Princess Ces'alena (6 page)

“No! Do not touch me! Do not!” Lena cried out in fear, jumping away from him towards Manny, not understanding her impulse to draw near to him, but she did it just the same. She wasn’t the only one giving into impulsive reactions, because instantly Manny lunged for him! Grabbing him roughly by the collar picking him up from the floor to meet him face on, he snarled. “Don’t - you - ever! Ever - touch her again! She’s property belonging to me! You keep your hands - and eyes away from her! Far away! You have urges need curbing, do so in town…but with her present…consider yourself blind!” Following that demand, Manny released him with a shove.

Holding the piercing eye contact until Kevin dropped his head stumbling back to catch his balance; stunned by Manny’s immediate response. He’d always known, in the past, if one of the slave women were unwilling, then it was hands off. But still, he played around with them, grabbing one now and then to fondle them in fun. At those times, Manny would only shake his head telling him to stop if she was offended, which most all were…but never had he acted as he did now.

“Get them to the wagon and ready to travel. Don’t forget my warning!”

Both men ushered the women out with sly calculating eyes, neither of them liked Manny; but he was the bosses son; co-master of the plantation…he called the shots, depensed their pay and they followed direction. However, one day, following that humiliating event Kevin swore, he’d get his, the embarrassment of it still heating his red face. As the women headed out, Lena looked back at Manny with pleading eyes, not wanting to follow the rest…she didn’t want to be in the care of the other two men. “Go on…you’ll be safe.” He reassured her. Swallowing her dread, angry, Lena swiped a stray tear from her cheek, narrowed her eyes at him and turned away with all the aloofness of the royal superiority she claimed to come from, with her head held high in dignity.

Manny shook his head mesmerized by her. For the first time in his life, he felt something akin to alarm - trepidation of a woman, that young girl/woman; wondering would his life ever be the same? His entire emotional structure was under assault within just a few moments of obtaining possession of her, bringing forth strange new feelings he was inexperienced to deal with. Shaking himself, he turned back to handle the business at hand.

“Here you go Manny, for the eight bucks in the yard, and the four wenches here.” Simpson explained handing the papers on the slaves origination over to Manny concerning their previous owners, and personalities. Manny looked them over then asked, “Where are the papers on Ceś alena? I don’t see her papers with the bill of sale.”

“She ain’t got none. I’ll be drawing her some up. She fresh off the boat from that Island she mention, Makia. Hey, you think maybe she is some kinda princess like she say? Never seen nothing look like her among’em. She got a way about her, the way she talk…make’s a man wonder.” He mentioned, positioning himself behind his make shift table to write out her enslavement document, ignoring the strewn mess she’d made in the small office room for now.

“I don’t know, maybe she is, and maybe she isn’t. I suppose anything is possible.” Manny replied wondering himself if there was some truth to what she claimed. “Well I know one thing, she ‘bout the finest wench I seen in a long time. All soft, warm and young. It’s bes’ to get’em young that way, train’em up as you want’em. Sweet as ripe nectar she is; wild and untamed as a new captured filly, yessiry. You handled her just right; nothin’ more fun than taming a wild filly - well almost nothin’, ceptin’ maybe getting’ in the saddle and ridin’ a bit…heh heh heh -(he looked up at Manny winking)- oh what I give to be in your shoes…you got her just at the right time.” He sniggered unaware of the heat rising to Manny’s face as he listened to Simpson. He said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw worked in response to the man’s outspoken desires toward Lena.

“Well, here you go. Just sign your name right here to say you fetched’em. This for us, and this…on your new one.” Manny scribbled his signature on both documents. The one of special interest for him, was the one stating him as the first and original owner of one, female fancy. Simpson had written in her name as, Lena. “If I remember correctly, she said her name was Ceś alena Huebana? You wrote Lena?” Manny asked with a strange tone in his voice. Simpson looked up at him perplexed. “But you say you was callin’ her Lena. That’s what I wrote.” He explained. Manny stood staring down at the man a moment, while a crazy un-reasonable anger shot through him. Thinking, who were they to change her identity?

Manny turned away, folding the documents to take his leave. Before he exited the door he asked. “Is she untouched?”

“She been checked and protected! Intact like the day she was born. Jake Warden got a good price for her from a captain in New Orleans. He deals in fancies and tossed her in with some extras, not of his fancy stock, when he lose’em to your pa in a poker game. She all yours now.”

Manny having heard enough, walked out the door heading for the exit of the warehouse, stepping from the smelly dark den into the sunshine. He stopped to see the two wagons loaded with the slaves. Kevin on his horse waiting while James sat on one of the wagons with the men loaded in. The one with the women sat waiting for Manny to board. Slipping his gloves on, Manny took in the scene around him, with the sun shining down on him. The same sun that shone down on her, lighting her hair to golden hues as she sat staring at him.

Right then, right there…a certainty landed within him…one that he tried to ignore. Had she been white…he would have given in to it. But she was not, so he dismissed the notion. Breaking the eye contact, with purposeful strides he approached the wagon.

“Let’s be underway.”

* * *

1809

Mike soon reached the plantation; running into the yard straight to the back of the mansion. His clothes torn, muddy and blood stained, his tear streaked face, showing traces of drying blood where it ran from his busted lip; his lower cheek was a dark blue, and he was holding his pain ridden side when he approached the porch where his mother, Lena sat peeling potatoes for supper. She glanced up smiling only for it to be quickly removed to see and hear his panting arrival as though he would drop any second from the state of him.
“Mikey!”
She screamed, panic was immediate, her heart felt as though it locked up in her chest; she shot up from the chair. “Oh my God! What has happened to you!?” Everything in her lap fell to the porch as she ran down the steps to him with her hand to her stomach in an effort to quell her nausea. She knelt before him trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. In his frightened voice, he panted out bits of what had happened, finishing with, “He was gone whip me mama. I didn’t mean to kick him, but I was so scared! He wouldn’t let me go mama! He wouldn’t let me go!” He cried, breaking into fresh tears on his mother’s shoulder.

Having heard Lena’s scream, Kayleen rushed out the back door from the kitchen. She was of medium build, considerably tall. Of middle age; her skin a rich walnut color, with refined features very close to those of European descent, and mysteriously silky straight jet black hair, peppering with grey, that she kept French braided; partially covered under one of her various silk scarves. Kayleen had been with the Webster’s from the very beginning, when Morris had taken Royal Sun as his wife - Kayleen had been in the package; the two had been inseparable. When Royal had passed away, it was like a portion of Kayleen had died with her. There was no one at Webster Fields or elsewhere that Manny held at higher esteem. Before Royal’s death, she’d always been happy, laughing, smiling and badgering Morris to distraction. Not caring one iota for his displeasure…she was the one somebody Morris tolerated under all circumstances, despite his obvious superior thoughts on the place of slaves and the whites. It wasn’t until Manny brought Lena home, that she’d regained some of her spirit. She was like a mother to Lena, as she’d always felt toward Manny, since she’d wet nursed him from infancy. Royal had become ill with some type of virus that ran her a fever, drying her milk. Days prior Kayleen had given birth to a still born son, and so took Manny to her breast. They shared a bond not easily broken, after Lena, next came Mike her absolute pride and joy.

“Lena, Lena?! Lord what happened to that boy?! Don’t just sit there with him, bring him in this house! Lord yah’ll gone drive me to my early grave!” She fussed nervously wiping her hands on her apron as Lena helped Mike up the steps and in the back door. They crossed the wide kitchen floor around the large wood service table to the other side of the spacious cooking area. There was another smaller table near to the door leading to the dining room; Lena sat her son there as she knelt before him at one of the three chairs.

Immediately she went into telling Kayleen what Mike had explained.

Kayleen was getting a rag and water as she spoke, her voice shaky with fear as she sat the bowl on the table next to Lena to use. When she took the torn shirt from his back, both women gasped at the large area of badly bruised ribs; his entire side was discolored. Kayleen, quite upset at the sight of him, lit into Lena. “I told you - I told you! Stop lettin’ him run off to play with them white chillin’; didn’t I tell you?! Now look at’im! All beat up and hurtin; ‘cause you ain’t usin’ the good sense God give you! He ain’t white! An’ they ain’t gonna let’im him be neither - don’t matter how much the part he look! He a nigga jus’ like me and you-…”

“Why do you have to say this!? It’s enough that they label him such.” Lena returned respectfully to correct her. “I do it ‘cause you need remindin’! And so do he, less he find himself forgettin’! What you doin’ ain’t helpin’ none!”

“You doin’ him more harm than good; lettin’ him go off with them evil children! Lena your chile a Negro! He just happen to be cursed with white skin-…”

“He - is - not cursed! He is his father’s son!”

“He - is - his father’s - negro bastid -
born
of a slave!”

“I am no man’s slave! And neither is my son! I do not believe - God would bless my womb with his seed - if he were not to be!”

“Would King LuMaden agree?” Kayleen shot at her; adding, “And what about the others?!”

“Stop it! Just leave me be…my son needs me! Leave me to him!” Lena cried. Kayleen sighed, standing away as Lena cleaned him tenderly, whispering to him in a gentle soothing voice. Kayleen loved this tender beauty before her now, but she felt she didn’t belong here. She refused to accept her status as one lesser than the white and Manny wasn’t helping. He indulged her too much, he humored her, treating her as if she was his wife. They carried on as if they refused to accept the realities of the real world. Kayleen winced every time Lena needed to rub harder in the areas of dried blood on Mike's face; no matter how tender her touch… he was hurting. With her shoulder, Lena caught a tear brushing it off of her cheek; this as she brushed the hair back from her son’s brow and kissed him on the forehead. “I do not care what they say. What they want…my son is the descendant of royalty. His grandfather is King LuMaden! He has every right to run - and play like the other children. It is not fair that he stay hidden upon this plantation! Nor is it fair of the other children-...”

“There you go speakin’ that nonsense again! I keep tellin’ you I’on wanna hear no more ‘bout no King LuMaden… white folk in this world don’t give a damn — who yo’ daddy is! Or where you come from!”

“I don’t care! I will never deny who I am…where I come from…who my father is!”

“Well maybe you care…when you get this one that’s left to ya’ killed! Feedin’ him that nonsense!”

“Why should I stop being who I am!? Why should my children, and those like them, not taste the flavor of freedom! To roam and explore, seeking adventure where they choose!? To learn as other’s learn, just as I was taught! On Makia -…”

“Where you don’t live no more!” Kayleen interrupted with her hands on her hips. Lena bit down hard, refusing to hear, carrying on, “On Makia…children moved about as they pleased! Taught by white missionaries within our culture! I from infancy! My father was proud of me! And I will continue to teach my son, no matter how they deny us-…”

“You hush - yo’fool mouth! Morris come in this house and overhear you!”

“This is Webster Fields! There is nothing to fear here!” Lena defended proudly. “Listen here you! God help you if you ever find yo’self away from here! And God help him too - should any thang take him away!”

“Not my son! No one will take my son from me! Manny would not allow it!”

“
When you gone get it through yo’ head, you ain’t on that I’land no more! Things different here. But you pushin’ yo’ luck! Morris getting’ fed up with yo’ high notion! You bes’ not let him hear you! He’ll have a fit! And rightly so…’cause you act like you ain’t got common sense! You been here long enough to know better! But you still goin’ the same way for a whippin’! I keep tellin’ Manny t’stop treatin’ you like he do! But he don’t listen either! His mama ruin him, just like you - ruinin’ this one!” Exasperated, Kayleen turned away shaking her head.

Lena sat stubbornly pouting, as she looked up into her son’s trusting eyes, trying her best not to hear what she knew was true; the nature of her being - however, would not let her accept things as they were. She’d given up hope of ever returning home long ago. Especially once she’d found herself carrying his child, in truth - she could never face her father; knowing that she’d given herself outside of the sanctity of marriage by God, nor without her father’s blessing. She was not ashamed of her son, but it was very possible he would not be accepted by her father. It didn’t matter now anyway. Webster Fields was now her home and all that mattered was this child before her…Manny’s son.

The silence was getting to Kayleen. As was her conscience…she didn’t like discouraging Lena against her pride, but her thinking could get her killed; as well her son, and Kayleen couldn’t deal with the thought of that. They were all she had…Lena was like the daughter she’d never been blessed with, and Mike…much of the blood that flowed through his veins…flowed through her own. With a sigh she implored, “No more Lena…please…I’m beggin’ you. For now, let that baby play here at Webster Fields where he belong, with his own kind. Where he safe. This war you fightin’ with yo’self, fight it yo’self…leave him out’a it. You hear?! You leave him be.”