by Riva Zmajoki
With deputy’s pay, delivery pay and income that would come to him through houses he went in he had money to spare. He sent the most of it to his mother hoping that it will reach her safely. Still, he had enough to feel like his own man.
He was helping a good cause when he could. People around him liked him. It was like he was a new man.
Then Tricia attacked him and it sobered him up.
There was no life for him here. He was a spy with a hidden agenda. Tricia was not interested and now she said that she wasn’t available either.
He was sure that his mother wouldn’t mind that she lived before she met him. Still, the picture of his mother on her knew at the Sunday mass with her black lace scarf over her head made him doubt. If anything his mother was a deeply religious woman.
Maybe she wouldn’t be comfortable with Tricia and the fact that she sinned. What if she found out that she lived in a hose that everyone referred to as a house of sin?
Those thoughts made Santos worry.
Thinking about his mother reminded him why he was here.
After that, he did his chores more grimly. In that state, the letter from his mother found him.
‘Dear son,
The judge allowed me separation. There is no need to declare your father dead. If you find him, wish him well. I’ll be married soon. Thank you for all your support but now I can work and there is no need to deprive yourself means for a decent living.
For a mother, there is no greater pleasure but to her children to grow up and be their own people. There’s no need for you to support me further. Find a family of your own and settle down.
Nothing would excite my heart more than grandchildren. Your sisters are well, they send you their love.
Love,
Jolene Armando de la Cruz.’
Her name was still the same but it seemed different. Now his father had no one but Santos to find him. Santos wasn’t free to offer his life to anyone.
8.3 A Strange Package
Between Tiles
It was just his luck to fail at the first outpost of his endeavour.
Alright, it wasn’t the first outpost.
He managed to pave the road in two districts in Georgia before he was captured in Augusta.
There he approached the wrong people, stepped on the wrong side of the road, was spotted and in a moment hands were all over him pressing his face deep in the mud.
They led him to the sheriff office to try to establish was he a sellable slave or a fugitive they have to turn in.
In the sheriff office, Evan couldn’t help but look at the wall decorated with faces on warrants behind his back.
On the wall, there was his mother but no one could recognize her from her poster. She was painted dark as night and vicious beyond measure.
Just below her, there was Evan’s face. It was painted with a precision that might suggest that Luiz had something to do with it being made.
Who else would have the memory to do it?
His own face stood there looking at Evan from the wall of runaway slaves.
Evan smiled at his own face. It was painted handsome, Evan might argue even more handsome than he was. That implied Luiz even further.
Despite the similarity, it seemed that none of the men around him connected his face to the drawing on the wall.
Luckily, these were the men that thought all black people looked the same.
Evan had a choice. He could tell them his name and be deported up north, the poster said to be delivered to Black Cotton. There Luiz would grab hold of him. He would probably try to get his mother to come in to claim him.
She would surely do that.
“Leeroy,” Evan said finally. “Nobody bothered to give me another name.”
“That’s just like your kind,” he sheriff spat on the floor. “Even the name is hard for you to muster. I think this one has no value except his strength. Since you found him, I think you could have the right of the first buy, from me that is.”
The sheriff laughed and the man grumbled but did pay him the sum to take Evan away.
Evan felt the shackles digging into his wrists but had a hard time to process it as real. It seemed like a nightmare, the one he had each night since they were turned into fugitives.
Luiz went through things of newly caught slaves. They were apprehended in the woods just before the border with Charlotte.
In their bags were supplies and rags they wore before they escaped. Someone supplied them with clothes and food.
None of those could be recognized. There were plain clothes that could be found anywhere, made for working, and food was just food. Peaches were the same everywhere.
The only interesting thing was a small package. In the brown paper without address or inscriptions, there were packed few ribbons, buttons, and a piece of clothing.
What was that all about?
Was it a new code?
He couldn’t understand the meaning of the package.
The slaves were used to whipping so there was no hope that any of them would talk.
“We can whip them just to try. Maybe these are the weak minded.”
“You would expect that from the lesser beings, wouldn’t you?” Luiz sighed. “Loyalty is stronger than pain. They know if they tell that not only will deliver us others but will also close their own escape route. Their only possession is hope, they would rather die than give up hope. Just return them where they belong and don’t bother me with details of their punishment. I don’t like the gore of it.”
“A strange thing to say for a Marshal,” his deputy frowned.
“An ordinary thing to say for a Marshal. We apprehend criminals, others are tasked with the just punishment. I’m not the one who decides what that is. Go and leave me.”
Luiz spread the fabric across his table and looked at the items. All he could think of was Belva’s scarf.
There were no new scarfs since that last hunt. She must have realized what betrayed her. Still, she was a seamstress. She couldn’t keep herself away from this stuff.
This had to lead back to her.
Luiz smiled knowing that he’s still on his trail. He just needs to be patient and she’ll come straight into his arms.
IX. The Dust in his Pockets
11/02/1859
Dear Josephine,
The other day my husband Trevor, returned from the hunt.
He told me that he had a threat for me.
“Reach out in my pocket,” he said.
You can imagine how suspicious I was. I was sure that he’ll be wicked.
I reached in and there was only dust there.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“That is the dust we’ll both became one day and I hope you’ll fly around with me when we’re gone,” he said.
Can you imagine the old geezer?
Of course, I said to him that he’s been silly, but I’ll fly around with him gladly.
I hope that you’ll fly around with us too. Your company was always a pleasant one.
My daughter Selena just gave birth to healthy twins. I might consider naming the girl Josephine, it’s such a nice name.
Hope you’re doing well.
With love,
Anabelle.
9.0 A Piece of Ribbon
The two more packages came and then they stopped. Instead of sadness, Belva felt worried.
The packages stopped too abruptly.
She expected of them to stop but she also expected to get smaller, scarce and then stop.
Instead, they just were cut off like they never were.
“Finally,” Evan murmured when runaways came in emptyhanded.
They had supplies but nothing for Belva, not even a note.
“Why are you so disappointed?” Evan still wasn’t satisfied with her. “You got so many that we had to leave it in that shed in the woods. You don’t do anything with them anyway. They are just dead weight and you should forget that they exist. No one will take them, they�
��ll just rot there because no one needs such useless baggage.”
Belva frowned at him.
“You’re much too concerned with my life and my life choices. When you were with your family last? There’s no need for you to run after me the whole time. We established the route. Go home and take care of your children, I’ll manage here just fine.”
Evan was angry but he knew she was right.
There was a real necessity for him when they searched for new paths but now runaways would meet them at the cliff side and they didn’t have to go in the dangerous areas at all.
After the meeting point, they would travel together and Belva knew all hiding places and patrols to avoid.
“Don’t be mad. I’ll call upon you when you’re needed.”
“And now I’m not,” he scorned her.
“You’re needed home. There’s a baby there.”
He sighed and complied.
As he left Belva thought about her own father and how he shaped her life. Often in ways she didn’t appreciate.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” Belva said with anger. “You promised. We got married. When he’ll be back?”
“He won’t be back,” her father said calmly.
“How do you mean? He’s my baby’s father. He must come back. Did you sell him? How could you? I will hate you forever.”
Her father looked at her calmly.
“Look at it from my angle,” he said not raising his voice. “He is a grown man. You’re barely a girl. You think that was love but I can’t take that at your word. I had to test him and he didn’t pass the test.”
“So you sold him? I’ll find him, I’ll find him wherever he went and set him free.”
Her father shook his head.
“I did just that. I set him free, gave him papers and money and he took off.”
“You paid him to leave?” Belva was furious. “Why did you make him marry me then?”
“So my grandson is a legal child and not a bastard,” he wasn’t angry, he seemed sad now. “His life will be hard enough without being a bastard.”
“It’s not fair. You could have let him stay. I’ll go and find him, no matter where he went.”
“You can, when you’re grown up and when your child is secured. You’re not a child anymore. You will have a child and your selfishness can’t persist any longer. That man took advantage of you and your protection before the world. He used you as a card towards freedom. When I determine you’re ready, I’ll tell you his new name and where he went.”
“That’s not true. We loved each other,” she cried.
“You might thought you loved him but I gave him a choice, he chose freedom. Before he left he gave you marriage so we can look our neighbours in the eye. Without it all I could tell him would be that he raped you. Do you know what would happen to a slave who raped a daughter in the house?”
Belva was terrified.
“You would never. He didn’t…”
“That’s what you tell yourself but you’ll never know did he love you or just use you. You’re like me now, you’ll always wonder, as I wonder, did your mother love me or was she just using her only card to improve her life.”
Belva just stared at him.
“Even if she did,” she finally said. “Are you sorry that I’m here to bother you?”
Her father looked at her and smiled.
“You are a grievance but also an entertainment to watch. When you find that unfaithful husband of yours let me know what happened. I would like to know but you’re too young now for him to move around the house and own you. What message would that send to our slaves? That anyone can force themselves upon young ladies and earn a better life?”
Belva said nothing but knew that even when she finds her husband she’ll never tell him the outcome.
Belva was left to roam alone and wait for new runaways to find their way to her at the full moon by the cliff-side. Still, he didn’t feel lonely. She had a mission before her and there was a real need to make sure her lady was alright.
With Evan by her side, she wasn’t free to even ask of her let alone sent out spies to see what’s up with York County. Why were they at her tail in the first place?
The following days, Josephine thought of her past from another angle. Now it seemed to her that she should have known, that she should have known the whole time. In the new light, it all was just so obvious. The smugness of her husband, the calmness of Major-Domo and their acceptance of what she was. More than anything agreeing to refusal, of rejection.
More than anger towards the two of them, she felt guilt, guilt towards all those women she seduced. She felt guilty for taking off their defences just so they would… Josephine avoided thinking about it too often.
Josephine felt like a ghost wandering between the walls of her cage. She was surrounded by the past that she couldn’t change, make right.
The fugitives kept coming. Josephine stopped sending out packages with them. What she did instead was to send out letters. She sent letters of apology to her old lovers. She knew that most of them will be burned in the fire unopened. Some of them will be intercepted but some of them will open. Maybe some of those hearts will forgive her.
First, there was a wave of letters to the girls with teary eyes, those who wanted to stay but refused to approach me close enough to look them in the eye. Those letters were hard.
Second, there was a wave of letters to those women who enjoyed themselves, who showed endearment towards them just to leave with an easy smile like they drank coffee and made embroidery. Those ones didn’t look Josephine in the eye afterwards but acted as she is their dear acquaintance. Among them, there was a letter for the aunt of her last guest. Those letters were easier. They didn’t deserve regret but did an explanation. Maybe they deserved to be told that there was more to their encounters than embroidery.
Thirdly, there was a wave of letters that was almost cheerful. There was a sense of praise in the letters to those who turned Josephine down. Some did it gentle and subtle, others harsh and determinant. To them, she sent thank-you notes because they didn’t fall into the trap that was set around her, on which she was attached as a bait. Those women, those religious, faithful and pure women always wanted to greet Josephine afterwards, they would look her in the eye, and she wasn’t invisible for them.
Now everything was turned upside down. The respect she now felt towards the last, largest group, comforted her. She felt better to think of how they couldn’t be reached by those men under the needlework. Josephine didn’t break them for those men.
She laughed as she wrote last letters because she would remember the faces her late husband, and later Major-Domo would make when they would leave. They would look at them with the same frustrated scornful expressions. That shape of their faces would return every time she would receive a letter from one of them. How clear was that small detail in her mind? She could remember watching them frown and wondering why.
Josephine was surprised by how many those letters were. The delivery boy Santos was just running back and forth carrying letters. Maybe even more surprising was that she remembered it all, that the names and details didn’t vanish in the turns of the time.
The last letter was addressed to her last guest. It was short. Josephine said to her that she didn’t miss out and that she should be careful with her body and to whom she’s offering it to because all touches stay burnt into the skin, they don’t wash off with time.
When she was done with that last letter, Josephine felt a lot better, cleaner, almost redeemed. She even thought about a new package she could send to Josephine but she still didn’t feel joy, not for real. She was impure and she had no idea how to make that past to fall off her shoulders.
Ina showed her how to get rid of it, at least it's a visible part. She sat on the carpet and showed the picture above the fireplace. She tried to say something.
Josephine looked up and saw the needlework she did, a naked girl with long blond hair beside a
lake. Under the threads, Josephine put to hide the painting underneath, was a lustful old man with his trousers untied. Josephine suddenly knew what she can do.
She took the picture from the wall and order maids to take down all of them. She went down to the cellar and personally took out the needlework that hung in her room for years just above her bed.
They piled the pictures before the house and set them on fire.
The fire claimed them greedily as it awaited them for the longest time.
Josephine watched how the threads are going black, how the sheet below them is bending and for the moment she could see the paintings hidden underneath.
To her guests the needlework was irresistible. They would giggle and laugh but Josephine never saw them as seductive. She would always see the painting that was hidden underneath, the one that her husband kept in his rooms. The paintings to which he probably exposed her lovers while he diverted them from Josephine.
Now it was so clear just how much her needlework did reflect the reality of her life. It was like she knew as she knew all along.
Josephine turned her back to the fire and went inside. Let them burn, she doesn’t need them anymore, she doesn’t need that double life she led for so long.
With Evan gone, Belva was obligated to take care of herself. She went out hunting, gathered plants and went to town to buy supplies to the trade.
Evan found a job and sent some bills her way.
Josephine slept in her shed in the woods and couldn’t help but think how the shed wasn’t suited for a human to live in it. She felt like she was a slave in a hut chained to the ground at night.
She would wake up from those dreams of feeling like she was drowning.
Waking didn’t make things any better. She was alone in the middle of the woods and darkness and sounds were all around. Humans were far away. There was no one around to hear her scream.
That bothered her too much to bare so she decided to find a place of her own. Her underground railroad worked and she had to occasionally show up on the right spot at the right time and lead men and women through the dark towards freedom.
