“John, it’s not funny! I’m humiliated! Master Stewart saw me in that ridiculous costume, and look at me. I look just silly!” Hannah’s eyes welled up with tears.
“Oh, Sweetheart!” he grabbed her and held her close, still laughing but squeezing her to his chest. Every time he tried to speak, more giggles came out making Hannah even more frustrated.
“OK, I’m not laughing anymore,” John reassured. “I personally think you look absolutely adorable. I wasn’t able to update you in a timely fashion regarding the change of plans. Master Stewart’s going to stay here with us, for awhile. Your mother is keeping watch of the home but shall arrive when notice of his…”
“You don’t have to say it, John,” Hannah said as she pushed her face against his chest. She missed being in his strong arms. John pushed her away but held onto her arms as he studied what she had on. He took particular pleasure in her ample, bosom.
“Hannah, Master Stewart’s worse. He requested to come here and spend time with me, but never gave a clear answer as to why. Regardless, I’m honoring his last wishes. I’m sorry again I was unable to tell you sooner. Let me get him situated and I’ll be right back.” John kissed her forehead before departing. Hannah removed the pins from her hair and laid them down on the vanity. She finished removing the lipstick and slowly slid out of the lingerie. She picked up her brush and gently brushed her curly tresses back away from her face. As she did, she did not hear John creep up behind her until he nestled his face in the crevice of her shoulder and neck.
“You smell heavenly,” he said deeply into her ear. Hannah smiled. “At least you got one thing right, Opal,” she thought to herself.
“There’s some whiskey, rum, cigars and other things downstairs for you,” Hannah said shyly. John remained quiet and pushed his arms around Hannah, clasping them right under her breasts and resting on her stomach. He looked at her darkened areolas. He smiled at the dark chocolate line going down her stomach disappearing into a curly pool of soft, downy pubic hair. John placed his hand over her stomach and rubbed it gently.
“Is that our little girl?” he said playfully as he felt a light kick against his hand. Hannah laid her head down on his chest, welcoming his touch and embrace. She slowly reached up, allowing her right arm to graze the side of his one day old stubble face. Hannah turned around and looked her husband in his eyes.
“John, I love you with all of my heart. I know that you’re hurting right now. I’m here for you.” Hannah’s full lips caressed his slowly. John leisurely put his arms around her, rubbing her back as their breathing accelerated. Hannah took John by the hand and led him to their bed. He quickly undressed, watching her as she climbed under the covers, a mound rising upward over her tummy. Suddenly John stopped. He quickly put his pants back on and rushed into Jonathan’s room. A few minutes later he returned, with a smile on his face.
“I had to say hello to my boy. I missed him so badly,” he said as he unbuttoned his pants and walked towards her. John slid under the sheets, gathering close to Hannah as they embraced and hugged tightly. They moved their bodies slowly together, breathing heavily and in sync. Hannah felt John slowly enter her as he looked deeply into her eyes. They laid on their sides, as if one human being. After awhile, Hannah felt John take a deep gulp and squeeze her gently. She rubbed his face and softly sung to him as she watched tears fall out of his eyes, onto the pillow. He continued to move back and forth, finally succumbing to his body’s desires. Hannah embraced him tightly, bringing his head to her bosom. He sobbed harshly.
“It’s going to be OK, Baby. I’m here. You’re home.”
* * *
“Where did you get these?” John asked as he stood in his pajamas. “You must have cleared out the entire bank account to purchase them,” he chuckled as he lit one.
“Those are from Opal. You know I don’t know nothin’ about no cigars,” Hannah corrected as she picked Jonathan up.
“Young man, you’re getting too heavy. Mama can’t keep hoisting you around. You know how to walk. God gave you two feet, use them,” John demanded. John puffed away, enjoying the aroma. He had made plans for the whiskey later on in the day. Master Stewart’s breakfast was done. Hannah started to go up the stairs to serve him when John took her hand.
“No, Hannah, let me give it to him. You’re pregnant. It’s not a good idea.” Hannah stood back as John took the plate of eggs and biscuits away, disappearing into the guest room and closing the door behind him. Moments later, John emerged and went into the kitchen, pouring a large glass of water. He raced up the stairs, went into the guest room and returned to Hannah a couple of minutes later.
“How is he feeling today?” Hannah asked.
“Not the best, but he needs nourishment. Thank you for fixing the biscuits. He particularly likes those. That’s Mama Mary’s recipe, isn’t it?” he asked as he shined his shoe.
“Yes, it is,” Hannah answered blankly. “I have to take some dresses into the factory today. I know you’re going into work, but does he need someone to look after him while I’m gone?” Hannah inquired as she removed her apron from around her waist.
“I think you being gone for a short amount of time will be fine. I took some fruit up to his room earlier this morning. He still has quite a bit left should he get hungry. I’ll take up a pitcher of water so that he’s supplied for awhile. Luckily the lavatory is right next to his room which should alleviate any problems.” Hannah nodded in agreement as she looked around for her sewing basket. John slid his jacket on, placed his hat atop his head and kissed Hannah sweetly on her soft, succulent lips and Jonathan on his plump, rosy cheek.
* * *
CHAPTER 23
“But I don’t understand,” John said as he sat at in the tall, cherry wood chair across from the bed his father lay in later that evening.
“I think you do,” Master Stewart said breathlessly. The sound of Jonathan rolling marbles on the hardwood floor could be heard in the adjoining room. A low roar of water running came from the kitchen as Hannah washed the sink full of dishes, her hands working over the plates in almost a robotic fashion.
“So now you admit this to me?” John asked, his face covered in distress. “After all those years you vehemently denied it! How could you do this? How many are there?” John asked angrily.
“There were five, but only three are alive now – two daughters and a son,” Master Stewart said as he coughed into his napkin.
“I have two sisters and a brother that are living? They live less than two hours away! What disturbs me most is that you wouldn’t have uttered a word had you not been ill!”
“That’s probably true,” Master Stewart agreed.
“Who’s their mother?” John demanded.
“Two different women – one was named ‘Anne.’ She was my first slave. She bore me four of the children. The fifth one, Jonah, is still alive, and his mother was named ‘Frances.’ She was with me a very brief time. John, please try to understand. Things were handled differently then. It wasn’t uncommon for this to occur. I did take care of them. You and I are really no different,” Master Stewart explained.
“Have you gone mad? You can’t be serious, Father! I love Hannah. You didn’t love those women.” John crossed his arms over his heaving chest.
“You’re right, I didn’t. But I did and still do love Mary. I suppose that’s why I never touched her,” Master Stewart said weakly. “I did take care of my children though, John. I haven’t seen them since they were young, but I always sent money to them and gifts for their birthdays. Sarah’s birthday is June 16, Mary’s birthday is September 10, and Jonah’s birthday is March 30 – and your birthday is October 5,” Master Stewart recited proudly.
“And you want me to help you find them? You want to see them before you pass away? Father, in all sincerity and with all due respect, they will more than likely tell you to go straight to Hell!”
“Of course that’s their option. It’s a choice that they could make, and I’d accept t
hat graciously since I fully grasp the notion that I’m not a good father in the traditional sense of the definition. I’m flawed, but I love my children. You will discover John, that as your family expands and more demands are made upon you, that you too may fall short of your own glory. Don’t look down upon me. You don’t know what it was like,” Master Stewart snorted.
“Really, Father? I don’t think Mother would’ve appreciated you creating children with other women during the marriage,” John snubbed.
“Well, aren’t you one to throw stones! You made a child with another woman while married to Gayle!” Master Stewart yelled. “And you didn’t know for certain that Gayle wasn’t with child, yet you left her anyway. Don’t wave your judgments at me young man!” Master Stewart yelled. Hannah wiped her hands clean on her apron, untied it, and made her way up the steps. She stopped as she heard the commotion.
“Gayle? The arranged marriage I was bullied into against my will? Surely you jest! I knew in my heart she wasn’t pregnant, and if I had of found out otherwise, I would’ve done right by that child. There’s no excuse for the heartbreak you must have caused, Father. Sarah and Mary are older than me. Jonah is only a year younger than me. You stated previously the two that passed away were – well, one was about the same age as me, a boy named Harold, and another girl was only three months older than me. I’m completely taken aback by your lack of judgment, honor, and discernment. I couldn’t imagine seeing Jonathan, watching him grow up over a period of time, and then abandoning him. Monetary gifts don’t appease the broken heart of a child.” Hannah quietly walked into their bedroom and closed the door behind her.
“They don’t, but they help lessen the load that the mother has to carry as she tends to their needs. I’m not sitting here to…” Master Stewart coughed violently. John stood up and poured his father a glass of water and handed it to him. Master Stewart took three big gulps and set it down. “I’m not sitting here to try to make what I did right or explain myself to you. I have enough explaining to do to myself and you’re not my judge.” Master Stewart’s voice trembled.
“I’d like to see them before I pass away. I’ve given you their information. If you can find them, I’ll be always grateful. If you can’t, I’ll accept that, and thank you in advance for your assistance. If you do, but they don’t wish to see me, I’ll accept that as well. I’ve made this bed, and I’ll surely lie in it. My life took several turns that many would find questionable, but I was doing nothing differently than anyone else. I just covered my tracks better,” Master Stewart said, his facial expression serious yet thoughtful.
“And that somehow makes it right? Lest you not be judged by your own son? Your own children? If we’re not to condemn you for your abandonment then who shall? The victims of such actions surely have a stake in this,” John said angrily.
“God is my authority, not the fruit of my loins,” Master Stewart rebuked.
“God shall sort us all out and straighten us firmly and correctly upon the last draw of our breath once we face Him but, here on Earth, there are laws, rules, and regulations. As a lover of law, surely you understand that this is necessary, and it does not surpass or negate that of which is between families.”
“And some laws were made to be broken. Like being married to a negro woman,” Master Stewart rebutted flippantly.
“Yes, some of which should be broken but not the ones between that of a parent and child! We have the right to tell you of your misdeeds for we’re the ones that suffered greatly. You can’t tell us that you were a good or bad parent, for we as the children see you differently than you see yourself. That’s like a cook telling the patron that the meal was satisfactory. Only the patron can assess such. You have no right! I had siblings that I never got to know. I was a very lonely boy, stuck in my own world and sheltered due to no fault of my own. You kept me away from far lands until it suited your desires. Several fleeting memories of mulatto children, one of which had my same eyes, were in the bloodline, and you didn’t make me privy to such information!” John stood up.
“It wasn’t knowledge for a child!” Master Stewart’s hands shook as he raised his fists. “I couldn’t, nor would I entertain such tales to a child! Not all conversation is fit for children! It was an adult concern and situation. Your mother’s and my personal relationship is none of your affair, as well. This has always been my greatest issue. You were a precocious young lad, always trying to take things apart and reassemble even the finest details of mundane conversations. I knew early on your calling was that of law. You could recall conversations verbatim that occurred several weeks prior and you’d collected a variety of interpretations and motives. This was an annoyance to a father who wished to have his privacy respected, in every way.” Master Stewart asserted.
“And yet you still mistook me for a fool. We all knew, Father. The only missing piece was your admission, but if an apple sits under an apple tree, even though it no longer is flourishing from the limb, it’s still an apple from that very tree, despite the lack of affirmation. Now here you lie dying and expect your children to come flocking to you. It’s your wish to have your children draped around their dying father, giving you peace and comfort so that you may meet your maker, forgiven by your offspring, but I say unto you that you don’t deserve such an event. You perplex me, Father. One part of you appears to love me whole and completely, the other detests me and possibly regrets the day I was born. Another part of you exists in the air of open dialogue and honesty with a high concentration of love and affinity. The last part of you is deceptive, dark, arrogant and devoid of wrongdoing in this most obvious of circumstances. This is what causes me to love and hate you throughout any given day. I’ll do your bidding, however. The last thing I desire is to have your soul, wrought with unrest, visit me due to your wishes not being fulfilled. Some say that’s folklore, but I saw my mother and know it to not be.” Master Stewart perked up.
“You saw – your mother?” he asked, his eyes wide and curious.
“Indeed. When I held Jonathan for the first time, a white silhouette of a woman stood close to me. I could see through her. She just stood there and watched and finally disappeared. Initially, I felt my eyes were playing tricks on me. I’ve seen her only once since then, and it was right before I was told of your illness,” John explained.
“I’ve seen her, too,” Master Stewart nodded appreciatively. “In any regard, thank you. Again, I didn’t expect to be exonerated from your condemnation. However, it does not change my pleas or plans.” He lit his pipe and sat on the edge of the bed, staring off into space. John looked at his father and lowered his head before turning away and walking slowly out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stood in the hall, deliberating over the conversation. Images of tawny children with wild, curly light brown hair danced into his thoughts. John suddenly remembered playing with a dark jade frog decorated in yellow and ebony splotches. He was trying to catch it with the assistance of a thick, broken tree branch he gripped tightly in his right hand. His ankles and feet were wet and covered in bits of moist bark, mud, torn blades of loose grass, and a variety of red, itchy insect bites. The summer air stung his nostrils as the stench of decaying areas of stagnant water waived in front of him, hurrying him along his way to catch the wayward amphibian.
In the distance, he heard the laughter of the tan children and saw the bright, dancing sun shining upon their round, creamy faces and lion mane hair. One had sparkling blue eyes and full lips. She looked at him suddenly, stopping in her tracks, causing John to suddenly forget the frog and look at a piece of him in the mirror of her image. No words were exchanged. Their acknowledgement of one another was a meaningful conversation devoid of further exploration. The child turned away, grabbed her brother by the arm, and headed away back to the slave quarters. Their laughter began again, only now it was in the distance until it finally completely disappeared. John was left standing there holding his stick and feeling that he wanted to just go home and lie down, but he w
asn’t sure why.
John shook the adolescent thought out of his head and walked into his bedroom to find Hannah lying silently under layers of warm sheets, fast asleep. He closed the door and headed into Jonathan’s room to find him asleep in an awkward position atop a pile of toys. He picked his son up, placed him delicately in his crib, and covered him with one of Hannah’s beautifully embroidered blankets. He stood there leaning over Jonathan’s crib.
“I’m not perfect, Son, but I’ll do my best by you as long as I live.” John smiled and patted his son’s cheek right before he disappeared from his son’s room and retreated to the warmth of Hannah for the duration of the evening.
* * *
“Hawthorne. Taylor. Stewart.” whispered the magistrate. “Attorney Stewart, the only records I’m able to find with those names exist in New Jersey. Are you and your father certain they live in Albany?”
“That’s where he stated his last correspondence of their whereabouts was confirmed. This was, of course, easily ten years ago. None of his mail was returned however, and the monies were accepted, so someone was in fact receiving the funds,” John explained.
“I suppose it’s possible that they relocated to New Jersey. There was an opportunity there for banking positions several years ago. Perhaps that was the motivation for a potential relocation?” the magistrate asked, his thick, swirled, dark-reddish-brown mustache bouncing with each word he uttered.
“Yes, it’s feasible,” John said as he flipped through a small stack of papers on the long, worn desk.
“It appears that I’ll need to take a business trip,” John said as he resealed an old envelope. He picked up his coat, dusted it off, slid his long arms into it, and nodded “good day” as he left the magistrate’s office. John daydreamed while in the wagon on the way home. In his mind, he smelled sweet yams, hot buttery corn on the cob, cold slices of thick, juicy tomatoes and pink slices of spiraled ham, dripping with molasses.
The Slave Master's Son Page 23
