“I’m desperately hungry,” he smiled to himself as he got off the wagon. John entered the house to find it strangely quiet. The faint smell of baking chicken filled the house. He went into the kitchen to find a chicken only partially cooked and the oven cold.
“Hannah?” he called out, concern saturated his voice. He went from room to room to find them all empty.
“John!” he heard his father call faintly from the guest room. John hurried and swung the door open, revealing Master Stewart in a partial state of undress and a silly smile on his face while he held the bottle of liquor close to his pale, gray-haired chest.
“Hannah is giving birth. We had no time to alert you,” Master Stewart coughed. She already had her – actually – it happened suddenly.”
“What? Had the baby? Here?” John exclaimed with shock, happiness and slight dizziness.
“Don’t run off! She’s on her way back home. Her friend Opal has her. It happened right after you left this morning. She stayed around here cleaning and started dinner, and before you knew it, well, I’m sure you can imagine the rest,” Master Stewart explained.
John’s eyes glazed over in disbelief. He needed to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He raced down the steps back into the kitchen. Placing the chicken back over the heat, he pulled out three tomatoes and sliced them, sprinkling them with salt and pepper. He then found a few ears of corn in a basket and husked them while humming to himself. He dropped them eagerly into boiling water, watching them bob up and down with a few thin whisks of husk swimming in the bubbling, searing, clear water. He raced back up the steps and picked up Jonathan’s toys and belongings. He then went to the attic and pulled out the old cradle they used for Jonathan after he was first born. John took out a hot cloth with soap, and scrubbed it down. He set it up in their bedroom and neatly folded all of Hannah’s blankets and linens, placing them out of the way so that their bedroom was ideal for the new baby. Finally, he heard the front door open. He ran down so quickly, he tripped and almost fell.
“Mr. Stewart!” Opal yelled out as she looked over her shoulder.
“I’m, I’m OK!” he assured as he stood back up and finished his descent towards his wife and new baby. Hannah was smiling down into her arms at the six-pound-four-ounce baby with a head full of fine, dark-brown hair.
“Why do I keep missing the birth of my children?” John teased. He looked into Hannah’s eyes as he took Jonathan up into his arms.
“Be-be!” Jonathan yelled.
“That’s right, son,” John smiled gleefully, “that’s a baby. It’s your baby sister.” John kissed Hannah on the forehead. The tiny newborn squirmed about in the soft folds of the pink and yellow blanket.
“What shall we name her?” John asked as he bounced their son up and down proudly.
“I thought I’d let you name her.” Hannah smiled. Tears welled up in her jovial eyes. John smiled as he gingerly put Jonathan down on the ground. Hannah handed him the baby and walked away with Opal, who escorted her up the steps tentatively. He held the baby close to himself, rocking her softly and swaying as the aromas from the kitchen gently bathed them in homemade goodness.
“Rebecca?” he whispered. “No,” John laughed, “not Rebecca – Caroline?” he said softly. “No, not Caroline.” He continued to sway and gently coo at her. She opened her eyes ever so slightly, exposing two large, dark-brown pools of enticement.
“Ahhh yes, look at those eyes. You should rightfully be a Hannah, but I know your mother actually detests her name, so I’m going to name you what she named her baby-doll that she lost when she was a little girl: Phoebe.” John slid leisurely down to the floor, cradling little Phoebe in his strong arms. He rubbed her cheek with his index finger.
“My family is complete,” he thought to himself as he kissed her forehead gently. “You’re Daddy’s little angel.”
* * *
CHAPTER 24
Three weeks later…
“I never thought I could be so gloriously happy and tired at the same time,” Hannah smiled as she wrapped Phoebe around her sore body. Jonathan raced past her with his wooden toy horse screaming and babbling proudly while his little cowboy hat slid over his left eye causing him to wobble and lose footing.
“Jonathan!” Hannah called out. “Be careful now, and keep your voice down, Sweetheart.” Hannah patted Phoebe’s back as she showed her annoyance from the disruption that raised her from her late morning nap.
“John! Your breakfast is cold now,” Hannah reminded. John looked in on his sleeping father then descended the steps holding his suitcase.
“Hannah, I don’t have time. I’m running late, Dear,” John said as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to miss the ferry over to New Jersey if I don’t get going,” he added as he embraced her.
“Well, what am I supposed to do about…” Hannah asked wearily before being interrupted.
“Don’t worry. The nurse will be here all day and night until I return. I won’t be gone for more than a couple of days. Father is in a very bad way right now,” John said as he looked down sadly.
“I know. I saw him last night. He can barely swallow. I’m so sorry, John,” she said as she touched his hand. John smiled and kissed her forehead. He picked up his suitcase and headed towards the front door.
“The nurse will be here any minute. I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone.” He waved and blew Hannah a kiss. Unbeknownst to her, John packed a delicate, golden scarf Hannah occasionally wore, tinted in the familiar scent of lavender and her natural aura. He also brought a soft, olive blanket of Jonathan’s and a little lilac hair bow of Phoebe’s.
* * *
John held his head down as a brisk wind suddenly swirled and took over the street with icy claws. He gripped his hat with his extended fingers as he made his way to the ferry. The waters moved to and fro abruptly as the last passengers of the morning boarded, on their way to New Jersey. John shuttered as he reflected upon his last journey there. Images of coming back empty handed, with no baby for his grieving, distraught wife haunted him and then the additional worry of seeing his house empty, upon her sudden departure. John sat down, holding his black bag close to his person. He dug in his pocket and as the boat moved violently to and fro, he lit his pipe, his light eyes peering into the purple sun kissed sky. John finally tilted his head back and settled in. Brief motion sickness had been replaced with excitement and a healthy dose of anxiety.
“What if they’re here?” he asked himself as he daydreamed. He tried to imagine what they looked like as adults and if they’d even spare him the time for any discussions that revolved around Master Stewart at all. John’s stomach churned with emotions drenched in concern, worry, enthusiasm, and sadness. He finally fell asleep as the boat continued to rock and lull him over the aggressive waters.
The faint scent of gun smoke swam past him. His eyes fluttered followed by sounds of screaming and quick running. John’s eyes continued to blink as his dream drifted from peaceful into the nightmarish. He wrung his hands together until he was abruptly awoken.
“Sir! Sir! This is your stop. That must have been some dream!” smiled a short, dusty-blonde-haired teenage boy with bright jade eyes, brandishing a chipped front tooth.
“Oh, thank you,” John stated in a half-dazed slur. He immediately stood and gathered his belongings. He tilted his hat and nodded at a young lady who was trying to calm her crying toddler. John looked around at the familiar landscape canvas. An Irish immigrant immediately approached him.
“Would you care for a blanket?” she asked, her skin pale and smooth like brand-new porcelain and her face elegantly framed in wavy, thick, ginger hair with blonde highlights. John looked down at the diminutive woman and shrugged.
“No thank you,” John smiled as he attempted to politely make his way around her intrusive stance. Her facial expression went from friendly to spiteful in seconds as she slumped forward and shrugged away, scowling and muttering incoherently under her breath.
John put his hand up to his face like a visor, blocking some of the sun’s intense rays. He smiled as he recognized his next direction. Taking steps forward, the sound of children laughing and multitudes of chaotic footsteps danced around him. The swishing of dresses, clonking of horse hooves and rustling of papers provided the natural music of the arena as he approached the train. He boarded quickly, laying his head back delicately as he peered out of the smudged window.
Feeling the grumbles of his stomach, he quickly reached into his bag and removed a delicately wrapped slice of ham Hannah had prepared him that morning, along with a side of potato salad. John munched feverishly, nodding in approval as he enjoyed the riveting game of hopscotch taking place between two lanky brunette long-haired twin sisters and their younger curly haired brother. John felt a cool breeze dance across him, second guessing his decision to not purchase that blanket as he lolled off to sleep still gripping his spoon, covered in the last remnants of the thick, onion filled potato salad.
The rocking of the train expeditiously aided in a quick slumber dedicated to casting dreams of soft pastel-colored ponies, sitting on Mary’s lap with Hannah as a child while she told vivid stories of tomato plants that reached up to the vast sky and hunting expeditions which always resorted in a funny, albeit near fatal, conclusion. The dream transformed into hard rain drops, covering his skin as he crouched outside of the tiny shack, waiting unknowingly, for his first child to be born. It began to rain for real. Plopping noises hit the train and window, causing an orchestra in full surround sound.
The faint noise of voices conversing and papers being turned provided comforting softness to the rain’s abrupt, and at times, violent takeover of the auditory senses. Suddenly, John’s dream transformed into the delightfulness of holding Hannah in his arms, semi-submerged in cool water. He could feel his body making love to hers, the moon shining down on them and winking with approval as it cast its soft glow across their slow, writhing bodies. Just as if it were yesterday, he could feel himself deeply absorbed inside of her, melting into her soul as they once again became one. John awoke quickly, wild eyed as he realized he was moving his legs to and fro. He looked to his left and saw the disapproving facial expression of a woman in her sixties. Her face was long and drawn, the skin slightly sagging around her jaw line. Her confusion yet somehow possible knowing sent John’s cheeks into the rapid fire color of strawberry sunsets within a millisecond. She turned away abruptly as he crossed his arms over his chest and smirked.
Half-awake, John’s eyes partially opened. He took in the continuous sight of blurred trees, and open fields, the occasional cluster of homes and livestock. At last, the train began to slow. John gathered his belongings and waited impatiently as various passengers ahead of him moved at a snail’s pace, departing from the crowded train.
John’s foot hit the soft soil, sinking ever so slightly into the tender mud and sparse grass. The rain had finally stopped. The scent of toast and fresh rain filled the air. He looked to his right and took notice of a bakery. John removed a piece of paper from his coat pocket and read it, confirming the address.
He debated trying to find someone willing to ride him closer into town but thought against it as he realized his desire to truly take in the surroundings were more essential. As he walked briskly along the sidewalk, he noticed the people roaming about. Various dialects mingled together, none of them dampened with the willowy syllables of a Southern enunciation that John was accustomed to. Fifteen minutes later he came upon the street he was looking for.
“You should’ve voted for George McClellan,” laughed a large man as he pointed to a friend of his and slapped his knee. The large, burley man with a smock stood on the corner facing a large building. The cackling broke John’s concentration as he stared at the large, intrusive and alluring structure.
“You look lost, good man!” yelled the jolly gentleman. “You’re in Camden, New Jersey!” he laughed. “Can I help you get somewhere?” he offered as he wiped his hand on the dirty, extra large off-white apron. John folded the paper in his hand.
“Thank you, sir. Do you know of the Hawthorne, Taylor, and Stewart families? I’m here on business and need to see them at once,” John explained. The man stood there for a few seconds rubbing his chin.
“Hawthorne and Stewart sound familiar, but I’m not certain of Taylor.”
“Sarah Hawthorne, Mary Taylor, and Jonah Stewart to be exact,” John added as he looked around aimlessly.
“Oh, yes! The three of them came from New York. Sarah married Graham Hawthorne, but I’m not certain of the whereabouts of neither Jonah nor Mary. I haven’t seen them in months. Sarah’s house is right up this street.” He pointed a bulbous finger up a side street that John originally noticed.
John nodded “thank you” and continued on his way. The sun dimly glimmered as it made its approach to the earthly New Jersey stage. Thin, pale streams of canary light gave hidden, shy warmth to John’s profile as he walked steadily up the long, tree-lined street. Two curvaceous women, one with olive skin and a prominent beauty mark right above her left eyebrow and the other, with long, thick ropes of golden hair flung their rugs and swept around their front doors while slyly keeping an eye on John as he passed by.
John took out the piece of paper again from his pocket, now more crumpled than before. He looked at the address. Standing still, allowing the soft breeze and gentle sun to tickle his flesh, he looked back and forth.
“Ahhh, there it is,” he said to himself as he admired the grandiose house with two columns. John made his way up the steps. When he arrived at the top, he was slightly out of breath. Before he could ring the bell, the front door swung open and a wide faced reddened complexioned Black woman greeted him. Her thick, coarse hair was brushed back away from her forehead and twisted into an awkward, loose bun. Strands of curly grays haloed her temple. Her short stature was accented by her wide hips and thick, stocky legs covered in pantyhose. John cleared his throat.
“Hello, ma’am. My name’s John Stewart, Jr. I was told that this was the address at which I could find a Mrs. Sarah Hawthorne,” John said matter-of-factly as he pushed the paper back into his pocket.
“May I ask what this visit concerns?” asked the woman, in a polite but assertive manner.
“I’m her brother,” John stated. The woman looked at John closely. A silent exchange began between the two of them. She studied his eyes, his nose, his lips, and his posture. She looked over his clothing.
“Please come inside,” she finally said, leading him into a small sitting area with azure, white, and gray paisley-print furniture. John felt his body temperature slightly rise as he waited for Sarah to enter the room. He heard chatter but couldn’t distinguish what was being said. Suddenly, a tall, dark complected, distinguished man entered the foyer area.
“Hello, Mr. Stewart,” he extended his hand to John, receiving a firm handshake. His booming voice matched the look of concern on his taut, cocoa face. Chiseled jaw line, thin, narrow nose and full, fleshy lips encompassed his discerning features. His hair had a slight wave with silver teasing his temples.
“My name’s Graham Hawthorne. I’m Sarah’s husband. Normally, I wouldn’t be at home at this hour, however, I had a pending matter that required my attention.” He sat down leisurely across from John, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “So, let’s cut straight to the chase.”
“Yes, I suppose I should.” John removed his hat and laid it next to his side. “I don’t even know if Sarah remembers me or not. I vaguely recall her. I don’t even know if she realizes she had another brother. I know some of this may come as a shock, but…”
“It isn’t,” a delicate voice answered. Sarah entered the room, wearing a long, flowing, simple, white gown. Her swan-like neck was adorned with a pearl necklace that contrasted deeply with her dark-brown eyes against her caramel skin. Long, dark-brown tresses were delicately up swung to the crown of her head, creating a look of royalty that she already possessed, even if
she were bald. John looked at her and immediately saw a darker version of himself. Their father’s facial structure had glued itself firmly to her, screaming out the paternity to anyone in earshot and with eyes to see. Sarah sat down next to her husband. She looked at John awhile before speaking again.
“And I see that you look like Master Stewart,” she said dryly. “Is that bastard still alive?” she asked calmly as she poured a glass of water, and then offered it to John.
“Ironically, that’s what I’m here about. He’s indeed alive, but barely,” explained John. Sarah laughed.
“Did he bequeath something to me out of guilt? Yet another monetary allowance, perhaps?” she said harshly.
“Not quite.” John rubbed his hands together nervously. “He…he wishes to see you, actually.” Sarah looked at John sternly. Her heart began to pound louder and harder inside of her body. For an inkling, just a moment in the shattered realms of time, she felt “Daddy wants me.” This was quickly replaced with rage.
“For what – to absolve himself of final guilt before he meets the Lord? I’d never give him the satisfaction. My mother died trying to take care of my sister and me while he sat back and did nothing but send monies on holidays. He deserves to swallow the stench of his actions over and over again. If I were at his deathbed I’d curse and spit on him so much he’d think he was outside in a thunderstorm!” Sarah hollered. Her husband took hold of her hand.
“Sarah! Please.” he calmed. “I know that this is upsetting, but your absentee father has haunted you your entire life. It may be a way for you to finally move on.” Sarah’s eyes grew wide with anger as her husband exposed her true emotions for the open air to embrace and remember. She turned from Graham abruptly.
The Slave Master's Son Page 24
