Darkest Pattern- The Door

by Riva Zmajoki

  He failed to understand her at first.

  “You mean the White Phoenix burnt down?” he said with relief.

  “I see nothing good about that news. Aren’t you worried about your old mistress, there is no news about her whereabouts.”

  “She’ll resurface,” he waved it off dismissingly. “She’s an old fox, she knows how to take care of herself.”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone,” she said seriously. “Would you be so little concerned if that happened to our house?”

  “No,” he got serious. “I would never wish that upon your home.”

  “Neither would I. That’s why you must go. You understand that?” she smiled at him.

  “No, I don’t understand,” he was angry. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “But I did,” Cecilia shook her head. “When I answered her very candid letter I suggested to her to burn her house down. Now I fear that she listened to me and destroyed all her property in an act of redemption.”

  “What does that do with me?” Carol was upset.

  “You’re on the same path of redemption. I fear that in the surge of guilt you too might go and burn our house down.”

  Carol looked at her in disbelief.

  He wasn’t sure should he tell her that he isn’t remorseful or that he is clean. While he thought, she reached out in her drawer and took out a hefty sum of money.

  “This is for your journey,” she said. “I wish you to find your inner peace. Pray for us but quietly. It would be most imprudent to tell tales of your mistress, or of me.”

  He looked at the money and then just took it, said thank you and went on his way.

  That house was full of draught anyway.

  ‘Beware of the women that don’t burn,’ his master was thoughtful. ‘The mistress will call them in just to talk to them. Those women can’t be touched. On the lightest of contact, that kind of a woman will call the whole town with pitchforks at you. It’s best not to have any contact with them because their values are unpredictable. There is no sense in their values, only the outer appearance of virtue.’

  10.2 The Escape

  White Phoenix

  Cynthia wasn’t bothered by the fact that the house was burnt. She was bothered by the fact that her skirt was torn and that all of her other skirts burned with the house.

  “Damn her,” Cynthia cursed. “Must she always go out in style? Couldn’t she leave the house standing? We could have sneak in later and collect our stuff.”

  “Shut up. We’re lucky we weren’t barricaded in there,” Tricia shushed her.

  “This is a terrible plan,” Cynthia continued. “We look like scarecrows. No one will believe that we’re just about our business.”

  “We just need to walk to the next town and say that we were attacked on the road,” Tricia walked on.

  “No,” Cynthia stopped. “I’m not walking that far. I did nothing wrong. I just worked in a house that had its quirks. To tell strangers that we were attacked on the road is just to say them that they can abuse us. There are no men in our company.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something, start anew,” Tricia pulled her.

  “No, in York people know us. They got accustomed to our appearance and past. Someone will give us work. Let’s go back.”

  “We can’t,” Tricia insisted.

  “Why? It’s not like we’re actually a part of some grand underground network. We know nothing of real value. We can’t betray anyone because we don’t know anyone. If we run, it’s like we admitted guilt. They can’t hang us for anything, for just living in a house of sin. We did nothing wrong. Not directly.”

  Tricia thought about it.

  “You are right in some way,” she said finally. “It’s better for us to turn ourselves in than to be caught on the road. Out here patrolmen can decide that we’re just fun prey to play with.”

  “I’m not in the mood for playing,” Cynthia took her under her arm and they went back to the town.

  “Besides,” Tricia added hopefully. “They probably sobered up by the fire. How long can they stay angry?”

  Tricia agreed to return because she wanted to see what happened to Santos. She was worried about him. Did they realize what he did?

  As they walked the empty streets she was looking for him but he was nowhere to be found.

  In the woods, Santos led his grandma and the station master towards the meeting point looking out for a chase.

  No one was following them. The runaways waited for them by the cliff above the river bend.

  “You should go with us,” his grandma said and Santos frowned at her hand that didn’t leave white’s lady waist. “You’re not safe there.”

  “No one saw me,” he said thinking of the dress the white lady wore. “I’ll be safer there than with you. Besides, someone has to look out for others who might be captured.”

  His grandma nodded patted him on the head and turned to leave all the while holding the lady by her waist.

  As they left, Santos thought about the dress that the lady wore. He had seen her in it at her home but there it looked ordinary. He was aware that his grandmother made it, he delivered it himself. It seemed like an innocent gift for the station master and her help.

  While his grandma helped the white lady climb to the other shore, Santos thought about the words of Mrs Huffing when she gave him the package with that dress.

  “You have the most peculiar way of measuring things. How can you measure someone with your hands?”

  Santos had heard rumours about the white lady but he could never connect those to his grandma.

  In his eyes, she was the most respectable person he knew. For him she wasn’t a person, she was personified wisdom. Someone old and virtuous. Looking at their joined hands Santos wasn’t sure how he feels about that.

  They were running and he didn’t ask his grandma where they are headed. He assumed that she’ll help the station master find another home and get back to her task.

  Now he wasn’t sure. It seemed that wherever the white lady went her grandma will follow. That seemed like a betrayal and Santos wasn’t sure will he search for her again.

  He was a man now and it would be best for him to find his own way.

  10.3 Shattered Windows

  Between Tiles

  Day in and day out they would work in the fields.

  Evan sang the songs memorizing them, recognizing that others too did walk the road and made safe routes for others to follow to freedom.

  He recognized maps braided into women’s hair.

  Compliant as he was, he wasn’t as strong as those accustomed to hard work and absence of nourishment.

  He earned his share of whipping.

  Through all this time he waited and looked for his opportunity.

  When his opportunity came, he was ready.

  The song began that day in the woods and not in the fields. Heads looked up but swiftly were back at work singing louder to let that someone know that they had heard. At night they waited and soon there was a thump as a guard fell. The lock was picked and a man came in the darkness.

  “Who will go with me?” he turned around the barracks.

  Three men lifted their arms and Evan rose his hand too.

  “My wife,” said a voice from the dark. “She’s in the house.”

  “My son.”

  “My mother,” voices excused themselves.

  Evan understood them.

  “I’ll get back if I can,” the man said and his voice sounded familiar. “When the song starts in the woods and not in the fields you have two days to gather who you love to leave.”

  They murmured wishing them well and Evan with three other men went out into the darkness to follow the conductor down the railroad Evan made towards the freedom that he hoped is still out there for him and those like him.

  Luiz arrived just in time to see Santos de la Cruz warning the staff that the men with torches are coming.

  That foolish boy had more hea
rt than smarts. The sentiment got the better of him. Still, he was doing Luiz favour. All those runaway servants could be found and interrogated, they didn’t have the integrity or motivation of the slaves.

  As he watched there they were runaway slaves, slipping into the night.

  Luiz didn’t follow them. They were inconsequential.

  What was important was that Santos didn’t even flinch when they passed him by on the door.

  “Grandma sent me,” Santos said to Josephine and the picture fell into place.

  Luiz should have known from the start. His face should have been registered as familiar but instead of recognizing Evan in Santos Luiz just took the familiarity as trust.

  Josephine Gaillard proved to be as stubborn as she always was. Instead of accepting the help she slammed the door like barricades can protect her from torches or rocks.

  Instead of observing the inevitable disaster, he had no desire to watch that woman being dragged around through mud and being torn apart, Luiz followed Santos.

  As expected, Santos led him straight to Belva.

  That was his chance. He could just walk out and arrest her. He could have just restrained them both and deliver her to his brother’s doorstep. That would be the end of his penance. He would be free to do something else with his life.

  Still, he hesitated.

  Evan wasn’t with them.

  Without Evan to see, that wasn’t a complete victory.

  Instead of restraining them, Luis kept quiet. Belva disappeared. Santos waited. Luiz waited.

  In the distance, he could hear windows shattering.

  Why would Belva go to meet the angry mob? What was there so valuable for her to risk gruesome death?

  Soon Belva returned and by their voices, he could hear Josephine was with her.

  Santos was too far off to hear them but they were just a few steps away from Luiz. He heard every word.

  They shamelessly confessed love for one another.

  “And we only are getting older,” said Josephine happily and they went.

  Luiz stayed laying in the grass. He didn’t follow.

  In the light of the house in flames, Luiz watched shadows dancing all around him. He felt hollow.

  The broken glass cracked under Luiz’s boots as he walked to the burnt remains of the White Phoenix.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be lifted from the flames,” he said to the house.

  “Houses can be rebuilt,” Santos said from the door.

  Luiz looked at him now clearly recognizing Evan on his features. Only their colour was different.

  “I admire your gut,” Luiz said calmly. “The houses that get rebuilt are those with someone to inherit them. This was a house without children and the widow sold out all of her fields just before the end. That’s how there is only the ground on which the house stands left. No one will rebuild the house that has no fields.”

  “There is always some distant relative to claim ruins,” Santos tried the stairs, they seemed to stand. They were made from stone. “I never was upstairs.”

  He climbed the stairs.

  Luiz sent under and discovered that all of the ceilings fell through. He could see Santos on the top of the stairs that led nowhere.

  The burnt furniture became one with the burnt floor but among them, there was something firm, something that kept its form.

  Luiz crouched and pulled out a pistol. It was a pocked pistol derringer with the short barrel. The kind that isn’t being made anymore. He turned it in his hands and of course, life was ironic enough, it stated Deringer with one ‘r’ and on the barrel, there was an inscription.

  ‘Love can’t be wrong,’ it said.

  Luiz sighed.

  “Of course it can,” he said and started to rub the pistol with his handkerchief. The wood parts were charcoaled but still whole. It was probably saved because it was buried beneath ruins.

  “Evidence?” Santos crouched beside him.

  “No, an heirloom,” Luiz showed him the pistol and could see Santos’ eyes widen as he recognized it.

  “Unusual weapon,” Santos said trying to stay calm. “The mistress of the house surely kept her husband’s.”

  “That’s the point with inscriptions. They betray you when you give away the gift you were given. It took me ages to decide what to say. Now when I look at it, it seems so corny. I could do better.”

  Santos stayed quiet.

  “Just for me, tell me your name again,” Luiz didn’t look at him. “Your whole name.”

  “Santos Durant de la Cruz,” Santos said with defiance in his voice.

  “You see, a bit of honesty isn’t that hard. Where is your father?”

  “I don’t know,” Santos said and Luiz believed him. “Grandma thinks he’s back home, in Philadelphia. I came down here to find him.”

  Luiz pictured him trapped below the log. Drowned in the lake. Maybe he lied, maybe didn’t know how to swim.

  “A black man in South Carolina moving on his own? You should have look in the slave barracks, not in a sheriff office.”

  “Will you arrest me now?” Santos didn’t try to run.

  “As far as I know you did no crime,” Luiz said calmly. “Without proof, I can’t say that you did anything here except warn your mistress that the mob is coming. That isn’t a crime. I think that every respectable citizen should have done that but I guess there are no much respectable men in the world.”

  “They are when it favours them,” Santos said quietly.

  “You grow wise since you came here,” Luiz got up. “You’ll keep looking for him, won’t you?”

  “There’s nothing better to do,” Santos shrugged his shoulders.

  “If you find him… no, when you find him, tell him…” Luiz wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

  He looked at the pistol.

  “Give this back to him, it’s his,” he gave him the pistol.

  Santos took it carefully.

  “Just so, you’ll let me go to free a slave.”

  “If he’s captured, it’s unlawful. He had papers, he is a free black man. Did you ever see me tear someone’s papers and selling them anyway?”

  “No, but you did capture us,” Santos said defiantly. “Father’s face is upon your wall.”

  “That’s just your imagination, your father was born free. Those drawings are worth nothing. If he was, though, I would be obligated by law to return him. You don’t have his colour. There is no need for you to identify with his folk.”

  “I am as much of a black man as he is.”

  Luiz smiled at him.

  “Loyalty is the best quality a man can have,” he said. “Your father raised you well, it was a pleasure working with you. I’m a Federal Marshal, I do what I was told. The law says that it’s my duty to return the property to their owners. I’m not the one who can control how they treat their property although I treat my boots better than they do the men that create their fortunes.”

  Santos went to go.

  “Still,” Luiz said to his back. “That doesn’t mean I’ll give up on your grandma. She, unlike your father and you, is a criminal and she owes me justice.”

  Santos just nodded.

  “She expects nothing else,” Santos said and walked away.

  XI. The Room was Empty

  02/19/1860

  Dear Josephine,

  I was summoned in the dark room of despair but when I came in it was empty.

  The paintings were on the wall and were even stranger than anything you and I came up with.

  I studied them waiting for the master of the house to come and tell me what he wanted of me but as I observed the paintings it became transparent what he wanted.

  He wanted a piece of me as you took a piece of me.

  After a short consideration, I concluded that was only fair.

  Besides, I didn’t find paintings on the wall repulsive.

  When he came in, I found his company enjoyable. For that, I’m grateful for you both because I di
dn’t have a difficult encounter between the sheets since.

  What I learned was that I’m the one who controls the situation.

  That’s why you must not worry for me because I lived my life well and with gusto.

  Now, the sun is setting on both of us and it might all seem old and dreary but remember, there were good times before these dull ones.

  Sincerely,

  Tomassa.

  11.0 The Measuring Tape

  After they reached the road Belva realized that she had no plan for this situation.

  She just went in like a fool, claimed her lady but now was dragging her along the road not knowing where to go.

  Her lady was obviously unaccustomed to walking so Belva made long pauses but those didn’t really help.

  “Can we get a carriage,” her lady finally pleaded. “I have money to spare or we can give them a neckless.”

  “In a next town,” Belva started to think of their destination.

  Where is a place her lady would fit in?

  “Hopefully,” Belva said darkly. “A Warrant still hasn’t been distributed.”

  “You think they’ll look for us?” her lady was surprised.

  “They came to your home with torches, surely they’ll keep searching.”

  “But the house burnt down,” Josephine frowned. “Surely, they’ll think I died.”

  “Luiz won’t,” Belva shook her head in despair. “He’ll turn the house around and when he finds no charcoaled bones he’ll keep on searching.”

  “Luiz Terdreau, he visited when you left,” her lady said thoughtfully.

  “Of course he did,” Belva sighed. “Let’s move on.”

  Josephine’s legs hurt but she didn’t want to complain. Belva seemed like a deer moving through woods, up hills and over rivers.

  Josephine felt anything but graceful. The pouch, in which she stored her jewellery when she removed it in the dark, was heavy so she gave it to Belva to carry.

  If she was after her jewels, Belva could now just walk away and leave Josephine to her destiny. She wouldn’t have to walk all that fast either.

  “Just until that hill,” Belva crouched beside her when they stopped. “There the next conductor will take over runaways. Then the two of us can rest.”