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 the 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
