Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (45 page)

The only thing left to do, was for Broc to inform Asiza of his trip.

“What do you mean, you’ll be gone for a while? Gone where?” She asked on a Sunday after dinner, shortly before he and Boaz would be leaving – to head back to the building site. The day before he, Broc, would be boarding the steamer for Virginia. She sat on her bed at the boarding house, looking up at him as he paced a bit, turning in circles - nervously rubbing the back of his neck, swallowing deep as he readied himself to answer her.

Asiza had long ago noted the subtle changes in her husband. Now – every time she saw him, he had on his Sunday best, with a new hat to match his suit. In town, he was always smartly dressed, coached by Leon and Manny – his hair, cut – his beard – trimmed. On the outside, the bounty hunter was gone.

In either case, Asiza saw one heck of a handsome man – whether his hair was short or long. However, with such a change, at the moment, one might question his confidence - because standing before
her,
about to share something she might not approve of, he squirmed. 

He wasn’t sure how or what to tell her. Part of him was tempted to lie to her, but – he’d been blessed so far, and if he started lying to her, he feared it might mean an end to their blessings. As much as he wished to avoid strife between them, he decided on the truth. “I… we – own land in Virginia. I’m going now, to get things started there. The deed, titles have been seen to, thanks to Mr. Webster, it’s all in my name.

He’s a smart man that Mr. Webster – he knows exactly what needs to be done and how t’do it. Good man, yes he is, right good man.” He rattled off, waiting for her reaction.

Asiza sat, scrolling back in her memory of when and where they’d obtained property in Virginia. After finding no place for such an event to have happened, she asked, “You… own land in Virginia?”

“Yes – I do – well, we do.” He was standing still, holding his hat before him, nervous still while tracing the rim of it round and round.

“We do? What land in Virginia? You never told me you owned land in Virginia.”

“I don’t tell you every little bitty thing Asiza Wolf!”

“Apparently not, and I sure don’t consider that to be a little bitty thing. All of a sudden, we have land in the south, a place where it’s not safe for me to be. An’ here today, you tell me you’re going there, for what exactly? You own slaves there or something? Growing cotton? Not only are you a bounty hunter, but a master too?”

Broc dropped his head back muttering, “Lord of mercy, help me with this woman please.”

“The lord helps those who help themselves Mr. Wolf. Now you tell me what you got going on?” She sat with her fist at her hips, peering up at him, waiting. Snapping out of his tension, he bent over peering directly into his wife’s eyes, “Asiza Wolf, I am the man in this marriage – you the woman. You watch how you talk to me.”

“What are you up to Mr. Broc Wolf, what? Tell me now.” She returned softly, knowingly – squinting suspiciously.

Exhaling deep and long, Broc moved backward and sat on Asa’s bed. Leaning forward, forearms on his knees, fingertips joined - he was quiet a moment, and then looking up at his wife blurted.

“Clover Grove Plantation – I killed Gareth Kuiper and claimed his plantation and land as my own. It’s mine now – ours. I’m going back now, to see to it. To see to the slaves left on it.”

He stopped to let that part sink in, waiting for her reaction.

Asiza’s mind went in so many directions so fast, that her eyes tried to follow it – in disbelief – she sat a moment speechless, staring back at him as if she might not know him. What she did know of him, waged war in her mind surrounding what she felt about that plantation. Because she was quiet so long, he went on to explain.

“All who are left there will be seen to Asiza. The plantation will no longer be used the way he used it. No more whippings. No more treating the men and women like breeding stock. No more fancies for sale. I’m taking Rory back there and he will be overseeing the new plantation. We’ll grow hemp, tobacco-…”

“Oh my lord, you they new masta?” Her grammar backslid as it came to her, the tremor in her voice reflected the hurt.

“No Asiza… listen to me now…”

“Yes - you own slaves - you the new masta’. Oh my lord, nooo-…”

“Listen to me Asiza… it’s not gonna be like that.”

She lept to her feet, “What else is it gonna be? You claim that plantation, you claim that land, you claim those people. That makes you a slave owner – that makes me… a slave owner!” Her voice climbed several octaves, “I would rather die! – I’d rather be dead! You hear me!” She snarled, her eyes filled with tears that roll down her cheeks.

Broc stood, his stomach worked up, grabbing her upper arms pulling her close to him, “It’s not gonna be the way you think Asiza, I promise you, it’s not gonna be that way at all.”

“Take – your hands – off of me – now.” She growled low.

“You my wife Asiza-…”

“Not according to the
law
– I ain’t.” her grammar slipped again.

Getting angry because her words hurt, Broc snatched her closer, grinding his teeth, he lifted her to her toes and bending his knees came down so they were face on as he ground out, reminding her, “You my wife – by God’s law – by God’s! Nothin’ – no man an’ no man made law – overrides the law of the land – the law of our Maker! You hear me? You can be mad at me all you like – but you still my wife and you will do as I say!” He tried to force a kiss on her to assert  his right, which only made her struggle against him to prevent him.

His hold on her, along with her tussle landed them in her bed and him on top. He forced her arms above her head, holding her down and worked at trying to kiss her again.

She wasn’t letting him. Even after putting both of her wrists to one hand, so he could grip her jaw in an effort to turn her head to him, she fought it. “Asiza… damn you Asiza… you my wife!” He growled low, close to her ear, giving up on forcing her face around to him. He was hurting her - that was the last thing he wanted, to hurt her, so he loosened his hold on her jaw.

“My wife…” He repeated softly.

She turned to him, and bit, “I’m your slave! That’s the truth of it, a slave like any other! Might as well take me on back to Clover Grove with you – it’s where I belong!”

“Dammit – damn you! That’s not true!”

“No? Fine, if I’m not yo’ slave – that make me free! Thanks to Ms. Della, this time, I know what to do … bein’ free.”

“That’s just mean. Just mean…” He huffed. “Well, say all you wish, but know this, you will never be free of me – master – husband – call me what you will. You will never be free. Right here, is where you will remain – ‘cause it’s where I placed ya’!” He let go of her wrists, grabbed her head with both hands this time and kissed her hard on the mouth. A punishing kiss that she couldn’t break – he wouldn’t let her. When he decided it was enough, he pushed up from her and off the bed, storming from the room.

Angry, Asiza sat up and with the back of her hand slowly swiped the moisture of his kiss from her lips, her eyes shooting daggers.

Downstairs, he found Asa and said his goodbyes, “I’ll be back before you know it, see to my Asiza, your mother, hear me?”

As always, Asa smiled, nodded and hugged him goodbye. 

Virginia – Clover Grove Plantation

Continuous pouring rain came down around them as they traveled from the river docks, with Broc leading the way on horseback. Behind him followed three loaded down wagons filled with supplies and four men riding each. In addition, also on horseback, fifteen other men, including Rory. All of them wet, cold and tired, they could think of nothing but what it would be like to be warm and dry again. They were the first arrivals, another group would soon follow.

Every man in the small train hoped to soon see their destination. Fantasies of a warm fire came to mind before anything else, followed closely by food. Finally, after two and half days of travel, in the distance, through the rain and mist – coming into view between the trees bare of leaves was the very top of a big house. A blessed sight because of the smoke rising from the chimney – meaning a fire and warmth. The men grew excited, hoping that what they saw, was where they were going. The moment that his property came into view, Broc’s memory of that day a while back replayed in his mind.

Asiza taking out all of the overseers, one by one.

Asiza having Gareth Kuiper tied to his whipping willow tree.

Asiza, covered in sweat - her face streaked with tears - the whip in her hand and Gareth screaming and begging for his life and then, his last words to him....
“DAMN YOU - SHOOT THAT NIGGAAAA – CUT ME DOWN AN’ SHOOT THAT NIGGAAAA!!!”

The shot from his pistol, silenced him.

Asiza taking off - for him to stand and see what now could be, if he would just take it… take it – the way that they had taken everything, from everyone in every land they’d conquered.

Yes, he too - took it.

He’d entered that mansion, found what he went in looking for only to come out and find a young man, standing, startled, unsure – watching him.

‘
Who are you, what’s your name boy?’

‘Malachi sa’…’

‘I’m leavin’ Malachi, but I’ll be back. Bury the dead, find the others, bring them back. Do what you must to survive until my return. Know this, no more breeding, no more fancy sales. Those days are over. You hear?’

‘Who you sa’?’ Malachi had asked.

‘The new master here … go tell the others, you bring them home.’

Now, finally they rode down the wide, worn and muddy path that twisted and curved its way towards the big house. Right away, Broc’s eyes went to that old weeping willow. A fleeting thought went through his mind to have it chopped down.

Coming to his senses, he knew that
that
tree was God’s work, and what Gareth Kuiper did to others while strapped to it, was his evil work. The tree was innocent, and so it would remain.

As his entourage pulled into the area surrounding the big house, the front door of the mansion opened and three young ones came out to meet them - up front, Malachi.

He was perhaps seventeen years old, and the product of either Gareth Kuiper or one of his overseers. He could pass for white. Brown wavy hair, light – in fact almost white skin – but he was a slave. Broc prayed the boy was the product of one of the overseers – because if he was of the master, by rights – all that was there should be his. He wouldn’t concern himself with that for the moment. He needed to get inside. Get organized and get to work, there was much to be done.

Dismounting, Broc looked around and saw a few more young males coming forward, most all of them were light skinned, fair in coloring, and very good looking. There were a few of brown and richer, darker brown skin, with features that were so amazingly handsome, Broc immediately knew why they were spared, they were Clover Grove’s studs – in place to breed more fancies.

They were tall – with physique’s that were almost perfect. Fifteen older ones from age fifteen to eighteen, and eight younger males under the age of ten - the rest, women and young girls.

The plantation looked awful - sparse and neglected. The fields were neglected as well.

A good thing, there were cabins everywhere, in no particular order. Looking around, Broc realized he was standing in the midst of a baby farm. The men and Rory dismounted from their horses, and climbed from the wagons, cold, wet and following him onto the long broad covered porch.

Broc looked directly into Malachi's dark eyes, “As I told you, I'd be back, here I am an’ we have work to do. Where's the stables for the horses and wagons?” he asked.

“I see to'em masta' – I see to'em.” Malachi nodded and ran off into the rain, speaking with the others who stood curious in the downpour, seeing their new master for the first time. Malachi had them help him in taking the horses and wagons to the stables.

The two young girls were both pretty as could be, looking amazingly alike – clearly sisters - while one could pass, the other could not – she was of darker skin and prettier because of it.

They both rushed to the door, holding it open for them to enter, and then dashed inside – disappearing down the hall towards the back of the big house. Broc stood holding the door open and glanced at Rory, “Bringin' this place to what we need, is gonna be hell.”

“Good thing you picked me, I know hard work, and I know hell. Let's get inside, get things started.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

All twenty-nine of them entered the large hall, dripping wet – tracking in mud, to be met by Sadie-Mae, the cook. Since Cora’s departure, she became their medicine woman and midwife. She was an old craggy, dark black slave who had been with Gareth Kuiper since he was a lad. She was small of stature, skinny but solid, not quite five feet, aged dark eyes, with pure white corn rows under her head scarf.

“Who is you – an the res’ in here drippin’ all ova’ this flo’?” She asked, bravely, looking the group over.