Available for purchase NOW!

 

      Chapter 1

Boone had been working hard forging iron since before day in the morning, and as the sun now faded into hues of creamy lavender and magenta, he was just finishing up. His lower back held a dull ache, and his callused hands were worn from handling iron for most of the day, but he looked forward to doing it again tomorrow. As a free Black man, working for himself was always a pleasure, especially when he thought of how hard his own father and mother had worked as slaves and how his own wife, Suzette, labored daily as a slave herself. How he longed for her to be free with him; he was obsessed with the prospect of a real life with her. He was in a hurry to close up his shed and head to see her.

He constantly thought of her in the recesses of his mind. There weren’t many opportunities for them to spend time together and he needed to be incredibly careful with the frequency of his visits. The night overseers changed posts twice at the same times every night, and Boone used this schedule to make his entrance while no one was patrolling with the dogs.

 He sneaked into his wife’s slave quarters and saw his newlywed bride setting a bowl of pork and beans at a small wooden table. He’d brought her pork the day before and the pot of beans was filled with its rich, savory flavor. It was endearing to him that she would be so prepared for his arrival – Suzette lived for these tiny increments of time she could spend with her husband.

Meat was rare for slaves on the Howell plantation and Suzette considered herself blessed to be married to a man who could provide it for her so often. She’d survived off the supplemental protein of river and lake fish so long that she’d been through the three stages of food several times over: love, like and then utter distaste. Right now, she hated fish, and she was ever so grateful to Boone for bringing her the pork.

He was quiet as he made his entrance. Obviously, his presence was not wanted by her master. His being a free Black man didn't sit well with any of the slave-owners in Whiteport, Virginia, especially Thomas Addison Howell, whose father acquired Suzette as a young girl. Thomas had reprimanded Boone's advances from the first time he caught him courting Suzette on his property wooing her with fresh honey, flowers, or candy.

Suzette’s favorite was rock candy. She loved it so much that she would break it into tiny pieces to eat on as long as she could. She'd done that since she was a little girl on her father’s plantation down in North Carolina. When all the other children had gobbled and crunched theirs down, she'd still have several small, treasured pieces to enjoy from her stash. Boone laughed when she’d told him that, but ever since then he always thought of her when he saw rock candy in the shops.

Boone had made it his mission to find out everything about her when he first saw her playing ring-around-the-rosy with a small group of young children, her smile as captivating as the sound of her laugh. He'd tipped his hat and she and the children all stopped to admire him on his beautiful horse, Cheyenne. It was an Appaloosa all the way from out West and the story of how he'd won it from a Sioux Native American in those parts was one he was proud to tell, because the proof of his testimony was right there underneath his saddle.

His horse was an even greater reason for the local White’s not to like him, but he was the best ironsmith forging in those parts, Black or White. The horseshoes he made fit like gloves and lasted ages longer than the competition and Boone also concocted horse remedies out of ingredients of which no one knew, but all sought when their horses ailed. He had no problem creating income for himself wherever he went, though he’d made his home in Whiteport some five or so years ago by the time he met Suzette.

There was a small population of free Black people in Virginia that Boone liked. He patroned their businesses before he went to any other place for goods and services, and they repaid the favor. He’d earned respect in the community and many of the parents of young ladies sought to marry their daughters off to this handsome, educated, emancipated man – but Boone only yearned for Suzette from their first encounter.

Although he was ten years Suzette’s senior, neither of the two minded the age gap. In fact, he liked being able to teach her new things. Of course, she had seen nothing in life except the plantation, so she eagerly devoured the information and experiences that Boone freely shared. She possessed some basic literacy skills, which he commended, but it was he who taught her to really read and comprehend. Now, he would often worry about her being caught with one of his various books. She had been so intrigued with his copies of Emily Dickinson's poetry when she first read them that she begged him to let her keep it for a while. After that, it was the same with every book he shared with her. She was an insatiable reader, and she loved to tell and hear stories, a trait inherited from her grandmother a masterful storyteller.

Boone’s story was an interesting one and amazing to Suzette. Was it not so tragic for him, she would have gladly asked him to tell it to her again. According to Boone, an old Quaker rescued him from the hands of slave captors when he and his father were caught escaping from the plantation. He had been only eight years old when his father snatched him up and took off. The final provocation being the fact that his mother, Lula, had been sold and much worse, specifically for “breeding” purposes.

His father, Big Jack was what he was called, watched angrily as their master came and got Lula from the tobacco field one day and then stripped her bare for prospective buyers to examine her in front of the whole plantation. They weighted her breasts with their hands and verbally admired the strength in the muscles of her buttocks. They inspected her teeth and gums like a horse and tugged at the long tresses of her locs – they’d never seen a Black person’s hair like that before. Boone’s father raged until a group of three white men battered him into submission with sticks and whips. The result was that his mother was still sold away, and his father was beaten almost to death, submitting only for the sake of his son. He'd wanted to save him and do what he had failed to do for the boy's mother.

Jack and Boone made it almost forty miles on bare feet in sweltering South Carolina heat before they were apprehended near the border of North Carolina right outside of a town called Lumberton. A widowed Quaker woman by the name of Margaret Chrissiks had previously taken them in, but dogs tracked their scent, and they’d been exposed in the woodshed behind her home. She pretended not to know they were there but offered money for the papers of both father and son, who stood in the back yard of the Chrissiks’ home caged by barking dogs and sneering White men, Boone’s head peeking out from behind his father’s legs. The scoundrels greedily took all of the money offered from Margaret’s safe, but only gave her the papers for Boone.

“The biggun's got a special bonus for his delivery alive,” the leader of the band of six catchers had said as they collectively approached Jack with chains and caution.

“Get him outta here!” Jack yelled at Margaret. “You get my boy outta here, ‘cause he ain't gonna see me in chains ever again!”

At the time, young Boone didn’t understand what his father’s words meant but the old woman did, and she quickly grabbed a reluctant Boone’s hand and put him onto her carriage. Boone cried out for Jack, but he was obedient in going where his father instructed. Margaret took off wildly on her horse and cart. Boone beheld with blurry eyes as his father stood ready to fight the degenerates as they closed in around him.

Jack managed to knock one man out before Boone could no longer see him as Margaret steered them around the bend of the road. Young Boone imagined what happened next in a million various ways – all of them ending with his

father as the victor. He would never know that Jack went on to break the neck of another captor before the catchers frantically shot and killed him, knowing that they wouldn't receive a promised “hefty bonus” for his corpse. It had been more of a wager than an actual offer, for their master suspected Jack would fight to the death if cornered, and he’d done just that.

Jack left them no choice but to kill him to save their own lives. It wasn’t just that he was big in height, but he possessed big features that made him seem larger than the average man. His hands spanned a great width, and his feet were long and burly. His ankles and wrists were thick with corded muscle and big bones, his legs, and arms like tree trunks in their sturdy appearance. He’d fought with the strength of every muscle in his body that day, showing no signs of stopping until his attackers were no more. Two catchers shot him several times before he died with the collar of one man’s shirt still gripped tight in his hand.

They had been as stupid as to think that Jack was going to go back into captivity where nothing awaited him but pain and memories of people he loved and would never see again. There was nothing for Jack to lose and knowing that Boone was free in the hands of a kind Quaker woman caused tears to flow as he fought his last fight. He hadn’t freed neither himself nor the boy's mother, but he’d freed his son, and he knew that his ancestors would have been proud of him – that the generations that came from his seed would revel in what he did for his boy. He bestowed a gift to his son that none before him had ever been able to offer: liberty.

And Boone gained a guardian in Margaret. Her husband died a young man before they’d conceived any children, and she never remarried. Instead, as a young widow she poured herself into publishing her late husband’s writings. As a result, her spouse posthumously become a prolific author in other countries. However, American citizens weren’t as receptive to his ideas of global racial equality and desired little to do with his works.

Boone read all of Mr. Chrissiks’ work and then everything else he could as a young boy under Margaret’s tutelage and her man-servant Jonathan, whose given birth name translated from the Cherokee culture as Guiding Moonlight. He was the first person of color that Boone had seen who wasn't Black. Jonathan was full-blooded Cherokee Native American and became employed by Margaret and her late husband some years ago when they travelled out west during the decades preceding the 1849 Gold-rush.

Margaret was a tough frontier woman with a heart softer than a baby duck’s down. Young Boone would beam with pride when he mastered a new skill, and she would complement him. Jonathan too would rub his head and encourage him to always keep his hunger for knowledge because he would be a great leader for his people, and Boone believed him. Then Margaret died abruptly in her sleep seven years later; Jonathan discovered her body one night and awakened the boy with his papers and a wad of money folded in a burlap sack.

“There is nothing I can do for you, young one. If they come to take you, I cannot stop them,” he’d said as Boone rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his fists. “I am not from here and my words are no good to the White man,” he said in truth.

“Can't I go with you…out West?” Boone was wide awake then despite having been in a deep sleep just moments before. Boone had known Jonathan would head back to his homeland out west. The man spoke of it often enough, though much of his family had been displaced or slaughtered. He missed the land that he was raised on.

“No, I cannot care for you, I am sorry. You are a big man now, remember what I teach you.” Jonathan pointed at Boone’s temple. “Remember what Miss Margaret teach you…remember God.” He touched the boy’s chest with the flat of his hand.

Boone pleaded and begged that night until Jonathan finally relented, and they left that very night, taking Boone's papers and all the money in Margaret’s safe. It wasn't the literary fortune that awaited her estranged family in the bank, but it was more than either of them had ever been in possession of and it would go on to serve them well.

Boone had really only begun to feel completely free when he took off with Jonathan that night. It was that journey West that marked his transition into manhood, and nine years later, Boone knew he was ready to go back and find his mother if he could. It was a dream that he couldn't shake. That was what brought him back to the east coast but when he found that his mother Lula wasn’t alive, he ended up settling in Whiteport, and the moment he saw Suzette, he was glad that he’d done so. He’d planned to have her as his wife right then and there though her master, Thomas Howell, would not prove to be in likeness of Boone’s ambition, and this disdain shaped the whole course of Boone and Suzette’s relationship over the years.

Chapter 2

“Hey now,” Boone whispered after he'd shut the wood door behind him. They had barely been married a few months and making love was still all that either of the two could think about when they were alone together.

He embraced Suzette as soon as she’d placed his bowl on the table, and he couldn't help but thank God for giving him a woman so beautiful and loving. He was instantly aroused by her closeness and his hunger for the pork and beans was subdued by his desire for her. Suzette wasn’t muscular but her build was naturally lean and athletic. Her height exceeded most other women on the plantation, but she wasn’t exceptionally tall especially next to her husband. Her skin was the color of a half cup of coffee mixed with a generous dollop of cream and her hair, though it was covered most times, framed her round face with soft coils of dark brown tresses. At twenty-two, she was just coming into her young womanhood, and she reveled within at the changes she’d noticed in her body since marrying Boone. The desire to be with him nearly drove her mad at times and though she had news to share with him that night, she lay with him first because her need for him was as all-consuming as his.

“Massa Thomas been nosin' 'round here near bout every day since we been married,” Suzette confessed after they'd sated their initial lust. “I think he know we married. He be real nice most times, but he always askin' me questions…”

“How come you just now tellin' me?” Boone balled the blanket in his fists as he returned her concerned gaze with a fierce glare.

“Didn't think nothin’ of it at first,” Suzette shrugged. “When Missy ‘Becca was ‘round, he never mess with me…but now that she gone to Paris, he come tryna find me every day pesterin' me ‘bout mendin' something or cookin' something special for him.”

Suzette had been Rebecca Howell’s handmaiden since she’d arrive on the Howell plantation as a girl. Thomas never paid any attention to his younger sister’s property then, but as Suzette aged his interests grew. Rebecca, knowing her brother’s lascivious nature, made sure to make it known to him that Suzette was off limits, but her there wasn’t much to protect Suzette now that Rebecca was away and Thomas’ respect for his sister’s wishes was diminishing.

“He always askin’ for favors and I…” Suzette was saying before being startled by Boone interrupting her.

“And just what you do when ask, huh?” The blood pulsed through Boone’s veins at a reckless speed. Suzette sat up on the cot in order to speak and defend her honor against what he was insinuating.

“I does whatever he say, Boone; don't want no trouble.” She didn't like the fact that he was acting as if she had a choice in the matter of doing what her master demanded. But she also knew that according to the law, their marriage meant nothing and that took a toll on her and her husband. She understood Boone’s ire and shared his frustrations.

“You tell him that you married now and that you got no Godly right treatin’ other men with more favor than me!” He whispered as loud as he could. He wanted to scream the words and dare a body to try and come keep him from being there with his wife. “Tell him I said I'll do whatever he needs done around here.”

“You know I can't! You tryna get me beat to death! He prob'ly wouldn't leave a strip ‘a skin on my back, I go talkin’ to him like that,” Suzette hissed.

Boone remained firm. “You do as the Bible says, and don't talk back to me, woman! He not the man you married; I am!” He pointed to himself emphatically as he rose from his place beside her and paced in the nude by the light of the embers that glowed from the tiny hearth. “I know what he's after and I'll kill him first; you hear me, Sue? I'll kill him first.”

“Shh!” Suzette shushed him. Boone was not only free but brazen in his freedom. He had no patience or tolerance for being discriminated against and Suzette was always afraid for him when he left her sight because she often saw visions of him being strung up or set afire by a mob of White men who didn't like “uppity free niggers”. Even though Boone was emancipated, the law wasn't much on his side and the last thing Suzette wanted was for him to be discovered there and give her master a reason to have him taken to jail for trespassing.

Boone lowered his volume, but his blood pressure was still high when he said, “You listen to me well: he come ‘round here sniffin’, you make yourself scarce and hide somewhere else on the property.”

“That won't last for long Boone. He'll catch up with me sooner or later 'round here.”

“I know,” he conceded with exasperation. “I don't plan on us being here much longer.

I knew he had an eye for you when he wouldn’t sell you to me. He wants you for himself forever. I've seen it before, Suzette, and I'll kill him or die tryin’ ‘fore I let him have you like only I should. My God says, 'what He has put together, let no man put asunder', and I intend to hold fast to that vow. I owe that to you and God.”

 He stood before her now, his brow creased with worry. His stomach growled impatiently. Suzette instantly got up and fixed him a hot bowl in place of the one that had grown cold. She was careful to give him generous portions of the pork.

Boone knew he would have to leave soon after he ate, and he wolfed the food down quickly across the table from Suzette. They hadn't spent one whole night together since Christmas Eve and before then not since they’d wed secretly one Sunday while the Howell family was away at a church revival. The most God-fearing slave on the plantation, Uncle Rab had been the officiator. Boone always hated leaving her there and as he grabbed his clothes to dress, his heart was heavy.

“Don't go tonight,” Suzette cooed halfheartedly; she knew he couldn’t stay.

“I wish I didn't have to, but if anybody sees me it'll be you that they'll punish, and I can't risk that. Anyway, you need to get your rest for tomorrow, you know that ain't gonna happen if I get back on that cot with you.”

They both smiled at that truth, but it was excruciatingly difficult for them. When Suzette first met Boone, she’d had dreams of him whisking her away to the freedom of the open West and settling there and making a tribe of children with him. She knew immediately that's what she wanted to do with this man who’d been to places of which she never even heard of. However, three years went by as Boone worked in Whiteport to be near her as he tried to negotiate a purchase from Thomas Howell, but when her master kept refusing Boone, Suzette knew that it wouldn't be an easy dream to bring into fruition. She had actually begun the process of resigning herself to the arrangement of seeing Boone for a few moments every other day or so, and though he kept promising her otherwise, she was beginning to doubt that they would ever be free together.

When Boone hugged her, he felt her sigh in his arms and he longed to comfort her more but, though he'd been free most of his life, he knew that there was no way to soothe the ache for liberty except by attaining it. Standing there, holding her, he thought of his mother and father. He tightened his arms around her, his eyes closed, and he could see that fateful day all over again; his mother being inspected like an animal while his father was forced to watch. He could hear the screams of the White women there as his father raged with the strength of a Brahma bull.

Boone still remembered the moment when he locked eyes with him. He held his gaze for only a moment, but it felt like all of eternity to him. Two men were upon Jack and choking him as he resisted, relenting only well after his muscles slackened. He’d been prepared to die fighting for his son's mother, his best friend, his Lula. However, when he beheld Boone, he realized that he had one more person to live for.

Tears now welled in Boone's tightly shut eyes, and when he opened them two thick rivers flowed down his cheeks, under his chin and onto Suzette's bare shoulder. She knew without seeing his face that he was crying and what he was thinking of – that he’d never gotten over what happened to his parents. Suzette said nothing, for she knew that his ache had no comfort that words could bring. Instead, she pressed herself to him harder and rubbed the back of his neck and shoulders. They stood there like that for a long time, yet not long enough for either of them to be satisfied. But he needed to leave, so Suzette reluctantly released him from her embrace. He placed his large hands on her shoulders as he said one last thing.

“You remember to do what I told you,” He looked intently at her. “I'm not gonna let what happened to my folks happen to us…I promise. Do you believe me?” He searched the depths of her eyes.

 “Yes,” Suzette nodded. Though doubt lurked in the recesses of her mind, she didn't dare let it infiltrate her voice. She wanted to believe him; that even if he never fulfilled his promise, he meant to do so, and she vowed to herself not to hold it against him if he couldn't save her or even if he decided to leave her in bondage instead. She feared that the most: that he would grow tired of her restrictions as a slave and give up on her. She knew that he loved her and dreamed of their life together as she did, but she also knew that slavery was the slaughterer of the dreams of her people and that a life together for them most likely wouldn't be anything close to what they desired.

Hope never left Boone, however. If it was one thing that his father's defiance taught him, it was to never give up fighting to save what's yours – that it's better for a man to die trying than to give up. Suzette may have had her doubts, but Boone knew that he could never leave her in captivity and that he must do something before her master sullied their union. That was more than he could bear; the thought alone made him murderously mad. He wouldn't allow it.

         

      Chapter 3

Suzette did what Boone told her and hid elsewhere whenever she noticed Thomas Howell walking down from the big house toward the neighborhood of slave quarters in the evenings. One occasion she hadn’t seen him coming and at the last minute she ran down by the pigsty can covered herself with mud to deter Thomas.

This went on for almost two weeks before he became suspicious and asked Nicodemus, the head overseer, to keep a closer watch on her. Thomas knew which slaves to ask and by the end of a few days of questioning he learned about her secret marriage to Boone, and about Boone's late-night visits to his plantation. His first instinct was to strip Suzette naked and beat her back raw. Instead, he visited Boone the next day during the peak of the early-afternoon sun. Boone was vigorously hefting hay down from the loft in his barn to feed his livestock and fill his coops.

“Boy, get down here so I can talk at you,” he demanded, as if Boone were another one of his slaves. Boone's shirt was still tucked into his trousers but was off his upper-body and hanging by the waist of his pants. His arms were swollen with muscular definition and his chest heaved as he stopped and peered over the edge of the loft at Thomas. Boone wanted to beat the living daylights out of him, but he knew that was a suicidal thought. However, he didn't intend to let Thomas Howell intimidate him either.

“You need somethin’ for your horse,” he asked nonchalantly, still standing above him on the loft.

“I need you to get your Black-self down here now,” Thomas demanded again, pointing a finger at the ground for emphasis. Boone stiffened at his tone and leaped from the loft in a single bound and landed at Thomas's feet. The unexpected action caused Thomas to flinch and take a step back instinctively and Boone almost smiled because that had been his intention: to shake if he could be shook.

“Yes,” he said once he faced the owner of his wife.

“Contrary to what you may think ‘bout the White folks around here, we are far from ignorant.”

“Beg your pardon?” asked Boone. He was trying to control his temper.

“We aren't as dumb as you seem to think we are, boy. Now I know all about you and Suzy and this secret marriage that y’all think y’all have, but she is my property, and I have not expressed permission for her to marry anybody…especially a nigger who thinks that he's free just ‘cause a piece of paper says so.”

“I'm a free man whether you like it or not,” Boone's curled upper lip twitched with strained self-control.

“The longer you stay in Whiteport, the quicker you're gonna meet your maker, boy.

Now you better make yourself scarce in these parts before you find yourself in a mess that you can't see your way out of.”

“I'll be gladly on my way from here with Suzette,” Boone said bravely. “She's my wife and I ain’t leavin’ here without her. I’m willing to pay triple what you’d get for her from anyone else.”

“We've already been over this before, boy. She’s special to my sister and she ain't for sale; not to the likes of you!”

“Five times what she’s worth to you,” Boone boomed.

Thomas blinked at the figure as if momentarily astounded to know that Boone could make him such an offer, and then scoffed and narrowed his eyes before replying, “You’d do well to heed what I said and git! You’ve overstayed a welcome that was never extended.”

“Folks ‘round here like my horseshoes and remedies. I ain't never heard a complaint from nobody but you, Thomas Howell.” The man seemed taken aback at Boone's use of his first name without the handle of “Master” or “Mr.”. Boone watched with mild amusement as he turned two shades of red.

“You seem to forget that she's mine, and if you aren't gone immediately, she will pay the price. And I can tell you I've a good mind to beat the skin off her back for this scandalous escapade with you. You have devalued her. A virgin like her would have been worth hundreds more…now she’s only good enough to loan out as a whore.” Thomas took note the impact of his words and dug deeper. “It’d be a shame for you to have to watch that, knowing that you could have stopped it by just goin’ away. But it’s a show I’d love to put on for you.”

Boone controlled the urge to lunge and put his hands around Thomas scrawny, red neck. The rage in his eyes didn't go unnoticed, but this time Thomas maintained his footing along with his scowl. Boone finally relented, “Alright.”

 The last thing he wanted was for Suzette to be hurt. His mother's eyes invaded his sub-conscious; he couldn't help but feel defeated. Thomas sneered, knowing that he possesed the upper hand.

“And don't even think about runnin' off with her in the night ‘cause I’ll have you tracked in no time and strung up for every nigger in Whiteport to see.”

“I-I just want to say my farewells,” said Boone somberly.

Thomas snorted, “And I don't want you anywhere ‘round my plantation ever again or I'll have her stripped and beaten until she can't take another lick. Are you understandin’ my words? If not, it’s best to believe that I’ll show you.” Thomas turned heel and left Boone with that threat.

By the time Thomas mounted his horse, Boone had ground his teeth so hard that his gums ached. But that was all that he could do to stay his mouth. He had to leave Suzette. There was no way that he could remain and let Thomas whip her. He'd seen more than a few slaves beaten in his life; it was cruel torture. He would have to get word to her through another slave, but now he wasn't sure who to trust. Having been sold away from her mother long ago, Suzette had no family that he knew of. She was the product of her mother, Rain’s rape by the master’s son, Victor Harvey. Despite the nature of her conception and Victor's refusal to have anything

to do with her, Vance was overly fond of Suzette whose own great-grandmother raised him. To Victor’s chagrin, before the old man died, he’d promised Suzette that she and Rain would be emancipated when she turned seventeen – Victor couldn’t wait to sell the mother and daughter away when his father Vance died not long after his promise.

Being sold to the auction together had been the only consolation for Suzette and Rain, though it wasn’t long because as soon as Suzette and Rain reached Richmond, Virginia, her mother was auctioned to another man as Suzette was auctioned to Thomas’ father Thurston Howell. Ten-year-old Rebecca laid eyes on her and demanded to have her, claiming she was as cute as a “doll baby,” and at first that’s how she treated Suzette.

But the “living doll” was sent away from the house by the Missus when her breasts and hips started to develop. Suzette didn’t see much of Thomas then though as he’d been away completing his freshman year at the College of William and Mary at the time. She was thrust from the house and into a world full of Black faces that she’d only seen in passing and many of them were not receptive of her “tainted” mulatto skin-tone and the way she was coddled in the big house. Boone's friendship had been a kindly-welcomed breath of fresh air and truthfully, once Suzette showed interest in this handsome, dark-skinned, freed-man, her popularity among the other slaves increased. This man attained something that they all longed for, and they thought that just maybe his fortune would rub off on them.

But now Boone wasn't sure who to trust because someone had told Thomas Howell about them, and it must have been another slave. No one else in Whiteport knew. He could only think of one person whom he could fully trust to reach her with his urgent message: Uncle Rab, the man who’d married them.

       Chapter 4

Uncle Rab had served over seven decades as a slave, but in his old age he couldn't do much physical labor. The fact that he knew every plant indigenous to the area, as well as its medicinal effects was the reason that he still held value to Thomas Howell. So, he was kept and fed with the rest on the plantation, though he didn’t do much work anymore. 

Rab and Boone formed a quick friendship, and he actually reminded the younger man of his old Indian guardian, Jonathan. Uncle Rab was wise, and he often found humor in the atrocities that plagued his life.

Every day he sat in a tiny stall in an alley between the post office and the barber in the town square and sold his medicines for the profit of his master. He’d never been

bedridden on a day in his life that anyone still living could remember. Boone knew he could get a message to Suzette through him without anyone else knowing. The man was noble and trustworthy. 

When Boone went to him, he was mixing together some kind of concoction in his stall. He smiled and revealed a near perfect set of old, white teeth. Boone couldn't help but admire the old man's condition at his age, and Uncle Rab gave the credit to God and the natural herbs He’d created. Rab was slender and tall, though his back curved with age and stooped him a bit. His head was still covered with a thick and woolly gray and white afro that he often rubbed when he laughed hard enough.

“What ails you man; don't tell me that young wife a yourn done wore you out already,” he chuckled heartily but sobered when he noticed the seriousness stayed upon Boone's face. He waited quietly for him to state his reasoning for having come and once he did, Rab carefully ruminated as he kept working.

“Shoulda known the onliest reason he ain't want you round Suzy is ‘cause he wanted her for hisself!” He hissed. “I knowed it too…” He trailed off and then picked back up with, “White folks see somethin' good an’ they gotsta have it for’ theyselves. That's one ‘a the reasons why I married my Josephine: she was mean an’ uh-guh-lee, woo-wee,” Rab smiled in remembrance, “but she was all mines…yessuh. Ain't nobody want Jo but me, an’ I was jest fine wit’ it…sho was.”

Boone got a chuckle out of that despite his worries, and they were both silent for a long moment. When he left, Boone felt better about Suzette getting the note he had written and given to Uncle Rab. He hated having to leave but at least she would know what was happening: that he wasn’t leaving her of his own accord or to hurt her, but because her master threatened to do her harm if he didn’t.

And by the time Suzette got the note from Uncle Rab, Boone was already out of Whiteport. Taking only what was of significant value, he'd left promising in his note to rectify the matter soon. Tears erupted as she read his rushed script. She'd known it was coming, but how it hurt her heart to have to let him go. She didn't expect him to come back for her and she didn't blame him either.

She went to bed with the letter clutched to her breast as she cried herself into a weary sleep. Her mind drifted into the realm of a distant existence where only dreams of the past loomed.

 

All of a sudden, she was a little girl, sitting at the feet of her great-grandmother as she’d often done before she and Rain were sold. Her mother would go off to work in the master’s huge, white house and leave her with Granny, who was old with rheumatism. Thick cataracts had taken much of her vision many years before Suzette was born. The woman cured and smoked an herb that she claimed eased the pain in her eyes. The secondhand smoke left Suzette light-headed and giddy every time Granny puffed on her corncob pipe, which was usually every day. 

The old woman was good for nothing in the eyes of most of the slave owners around and many of them probably would have simply euthanized her like a no-good beast of the field. But Vance Harvey had been raised by her and cared for her daughter, Rain and their daughter, Suzette enough to allow her to tend to the baby girl while Rain did her share of work as his slave.

Granny would tell her the greatest stories of Noah and the ark, King David and his many adventures, even of the immeasurable treasures of King Solomon and of the obedience of Ruth and most importantly, the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ Jesus. While Suzette was barely of an age to talk, she would sit and listen intently to the words her Granny spoke, clapping her hands instinctively when the old woman’s voice rose with emphasis. Her stories were always full of passion and imagery and while the old woman couldn’t so much as read her own name if she was to see it, her biblical knowledge was uncanny.

It seemed that even though Granny was losing her vision, she could still see the stories play out in her mind vividly. The other enslaved would gather around on rare occasions and listen to her retell stories  passed down through generations of their African ancestors. Even their master, Vance Harvey himself could sometimes be caught standing in the midst, focused on her lively tales of Brier Rabbit or Anansi the wise spider, smoke curling lazily from his tobacco pipe as he crossed and uncrossed his arms.

He too had been told some of those same stories in his childhood as Granny practically raised him from a suckling infant until he was old enough to sell her away if he’d chosen to do so. She'd fearlessly chastised him the same as she would her own child when she'd felt like he had gone afoul of God's Word and at times he even came to her for the wisdom of her advice. Though he never publicly acknowledged her importance in his life, he couldn't deny the admiration he felt for her steadfastness and quick-witted responses in any situation.

“Where you git your stubbornness from, Auntie,” Vance often teased, “Sometimes I'd swear you was a descendant of old Pharaoh himself”. He'd chuckle as she grumbled some facetious remark or another.

He was the only boy of his father's six children, and it had broken her heart when he’d gone away to school. He came to see her before leaving, but she wouldn't even look at him or say a word for fear of crying, which she never allowed anyone to see or hear her do. She shooed him away as Rain handed him a small molasses cake that Granny made for him from her own rations. It wasn't much, but he knew that it was all that she possessed to give, and he had taken it graciously and tipped his hat to Rain, who was then just a girl. And then he went off to the university though he’d begged his father not to make him go.

After a year of squandering his tuition money aimlessly at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina, Vance was summoned home for the death of his father. Being the only son, the plantation was his, whether he was ready or not – which he wasn't. The evening after his father's burial he came to see Granny.

“I just don't know if I'm ready, Auntie,” he’d confided. “Daddy ran this place like a ship in tip-top shape. I don't know how to do that…I don't know what I'ma do.” He'd seemed as if he were about to cry in frustration just like the little boy, she  still  remembered  him  to  be.  She  smiled faintly at him in the glow of the kerosene lamp.

“You know what to do…but you won't do it. It ain't in ya…wasn't in yo daddy neither.” Looking up at her, perplexed by her statement, he'd felt offended.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout, Auntie?”

“God said to ‘let my people go’,” she'd said evenly and met his gaze. His eyes fell and he was quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say to that. He always listened to her guidance and expected her advice to most times be Biblical, but he hadn't foreseen this, and it made him uncomfortable.

He'd fidgeted and finally, unable to come up with a decent response, he got up and left silently.

She wept as soon as he was gone. She'd wanted to be free her whole life, or at least now for Rain to be free and she so hoped that loving him the way that she did would eventually earn her this one thing. Yet, she watched him grow up and each year of his age brought her closer to the realization that no matter how well she took care of him or how much she loved him like a son, he would never release her or her child and that asking him to do so was like asking him to stop being who was born and raised to be. 

They never spoke of that conversation again until Vance was a much older man on his death bed – Granny, even more ancient, had been summoned to bring him her homemade elixir. Rain ran into the quarters out of breath.

“Massa Vance sendin’ for you; he ailin’ bad, Granny!”

“He been sick fo’ awhile now,” Granny said dismissively.

Rain shook her head. “It’s worse now, Granny. He coughin’ up blood somethin’ terrible. Doctor just leave out lookin’ some kinda grim; and Massa Victor come back from the university to see ‘bout him.

Suzette’s eyes lit up at the mention of her father “Papa?”

Rain looked at her for the first time since rushing in and frowned before pointing an angry finger her way. “You hush callin’ him that. You know better! I hear it again, I’m liable to whip you myself, gal!”

Suzette bowed her head solemnly at the chastisement yet still found the courage to ask, “But he is my…I am his chile, right, Mama?”

Rain sighed. “Suzy, you know that.”

“Well, why I gotta hide it, Mama?” Suzette pressed and Rain’s ire rose.

“Just do as I say, child! Victor Harvey ain’t never been no kinda papa; so, don’t be callin’ him nothin’ but massa. That’s all that man ever gonna be to you. You hear?”

“Yes’m,” Suzette muttered tearfully before running out of the quarters. Granny frowned at Rain as she rubbed her knees.

“I told you she shoulda never knowed.”

“You think I wanted her to, Granny? It’s Massa Vance comin’ round here givin’ her candy, and books, hand-me-down dresses and such from his White daughters. He treat her like she special - but to his son she’ll never be special enough to claim.”

“Maybe she be special enough to emancipate while he on his death bed. He gots to care for her some the way he see ‘bout her,” Granny proposed.

Rain narrowed her eyes. “You the only one keep thinkin’ ‘bout freedom. You old as Methuselah and ain’t never set foot offa this here plantation. My mama died givin’ birth

to me on this same land. And I’ma die here, too - we all is.”

“If you ain’t got no faith - keep it to yo’self!”

“I gots faith;” Rain fired back. “Faith in what’s real and not them made-up stories you sit ‘round here fillin’ Suzy’s head up wit’ all day while I works my fingers to the bone.”

Granny’s lips curled before she said, “I’ve heard enough from you gal! I done worked two a your lifetimes, so get ‘way from here talkin’ like you gots it so much worser. Done seen six chillun sold ‘way from me and one dead in the grave: your mama.”

Rain drooped her shoulders with regret. “Granny I’m sorry. I just…

“That baby don’t deserve for you to talk to her thata ways,” The older woman cut her off. “And I don’t neither. Ain’t none of asked to be slaves - we just is; and it ain’t easy for none us - sho ain’t.”

“I know, Granny.”

“Then act like you know when you speaks to me, then. You ain’t too growed to respect your elders.”

“I s’pect we should get on to the big house,” Rain said after an awkward moment of silence.

“And I s’pect you should find that gal when you gets a chance and love on her. She ain’t asked to be born no more than you asked to be pestered by Massa Vance,” Granny replied.

Rain snorted, “'Pestered' ain't the word I'd pick for what he done to me. He took my innocence, Granny - can't never get it back.”

Granny’s hard scowl softened. “I know chile - po' thang. Ain’t none of us gots a choice in the hell we face as slaves.

“Fetch me medicine jar and shawl - I’ma go see ‘bout Massa if'n I can.

Rain grabbed the medicine then the shawl and draped it over Granny’s shoulders before helping her up from her chair and escorting her to the door.

When they reached Vance Harvey’s room, Victor was seated at his father’s bedside, and he gave the women a disapproving look from his seat next to the bed.

            Vance, however, looked pleased and asked, “How’d y’all get here so quickly? Auntie, I know you ain’t still movin’ that fast.”

“Humph! Movin’ faster than you is presently - sho am!” Granny wagged a finger and Vance chuckled and coughed.

When he recovered he looked over to his son. “Vic, where’s your manners, son? Get up and let an old lady sit down.”

Victor is perturbed at being directed to give up his seat but is obedient and moved to the desk across the room.

“Where’s Suzy?” Vance asked when Granny was seated.

Suzette took the opportunity to escape the confinement with her rapist and offers, “I’ma go fetch baby girl. Be back directly.”

Vance nodded and turned to Granny again, “How is it, Auntie, that you raised me but here I am, ‘bout to meet our Maker first?”

Granny touched his hand. “Oh, naw, you just ailin’ a bit, son; you be alright, Lord willin’.”

“I don’t think He’s willin’ this time, Auntie. Doc says any day now I’m gonna cough and a lung will come up with it,” Vance lamented lightheartedly.

Granny nodded sympathetically and pats the medicine jar. “Well, let’s make sho you don’t do no more coughin’ then. You gots a spoon?”

“Son, go get me a spoon,” Vance ordered.

Victor got up and was about to ring the service bell again when Vance chastised him with annoyance.

“My God, are you unable to even retrieve a utensil from the kitchen on your own?”

Victor paused and shrugged with confusion.

Vance continued his admonishment, “Takes more time to call them up and send them back down, than for you to just go get it.”

Victor blushed then exited with exasperation. Amusement twinkled in Granny’s eyes as she watched the exchange silently, rubbing her knees..

“Thank God he’s book smart,” Vance chuckled. “Life with servants has made him too dependent I’m afraid.”

“Slaves, you mean,” Granny boldly corrected him.

Vance narrowed his eyes. “Same thing.”

Granny cocked her head. “Not quite. A servant work for monies; a slave work to 'scape the whip.”

An uncomfortable silence arose between them, and he coughed again.

Finally, Vance broke the quiet spell. “I’ve always done right by you; haven’t I, Auntie? I mean, you haven’t been put to work in over twenty years. Rain has never seen the fields and Suzy - well, you already know how that one has my affection.”

Granny took her time answering. “Love don’t mean nothin’ in chains. I love alla my chillun and ‘fore I gets to this here plantation, they all was sold from me.”

“But I would never do such a thing,” Vance said nobly. “I’ve always tried to keep families together on this plantation.”

Granny stopped rubbing her knees and glanced back at the door before leaning in and lowering her voice and asking, “You think that son a yourn gonna do the same?” She shook her head and answered her own question, “I knows he won’t. This place won’t be the same once both yo feets in the grave.”

Vance studied Granny’s face as he mulled over her response then replied, “Vic’s my oldest boy…”

Victor, spoon in hand, heard his name and paused outside the door.

“Now, I-I know he can be bullheaded at times - he got that from his mama, God rest her soul. But I’ve taught him well.”

“Like you say, he book smart, but he don’t care nothin’ ‘bout no families here. We all just numbers in them books for him. And what he done to Rain…”

Vance looked away in guilt then back at Granny with earnestness.

“You know I don’t condone that. And I’ve done my best by Suzy; you know. But he’s my successor when I’m gone. I don’t know what else you expect me to do.” Vance searched her eyes.

“I told you a long time ago what to do, and you ain’t done it yet.”

Vance, having forgotten the conversation the day his father was buried asked, “Now, just what do you mean by that?”

Granny shakes her head. “God told Pharoah to, “let My people go”.

Victor frowned angrily outside the door, then adjusted his face before entering the room and asking, “What’d I miss?”

Granny leaned back and resumed rubbing her knees, mum as Victor handed her the spoon and went back to his seat at the desk.

Vance studied the spoon in Granny’s hand then looked at Victor incredulously before inquiring of his son, “Is that a butter spoon?”

“It’s a spoon, Daddy,” Victor replied, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Rain entered with Suzette at that moment and Vance coughed excitedly.

“Ah, there she is. Come here, child,” He said once he settled, and Suzette moved obediently next to Granny by the bedside.

“They say you sick and fixin’ to die; is you? You sho looks like it,” Suzette surmised innocently.

Rain gasped before scolding her. “Sue, that ain’t no kind way to talk to nobody!”

Vance laughed himself into another cough then noted with amusement, “Auntie, I swear she’s you all over again.” He turned his attention back to Suzette. “I’m afraid the doctor has given me bad news about my health.”

“Mama say when you die it mean you leave forever. But I don’t wanna miss you forever.”

“Oh, Suzy, how I wish you were White,” Vance said woefully.

Suzette bowed her head to hide her disappointment and Rain stifled a look of disgust at the comment.

“I have something for you; open the bedside drawer,” Vance directed the girl.

Suzette retrieved a white box from the drawer and offered it to Vance. Vance shakes his head.

“You open it.”

Suzette instantly forgot her displeasure and grinned, then eagerly opened the box to reveal a barrette with ruby-red and white rhinestones.”

“It’s mines?” She asked with bright eyes.

Vance smile and confirms, “It sure is. Was savin’ it for your birthday next month, but I don’t know if I’ll still be around or not.

“Go on, put it in her hair,” Vance ordered Rain.

Rain, pretending to be okay, affixed the bow in Suzette’s hair. Vance coughed and. Granny patted her knees lightly with excitement.

“Ruby’s the birthstone for July,” Vance informed Suzette.

“Where yo’ manners, gal?” Granny coaxed.

“Thank you, Suh,” Suzette obliged.

“Now you’ll always have somethin’ to remember me by,” Vance smiled, then added, “I’ve decided somethin’, too…” He cut his eyes across the room at Victor before proclaiming, “That when Suzy turns seventeen, she and Rain should be emancipated.”

Rain’s legs buckled and she grasped the back of the bed-side chair for balance as Granny clapped her hands happily and praised God, “Thank you Jesus!”

Victor is visibly upset.

“I’ll have the decree drawn up and notarized.”

“What 'bout Granny?” Suzette asked with concern.

Granny popped the girls hand. “Hush, chile; don’t worry none ‘bout Granny. I’m too old to even know what to do 'way from here, anyways.”

Vance smiled and nodded. “If she’s stubborn enough to still be livin’, she

can go with you and your mother.”

“She’s as stubborn as that ol’ mule Winston!” Rain affirmed and laughed.

Vance agreed with Rain and laughed heartily with her. Another coughing fit ensued and Victor arose from the desk..

“I think that’s enough talkin’ for Daddy. I’ll make sure he gets a dose of that swill, gal. Now y’all get on.”

Vance wanted to interject but couldn’t stop coughing to get a word in as Rain helped Granny to her feet.

“Not too much Young Massa; just a couple spoonful’s at a time ever’ few hours. I can stay wit’ him if’n you needs me to,” Granny said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Victor replied impatiently, and he noticed Granny’s shawl and seethed before stating, “I recall my mother having a shawl like that.”

“Massa Vance give away some a Missus’ things after she passed,” Rain said, not missing the disdain in his tone.

Victor turned and regarded his father with a brief scowl of bewildered contempt before muttering, “It’s a wonder he hasn’t given you niggers the damn house.”

Victor rudely slammed the bedroom door as soon as Granny was one step over the threshold.

“How dare you give my mother’s things away; and to them? Mama would be appalled,” Victor gushed angrily at Vance.

“Your sisters got what they wanted and didn’t care about the rest,” Vance answered between coughs. “What does a shawl matter to you, son?”

Victor paced the floor. “It’s the principal. You can’t give slaves nice things, Daddy. They start getting’ uppity. That one you call Auntie speaks too freely if you ask me.”

“No one’s askin’ you. That woman nursed me from an infant. Prob’ly knows me better than my own mama did honestly. Her counsel over the years has been invaluable.”

Victor  paused  his  pace. “Jesus, will you listen yourself, Daddy? That hag can’t read her own name if she were to see it, and here you are takin’ her advice? What would Mama think?!”

Vance scoffed, “What would she have thought about you with Rain?”

Victor was caught off guard and at a loss for words as Vance coughed and continued.

“Did you consider your mother’s thoughts before you had your way with that gal?”

“I was still a boy. I made a mistake. When will you finally forgive me, Daddy?” Victor replied sheepishly.

“You’re seekin’ forgiveness from the wrong place.”

“I know you don’t mean that I should make amends to her,” Victor snorted.

“I meant God - but you wouldn’t be wrong to go to Rain either,” Vance said and cleared his throat.

“Just know,” Victor sneered, “the day I lower myself to that standard will be the same day snow falls in Hell.”

“Be careful you’re not down there to see the blizzard, son,” Vance warned.

“You before me,” Victor muttered under his breath.

 

It was two weeks later that the plantation was laying Vance Harvey to rest in the same family plot his own father was buried all those years ago. Vance wasted no time ridding his conscience by selling Rain and Suzette, sending overseers early one morning days after the funeral to snatch them from their quarters. Their new master had plans for turning a profit with them on the auction block in Richmond, Virginia.

“Massa Vance wouldn’t want this,” Granny pleaded in vain. “He promised them they papers when Suzy come of age; you heard him Young Massa, please!”

Two overseers already had a hold of Suzette who was screaming and crying. One made a move to grab Granny, standing feebly next to her cot..

“Not her!” Victor ordered. “The old one stays; unfortunately, she’s not worth anything.”

They shoved Granny savagely back onto the cot. Rain was apprehended violently by the arm and dragged toward the door. She fell to her knees at Victor’s feet.

“Young Massa please, don’t do this. At least let Suzy stay ‘til she seventeen like Massa Vance say.”

Victor kicked Rain away from his feet. She was seized again by an overseer then body slammed her to the floor of the cabin. Stunned from the impact, Rain clutched aimlessly at anything to stop her abduction, lastly clasping onto the door frame as she was being dragged through it. Victor smashed her fingers with the flimsy door, and she released her grip, her fingers in agony as she was viciously yanked outside the cabin. Granny wailed and Victor walked back over to her and snatched the shawl off her shoulders, looking around for anything else that may have belonged to his late mother.

“Them my last babies;” Granny cried. “Ain’t gots no mo’ chilluns. My God, my God, what I’ma do?! Father in Heaven, hear my cry!”

Victor leaned closely over Granny and snidely replied, “God doesn’t heed the prayers of niggers. Either that, or He doesn’t exist. I’ll let you figure it out since you’re so wise, Auntie.”

Granny looked him in the eyes, her teeth clenched with scorn as she surmised, “You just as evil as your mother ever was.” And as quick as she felt the urge, she slapped Victor across his face as hard as she could. He swung back her and she dodged the blow then laughed maniacally at his look of astonishment when she deftly blocked his next attempt with a raised forearm.

“I knows God hear ever’ one a my prayers,” she said fiercely. “‘Cause I done prayed a long time for the day when I could slap the hog scat out a rat-faced, White devil like you; and here it is! Hallelujer! Amen! Thank you, God!”

“I’ll deal with you soon as I’m back from the auction block, you old bitch.”

“Come close and I’ll slap you again, you hell-bound bastard!” Granny brandished her hand.

That was the last memory Suzette had of her great-grandmother, for she never saw her again.

~