Princess Ces'alena (4 page)

“Now, Jimmy is that true? Were you with
this here
fishin’ in my pond? Without asking me or my son first?” He referred to Mike.

“Yes sir, tha’s true but I didn’t thank you’d min’, wit’ my daddy doin’ so an all.” He answered, now calm - but fearful. “Mm hm, I see…but what in the fiery deep ya’ doin’ here with this young pup? Ain’t ya’ daddy taught ya’ better’n be ‘sociaten with these here slaves?”

“Yes sir, he taught me better, but I ain’ know he was one of’em, not ‘til Sonnyboy said so. Honest sir, I woodna’ be playin’ with the likes of them, no sir-ry I wouldn’t!” He returned pleadingly.

“Well, I suppose that be true. I ‘spect anyone could mistake’im for a white boy. But he ain’t, so from now on, I don’t wanna be catchin’ ya with the likes of this here again. You understand?” He asked nudging Mike forward for emphasis.

“Yes sir, I swear never again!”

“Alright then, now ya’ get, for I takes a mind to tell yo’ daddy ‘bout this.” He threatened.

“No need sir, won’t happen no more.” Jimmy said making a hasty exit from the scene. Grady turned his attention to his grandson. “And as for you…ya’ head on out for home too. Wait till I tell your pa ya’ let a’bino coon whip ya’ tail. It’s a damn shame it is, as big as ya’ are too. Now get on to the house and wait there for me. Don’t ya’ be gettin’ no ideas of goin’ elsewhere either. Now git!” Sonnyboy ran for home. His stomach in knots knowing the evening ahead would be spent with his drunken father and grandfather picking on him, ridiculing, pushing him around and agitating him.

Now it was time for Grady to deal with Mike whom he still held tightly by his shirt and a portion of his blonde hair. “Now as for you.” Grady stared down at him in rapt inspection; unable to believe what his eyes were seeing. “God almighty, what is this world coming to; if you don’t look white…the grass ain’t green. I never believe it if I ain’t see it with my own eyes.” He shook his head in wonder, staring at the young boy as if he were something from another planet, sighing he decided it was due up to set matters straight, “Let me tell ya’ somethin’ you had better not ever soon forget. Just cause yo’ skin white like mine, that don’t mean a thang. Long as yo’ mammie a Negro slave, you be nothin’ more than ha’ sucka. You ain’t nothin’ more than a slip up of nature, the Lord musta forget I suppose ta’ make it so’s wenches couldn’t get with the white man and bare his bastid’s.” Once more he shook his head at the strangeness of it. “This suppose t’be for white women only…but look at’cha - as I live and breathe I swear I never think I see the day such as the like’s of you be running loose round here. Well, you remember this…you - is - a nigga! A ignorant, black fit only for slavin’ you understand… nothin’ more.”

He knelt before Mike with his tight grip moved to his upper arms. “A black ain’t got no right…none a’tall, hittin’ and disrepectin’ the white. Apparently, ya’ mammie ain’t taught ya’ no better, comin’ out like you did, no doubt got her confused – simple as she no doubt is. That’s okay, cause the Lord done delivered ya’ inta my hands now. Me bein’ a Christian man an’ all, it be my God given duty to set ya’ in line.” He began undoing his leather belt from his trousers. Mike realized then what was about to take place, wondering,
‘Why? What I do so wrong God? What I do?’

“Ya’see if I don’t straighten ya’ out now, while ya’ still young, you just may go on through life thinkin’ you ever’ bit as good as the white. That just ain’t so, ya’ blood been polluted, ain’t no sense in ya’ thinkin’ otherwise. These thangs got ta be nipped in the bud ‘fore they become a habit in thinking’. Best I nip it in the bud here and now.” He stated in a calm and matter of fact voice, pulling the leather belt from his pants. Mike at that point knew that he was actually going to be beaten; panic struck as tears raced with the hammering of his heart. “Please Mr. Grady, let me be. I promise not t’come back near your place no more!” Mike desperately cried, struggling for his freedom, but the old man’s grip was firm.

“I can’t just up and let ya’ go on hittin’ on innocent white boys, ain’t right…you got to learn respect for your betters, ain’t right at all!”

“I’m sorry…please let me go!”

“You ain’t sorry yet, but you will be - ‘cause when I turn your white covered black hide loose, it’s gonna be a good while ‘fore you ever thank to leave off that plantat-… ai-i-i-iyhh!!” Grady bellowed dropping the belt and his hold on Mike to grab his throbbing shin following Mike’s delivery of a good sound kick to it with his hard bottomed shoes.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mike shot out of his reach into a sprint that took him off to safety, leaving old man Grady behind screaming. The throbbing pain traveled up his leg and through his body, as his voice echoed behind Mike. “Stop! God damn you – you blasted bastard freak!! I get you for this, you hear?! I get yooou!!”

* * *

Webster Fields was the second largest plantation located on the outskirts of Vicksburg Mississippi. There were five hundred acres of green, fertile, thriving land…abundant in live stock and vegetation, and Morris Roland Webster owned it all. In the event of his death, everything there would be his son’s one day. It was practically his now, ever since the stroke eleven years previously triggered by the shocking death of his wife and Maynard’s mother… Royal Sun Webster.

He’d been away attending college at the time and returned in time for her funeral. Because of his father’s mourning, he’d lost an interest in running the plantation, so he’d given the running of it over to his son Manny. A few weeks later, he’d suffered another mild stroke leaving him with a slight limp.

Needing to get away from the home he’d built for the only woman he loved or would ever love, he took off to the first land they owned near New Orleans.

A small place with ample space near Lake Charles; there with his physician’s care, he recovered enough to where he now used the support of a cane to get around.

Maynard Ramsey Webster -(Manny)- ran Webster Fields with the aid of two overseers and ninety-five men and women slaves. Five of which were house servants, and fifteen old timers too old to work, so they were allowed to stay and live out the rest of their lives in peace on the land they all considered home. With the plantation in Manny’s care, he carried over the wishes of his mother, Royal Sun… she had always loved their slaves. To her, they were one big family needing each other in this rough new land. Therefore, the older ones were treated with much respect and honor; free to sit, tell tales and provide the freelike lifestyle atmosphere found at Webster Fields that all the present slaves depended on and trusted in. From the very beginning, the Webster’s undertook the raising of cattle, having on hand four bulls; which were Manny’s pride; as well, his small herd of horses, three Arabian stallions, two black, one chestnut, and ten mares. As for the slaves, they were divided into different duties. A small group helped in the caring of the live stock. Another much larger group had the responsibility of the food crop that fed everyone on the plantation; consisting of vegetables, fruit from an orchard grove and livestock. The rest of the slaves worked in the fields cultivating the eighty acres of cotton.

There were two large barns, the one farthest from the mansion kept the ten milking cows and thirteen prize hogs and piglets. The layout of the land and plantation was one of basic efficiency, where everything had its place and was cared for by someone who took pride in their responsibility for it. Found often by Manny’s side, were a small clique group of slaves that were Manny’s friends. Two of whom were Jordan and Amos, both were head of seeing to the the horses and cattle.

Maynard Ramsey Webster, land owner, slave owner, profiled as one with a serious, determined and ambitious nature; intelligent and caring when it came to his slaves, treating them better than his father’s hired on overseers. As far as Manny was concerned, they were an un-necessary expense, but his father insisted upon their presence. The burden that followed Morris was the same that started with Royal — the very name that tagged her, tagged his son as well; nigger lover. A label that his mother took on as a compliment, therefore he saw no reason to feel a need to prove it wrong. Manny was no more concerned over it than Royal Sun, to Morris’s chagrin. Of course, the spreaders of the title had been the overseers who resented his treating the slaves as equals instead of live stock, as they saw them. Often these overseers spent their time off in town concocting tales and cultivating gossip about the goings ons of Webster Fields.

If his father would only allow it, they would be gone…but for some reason which Manny failed to understand, he hung onto them. Manny, due to his forthright nature found that there was little in life that frightened him.

Standing at an impressive six-four and close to, if not, two hundred twenty pounds of large bone and muscled brawn didn’t hurt, what was there to fear? His philosophy was to mind his own business and get on with matters at hand, working just as comfortable in the fields along side his slaves, as he did in his study or den behind the desk. His mother had always believed as her own father believed, have no one working for you doing things you aren’t willing to do yourself. She pressed that ideal home upon her son. At first appearance, people mistook him for a man of little intellect, but quickly learned otherwise. Another part of his character make up, much to his mother’s discomfort was that he was a rake, deep down to his thirty-one year old virile soul. While his mother blanched at some of his virile antics, his father stood proud although, worried over his sons tastes in women, sampling where he wished he would not.

Many evenings the older slaves were found laughing and teasing him because of his
‘past’
habit of frequenting various cabins if welcomed within, if not…a trip to town always proved successful. But of course, as they all joked, they knew that it was before
‘she’
came to the plantation; back so many years ago. Before
‘her’
arrival, Manny made it a point to enjoy the favors of the willing only once or twice. Always in the back of his mind, were warnings from his father, “I want no lil’dark slave, ninny bastards carrying my blood through they veins! So you do like I say, hit’em once, then leave’em be! That way, you get yo’ pleasure without taken chances on fillin’ they bellies.” That constant reminder had last been delivered with success twelve - thirteen years before college. The lecture had done nothing to prepare him for
‘her.’
He’d been back a year or more settling into the life he would lead as a plantation owner when his father sent him into town to pick up slaves he’d won playing poker while in New Orleans; supposedly recovering from his stroke. Nothing on earth could keep Morris from a good poker game, and it was that one so many years past, that drove Morris crazy, seeing what his son, thanks to him playing one game too many, had come home with.

Chapter Two

1799

After thoroughly looking the men over to his satisfaction he gave the order for them to be shackled and loaded into the buckboard. The chaining of new slaves was necessary until they reached Webster Fields and realized their good fortune. Until then, it was done to discourage any attempts to run away, which would be more to their harm than good. But after settling into their new lives they would realize the benefit of being a slave under Manny’s care. He left them to the overseers, and went to check on the women, who were being held in the trading warehouse; where livestock and slaves were auctioned off.

With heavy strides, his statuesque form forged onward, square shouldered and commanding through the large warehouse passing the stables and pens for holding cattle or horses; in his progress, he could hear a faint commotion going on in back, growing louder as he approached the room, a small office for registering newly acquired slaves and other livestock.

Not far from the door, screaming and angry screeching loud and alarming filled the area, along with it, cursing; a bang; the sound of furniture crashing and breaking! “What in hell?” He mumbled reaching for the door knob, just as the door came flying open. Quick reflexes saw him rearing back just in time to keep his nose from being clipped by the doors’ edge as it flew open at top speed, slamming against the outer wall.