Darkest Pattern- The Door

by Riva Zmajoki

  Sue wasn’t a silly woman to cry when he didn’t come. She carried on waiting for him to show his face. The pitchfork looked at her leaned against the wooden wall. Sue wasn’t the one to sit in the stable shivering with fear. There was surely some sort of explanation for taking Sue’s dress.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Tricia. “I’ll do my chores like I always do. She probably just got some idea for her guest. Now, when that’s out of the way, she’ll surely forget about me.”

  “She did ask for you to bring in tea and coffee,” Cynthia put a tray before her.

  “There are two cups on the tray,” Sue said with suspicion.

  “Maybe one is for you,” Tricia said darkly.

  “It’s best to go up and see, we’ll stay before the door to listen in. If she gets crazy we’ll get Carol up to help you,” Cynthia said reasonably and all three of them went upstairs.

  Carol’s desperation and boredom grew.

  Nothing happened.

  His mistress didn’t confide in him. He had no way of knowing her next move. It wasn’t unlike her to keep him in the dark but it also wasn’t like her to just close herself in her room and eat and drink as a man would.

  What is her goal here?

  To gain more lavish curves?

  Hers was more than well put together. A woman can be too lavish.

  In his boredom, he walked the house and maids flew before him as he would ever be interested in stupid girls like they were, the ones who let themselves fall to the bottom of society.

  Carol would never be so stupid.

  ‘The morale of the house is important,’ the master said. ‘It projects us back to the world as acceptable. That’s why the house is divided into light tiles and dark patches. The mistress rules the White Phoenix, which is the outer side of this house, she has her rooms and her staff which she chooses to shine on her. Never bring them into the inner dark patches of the Charcoaled House, she will notice. That might lead, not only to expulsion the smeared staff member but also to our exposure.’

  5.2 Rumours

  White Phoenix

  When Cynthia was up on her feet again, she discovered that she’s not welcomed in the home for fallen girls anymore.

  “There is a list of charitable homes that accept girls that had stumbled in life,” the nun opened the heavy book. “We have records of how they treat the girls. Since you can read, you can take look and chose where we can apply you.”

  “I don’t want to be a servant,” Cynthia frowned.

  “And who do you think will marry you? You’re not a nun material and there are no jobs for a girl like you except submitting to sin or finding a respectable position. Being a maid is your only hope of any kind of security.”

  Cynthia thought about it and took the book to read.

  Passages were dull, employers seemed all the same. In every male name, she could see a dirty old man just waiting for a ruined girl to come his way.

  Cynthia had no desire to become a prisoner.

  Everything seemed scary. Families with children seemed the worst. Cynthia wasn’t built to take care of children. She had no interest in them, now less than ever when she had to carry one.

  She turned a page and one interesting place appeared.

  ‘White Phoenix,’ it wrote.

  The comments were vague.

  ‘No men allowed,’ it stated.

  ‘The mistress made me feel uncomfortable,’ the maids that would quit said.

  Everything seemed out of place. Which maid didn’t feel uncomfortable? That was the nature of their job to be at constant alert and ready to jump up.

  There was a mystery there and Cynthia felt curiosity. Besides, a house without men seemed more than agreeable.

  Tricia stepped carefully trying to make no sound when she would pass the corridor beside mistress’ private rooms.

  The last thing you wanted was to alert her attention to your presence.

  There were rumours what could happen if she took notice of you. Tricia hoped that those rumours were greatly exaggerated but she had no desire to check them out.

  “You’re walking funny,” Sue passed her by and Tricia paused.

  After she collected herself, she hurried after Sue.

  “Easy for you to say, you’re all swollen and big. I would like to have that kind of protection.”

  Sue looked at her seriously.

  “I’m pregnant, not swollen. I believe you know the difference,” she schooled her.

  “All too well,” Tricia sighed. “Is there anyone here who is clean?”

  “No,” Sue said simply. “That’s why we bathe.”

  Tricia laughed out loud but stifled the laughter quickly.

  “You’re worse than anyone I know. How can you walk around proudly with your belly out? They hid me until I gave birth.”

  “I was hidden with nuns,” the new girl Cynthia spoke up from the corridor. “Before they took me, no one wanted to look at me.”

  “They aren’t looking at me either,” Sue said defiantly. “I would rather die than to show them that I’m bothered. William was to blame as much as I was. The fact that he left me to stand at the altar alone isn’t my fault.”

  “The altar seems respectable,” Cynthia sighed. “My lover just decided to marry someone with more dough than I had.”

  “The altar was never in consideration for me,” Tricia said with hesitation but feeling relieved that she can talk about it. “The master of the house just forced himself on me. Later they decided that they’ll take my baby. While I was pregnant I had to lie down almost all the time. When I gave birth they threw me out like trash.”

  The two of them looked at her shocked and Tricia felt fear that they’ll stop talking to her now.

  “Ok, you win,” Sue sighed. “I’ll take the upper rooms for tidying.”

  “You can’t go upstairs, you’re pregnant,” Tricia objected.

  “Sure she can, I lifted buckets and buckets while I was pregnant. If you’re lucky the baby just slips away unheard,” Cynthia snorted.

  “I want to keep my baby,” Sue covered her belly. “That’s why I came here and not to the nuns. The mistress has no interest in my baby. Besides, that’s the tradition, the one with the worst story is spared from cleaning the upper rooms.”

  Tricia accepted her judgment, after all, she was the longest-serving maid in the house and was spared from walking funny before the locked doors.

  Santos was tasked in collecting rumours. He was set to patrol the area as the deputy of the Federal Marshal.

  His badge could bring him respect wherever he went.

  Still, to collect the best rumours he needed a cover. That’s why he took a job as a delivery boy. That made him move around the whole county without showing his badge anywhere.

  In his collecting the rumours, he went all around York County. That way he wasn’t suspicious in coming to White Phoenix every once in a while.

  Of course, that first time he came he asked to be an errand boy but he made sure that they refuse him. He didn’t reveal to them that he was one of their conductors. It was safer for everyone to know as less as possible.

  He returned to Luiz and became his deputy.

  “I thought they’ll refuse you. That’s even more suspicious. To refuse a fit young man in a household that barely has enough servants to clean the place is just telling.”

  “What are you hoping to find?” Santos asked observing his face.

  “Runaway slaves,” Luiz’s eyes glistened and Santos frowned.

  “You’re pretty invested in collecting runaway slaves for someone who doesn’t own them.”

  “My younger brother Francis Terdreau is taking care of slaves on our family plantation Black Cotton,” Luiz seemed offended. “But it’s not about the slaves. It’s never about them. They are just a workforce that keeps this country going. Without them, we would all just descend into poverty and chaos.”

  “Then what it is about?” Santos really wanted to know becaus
e in his interactions with Luiz he always seemed on the point and polite, never rude to anyone.

  “It’s about revenge. A man must have his revenge or he’s no better than a woman. Besides, that woman there insulted me. She can’t go on like what she is can be right, it just can’t. What she does, how she lives, is just wrong.”

  “What is she? She just seems like a whimsical plantation owner without slaves. In the lack of work, she just walks around like a ghost.”

  “Like a ghost, you say,” Luiz was interested now.

  “Yes, her servants say that she stopped exiting the house altogether. No one comes in or goes out. Sometimes it seems that I’m the only one coming in bringing supplies. Since they stopped gardening, they must buy everything they need.”

  “Isn’t that suspicious? The lack of work, the lack of guests, the dependence for food, all of that is new. Yet, it was always strange. Why did she let her slaves free? Since then, her reputation among other plantation owners plummeted. She wasn’t gossiped about for her strange behaviours but for the lack of slaves on such big plantation she’s a laughing stock.”

  “Her servants seem to like her.”

  “They worship the devil alongside with her.”

  Santos looked around disturbed.

  “Don’t say it like that,” he whispered. “Those kinds of words invite fire. We represent the law. There’s no need for innocent people to burn.”

  “The wicked ones need to be purified and the fire is the ultimate tool.”

  Santos just stared at him.

  “What are you looking at me like that,” Luiz snorted. “I was just joking. The mob is for the fire and dismay. I just want very precise revenge on one individual, nothing more.”

  “Isn’t your badge in contrast to revenge?” Santos pushed some more.

  “Aren’t you a curious boy? That is good for a spy. No, my badge is here for revenge. What is law but rectifying wrongs? I’ll be satisfied with justice law will bring me. There’s no need for my hands to get dirty. Then I wouldn’t be any better than they are.”

  Santos didn’t want to ask who they were so he got back to work.

  He liked to deliver things. Packages always made people smile. That’s why, when his grandma gave him a package he just delivered it not giving much thought into it.

  He was too distracted by Tricia’s pretty eyes. They were green like the forest and always seemed clouded with caution. If only he could find a way to make her smile.

  She had the most beautiful smile. He would see it just before she would notice him. As soon as she would notice Santos there, the smile would be replaced with a frown.

  5.3 Baggage

  Between Tiles

  Evan wasn’t willing to tell Belva that Luiz was at their trail. Still, he had to get her to move away from his area and to stop her making scarfs and leaving a trail all around.

  “Don’t you think that making scarfs is taking too much of your time,” he started. “They are beautiful and unique but maybe that is the problem. What if they get recognized?”

  “Who would recognize my scarfs?” his mother shook her head. “They are just ordinary scarfs, nothing special.”

  “Are they really?” Evan frowned hating himself from taking away something that made her happy from her.

  “Of course they are,” she lifted her newest creation and Evan could clearly see the pattern she used, it was like a signature.

  “No,” he persisted. “They are too beautiful not to be noticed. As we move along someone might follow just by your scarfs appearing along the route.”

  “Who would be so invested?” his mother looked at him with suspicion.

  “Slave owners are very invested in having slaves, they lose money whenever we succeed.”

  “Of course, they are,” his mother laughed shortly.

  Evan noticed that she hadn’t laughed since she exited that white house at the end of the road.

  “Still,” his mother continued. “The slave owners are too big, slow and comfortable to go out to hunt for clues. These are just scarfs, they are pretty but they get off the shelves quickly. Every time I pass they want some more of them.”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Evan insisted. “They got worn by women who buy them. Then they become visible in the town you visit long after you’ve gone.”

  His mother paused.

  “True,” she said carefully. “Still, someone would have to go and search for them. Someone would have to know that I make them. Who would be so persistent?”

  His mother observed him with suspicion.

  “They don’t have to know that they are yours. They just need to notice the pattern and then follow the route. The places that you sell your scarfs to are too close to our secret stations.”

  His mother went silent.

  “You’re right,” she sighed and put down her needlework.

  Evan could see the regret in her hands. Without her hands weaving new fabrics, they were motionless.

  The motionlessness disturbed Evan but it was for the greater good.

  She can’t go on making scarfs if she has nowhere to sell them. They would multiply and in no time she would have baggage greater than she can bear.

  There was an image in Luiz’s mind while they trailed back to town all muddy and emptyhanded. The hunt ended without catching Belva but he managed to see her face and injure her. She couldn’t go far.

  Her face was just as that woman described her. Determinant and strong, like she’s ready to pick the fight with the whole world. Still, no matter how hard Luiz tried she again slipped through his fingers. This time the water rescued her.

  As he walked, Luiz couldn’t help but think of the time she stood in the water.

  Belva was shamelessly standing in the pond teaching the slaves how to swim. Evan crouched on the opposite side of the pond watching her. Luiz watched Evan.

  “You won’t learn? You fear you’ll sink like a log you are?” Luiz challenged him.

  “I swim better than an otter,” Evan smirked. “I just don’t like getting wet.”

  Luiz asked his father why they allow her to teach the slaves to swim when most of the farmers don’t know either.

  “If we need to ship them down south,” his father said calmly. “I’m not saying that we’ll need to do that but one must never be weary enough of the times and their inclination to change. If we need to ship them, we need them to enter. The fear before the water is so great in those simple beings that they would rather die than board a ship.”

  “Why?” Luiz was confused. “Ship serves just that. It saves you the effort of swimming.”

  “Because of the stories of how they came here. They can’t write or read but you can’t stop stories from spreading. They scare each other by the stories of how horrible the journey over the sea was. How many of them died of hunger, thirst, waves, how many were thrown overboard to die or just jumped off in despair.”

  His father’s tone was flat and impassive.

  Luiz thought about his words. His father waited.

  “Surely, their stories lie,” Luiz said finally. “The ship I was on was quite enjoyable. We had a nice dinner although everything did shake.”

  “Father could never tell a lie,” Francis cut in offended.

  “My dear boys,” his father ruffled his hair. “It was much worse than the stories they tell because imagination can never capture the true horror of reality. They didn’t come in the ships like the ones we use. We wouldn’t want to waste all that comfort on people who don’t even understand what comfort is.”

  “Of course not, papa,” Luiz said but in his mind, he kept seeing Evan rocking among the waves surrounded by countless bodies that are screaming.

  The image disturbed him.

  VI. I Will Hate You Until I Die

  03/27/1859

  Josephine,

  There are no words to express just how much I hate you.

  I love hating you as much I enjoyed your company, for some unfathome
d reasons, and I’ll keep on hating you until I die.

  With my last breath, I’ll probably curse you so your life on this Earth becomes Hell that will surely ensue for you in the afterlife.

  Pretend that we never knew each other and be decent enough to ignore me if we ever have the misfortune to be at the same company at the same time.

  I’ll pray for that not to occur.

  Until I watch you burn from my place at The Father’s Table,

  Have a miserable life,

  Dianne.

  6.0 A Ghost in her Dream

  Belva felt her arms falling flat from the armrests of her chair. Her hands felt numb so she opened and closed her fists couple of times just to make sure they are still working properly. She didn’t want to look at her lady. Words had to be spoken. For her inimitable pardon, before her assumed worthiness Belva owed to her lady the whole truth, the one no one wondered about.

  “They wanted to take my son away,” Belva kept her eyes glued to the carpet following its intricate patterns. “It was as he was a slave. I did notice that they all treated me with disdain since my father died but I had my skill and my trade through which I sustained myself and my son.”

  Belva paused thinking of the cracked floors of the basement rooms she and her son shared.

  “Still, Evan was a thorn in my family’s eye. After all, he did inherit the tone of skin from his father. They acted as he was nothing to them, as he wasn’t related to them. I just toned it down, tried to teach him not to talk back, not to engage with them.”

  The small Evan came to her mind, his bright nature as he strolled through the house not aware that he’s not owning it.

  “He had grown into a strong young man. The neighbouring boy was paying too much attention to him and I got weary because his family was anything but good to their slaves. The day before I was arguing with Evan trying to reason with him. Just as I expected that boy sent his father to buy Evan for him. They didn’t mention that offer in front of me. They just arranged everything so I would be away when the man came to collect him.”