My Name Is Mary: A Reincarnation Page 7

  It’s done past the time of dying, she thought glumly. She sipped and rocked a while longer, then went over to her small pallet on the hard dirt floor. She felt a thousand years old this morning. The cold seemed to seep into her old bones and made her ache for death. The tea helped and she settled her old sticks more comfortable among the ragged quilts. Her breath softened to light snoring. Later in the morning, as the blue jays called among the leafless oaks, God remembered Old Bitsy and took her with Him. She was very happy to see Him; her smile said so when she greeted Him.

  FOUR

  The day was long and cold; the wagon bounced and hit ruts in the road that jarred the children riding within. The children sat on a bed of straw, but this did nothing to soften the ride, neither for their physical comforts nor their emotional comforts. Many of the children cried themselves to sleep, sucking their thumbs for calm. Mary and Ellis held hands, holding each other for warmth and security. Ellis was a couple months older than Mary. It broke her heart to think she would never see him again. She was glad that Patina wasn’t here. She didn’t want to think about her mother. Would she see her again?

  Mary’s eyes were dry, they felt as dry as cornmeal. She stared despondently at the countryside as the wagon rolled along. Once or twice, she looked up at Clark, who sat with one of the older slaves, who drove the wagon. He was chewing a large plug of tobacco; it bulged out from his cheek. Now and then he would lean over the wagon and spit the tobacco juice out. The sight of it made Mary gag, she averted her eyes. Looking at the man made the hair on her body rise in primordial fear.

  The trip lasted six long, bone shaking and teeth rattling hours. The sky was an angry gray and matched Mary’s soul. Mary felt as though her bones had been shaken loose, her body ached along with her heart. Her rump was numb along with her face and hands. Ellis had fallen asleep in her arms, his thin arms wrapped around her narrow waist. She watched as the Anderson’s carriage passed them on the street, heading for the large hotel three blocks away. This was the first time that Mary had away from her home and her mouth hung open as she looked around her. There were dozens of carriages and wagons that filled the cobblestone streets. Her honey colored eyes darted around her.

  People filled the streets and sidewalks. There were huge buildings that lined the streets. There were shops with signs, that had writing on them. Mary couldn’t read, but the signs looked fancy. The people looked fancy as well. There were women in fancy dresses, and men too, dressed with fine coats and tall hats. Some sported fur that kept them warm. Mary shook her head. She’d never seen so many people. There were little black boys, who trailed behind their mistresses, carrying packages and boxes.

  The streets were lined with massive oaks and Mary picked up a strange scent. She’d never smelled it before. It smelled of rotting plants, salt and fish. It was noisy around her, but her head turned this way and that. Large crows sat among the branches of the large oaks, calling down to the people below.

  Clark instructed the driver to turn off the main street and head for the slave stables where the children would be kept tonight. Tomorrow, they would go onto the slave block to be sold to their new owners. Clark handed down each child to the auctioneer, giving him the appropriate papers for each child. The children held on to each other, their crying starting once again. Mary held onto Ellis’ hand; her eyes wide with fear. Her heart was beating hard in her chest and her legs trembled.

  The hefty man herded the children into a stall filled with straw that wasn’t too clean. Closing the door on the children, he walked away, ignoring their piteous cries. Mary stood numbly as her hands held onto the rough stable door, splinters digging into her small hands. She was going to be sold, Clark had tricked her mother. There would have been nothing her mother could have done had she known anyway. There were no choices given to slaves, and this was another bitter lesson Mary learned.

  Looking around the other stalls, she saw other wretched men and women in various states of dress; many were woefully lacking suitable clothing for the dead of winter. Mary was grateful for her boots and stockings. She wore no coat, but held the blanket her mother had given her, around her narrow shoulders. She could also huddle with the other children and that would keep her reasonably warm. The smell inside the stables made her gag, it smelled of putrid death, of foul dung and urine. The men and women stared blankly into space, hope long wrenched from them. She turned her gaze away from them.

  Mary felt her heart squeeze as she thought once again of her mother. Her eyes glazed over in pain. She didn’t hear Clark at first, and then her head cleared.

  “I said, you stupid little whelp, the Mistress wants you to come to the hotel. You ain’t gonna be sold today.” He whispered in a nasty voice. He jerked her roughly by the back of her dress and dragged her out of the stable, the quilt dropped to the straw floor and left behind. She watched as the children gathered around the stable gate, Ellis picking up the old quilt and clutching it to his chest.

  Her last vision of the place was of solemn dark eyes, dirty fingers gripping the gate and tears. Desperation was like a living thing in this building. That vision stayed with Mary for the rest of her life, as real and as poignant as that very moment. She raised a small hand, waving good-bye to her childhood friends. Their hands waving back in farewell, like dark flowers waiving in the wind. Mary thought that her soul had left her and she felt her heart shatter.

  Guilt tore at Mary, but it was overshadowed by elation. She wasn’t going to be sold, it hadn’t been a trick. She would see her mother again; she would see Liza and Nan, Patina, Dark Henry, Cookie and Old Bitsy. Mary walked as fast as she could, to keep up with Clark, because she would have been dragged otherwise. Mary’s head turned like a loose pivot, as she took in the big city. She had never been anywhere and her mouth hung open as she saw all the people, both whites and slaves alike. It was different walking than from the wagon too, she was in the middle of it all.

  She looked into the large windows of the tall buildings, with everything imaginable displayed in their windows. Mary had no idea as to what they were, odd things. She saw beautiful material and dresses. She saw shoes and books and furniture. She tripped and would have fallen in horse manure had Clark not been dragging her along. She tried to concentrate on where she was stepping, keeping up with his long-hurried stride.

  When they arrived at the hotel, Clark took Mary around back to the stables. He asked the holster where he could put the child, so she wouldn’t get into any mischief. The holster took Mary to one of the stalls in the back of the stable. The stalls were meant for horses, but they put Mary into one of them. Clark closed the stable door, “You stay here young’un, and don’t you be no problem or I’ll strap you good.” He turned and disappeared.

  Mary looked around, she could hear the horses from the other stalls, moving around and blowing through their large nostrils. She could smell the horse manure all around her along with the sweet smell of clean straw. It was quiet in the stable; there were no other people around. Mary was glad, she had to relieve herself. She had held her bladder all day and until now, hadn’t realized how full it was. Clark hadn’t stopped the wagon, nor had he fed the children nor gave them water.

  Going to the back of the stall, Mary dug a small hole through the straw, until she hit the dirt floor. Pulling up her shift, she squatted and began to urinate. The steam from it rose around her, and the sharp sting of ammonia bit her nose. She almost moaned with pleasure as the painful pressure was relieved. She used the straw to clean herself and covered the hole with dirt and straw.

  Going back to the front of the stall, Mary sat down to wait. There was light coming in from the open door, but the stall was dimly lit. Her stomach growled. With all the commotion that morning, she hadn’t eaten a thing. She was also exhausted from the long ride and the stress and fear of being sold. Mary’s eyes soon grew heavy and she was fast asleep within minutes. Her small body curled into a tight ball; half buried beneath the sweet hay.

  It was dark outside wh
en Mary woke, she was disoriented and frightened. She was thirsty, sore and hungry. It was dark inside the stable except for a single lamp near the entrance of the stables. Mary wondered if she would be fed, she wondered why the mistress had forgotten about her. She started to chew on a piece of hay, her stomach hurt so much. Mary heard the stable door open at the other end. She scooted down into the hay, afraid of who it might be. She wasn’t use to being in strange places. She watched as a lantern moved toward the back of the stable, where she was. The lamp stopped in front of her stall, and a hand grasped the door. Mary almost screamed before she realized it was Clark.

  Clark looked down at the child, half buried in the hay. The light from the lantern played over his features, making him seem even more sinister. Mary shrank down. Clark dug a chunk of bread out of his grimy pocket and threw it to the ground in front of her.

  “Here’s your dinner, if Mistress Anderson asks you if you ate good, you tell her you did. You understand?” Clark snarled in a dreadful voice.

  “Yeh suh, Missa Clark, I will.” Mary whispered, her hands remaining in her lap. She didn’t look up; she didn’t want to see his eyes and the malevolence behind. Mary was once again plunged into darkness when Clark turned and left. Mary groped around in the dark for the chunk of stale bread. It stuck on the way down her throat. For the first time in Mary’s life, she felt hunger and thirst, and it frightened her. She had listened to Old Bitsy tell stories about it, but it had been a fairytale to her until now. This had been a long bitter day of hard lessons; Mary hoped she would never have to live through something like this again.

  The night was longest and loneliest Mary had ever spent. Fear was her bedmate and at each sound, Mary jerked awake. She made two more trips to the back of the stall, covering up her leavings. Mouth and throat were parched with thirst, it was difficult to swallow. Desperate, Mary left her stall, guided only by the single light in the stable. She found a bucket and dipped her hand down into the dark hole. Her fingers touched water.

  Looking around her, she saw no movement, nor hear a human sound. She lifted the wooden bucket and tipped the contents forward. Her lips hugged the edge and she felt cold water hit her lips. She sucked in mouthfuls of water, gulping it down. The water was stale and a little brackish, but otherwise, the best that Mary had tasted in a while. She drank her fill, pausing to look around her for movement. Then, sated, she made her way back to her stall. She moved the hay around her and then covered herself, making a warm place. Mary slept fitfully, having nightmares about being sold at auction, or being ripped from her mother’s arms, throughout the interminable lonely night. When the sun came up the next morning, Mary felt she had aged years.

  Her stomach hurt terribly, cramping with gnawing hunger. She rocked back and forth in the straw, hoping the Mistress would remember her. It was a few hours after daybreak and Clark came with a cloth napkin and cup of fresh milk. He shoved it into her hands and pulled her out of the stable.

  “Eat it up quick gal, the Mistress is waiting.” He ordered in a surly voice. Mary greedily drank the warm milk and shoveled down the hot corn cake. She licked the napkin free of crumbs. It eased the hunger a bit, but Mary was still starving. She hurried along with Clark, trying to match his stride. They came around the hotel and found the Mistress waiting. Master Anderson was there with her, he was going to the block to watch his property be sold. Clark would accompany him.

  Mrs. Anderson walked along the paved sidewalks, Mary in tow. She looked inside the large windows at the ready-made dresses. Mary would have enjoyed herself, had it not been for her closest friends were being sold off today. She waited outside in the cold, with the clouds hanging low in the laden sky. They seemed to press down, making Mary feel vulnerable and forlorn. She peeked through the large lead glass window, watching her mistress speaking with the merchant.

  Mary stood shivering in the cold damp air; she longed for the quilt that had been left with Ellis. She desperately longed for it now, only her feet were warm. She tugged the stockings up high. Mary soon forgot her discomfort when she heard the auctioneer’s strident voice calling out. It was loud and clear and cut through her soul. They were near enough to the auction block that she could see a crowd of people around it. She could see a cluster of slaves standing to one side of the block which was six feet off the ground, high so many could see the slaves from a distance. She saw five male slaves standing in chains, their heads bowed down. It was evident they were all naked. These must be slaves fresh from the ships. The cluster of slaves to one side were all dressed.

  A shiver ran through Mary, her mother had gone through that, as had Old Bitsy and Liza. She watched as the men were manhandled, turning and lifting their arms. She was three blocks up the street, but she had a clear view of the proceedings. Her body felt deadened, and she was torn between rage and helplessness. Tears slipped silently and unnoticed down her soft smooth childish face. Her friends would be sold, she would never see them again, never touch them or laugh with them again. She could have easily been among them, but for the love of God.

  Victoria Anderson stepped out of the shop and saw where Mary’s attention had been taken. She looked up at the auction block, seeing the proceedings; she took Mary’s hand and pulled her along.

  “That has nothing to do with you Mary. Don’t look that way.” Victoria said as she pulled the child behind her. Victoria didn’t like thinking of this aspect of her life. It was distressful but necessary. It was like taking horses or pigs to market, they had to be sold. You couldn’t just hold on to every slave.

  She didn’t look down at the child, nor did she look behind. She didn’t like going near the auction block, it stunk badly. She moved along the streets. It had been a long time since she’d visited Savannah and she meant to enjoy herself with shopping. She resolved to put it all from her mind and enjoy the day.

  Mary didn’t understand why her mistress should say such a thing; her best friends were being sold off like bales of cotton or animals. It could have been her up there, dying a thousand deaths. Mary loved Mrs. Anderson, but that love dimmed for the first time, when the realities of life hit hard and hit home. Mary was merely a commodity, not a person, not a child, but a chattel. Deep down, Mary knew if it weren’t for Mrs. Anderson’s affection for her, she would be waiting with the other children right then, being torn away from her mother. Her heart twisted with that dreadful knowledge. Part of Mary’s childhood had ended.

  Mary carried the mistress’s packages as they walked to various shops through out the morning. Victoria bought a second hand coat for Mary, and Mary was grateful for the warmth. Mary was still confused about her feelings for her mistress. She didn’t know how she should react, or how she should feel. It was difficult at best, to feel appreciative and resentment at the same time.

  It was near noon when they stopped at a tavern to eat. Mary was sent to the kitchen, which was warm and smelled wonderful. She remembered that she was hungry and devoured her bowl of mutton stew. The large cook was also a slave and she smiled broadly down at the fair skin girl. She gave Mary a second helping and then some apple crumb pie when Mary was finished. Mary’s eyes drooped, with her full stomach and restless night, she was soon asleep in the corner of the cozy kitchen.

  Sometime later Mary was awakened and sent outside to await her mistress. Mrs. Anderson collected her and headed back to the hotel. Master Anderson and Clark were waiting there with the wagon and carriage. The deed had been done, and it hit Mary full force in the stomach. She felt as though she would vomit right there in the middle of the street. Only Clark’s dark look stopped her. He loaded her up into the back of the wagon, and soon they were off, heading back home. The bundles and packages were put back with Mary. She was alone with her relentless thoughts as they drove the long bumpy ride home.

  Mary was in abject misery; she could still smell the children in the back of the wagon. She inhaled deeply; tears fell freely into the hay; each smell brought their sweet childish faces to mind. Mary didn’t want to see t
he mothers of the children when she returned home. She wondered if one day, it would be her turn. How would she act? Would she be like Old Bitsy? Would she or could she be that brave? Mary marveled at how brave Old Bitsy had been, when she was a small girl. She had always sat and enjoyed the stories, now the stories were bitter dregs in her mouth.

  She would never again hear a story without thinking of her friends, seeing their small hands waving farewell to her. She felt humble and small when she thought about how God had spared her from that fate. She should be glad the mistress cared about her; she pulled the warm coat closer to her. Mary knew she would drive herself crazy if she were to wonder why and how things worked out as they had. Trying to sleep, Mary curled up in the straw and pulled the coat up over her head. Soon the rocking motion of the wagon lulled her into a much needed and healing sleep. Drool slipped from her mouth and strung down into the straw. She slept soundly until the wagon arrived back at the farm that evening.

  Mary woke as the wagon slowed down, she wiped her damp face, she wasn’t sure if it were spit or tears. She looked around, but it was dark, and fear shot into her heart once more. As the wagon pulled to a stop, she saw the main house ahead and knew she was finally home. Joy and relief surged through her core; she was home. Mary stood stiffly, her small body hurting as she crawled from the wagon. Mary held tightly onto the large wheel, trying to regain her equilibrium, as blood came back to her legs. She wobbled a bit, and then started to walk home. She could hear Clark ordering the house slaves to take the packages and such into the house. She hurried her steps, wanting to put as much distance between herself and that evil man.