My Name Is Mary: A Reincarnation Read online

  She couldn’t see Mary’s face, but she could feel the tiny details. The baby smelled of blood and something sweet and earthy. Ida petted the delicate child, her heart turning over with love for Mary. She wondered what Big John would think of his daughter? He had two other children here, both boys. This would be his first daughter; at least she thought it would. Ida didn’t even want to think about the children on the other plantations.

  She knew that Master Byron Grover used Big John for breeding at his own farm and lent him out to others. Master Grover received payment for Big John’s services. Big John told Ida that she was the only girl for him, even though he had to get with other girls. Ida wanted to believe that, but Big John had never brought up the subject of marriage. Not that he would have a choice or not or that he would even be allowed to live here. It would have been nice had he asked her though.

  The fact that he hadn’t come to see her in a couple months told Ida that Big John’s interest had gone elsewhere. Now that she had Mary, Ida didn’t much care. She had her baby and that was all that mattered. Other couples had gotten permission to marry, jumping the broom on Sunday before witnesses. The bride or groom had to go back to their master’s farm or plantation, but they could come back to visit once or twice a week.

  Ida had heard stories of men sneaking over to see a girl, but had been caught by the patrol. The men had been beaten and sent back to their masters. Big John never snuck over to see her. She supposed he was in big demand over at the Grover farm. He was a big strong, handsome man. His skin was a light golden brown and he was much sought after by the women. Ida would never put her self in a position to be beaten over a man. No man was worth it.

  Placing Mary on her shoulder, she began to rub and pat the baby’s back. Shortly, a soft burp erupted from the baby. Ida laughed softly and kissed her daughter. She breathed in once again, the faint, sweet fragrance of her daughter. Ida’s lips nibbling at the soft curly strands on the tiny head. She lay back down and tucked Mary within her arms, and listened to her friend, Liza snoring. Liza spent the night at her cabin from time to time, enjoying the company. Ida smiled at the thought.

  Liza’s presence was always reassuring and, in the winter, Ida would scoot closer to the bigger woman for warmth. Soon enough, exhaustion claimed Ida and she fell back to sleep, Mary tucked securely within her arms.

  TWO

  Mary lay within the shelter of a wrap as her mother picked cotton. It was warm and safe within the folds of the material. Whenever she was hungry, all she had to do was fuss a bit, and her mother would oblige her with a breast. Mary began to learn about the world around her, as she peeked through the cloth. Most of the time, she only saw her mother’s arms and plants within reach. She would soon be left with the old women, so her mother could work unencumbered. For now, she was kept close.

  Mary started walking early, and was a happy baby. Ida loved her daughter and spoiled her with love. Mary loved mush and potatoes and grew fat and strong. She had taken after her father, her skin a light golden brown. Her face hinted of delicate bone from her mother, beneath the baby fat. She would one day grow into a beauty. Many thought that Big John had Indian blood in him and others believed he had a white granddaddy. No one knew for sure. Many of his children were as light as he, some lighter.

  Mary also learned early on, to stay quiet when the big white man came close. She sensed her mother tense and would grow still when Clark came around. Mary would feel his eyes burning into her and it frightened her. She had seen him kick other children out of his way. He was a cruel and sadistic man. When he spoke to her mother, she could smell his fetid breath, it smelled of death.

  Mary had once looked into Clark’s eyes, and it scared her, as young as she was. She never looked in his eyes again. Mary played and was happy when she was around her mother and Liza. Mary took her queues from the women, and watched with lively intelligent eyes. Mary began to imitate their actions and was a great joy to Ida. Nan came to play with the small child in the evening, showing Mary her carved doll. Dark Henry stopped to visit with his friend, young master Theo. Theodore was the youngest son of John and Victoria Anderson. He and Henry often played together among the slave quarters.

  Mary began to talk when she neared her second birthday. She would babble and play around her mother while Ida made dinner at night. When the mean white man came along, she would grow quiet, becoming small and holding on to her mother’s skirt. Mary was a big helper; she helped her mother on Saturdays when it was laundry day. Mary carried dirty clothes to her mother, who was stirring the wash in a large vat of boiling soapy water. What had been dirty before was filthy after Mary dragged them to the vat. Her mother stirred the large vat with a long wooden paddle, with holes in the broad flat end.

  Mary didn’t like the smell of the vat and stayed away after she gave her mother the dirty clothes. Mary ran in between the clean clothes hanging on the lines, her small hands skimming the damp fabric. The clothes smelled good after they hung out in the fresh breeze for a while. Soon tiring of that game, Mary found an errant chicken and chased it about the yard. Her gleeful shrieks floating across the yard, causing her mother to smile.

  Other children played along with her and Mary loved that the most. She would squeal after them, her chubby hands grasping at their clothes. Dark Henry carried her on his back and ran at her urging. Then Theo would carry her. Her joyous laughter filled the warm afternoons. During the hot summer, many of the younger children ran naked as jaybirds. It saved their mothers from having extra clothes to wash. Little bottoms flashed in the bright sun as they ran to and fro. The adults smiled as they watched them streak across the yard, their hands itching to pinch the plump rumps.

  On Sunday afternoons, the mothers would sit outside if it were nice. They would inspect their children for nits and lice, and then braid their hair to keep it back and tidy. It was a time for gossip and laughter; it was a time for ease and relaxation. Their voices blended, sounding like chickens clucking. Some of the old men clapped and sang to the children; Old Bitsy told the children stories. Their solemn eyes boring into her, their mouths hanging open in wonder.

  The women would share their dreams and hopes, though most of the times they knew there were only dreams. There wasn’t much hope for them, for they had no control over their own lives, let alone their children’s lives. They could only hope for the best.

  When Mary was three, she began to work alongside the other children. She was given the chores of feeding the chickens and pulling weeds out of her mother’s garden and the Mistress Victoria’s flower garden. Mary’s little fingers were nimble and quick. Mary learned quickly what to pull and what to leave. She enjoyed the smell of the garden flowers.

  Mary was taught how to fan the flies away from her mistress, when Mistress Anderson was resting. One of the older children helped her learn, it was Dark Henry. He seemed to love Mary best and always watched over her.

  On warm sunny days, Mistress Anderson came out to the garden to cut flowers. Victoria smiled down at Mary and watched the child from the corner of her eye. She knew Mary was a quiet and shy child. Victoria hummed softly as she cut her flowers. She spoke gently to the child.

  “What’s your name child?” Victoria asked, holding up a pale pink rose. She sniffed it and looked over to the girl.

  “My name is Mary.” The child responded quietly.

  “What a lovely name. Here Mary, smell this wonderful rose. It’s pretty, just like you.” Victoria said, taken with the child. She was a pretty little girl, tiny just like a doll. Mary had large beautiful eyes that seemed to fill her face, they were a golden honey brown with long lashes.

  Mary watched the woman, wary. Mary took her cues from her mother and the others, all were careful around white people, especially Clark. All children learned at an early age to hide their true feelings. To keep their faces blank of any emotion. But this woman seemed kind and Mary smiled shyly at her. The mistress requested Mary more and more, wanting the little girl near her. Mistress Vic
toria fed Mary treats, such as raisins or bits of corn muffin. Mary sat quietly with the mistress and listened to the woman talk. Mary answered in monosyllable responses.

  During the winter, was the most difficult, because Mary, had no shoes, as did many of the slaves. Their clothing and outer wear were worn and patched. Shoes were rare and precious. Ida wrapped Mary’s feet in rags and put grease on the bottom of the rag shoes, to protect Mary’s feet from the cold damp ground. From time to time Mary was given old shoes, but once she grew out of them, the shoes were passed along to another child when the shoes no longer fit. The shoes were uncomfortable and Mary preferred the rag shoes.

  Ida played many games with Mary during the long winters and taught her daughter songs. One evening, Liza brought her hidden stash of dried corn kernels and put them into a pan on the fire. Nan, Patina and Mary squealed with glee, and grabbed at the popping corn. Patina was a mulatto, her mother, Matilda, had come from the Kilgour farm, where it was thought that the eldest son, Ethan, had gotten the woman pregnant. Patina had dark chestnut hair and hazel eyes. She would be a beauty when she grew to womanhood. She and Mary were nearly inseparable. The girls blew the dirt off the corn and promptly popped the puffed corn into their mouths. Mary wasn’t all that concerned about the dirt and didn’t blow the corn off as often. Ida laughed at her daughter, who ended up with mud crusted around her greedy mouth.

  “Daughter, you’re gonna poop out mud bricks.” Ida snorted with laughter and Liza joined in. Ida took a rag and cleaned her daughter’s face.

  Mary was growing rapidly and outgrew her shoes and clothes quickly. Mary took on more and more chores, helping her mother both out in the field and around the cabin. Mary was quick, smart and intuitive. Mary was seven when her mother came down with the coughing sickness. Mary fretted and hovered around her mother. Liza made a homemade remedy that smelled terrible, but Liza swore by it.

  “This’ll fix your momma up right, honey. Don’t you fret none.” Liza said, a gentle smile on her broad face. Mary love Liza like a second mother. There were no doctors for the slaves, if they could not heal themselves, they died. Every winter there were deaths, usually the very old and the very young. Mary sat with her mother when she could, giving her mother the medicine.

  “Momma, you need ta take this. Liza says you do.” Mary coaxed.

  “Child, that is wretched stuff.” Ida smiled grimly, but drank the concoction. Three field slaves had died that winter of what her mother called consumption. Mary feared her mother would die as well. But the angels were watching and her mother pulled through. Ida was very weak and so Mary took on more and more of her mother’s chores. Mary was afraid Clark would whip her mother, should she fall behind.

  Mary had witnessed Clark’s handy work on many occasions. The slaves were called to watch one of the house slaves receive a beating for eating a pie that had been left to cool on the kitchen window sill. The young man had been stripped naked and tied to a pole at the side of the barn. Clark had taken great pleasure doling out the lashes. Mary’s body had jerked with each stroke.

  Mary didn’t know how to count, but she knew that the number of lashes for stealing was great. At a tender age, she had seen too much. Mary felt sick and afraid as she watched the young man buck and scream as the lash fell onto his bloody back. He swore to his tormentor that he had never touched the pie, that there was some mistake. Later Mary heard gossip that it was Clark, who in fact, had stolen the pie and blamed it on the young house slave.

  After the whipping, the unconscious man was taken down from the bloody pole and put into one of the cabins. Bethy and Old Bitsy tended the unlucky man’s back with cool water and some herbs. Ginny and Callie prepared the clean rags for Old Bitsy, laying them out neatly. Old Bitsy put lard on the bloody raw back and wrapped it with clean rags, binding the young man tightly. Thomas was never allowed back into the house and would be sent to the fields to work for his crime.

  Thomas was never to stand straight again, his back healed and the skin pulled tight, causing him to stand hunched over. Though Thomas was a young man, he was stooped, as though ancient. He had to bear the constant pain, his muscles pulling against their forced posture. At night, his sorrowful moans drifted across the slave quarters. Mary felt sorry for him, but there was nothing she could do for him.

  One morning Mary and Ida walked with the other slaves in single file towards the fields, it was still dark and cool. They all heard a commotion of dogs, men and horses. A slave had run away and the men were heading out to find him. Mary heard whispering around her and soon learned it was young Thomas who had run away. Fear curled up inside her belly, like a snake waiting to strike, it lay heavy and cold. Mary shivered, but not from the cool morning.

  Everyone knew what happened to runaways. Many were beaten nearly to death, while others were mutilated, ensuring they could never run again. Mary knew like the rest; Thomas could not survive another beating and she hoped and prayed the young man would find his way north. Now and then, a slave was hung as warning to other slaves who might have the same idea, but slaves were too valuable a commodity to kill outright. Those unlucky few that were hung were left to rot on the rope, only coming down as bits and pieces fell from the corpse. All heard about the lucky few who had made it all the way north to freedom. Word filtered slowly back to them and gave some hope of a better life elsewhere.

  Ida grabbed Mary by the shoulders and faced her around.

  “Keep your eyes on the ground. There ain’t nothin’ we can do to help that boy. God knows we wish we could, but there ain’t.”

  Mary nodded and looked down to the ground and kept walking toward the field. Patina’s hand reached over and grabbed onto Mary’s hand. They could not help poor Thomas; they could not even help themselves. Walking numbly in front of her mother, Mary thought of the horrible punishment Thomas would get if he were caught and once more sent a prayer up, that he would make it to safety and freedom. Her young heart was full of hope.

  By dusk, the tired group made their way back to their cabins; they could hear the dogs baying in the distance. Dread fell over the men and women like a pall of thick smoke, choking the hope from them. Thomas had been caught and they were bringing him back. Mary didn’t quite understand what the grownups knew until they reached home. There she saw several white men from the area, the patrol, sitting astride their horses.

  The dogs were still barking and running around in circles. Mary didn’t see Thomas anywhere and hope soared in her small heart. Then she saw Master Anderson coming out of the main house and walk up to the men on horseback. She watched as the white men spoke in low voices, then when John Anderson looked up the road, Mary followed his gaze with her eyes.

  There on horseback, was Clark. Behind Clark was a rope that had been attached to a filthy bundle of rags. To Mary’s dismay and horror, she realized it was Thomas. Ida pulled Mary behind her, “Child, member your place, before massa sees you lookin’ his way. You betta keep that head down. This ain’t something a young girl should see. Ain’t none of us should endure this.” Fear tinged Ida’s voice, making it rough.

  “I’s scared mamma, what’s gonna happen ta Thomas?” Mary asked, her voice quavering with anxiety, barely audible.

  “Child, that ain’t no never mind ta you. Get ta totin’ that firewood.” Ida said and pushed her daughter to the back of the cabin to gather wood for the night’s fire and out of sight. Ida wanted her daughter out of the way for what was to come. Children didn’t need to see such things. Adults didn’t either. What white folks did to the runaway slave was merciless, one could only hope for a swift death for the tragic and unfortunate soul.

  The dogs had quieted down and the men were pulling Thomas up before Master Anderson. His voice was low and no one could hear what he was saying to Thomas or Clark. Everyone busied themselves, but watched covertly from the corners of their eyes. No one spoke as they went about their evening chores. There was a breathless hush of melancholic anticipation that hung in the air. Something bad was g
oing to happen. Ida could smell it as if it were a fug off the manure pile.

  Ida watched Clark drag Thomas along as he walked toward the cabins. Thomas was bloody from head to toe. The rope around his wrists cut deeply and the flesh was torn down to the bone. Snot was mixed with tears, blood and dirt as it ran down Thomas’ swollen face. Thomas didn’t look up when they came to a stop before the other slaves. Ida held her breath, fear pounding hard and heavy in her heart. She was glad she’d sent Mary out of sight.

  Clark’s voice rang out, “All you niggers gather round, we got a little learnin’ for you. Get them childrens too.”

  Ida’s heart sank. Clark waited patiently as his audience gathered around him, the man seemed to enjoy his control over the captive spectators. Mr. Anderson called the overseer to him and muttered something low to the man. Clark walked back telling the parents to send their children away, his face reflecting the disappointment. If the situation hadn’t been so tragic, Ida would have snorted with scorn at Clark’s disappointment. She was glad, however, that the children didn’t have to witness this.

  Clark made a show of jerking Thomas to his knees. When everyone was in place, he spoke once again.