Of Love and Liberation

Warm air poured through the gaps of the shack, bringing with it the melancholic voices of Clarence Armstrong and George Simmons. Mary lifted her head from the from the wet stain on her mattress. She stood up slowly, and walked across the dirt floor to the door. She opened it gradually, hoping it wouldn’t creak and draw the attention of the two men lingering beneath the giant oak tree. Mary gazed at them, then at the bodies they stood over. The sun was beginning to set, and soon the two would have to go inside.
George pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped the sweat beading on his fat forehead. It may have been September, but the Louisiana weather made it feel like the middle of August. He put the handkerchief over his nose and peered down at Jonathan’s body.
“Niggers gettin’ outta hand.”
Clarence nodded. Then he removed his hat and knelt down besides his son’s body. Edward’s head was positioned unnaturally on his shoulder. His eyes were wide open with the same fear he had when Jonathan killed him. Clarence put a finger on each eye and gently pulled each eyelid down. He pulled his hands back, then stood back. He turned and looked down at Jonathan’s body. There was a hole the size of a small round bullet in the middle of his head. His face was covered in blood. Clarence shook his head in disgust.
“Damn it!” He kicked Jonathan’s body hard. “Shoulda’ done worse than what I did!”
Mary cringed. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. She had to turn away. Her heart was beating faster as her anger rose. Edward deserved to lose his life. Jonathan did nothing to deserve such a fate. It wasn't just. Her hand dropped from the doorknob and hit the floor with a thud. She reminded herself that nothing about the life of a slave was just.
“How’s Clara doin’?” George inquired.
“Fell out when she seen it. Just… fainted. Had to have some of the hands take her to the house,” Clarence answered.
George grunted. Mary looked out the door again. George was paced back and forth with his hands behind his back.
“If John had been here he’d have killed the boy himself. He’s gonna be real upset,” he said stopping in front of Clarence.
Clarence looked up at him. His lips began to twitch. He stepped close to the overseer, breathing deeply.
“Him? Shit I lost a son! Was he to John what he was to me?” he growled.
The overseer stuck his thumbs into his bulging waistline. He bowed his shaggy head ruefully. “Ain’t lookin’ to offend sir. Yo’ son meant somethin’ to everybody on this land.”
A loud sob escaped her lips. Mary slammed the door shut and turned to face the inside of the dark room. No one liked that man, especially not her. She wiped the tears away roughly.
“No need to cry,” she reminded herself again. “He gone and it's gonna stay that way. Jonathan can’t come back.”
There was a startling knock at the door. She jumped and gasped as the knob turned. A tall thin figure stood in the doorway holding a lit candle. The person stepped inside and raised the candle. It illuminated a woman’s face. Lydia. Mary sighed shakily and pulled the widow into a tight hug.
“Why they kill him? Why they kill my Jonathan, Mary?”
The tiny candle revealed the fury in her eyes. She stormed to the small wooden table beside the fireplace and slammed the candle on it, spilling drops of hot wax on the wood. It was easy to tell Lydia had spent her time weeping, though much less than Mary spent. Now the woman was just as angry at the injustice as Mary was.
“They killed him cause he killed Edward. But it wasn’t his . He— he was doin’ it cause of me," she confessed.
Lydia grabbed a chair and flopped down. “It ain’t right what they done to him. I know it wasn’t his fault. My babies…” she choked back a few indignant tears and slammed her fists on the table. “I got my damn younglin’s askin’ where they pappy at! Can’t- can’t even get the first word out to tell ‘em.”
Mary thought of Lydia’s three children. The poor woman was left to deal with them on her own, unless Clarence had the mind to sell them. She shook the thought off quickly and walked back to the door, looking out the window at the giant oak. Clarence and George were carrying Edward's body back to the Big House.
“Mary I can’t live without him,” Lydia whimpered. “I got nobody to wake for no more.”
“Naw you got them babies. Them’s what you need now most,” she said softly. “You got somethin’ left Lydia. You got somethin’ left.” She looked over at the widow.
The thin woman slumped in the chair, caressing her barefeet. Her black hair was a tangled mound on her head. There were deep dark circles under her brown, tearstained eyes. Lydia looked ill in the dim candlelight. Yes, at least the woman had her children to be with. To stay and live for.
“I ain’t got no reason for me to stay no more,” Mary though out loud. “No reason for me to stay on this land of Clarence Armstrong’s. Might as well leave Baton Rouge now.”
Lydia sniffled and looked up at Mary in mild curiosity. “What you sayin’?
“I ain’t got no kids! Nobody here with me… Jonathan was s’posed to go North wit’ me… We was s’posed to go…” she looked away from her.
Lydia frowned and jumped out of the chair. “You talkin’ ‘bout that again with him? That why he die? Cause Edward heard y’all talkin’ ‘bout the North?”
“No! He ain’t die cause of that! He died cause Edward and what he done,” she snarled.
Lydia glared at her a while longer as they both subsided. Mary finally turned away as her eyes began to flood. Lydia’s piercing stare did not let up.
“What he do?” she demanded roughly.
“Don’t matter. Goin’ be free soon.”
“Talkin’ like Jonathan now?” Lydia gave an imperceptible smile. Then she frowned again and shook her head hopelessly. “You gonna get snatched when they hear you. Jonathan knowed he couldn’t take no family North.”
“He’d have gotten you and them young ones of yours North and me too,” Mary said defensively. “So don’t start on that. I’m goin’ if it kills me.”
Silence filled the shack after that statement. They gazed into the candlelight and Mary wondered why Lydia wanted to stay in Baton Rouge on the plantation. Jonathan would have dragged his wife and those children up there as soon as he had the chance to and Mary would have been tailing along with him.
The candle began to dim. The woman moaned unhappily. She slowly stood, like an old woman suffering from the fatigue of fieldwork.
“My babies is sleepin’. I better go ‘fore they open them eyes and see they mama missin’ as well.”
Mary nodded and stepped forward to embrace her sister-in-law. Then she let go slowly and whispered, “It’s gonna be a long night Lydia. Tell them kids I say I love ‘em.”
She nodded and left silently, leaving behind the candle. Mary knew that if she had wanted the candle she would taken it. She didn’t need it; she could find her way by the dim moonlight. In fact, Mary appreciated her leaving the dying candle.
She walked to the mattress and lay down under the thin blanket. Some nights Jonathan would sneak across the quarter to Mary’s shack and sleep with her. He would leave early in the morning before the wake bell rung while Mary still slept. She would wake and already know he was gone, but still anticipate another night of her brother's presence. The nights he didn’t come were filled with an ominous, incurable loneliness.
Every following night after this one would be worse then those nights. She had no one to look forward to seeing. Her brother wasn’t coming back.