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.
The cabins were dark, but Mary could hear soft weeping coming from several of the cabins. She could hear Bethy weeping the loudest and her heart tore with grief at her last sight of Ellis, his eyes filled with tears and terror, holding the old quilt to his chest. Where had Ellis gone? Who bought the young boy, and would they treat him well or mar his small body with scars? Would she ever see her friend again?
Clark was mean and vicious, but he left the children alone, unless they got in his way. It was only when the girls got to raping age and the boys grew eye to eye, then the children had to watch out for him. Most of the time, Clark merely kicked the children foolish enough to get in his way. Mary fervently hoped that all the children sold would go to good masters and hope they had enough to eat, remembering her hunger last night.
Mary hurried to her cabin and gently opened the door. Her mother and Liza were setting at the small table by the fire. Each woman cradling a steaming cup of fragrant root tea in their weathered calloused hands. Ida cried with joy, almost overturning the small table when she looked up and saw Mary standing in the doorway. She pulled her daughter unresisting into her arms, crying with relief and jubilation.
Ida held Mary away from her, her eyes inspecting Mary from crown to heel. Mary was whole and safely home. Ida noted the new coat Mary wore and was glad that the mistress had seen fit to keep her daughter safe and warm. Ida rushed around the cabin, making a late dinner for her daughter; she knew Mary would be hungry. Mary held onto Liza’s large warm form as she watched her mother make dinner. Ida watched her daughter’s small hands gently rubbed Liza’s soft flaccid arms. Liza absently rubbed Mary’s slender back and haunches, her touch reassuring to Mary, each taking comfort in the other’s touch.
Mary was glad to be home, she never wanted to leave again. She breathed in the familiar scent of home; it was like a wonderful heady fragrance to her.
“It was a long trip momma. That wagon near shook me unto death. I miss my friends. The place they took us was terrible. I don’t know what death smells like, but I think that place was it. There was so many people. They was afraid.”
“Did anyone hurt you?” Ida asked, handing over a bowl of stew.
Mary shook her head. “No, Missa Clark done took me some place else. I didn’t stay with my friends. I didn’t want to leave them. But I was glad I did.” Mary said shamefaced.
“Daughter, you were saved. Don’t you feel shame for that.” Ida said softly, her hand cupping Mary’s face. Mary nodded; her eyes filled with tears.
Her heart was sore, but her mother made it better. It was hard to know how to feel and what to feel.
“Savannah is a big place, momma. They got lots of tall buildings and fancy things. Everyone looks like swells.” Mary said, her cheek bulging with food.
“I’s been there once, years ago. Lotta people there.” Liza grunted, taking a sip of her tea. Ida sat down at the table, taking Mary up in her lap.
“I was sold to old massa Anderson there, when I was young. I remember it, and was so scared.” Ida said in a low voice. Mary looked back at her mother, over her shoulder. Her small hand put the spoon down and came to rest on top of her mother’s hand.
“I don’t ever wanna leave here momma.” Mary said softly and felt her body hugged hard from behind.
Mary lay in her mother’s arms later that night and cried deep, soul wrenching sobs. Mary cried for her lost friends, she cried for Old Bitsy, who died yesterday. She cried for her mother and the knowledge that her mother wouldn’t live much longer. Mostly, she cried for her lost innocence, she would never again look at the world with childish eyes. Mary would never again idolize the mistress as she had done. Her future, such as it was, rested in the hands of others, and they could do with it what they will, whether it made her happy or sad. Mary was after all, only a slave.
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