Princess Ces'alena (Webster Fields)

by Mercedes Keyes

  There she stood - watching him as he paced back and forth speaking with the command of a splendid captain over his mighty vessel.

  “I love you.” She whispered, and then shifted her daughter who was suckling at the time. “Look at your daddy Hope. Oh if you could only see him. What a man is he.”

  “What you doin’ out here with that baby?” Ma’ Nicey slowly drew up behind her to ask, warning in her tone. Lena swallowed and ignored the older woman. “You get that chile back t’yah cabin gal! That man was to come at you right now-…”

  “No chance of that…you see - he hates me.” She responded sadly, then turned and walked away. There was a resentment building in her for them, as well as herself. A resentment towards all those white and black that kept her from the man she loved. Lena walked on to be alone, because she knew…there would never be another in her life. There was only Hope and her now, she drifted off where she could be alone with daughter.

  Manny continued speaking, ignoring the rioting emotions within him. Having spotted her in the distance at the tree, and watching, though he pretended not to, and then her slow departure, with the child nestled in its wrap — made him pause in his speech. He looked away, swallowed back the rush of emotion and finished. He wanted her…even after what she’d done to him, he still wanted her. But he had his pride. Everyone around him knew… she’d duped the master. She’d made a fool of him, and there was nothing in his pride that would let him run back to her. So he would suffer the loss, and suffer…he did.

  With the crowd dispersed, he gathered his things; with the knowledge that he’d at least seen to the needs of the people at Webster Fields. They would be fine now with Jordan in charge, with the added white manpower and his father backing them. His only prayer now, was that he could remove the desire to fix the one thing he could not, his relationship with Lena. He would focus on his son, doing so maybe then he could drop her from his heart, as she had obviously dropped him from hers.

  Chapter Ten

  In town, Manny gathered all the supplies they needed, as Charles made last minute partings with Mildred. With both horses packed for travel, and a purchased pack mule between them, they headed off.

  Days, weeks, and months they traveled following the few leads they had on Chester Sands. After three months searching, they finally located Sands, in of all places, New Orleans. By then however, it was too late, he had sold Mike before he’d even left the state of Mississippi, to a slave auctioneer in Jackson. When Manny heard that, once again faithful to his character makeup, emotions overrode all else. Charles was caught in one hell of a struggle to keep Manny from killing the man. Charles had to turn to violence himself to get Manny off of him, which now landed the two friends in a heated tussle.

  In the heat of the fight, Chester ran for his life, barely able to see out of his swollen eye, he’d spit out his front teeth, he’d suffered a broken nose, a possible fractured jaw, busted ribs, and internally, there was a powerful pain from the pummeling his body endured. He would have gone to the law, if not for the fact that he was wanted in three states for swindling, forgery, illegal slave trading, bank robbery and kidnapping.

  Charles and Manny scuffled in the back alley until Manny had him on the ground about to deliver another punch to his already bruised face when he realized what he was doing. Shoving Charles from him, and throwing himself back against the building, he sat breathing deep. Charles pulled himself up sitting next to him.

  “That man - deserved to die! I promised to kill him – promised my son.” Manny spat heatedly.

  “Maybe so - but not by your hand, find your son, let someone else kill him.”

  Manny shot up from the ground, “Well get up and stop wasting our precious time.” He grumbled as he walked from the alley. Charles stayed put, in no hurry, flexing his jaw to test it; wiping away the blood flowing from his mouth. As he sat there, he wondered if he might need his head checked. A minute or so later Manny returned, “Are you coming or not?”

  Charles looked up, “I don’t know…I’m thinking about it.”

  “You can think about it on your horse, let’s go.” He walked over with a hand out to pull him up. Thinking about it, his eyes fixed on Manny’s hand, he took a deep breath, grabbed hold; Manny pulled him up.

  They proceeded on to Jackson, Mississippi. Arriving a week later, they checked into a room. Ordered a bath, got something to eat, and jumped right into locating the auctioneer. However, with all the conflicts with the Creek’s red stick war against the British arms brought in from the Spanish port of Pensacola, they had to tread carefully. Redcoats were everywhere, and every man about his business was under suspicion. Although they were not yet fighting, Manny and Charles didn’t want to get caught up in the melee of it.

  Following a few days stand still, having to constantly state the order of their business; they were allowed to proceed freely. It wasn’t long before they tracked the auctioneer, Dathan Stone. Charles had to do most of the talking, because Manny was too sensitive with coming this close to another who had contact with his son. During the questioning, Dathan kept looking back at Manny.

  “Do you remember having possession of such a boy?” Charles asked after giving his description to Mr. Stone. “Of course I do. I don’t get many like him. Looking as he did, truth be told, I suspected something shady concerning the boy, considering the fact he was in the hands of Chester Sands. But I bought him just to get him away from that reprobate. The boy was yours wasn’t he? He wasn’t no slave.” This he asked of Manny, anyone could see, the boy was the spit of him.

  Listening to the man, calmed Manny, he could tell he wasn’t cruel. But he would not lie. “He was free.” stated Manny; “I freed him…and claimed him. He was not for sale, to anyone. Tell me please, how was he? How did he look? I mean…?”

  Sighing, the man answered, “Besides being dirty, he was a fighter. He looked to be in good health, if that’s what you mean?”

  Manny nodded, his chest was hurting again. Mr. Stone watched him, and had he not admitted it, he would have sworn the boy was pure, either instance, he didn’t want to know anymore; facing Manny he now informed him that Mike was sold to a farmer, who was also a banker. His name was David Lawrence; he’d been traveling through, relocating his family to their new home in Arkansas. He went on to explain, “The man took pity on the boy, so he bought him as a playmate for his eight year old son. He owned a few other slaves, not many - just enough to run his household and farm. I could have gotten more for the boy, but those who would have paid more…let’s just say - I had something against selling him to them.”

  Manny felt the familiar rush of tears, swallowing and grinding his jaw, he spoke trying not to cry. “Thank you for that; I thank you.”

  After five months of searching for Mike, they were on their way to Arkansas to get him; it shouldn’t be hard to locate the banker. Manny was feeling some relief now as they prepared to head out again. They couldn’t move fast enough for him; he was finally going to get his son back.

  PREVIOUSLY THAT SAME YEAR:

  “You think it selfish of me to want to keep my son here?” Long Bow gently questioned his wife as she lay on his chest during a quiet moment together alone in their wigwam - it was early morning; she gently shook her head and answered “No, I would never think you selfish for loving your son and wanting to keep him near. It is just that, my father has offered to send him to the best school available. His money could open up all types of educational opportunities for our son. This could lead to a better way of life for him, as well in aiding his people. There can never be too many representatives for our cause. He could make a difference if he were qualified and equipped to go before the government.”

  Long Bow’s head nodded in thought, “What you say may be true, but for right now, the education he receives from you, his mother, will do. I wish for my son to be here with me, can you understand that? There are few years left that I might mold him. I wish not to give them up before I have to. There may come a ti
me when a school of your father’s choice may be best for him, but I feel the time is not yet.” He confided softly to his wife.

  Red Dawn rose to her elbow looking down at her husband. She never thought of him as being selfish, and any decisions he made, she would follow without argument. She was in love with this man – had been fascinated by him from the start. Needing to get away from her mother, and the boring lessons of lady etiquette and manners, she’d taken off to go hunting.

  Both of them happened to be stalking the same injured deer which had been hit by two arrows, one from each of them. Question was, who would claim the deer?

  She had argued with him heatedly that she was the one who brought the deer down after tracking it to where it finally fell and died. The proof that she had struck the deer was proven by her arrow sticking out of it, clean through its heart and the absence of Long Bow’s arrow which had only pierced the deer’s shoulder before falling out as it struggled to flee.

  Her arrow could not be mistake, it was from a batch made for her by Quincy, his own special design. She’d always enjoyed hunting, and although it was not a ladylike pastime, she derived pleasure from it, killing her own food before taking it home to cook and eat; this to the chagrin of her parents. Too many times she’d argued her right to be a huntress even from the time she was a little girl, and spent time in the woods, with Manny and Jordan; unafraid - bravely proving herself.

  The day she met Long Bow, had been the case. She needed that deer, to show her father her skill. But there stood Long Bow, interrupting her plans. After refusing to release it to him, and bodily holding him from it, he took hold of the little fire brand, placed her on her horse and tied her hands to its saddle horn, then slapped the horses rump sending it and her home, while she shouted all kinds of curses back at him. Chuckling, he gathered his catch, unable to deny the distinction of her arrow. It was from that moment on that Long Bow could not get the fiery vixen from his mind. Often he found himself thinking of her and her bravery. Her courage - her strong will; at no time had she displayed even the tiniest bit of fear or apprehension towards him. Unable to keep himself from it, he ventured to her plantation in order to catch a glimpse of her.

  After several weeks of watching her; her arguments; her tantrums; her stand with her parents, and her kindness towards the slaves; he stood with the resolve, that he wanted her. She would be his. Josephine had often seen the dark Indian observing her.

  A few times he’d been bold enough to make it known that he was watching her. Causing strange feelings to erupt within her when she felt his gaze upon her; where most would have been frightened into fits of hysteria and fainting, she was drawn to him. And then one cool breezy, summer night, he stole his way into her bedroom, quiet as a stalking cat. He covered her mouth with his palm, and told her simply. “I’ve decided…to have you…this night. You will be mine.” Josephine had not spoken a word, as she abandoned herself to him, and all he would do to her. She lost her virginity to him that night; and had been his ever since.

  “What is on your mind?” Long Bow asked, the question bringing her back to the present. “Oh, how much I love you. How much I will always love you. Which is why, I intend to make love - to you now.”

  Long Bow smiled in anticipation as she went down to his chest, slowly laving it with her warm mouth and attentive tongue. “Your passion matches the redness in your hair. Emm, I will never be sated with you, especially if you - continue - in - emmm…this.” His eyes closed from the pleasure of her touch, watching him closely, her eyes glazed with desire. “That is my intent my husband…that - is - my - intent.” She admitted brazenly as her hand went down to his loin cloth. Flipping it out of her way as she boldly grabbed a hold of his painfully hard phallus. Long Bow groaned as his wife poured all she felt into loving him.

  His hands became busy as well, stroking over her red silky hair, down her back and to her firm rear and lower in between. She was wet and ready for him as his fingers played havoc with her slipping control. Drawn out foreplay was not a need for them, soon she was straddling him, sinking onto the solid length of him. His hands grabbed hold of her hips as she rocked back and forth striving for that point of pleasure they both sought. Working together with a rhythm that matched - they didn’t have long to wait as her speed increased. With her head thrown back, Red Dawn’s hips gyrated, savoring the feel of her husband filling her. His hands guiding her, pacing her as his pelvic thrust promised the pace that would send her over the edge.

  “Oh - I love you…I love you.” She panted.

  He reached up and pulled her down to him, attacking her mouth, as his free hand went to cup and squeeze her breast. A moment later the spiraling tightness began to build, feeling it…Red Dawn broke the kiss gasping as she ground down harder. Bracing herself she gazed into her husband eyes. “Oh my god…I’m gonna-…” Shaking her head, she tried to hold back and wait for him, there was no need, he was there with her as he grabbed her hips and held her in place to drive them both that last bit further before they were both overcome with a wonderful torment; wave after unrelenting wave washed over them. One giving, the other taking as they peaked with a climax that left them trembling. Laying side by side, taking in much needed oxygen as their perspiring bodies calmed, Red Dawn peaked at her husband as he lay chuckling. “What is so funny?” She asked still on her back. “I was just wondering.”

  “What?”

  “When I’m an old and gray Indian Chief, will I still be able to keep up with you?” Turning on his side leaning over her, propped up on his elbow, his cheek resting in his palm, while he traced circles around her navel.

  “You’re a little wild cat when it comes to my body.” He grinned, flexing his brows. She pretended to be hurt and shocked. “Why! You paint me a harlot! I am not!” He nodded, his look sure, “Yes, you are. You take to love making, like a fish to water!” She gasped, insulted and tried to bolt up from their mat. He realized how that sounded and laughing, blocked her escape.

  “Nooo, I wasn’t agreeing that you are a harlot…only that you are hot for my body.” He continued chuckling.

  She wasn’t convinced as her pugnacious pout gave proof to. “Ohhh no, don’t back down now. I am a brazen hussy. A lusting nymph-…” Laughing even harder, he nodded but amended it with, “Yes dear, but only with me. And I wouldn’t change a thing.” He admitted, breathlessly close to her mouth, that he softly kissed. “You my little tempest, made just for me.”

  Up now – keeping her distance, she searched for a gown to wear. He lay lazily idle, boldly staring at her naked bottom, as she rummaged about looking. Impulsively he reached over and slapped her on it. “Hey! Cut that out! I’m done with you! Now up - lazy man!”

  “Can’t get up, too weak, you’ve worn me out. Hungry, my head spins. If you wish me to be your love slave, you must feed me better.” He joked still reclined, drunk on pleasure.

  “Ach! Love slave - in that case, you are deserving of a beating! Tis I, who did all the work this time! Now up before your son enters to see you!”

  “No chance of that. He and Greeneye have gone hunting and bird watching.”

  “Bird watching?” She asked straightening up their dwelling before she left to bathe in the stream. “Yes,” He answered getting up as well. “Our son is out searching for his gold raven.”

  “A…gold - raven?”

  “We saw one many days ago. He wants one of his own, he says that his conquest is to capture and train this gold raven. As he says it, “She shall one day bring us plenty good medicine!” He chuckled shaking his head. Red Dawn kneeled staring at him. “He is growing up so fast.” She thought out loud, reflecting back on the passage of time. “I didn’t know a nine year old-…”

  “Almost ten…” He inserted, mimicking their son.

  “Yes - well…he’s too young to think of such things.” She murmured.

  “Each considers such things when it is their time. And regardless of his age, if his thoughts are there…then it is his time. He says t
hat he and this gold raven will someday sail across great waters!”

  “Well, we should not be encouraging such talk.” She said, that - something in every mother that wishes to keep their child, a child forever.

  Long Bow sensed her concern; he came up behind her, with hands on her shoulders, gently soothing her. “Our son - will someday - be a man. There is nothing we can do to stop that. He must follow his path, whichever way that be; he shall choose it. And all we can do is love him still, because he will always be - our son.”

  She leaned her head back, knowing that what he said was true. There were times when she dreaded what lay ahead; so much went against them, and this way of life…was fast on the way out. They could live only one day at a time, and do everything that day to make a better way for tomorrow - for whatever tomorrow might bring.

  That day was spent like most others, the women working to gather their crops as the season progressively changed. It was August, warm for working the fields that surrounded them. Red Dawn’s time was spent teaching the children in the large hut house built for schooling. In attendance were children of various colors and creeds. Many of the tribe were of a lighter hue, because of the mix of having white male and some white female’s as their parents. Among them, a mix of children from runaway slaves - male and female, now wives or husbands to those in the tribe, as well living there, Negro slave couples whose children would grow up to be as the tribe taught them, warriors and braves. Red Dawn was in her element… where she felt her best. Knowing that what she gave to the children, was an advantage for their futures.

  That afternoon an Indian messenger rode into their village, bearing news that was his responsibility of spreading to all of the surrounding tribes. He dismounted in front of chief Long Bow’s dwelling, and was greeted by him. The Indian, who was a Chickasaw asked that he and all the other chief’s come together so that he might relay the news handed down to him. After Long Bow sent someone to locate Chief Blue Eagle, they met at the school house right after the children’s lessons were over.