Guest Author - Leona L. Early
(This part begins where the two little girls had snuck off to go swiming, and then getting caught!)
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"No daddy...we were too busy eating peaches." said Connie. "We wanted to see who could eat the most." she lied, letting herself drop down into his up-stretched arms. She kissed him, smearing peach juice and dust on his cheek. He let her down and reached up for Isadora. She wanted to kiss him too, and they looked at each other awkwardly for a split second. He set her down and patted her on top of the head. "You two are going to be sick and Inola is going to fix you both up with some castor oil." He mused, looked at Isadora and thought as he always did, he wondered if his wife knew that the child was his. She had to, the child looked more like him than his own
daughter, except for the color of her skin. Connie, was looking up at him as he stared at Isadora.
The puzzled look on Connie's face made him checked himself, saying in a stern deep voice, .. "Connie, you know not to worry your mother. With her being so sick and all, it causes her great stress and causes her to get upset when you disobey...where did you two run off to this time? He looked at them both. Their clothes were damp and covered with the fined red dirt. "By the looks of your clothes, I'd say you been riding that pony down by the pond, when you should have been taking your nap." Isadora had figured out a long time ago, that Henry was telling him everything they did. She spoke up first.
"That's exactly where we went to, sir." said Isadora, then before she knew it, Connie pinched her arm and she hollered "Ouch!" Mr. Iverson saw Isadora pinch Connie back, and looked away when Connie also hollered out, and she too began to cry. He smiled. They were just alike, he thought, though, but he knew that Connie was the spoiled one.
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Inside, Mrs. Katherine Iverson was laying in her bed reading a book of poems by Edgar Allen Poe, and heard the girls noise outside, and looked out her window, passed the pink Pricilla curtains. Watching closely, as the three of them crossed the lawn. She watched as her husband as he stared at Isadora and patted her on top of her thick, uncombed, hair. "God, how I hate that child, she thought." She reached under the stack of pillows she lay on, and pulled out her diary. She found the page where she'd left off, and began to feverishly write down her tormenting thoughts. From the time she
first ever laid eyes on Inola's baby, she knew who the daddy was, and from that day on, she would never let her husband touch her in a passionate way again. The anger, humiliation and hatred, plagued all that she ever was. The regal attitude she once walked around with was no longer there.
She didn't pay much attention anymore to the way she looked. The only habit she kept was brushing her long golden hair, and thinking about the past ...
Henry had taken his bath and changed clothes, before going to the kitchen through the back door to get his supper. He and some of the other field workers had many fences to mend, worked well into the evening. He was very tired and hungry. He checked himself in the cracked mirror, hanging on the wall above an old chest of drawers.
Henry was a tall strong built man with a slender waist. He must of stood over six-two or three feet tall. His reddish, dark brown skin, perfect white teeth, and sharp facial features, gave him an exotic look. His eyes were slightly slanted up, shaded with long, thick, black, eyelashes. His hair was thick and wavy. Henry had many scars on his face from fights with other slaves during his youth. He was born into slavery in Virginia in 1852. At the age of seven he'd seen many slaves killed, trying to run He never
knew what happened to his mother and father.
For reasons known only to him, he seemed to be an angry lad and got along with no one. He fought nearly every day. They worked him twice as hard as the other boys, because he was big for his age, and stronger than some of the small-boned men. He was whipped several times, and when his owner finally had enough of the trouble he caused, he was sold at the slave market in 1864, at the age of twelve to Col. Fielding Iverson. One of the slaves that Henry had befriended as they stood on the auction block, told him to hope that he gets bought by Col. Iverson. Iverson liked the boy right off. He saw that the boy was big for the age of only twelve. Henry, who could barely speak good English, liked Col. Iverson also. Once they arrived on the Iverson property,
Col. Iverson told the boy that he was free and not a slave anymore. That it was up to him how they were going to get along. That he had a home for as long as he wanted, just as long as he behaved himself and did what he was suppose to do. He was taught to read by an educated Negro from Canada, called Cramer. This Mr. Cramer, helped Iverson manage the plantation for many years. Mr. Cramer died when Henry was fifteen years old. He was the only man he'd learned to truly trust besides his father. But, then he learned to trust and respect Col. Iverson too. Henry was given his own little cabin, and answered only to Col. Iverson, until he changed his attitude and could
get along with the other help.
He earned five cents a week. The nickel he received at the end of each week was tossed into a wooden barrel which sat in the corner of his cabin. Now, at the age of twenty-two, he was bigger and taller, and looked older than he was. He was powerfully handsome, and he was hopelessly in love with Inola
Jackson. Looking at his reflection in the round, cracked mirror, he added another dash of Bay Rum to his hair, face, chest and forearms. He wore a red, black and green, wool plaid shirt that Mr. Iverson had given him,(Iverson had told everyone to call him Mr. instead of Colonel, that times were changing.) Inola had sewn patches on the elbows of the shirt for him, covering worn spots. The sleeves were rolled up above the wrist. His pants were a bit wrinkled, but that was okay, they were clean. He took a full jar of coins, and dumped them into the fifty gallon wooden barrel, which stood in the
corner near his bed.
He put the jar back on the dresser, thinking that one day he would count the change in that barrel. Just before walking out of his cabin, he looked
down at his boots. He wiped the toe of each boot on the back of his pants leg.
Inola had left a large plate of food on the stove for him, covered with a towel. That woman sure can cook, he thought as he cleaned his plate and after rinsing it off, he put it in the sink. It was late and he wanted to go right to bed. Inola heard him in the kitchen and hurried down stairs. "Well, you sure worked late tonight. Did you get enough to eat?" she asked. She could smell the soap and Bay Rum on him.
"Yes...um, it was mighty fine too. Thank you." she always took his breath away, and he wanted to reach out and pull her close to hold her tight. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and smiled at her. He knew it would take more time, and he did not want to force himself on her, and waited for her to speak. "I hate to bother you, knowing that you must be all tired... and all, but would you mind bringing up some firewood to my room. I should have thought of it much sooner, but I got busy with those two rambunctious little ones. I tell you, they had me running all over the place trying to give
them their baths, and I used up all my firewood to keep them from catching a cold, "
she looked at the floor as she spoke. Then smiled shyly as she waited for him to say something.
"I'd be happy to bring the firewood up to your room Inola...is there anything else I can get you before I turn in?" he said, softly.
"Just the firewood. It turned a little chilly and by my having to get up during the night to change them, I didn't want it to be too cold and all." Blushing, she hurried past him out of the kitchen. With his arms piled high with logs, Henry smiled as he tapped on Inola's door using his foot. When he did not hear an answer, he turned around, and backed into the door, pushing it open. Not seeing her when he turned , he placed the logs in the proper place. He hesitated before leaving, looking around her room. It
was sparse, yet warm.
There was a single chest of drawers, a down comforter covered a lumpy mattress on the wooden bed, and a small oval shaped, green rug in the center of the floor. The small dressing table in the corner has one bottle of sweet-water, a comb and brush, and a small mirror on a stand. In a far corner, was a rocking chair with a picture book in it. The wallpaper, he thought was very pretty. Pink roses were his mother's favorite flower, and the ones on this wallpaper looked so real. He walked over to her bed and picked up her pillow, putting it to his face and smelling it. It smelled of Gardenia's. He held it for a moment, then put it back on the bed. He didn't know that she could see him from the nursery in the next room.
He stoked the fire up, the walked out, closing the heat inside the room. As he slowly walked downstairs, he heard the door behind him creak. He stopped and stood for a moment, hoping that Inola would call out to him. When she did
not, he went on. Inola wanted to stop Henry, but, for some reason, she could not. In her bed, she hugged the pillow he had picked up and put to his face. She could smell a hint of Bay Rum, she cried herself to sleep.
Henry thinking, since the night was rather chilly, he'd better put more firewood in the living room, the parlor, and in the study. Sometimes Mr. Iverson came home with guest and remained up all night talking. Once again he ran into Inola in the kitchen. She had a pitcher of milk in her hand, and he, with his arms filled with logs. They stood awkwardly staring at each other for a moment. She was in her pale, pink robe and slippers now, and avoided looking directly at him as she went around him saying "good-night"
Katherine sat restless in her room, drinking brandy. This was Saturday night, and she knew that her husband had gone into town, or somewhere, as usual. The house was too quiet and she didn't like that. She had let herself slip into one of those moments when she longed for her husband’s touch. She finished the bottle of brandy and wanted more. She would go downstairs for another bottle. There was a noise coming from inside her husbands study. The door was open. Could he have come back so soon? she thought. walking to the door; her soft slippers made no sound.
The room was dark except for the small oil lamp in the far corner of the room, and the soft glow of embers from the fireplace. She watched his shadowy figure as he stacked more logs in the fireplace and poke at the embers. She could see his broad back and shoulders and wanted to touch them. How nice, she thought, he was wearing the plaid shirt that she gave him one Christmas, years ago. She could hardly contain herself, yet, she felt frozen to the floor. It had been so long, would he welcome her touch. She watched as he just sat by the fire, rubbing the chill off his hands. As the embers in the fireplace became a small flame, she slowly walked over and put her hand
on his shoulder, she looked down, seeing the pipe on the hearth, she froze. It had been two years since those babies had been born, and she had not allowed her husband to come near her. But, she now realized, that his...this was not her husband!
Henry had made several trips outside and now sat for a moment to warm himself, and thinking about Inola. He knew she felt shame for what happened between them and now, found it very difficult to look directly at him. She always talked to him with her head down, avoiding looking into his eyes. There were many times that he could feel that Inola was looking at him, and when he turned quickly, he would catch her and although, she would turn away, he could tell that she was smiling. They played that game well, but that was as far as it went. He loved her from the moment he first saw her as a young girl. He had watched her grow into a beautiful woman.
Henry was seventeen and Inola was fourteen, they plan to marry when she turned fifteen, but that was before Mr. Iverson had taken her to live in the big house after her mother died. Henry knew that her baby upstairs was the Misters. But, that did not matter to him, he loved her no matter what. He understood her shame and did not blame her, those things were happening long before he was ever born. Yet, he loved her and he still wanted her marry her.
He could feel her presence behind him. He slightly turned his head and caught a glimpse of her pink robe out the corner of his eye. Not getting up, he continued to stoke the fire he didn't want to scare her away. He wondered why she didn't say anything. Why was she just standing there? Was she playing a game now? He closed his eyes and took a deep, steady breath, slowly exhaling as he felt her come towards him. He quivered at her touch. The logs in the fireplace were now burning with a brilliant flame. Then, he suddenly he felt her jerk her hand away and heard a...gasp!
As the flames in the fireplace grew, it cast a glow on the pipe in front of it. Katherine realized that this was not her husband's pipe, but was given as a Christmas present to.... "Henry!" she gasped. "What are you doing in here...I thought you were my... husband. Please forgive me...She turned and ran from the room, sobbing. Her bedroom door slamming loudly. How fookish she felt, as she threw herself across her bed. She awakened the next morning in the same position, but someone had thrown a quilt over her.
Henry was just as shocked as she was. He didn't know what to do. Embarrassed, he wanted to run out of the room too. Seeing that the fire was well on it way, he quickly took leave through the kitchen to his own quarters. When he knew that no one could hear him, he laughed himself silly, then thought about what Iverson would have done if he happened to walk in at that moment. Even as scared as he was, it was still a silly mistake. He could imagine the look on her face when she realized that he was not her
husband.
When Col. Iverson arrived home, the parlor was warm from the logs, which burned a sweet smell of hickory. Iverson, separated the logs, so the fire would go out quicker, and before going upstais to his room, he tapped lightly on his wife's bedroom door. He could hear her snoring. He cracked the door open, and seeing her asleep on top of the covers, took a quilt off of the stand, and gently covered her. He bent forward, and kissed her on the cheek, as he smoothed down her long, lovely, golden hair. If she only knew how much he loved her, things would have been so much better between them. He could not understand her jealousy. She was his wife.
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Katherine finally closed her diary and held it close to her chest. She wondered why now, on this beautiful summer day, her life seemed so ugly. Ugly and sad, and she didn't know how to fix it or even if she wanted to. Seeing her husband make over Inola’ s child, in front of his own daughter, was too much to bear. Katherine didn't want to see anymore. She didn't want to think anymore. She couldn't take it anymore! For years she knew when he was sneaking out, thinking she had gone to sleep. But how could she sleep, knowing what was going on. Her mother had told her all about what went on in those shacks on the day of her wedding, and told her to pay no attention, that it was what men do! Well, her mother might has assepted that behavior, but she, Katherine Constance Furguston, will not, now or ... ever!
She felt like screaming, but she held it in. The years of jealousy had burned a hole through her soul. She did not want to live like this anymore. She reached over to the table beside the bed and picked up the bottle of Laudanum, uncorked the bottle, then went quietly and permanantly to sleep. (To be continued)
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