Always with love,
John
Hannah flipped through the rest of the letters as she wiped the tears flowing from her eyes. “I never wrote him a letter,” she thought to herself, horrified. She knew Master Stewart responded on her behalf. She clenched her jaw and swallowed her hatred that slowly grew inside her as she envisioned Master Stewart creating the counterfeit letter and signing her name. She wrapped the ribbon around the stack of letters, placed them back into the large yellow box, slid it neatly under the bed, and placed the candle back in its original location before carefully exiting the bedroom. As she headed down the stairs, she saw her mother looking out of the window. Mary suddenly spun around.
“Hannah! Where you been, girl? I been lookin’ all over for you!” Mary yelled.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I had gotten ill and needed to rest.”
“I was just up there and didn’t see you!” Mary insisted.
“I wasn’t in the bedroom. I had went out back to get fresh air before the storm arrived.” Hannah hated lying to her mother. She quickly hid her face, trying to disguise the recent crying that had wrapped her up in extreme discomfort. Mary grabbed Hannah and held her close to her large bosom.
“Don’t scare me like that again. It’s time we serve dessert. Help me pour milk and cut up the bread pudding.” Hannah walked behind her mother, entering the kitchen, her heart heavy and full of silent grief.
* * *
CHAPTER 3
June 1864
“Hannah, wake up.” Mary shook her daughter’s fragile shoulder, her nightgown falling delicately off her smooth shoulder. Hannah’s eyes fluttered open. Her brain scattered, full of muddled thoughts.
“I need to speak to you,” Mary continued to whisper. “Master Stewart’s hostin’ a large gala tomorrow night. He doesn’t want you there. I need you stay up here. I’m tellin’ you now because we start the preparations today.” Mary clasped her dry, worn hands together, looking deeply into her daughter’s sleepy eyes.
“Why can’t I help, Mama?” Hannah rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand in confusion. Mary took a deep breath and sighed, sitting down next to Hannah.
“I don’t know. You just can’t. Now don’t bring it up again. Just do as you’re told.” Mary stood up, crawled back into her bed, and quickly fell asleep. Hannah sat up awake. She peered into the darkness, looking around at familiar shapes. For the first time in weeks, she wept for John.
* * *
The next evening…
“Emancipation Proclamation – horse radish!” laughed Master William as he drank the dark-red wine from his heavy, crystal glass. “If anyone dares try to take my property, they best be prepared for a gun battle. This damn proclamation doesn’t account for slaves in Missouri, Maryland, good ol’ home – Richmond, Virginia, or Delaware! We haven’t acknowledged secession. Our Niggers are still ours,” he declared, raising his glass in the air unsteadily as his words slurred from the libations.
Hannah could hear faint chatter, music, and musing of what sounded like hundreds of people. Her mother left her a lantern to sew. Instead, she was using it to read. Mary did not know that her daughter was literate. When Hannah was caught, she told her that she was only looking at the words and pictures and had no idea what they meant. It was the first time Hannah had lied to her mother but felt it was imperative, especially after the warnings John had given her regarding what could happen to slaves that were proven able to read. Hannah realized her mother kept a tight grip on her out of love but knew in her heart it wouldn’t protect her from the atrocities of the cruel world in which they lived. She recalled her mother twisting her arm and carting her away in distress a month before John left. She sat Hannah down abruptly on the back porch. The sun was setting. Painted streaks of orange and light-blue bled across the dusky sky.
“Hannah, I done tol’ you many times now. You can’t go swimmin’ with John anymore. It ain’t right. You two alone – in the woods – it ain’t right. You ain’t a baby no more. You can’t be runnin’ around naked with a white man. I know you don’t mean any harm and parts of you’re still child-like, but right is right, and wrong is wrong.
“John should know better. He’s practically a man. Actually, he’s a man. He’s smart, too. I’m more disappointed in him than I am you. You just don’t know any better. He at that university and gettin’ schoolin’. He had to be smart to get into that school, and he’s doing well accordin’ to Master Stewart. John – he knows better. I think he’s puttin’ his eyes on you. I see how he looks at you. He’s full of lust, Hannah. I ain’t sayin’ he’d do anything to hurt you or try to make you do somethin’ unclean, but his intentions just ain’t pure anymore. You ain’t safe wit’ him no more. You two are no longer two little kids playin’. You both practically grown, really.
“Master Stewart’s very upset and has talked to John about this. I ain’t sayin’ never speak to John again, but no more runnin’ around together.” Mary’s tone was stern and her eyes were fixated on her daughter’s obvious indignation. Hannah recalled the conversation she had with John later that evening.
“John, Mama said I can’t go swimmin’ with you anymore.” Hannah whispered into the night air as she hugged the tree. John smirked and ran his fingers through his raven hair. “I love Mama Mary, Hannah, but she’s incorrect. We’ve been around each other every day since you were born. We’re comfortable together – completely,” he said. “You’re beautiful – yes – but I don’t – I wouldn’t…”
“You don’t love me?” Hannah asked as she leisurely swung her shapely body to the other side of the tree, smiling sadly.
“Of course I do. We can still swim. We just need to do so discreetly from now on.” John kissed Hannah on her supple cheek.
As of late, Master Stewart had many female suitors from neighboring, affluent families visit John. Master Stewart was repeatedly arranging dinners and gatherings, introducing his tall, attractive, budding son to available young ladies. One evening, Master Stewart became increasingly concerned that several wolves were getting into the chicken coop and tearing the stock to shreds. He went out at midnight with his gun in tow, gliding quietly on horseback. He looked around with expert precision, listening for any sounds of wildlife. He heard the familiar resonance of his son’s laughter and the abrupt splish-splash of shallow water. A sweet, high-pitched female voice broke through the night, shattering the darkness with light. She sang so gently that even the crickets quieted to hear the songstress.
Master Stewart gradually approached the running water. In the dimness of the cool night, only the full moon acting as a vibrant light source, he saw his son wading, naked and unashamed. To his son’s right was Hannah. Her arms covered her round, full breasts as she sang the intoxicating melody. John was entirely fixated. Master Stewart watched as Hannah finished her song then returned to her child-like ways, giggling and taking long backstrokes, rippling the water with her curvaceous, maturing body. The singing came from a grown woman – the laughter from a child. He watched as John swam after her, laughing and splashing about. He could see their innocence, but with the moon casting its romantic glow upon them, he knew the look on his son’s face. It was all too familiar – one of madness – the prelude to falling uncontrollably in love. Hannah’s exposed breasts and buttocks seemed to go unnoticed by John, maybe from years of desensitization, but soon he’d notice them.
Hannah looked up suddenly from her book as she watched her door slowly open. “Mama!” she thought to herself as she abruptly shoved her book back under her bed. She turned out the light and feigned sleep. Heavy, slow footsteps approached. She waited nervously, her heart pounding. “That doesn’t sound like Mama,” Hannah thought to herself. She heard deep breathing. It was slow and hard as if the person had been running and was trying to catch his breath. Hannah tried to control her trembling. She slowly opened her eyes but did not dare turn around.
“Hannah,” the deep voice whispered. It sounded like Master Stewart, only younger.
Hannah opened her eyes all the way and turned slowly towards the man. She peered into the darkness trying to make out the tall, broad-shouldered individual standing before her. He got on his knees and knelt at her bedside. She touched his jaw line, felt the smoothness of his face, and ran her finger along his throat past his prominent Adam’s apple.
“John!” she exclaimed as her fingers touched a scar that ran alongside the back of his ear. He’d cut himself accidentally at the age of eight while pretending to shave.
“It’s me, Hannah,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down,” he warned. “I’ve been here for less than a day. I just wanted to let you know. I’ll be going now. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He stood up and began to slowly walk away.
“No! Please don’t go!” Hannah whispered in the dark as she grabbed his arm, squeezing it with all of her might. “If this is a dream, I never want to wake!” she pleaded.
“I thought…I thought you didn’t want me to be around you,” he said, the remnants of sullen grief gripping his voice with each uttered syllable.
“John, I never got one letter from you! Your father never gave ’em to me. He’s got ’em under his bed right now as we speak. I never wrote you nothin’ ’cause I never got ’em. He made Ben give him the letters. I thought of you every day. I missed you morning, noon, and night! You’re my best friend,” Hannah cried. John grabbed her tightly and held her so close to him she could hardly breathe.
“I’ve dreamt of you saying these very words to me, Hannah. I’ve loved you since the age of seven. My father thought I’d outgrow it, but I never did. My feelings only intensified. I love you, Hannah. I have to go now. Meet me tomorrow night in our special location – at midnight.” He kissed her cheek before quickly disappearing out the door as quietly as he’d entered.
Hannah stumbled to her feet. She wasn’t sure if she’d just had an elaborate hallucination or if John had actually come to visit. She reached into her nightgown and pulled out her locket. She slowly crept towards her bedroom door and opened it half an inch. She watched as John finished descending the long spiral staircase into the midst of the crowded room filled with female admirers. His jet-black hair appeared wet, shiny, and vibrant. His bright eyes birthed new life right before her. Hannah smiled and looked down at her bare feet.
“It wasn’t a dream!” she squealed to herself as she closed the door.
* * *
CHAPTER 4
Hannah woke up suddenly. She rubbed her eyes and looked over at her mother who was sound asleep. She slowly rose, careful to be quiet as she slid her sore feet into the rough and worn pair of tan slippers. A fractured mirror hung on the wall on the opposite side of the room. Hannah tiptoed towards it, looking at herself and fixing her hair with her fingertips. She looked on her mother’s vanity and found the white, scented powder that she so adored. Mary had been given it as a gift from Master Stewart two Christmases ago. Hannah’s delicate fingers dipped into the perfumed dust and lightly rubbed it behind her ears and on her cheeks. She looked over her shoulder at her mother who’d suddenly stirred. Turning back towards the mirror, she pinned her hair up, then made her way towards the grandiose bedroom door.
The floor creaked with each gentle step. Hannah closed her eyes, not moving, and bit her bottom lip as she desperately tried to push the door open to slide her body through. She finally emerged from the bedroom out into the darkness of huge upstairs hall. A single light at the bottom of the stairway guided her way. Slowly she crept, each step taking an eternity, avoiding the spots which she knew were noisiest. After ten minutes of grueling foot work and clumsy staircase dancing, she canvassed the first floor ensuring that none of the servants were milling about performing last minute chores, getting late night desserts, or collecting firewood to cart off to their rooms.
Hannah made her way to the front door and took a deep breath. The heavy door had a chime which allowed anyone within earshot to hear whether someone was coming or going. Before pretending to go to sleep, she’d removed it and hid it under her bed. She felt the perspiration on her hairline. The stress of the preparation to meet her childhood friend put a damper on her mood. Just the year before, they could openly be friends, share meals, and laugh in the faces of all who happened to pass by. Now their interactions were shrouded and forbidden.
Hannah patted herself dry and made her way down the porch steps. She made her way to the last step and leisurely bent down, retrieving the kerosene lamp she’d hidden earlier that morning. She lit the braided wick and proceeded down the path, through the field towards the large, familiar tree by the river. She hadn’t been out that late alone in a long time. She became frightened and grossly aware of her surroundings. It was different before. Now it looked foreign and foreboding. Every fury animal, slithering reptile, crawling insect, and flicker of light sent her heart racing. She quickened her steps. The walk she’d made countless times in the past seemed longer than usual.
A large branch lay in the way, catching her foot. She caught herself in time before falling to the ground. Angry tears welled up in the banks of her eyes. She kept moving steadily, keeping the light in front of her as she surveyed the previously familiar territory. She’d been warned by her mother that some destitute and desperate slave masters were stealing slaves. She wasn’t sure if it was a scare tactic, but was now concerned about such an event. She finally saw the spiraling branches of the large tree she’d spent countless days and nights talking and playing under with John. It was in the near distance, and her feet sped up, defying her fear of the secrets the night held. She approached the tree, her wet feet carrying her so fast she thought they had a mind of her own. Her slippers were slick with moisture and dirt. Her deep breaths made her deaf to all other sounds.
“Hannah,” her name was whispered. “Hannah,” it came again. She heard nothing. She was spun around by a broad-shouldered shadow, causing her to scream. John quickly put his hand over her mouth and looked down into her soulful, dark eyes. He’d changed so much in the year he’d been gone. He was taller, filled out, and his voice huskier. The lad with the thin legs was gone. He slowly released her and removed his hand. She put her lantern down and took a step back to observe him in the light. His hair was grown out. Black swoops with midnight blue highlights fell to his shoulders. His eyes were just as clear but had seen their share of death and despair during his campaign.
“You ain’t the same, John,” Hannah finally spoke. “Somethin’ about you is changed.” Her tone was troubled.
“I’m just older,” he said as he lit his corncob pipe and leaned tiredly against the tree. Hannah watched the smoke swirl in the air between them. “Come here,” John said, his voice demanding. The softness he once demonstrated with her had been removed during their separation. Hannah stumbled towards him, fear setting in.
“Closer,” he said softly.
“What are you gonna do to me?” Hannah asked as she lifted her hands in a defensive posture. He pulled her close and looked into her eyes, studying her.
“Hannah, you were the only thing that kept me alive. I’m not supposed to be here. I just kept thinking about my promise to you, which was that I’d return. I’ll never disclose to you, or anyone else for that matter, the horrors I’ve witnessed. To relive it would be the near death of me. I met some former followers of John Brown, and together we formed an internal unit. I was a traitor, but most didn’t know it,” John explained as he spat onto the ground.
“How did you get away?” Hannah asked.
“I’ve been declared a zealot. My father retrieved me as soon as someone told him they saw me talking with a known abolitionist. The rumors were never confirmed for my own sake, and I’ll go to my grave denying it to maintain respect for my father’s name. We were just a bunch of kids when it started, and we’ve come out murderers.” John spit again into the grass. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Hannah intensely. Hannah reached up and put her silky arms around his neck. His layered hair cascaded onto her hands as he bent down towards he
r face, placing his plush lips against hers. Hannah was taken by surprise. John had never kissed her on the lips before. She stepped back and looked at him in bewilderment.
“Master Stewart wants you to meet a woman,” Hannah said with thick layers of jealousy.
“Yes, he does. He wants to marry me off. He wants me to go finish at the University for Law as we’d originally planned. He refuses to listen to anything I have to say regarding my new views.” John blew smoke into the wood-burnt air.
“What are your new plans, John?” Hannah asked, still thinking about the kiss.
“I still want to go into law. There’s no adequate representation for slaves and the poor, but my father doesn’t like my attraction to the needs of the less fortunate. He feels it’s beneath me. I have a question for you, though, my beloved. Why, when I kissed you, did you pull away?” John asked earnestly.
“I didn’t expect it,” Hannah answered as she sat down in the grass.
“I’ve kissed you over a thousand times – since we were children,” John said as he joined her on the ground.
“This was different,” Hannah responded, looking away at the rippling water.
“Because I put my lips onto yours?” John asked as he rubbed his fingers on the nape of her neck. “I hunger for you,” he said breathlessly. Hannah was filled with confusion, excitement, and fear. She still felt like a little girl, and here she was in the presence of a grown man who was doing what her mother warned her about.
The Slave Master's Son Page 2
