My Name Is Mary: A Reincarnation

by S A Ison

  Mary went by the kitchen to inform Cookie she’d be going out to the garden with the mistress. Cookie smiled and nodded. Cookie didn’t show surprise, the mistress often took Mary to the garden to pick flowers or pull weeds.

  The next day after Mary finished her dusting, she went about making the beds. Kelly and Fanny helped her; they were the two other house slaves. Kelly and Fanny were twin girls, seventeen years old. Both were rail thin and spoke at the same time. Their mother had died with their birth and so Liza had suckled them when they were babies. Looking at them with confusion, Mary could not tell them apart because they looked so much alike. Each young woman wore a different color kerchief on their head to tell them apart.

  The young women even sounded alike, and it reminded Mary of seeing her own reflection in the hall mirror. Beds finished; Mary went back to the kitchen to help prepare for mid day dinner. Cookie was frying fish when Mary walked into the kitchen; two of the boys had caught some fish at the stream and brought them home. Mary’s mouth watered, she loved fresh fried fish. She hoped there would be enough for her. She shucked some beans and put them into a large pot on the large stove, those would soak for tomorrow’s dinner.

  A small pig was on a spit over the fire, in the large kitchen fireplace. The large room had windows, but with all the fires going, it was hotter than the sitting room in hell. Mary was amazed that Cookie didn’t faint from the heat, but the woman seemed unfazed. Mary went to the bucket of water several times for a dipper of cool well water, sipping it gratefully.

  After the mid day meal, Mistress Anderson took Mary out to the flower garden. Victoria handed Mary a basket to hold as she cut fresh flowers for the house. She talked to Mary, not really expecting Mary to answer. Victoria told Mary that they were having a small gathering that evening. Their neighbors from the Grover farm and the Kilgour farm, were coming over. The Anderson’s eldest son, Todd and his wife Alison were visiting for a few days.

  “It’s just a cryin’ shame they didn’t bring my grandsons. Todd left them with the nanny. Just a cryin’ shame, I’ll vow.” Victoria said wistfully. “I’ll swear, it’s that Alison that keeps them there.” She added. Victoria handed Mary beautiful roses, their sweet scent wafting around Mary’s head. Every now and then Mary would answer her mistress with a “Yes’m” because Mary felt funny in the one-sided conversation. At one point, Mistress Anderson stopped and looked down at Mary, her blue eyes soft.

  “Mary, I declare, you are the prettiest colored child I have ever seen.” Mary flushed with pleasure.

  “Thankee Missus.” Her large honey brown eyes looking up into the soft blue ones, happiness shining through. She didn’t look her mistress in the eyes very often, but when she did, Mary felt a quiet kindness in the cornflower blue eyes.

  Mistress Anderson went back to cutting flowers, and went back to her one-sided conversation. Mary’s fear of white people eased a bit, she knew that the mistress wouldn’t hurt her unprovoked. Mary felt sad when she thought of Megan, the daughter that the missus lost so long ago. Mary knew how she would feel if she lost her own mother. It would be a terrible and unthinkable thing. Soon the talking stopped and her mistress began to hum under her breath, softly and sweetly. Mary liked listening to her and sometimes she would join the mistress in humming.

  Mary didn’t notice the tears shimmering in Mrs. Anderson’s eyes when Mary started humming along with her. Mary didn’t know that she sounded a great deal like Megan when she hummed. There were times when Victoria wanted to take Mary into her arms and hold the child and rock her. To feel the small body in her arms, that ached for her long-lost daughter. But her husband, John, would have a fit. Men didn’t seem to understand a mother’s grief. She liked having Mary near her. The child made her feel calm and at ease. A balm on her torture soul.

  If Alison would bring her grandsons over, Victoria was sure that would help as well. Alison was a stingy daughter-in-law. Oh, Alison acted as though she loved Victoria well enough, but Victoria sensed an underlying pettiness. Victoria sighed and looked around her garden. Soon, her flowers would die with the cold and she’d be stuck inside the house. She grunted to herself. She was glad for now though, that Mary was with her and she would endeavor to enjoy the sunshine and the day.

  John Anderson watched his wife at the edge of the garden. Mary was told to stay near the mistress while she toiled in her flower garden over the last days of warmth. Both heads bent in their tasks, soft humming floated along the breeze. John Anderson took notice of the improved change in his wife. He noted that Mary seemed to calm his nervous wife and he was pleased. It had been difficult for Victoria when Megan had died. Victoria had been inconsolable and nothing that John did would bring her out of the depths of her depression. He had worried greatly for his wife. Theo was off to school and he knew his wife missed their son. Mary’s presence seemed to make his wife happy.

  Over the years Victoria had gotten better, but John knew his wife still grieved over the loss of their daughter. There were times when Victoria floated about the house, like a restless spirit. It had been almost twenty years since the loss of Megan, but for Victoria, it was like yesterday. The house slave, Mary, appeared to ease his wife’s sadness and John was very thankful for that. John spoke with Cookie and told her not to over burden the child; he wanted her freed up for his wife’s use.

  Cookie never mentioned this to Mary, but she made sure Mary didn’t work too hard nor had too many time-consuming tasks. Cookie was glad that the mistress was happy; she remembered the terrible day Megan had died. She thought the mistress would go insane with grief. Mrs. Anderson had clawed herself raw with the anguish in her heart. Victoria had been put to bed and remained there for months. It made Cookie glad that she didn’t have any children of her own. Cookie watched the master as he stood near the garden, watching his wife.

  Cookie snorted at the thought, everyone watched. She shook her head. Mary made a difference and Cookie liked the precocious little girl. Mary was bright and sweet and always helpful. Mary devoured Cookie’s cooking and this pleased Cookie the most. Cookie knew Ida had been ill for sometime and usually sent bits of food along with Mary at night, wrapped in a clean dishrag. It broke her heart, she knew that Mary’s mother was dying, it was only a matter of time, if not this winter, then next. Life was cruel like that.

  A week later Mary accompanied the mistress for a long walk. A couple of the older boys followed at a distance. They carried baskets for gathering flowers and wild fruit. Dark Henry carried a large basket for a mid day picnic for his mistress. At least once a week, the group went out walking. There was always enough food for Mary and the boys. When the patrol rode by, all the children put their heads down, their humming and laughter ceased. The riders tipped their hats in respect to Mistress Anderson and rode on.

  Mary enjoyed the walks with her mistress; she liked being out away from the farm. Sometimes Mary skipped up the road and back again and Victoria would laugh at her antics. The boys never skipped; they were too venerable for that. But the boys would nudge each other, then push and shove, but always when the mistress wasn’t looking. Dark Henry was the tallest and usually won the scuffles. Mary could play, but they knew better.

  Mary came back home one evening and there was a great commotion going on. Nan, Liza’s daughter was given permission to marry Gabe, the farm’s smithy. This was cause for celebration and planning. Master Anderson had given his permission for them to marry on Sunday next. He had given the couple permission to have the next day off from field and farm work for their honeymoon.

  Nan was a strapping sixteen-year-old; her ample figure had caught Gabe’s eye. Nan had an easy smile and a wonderful laugh that made you want to laugh along with her. Gabe was a big man, his shoulders broad from wielding the large hammer he used to forge and shape iron and metals. He wasn’t a handsome man, but his kindness more than made up for his shortcomings. Gabe even had his own small cabin, filled with pots and skillets and assorted tools he had made over the years.

 
It was a good match for Nan and she was thrilled about it. Especially since Gabe lived there on the farm. She would have him every night, not just once or twice a week. Liza was happy, but a bit melancholy; her youngest was leaving the nest. Liza was glad that Nan hadn’t been taken from her, her oldest girls had been sold long ago. Luckily, they were bought together, so she knew her daughters had each other and their children. That she could see them periodically helped as well. That was all anyone could hope for.

  THREE

  When Sunday arrived, everyone finished their gardening and chores just after noon. Nan was hurried away to dress for the wedding. Old Bitsy would officiate over the jumping ceremony. Old Bitsy officiated over all the important ceremonies. She was the oldest slave there, near ninety years old. She watched over the babies and smaller children when their mothers were out in the fields. Old Bitsy was frail and shook terribly, but was sharp in mind and spirit. She was the storyteller as well, telling stories of the old days. She would hold her audience in awe and could scare the hell out of them with her stories. Old Bitsy was taken care of by the whole community of slaves, she was their treasure.

  She had come over from Africa as a young child. Her mother and father had died on the crossing and Bitsy had watched numbly as her parent’s bodies were thrown overboard to the waiting sharks. Bitsy told them of the cramped ship’s hole; where the air was foul with vomit and excrement. She spoke of the rusting fetters that were cruelly fastened to their ankles, cutting into their tender flesh. Some of the dead slaves were left to rot, still in chains, before they were disposed of. The water given once a day was brackish and stale. Sometimes there was no water at all, for days. The old and very young died. Many times, Bitsy had to fight for the little food she was given. She had to fight the men who had wanted to rape her. A large man had protected her though and saved her from the savage rapes below decks.

  Bitsy and her parent had been going to visit family in another village. They were jumped and attacked by another warring tribe and carried in woven nets to the coast. From there, they were sold to white men and put aboard the death ship. The below decks were tightly packed with humanity and it had been difficult to breathe the fetid air. Only when many died, was there more room and more air. Bodies were slung indifferently into the naked ocean, mothers screaming for their dead babies, children trying to follow the beloved parent. It had been a ship of anguish, and young Bitsy couldn’t understand the horror of it all. Several were able to make it over the side before they could be caught and taken below, drowning in the dark depths of the cold ocean, to be eaten by leviathans.

  Old Bitsy had been sold alone, no mother or father to hold her, her family long lost to her. Old Bitsy told stories of the auction block, where the white men pushed and shoved to look at all the slaves.

  “The stench was horrible. We were all sick. I wanted to die. We all stood naked before those white pasty faces. I was afraid. I didn’t understand these strangers. The world was strange here.” She said, looking at the children, who fearfully clutched each other.

  “It was nigh on winter and it was cold. I’d never felt that kind of cold. We docked at Charleston Harbor and we were off loaded, chained to each other. Women and children cried. I cried and my fingers and toes stung from the cold that blew off the water.” She said and shivered in illustration. The children around her shivered too.

  “Everyone from the ship was taken to holdin’ stables, where we was kept until it was time to go onto the block. I was crammed in with twenty other wretched folks, in a cell no bigger than a horse stall. I had warmed up with all them bodies, but it was hard ta breathe. See, them small slats in the wood let little air in. The air stunk bad, it smelled of vomit, dung and fear.” Her voice was low and ominous.

  “A fat white man came and took the men and women away and left us childrens. We held each other and cried. We didn’t know what was happenin’. The children who still had a mommy or daddy cried the hardest. I couldn’t understand what that fat white man was saying, but I watched from between the wood. He hauled up a young man and started slappin’ the boy’s haunches. He opened the man’s mouth and show off his strong yellowish teeth. Then he made the slave run and jump around the block, showin’ all them folks the young man’s strength and stamina. If they didn’t do what they was told, the fat man would whip them.” Old Bitsy grunted and shook her head. Many of these children had been born and grew up on the Anderson farm. She felt it was important to know from where their people came and the suffering their people went through, being ripped from their homes.

  “Them white folks started a shoutin’ and wavin’ their arms. It scared me. The noise was loud and it hurt my ears. After a time, I was brought up to the block with the childrens. Some boys were taken away and I stood with other girls and we held each other. We was sore afraid and cold. We shivered and cried. I can still feel the cold chill of they bodies, like I was holdin’ a corpse. Our bodies dripped with sweat, not from the heat, but from the fear we felt. The big fat man came and smacked us. And we all got quiet. The girl beside me pissed and I felt the warmth of it hit my feet.”

  The children sighed around her. They’d all heard this story before. Old Bitsy went on. “One by one, each girl was sold, our flesh was groped and touched, pulled and pinched. I was scared. As scared as I had ever been in my young life. My legs was shakin’ hard, like was grass in the wind. I tried to be brave. I sure did. I bared my teeth, like I was smiling, so they think I was a brave girl. Then, this white woman say something and that big ol fat man sets me down to the lady.” Old Bitsy remembered her, voice rusty with age.

  Old Bitsy had been six years old at the time, when the kindly woman took the child into her home. The woman had been the wife of a merchant in Charleston. Bitsy was raised in a small household. There were only eight slaves and Bitsy had been the youngest. The other slaves taught her how to speak English and taught her how to care for the mistress of the house. Once, Bitsy had found a quill under the bed while cleaning. The master had found her with it and had beaten her for touching it. Bitsy found out later that it was forbidden for slaves to use quills or paper. They were not allowed to learn to write or read. Bitsy never touched anything to do with learning again.

  The merchant’s wife died some five years later and Bitsy was taken to the block once again. She wasn’t quite as frightened and stood proud and straight. The young girl now understood what was happening and stood calmly on the block. She had clothing this time. The auctioneer shouted to the crowd, “Who’ll bid? Who’ll bid?” as he turned the eleven-year-old Bitsy around for all to see.

  Dr. Alan Wyatt of Savannah, Georgia, bought Bitsy that day. Bitsy was to help the good doctor’s wife with house hold chores and be a personal maid and companion to Mrs. Hannah Wyatt. Mrs. Wyatt was in Savannah; she had been too sickly to come up to Charleston. On the long ride down to Savannah, Bitsy learned one other unpleasant task she was to do. The good Dr. Wyatt took out his bodily urges on the young girl. The first night out on their travels, they pulled off the road and set up camp.

  Doctor Wyatt then proceeded to rape young Bitsy. When Bitsy cried out, she was smacked roughly about her head and face. By the time they arrived in Savannah, Bitsy had learned to stay quiet. It had been a long trip to Savannah and Bitsy had grown up quickly on that trip. She had learned to hate and mistrust white men for a different reason.

  With the exception of Wyatt’s unwelcome attention, Bitsy’s life settled into sedate routine with the good doctor’s wife. Hannah didn’t make many demands on Bitsy and Bitsy tried to anticipate Mrs. Wyatt’s needs. Mrs. Wyatt was fond of Bitsy and gave her castoff dresses from one of the neighbor’s daughter.

  When Bitsy turned seventeen, she drew the attention of another house slave, Carver Wyatt. When Carver asked for permission to marry Bitsy, Dr. Wyatt said no, refusing to hear his entreaty. Carver was so in love with Bitsy that one night he could endure the edict no longer, the couple ran away. Heading toward the north, they had been out almost a week wh
en a patrol found them. Carver had tried to fight them and he was hung out right, on the nearest branch.

  Bitsy cried, but refused to answer their questions of where she belonged and who her master was. They beat her savagely, but she kept silent. She was taken to Charleston once again and put up on the block. This time she was sold to a tobacco farmer up in Virginia. She and twenty other slaves were transported in two wagons. She was lucky, many slaves had to walk all the way to their next destination.

  Bitsy spent the next thirty years on the tobacco farm as a field hand, working from dawn till after dusk. She had several husbands, all of which were sold off or died. Her children had also been taken away and sold off. Her heart broken over and over, but she lived on, surviving many of her peers. When Bitsy was in her late fifties, she was sold off once again, this time to the Anderson farm, to help with weaving cloth.

  Old Bitsy had lived on the farm for over thirty-five years, she had seen many marriages, births and too many deaths. She had seen the best of white folks and most assuredly the worst. She now lived a life of ease as the eldest slave on the farm. She was well fed and well taken care of by the other slaves.

  Old Bitsy stood before Nan and Gabe and intoned the marriage ceremony, as the slaves stood silently by to listen. Gabe first jumped the broom and a great cheer rose, filling the air with joy. Then Nan, who turned around and jumped the broom backwards, almost falling. Everyone cheered and laughed. The ceremony over, everyone brought out food that had been prepared the night before.

  Singing was only allowed on special occasions, and when these times came, the slaves raised a joyful noise unto the Lord. Many stood around clapping and humming while others danced wildly about the yard. A slave from the neighboring plantation had been allowed to come and brought a banjo, while several young boys accompanied him on pots and pans. Carl, one of the field hands brought out a fiddle, though it only had three strings. Singing and dancing went on into the night. Nan and Gabe slipped away sometime after dusk, going to Gabe’s cabin.