Tea and Tomahawks

by Dahlia Dewinters

  The scent of lemongrass, borne by a damp breeze from the window, drifted to her nose, reminding her of long ago summers. Folded in neat squares were bed linens in heavy, smooth cotton. Some were trimmed with delicate pink embroidery, others with fine lace. In the second drawer, there were white linen tablecloths with matching napkins. Tucked in the corner of the drawer was a lacy sachet filled with dried herbs and flowers.

  Curious, she picked up a napkin and a necklace fell out from between the folds. Annie caught the trinket before it fell to the floor. The jewelry was crafted with beads a little larger than seed beads in shades of red, yellow and orange. Fascinated by their smoothness and uniformity, she passed it from one hand to the other, fingering the fine strands.

  “Annie!” Richard’s voice called up the stairs.

  She knew he would soon follow. For some reason, she didn’t want him to see the necklace, so she hurriedly tucked it back into the drawer where she’d found it. “On my way,” she said, giving her hair one last look before she left the room.

  ~* * * *~

  Dinner was quiet, just the three of them. Refreshed from her nap, Annie was upbeat and full of energy. The country air revitalized her and the thought of being Richard-less for the week was invigorating. Plus, she was pretty sure he would find some excuse not to come up for the weekends, which was just fine with her.

  The temperature had dropped about ten degrees, and it was still raining when she and Grandmother Lise decided to sit out on the huge, wraparound porch.

  Richard begged off, saying he had to check for any emergencies at the office.

  Grandmother smoked her evening cigar, and Annie sipped on lemonade fortified with vodka. The crickets chirped, and the cicadas buzzed in the grass. The lightning bugs flashed their tail-lights in their mating dance. If she listened hard enough, Annie could hear the splash of the ocean against the shore. She sighed and sipped more of her beverage. For that brief moment, all thoughts of Richard were forgotten, and she experienced a freedom of mind that she hadn’t had since she’d married.

  How could she have made such a terrible choice in a life partner? How could he have fooled her so? To divorce him now would be to admit her mistake, to live up to the “can’t do anything right” that had plagued her since childhood. Her parents had never been satisfied with her grades or her looks, or her equestrian skills.

  Painfully shy, she hated to participate in the rich kid activities they’d lined up for her. No sleepovers, no makeup parties, nothing like that for her. She chose to spend the time alone with a good book. For her upwardly mobile parents, being social was the best way to network and to have such a truculent daughter hurt their efforts to properly integrate.

  Annie had disappointed them at every turn, except when she married Richard. They had been so pleased she’d married into a good family, one of the oldest in the Northeast. It also didn’t hurt that for a huge infusion of cash into Richard’s failing company, her family received a majority share and Richard retained his position as CEO. If she hadn’t loved him so much in the beginning, Annie would have thought she was being sold to the highest bidder.

  A small part of her was glad her parents died on her wedding night, so they couldn’t see how much she had failed them once again. She was stupid to have been fooled so easily, and now, she deserved what she got. Taking an extra-large swallow of the lemonade, she welcomed the soothing warmth of the vodka.

  “Don’t sit there brooding, missy.” The creak of Grandmother’s chair rocking back and forth hit the crickets’ rhythm. “What are you going to do about that husband of yours?”

  Swirling the pale yellow liquid in the glass, she answered, “I don’t know.” What could she do? He was relentless in his possession of her. No matter what she tried, he would never let her go.

  “He’s no good, Annie.” Grandmother said. “You know that.”

  The fragrance of her Grandmother’s cigar blended with the smell of the rain and the fainter smell of the ocean.

  “It’s my mistake. I have to live with it.” Annie rocked her chair, wishing Grandmother would drop the whole thing.

  “Behind those pretty blue eyes and that blond hair lies the soul of the devil’s son.” Lise made the sign of the evil eye. “I know he beats on you. Whips you.” She drew on her cigar and the end glowed in the near dusk. “I don’t need to see the marks to know.”

  Embarrassed by her Grandmother’s spot-on knowledge of her most intimate secrets, Annie shivered. Richard liked to use his belt even more than his hands, but both were equally humiliating. “He hasn’t done that in a while.” She spoke in a soft voice. Shame sent blood to her face and she ducked her head.

  “Shouldn’t be doing it at all.” Grandmother stubbed out her cigar in a fancy china cup sitting on the wicker table next to her. “He’s nobody’s master and you ain’t a slave.” Her tone softened. “AnnaLise, don’t you want to be happy?”

  Annie took a large swallow of her lemonade and didn’t answer. Her grandmother was wrong. She was a slave to her mistakes. There must be a way she could get it right, remake herself into the wife he wanted. Then, he would stop hitting her, and she would have succeeded. “I can make it right, Grandmother. I have to try.”

  “My dearest Annie, you can’t fix nature. A snake will always bite.”

  The expression on her Grandmother’s face nearly made her cry.

  Richard appeared at the screen door. “Sorry to break up this hen party, but I’m getting ready to turn in.” The false smile, the one he seemed to be wearing every time he interacted with Grandmother, was firmly in place.

  In her mind, she ran over the conversation wondering how much he had heard. She hadn’t said anything against him, in fact, she had defended him to her Grandmother. Forcing a smile to match his, she stood, a little wobbly from the vodka. “I’m going in, Grandmother.” She stooped and kissed the weathered brown cheek. “See you in the morning.”

  “God willing, I’m still here. Good night, child.” Lise fingered Annie’s silky curls. “Best wash these out quick, girl.” She patted her neat twists, intertwined with surprisingly little silver and oiled to perfection. “This kind of weather don’t take too kindly to that relaxed coif.”

  The faint, tropical scent of coconut tickled Annie’s nose. “It’ll be fine, Grandmother.”

  Richard held the door open for her.

  She walked inside. The screen door creaked shut, and she followed her husband up the stairs.

  ~* * * *~

  “What were you out there talking to your Grandmother about?” Richard appeared behind her in the mirror, his hair wet and slicked back from the shower.

  Annie looked at his reflection, and her toothbrush paused in mid-stroke. “What?”

  “I said what were you talking to your Grandmother about?” There was no false smile here. His eyes were flat with anger and distrust. “Have you been telling secrets, Annie?”

  Cold fingers of fear crept through her body. She leaned over and spit, stalling for time. “Of course not,” she said after rinsing her mouth. “We were just talking about the old days when I was a kid.”

  He grabbed her arm and turned her around. “Look at me.” Richard scrutinized her face.

  She was careful to keep her features pleasant and neutral. It wouldn’t take much for him to drive her back upstate in the morning, and she wanted to stay. Badly. Please, let me have this.

  “I heard she wants you to change your hair. I like it the way it is.” He dropped her arm and marched out of the bathroom to the bed. Without giving her a second glance, he slid under the white sheets. “You find a way to keep it how I like it. I didn’t marry a pick-a-ninny.”

  “Yes, Richard,” she said. Her verbal acquiescence to his wishes was a reaction without thought.

  A second storm raged outside, giving quite a show with the thunder and lightning. Annie went through her evening toilette in slow motion, using the potions and lotions she brought to keep her skin smooth, to keep her hair from frizzing, to
keep the worry wrinkles from around her eyes. The extended ritual served a second purpose: to keep her in the bathroom as long as possible. Finally, having nothing else to tone, smooth or tighten, she slid into bed beside her husband, hoping against hope he had fallen asleep.

  If she could make it through the night, then he would leave her with her grandmother and she would be free for a few days. Keeping that thought in mind, she managed not to flinch when he reached for her.

  Richard pawed at her nightgown, pulling up the white cotton lawn to expose her nakedness to the cool sheets. After a few perfunctory kisses, he pushed himself inside her and moved until he had reached his satisfaction.

  When he withdrew, she whispered flirtatious words and kissed his sweaty cheek before she hurried to the bathroom to clean herself. By the time she slid back into bed, he was asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Annie stared at the ceiling, listening to the abrasive snores of her husband. Gripping the edge of the sheet with sweaty palms, she pressed her eyes closed, hoping sleep would come. The rawness between her legs kept her awake, fueling the overwhelming anger she harbored against her husband. She was her bravest when he was asleep, when she watched the pulse beat in the vulnerable hollow of his neck. It was her most devious time, when she plotted to escape this miserable life.

  She’d done it once, getting all the way to a hotel in Akron, Ohio. Paying cash for a train ticket from Trenton and staying in an anonymous hotel at her destination hadn’t been enough. He’d been there before dawn on her second day there. The greedy hotel owner had been swayed by a sob story and a couple of hundred dollars.

  The sound of the opening door had made her open her sleepy eyes in confusion and the tinkle of the cut chain dropping against the door jamb made them fly open in fear. At first, she had thought she was about to be the victim of some robbery or rape, but it had been much worse.

  When he’d gotten her home, he beat her so badly with his belt that she had to sleep on her stomach for three days. She’d pleaded sick to her volunteer obligations and her crochet circle. She had to. She wouldn’t have been able to sit down for more than five minutes at a time.

  “You belong to me,” he’d told her, his face distorted with the effort of swinging his belt. “You belong to me.”

  Pushing the bleak memories out of her mind, Annie chased the blessed blankness of sleep. But it was just too hot. Grandmother didn’t have central air and despite the storm raging outside, the house hadn’t cooled down a bit. The ceiling fan was moving around stale, sun-heated air leftover from the afternoon. Giving up on sleep, Annie got up and padded downstairs to the parlor, where it was cooler. A lamp was burning in the parlor. She found a comfortable position on the luxurious ivory silk chaise and gazed up at the painting over the mantel.

  Annie smiled. It must drive Richard nuts, to see the whites being killed by darker-skinned people. God knows he thought he was the gift to all mankind, master of the universe, and all that came with it. To have such weakness portrayed so accurately must cause him serious grief. Given what she had read about the Seminole Wars, the Creek, and Muscogee Indians had been no one to trifle with.

  Fanning herself, she lay back and closed her eyes. She would relax here until she got cool enough to sleep.

  A crackling sound and the smell of something burning woke her from an unexpected sleep. Somehow, she was on her stomach, but when tried to get up, she knocked her head against something solid. Had she rolled under the chaise? Was the house burning? Had the lights gone out? A wave of hot air hit her face and instinct took over. Since she couldn’t stand up, she scurried backward away from the heat and nose-prickling smoke.

  To her surprise, panicky screams mingled with high-pitched whoops in the soot-tinged air. There was gunfire—sharp cracking sounds—that made her jump. She stood up and looked around, realizing she was outside. How could this be? What was going on? Bodies pushed past, spinning her in a confused circle. Which way should she run? Above all, where was she?

  Instead of her cotton nightgown, she wore a threadbare long skirt and top. She was barefoot. The high-pitched cries hurt her ears, and the smoke made her cough. Annie turned in a slow circle, trying to get her bearings. Several buildings, which she recognized as barns and a shed were on fire. The yellow-orange flames devoured the dry wood of the old structures. Shadows danced in the firelight, capering dark forms that darted here and there like ghostly shadows.

  She must be dreaming.

  “Run, girl, run!” A male voice urged her on. “Massa gon’ beat the bodies staying behind. Best get yo’self out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked, but the man was gone even before she pushed the words out. Running seemed like the best option. She picked up her skirts and ran in the general direction everyone else was fleeing. Smoke burned her lungs, and the harsh grass scraped her bare feet. The high-pitched whoops wouldn’t stop, seeming to gather strength from the increased screams.

  With the glow of the fires at her back, she ran until the soil was cool under her feet. Though she had no idea where she was going, she pressed on through the slapping branches. Drawn by the sweat and heat of her body, mosquitoes stung her through her clothes. Still, she kept stumbling ahead, using the harsh physical task to quiet the questions running through her brain.

  It was so dark. The brush snagged her clothes, impeding her frantic escape. The screams and whoops were quieter, which gave her some solace. Was she even going in the right direction? What was the right direction? Where the hell was she?

  It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.

  Sobs of despair seized her chest. This was too real to be a dream. Shoulders heaving, she stopped in a clearing and looked around for anything that would help her navigate this bizarre situation. Only the dense, leafy foliage met her gaze. Annie sank to her knees and leaned against a tree for a moment, then pushed herself up. If she stayed there, they would surely catch her.

  Who’s they, Annie?

  I don’t know.

  Annie didn’t know how much farther she had traveled when she sank to her knees for a second time. It was too much. She couldn’t go on. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. For all she knew, she was running right back the way she came.

  “Where am I? What is happening?” she whispered aloud, desperate for answers. Sobbing with fear and exhaustion, she crawled forward through the sticky mud, tears streaming down her face. Reaching out, she grasped at a tree to make another effort to keep moving.

  A pair of strong arms grabbed her and scooped her up.

  Even in her exhausted, confused state, she fought against this new, unknown quantity, her breathless screams feeble in the dark. She was lightheaded from fear and terror sapped her strength. What more could happen to her now?

  “Hi-wah.” The voice was a harsh whisper in her ear that both calmed and thrilled her. “Be still. Do not fight me. I am here to help.”

  “Yes.” Annie closed her eyes, too tired to protest. She couldn’t see the man’s face; only feel the heat and sweat of his body. He smelled like the woods, earthy and fragrant.

  She must have fainted because the next thing she knew she was lying on a soft pallet. A young, brown-skinned girl with beautiful, long eyelashes bathed her forehead with a cool, wet cloth. Around her, people spoke in low voices and the flickering fires illuminated the night. Annie drew her tongue across her parched lips.

  “What is this place?” She reached out for the girl and touched her dress. The material was colorful, but rough beneath her fingers. Her voice scratched her raw throat, and she attempted to gather saliva in her mouth. “Please, where am I?”

  The girl patted the back of her hand and said something Annie didn’t understand. Then, she got up and approached a taller figure.

  Frightened something was going to happen to her, Annie struggled to get to her feet, but she was too weak and fell back to the pallet gasping for breath. The familiar fragrance of her rescuer preceded him and he leaned over her, his face in shado
w. Annie shrank back against her covers, frightened of his overwhelming masculine presence.

  “You are awake.” His voice was that of a man who was used to being obeyed. “Here. Something to drink.” The cup he held gave off a warm, soothing odor.

  Annie tried to sit up.

  The man slid a strong arm around her shoulders and eased her to a half-sitting position. Her rescuer held the cup of warm liquid to her lips.

  The first swallow was bitter, and she tried to push it away.

  But he was insistent. “You must drink. It will help.” He urged the cup against her lips.

  Annie drank again. The drink wasn’t as bitter this time, and the earthy aftertaste reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “What is your name, hi-wah?”

  “Matilda,” she whispered. No…my name is Annie. She tried again. “My name is—Matilda, Mattie. Where am I?” she whispered.

  “Hi-wah.” He stroked her hair. “You are safe. And free.”

  Free?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Annie sat straight up in bed, gasping for air. For a moment, she was in between the waking and dream world, still imagining herself in the humid, hot environment of wherever her nightmarish dream had taken her. She turned her head from side to side, grateful to see the familiar walls and furniture in the early morning light. Breathing a slow sigh of relief, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her calves.

  It all had been so real! The fires, the mosquito bites, the mud on her feet, the rough texture of the tree trunk that she knelt beside and the strong arms of the man who rescued her.

  Annie closed her eyes and took a final cleansing breath, banishing the too-realistic dream once and for all from her mind. She had the specter of her husband to deal with and that was nightmare enough. Given the light streaming through the lace curtains, she needed to get out of bed and get herself together for the day. Richard and Grandmother would be expecting her at breakfast. It was only the presence of her grandmother that kept her husband from yanking the quilt off and tumbling her out of bed. He hated when she overslept.