Horrible Harvest

What I come to realize is that slavers ain’t nothing but farmers. They grow rows and rows of heedless despair. Chattel slavery ain’t nothing but fields gone fallow because it’s used to grow infinite sorrow. The roots of which soak in all the hope for brighter days and turns it to meadows of gloom. For the slave, the world ain’t nothing but an endless season of one such horrible harvest after another.

This all come to me as I set with Tate from dusk ‘til dawn after Charles took a hot iron to his face. The poor soul shook with fever and fright all the minutes that make up the endless hours of a sleepless night. He was a quivering collection of all the wrong that life can conjure up. What Charles done to him, bad as it was, wasn’t no different than what birth’d done to him. He was in the state he was in because his daddy’s seed found purchase in his momma’s womb and a rich man found profit in that. Had the way of the world seen him as a man and not treasure, his life would’ve been lived out in a dull cruelty no different than poor whites see from one day to the next, but since he give Mr. Miller credit with bankers, he was marked from the day he was born to bear the stifling madness of ceaseless bondage and all the lashes and hot irons that come with it.

From the barn, I seen the sun find the sky just above the treetops, but what I didn’t see was the slaves take to the paddies. Not nary a soul was bent at the back in the slop picking at the weeds, tending to the muck, and swatting at the midges. They shoulda been well into their first hour of labors, but they weren’t. Instead, I seen a single slave outside their sleeping tent, setting on a barrel of water. Me and him caught eyes, and I could see he was just as puzzled as I was as to why he wasn’t wasting away in the paddies.

A large gray bird with a white breast set on the crest of the tent above him, cleaning itself with its long hook-tipped beak.   

Fellowes stepped out the tent and barked out one awful thing after another at the slave for slagging off and then knocked him from the barrel. The other foreman come out soon after, said some more awful things to the slave and scolded him for setting on the ground.

The advance man stepped out the tent behind them but didn’t take notice of the slave nor his foremen. He turnt down the well-worn path to the house, and his men followed after with rifles in hand. He led with a quick step and clear intent. Monster was about to go up against monster.

They all come to a stop at the porch. “Tennyson,” the advance man shouted.

Nothing

Charles set up. The porch was his bed for the evening.

“Run get your daddy, boy.”

My brother stood, wiped the sleep from his eyes and pushed the front door open.

Half a minute passed ‘fore Daddy stumbled out onto the porch. Naked. Filthy. Armed. “What the devil do you want?”

“Restitution.”

“For?”

“A number of things, but let’s start with the damage done to Mr. Miller’s property.”

“What property? What damage?”

“Tate. He’s laid up in the barn. Running sick from infection most likely.”

“That’s none of my concern now, is it? I didn’t give him no infection.”

“Your boy did.” He motioned toward the slight figure standing at the open doorway.

“Charles? How in the hell did he give your negro an infection?”

“Took a hot iron to him. To his face.”

Daddy glared at his boy. “That true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What the hell would you do a thing like that for?”

“On account he hit momma.” He stepped past the door. “Got plenty other reasons, too.”

The monster that was our daddy stooped down and got face to face with Charles. “That was just plain dumb. I hit your momma last night, too. You gonna take a hot iron to me?”

“They said to. They said he was to be punished. Can’t a negro hit a white woman. They’s done other things, too. Tate and Momma.”

“What other things? What’re you talking about?”

“Restitution, Tennyson. Let’s stay on topic.”

Daddy moved to the edge of the porch. He looked down on his visitors before pissing at their feet. “Boy, says it was your idea.”

The advance man give a snarl and stepped back. “We gave him options. One that didn’t involve any punishment. He chose to disfigure the slave by punishing him with a hot iron. As is his right. However, that doesn’t preclude Mr. Miller from collecting restitution for the damage done to his property. It’s just a simple business transaction.”

“Simple thievery is what it is.”

“In addition, such wanton damage to Mr. Miller’s property makes any agreement you had with him, written or unwritten, null and void.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The 20 hands. They’re labor now comes with a cost. Fees to include travel expenses and food stores. And handlers, of course. We three being those handlers.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“I can’t put it much plainer. We’re here to collect Mr. Miller’s fees, which my boys and me, we got personal interest in collecting because it includes our pay.”

Charles stood stiff next to Daddy, giving loyalty to the monster who tried to drown him.

“You going back on our deal?”

“The deal went sour soon as you put that riding crop in a negro’s hand and instructed him to strike your wife. Wasn’t but one way out at that point, and your boy chose not to take it.” The advance man placed his hands on his hips. “‘Course, can’t really blame him. He was out of his mind from near drowning and seeing his momma get beat all the hell by a big black buck. I’d probably make the same choice.”

“Boy knows I was just playing at drowning him.”

“I’m not too sure he does, but there’s another matter to consider.”

“What other matter?”

“After we got you out of the Galtville mess, the sheriff in Charleston, he wanted a piece of you. That snuck up on us. Mr. Miller wasn’t expecting it. Seems you helped yourself to a couple of Lady Faye’s girls and then stole her money.”

“Ain’t no law against riding a couple whores and robbing their keeper.”

“In point of fact, there is, and there’s also a law against caving a stable manager’s face in with a rock.”

Daddy shook his head and bit the inside of his cheeks so hard he spit blood. “You’re in a sad state of thinking if you got it in your mind that I’m just gonna let you wiggle out of my deal with your boss.” He held up his Navy Colt. “One or two of you will get took down ‘fore you can raise those rifles of yours.”

Mr. Stockton smiled. “Tennyson, would you mind getting dressed before you gun us down? If you’re to kill us, we’d rather you do it without your jimmies hanging out.”

“I’m fine like I am.”

“No, you see, that’s my point. You’re not fine. You’re far from it. You got the genitals of a toddler, and it ain’t having the intimidating effect you think it is. I’m fighting a belly laugh every word of this conversation.”

Daddy aimed the revolver and cocked the hammer. “Should’a known Mr. Miller’d go back on his deal.”

Mr. Stockton give a laugh.

“I’ma shoot you first, advance man.”

“I figured.”

“You dumb or something? I tell you I’ma shoot you, and you ain’t got no reaction at all. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m betting luck has already interceded on my behalf.”

“Your luck has gone bad. Trust me on that.”

“First off, You’re a cross-eyed drunk. I can see the blur in your eyes from here. Close as you are, I’m of the mind you’re more likely to miss than not.”

“Good thing you’re a big target.”

“Second, I know the Navy Colt. Only thing I’ve wrapped my hand around more than that revolver is my pecker. I got a good idea what the weight of that fine firearm looks like in a man’s hand.”

“What’s your point?”

“You’re carrying light. Balance of it is shifted up.”

“So?”

“Fully loaded, that barrel should be tilted down just a hair.”

Daddy’s eyes shift from the advance man to the gun. He re-gripped it and tested the weight of it in his hand.

“They give that gun back to you when they set you loose, didn’t they?”

“They did.”

“You didn’t think to check if it was loaded, did you?”

Daddy didn’t give no response.

“They aren’t gonna give you back a loaded weapon, Tennyson.”

“Maybe I loaded it. I ain’t stupid. I know what’s what. I got brains enough to know the jailhouse give it back to me empty.”

Mr. Stockton give a nod. “Well, if I’m wrong, I still got a third bit of luck on my side.”

“You put too much stock in your good fortune, advance man.”

“Your missus, she’s tiny.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“I mean you’re twice her size. You worked her over pretty good last night. Had your way with her. Tortured that poor woman. She’s a fiery gal. Full of piss and vinegar. I’ve been on the receiving end of her sass. I know the devil she can raise. You done all those horrible things to her. Not to mention you almost killed her boy.”

“Now you’re just mouthing off for the fun of it.”

“I’m buying time.”

“Come again?”

“Like I said, your wife, she’s a tiny woman.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of rice on Sunday? You ain’t making no sense.”

“I’m just saying she’s so small, she can sneak up on you from behind without making a sound, holding on tight to a cast iron pan, and that little ol’ gal, well, she can knock the fire out of you. Bam. Lickety-split.”

Daddy furrowed his brow. He give consideration to the advance man’s last bit of luck and then done a half turn toward the front door.

The pan struck him across the eye and the bridge of his nose. A bit of shattered bone punctured his right eye. Momma swung again and hit him square in the same spot. The bone she’d broke off set deeper in. She hit him again and quick, raised the pan to give him another blow ‘fore Mr. Stockton grabbed her arm.

“That’ll do.”