Martin wanted to learn where these slaves came from and how they were captured, but he worried that probing too deeply too soon could make him look like he was gathering evidence instead of simply asking innocent questions. Damon had already made it clear that the most sensitive details of the compound’s operations would only be revealed to him “when the time is right.” So Martin decided that for the time being, he’d keep his questions light. Just scratch the surface for now, then later, after the initiation, after he’d gained their trust, he’d dig deeper.
Six big guards armed only with steel spring batons patrolled freely, barking at faltering slaves to keep up the pace. A few of the slaves attempted to steal a glance at the strangers who had just entered their work area and were promptly warned, “Keep your white asses working!” Directly in the center of the space stood a steel bell-shaped structure with several gun slots. To Martin it looked like a mash-up of an igloo and an armored truck. “What is that?” he asked, pointing.
Roy smiled as if he were just asked to demonstrate his favorite toy. “We call it the death dome. There’s a man inside there armed with an AA-12 assault shotgun, the most powerful handheld weapon in the world. If things ever got out of order in here, he could fix it real quick, if you know what I mean.”
Martin stood studying the work flow of the mine. He watched the digging, the carting, the crushing, and finally the panning. Martin was hardly an expert on mining, but it did appear as if they were looking for gold, despite Roy’s saying the mine had been abandoned a century before. Why would anyone abandon a gold mine if it was still bearing fruit? He turned to Roy. “So if they’re not digging for gold, what exactly are they digging for?”
Roy screwed up his face. “Well, that’s kind of a tricky question.” Roy led Martin over to one of the water troughs, where a balding man, about forty years old, was busy filling his pan with a fresh load of ground soil. They watched as he submerged the pan in water and began to shake and swirl it around, gradually separating the light soil from the heavier sediments. The slave was a master at this task, and soon just a teaspoon’s worth of black soil remained at the bottom of the pan. The slave used his fingers to sift through the dark soil; finding nothing, he frowned, washed out the pan, and then turned to scoop up another load of dirt.
“Ned, stop work and turn around,” said Roy.
“Yes, sir,” Ned replied with a feeble voice. He put down his pan and turned toward them but kept his eyes trained on the ground. His face was nonexpressive except for his eyes, which were full of misery.
Roy pointed to Martin. “This is Mr. Grey, your new master.”
“Hello, sir,” Ned said, without looking up. It was obvious that, unlike the house slaves, the mine slaves were not allowed to look their captors in the eye.
“Find anything today?” Roy asked.
“Yes, sir. Doing pretty good so far.”
“Show Mr. Grey.”
Roy picked up a small white plastic jar, about the size of a cold cream jar. He twisted it open and handed it to Martin. Inside the jar there were just a few tiny flecks of gold, none larger than a grain of rice. “So then,” Martin said to Roy, his voice still uncertain, “they are mining for gold.”
Roy paused. He raised his hand, then turned to Ned and ordered him to get back to work. Martin handed Ned back the white jar and said, “Thanks.” The kind word made Ned pause as if he were basking in a fleeting spring breeze. He picked up his pan and continued working. Roy led Martin and Damon out of earshot of the slaves before finally supplying Martin with an explanation.
“You see, the people who used to run this mine didn’t shut down because the gold ran out. They shut down because they reached a point where the gold ran low. Once the cost of digging is greater than the value of what comes out of the ground, it’s time to pack up and leave. So yes, technically the slaves are mining gold, but they only find a few ounces a year. Not even enough to keep them fed. Gold is not what’s important here.”
“Then what is?”
“Put it this way: we can’t exactly put them to work in cotton fields, can we?”
The truth struck Martin like a thunderbolt. Suddenly he understood the twisted purpose of the old gold mine. “It’s just busywork,” he muttered in astonishment. “It doesn’t matter what they pull out of the ground. It’s just to keep them working.”
“Not just working,” Damon said. “Working hard. The same courtesy they showed our ancestors. Isn’t Dr. Kasim brilliant?”
Martin put on a smile, but inside his stomach churned. As he watched the feeble workers pecking at the walls, the weight of what he planned really hit home. These people truly were in hell. And their rescue rested solely on his shoulders. Whatever it took, he had to tell the world what was going on here.
A guard’s angry shout rose above the din. “I said keep working!” He hit a slave across the back with his baton. The slave let out a cry and crumbled to his knees. He was older than the others and he appeared to be ill, but that did not stay the guard’s hand. “Get up! Get up!” the guard shouted as he struck the cowering slave again and again.
“Stop it! Goddamnit! Stop!”
The guard froze. The work stopped. The entire dig fell silent except for the beaten man’s whimpering. Damon, Roy, all the guards stared. Even a few slaves risked a glance at Martin. He hadn’t been able to hold his emotions back any longer. His outburst was as unstoppable as a volcanic eruption.
Martin saw the puzzled eyes measuring him, perhaps the seeds of doubt taking root. Now they knew, Martin thought. Now they all knew how he truly felt . . . and he was as doomed as the men chained to the wall.
But the accusations never came. Just a wry snicker from Roy before he whispered to Martin, “Jesus, you really are new.” Then Roy shouted for everyone to get back to work. The battered slave, too injured to do so, was dragged away, and the slaves returned to swinging their pickaxes. Just like that, the incident was over.
Damon gave Martin’s shoulder a supportive squeeze, then turned to Roy. “I believe that Mr. Grey has seen enough.”
CHAPTER 56
A short while later Damon and Martin were trudging back through the woods toward the main house. The sky was now overcast and a light drizzle had begun to fall.
Martin thought it odd that neither Damon nor Roy had made any mention of Martin’s outburst as they hiked their way back up to the surface. After they emerged from the mine, Damon’s griping about not being able to get in a few rounds of golf had been the sole topic of conversation. Martin couldn’t tell whether the two men were intentionally avoiding a troubling subject that would be dealt with later, or if his revealing misstep was really not that big a deal. Either way, Martin felt a pressing urge to say something. To try to slap a patch on his character before it completely deflated. But he decided to remain quiet. Why make an issue out of something that may not be an issue at all? For all he knew, Damon had already forgotten about the incident.
Martin was wrong.
They were just a few yards from reaching the main house when Damon surprised Martin by grabbing his arm.
“Hold it a minute,” Damon said. The casualness Damon displayed during their stroll back had vanished. His demeanor was stern. “What happened in the mine. That can’t happen again. Never defend a slave over a master. Never.”
Martin did his best to nod.
“I’m sure you can understand why,” Damon said.
“Of course,” Martin said. “Sorry about that. I guess I’m still just getting used to all this.”
Damon shook his head. “You never really get used to it. And in some ways, your reaction was perfectly natural. If you saw a dog receiving a beating, you’d probably react the exact same way. But here’s the thing: you have to keep reminding yourself what ‘all this’ is really about. What they did to our people. What we’re doing here is a duty. It serves a higher purpose. Okay?”
&
nbsp; After a moment, Martin nodded. “I understand.”
“I hope so. If not, you’ll never get through your initiation tonight.”
Martin looked at him. “Is there any way I can get you to tell me what this initiation is?”
Damon’s easy smile returned. “Brother, what you’ve seen so far is nothing. Just a small taste of what we’ve created. The knowledge and experiences that await you will forever change you. But before we can take you deeper, you must prove your loyalty.”
“How?”
Damon frowned. “I’ve already said too much. But I will say this about tonight. You better toughen up, real fast.” With that, Damon continued toward the main house.
CHAPTER 57
Alice paused outside Master Lewis’s bedroom door, smoothed out her maid’s uniform, and took a deep breath. She tried to make herself appear calm, but that wasn’t easy with her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea why Master Lewis would ask to see her in the middle of the afternoon. In the few years that he had been coming to Forty Acres, she had only been summoned to his room once, and that was for sex. In truth, it was more of a beating than sex. It was well known that Master Lewis injured the women who went to his room and that it would probably be much worse if Master Lennox didn’t keep him in check. Alice could tell, though, that Master Lewis had not enjoyed the night he spent with her. Alice didn’t know why, and she didn’t really care. He sure smacked her around enough. She was just thankful that Master Lewis had never demanded her company again—until last night. When she had been summoned to Master Lewis’s room, she was certain that her good fortune had run out. She expected him to slam her down on the bed and rip off her clothes like last time, but instead he wanted her to sleep with the new master, Martin Grey. Alice took no pleasure in sleeping with any of them, but if she had no choice, she’d much rather sleep with Grey than a man who confused caresses with punches.
Alice took another deep breath as she stared at the doorknob. Calm down, she told herself. He probably just wants you to sleep with Mr. Grey again. Yes, that has to be it. Alice put on a big smile and rapped lightly on the door.
Carver’s firm voice beckoned her to enter. Alice pushed through the door and saw Carver seated on the edge of the bed. Her tension eased a bit when she saw that he was fully dressed and smiling. “You wanted to see me, master?”
“Yes. I’m curious about your evening with Mr. Grey.”
“Curious, sir?”
“Tell me what happened.”
Alice took on a puzzled expression. “We had sex, sir.”
Carver frowned. “I know that. I mean what did you talk about?”
“Nothing really. We didn’t do much talking.”
Carver’s smile thinned as his eyes drank her in. “Yeah, I imagine not. Did anything unusual happen?”
“Unusual?”
“Yes. You know, like did he ask you to do anything . . . out of the ordinary?”
Alice suddenly had a pit in her stomach. Alice had a strong feeling that if she revealed the truth, something bad would happen. Not to her but to Mr. Grey. Usually she wouldn’t give a shit about what happened to these men who took away her life and kept her a prisoner. But after she’d thought more about Mr. Grey’s behavior, only one thing made sense to Alice: pretending to have sex wasn’t some weird kink as she had originally thought. Mr. Grey faked the sex because he didn’t want to rape her. He was trying to protect her. And if he was trying to protect her, Alice thought, then she should protect him as best she could.
“Answer me,” Carver demanded, growing impatient.
Alice shook her head. “No, sir. Nothing like that. We just had sex.”
Carver studied her suspiciously. Alice was relieved; it meant that Mr. Carver did not know the truth. Mr. Grey had kept what happened secret as well.
“Do you think he enjoyed the sex?” Carver asked.
“Yes. He seemed to, sir.”
Carver leaned forward. “Do you think Mr. Grey likes you, Alice? I mean, was he kind to you? Treated you nicely?”
Alice found the question more than a little odd. Her brow furrowed. “Mr. Grey was very nice to me, sir.”
“I’m sure he was. But does he like you? You can tell if someone likes you, can’t you?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Well? Does he like you or not?”
Alice nodded. “Yes, I think Mr. Grey does like me.”
A cold smile creased Carver’s face. “Yes, that’s what I thought too.”
Alice didn’t like the look on Carver’s face. It made her nervous. It reminded her of the way he looked the night he beat her. The sooner she got out of his room the better. “Is that all, sir?”
Carver shook his head, slow and ominous. “No, it’s not. Come closer.”
Alice’s heart began to race again. “You have more questions about Mr. Grey?”
“I said come closer.”
Alice forced her body, tense with fear, to take a few steps toward him.
“Don’t play games. Come here. Right here in front of me.”
Alice tried to remain calm. She already knew what was going to happen next—it seemed inevitable now—but showing fear might anger him and make his hands heavier. Still smiling, Alice took a few more steps forward and stopped within arm’s reach of Carver. Within striking distance. For an infinite moment he just groped her body with his stare. She could see his eyes filling up with his mean lust. Then Carver said something unexpected. “Show me your hands.”
Alice was so baffled by the request that she just stood there looking at him.
“Are you deaf? Show me your hands!”
Alice raised her hands. They were trembling and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She was just too frightened. Carver grabbed her hands and stared at them. They were small and delicate. Carver took particular interest in her fingernails. They were clipped short but still had a bit of an edge. Carver ran his fingers over the tips of her nails and smiled, apparently pleased by their appearance. Finally he released her hands and looked up at her, mysteriously amused. “You and I are going to play a game,” he said. Then Carver grabbed Alice and flung her hard onto the bed.
CHAPTER 58
Juanita Darrell, displaying her usual flair, selected Xander’s, a trendy new soul food restaurant on the corner of 127th Street and St. Nicholas Avenue in Harlem, to host an impromptu “girls’ night out.” Xander’s had a three-month waiting list, but being the wives of powerful men came with certain privileges, like getting the best table in the house on the busiest night of the week without a reservation. The restaurant’s unique posh-funk décor, velvety atmosphere, and delicious authentic dishes lived up to Anna’s expectations. Any other night she would have been thrilled to be there, but on this night, she had far too much on her mind.
Anna sat at the table picking at her smothered lamb chops while the other wives enjoyed a lively discussion on a mad variety of topics. Dissecting every detail of Saks’s new upscale nail salon took up cocktail time (verdict: good effort, but not good enough to replace Bergdorf’s). Then, as wine flowed and each course arrived at the table, the conversation hopscotched dizzyingly across subjects like Obamacare, the latest episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta, and real estate opportunities in the Cayman Islands, and had now landed on a critique of Michelle Obama’s wardrobe. Anna remained quiet all the while.
“Anna, we haven’t heard from you yet,” Juanita said. “What do you think?”
Anna looked up from her plate and saw all the women staring at her. She was only vaguely aware of the current topic of conversation. Instead of pretending to care, she just shrugged. “Sorry, I guess my mind’s somewhere else.”
Starsha, Carver’s wife and the youngest at the table, snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. You haven’t said a word all night.”
“No, that’s not true,” Kwame’s wife, Olaide,
said. “I did hear the sister order those lamb chops. But that’s about it.”
The women laughed. Juanita, who was seated to Anna’s right, reached over and squeezed her hand. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I guess I just miss Martin.”
The women traded amused looks. Betty Aarons, Solomon’s regal wife, shook her head. “Lord, girl. Your man’s only been gone a single day. During the war, Solomon was away for over a year and I didn’t look as down as you do now.”
“I’ve never been completely out of touch with Martin before. That’s all.”
Juanita frowned at Anna. “I thought we settled all this last night when you called.”
“I know. It’s just it feels so weird not being able to text him or anything. I had trouble sleeping.”
Starsha leaned closer to Anna and lowered her voice. “See, what you need to get you through those lonely nights is a good vibrator.” She winked at Mrs. Aarons. “You tell her, Betty.”
The women burst into laughter, and Anna laughed right along with them. Juanita shooed off Anna’s gloom with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry. By the time they go off on their next trip, you won’t even think about it.”
“Yeah, especially if we take a trip of our own,” Starsha added. “The only reason we didn’t go anywhere this time is because Margaret is in the middle of a closing.”
Forty Acres Page 21
