Tea and Tomahawks

by Dahlia Dewinters

  She swung her legs out of bed and stretched her bare toes toward the floor. They felt funny, as if there were powder or fine sand between them. Upon closer inspection, her eyes widened, and she gasped. Dried mud caked her feet and stained the hem of her white nightgown. “Oh, gosh,” she whispered. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep on the chaise in the parlor. How did her feet and gown get so muddy?

  “Annie.” Richard shouted up the stairs. “Don’t keep me waiting. I want to get an early start.” An edge of impatience laced his voice.

  She’d better hurry up. “Yes, Richard,” she called, forcing a note of cheerfulness into her voice. Anything to keep him from coming upstairs and seeing this mess. He would have more questions than she had herself, and his would be accompanied by a slap, or worse. Shaking with panic, she rubbed her dirt-caked feet on the sheets and jumped out of bed, pulling the bedclothes with her. She would wash them before anyone saw the mud stains.

  Annie changed the linens with record-setting speed and stuffed the soiled sheets into the laundry chute, which would shuttle them to the basement. She hurried to the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush and reached for her sleep bonnet on her head. It wasn’t there.

  Still brushing her teeth, she looked in the mirror to find her curls a tangled mess. Her yellow silk sleep bonnet, which she wore every night to preserve the hairstyle Richard loved so much, was gone. No time to look for it now.

  Fifteen minutes later, she appeared at the table, still flustered, but pulled together enough that she could chat and appear normal over brunch.

  Never one for sweating over a hot stove, Grandmother ordered most of her larger meals from the catering shop in the next town over. The smell of biscuits, scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon made her stomach growl and Annie dug into the food with unabashed relish.

  Richard gave her sidelong glances from time to time.

  Grandmother Lise carried on and chatted about local gossip as if nothing were happening.

  It was a relief to kiss Richard goodbye and watch his car disappear down the drive. Five days of freedom, away from his watchful eyes.

  “Good riddance,” Grandmother muttered, stumping down the wooden porch stairs to the graveled front walk. She jerked her head at Annie. “Walk with me, girl.” The old woman chose a well-worn path that followed the perimeter of the backyard before it snaked off into the woods behind the house. Grandmother was silent, the effort of negotiating the bumpy path with a cane taking much of her attention.

  Still puzzled about the realistic dream and the mud on her feet, Annie remained quiet too. Around them, the birds sang in the trees and the insects buzzed past their heads, a normal summer afternoon. Annie bit at her lip, praying Grandmother wouldn’t say anything about Richard. This was the first time they were totally alone and her Grandmother wasn’t one to mince words.

  “You’re doing laundry and you ain’t been here a whole day?” Grandmother ground the end of her cane on a white-flowered weed. “That ofay didn’t let you bring enough clothes?”

  Annie stiffened at her Grandmother’s question. “He let me bring enough clothes.”

  “Then why the laundry?” Grandmother knocked a stone out of her path. “Using up my electricity and water for nothing. Out with it.”

  For a split second, she considered lying, but one look at the old lady’s probing expression knocked that possibility right out of her head. Grandmother always ferreted out the truth.

  “I think I was sleepwalking. There was—mud on the sheets when I woke up. On my feet too.”

  Grandmother Lise didn’t miss a step. “Mud on your feet, you say?”

  Annie nodded, brushing away a strand of stick-straight hair. The hastily steamed curls were no match for the humidity and her hair hung lank around her face. Before he left, Richard had warned her to find a good hairdresser before he returned the next weekend.

  “I figured I had been sleepwalking in the back yard.” She forced a laugh to chase away the sudden chill enveloping her. “I’ll have to cut back on the spiked lemonade.” Annie held her Grandmother’s arm in a light grip, amazed at the vastness of the property even before it reached the woods. The grass was so green that it nearly hurt her eyes, and the air was fresh, clear and Richard-free.

  “It ain’t sleepwalking, little one.” Grandmother pointed with her cane at the back lawn. “You see any mud out here?”

  “Maybe the dew on the grass? A bare patch somewhere…” Annie’s voice trailed off. Her explanations sounded weak.

  Grandmother stopped and gave her a severe look. “Annalise, when was the last time you went sleepwalking? Come on, girl.”

  “Never,” Annie admitted.

  The two resumed their walk.

  Grandmother Lise knew more than she was letting on.

  “Grandmother—”

  “Don’t say another word.” She steered Annie back in the direction of the house. “Time for a snack and a couple hands of rummy.”

  After a mini-meal of finger sandwiches, delivered by the delicatessen and several hands of gin rummy that Annie lost three to five, Grandmother led her into the parlor. She flicked on the ceiling fan, which did nothing but circulate the sticky afternoon air.

  Annie perched on the edge of the chaise, warily regarding the painting above the fireplace. Something about it seemed different today.

  Grandmother Lise lit her cigar.

  The smell of burning cherry tobacco sparked her memory. Annie searched for the barn in the corner of the photo. It had been whole the first time she had seen the painting, white in color with a double door as its entrance. She swallowed a gasp. The white barn was now a charred hulk. Wisps of whitish smoke rose from its burnt ruins, and only one door hung from its hinges. Annie continued to examine the painting, seeing details she hadn’t observed before. Several more bodies and a bloody tomahawk lay on the hard-packed dirt of the clearing. Then there was something else.

  Annie stood in slow motion, her hands at her mouth. It couldn’t be. Last night’s dream rushed back to her.

  Grandmother Lise exhaled a sharp plume of fragrant smoke. “Ain’t that your sleep bonnet, hanging on one of them bushes?” She pointed with the glowing tip of the cigar clamped between two pecan-colored fingers.

  Annie saw but didn’t believe. Her sleep bonnet was upstairs, probably behind the bed or under it. “Of course not,” she replied, glad to bring some normalcy into the situation. If she could rebut her Grandmother’s ridiculous claims, reality would fall back into place. “It’s upstairs.” But it wasn’t. She remembered the huge limp mess sitting on her head as she brushed her teeth this morning. And she remembered the dried mud, how it felt like sand against her skin.

  Though wanting to be dismissive, she couldn’t help but walk over to the painting to take a closer look at the scrap of yellow fabric clinging to a leafy branch. She raised her hand to her mussed, flat hair and began to tremble. The painting swam in front of her, and her vision became blurry.

  “Annie, honey, sit down.” Her grandmother sounded alarmed. “Sit down, girl.”

  Refusing to believe what her mind was telling her, Annie took two steps backward and sunk back on the chaise. “Grandmother,” she said in a shaky voice. “What is going on?”

  Grandmother Lise took a few more puffs of her cigar before answering. “My great-grandmother, Mattie, was a Seminole Indian. Florida born and bred.” She cast her gaze on the painting. “Seminoles as a whole, didn’t go much for what the white man said. Didn’t want their women with them. Hated slavery.” She heaved a sigh. “The white man came into Florida, taking over land, trying to roust folks who was already living there. Greedy bastards.” She curled her lip. “They want their hands in everything, land, labor, shoot, everything.”

  Annie’s eyes widened as she listened. This was the first time Grandmother ever discussed her past.

  “Long story short, there was always unrest between the Seminoles and the white man. Escaped slaves from Georgia and Alabama, if they made it to Semi
nole settlements in Florida, they were free.” Lise smiled at her granddaughter. “So many slaves fled to Florida that the United States sent the army after the runaways. ‘Course, the Seminoles and blacks joined forces and fought those ofays back.” Her grin of complete satisfaction transformed her face into the one of someone twenty years younger. “Caused the white man a lot of trouble in those Seminole Wars.”

  Annie drew her knees up, fascinated by her Grandmother’s story. Her mind kept circling the dream, picking out details, lingering on her rescuer whose face she had never seen. She remembered his hands, his strong arms and his fresh, earthy smell. “You are free…”

  Lise continued with her tale. “Mattie was an artist. She painted that picture there, so people would remember what happened,” she paused, pressing her lips together. When she continued, her voice was slower and softer, as if she were trying to prevent being overheard. “It’s not just a painting, girl.” The old woman thumped her cane on the hardwood floor. “Mattie mixed her blood into the paint. Used her hair tied to twigs to paint it.” Grandmother raised her eyebrows. “A lot of work went into that there. Respect it.”

  Annie nodded, and her gaze darted to her sleep bonnet hanging off the bush, the look of triumph in the dark faces of the men and women in the portrait and the dead, bloodied white people. If she asked the next question, she could be taking a step into the abyss. All she had to do was say it aloud. “I had a dream about the painting. It was so realistic, more realistic than anything I have ever dreamed of.” Annie paused. “My sleep bonnet is there…in the painting. Tell me how that happened.”

  Grandmother stared off into the distance. “Blood calls to blood that’s in trouble. You went back for a reason.”

  “But when I went back, I wasn’t me, I was somebody else.”

  With a thoughtful look on her face, Grandmother puffed on the last of her cigar and then ground it out in the chipped china cup. “You aren’t you when you go back. You can’t be. Annie is now, here.” She peered at her granddaughter. “When they asked you your name, what did you say?”

  “Matilda.” Annie sucked her breath and chills traveled over her skin. “They asked me my name. I opened my mouth to say Annie, but Matilda came out instead.”

  Grandmother nodded. “When you enter the soul essence, you are still you, but also them…” She paused, a distant look in her eyes. “It’s like living two lives at once.”

  Her words both intrigued and frightened Annie. She gripped the edges of the cushion, scratching her nails across the fragile silk. On the surface, what Grandmother said was more than ridiculous, the stuff midnight scary movies were made of. Blood in paint, paint brushes made from human hair, slaughtering slave owners, runaway slaves and one weirdly realistic dream in which she had been running for her very life.

  Still, her Grandmother’s gaze remained calm and level. There was no insanity in her expression and no indication she thought she was speaking anything other than the truth.

  A long silence stretched between the two women. Beyond the window, the birds chirped and the summer breeze made the lace curtains flutter.

  Annie stared at the painting, especially at the little scrap of yellow silk hanging from the bush. Her sleep bonnet. There, not here. Not upstairs under the bed or trapped behind the mattress. There. Wherever there was. Where she had been last night. It had not been a dream.

  She shivered in the warm, humid air of the parlor. This was the moment when her reality shattered and the stable existence she’d led up till now was gone. “Oh, Grandmother—this can’t be real, it can’t be true.” Annie took quick breaths, fearful she would swoon. If she passed out, what would happen? Would she be transported back into that world? How did it work? She opened her mouth to ask these questions.

  “Shush, now. Don’t say a word.” Grandmother Lise settled back onto the faded cushions of the old chair. “Now that you know the truth, AnnaLise, we shall see what you’re going to do with it.” She nodded in agreement with herself. “Reality will bend, but only for a good reason.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  After breakfast the next morning, Annie walked down to the end of the driveway to get the mail. There were no strange dreams, no sleepwalking, and she’d had the bed to herself. Richard wouldn’t be back until the weekend and for that she felt more than grateful.

  A colorful advertisement for a yarn shop caught her eye. The prices were reasonable, and she made a mental note to take a trip into town to look around.

  The sound of a growling engine made her look up at the road.

  “Pardon me, ma’am.” A man leaned out of the driver’s side window. “But if you wouldn’t mind?”

  Annie realized she was standing in the middle of the driveway. “Oh!” she said, moving to the side. Grandmother hadn’t told her they were having visitors. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No worries, ma’am.” He pulled into the driveway and paused. “Can I give you a ride up to the house?” The driver, a dark copper-colored man with the whitest smile she’d ever seen, nodded to her. “Only if you like.”

  A warmth worked its way up her face. Feeling as if she’d been hit with a hammer, she took a step back. “Oh, no. No, thank you,” she said. “I-I need the exercise.”

  The slightly amused expression on his face told her he didn’t believe a word she said. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Then I’ll see you up there.”

  “Yes.” Annie stood and watched the black pickup roll up to the house. By only strength of will, she kept herself from chasing after it. Instead, she forced herself to take slow, measured steps, pausing to take note of the trees, the birds and anything else that would keep her occupied.

  Even with all her machinations, she circled around the back of the truck and climbed the porch just in time to nearly collide with the stranger coming out of the front door.

  Grandmother followed. “There you are, Annie.” She settled herself into a chair on the front porch. “This is Hassee. He’s going to be doing some work in the attic. Those old walls ain’t what they used to be. Plus, he’s not going to overcharge me either, are you, Hassee?”

  “No, ma’am.” Hassee pulled a battered toolbox from the back of his truck and placed it on the graveled drive. “I know better than to cheat a lady.”

  “Damn straight.” Grandmother laughed. “Hassee, come here and meet my granddaughter, Annalise. She’s spending some time with me for the summer, keeping me company.”

  Hassee turned from the truck and mounted the steps to the porch. He took off his hat before taking her hand in a gentle, warm grip. “Nice to meet you, Annalise.”

  “Likewise,” Annie replied in a faint voice. When he released her hand, she sank in a chair next to her Grandmother and stared.

  The rich brownish red of his skin glowed in the bright morning sun. Black curly hair was raked back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. The faded black T-shirt was a perfect foil for the heavy muscles on his chest and arms, kept that way no doubt, by the work he did.

  Richard would have three types of fits if he knew about this.

  “Your husband don’t need to know jack about what’s going on in this house.” Grandmother seemed to be reading her thoughts. “When I need things fixed, I call in who I need to.” She pushed up from the chair. “Let’s go have some breakfast.”

  ~* * * *~

  The normally quiet atmosphere was broken with the sound of a saw, nail gun, and the occasional muffled curse. Annie usually read after her walk with Grandmother around the grounds, but mid-morning found her unable to concentrate on the paperback book she’d brought with her. She wandered down to the deserted kitchen and poured herself a glass of sweet tea. Nothing in the refrigerator appealed to her, so she tip-toed to the third floor, drawn by curiosity. Annie lingered around the base of the narrow staircase leading to the attic. There was absolutely no reason for her to go up there, but she spent a good ten minutes trying to think of one.

  “Annie, lunch is here!” Grandmother called from t
he first floor.

  Startled, Annie jumped and knocked against an ancient vase placed on a pedestal in the corner. She steadied it with a racing heart, praying the handyman wouldn’t decide to investigate. After setting things to rights, she hurried down the stairs.

  “Hassee, short for Tallahassee, is the grandson of an old friend of mine who passed a couple years back.” Grandmother picked at her potato salad. “He’s been a handyman around the town for years. Does a good job and doesn’t waste half your time trying to talk the price up.” The ice cubes clinked in Grandmother’s glass as she took a swallow of her special black tea mix.

  “That’s nice.” Annie ate her half sandwich in three big bites. All of a sudden, she was very hungry. “He seems to be working diligently. I haven’t seen him all morning.”

  Grandmother’s eyes held a wicked glint over the rim of her glass. “Well, it is almost time for his break.” She pointed at a box sitting on the sideboard. “Why don’t you take that up to him?”

  Annie’s eyes stretched wide at the prospect. She opened her mouth to demur, but she knew Grandmother wasn’t going to take no for answer. Brushing the crumbs from her hands, she rose from the table and picked up the cardboard box. She’d trot the lunch upstairs with a quickness, then go to her room for some reading and napping.

  The staircase to the attic was narrow, and every step creaked under her sneakers. Nevertheless, when she approached the open attic door, Hassee’s back was to her. For a short moment, she admired the flex of his muscles as he guided the circular saw across a board, even as the noise made her wince. When there was a pause in the whining of the saw, she rapped the doorjamb with her knuckles. “Grandmother sent me up with your lunch,” she said when he turned around. She held the box out like an offering. “Where would you like it?”

  “There.” He pointed to an old straight back chair. “I’ve got a bit to finish up before I break for lunch.” Hassee gave her a brief smile. “I appreciate you bringing it up.”