by Kira Saito
Chapter 31
In the Pen
New Orleans September, 1830
The heat, mixed with the smell of death, manure, cattle, batter-fried fish and smoke was unbearable but somehow I got used to it. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and horse carts were somewhat comforting because they reminded me that there was life on the outside of the walls. Even the spirits abandoned me on the inside because I had nothing to offer them. I was a powerful queen, but not powerful enough that the spirits willingly spoke to me. I had to always make an offering before they would consider opening their secret world to me.
My home for the past month or so had been inside a slave pen with walls that were twenty feet high. I guess the trader didn’t want anyone on the outside to catch a glimpse of what went on in the inside. The pen was the size of a medium-sized store lot and was filled with one hundred of us. It was a mess of filth, sweat and desperation that consisted of brick jails with bare pine floors, the trader’s office, and of course the showroom. I shared my jail with a dozen other woman who seemed to have it worse than I did.
Lotty had been separated from her husband and thirteen year-old son, so she spent most nights howling in pain. Madeline refused to speak or make eye contact so I assumed that her previous owner was worse than mine. I was one of the lucky ones.
When I slept I dreamt of seeing Jacques again but I wasn’t really hopeful; yet I still couldn’t get what he said out of my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He consumed my every thought which made living this life so much easier. Sometimes living in a dream world was the only thing that kept me going. Maybe one day he’d find me, but I knew the chances of that were really small.
Tomorrow was inspection day. My body was going to be poked and prodded and my market worth was going to be evaluated. It was September and the heat was less oppressive than it was during the summer months, so trading season was about to start. I was told that trading season started in September and lasted until May. After May it was simply too hot to trade and less buyers willingly came into the city. It was also when traders went to capture other slaves and brought them to the pens.
The next day, a hundred of us were lined up and inspected by Dr. Charles, a tall red-haired man with a heavy beard and light blue eyes. I was healthy and young, so my market value immediately increased. I let out a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t have a disease. Everyone knew what happened to slaves who had a disease- more than often they were sold off at discounted prices to doctors who were free to do medical experiments on them. I shuddered at the very thought of being turned into a medical experiment.
Next we were inspected by the pen owner, William Cotton, a round-headed man with really horrible tobacco breath and squinty brown eyes.
All one hundred of us were assessed according to our skin color, age, skills and gender. We were split into categories. The tallest, healthiest and most muscular men were always Category 1, because they were the ones capable of working the hardest in the fields. The harder you were capable of working, the more profit you were capable of bringing in for your master, so you were worth splurging on. I was Category 4A. Category 4A was the one in which healthy young woman who didn’t have any children belonged in. Women were always placed in a lower category because their bodies weren’t capable of toiling in the fields as long and as hard as the men, meaning they weren’t able to bring in as much profit.
In my world skin color, height and gender were a badge. They were a badge of your worth as a human; basically your fate was decided even before you were born. I glanced around the room and looked at the faces around me; we ranged in color from the lightest ivory to the darkest ebony.
I looked down at my hands and realized that I was somewhere in the middle to the lighter end of the scale since my mother and father had been of mixed race. I could cook, sew, and thanks to the spirits had nursing skills. I’d always been told that I had a pretty face with my smooth skin, wide eyes and pleasant smile, though I never thought that of myself. The first man to ever tell me I was beautiful was Jacques, but I tried not to think about that, even though it was impossible.
It was decided that five hundred and fifty dollars was a fair price for me but my worth was open to negotiation. I had nothing to say about that estimate. I suppose it was a fair price. How does anyone really argue their own worth? In my world you couldn’t. So I never did.
Since trading season was about to start, William Cotton kept us on a steady diet of fattening butter and bacon. The fatter we were the better because it gave buyers the impression that we were happy and healthy. Any grey hairs the older slaves had were dyed to give the illusion that they were younger than their actual age, so that they could be sold at a higher price. In my world illusions were always more important than the truth. Nobody cared about the truth.
Chapter 32
Corner of Chartres and Esplanade
New Orleans December, 1830- Christmas Eve
The air reeked with the stench of burnt animal skins, livestock, and gunpowder. Death carts, carriages and finely dressed men and women walked the cobbled streets and momentarily stared at us. It was Christmas time, which was my favorite time of year. The air was cooler and the sound of excitement was everywhere, along with new faces coming into the city to buy clothes for the holiday season. The festive sound of gunshots and firecrackers only added to the atmosphere and reminded me that the city was alive and hopeful.
What gave me the most hope was how diverse the city streets were. The population of free people of color had grown considerable over the last few months and I somehow hoped that maybe one day I could join them.
I imagined what it would be like wearing a fancy ball gown and dancing at one of the many balls held in the city with Jacques by my side. He would look so handsome wearing a long waistcoat and top hat. However, my reality was far from that of fancy balls.
We stood outside dressed in our finest clothes. The men wore blue suits while the women wore blue dresses made out of calico along with matching headscarves. We stood on an elevated platform from the smallest to the tallest and were divided by gender. Our faces had been greased with oil to give our skin the illusion that it gleamed and that we were healthy. I hated having grease slathered on my face because it prompted my skin to break out in an odd rash and that made me feel shy.
Even though the city around us was buzzing we were silent and listless. All of us awaited our fate whatever that may be. I looked at my toes and tried to avoid eye contact with the buyers that were gawking at us. I was told that the sign above us read: Cotton Slaves, Inc., and that horrified me to no end.
I held my hands and my breath as I tried not to show that I was nervous. I didn’t feel like answering questions or pretending to be happy. That is what William Cotton wanted us to do. He wanted us to pretend to be happy and compliant because that’s what closed a sale. If we didn’t co-operate and turned off a buyer then we would have to face the consequences of our actions, which meant a beating.
I mentally rehearsed what I had been taught to say. My name was Marie. I was nineteen and could cook and sew as well as nurse. I had never run away from a previous master but had simply been sold back into the market to pay off a gambling debt. That was a half-truth. Buyers were more reluctant to purchase slaves who had previously run away, because that meant that they were willing to do it again. No one wanted to purchase a disobedient slave- or in other words, damaged property.
I didn’t want a beating so I went over what I was supposed to say at least a hundred times. I wanted a nice big Christmas dinner with a huge table full of delicious food. But I knew that was only a dream and the only hope of that happening was if a kind buyer bought me. Back at Deep Oak Plantation slaves had been given extra meat and alcohol during the Christmas season; looking back it seemed like paradise compared to where I was now.
A group of well-dressed men with top hats and scowls approached us and surrounded Mr. Cotton. My heart sank, knowing that they probably were going to b
uy one of us. They didn’t look like the type to provide slaves with big Christmas dinners.
I heard a whisper. “Marie.”
I glanced around but couldn’t see anyone and it didn’t sound like a spirit.
“Marie.” I heard the voice again.
I turned to my right and saw a hooded figure dressed in a black cape. “Run.”
I recognized that voice. My heart fluttered and a rare euphoria washed over me. I glanced at Mr. Cotton, who was still surrounded by the well-dressed men. I glanced at the faces of the slaves around me and then I took a deep breath.
“Run,” said the voice.
I was terrified to actually run. If I ran and failed then it would mean death or worse. But if the voice was who I thought it was then I had no choice but to run. It was worth the risk. Taking that risk would be better than staying there or being sold off to another cruel master.
I buried my fears and decided to make a run towards the hooded figure.
“After her!” I heard Cotton’s voice behind me, but I didn’t stop until I reached the hooded figure.
When I reached the figure he threw a black cape over me and pushed me into a closed carriage that sped full speed ahead. For a moment I was afraid to take off the hood and was worried that I had been kidnapped by another slave trader.
“Marie.” The mystery figure took off the cape from my head.
“Jacques.” Uncontrollable tears streamed down my face as my eyes rested on him. He was healthy and simply perfect. I reached out and touched his cheeks and mouth just to make sure he wasn’t a ghost. “You stole me,” I said, as I realized he had committed a crime. I found it romantic and any fear I had flew out of the carriage but I was still aware of the off rash on my face. I hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“No,” he whispered. “You stole me.”
“How did you find me?”
“I visited plantations, searched the streets and the homes of my friends. I saw you standing out here last week and then I wanted to grab you and run but it was too dangerous. I waited, but I couldn’t wait anymore.”
He held me tight and let me cry. “Ouch,” I said, as he squeezed me a little too tight and pressed against the raw scars on my back.
“You’re safe,” he whispered, as he kissed my tears away. “Je t’aime.”
“I love you too,” I said. In my heart I already knew that this wouldn’t last forever. Papa Loco had warned that a price must be paid, but I didn’t care. I would have paid any price to stay with him.
Chapter 33
Welcome to Darkwood
New Orleans December, 1830- Christmas Eve
The carriage stopped on a dusty road and we got out. Jacques took my hand into his and lit the way with an oil lantern. I blindly followed him into the maze of dense oak trees that looked oddly familiar. The air was cool, fresh and the stars were coming out to play. I let out a small giggle and mused at how quickly life could change. We walked further and further into the forest until the earth became wet and cypress trees and Spanish moss joined us. I remembered this place. It was where I had found him dying. This is where we had met.
“Do you remember?” he asked.
I nodded, simply because I didn’t have words to express how happy I was.
“I bought it all. I bought the swamp and the land. I’ll plant a rose garden for you. The house over there is almost complete. We’ll fill it with laughter, love and children.” His eyes were bright, eager and his energy was infectious.
“You bought all of this, why didn’t you buy me?”
“I don’t have enough money to buy you. I don’t want to buy you. I want to earn you and be worthy of you.”
He smiled shyly and my heart melted. I didn’t understand how anyone was so capable of being kind without expecting anything in return. The idea was new and exotic to me. The idea that there were kind people in the world.
“But what if they find me?”
“They won’t. I’ll protect you,” he said, as he took my hands into his.
I wanted to tell him what Papa Loco had said but I decided that maybe even spirits could be wrong so I let myself give into the happiness. “The only thing I ask is no slaves. We can’t fill it with slaves. I can’t bear the ugliness and cruelty it brings.”
He shook his head. “No. I promise everyone will be paid for their services. The land won’t be used for crops. I don’t need the money, I have plenty of money. I need you,” he said, as he gave me a powerful kiss. “You’re never going to be alone or scared again. I’m going to make sure every horror you’ve seen and experienced is erased.”
We sat on the muddy earth and looked up at the stars. I dreamt of a world where one day I could marry him. A world in which the color of a person’s skin, how much money they had in the bank, and who they fell in love wasn’t as important as the fact that they fell in love. I wanted my children to live in that kind of world. Surely Bon Dieu would never damn a person for falling in love? But then why did mankind have the need to do so?
I glanced at Jacques with his ever-smiling lips and wondrous eyes as he stared at the stars. He was my light and my hope. Even if we couldn’t ever be together in this life I knew my soul would always find its way back to his. We were a Christmas miracle and the world was a beautiful place again.
Chapter 34
Fitting In
New Orleans, 1831
“You look stunning,” said Jacques, as he came up behind me and clasped a diamond necklace around my neck.
I smiled as I turned around and looked into his deep eyes. He looked so handsome in his black waistcoat and red necktie. Even though we had been together for months now, the mere sight of him still made my heart flutter. I’d never been this happy before and kept waiting for the happiness to vanish and get ripped away, but so far it hadn’t. Papa Loco had to be wrong. This is where I was meant to be. I was meant to be by Jacques’ side.
“Thank you,” I said shyly as I turned my attention towards the ornately carved mirror and peered at myself. I was wearing a gorgeous green ball gown detailed with pearls; it blended beautifully with my caramel skin and inky eyes. I felt like a proper lady. It was funny how a mere few months had managed to wipe out my entire past. I didn’t even look like the old Marie.
“The guests are arriving,” he said, as he took my hand and led me out of the room.
Downstairs the crystal chandeliers were fully lit and the ballroom looked ethereal. Harp music quietly serenaded the guests as they mingled amongst themselves, enjoying the never ending supply of champagne.
This was our first time hosting a ball together and I was nervous that someone from my past would recognize me and know that I had been a slave who had run away. If Jacques had actually ever gone back to William Cotton and paid for me, he never told me.
The ballroom was filled with guests from all walks of life but most of them were exceptionally wealthy like Jacques.
My eyes immediately focused on a beautiful Spanish woman with radiant olive skin and lively brown eyes. I could tell she was extremely wealthy given how detailed and extravagant her black ball gown was. Something about the way she looked at Jacques made me uneasy and fearful, but I pushed aside my doubts and gave her a small smile. She didn’t smile back. Her eyes continued to linger on Jacques and I needed to get out of that ballroom to shake off the queasy feeling I got from her.
“I’m going to the kitchen to see if they need any help,” I said to Jacques.
“Don’t leave. You belong here,” he said, as he pulled me close.
I smiled at him. “I’ll be right back.”
“Go if you must,” he said, as he gave me a soft kiss on the cheek.
I should have stayed, but I didn’t.
Chapter 35
Who Are You?
New Orleans, 1831
When I got back to the ballroom, Jacques wasn’t there, and neither was the Spanish lady. At that very second, I knew that Papa Loco had been right and I had lost him forever.
I r
an out of the ballroom and desperately searched every room I could possibly think of. Tears flowed freely down my face and I grew more and more anxious with each passing moment. I found them in the main parlor in the middle of a passionate kiss and my heart broke into a million pieces.
“Jacques?” I shook his shoulder but his lips were still locked with hers. “Jacques.”
When he finally turned to look at me I knew that he was no longer my Jacques. "Who are you?” he asked.
“Marie. I’m Marie.”
“Are you the new help I hired?”
I was mortified and ran out of the room as fast as I could. I ran straight to the kitchen and grabbed some grapes and then headed to the rose garden. The night air was warm and humid and the roses were in full bloom, the roses that Jacques had planted for me. I wrapped the grapes in a leaf and strung them on an oak tree.
“Papa Loco? Papa Loco, please answer me.”
A gentle wind rustled through the rose bushes and a delicate yellow and black butterfly landed my nose. “You were warned, Marie. I let him live, but you cannot be with him.”
“But why?” I was hysterical. “I love him, why doesn’t he even remember me?”
“You may love him, but that doesn’t mean the world is ready to accept that fact. She’s put stones in his passway, and now he is hers to possess as she likes.”
“No. There must be something that I can do.”
“I told you to run. I told you to set yourself free, but you insisted on staying and now you must pay the price. There is nothing you can do, unless you want him to die. Do you want him to die?”
“No. He can’t die. Please. No.” I was numb and confused. I suppose I should have run but I had absolutely nowhere to go. If I ran it would mean capture, isolation, hunger and further humiliation. If I stayed at Darkwood at least I would be close to him. I believed in his goodness and somehow knew that he would never be capable of truly harming me.
