Chapter 23 #3
“Buck, don’t be mannish!” I swatted his hands away. “We’re too close to town. We don’t want nobody seeing us.”
He cursed before putting distance between us as our tribe walked the road home. Our numbers had increased by two when the twins asked permission to escort Juniper and Annabelle. The youngsters were ahead of us, yet within eyesight.
“Dammit, Zinnie, I’m sick of pretending! Been three years and that bastard’s still a hateful idiot who don’t care ‘bout nobody or nothing ’cept his cows and hisself. What’s taking him so damn long to get off his ass and give us permission to be married?”
He grabbed a stone from the road and flung it before lapsing into silence. I remained quiet, knowing it was best to allow him to work out whatever was in his head.
“We don’t talk about it because it’s delicate… but I know the girls came from him. Still, that ain’t no reason to keep us from having a proper marriage.”
“Honey, what does it matter?” I touched his arm gently. “We had our ceremony.”
“That was in secret. I wanna live with you as my wife in the open. And I don’t want no man looking at you and thinking he can take liberties. Especially him.”
He turned and looked at me when my steps hesitated the slightest bit.
Buck being a slave didn’t make him less proud or protective.
He would be enraged if he ever found out Massa Marion still took “liberties.” I’d be unable to control my husband’s response.
Angry actions or outbursts would certainly result in his being destroyed.
I refused to be the cause of any such catastrophe and quickly resumed walking, thankful for the dark night hiding my expression.
“Zinnie… is he…”
“No.” Ice seized my veins as the falsehood left my lips. I didn’t care about being dishonest. I would lie to the Lord if it meant saving my husband.
He grabbed my hand and turned me towards him but screams and a commotion in the distance spared further discussion.
People raced towards the plaza square, their torches and lanterns lighting a night suddenly ablaze with pandemonium.
“What the hell?” Buck took off running towards the melee, pausing long enough to give Beltram and Bayard instructions to get our family home safely.
I seconded those instructions before running after my husband.
I lost sight of him in the swarm of people flooding the plaza, their voices raised. My heart raced. I was breathless. I felt hemmed in as the crowd grew and desperately needed to find him. “Buck!”
My cry was lost in the din as bodies shifted for a group of men on horseback barreling towards the crowd. I recognized Mister Peterson as one of them. He barely slowed his horse before jumping off. “Out of the way!”
He was harsh, insistent, pushing his way towards the center of whatever had everyone’s attention.
“This is a free state, and such demonstrations are deplorable!”
I couldn’t tell where that came from but instantly knew whatever was happening involved someone from my community. My need to find Buck and get as far away from the plaza as possible was in sudden conflict with an inexplicable need to see what precisely had occurred.
“You’ve been in California too long if you take issue with my handling my affairs as I see fit.” Mister Peterson’s voice was strident, outdone only by the sudden cracking of a whip slicing through air and landing on flesh.
No one cried out. There was only silence.
The gathering fell mute as the whip sang and struck again until Mister Peterson satisfied his rage.
Even after he’d finished and the crowd slowly dispersed, I remained moored in place.
I’d been too far back to see even if my eyes hadn’t been tightly clenched as I cringed with every strike of that whip.
Now, I dared to open them as two men walked past, airing their opinion.
“I ain’t no sympathizer, but sometimes a man can go too far and he just did.”
The other shrugged. “His property. His business.”
His business was a woman. She was a limp, bloodied mess. Naked. Lifeless.
“Fine work, gentlemen.” Paper rustled and coins jingled as money exchanged hands. “I appreciate your diligence.”
“Should we cart her to your place on the back of the wagon?”
Mister Peterson spat in the dirt. “Leave her. Let her be a warning to niggers wanting to defy their masters.”
It was eerily quiet as everyone departed, as I shook off paralysis and moved towards the dead woman.
“Zinnie… don’t…” My husband was there, shielding me from horrific tragedy.
I pushed past him, removing the shawl from my shoulders. “She don’t deserve to be exposed like that.” I moved towards the corpse but stopped when I heard a faint gurgle. I stared at her breasts and saw her chest rise. “Buck, she’s still breathing!”
I draped my shawl over her body so that he could lift her. He did so carefully.
I gasped when her head lolled towards me. Her face was battered. Swollen. Nearly beyond recognition. But not the symbol. Branded into the brown satin of her cheek, it was old. Not fresh. And far too familiar.
“Alretha?” I took her hand, called her name, and prayed I had roots to help the dead live again.