by S A Ison
The nights soon began to turn crisp as summer bowed out for autumn. Soon life on the large farm would slow down. Mary walked home from the big house one night; she had stayed a little late, because her mistress wasn’t feeling well. Victoria was having more days filled with illness. Theodor had begun taking over the reins of running the large farm. Master Anderson was stepping aside to let his youngest son run things. There was less friction now in the house. Mary was glad, sometimes the master and Theo would raise the roof with shouts.
She was thinking about Henry and didn’t realize she was being followed until Clark was on to her like a hen on a June bug. She turned, fear shooting up her spine, realizing too late, her fatal error.
“I see that young buck ain’t with you tonight. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You been giving that cherry pie to him?” Lester Clark chortled; his mouth close to Mary’s ear. His breath was fetid, as though he held death in his mouth. Mary tried not to gag, she had never been this close to Clark and she sure didn’t want to stay this way. It was like standing at the gates of hell, the stench of the dead crawling forth. She tried to pull away from Clark, the man grabbed her slender arm and began walking toward a stand of trees. Mary was frantic, she knew the horrible man planned to rape her. Mary had heard stories from the other women and was old enough now to understand the stories about him. Clark was cruel and beat the woman as he raped her over and over.
Fear began to escalate as it snaked its way through Mary’s body. Her heart was hammering like thunder in her chest, her legs felt like wilted greens. She stumbled and couldn’t seem to control her shaking body. Mary tried to tug away from him, but Clark swung a fist and caught her in the mouth. Mary’s head snapped back, and blood spewed from her mouth and nose. A loud and persistent ringing filled her head, just as the pain spread across her face. Mary tried to shake the ringing out of her head. They reached the edge of the woods, and Clark yanked her viciously and then threw her down to the ground. Mary landed hard, and her bones and spine clacked hard. Clark dropped down, coming down between her struggling legs.
“By Baby Jesus’ ass, you look good enough to eat. I’m gonna enjoy this gal, and if you’re a thinkin’ to go and tell the mistress, think again, I’ll go and slit your old mammy’s throat if you do.” Clark snarled in a dreadful voice. He jerked Mary’s legs apart viciously, flipping up her skirts.
Whimpering, Mary tried to kick Clark off her, but he slapped her brutally and then punched her in the stomach. The air was knocked out of her, and she could only open and close her mouth as warm tears slid down the side of her face. Mary lay stunned and open before him, gasping for breath. Satisfied he had knocked the fight out of her, Clark, started to untie the rough belt secured around his waist, anticipating his plunder with relish.
Dark Henry had been waiting for Mary for over an hour. He started to worry when one of the houseboys came down, and said he hadn’t seen Mary. Henry started off toward the house when he spotted Clark dragging his Mary toward the woods. Henry knew what the white devil would do to his Mary and his mind snapped with white hot rage. He would not let anyone touch or hurt his woman.
Increasing his stride, Dark Henry’s long legs ate up the distance between himself and his quarry. Stealthily, Henry approached the pair, nearly giving himself away when Clark struck Mary. Henry crept upon them as Clark was struggling with his belt. Clasping both his massive hands together, Dark Henry swung with all his force, striking the unsuspecting white man in the back of the head.
Years working the forge and the iron had left Henry a strong and powerful man, but with fear and rage behind it, the power and strength were magnificent and terrible to behold. An audible snap filled the quiet night, as Clark’s head shot forward, his neck breaking instantly. Clark fell over, on top of Mary, dead as the dark moon. Dark Henry was surprised, he had expected to fight the evil man, but one blow had done it.
Quickly, Henry pulled Clark’s body off Mary, her eyes wide with fear and pain. She hadn’t seen Henry behind Clark and had thought her life was over when Clark had fallen on top of her. It wasn’t until Dark Henry pulled her up, that the magnitude of what had transpired, hit her. Dark Henry had killed a white man and in the white man’s eyes, she had helped him. Horror filled her bruised face, they would both be hung for this, it didn’t matter that Clark was going to rape her and that Dark Henry was protecting her. No, the whites would tear the meat from their bones, and then hang them. She almost fainted with the thought of what was to come.
Henry grabbed her arms, shaking her roughly, stopping her in mid babble. She looked up into his dark handsome features, calm starting to return.
“Get you ta the cabin, don’t tarry. Tell your mamma what happin’ here. I’m gonna take care of this first, then I be back ta your cabin. Don’t be scared Mary, I’m gonna take care of everything.” Dark Henry whispered softly into her ear, he kissed her head and sent her on her way.
Quickly looking around, Dark Henry took note that it was dark as the devil’s nostrils. This will work in my favor, Henry thought, but he would have to work swiftly. Henry ran back to the outer houses, where Clark lived. Henry took a stick and lit it from the low fire and looked around inside the small squalid cabin. He found what he was looking for, a bottle of whisky.
With great stealth, Henry slipped into the barn, speaking gently to the horses to keep them quiet. He found Clark’s old bay horse and saddled him, all the while talking softly and gently stroking the horse. Henry had picked up one of the windfall apples from a barrel and fed it to the horse, its warm velvet lips gently plucking the apple from his hand. Henry quickly put the saddle on the horse and secured it. He also put the bridle and reins and held them in his grasp. His hand patted the horse’s broad neck and he coaxed the mount with several more apples and walked it out to the stand of woods where the body lay.
Henry hoisted Clark’s lifeless form onto the saddle and walked the horse and dead man down the dark road. Henry’s nose twitched; the man was rancid. Henry shuddered at the thought of the man’s hands on his Mary. From time to time Henry paused, listening. He walked on for about a half hour then stopped the horse. He pulled the corpse from the saddle and laid him on the ground. Henry took the bottle of whisky and poured the liquid in the dead man’s mouth. Then he spilled foul-smelling liquid on Clark’s shirt and placed the bottle in the dead fingers. He tied the reins around Clark’s unresisting hand, it was important that the horse stay with the body.
Satisfied with his work, Henry ran back to the cabins, leaving the old horse and body to be found. By the time Clark was found everyone would think the man had gone for a ride and got drunk, which Clark had done on many occasions. Henry had also left the man in the middle of the road, where the patrol was known to ride. Henry hoped all would believe what they saw, a man that had fallen from his horse, drunk as a skunk. Only he and Mary knew the truth, as would Mary’s mother. Dark Henry’s long legs ate up the distance, for he was afraid the patrol would find the body before he made his way home. If that were to happen, all would be lost.
Dark Henry gently tapped on Mary’s cabin door. Hearing Ida softly call him in, Henry ducked in quietly, like a great dark cat. The other cabins were quiet, everyone was asleep, it was late and Ida sat at the small table cleaning her daughter’s face. The swelling very noticeable. Mary held a rag with fragrant herbs to her face, fear shining in her light honey eyes.
Dark Henry got down on his knees before Mary, telling her what he had done.
“I took his worthless carcass and put it in the road with his horse, made it look like he fell off. No one saw nothin’ and I think we’re safe.” He said softly, his large hand resting on her knee. Mary hugged Henry’s head to her breast and thanked him for saving her from Clark.
“Thank you, Henry, thank you for riskin’ everything to save me.” Her hand caressed the back of his large head. Ida laid a gentle hand on his broad shoulders and squeezed it.
“Go home Henry and get to bed. In the mornin’, I’ll send one
of the children up to say Mary is feeling poorly, maybe somethin’ that the mistress has. We’ll keep her out of sight.”
Henry nodded and stood. He drew Ida’s slender form to him and hugged her. He left as quietly as he came and Ida moved about the cabin quietly. No one could know. Because no matter how hard you try to keep a secret, someone always told. In the morning she and Liza would apply special herbs to bring any residual swelling down. By the time Mary went back to work, her face should show no ill effects. They were lucky that Clark hadn’t broken any of Mary’s teeth.
All would be well, Henry had taken care of everything, they merely had to act normal and hope for the best. Around midnight, Mary’s face was looking better. It would only take a day or two for the swelling to be completely gone. Ida laid down beside Mary, saying prayers of thanks to the good Lord, for Henry’s intervention. The world would be a better place without the likes of Lester Clark.
The bell sounded near sunrise and the slaves made their way to the field. No one had noticed Clark’s absence yet, because he always came after daylight. Ida sent one of Nan’s boys, Lil Gabe, up to the main house to tell them Mary was down sick with the flux. Lil Gabe ran back to tell Mary that all was well. He crawled into bed with Mary and promptly went back to sleep.
Whispering started about an hour after sunrise, no Clark to be seen. Tall Tom grunted in annoyance and went to Clark’s cabin to look for him, then over to the large stables. The man was a useless sot and Tall Tom had taken more and more responsibility for the running of the farm for some years now. Noting that Clark’s horse was gone, Tall Tom went up to the main house to report that Mr. Clark was missing. He was angry, because the brunt of displeasure was sure to come down on him.
Master Anderson instructed Tall Tom to get several of the field hands and go out to look for the overseer. Within an hour, Tall Tom had collected five other slaves and they headed out. News of the missing overseer reached the blacksmith, Dark Henry acted curious, but not suspicious. Gabe was the same, he didn’t like Clark any better than anyone else, and hoped they wouldn’t find the bastard. They bent back to their tasks, their hammers beating out a rhythm known only to them. Sweat pouring off their muscular bodies as the men swung the hammers with mighty blows.
Mary sat at the small table with a damp rag placed on her face. The herbs that steeped in the pot had helped with the swelling and the pain. Her face was tender, but not as painful as the night before. Mary heard the men running around outside, and got up and went to bed, pulling the quilt over her head. Her mother had left several hours ago and Mary knew she wouldn’t see her mother until that evening. It was harvest time, and so all hands would be very busy. Cookie had sent a boy down with some soup and cornbread. A message from the mistress had also been sent. The mistress was feeling better and hoped Mary would be up to the house in a couple days. If Mary got worse, she was to send word.
Mary was grateful for the respite; she knew her face would show her guilt. She had never been a good liar, and Mary knew that should they have seen her face, they would have guessed. Henry told her to tell anyone, that he had hit her in an argument. Men often slapped their women if they were fussing. Mary didn’t like that, but knew he was right. Her respect for Henry grew. He was a good man and she knew it. Life was precarious among the whites.
Tall Tom found Lester Clark’s body and his horse, right where Henry had left it. The horse was old and lazy and merely stood by grazing on the bushes and grass. Tom felt Clark’s chest for life and found none. He and two other men gathered up the body and laid it across the horse. He walked the horse back to the house, calling the other slaves back in as he went. He sent one of the men ahead to let them know he had found the overseer’s body.
“Tell massa that Clark is dead. Looks like he done drank hisself ta death.”
When Tall Tom got to the house, John was waiting on the steps with Theo. Tom brought the horse and corpse up to his master to inspect.
“Where did you find him, Tom?” Anderson asked.
“I found him yonda up the road, suh. I found a liquor bottle suh, look like his hoss done thrown him off its back.” Tom said dispassionately.
Theo stepped down off the porch and sniffed the dead man. “Smells like a distillery Pa, looks like he got drunk and fell off his horse.” Theo said, holding a knuckle under his nose, sorely offended.
“Tall Tom, you know the duties of overseer just as good as Clark, I’m going to make you head overseer, and if you do a good job, I won’t hire anyone to take your place. Pick a man and train him too. Make sure you make them work an honest day’s worth.” Anderson said.
“Yes suh! Thank ya suh. I’ll do my best.” Tall Tom said, taking off his felt hat and bowed deeply. A broad smile lighting up his normally glum face.
“You want me ta take care of this body, suh?” Tom asked, his head nodding toward the lifeless form of Clark.
“Go ahead, take him over to the carpenter, have them build him a box. We’ll have a burial tomorrow morning. You can go ahead and move into Mr. Clark’s cabin and you can also have his horse and gear.” Anderson ordered.
Tall Tom nodded solemnly and led the horse away, his face just about bursting with pride and joy with the turn of events. What a happy day, he thought. That sorry bastard got what he deserved, drinking like that and riding when he shouldn’t have been. The evil was dead and all their lives would be better for it. Tall Tom hated Lester Clark with a dark passion. Clark had beaten Tom’s father to death years ago. Had Clark not died, Tom was sure he would have killed him sooner or later. This way was much better, no body got hung for it.
Word spread throughout the farm that Clark was dead and that Tall Tom was now the new overseer. Everyone was told the funeral would be in the morning, before they went out to the fields. It was hard not to send up a cheer at the news of Clark’s death, but the slaves knew better. That day their voices sang loud and clear as they worked, their hearts light and filled with joy. The field slaves knew Tall Tom would be a good overseer, no more whips across their backs. It was a day to remember, a day of celebration.
Ida breathed a sigh of relief; she couldn’t tell anyone and she knew Liza wouldn’t either. It had worked, Dark Henry had saved her daughter and rid them of a demon. They would always have to work hard, but with Tall Tom, Ida knew that the uncalled-for beatings had come to an end. Praise the Lord, Clark was gone! Ida added her voice to the singing, it was clear and beautiful.
Mary could hear the singing in the distance, a soft smile crept onto her face. She was safe, and she was free of Clark, and his attempts to rape her, ever again. Had Henry not killed Clark, Mary knew her life would have been a living hell. She was so proud of Henry and she was glad he was her man. He would make a wonderful husband, she was sure. Turning over to her side, Mary drifted off into a blissful sleep, a happy smile on her soft features.
Ida came home to the smell of possum stew, it smelled wonderful and she was hungry. Mary smiled when her mother came through the door.
“Your face is lookin’ betta. Tall Tom is the overseer now, life is sho gonna get betta.” Ida said with a wide smile.
“What did they say happin’, mamma?” Mary asked.
“Say old Clark was liquored up, done fell off his horse and broke that useless neck of his.” Ida laughed softly.
Dark Henry came by for dinner, Mary had sent word with Lil Gabe, have Henry stop by after work. Henry brought a sturdy oak chair and some flowers with him, this time the wildflowers weren’t crushed. The three sat quietly at the table, eating cornbread, possum stew, with greens and ham hocks, Cookie had sent. The firelight danced across Henry’s striking features as he ate, his healthy appetite impressing both women.
Mary watched him eat, her heart swelled with love for her friend, her man. He had proven himself to her, he had put her well being above that of his own. She knew they had only been sparking a short while, but she was sure he would ask her mother for her hand in marriage soon. She sighed happily.
Ida
watched her daughter gazing at Henry, she knew it was time for her daughter to wed, she hoped ardently, the master would let her marry Henry, they were a good match. Master Anderson usually left the marriages in the hands of his people. Sometimes, Byron Grover would try to interfere, wanting his hands in the machinations of the Anderson farm, but that wasn’t often. Anderson and Grover were childhood friends, and there were friendships among the slaves of both farms.
Ida thought about the grandchildren that would come and her hands itched to hold a baby. When had Mary gotten so big? How had time slipped by her so fast? Soon, her baby would have her own. Ida mentally shook her head, life sure was funny.
Later in the early evening, Tom walked around the small cabins of the slave quarters. Henry and Mary sat outside and listened to one of the men playing a juice harp. Its sweet melody filled the warm night air and blended with the crickets. The whole of the community seemed more at ease, as though some heavy fetter had been severed from their ankles. Soft laughter filled the air and floated across the breeze. Tall Tom could hear the laughter and soft conversations and he smiled. He had moved his family into Clark’s old quarters. His wife, Netta, had set about making the place habitable. Clark lived in absolute squalor and Netta had scrubbed the cabin spotless. Tom knew she was proud of her man, and his new position. Tom would have to choose an apprentice, he wanted to make a good choice. It was something he’d have to ponder.
The sun was just coming up over the rise, the whole of the slave population stood at the gravesite. Each holding a small wet rag, cupped covertly in their hands, they were expected to be grieving and needed the tears. They knew their roles well; they would send up cries at the loss of their beloved boss. They dabbed their eyes with the damp cloth, squeezing from time to time, sending down a cascade of crocodile tears.
