When the sun rose, I pushed aside my emotions the best I could and attempted to walk, knowing that without that particular ability, my chances of returning home would lessen. The third day, with the assistance of Matthias’ cane, I was able to limp along, putting one foot in front of the other. It was slow, tedious work, but with the additional support, I found myself staying upright.
Mary was pleased to see my progress when I walked into the kitchen, was quick to voice her approval.
“Tomorrow, we’ll find you a place, and you can eat with us.”
I smiled, but the thought at the forefront of my mind was getting back to the shore. That night, when the washing women came into our quarters, I asked them if there were positions for servants next to the water.
“That’s a right odd question,” Rose said. “There is nothing but fields on this end of the island, and you don’t want the work of them, believe me.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“But don’t you say anything. Matthias will not hesitate to put you out there with them,” Rose continued, not looking up for a second as she worked a needle and thread into a tear on her dress.
“We’re lucky,” Ann said, solemn.
“Blessed,” Rose replied. “We best say a few more ‘Hail Mary’s lest the Master get a mind to work us more as slaves rather than servants.”
“What is the difference?” I asked. Each day among these humans brought to light the reality that their world was all too similar to mine. Servants and slaves alike were Lessers.
All the women turned to me, some with wide-eyes and open mouths.
“Slaves are bought, owned. Property the whole of their life,” Youngest Rose answered me, lying back on her bed, tucking her arms under her head. “We are contracted to work for so many years in exchange for food, shelter, and transport here. At the end, we get our freedom,” she paused. “You did read your contract, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. I had not the slightest clue as to what a ‘contract’ was, and the continual mentioning of it furthered the mystique of it. I reminded myself to ask someone, perhaps even Matthias in his moments of rare kindness.
“I don’t know how to read,” I said.
“Surely someone read it to you then,” Ann said. “They did to me.”
I shook my head again.
“What’s done is done. Your contract is somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, more than likely. If you can remember who you signed it with – which company, the Master could write to them for a copy.”
Shipwreck. Would it be possible to make them believe I want to search the washed up pieces for signs of my nonexistent contract? Would it be too great a falsity?
Would it be enough to get me to the water?
“I would like to go back to the shore, where I was found. See if any of my belongings might be washed ashore there.”
“They would’ve burned it all by now, odds are,” Rose replied. “You could try anyhow. We house servants are sometimes allowed an afternoon after our duties our done, once a month on a Sunday.”
A month.
“And someone could take me? Asa, with the cart?”
“I’d ask Matthias. He has more freedom than the whole lot of us, being Foreman and all,” Youngest Rose said.
Matthias.
The mention of his name tore me. If ever there were a reason to make my way to the sea, he would be it, and yet, I found myself wanting to linger, to watch, to learn him. Perhaps a month would be best, anyhow. Follow their rules, their constructs.
My slow-moving, poorly balanced form would make for a poor escape.
I would stay. I would watch, I would learn, and when the time came, I would return home.
If home was what it really was anymore.
Chapter 8
“Well, look at you. You won’t be starving after all,” Matthias said in a terse, sharp manner.
The sun had not quite risen when I tracked him down. He sat atop his horse, surveying the overseers as they led the workers from the quarters to the fields. My stomach had flipped as I made my way to him, my soul hoping that I would catch sight of the kind Matthias.
I had no such good fortune.
“I was ordered to report to you, now that I could walk, and was told that you would find a place for me to work,” I said.
He scoffed, looking to the long line of toiling slaves, some already feeling the strike of leather against them. Matthias’ shaded eyes watched their movements for a moment, and he blinked slightly at the sound of each lash.
Men stood nearby, some white, some African, all with whips. Overseers.
They watched us with interest as they mumbled their small talk. Their voices raised some, and their attention seemed divided between us and something in the direction of the manor house. I glanced in the direction the men had looked and caught sight of Lord Malcom, riding his steed at a leisurely pace toward us.
Turning my gaze back to Matthias, I saw that he, too, was now looking Lord Malcom’s direction.
“I had reported for work to the house servant matron, Ms. O’Flannery,” I said. “She informed me that I would not be suitable as a maid nor did the laundry and kitchens need further help.”
“What are you capable of doing,” he asked, turning his cold stare back to me. It felt more an insult than a question.
I stood in silence, determined not to break in front of him and bit my tongue to keep my temper.
“Stables. We lost a stable boy last week. Had his head kicked in,” he said. “You can have his place, if you believe yourself able to stay out of trouble.”
I gave a curt nod and turned to leave, when a loud crack burst in my ears. A stinging sensation formed diagonally on my back, first a slight tingle, then a large wave of pain. It was sharp, as though a knife had sliced across my skin, followed by a burning heat. The shock of it stole my breath, and I gasped.
Bracing myself on my cane, I breathed deeply through my nostrils, struggling to keep from crying out, pursing my lips and squeezing my jaw shut as my body shook. Much against my desire to fall, I remained standing and turned to find Matthias rolling up a bullwhip, slowly and deliberately.
“You are my charge now,” he stated through gritted teeth. “Next time you fail to address me properly, I’ll make your back bleed for days. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” I coughed out, wondering if those were the words he was looking for.
“Go, and know a pretty face will not purchase you any lenience with me.”
He spurred his horse as he gave me his final order, and I waited until he was long out of sight before I cratered to the ground, sobbing. The pain was inconceivable. How could anyone handle one of those whippings, let alone ten?
I heard Lord Malcom’s voice behind me but could not make out his words.
“She will not be insubordinate next time, sir,” Matthias replied.
As I gathered myself and began making my way toward the main grounds, I felt the long line of bloody beads forming across my back. The day was just starting.
* * *
Abel was the man in charge of the stables. He was quiet and apparently torn between laughing and scoffing when I told him I had been instructed to work there. He threw a shovel at my feet and instructed me to clean the stalls. I had only ever been close to a horse the day they carried me in the cart. The animals terrified me, but I did my best to swallow that.
Joseph, the young boy I had recognized from the kitchen took me by the hand and had me follow along with him as he began his duties.
“You’ll be helping me,” he informed me with a sigh, his accent thicker any than I’d heard before. “It’s hard work, it is. Last boy got killed.”
He worked with haste, moving from one task to the next, and I hobbled after him as best I could, helping alongside him when there was room, fetching things for him when there was not. As we made our way to each stall, he introduced me to the creatures housed within, teaching me their names and letting them get used to my
scent and voice before we entered.
Although most were gentle, a few kicked and stomped and neighed.
“Talk to them. It helps sometimes,” he said, and I obliged, but my words found them more agitated.
I pursed my lips and began to hum. It was Mother’s lullaby, and I calmed myself with it as I tried to adapt to my new assignment among these strong-willed animals. A few notes in, all had relaxed, softly hoofing the ground with light neighs.
Joseph looked up at me, eyes half-closed. “How did you do that?”
I shrugged as he shook himself and then pulled me by my hand around the structure to show me the rest of my duties.
It was a difficult notion, the thought of me doing all of this work by myself, but Joshua remained confident, offering praise when I managed to do something correctly and giving me gentle criticism when I complicated it. Laboring, especially shoveling was strenuous, with one leg incapable of quick movement and one arm constantly gripping the cane.
The process was slow, and I kept the shovel’s handle tucked close to my body under my free arm to guide its placement. Despite his smaller stature, Joseph could easily lift twice the load that I could manage and do so in half the time. Still, he was patient, and I was all the more grateful as the day wore on.
We encountered Abel only when he was fetching a horse or returning one to its stall. In the afternoon, the horses were freed in a small pasture. The younger ones would trot and play, the others would bask in the sun. They were a beauty to behold.
“All in all, there’s twenty-three horses, which is a lot for this island,” Joseph told me as we carried water from the nearest well to the main trough. “Or so Matthias says. The Master likes to ride, and he breeds them to sell to the other merchants around here.”
“You know a lot,” I said.
“Yes, I was lucky, I was,” he said, as we shoveled manure and hay. “The Master had need of someone to work the stables, and Matthias was kind to me. He gives me lessons, teaches me, although I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it.”
He paused, rested a limb on the handle as his eyes narrowed.
“You won’t tell anyone will you?”
I smiled. “No.”
If anything, I was a little relieved that some of Matthias’ good qualities were becoming more evident, but it did little to ease my anger. “Is he not allowed to teach you?”
Joseph shrugged, keeping his eyes on the pile of hay we were forming. “The master permits it of the slaves in the house, but all of us who work out here, he thinks it’s dangerous.”
I hobbled back into the stall we were cleaning, using the shovel as my cane until I was out of the muck, striking a careful balance as I pulled the bedding from the corner with the shovel blade for easier access.
“Joseph. Do you think he would teach me?”
A loud, purposeful sigh escaped him. “Maybe.”
Getting the meeting times and location out of Joseph was like pulling an eel out of its hole. He was slippery, reluctant, and I sensed his divulgence had been more an attempt to brag a little than to open the way to an invitation.
They met as often as they could, he and Matthias, during supper, under the large tree next to the back of the horse corral. It would be a long walk for me, and with no knowledge as to whether he would accept my presence or lash me as he had done earlier, it would be a courageous undertaking, one that my stomach and back were shouting against.
Then again, perhaps I could make him an ally. Regardless of my current feeling toward him, if I could manage to get him to trust me, perhaps he would help me return home.
If.
He could just lash my back until there is nothing left for even asking.
The labor made my body ache; the torn strip of flesh on my back burned more with each drop of sweat, but conversation with Joseph made the time pass a little quicker. Perhaps too quick as we found ourselves rushing to finish what we’d be ordered to do for the day.
With the sun set, and the dark settling over us, I bade Joseph a good evening and began to make my way to the sleeping quarters.
A shadowy figure.
It was hard to see in the darkness, another element of humanity that I was not accustomed to. It followed alongside me for a moment, and my heart pounded in my chest as my pace quickened.
“Ia. Ia, stop!” An order, but muted. Not quite whispered.
Matthias.
I halted, struggling to see him in the darkness.
He waved, motioning for me to come near. I hesitated, the fear of his strike as fresh on my mind as the blood on my back.
“Yes, sir,” I said, not bothering to keep my voice down.
“Your back,” he said. I remained facing him, unsure of his command.
“Turn around so I may see it,” he continued with a sigh. Using the cane to steady me, I turned, fighting the reflex to cringe.
What will he do now? Rub salt in my wound?
A light touch streaked along the abused flesh, a confused sensation, burning yet comforting.
“It was not my intention to strike you that hard,” he said, the heat of his breath touching the back of my neck. “I cannot be forgiving in front of the others, especially Lord Malcom.”
What could I say to that poor attempt at an apology? My head dropped to my chest as I sighed. Moments passed, his fingers still resting on me, before he moved, leaning closer to me.
“Lord Malcom would have you stripped and flogged until you could not move for days if you continue to forget your place.”
“This was a favor to me,” I said, incredulous. I snorted in disgust.
He whirled me around to face him faster than I could object, catching me as I lost my balance, steadying me by placing my hands on his chest. Solid stone underneath that thin shirt, yet I felt his heart pounding as quickly as mine.
“You are in grave danger here, Ia,” he whispered, his green eyes wide and enveloping me, the sheen of them glistening in what little moonlight we had. “You are a beautiful woman, extraordinary, even with your short hair and your leg, and I fear for you.”
He feared for me?
“I was able to keep you out of the house, but it was my mistake to place you in the stables.”
“I do not understand,” I replied.
“Stay out of sight as best you can, Ia. Keep your face down, and if you see Lord Malcom or any of the other overseers nearby, move yourself in the opposite direction before they detect you.”
I nodded. He was warning me, but of what? Genuine concern was in his eyes now, not the frigid harshness that had been there this morning.
“You understand me, Ia?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, breaking eye contact with him.
He nodded, convinced I had learned whatever lesson he had so violently taught me. My emotions were as raw as my back, however, and he would be a fool to believe that I felt his action justified.
I parted my lips to ask permission to leave, but I realized the servants and slaves alike operated only under commands by the person given authority over them. He would tell me when to go, and from the look on his face, he was not done with whatever he had to say.
“You may call me Matthias when we are alone.” He paused, staring into my eyes. “I spoke with my mother.”
I had no response, confused by what he wanted of me, what he was searching for in me. For someone so fluid in his speech, the fact he could not find the words brought even more gravity to this clandestine discussion.
“My mother. Zatia,” he said, eyebrows raised, looking for recognition on my face, and even in the dark and with my poor eyesight, I saw his skin reddening. “She said when they were cleaning your wounds, with the seawater, they healed. Immediately.”
It was true. I had nothing to say against it, and a lie would only anger him, so I answered him with silence, unsure of what I could possibly tell him.
“That cannot be true,” he said. “That had to be an illusion, something they imagined. If they speak of this to anyone,
you, and they, could be mistaken for witches, and I will be powerless to stop the consequences.”
I let out a long exhale.
“You must tell me, truthfully, what you did that would have them believe such absurdness?”
He waited for an answer, and the longer I kept him from one, the worse it would be for me. Then again, how would he take the truth? The consequences of that might have been direr than I could imagine.
“It is true, sir,” I backed up to walk away. “The salt water is healing to me and my kind.”
Rage streaked his face, and I prepared for his whip. “Liar.”
“I do not lie.” My breath quickened. “Search my face, my eyes. Take me to the ocean, and I shall show you.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, tapping a fist against his lips.
“I speak the truth. Your mother speaks the truth, and I gather she is a woman wise to many things, is she not?”
His features mellowed, and his brow smoothed and lips relaxed.
“Take me to the ocean, Matthias.”
He took my hand in his and closed the distance between us.
“I do not know that I believe you, Ia, but I know you are truthful, and it confuses me,” he said, turning my hand over to view my palm, his fingertips tracing the lines. “My mother follows the gods of her people. Her faith was the only thing that my father was unable to strip her of. She called you ‘Mama Wata’? Does that mean anything to you?”
I shook my head.
My tribe, the whole of my clan, made their homes in the north and here, in the warmer waters. I knew of clans that lived along the shores of Africa, but had never seen them, nor did I know the languages of the humans they preyed upon.
“Who are you, Ia?”
He reached for me, and I trembled as the back of his hand stroked my cheek. He cocked his head to the side.
“Are you scared of me?”
I nodded, and he grew distant, as though he was looking far away, right through me.
“You should be.” He spoke, and it was almost lost to me, soft and formed in a long exhale.
“Speak of this to no one.”
“I will not say a word.”
“I will come to you, once you have worked here a little longer, and will take you to my mother.”
Falling in Deep Collection Box Set Page 20
