy been with me all his life, not worried.”

“Takin’ a big chance – negras from the south, always tryin’ to run north, tryin’ t’be free. Don’t know what’s good for’em.” He mumbled - writing out the ticket and stamping it, he collected the fare. “First class – here you go. You be boardin’ the Lady Frances. Good thang you can pay first class, all they got left - plenty room still for your horses.” He passed his tickets, “Ain’t but two steamboats left out there, Lady Frances the second, leaving at the crack o’dawn.”

Broc could barely speak - he nodded, took his tickets in hand and tried to remain calm, turning to walk normal. Even he dare not bring any attention to them. The sound of every step he took exploded in his ears, his heart double pumped – his pulses throbbed at his temples. He walked out as if he had all the time in the world. His eyes went to Asiza. The back of her shirt was soaking wet, the rim of her hat the same. He could see her trembling. The horses were agitated because they could sense her anxiety. He glanced over at the boy –who was lying on the ground, on his side, not moving. The man who had beaten him - his master no doubt - was in the saloon. None of those who walked by seeing it happen said a word - they carried on, tending to their own business.

Broc had to look away – he needed to get Asiza on board the Lady Frances, and it was forty yards in the distance. Not that long considering the miles they’d crossed – but he still had to make it there with her before she lost control.

“Come along boy – let’s get on board, got more business t’tend to!” He ordered briskly. Taking the reins of the horses, he started turning them in the direction they would walk.

Asiza looked as if she couldn’t move, or – wouldn’t move, he wasn’t sure which. “To your feet boy! Let’s go!” He barked to snap her out of it.

Asiza shot to her feet - her body felt unnatural, wobbly, not her own.

Her ears were still ringing, her skin clammy, her vision blurred. She woodenly followed him, forcing one foot in front of the other while her soul screamed from within.

At the dock before the Lady Frances, he tied the two horses carrying the bodies - removing the saddle bags that had their gold. Together, they walked Nik-Nik, Flower and the third horse to the boarding plank. There were two black males there to meet them, “Evenin’ sa’, I take them, see to’em fo’you.”

One of the two greeted and offered. “Right this way, sa’. I’m Lester, this be Boaz. You need anythang, jus’ look for us.” He promised.

“I have two more horses sittin’ with business strapped to their backs. Much appreciate it if one of you stop with them ‘til I get settled.”

The man Boaz nodded his head, “I do that right naw sa’, stay right wit’em.” He stationed himself beside them as if a sentry guard.

Lester stood aside so that Broc and Asiza could board before him.

At the top – a tall, young white male, with striking features, dusky-olive skin and red auburn hair, greeted them with a ready smile. He stood proud in his black and white uniform waiting for them to reach him. Grinning, with flashing cognac brown eyes, he nodded with his hand out for their tickets, “Evening to you. I'm Rory – and this the Lady Frances, welcome aboard.” He took the tickets, looking them over. “First class - up those stairs and down the hall, you’ll find your room.” 

Broc nodded, “Thank you.” His mind was too heavy on Asiza to return the happy gesture. 

Before they went looking for their rooms, the man Lester, who held the reins of the horses - passed Broc and Asiza the saddle bags and bedrolls from them. Broc hated all the little matters that were getting in the way of him checking on his wife. Nevertheless, he had to get their things seen to, and every so often - his eyes went to her.

Finally, they were on their way up the stairs and down the hall to their stateroom. She was quiet, vacant - carrying all that was given her.

Broc was silent – carrying the larger, heavier share. His chest felt full – his heart hurt because of what she’d seen. 

The hall they passed through was narrow and for the most part empty. Few could afford first class – it was obvious there weren’t many traveling that day that could. Three rooms took up one side, three on the other. Entering the Georgia room - which was on their ticket, Broc immediately found a place to drop his load. He turned back to see Asiza standing back outside the doorway – looking reluctant to come in the room.

Stepping to her, he took the saddle bag from her shoulder, “Come on in darlin’…” He gently instructed. He reached out to take her arm, but she snatched it away from him.

Turning her body completely aside, looking lost – scared – up one end of the narrow passage and then down the other as if she didn’t know why she was there.

“Asiza… come on in our room now.” He whispered to her, glancing out the door, looking both ways up and down the hallway - it was clear.

Her eyes were filled with tears, spilling over. Her nose was running – she kept sniffing and biting the side of her mouth. She couldn’t look at him.

“Pleeease Asiza… come on now.” He had no choice, he had to tug her inside – she wouldn’t come in on her own.

With the door closed, Broc locked it.

“Here, let me get that…” He was referring to the bed roll in her arms.

She was holding on tight, sniffling still – she started shaking her head to and fro – “Don’ wanna be here. Why you bring me here! Why you bring me here?”

He was in a tugging match with her now, forcing her to let go of the bedroll, “Asiza… you hot darlin’ - tired…” He reached next for her hat, taking it from her head.

“Leave m’hat! I ain’ stayin’ here – don’ wanna be here!” She began crying, trying to take it back from him, biting into her lip more and more – breathing hard and fast. She was feeling closed in, confined, controlled, and with him standing so tall and big, blocking her, handling her, she was feeling suffocated and helpless.

Broc forced her to let it go, “Asiza… come on now – you got t’calm yourself – get out of these clothes.”

He coaxed, reaching for the jacket she wore.

“Don’ touch me! Don’ put yo’han’ on me! You - ya’ll is –
evil
– why you got t’be – so cruel?” She wept, her flooding eyes pierced him as she looked up lost and scared, “Wha’s wrong wit’ya’ll? What we do t’make you hate us so, treat us so bad? Huh.” Her head started shaking, “Lawd, what I’m doin’! What I’m doin’ here!? Beatin’ lil’boys an’ killin’ babies … oh Lawd – whyyy – what we do…” She squeezed brokenly from her tight throat, trying not to let her anguish burst free.

She couldn’t get that little boy out of her head. She couldn’t block the vision of him lying in the dirt, curled up, frightened as that white man leaned over him – spitting – shouting obscenities. She couldn’t stand that she sat there, and did nothing.

And here she was, voluntarily going with one of them, her mind was going crazy, making her feel a madness that would take her down. Covering her mouth, she tried to keep in the high pitch keening that squealed from her, unable to stop the trembling, trying to move away from the white man before her.

“We - we ain’ – we ain’ even do nothin’!” A scream burst from her, a sob torn from her soul. “I shudda – I – I shudda…” She couldn’t finish – Broc was pulling her to him, and then had her in his arms, holding her tight.

“Shhh shhh – Asiza… we-…”

She tried snatching away from him, “Nooo, lemme go! Take yo’hand from me!” She growled and before he knew it, she had his hunting knife firm in hand, pointing it at him.

“I – I shudda kill’ya… kill’ya when I had the chance, ya’ll…” She shook so bad, her words choking her so she could barely speak.

Broc stood his ground before her, his eyes on the knife close to his chest, and then from the blade to his wife – he was calm asking, “You gonna kill me now, Asiza? Hm? After all we been through - I deserve to die – ‘cause I’m white like them? I’m evil too Asiza? You believe that darlin’?” He asked low and soft, swallowing the lump of hurt in his throat.

Even knowing what drove her to this madness, wasn’t enough to soothe the bite of pain. “If – if that’s how you see me – as no better than the rest - you go on, you go right’a’head – stick it deep. If I’m evil like them, no – I don’t deserve to live. I won’t stop you, I won’t.” He moved his hands away from her and up by his head to give her access to his belly.

“Go on… you know what t’do.” He urged further, leaving himself open for her to stab him if she would.

Asiza’s head rolled back in misery – her arms went limp, she dropped to the floor, slumping forward, racking sobs and keening cries of torture tore through her as she rocked and bawled her eyes out – pushing the knife away from her.

Broc knelt beside his wife, gently stroking her back, rolling her against him to lift her from the floor and carry her to their medium sized bunk.

Softly shushing her, he slowly removed her clothing while she lay trying to turn away from him – her chest burned and ached from the wailing she fought to keep inside.

He ignored her efforts to stop him, trying to push his strong hands from their objective, which was to strip her, so she could cool off, and get comfortable.

A few moments later, he was done, leaving her in the chemise she wore underneath. She rolled away from him, grabbing the pillow that lay there, sobbing into it while facing the wall.

Broc stood back with a heavy heart, his throat worked to swallow the lump stuck there. He went to the window of their cabin and opened it to let in the cool canal breezes. Had it been summer, the room would have been stifling. Now, it was comfortable and even better once he opened the small portal.