Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (46 page)

Broc smiled, “Afternoon ma’am, I’m Broc Wolf – new owner of Clover Grove, I’ve come back to-…”

“You’dah one kill Massa’ Gareth – that you?”

“Yes ma’am – I did. You in mournin’?”

“Mournin’?” Ms. Sadie-Mae’s head went back as she burst with laughter, “No sa’, I’dah kill’im m’self he wud’nt so evil. Too sca’ed he wud’nah die – he kill
me
.”

“Ya’ never t’worry over such things again, ahhh ?…” His words hung with not knowing her name.

“Ms. Sadie-Mae…” She introduced herself, hand on one bony hip, proud and proper, head rocking to and fro.

“I’m oblige t’meet you Ms. Sadie-Mae – days of his way’re over. Evil is not welcome here.”

She smiled and batted her eyes, “Well nuy, that suit me jus’ fine.” Old eyes inspected him head to foot, as if knowing, “Emm, yous’ah chile uv’ah red-leg ain’cha - I know’em when I see’im. Had three chillin’s by one - he gone, they gone.” She shared that bit of her past. With a nod of acceptance, she gestured with her head, “Ya’ll gone by that fire, I get them boys t’bring yo’stuff in – clean this here flo’.”

“Thank you ma’am, we’ah bring in what we need, an’ if you don’t min’, a hot drink and meal would suit us for the moment.”

“I get right t’it – sho’nuff will.” She turned and shuffled back down the hall away from them.

Within a couple of hours, by direction from the young male slaves, the men were dry, fed and unloading the goods they’d brought. In the house, Broc and Rory listened to Malachi’s update on the slaves.

“I get mos’uv’em back, but da’ res’ sca’ed you gone be da’same. Mos’ gone is womens – Masta’ Gareth was wicked wit’em. Dhey ain’t comin’ back lessen dhey sho’ you ain’ rotten too masta’.”

Broc and Rory glanced at one another - they had a great deal to discuss. Rory’s eyes went to Malachi as he asked, “How many are there?” He knew he needed to step to the plate immediately, to demonstrate that Broc had wisely chosen him. He would be leaving him in charge soon, there was no time like the present to make the arrangement known to all.

“A bunch – m’sista’s an’ some otha’s - a few gone be havin’ babies soon.” He informed them.

“Where are they?” Broc asked, concerned.

“Dhey was here ‘til dhey hear ya’ll come in… dhey run sca’ed in’na woods.”

Rory couldn’t believe what he was hearing, it was pouring rain still, “You go to them – you tell them the new master will not hurt them, we only want to help. Tell them the work here will be different now. Nothing will be as it was, not ever again… you must convince them of that.” Rory knew everything about Clover Grove from Broc, including the fact that Asiza had come from there.

“Tried masta’… dhey sca’ed.”

Rory looked to Broc, “I have no choice, I have to go and bring them back… convince them things have changed – we can’t just leave them in the woods.” Broc nodded his head, “You’ah be here after I’m gone, it’s bes’ they come to know you, trus’ you.”

Rory turned to Malachi, “Take me to them.” It didn’t matter that he had just gotten dry – was starting to feel better. He could not settle knowing that a group of women he was to be responsible for – were out in this weather jeopardizing their lives.

Something within him rose to the surface, akin to all the leaders he had come from.

Whether it was from his father, grandfather Morris, or his mother, and her father, he felt it within, strong and sure.

Everything that he knew, had experienced in life, was coming to the fore. The fact that he was the descendent of King Lu’Maden and Royale Sun ruled him so much so, that taking charge was immediate. 

Malachi and Ezra, another young male – stunning in looks with blonde coloring and dark skin - skin so rich a brown, golden hues shone from it which matched his golden blonde hair and bold cognac colored eyes. The two led Rory to the women. The irony was that all three of them were the product of Negro mothers and white fathers.

One a redhead, another brunette and Ezra, blonde. Each totally different in looks. Rory and Malachi could easily merge into white society and no one would be the wiser of their origins - their black roots. Because of plantations like Clover Grove, there were thousands more, just like them.

They entered the dense woods, feet sinking into mud, but moving with certain speed to find the ones in fear and hiding. They slipped and slid quite a distance and then had to claw their way up a slight incline with streams of water running down around them. Rory, soaked to the skin once again, couldn’t believe that a bunch of women, some pregnant at that, was out in this kind of dangerous weather. Lightening flashed so brightly it was as if a powerful light had been instantly flicked on and off. Soon thunder was rumbling overhead and then a loud crack, startling them so they swore the earth trembled. Still there was further to go. Not quite an hour had passed when they came to a bluff where water poured from overhead, similar to a waterfall. Inching by with their backs to the bluff, they moved behind it along a ledge, bringing them to a cave’s entry. Stepping within it, smoke hung high, clinging as it was shoved along the top of the cave to ease out into the downpour and rain.

A ways in - sitting around a fire, Rory counted nine young women, four of which were pregnant, two of them heavily. All sat close, huddled under blankets before the fire.

Of the nine, two were light skinned - the other seven, brown and one so dark the cave absorbed her. He kept glancing her way, she reminded him of a young girl he saved in New York a few years before, Mailon. She lived in Boston now, with her father – working on one of his father’s shipping docks where they constructed and repaired ships.

The one he stared towards now – was so dark he could barely make out her features, having only the glow of the fire to go by.

“Dis’ all of’em masta’.” Malachi stated, “Dat’un there, m’sista’ – and her too.” He pointed to his siblings, one of which was pregnant. He had one more, but the two present were both brown skinned, all from the same mother – but different fathers. The sister not present was dark as well. Of the four, Malachi was the only one that could pass. The color of their skin would deceive some - not realizing they were related. As for Rory, he knew better – color meant nothing when it came to family – features are what mattered. Of the three present, it was clear, they
were
siblings. 

In such a short time, he was already starting to like Malachi. Simply because Malachi was brave. After all, he could run – he could take off and blend into white society – he could be free. Yet, he had chosen to stay back with his family, his sisters. Rory considered that a strength, when he reflected back on how he’d fought against the truth of who he was. Now, here – he faced many like himself. Rory approached the women and knelt before the warm fire, holding his hands near to dry them.

They all stared at him, wide eyed – cautious - waiting.

Taking a deep breath, he started low and soft, “We’re going to have to wait out this storm. I don’t care for the idea of taking any of you back through that rain.” All remained silent, watching him.

“Look, there is something you need to know about me - I’m like you…
just
like you. We could be brothers and sisters really. My mother is a Negro. My father is – well, he too owns slaves, he is white, a master. He owns ships, land, and a shipping company. And yet – he is a father to me, to my older brother and sister. He is a good man. He – loves my mother – treats her good. You – none of you, have reason to fear –
not
anymore. All the terrible things done to you – I promise you, it’s over now.” Rory watched the expressions on their faces, they were still wary of him, and for good reason.

He wasn’t sure what was the best way to handle this situation - so, to get them to follow him, he decided to lie in order to win them over to his side. Whatever it took to get them out of that cave.

“Remember –
Suga
? She sent for her mother, Cora. She’s with Suga now. And Asiza, Suga’s sister, killed the overseers. You all know that, right? I know that,” He smiled, grinned even, surprising a few. “She is as strong as they come, Asiza.”

That comment brought out a smile or two, taking his cue from that, he went on to say, “She, Asiza, made it to freedom.”

They gasped, and smiled – clearly happy to hear it.

“She’s in a better place now, and well - she sent us, to take over here and see about you –
all
of you. In fact, the man who killed your old master – is now your
new
master. He saved Asiza. One day, in the future, he’ll bring her back here, to see what we’ve done.” Again he smiled.

“Because I’m like you, they chose me and brought me to take care of everything. Reason, I know what it’s like to be what we are. Together, we’re going to change this plantation. We’re going to grow things here, and we shall live so much better, happier – now that change has come for us, one and all. I need you to believe me, because I can’t leave you here, it’s not safe.”

Rory stood and turned to look at Malachi and Ezra, “I’m going to need your help. I’m going to need everyone’s help. As you saw, we brought more men to make things easier. Your new master, has even changed the name of this place.” He smiled and looked back at the women to include them in on what he was saying, “He wishes the memory of what it once was, gone from you all - you no longer live at Clover Grove – now, we all live, at Whelan Meadows. We’re going to grow tobacco, medicine, food, hemp and so much more.”

“Whelan? Meadows?” Ezra asked.

Rory nodded smiling, “Yes…Whelan is Irish, it means – wolf. Your master’s name, is Broc Wolf. And you are
all
now, a part of
his
clan. I am here, to see to you – protect you – work with you.” He turned back and forth between them, as the two young men sighed in relief with his words. Gazing gently at the women, “When the storm eases, I’m taking you home. Where I can look after you, protect you. Please trust that all I say is true.”

Each of the women looked to the other for assurance in the decision they must make. Sitting cold, hungry, tired and miserable – they had little choice but to trust him, for now. Each slowly looked his way and nodded that they would follow. Malachi smiled, happy – something told him that their new master could be trusted. As well as the young man Rory, whom he’d brought along to make things happen.

Back at the big house, Broc sat before the fire, listening to the old woman, Ms. Sadie-Mae – who was full of information.

Once she got started, she held nothing back, including deep seeded hatred for the dead Gareth Kuiper. Informing Broc that she’d spit on his grave more than a few times.

She also told him about Cora, and the beautiful African man, Ishmael who was mated to her, and about the daughters and sons that came from their mating. Laughing and having a good time, she told him about the child Asiza – one they all swore would never conform to the master’s wishes.

“Oh Lawd’ that chile – masta’ get dogs – them dogs en’ up dead somehow, nary’a’one make it. Nobody know why dem’dogs die…” Ms. Sadie-Mae smiled, nodding her head, showing a few teeth missing, “Truth, we know, ha’mama know. ‘Seeza go sneakin’ out – when nobody see – nex’thang – masta’ be yellin’ and cussin’ ‘bout his dogs be dead…” She tilted back, slapping her thigh, laughing up a storm, “’eva since he make ha’ see them dogs kill – Asiza hate’em. An’ sweet – tha’s what I call’er – Asiza’s lil’sista’ Suga’ that is… would jus’ be cryin’ – cause she know Asiza done kill’dem dogs ever time he bring mo’. She cry,
‘Seeza – ain’t they fault, we mak’em like us, we take da’time - they ain’ hunt us.’
And ‘Seeza say,
‘dead dog don’ need no time…’
Wooo, that chile don’t like no dogs no.”

Broc sat smiling, nodding, learning about his wife. Something else they would have to overcome, because he had every intention of getting dogs, there was no better way to alarm them of danger.

Finally the rain eased, and before night settled in, Rory returned with the women.

The next day, bright and early on the front porch, Broc gathered all the men. Those he’d brought with him, and those who were born and raised there, who were accustomed to being studs. With all in attendance, he set down the new rules.

“As of now, each of you reside at Whelan Meadows Plantation.”

“At Whelan Meadows – no whippin’s allowed.” That bit of information was for the men who would pose as overseers. Making sure the message went to the correct ears, Broc set his eyes on each of them, repeating brisk and clear, “No whippin’s’ah ever be carried out here. For no reason! Most of you men, not children, nor mules! No one’ah be sold off from here, not ever again. You here now – here you’ah remain, unless you leave. You go – don’t come back – ever. No dogs’ah come for you, not from here.”

“You don’t care about Whalen Meadows – or what we tryin’ to do, we don’ care about
you
– go! Don’t come back.” He paused after emphasizing the first part of how things would be there. Sure that it had sunk in, he carried on.

“No man here at Whalen Meadows, will ever – again -
take
a woman, young or old to his bed by force – against her will. I repeat…
no man
– will take a woman here, by force.” Pausing, his eyes went to each and every man standing, lingering long enough so that there could be no doubt, he meant this towards all. “You do – you will be forced off this land. Ya’ come back, I’ah kill’yah! If I’m not here – he’ll kill’yah.” He pointed at Rory, meaning every word. This had already been established in their talks before the journey there and during. “A ball well aimed will lay you down like a rabid dog and get you buried.” Once more, he paused, looking each and every one of them in the eyes.