by S A Ison
“It would seem that your consciousness or soul, has lived other lives. It remembers the essence of a fear and it has been brought forward into your life now. It seems we have tapped into something very deep in your subconscious. I know this is disconcerting Cory, but would you be willing to explore your past lives? Perhaps that will be the key to unlocking your fears and phobias.” Dr. Taylor asked.
“Yes, but I’m almost afraid of what I might learn.”
“You’re safe here Cory and I’ll make sure that when you remember, you’ll not feel the fear or pain of those previous lives. You’ll only retain the knowledge. If you want, we can set up sessions for twice a week. I’ll begin to record an audio diary for you. That way, we can listen after and discuss what comes up.”
“Sure, that sounds good. Thanks, Dr. Taylor. This is really freaky, but I’m glad we found the source of my fire fear.” Cory smile wanly, he was tired but happy. For the first time in years, he felt hope.
§
Renda sat in her office making notes, Cory was due soon and she wanted to be ready. She was so thrilled about their last session. Who could have known? She was interested to see if any of the three previous lives would come back. It would be interesting to see. She’d not told any of her associates yet, this was just too exciting and a delicate process to say much to anyone. She set up the recording app on her computer and made sure it worked. She didn’t want technical difficulties during the session. She would also write down notes as well.
Getting up from her desk, she went to the door. She looked around her office, ensuring that everything was in place. She opened the door and smiled at Cory, she thought he looked excited, rather than his usual anxious countenance.
“Come on in Cory, how are you feeling today?”
“Good, nervous and excited.” He grinned shyly, hunching his shoulders up around his ears.
“Not to worry. You’re in a very safe place. Please have a seat and we’ll get started. I’ll be making an audio recording, so we can go back over the session if need be. I’ve set this appointment open ended, so it can run as long as you’re comfortable. I didn’t want to stop you too soon. I want this to be as organic as possible, letting your subconscious guide us.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m so curious to see who’s next. I thought about what those people had said and their lives. I even found the ship that Llorente spoke of. It was so cool. I also saw that the ship sank in 1708. I wondered if Llorente survived.”
Within a few minutes, Dr. Taylor had Cory in a deep state of relaxation. His face was very relaxed as was his body, his gray eyes half open. His feet were propped up and Renda hit the record button.
“Cory, I’m going to take you back, as far as you think you wish to go today. Let your mind find its way to the past. Can you tell me, what do you see?”
“I see my mother.” Cory said softly, a soft smile curving his lips.
“What is your mother doing?”
“She’s holding me, I… I think I was just born. Her eyes are tired and there are deep lines on her face. She seems happy, but sad. My mother is a slave.” Cory said. Dr. Taylor’s brows went up. This was a new past life.
“What is your name?”
“My name is Mary. Our souls aren’t on a linear state, time has no relevance here. I want to tell you about my life and my family. I want to tell you everything.”
§
Ida’s back was hurting badly, she felt as though she would pass out from the excruciating pain. Nausea pulled at her throat, but she didn’t dare stop working. She only had half her quota of cotton and Ida knew only too well the overseer, Lester Clark, would strip her back if she were to come in with less than two hundred pounds of picked cotton. She could feel the contractions grip her round belly. She panted softly, working through it, her dark hands rapidly picking the fluffy tuffs of cotton off the bush, her strong hands covered with nicks from careless aim.
The labor pains had started just after lunch. At first, Ida thought it was the potato she had eaten. Perhaps the potato had gone rancid and upset her stomach? But the pain had kept on hurting, down to her lower back and Ida knew in her soul her time was near. Lawd, don’t let this child come too soon, she prayed. She wanted to be in her bed when the baby came, not out here in the fields. Especially with Mr. Clark watching on, he was an evil bastard.
Another contraction gripped Ida and she faltered, going down on one knee.
“Gal, you betta get ta work, Clark, he gonna give you a whuppin’.” Liza hissed, worry creasing her face. Sweat was beaded across her broad brow, running rivets down her broad face. Liza’s capable hands never ceased their actions, as they skimmed over the cotton, plucking and pulling. Liza’s eyes glanced around furtively, trying to pinpoint the overseer’s location.
“I think it’s time for my baby ta come.” Ida panted softly, grunting as she stood back up. Ida wobbled a bit, but straightened up after that. Her slender hands resumed their rhythmic motion. She plucked at the cotton with mindless practice. Perspiration poured down her face, more than from just the heat of the day and the exertion of picking the cotton.
“Gal, you betta hold on. I’m scared old Clark will kill that child, if it comes out here.” Liza warned, her eyes darting around. Hearing hoof beats, both women quieted, their hands flying skillfully over the cotton. Ida could feel Mr. Clark’s eyes boring into their backs. She didn’t look up, knowing if she did; it would be to invite the overseer’s wrath down upon them.
Lester Clark didn’t like slaves looking at him. He told anyone who would listen, “Pickaninnies ain’t nothin’ but stupid animals, and they better never look me in the eye like real human beings.”
The overseer moved the large bay closer to Ida, nudging her with his riding crop. Ida stopped immediately and turned toward the overseer, her hands motionless, her gaze down. She didn’t dare look up; he gave her the willies. Clark had greasy red hair, watery blue eyes and a mouth full of rotten teeth. The man perpetually licked his thin lips, which reminded Ida of a putrid reptile.
“Ida, why ain’t you got near enough cotton in your bag? You bein’ a lazy gal today?” Clark asked lazily.
“Naw, suh, I ain’t lazy. I’m just feelin’ a bit poorly. I’ll work harder.” Ida assured him, she knew he wouldn’t care if she were sick or not. She also had to watch how she replied, one never knew when the bastard would take offence.
“You don’t get your amount; you know I’ll have to beat you. You betta get movin’ licketly split.” Clark told her, enjoying her misery, she noticed.
“Yes suh, I do just that.” Ida said, not moving until she was given permission to go back to work. Clark turned the horse around and Ida let out a soft breath and turned back to her work. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Liza watch the overseer head down the track of land to look for another victim to torment. Reaching slyly into her bag, Liza pulled out a large quantity of picked cotton. Quick as she could, Liza stuffed it into Ida’s bag. Bethy walked by and silently did the same as she passed Ida’s bag. The women knew what it was like to be light on a load. Each had felt Lester’s whip at some time in their lives. The women would take a beating in Ida’s place if necessary; it was hard carrying a baby, but harder still getting whipped while pregnant.
Ida remembered a woman, long ago, named Suelie. She had been beaten while she’d been pregnant. Ida had been a child of nine. It had been the old master, Terrance Anderson, who ran the farm. Two slaves had held Suelie up as she was whipped. Suelie had been in her eighth month of pregnancy when she had been caught taking food from the larder. Master Terrance had been incensed, ignoring her pleas of hunger. He had taken the whip himself, shoving Barker, the previous overseer, out of the way. Suelie had been given her twenty lashes with the short whip. Suelie’s back was crisscrossed with welts, blood drizzling down her body, pooling at her feet.
Her screams had diminished into whimpers, her legs long ago buckled. The two slaves holding her up were sweating profusely, her dead weight pulling at t
hem. When the lashing stopped, old Terrance Anderson came around to chastise her further. Suelie gave a hair-raising shriek, from between her legs came her baby, falling in a bloody mass to the ground. So startled, the two slaves holding her up let go of her arms and jumped back.
Their master jumped back as well, shocked at the bloody mass that had so unceremoniously plopped down before him. Suelie fell to her knees without the support of the other men. Seeing her child laying before her, she scooped it up, moaning. She pulled off the membrane clinging to the baby, it was pale and bluish hued. It was a little girl and she wasn’t breathing. The newborn was tiny, her body curled into a ball. Sitting in her own puddle of blood, Suelie rubbed the baby frantically, eliciting a feeble wail.
The master and overseer stood watching dumbfound as Suelie brought her baby to life. Barker shouted orders for the baby to be taken by one of the lactating slaves and to try to keep the baby girl alive. Barker then ordered the two male slaves who had held Suelie up earlier, to take her to her cabin and bind her wounds. Their master was still silent and flabbergasted, he watched helplessly as the woman and child were carried off. Both survived, though Suelie was never the same, she never had another child. Ida shivered at the long-ago memory.
Ida was grateful for the women’s help, whispering her thanks. Her hands moved over the cotton, as small tremors shook them. Another contraction was coming on and kept coming on throughout the afternoon. The hot sun beat down on the women and men, bent to their tasks. Warm dust filled Ida’s nostrils and she wiped at her face with her arm. Bird songs filled the air around her, along with the constant hum of insects. One man was allowed to sing out loudly, to make the work go quickly, and his tenor voice lilted over the warm breeze.
“O Lord at my side. Send me the breeze, as I work in the fields and sit ‘neath the trees. O Lord at my side. Send me some victuals, nice chicken dumplins and cool cider. O Lord by my side. Send me to sleep, where I dream of a sleep in the deep by and by.”
The sun was hugging the horizon when the field slaves made their way to the wagon, to turn in their bundles. Ida was drenched with sweat as she heaved over her last bundle to the slave on the wagon. Clark was sitting astride his horse, idly scratching his crotch, as he watched each bundle loaded onto the wagon bed. Ida could smell him from ten feet away and she felt her gorge rise and she swallowed hard.
“Looks like you is feelin’ better, Ida.” Lester said, sounding a bit disappointed. Ida said nothing of course and kept her head down and walked slowly on, behind the others. Her body was screaming now, the throbbing almost made her faint. Liza slipped an arm around her, her large girth taking on the slighter woman’s weight. Ida may have a large belly, but she was a delicately boned woman and slight of stature. Ida was thankful for the older woman’s help. Praise the Lawd, she thought, you done sent down an angel.
Ida lay on her cornhusk bed that had been strung up within a rough wooden frame. The bed sat on the dirt floor, near the rear of the small clapboard cabin. Several tallow candles were lit about the room. Ida watched as several women worked about the room. One came in carrying a small caldron of steaming water; its herbs fragrantly filled the cabin air. Liza’s youngest, Nan, sat with a rag beside Ida, wiping her face. Ida stared into space as another contraction gripped her, pain dazing her eyes. It took her breath away.
Liza squatted before her and spread Ida’s legs. This was Ida’s sixth pregnancy. The last five babies had died before birth, this was the only one that had made it this far. Ida’s man was over at the neighboring farm and hadn’t been to see her in several months. Big John Grover was a strapping light skinned man. He had been used to mate with several other women on the Anderson’s farm as well as the nearby plantations. His progeny were numerous and strong children. It was hoped that because he was so strong, that this baby would live. It was August 5th, 1845.
Ida felt Liza’s gentle hands pressing her great stomach, as another contraction took over.
“Ida, honey, you gotta push now. We gotta get that baby born safe. You can do it.” Liza said, her voice soft and reassuring. Ida closed her eyes and bore down, pushing with all her might. When she opened her eyes, she saw bright white spots floating around her. She could hear Liza far away, telling her to push again. Ida didn’t like the little white spots and closed her eyes and pushed again, as hard as her tired body could. The pain was excruciating and left her breathless. It twisted in her like a serpent; even Clark’s beatings weren’t this bad. She heard Liza tell her to hold up and she waited, like a puppet, waiting to be told what to do next. She heard push and began to push once more. She felt a burning in her bottom, she felt her flesh tear, but Ida had no strength to scream.
Ida felt fluid and something pass between her legs. Old Bitsy, the oldest slave among them, was holding a candle just over Liza’s shoulders. The light flickered off her withered, weathered features, softening out the edges of her face. Ida noticed that Old Bitsy was smiling at her, her teeth white against her sun darkened face. Curiously, Ida noted that Old Bitsy had lost another tooth, and wondered if it had been knocked out or just fallen out?
“It’s a girl Ida, you gotta healthy baby girl. A beautiful girl.” Liza said triumphantly. She held the silent child up and showed the bloody baby to Ida. Quickly and efficiently, Liza tied the umbilical cord with some twine and cut the cord with a small knife. Lifting the baby by her feet, Liza gave the baby swat on the tiny butt. The baby jerked and Liza lightly smacked again. This time the baby let out a wavering cry. Taking a warm damp rag, Liza wiped the baby clean of blood and the vernix that coated the tiny body. She then bundled the pale child tightly in soft swaddling and placed the baby in Ida’s arms. Liza pushed down on Ida’s belly and Ida grunted from the pain. Soon the afterbirth came out and Liza handed it to one of the women to dispose of it. She took more warm scented water and cleaned Ida’s ravaged bottom and cleaned the blood off her thighs.
Ida had fallen asleep, holding her baby in her arms. Liza slipped out of the cabin and waved at one of the boys playing in the yard. The sun had disappeared, but the moon was full and bright.
“Git up yonder and tell the massa he got a new child. Tell him it be a gal.” Liza said. Dark Henry nodded and was off in a flash, running up to the main house to relay the message. The five-year-old would feel important, taking the news to his master. Liza smiled watching the child move quickly. Once Anderson knew about the child, Ida wouldn’t have to go into the field for a few days; Ida would have the luxury of working around the yard and main house, light duty.
Liza walked back into the dim cabin and heard the baby whimpering. She took the baby, knowing of another woman who could nurse the child until Ida got some rest. The baby was a small little thing and she was very light skinned. Big John was a redbone and it looked like this little one was taking after her daddy. Liza examined the newborn. The baby looked to be strong and healthy, that was always good. Liza wasn’t sure if she should be happy, bringing a girl into this hard life, but she knew Ida really wanted the baby. Liza prayed that the child wouldn’t be sold too soon.
Liza had thirteen children, seven of which had died shortly after birth. Her oldest boy had been sold off when he was but seven. It had nearly drove Liza mad with grief and she had been beaten savagely by Barker, for trying to hold on to her son. She had been heartsick for months at the loss of her boy. That had been so long ago, but the pain was still fresh in her heart. Her oldest daughter, Lany, had been raped by Barker and then sold off when she’d gotten pregnant. Lany had only been twelve.
Liza had wanted to kill Barker, but had done nothing. If she were to raise a hand to any white, it would be her death. If she were to look at him with any kind of anger, he’d take it out of her hide. She still had three other children, ranging in age from two to sixteen. Her other babies would have been sold off if she were dead. As it was, two more children had been sold. She had only Nan left to her. Only one left to watch over. Nan was her youngest, only eight, and Liza prayed every day that Nan wo
uld never be taken away from her. Her other two were married and had given her grandbabies. They were on the next farm over, the Kilgour farm. She saw them once a year, when she was given permission to visit.
Liza sat and watched Callie nurse the baby, Callie rocked back and forth humming as she did. Liza chewed on a piece of sweet grass, enjoying the evening breeze. It was getting late and she was getting sleepy, listening to Callie hum. They were not allowed to sing often, nor loudly, but they hummed, if quietly. Master John Anderson didn’t like it when the slaves got too loud; he said it upset the missus. Sometimes on Sunday, the slaves would turn down the pot in the biggest cabin and sang hymns. One of the boys would stand watch and scratch the cabin with a stick if he saw anyone coming, especially if it were Clark. Life was lived walking on egg shells, on the farm.
Liza took the baby when Callie had finished and walked back to the cabin. Ida was still asleep and so Liza lay down beside her, holding the baby close. Nan was curled up near the fire, asleep within the folds of an old quilt. The nights could be cold and there were no heavy blankets in the summer months, only light sheets and a quilt, if you were good with a needle. Soon Liza was asleep, her snores serenading the baby to deep slumber. The crickets and frogs joined in; soon the entire slave quarters were asleep, serenaded by the creatures of the night.
Ida woke during the middle of the night; she felt more than saw Liza sleeping with the baby. The fire in the fireplace had burned low. Gingerly, she got up and felt the blood flow into the clean rags that had been stuffed between her legs. She walked with a hobble out of the cabin, her head light from the loss of blood. There was a loud buzzing in her head, it reminded her of the cicadas in late summer. The late night was moonless, the clouds completely obscuring the moon, it was dark as sackcloth. Making her way to the bushes, Ida removed the rags and urinated. She bit her lip because of the sting, as her torn flesh came into contact with the warm urine.
When she got back into the cabin, she changed the rags for clean ones and put the soiled ones in the corner of the small cabin. They would have to be washed. She heard the baby fussing and walked over to the bed. The baby had kicked off the blanket and was fretting her tiny fist in her small mouth. Ida could feel her breasts tingle and laid down in bed, pulling the baby to her. Ida squeezed her breast and put the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The baby immediately latched onto the warm nipple and began to pull. Ida sucked in her breath at the sharp pulling; she could feel her belly contract with each pull of the nipple. Her hand gently smoothed over the soft fuzz on the tiny head. She had been thinking of a name for her baby, and had decided on Mary. Ida thought about Jesus’ mother and hoped she wouldn’t be offended if she used her name.
