Darkness

May 11, 1812

Homochitto

Dalila

The last few days have been so wonderful. Being here at Homochitto while the Duncans are away reminds me of a time that the Ellis family had left the slaves at Ellis Cliffs, and we enjoyed several days of relative peace and safety. The difference is that nobody here is really afraid of the Duncans, I don’t believe, but it is still a relief not to have the owners here watching us work.

Stephen and Margaret have gone to Ellis Cliffs, and Margaret told me that I could stay here to help Moses with whatever he needed while they are gone. Stephen thought it was odd, I think, for his wife not to have her maid come along with her. But she pooh-poohed his concerns, told him that her sister would help her with anything she needed, then gave me a sly smile when he shook his head and left the room.

I know that she is doing me this favor so that Moses and I can enjoy our time together. She doesn’t realize what an enormous favor it truly is. I have managed to not be required to return to Ellis Cliffs since I left there the day after Margaret’s wedding. I am sure that someday it will be inevitable, I will have to accompany her when she visits there, but I loathe the very idea of ever being in the company of her father again.

I have heard them talking about him, of course. They say that he is losing his memory, and becoming unable to function normally. They spend a great deal of time making plans for his care, trying to protect his well-being, compensating for his inability to perform work on the plantation. I know that Margaret loves her father, and that Stephen is dedicated to helping her by helping her family.

But the thought of seeing Abraham Ellis fills me with a deep and abiding dread. It has been a continuing relief to be away from him, not to have to fear his predations, not to have to worry about Ayola’s safety in his presence. He may or may not be himself any longer, but in my memories he will always represent the pain and violation and helplessness that he inflicted upon me.

I hope never to have to tell Ayola that he fathered her. I certainly have never told Margaret. As far as I can tell, it has never occurred to her to even wonder. Nor have I ever told her about how he beat me the day I left there, how I lost another one of his babies, how Gregor saved me. I am not sure why nobody else has ever told her of these things, but I am sure she doesn’t know. And I am content to keep it that way.

Margaret is my owner, but she tries to be my friend, and I am as happy with this position as it is possible to be considering my circumstances. I am a slave, and this shapes every part of my life, but at least my owner is kind, and my child is safe.

I shake my head to try to force my thoughts away from these considerations. I want to enjoy this time with Moses, unhindered by the dark reality of my situation.

Hester is packing lunch into a basket for me to bring out to the garden, for Moses and Marcus. But of course she understands that I will be staying out there with them. Ayola and I have been spending all of our time with Moses this week.

I give Ayola a small bundle to carry, while I carry the basket. Of course her bundle would easily fit into my basket, but every day I train her to be helpful, to always be working, to constantly be of use. In this way I help to protect her. She is a slave, and I want it to seem natural to her to be busy with a task. Our master and mistress are kind people, and I am sure they would never consider selling her, but it cannot be guaranteed that she will always live with them. I have been preparing her since she was born to behave in such a way that she will be safe no matter who ends up owning her. It is a sadness that I must provide this education, but it is all I can do for her.

When we get to the garden, Ayola immediately goes to Marcus, who greets her with a smile, and picks her up. It is so good to see the boy strong enough to do this now. Moses has built two rough benches to sit on here in the garden, and I set the basket down and begin arranging the food for our lunch. Marcus and Ayola come to join us, and we all enjoy the simple meal.

Marcus has changed so much in the last few months. He used to seem like a wraith, hidden in shadows behind a mask of pain and fear. Since Stephen started giving him the mineral water, and all the slaves have been allowed to take produce from the garden, he has grown in every way. He is taller, his sticklike limbs have filled out, he has stopped limping so much, he is stronger. And he smiles now.

Of course, everyone smiles at Ayola. There is no way to avoid being happy when she is around. She has always been such a charming child. She is sitting on Marcus’ lap, and they are giggling together, and it is adorable.

I look around at our surroundings. The peaceful garden prospers, the plants thriving in the spring sunshine. The laughing voices of the youngsters fill the air, competing with the calls of birds in the trees. Moses has so much contentment in his face, and in his demeanor, that I scarcely can remember there ever being a time that we were not together.

When the food has been eaten, I ask Moses, “Do you have very much more work today?”

He looks at me with love. “Yes, but I don’t have to do it quite yet. Would you like to take a walk with me?” We have often taken advantage of the absence of the Duncans this week, taking long walks through the nearby woods. We skirt around the cotton fields, because we do not want the slaves working there to be jealous of our leisure and our happiness, nor do we want the overseer to see us and berate us for laziness. But there is no true danger to us, in taking these afternoon strolls together. We are not actually shirking any duties.

I smile at him and nod my head yes. “Marcus,” he asks the boy, “can you walk Ayola back up to the house?” She can go sit with Hester, who will no doubt find some small task for her to perform, to make her believe she is doing something important. My daughter looks up at me with a little twinkle in her eyes. As always I wonder whether she truly does understand as much about what is happening around her as she always seems to.

The youngsters head back towards the house holding hands, Marcus holding the basket in his other hand, and I turn to Moses. He looks unexpectedly serious, but the dark eyes in his strong face are full of love. “Shall we?” he asks, and he takes my arm, and we stroll towards the lovely woods and immerse ourselves in the peace and beauty of the trees.

Moses

It has been about three months since I came to Homochitto. I am obviously staying. Stephen has told me that he is happy with my work, and he has asked me to work here for him permanently, not just as a temporary job. He has started paying me the same wage that Gregor used to. This is my home now.

But it is an odd home. I am the only free black person working on the plantation. All the others are slaves. I still sleep in the garden shed, there being no other feasible place for me. I made it clear when I arrived that I would not stay in the slave cabins. Staying in the house would be out of the question. The only other place might be the stables, but I prefer my little musty shed, smelling like earth and clippings and growing things. However, now that I will be staying here, I want to change to something more permanent.

Not for me, necessarily. I could get by in the shed. I want something for Dalila. I want to make our love official. I know that it can’t be a true, legal marriage. Slaves can sometimes be allowed to marry, but it isn’t binding on anybody, not as long as their master has the right to sell the couple separately from each other. As in everything else, slaves have no power or control over anything, even their own marriages.

I have thought about this so constantly that my brain is likely to burst. My situation is even more complicated than it would be if I was also a slave and asked to marry Dalila. I am a freeman. A marriage between a freeman and a slave is unheard of. At least, I’ve never heard of it. But Gregor talked Stephen into tolerating our courtship, and so far he has seemed to be very understanding. As long as Margaret is happy with the arrangement and is not inconvenienced by her maid being involved in a relationship, Stephen lets us do as we please.

But I have to ask for more. Dalila and I love each other, and even though our current arrangement is more than I had dared to hope, now that it exists I must take it further. I want to truly be together, to be man and wife, to live together in a home. It is terrifying to think of asking this of Stephen, but I must do it.

First, though, I must ask Dalila. This makes me nervous too, but I want to do it today. I have been trying all week to work up the courage to broach the topic on our afternoon walks, and keep finding the words choking in my throat before they can come out. But the Duncans have been gone long enough that I am sure they will return soon, and our leisurely afternoon walks will come to an end, and I have to take advantage of this opportunity before it is over.

She walks quietly by my side. Sometimes it seems like she is the incarnation of some kind of spirit of peace. She is so gentle, so soft, so soothing. Everything about her is calming. Her dark and quiet beauty, her lovely accent, her soft voice.

How can this gentle creature be the cause of any anxiety on my part? I stop being ridiculous, find my courage, and say, “Dalila?”

Her eyes shift from the scenery to mine. She gives me a soft smile. “Yes, Moses?”

I stop walking forward, and turn to her, taking her hand in mine. “I have a question for you, and I would like you to listen before you answer.”

“Of course,” is her quiet reply, and she gazes at me patiently.

“You know I love you,” I go on, determined to get this out. She nods, smiling softly. “I am so happy that it has worked out for me to come here and live at Homochitto with you. I am grateful to the Duncans for allowing it.” She nods again. “But I think we are entitled to more.”

She opens her mouth as though to object that she is entitled to nothing, but then remembers that she promised to listen, so she waits for me to continue.

“We are both human beings, even if you are a slave, Dalila, and I believe that Stephen is starting to realize it. I think that we will find a way to move forward. We can make it work. But first I have to know, if you are willing to try. Would you want to make a life with me?”

I see tears start to come to her eyes, and I know they are tears not merely of joy, but also of sadness. We both know how fraught our situation is. “I know you think it is impossible,” I say, “but what we have now is something we used to think impossible.” I take both of her slim hands, and gaze fervently down into her eyes. “We can make it work, if you want me as much as I want you.”

Her eyes are shining, but it seems to be more love than tears now. I am not sure how appropriate this is for our circumstances, nor what her traditions were in her village at home, but all I can do is what I know. And I have heard that this is the right way to do this. I lower myself to one knee before her, still clasping her hands in mine, and look into her eyes. They are at my level now. “Dalila,” I say, and I’m sure she can hear the emotion come flooding into my voice, “will you marry me? Will you take me as your husband? Will you try to make a life with me?”

The tears slip past a smile, and she nods, and whispers, “Yes.” I surge to my feet and we embrace, and I feel all of the optimism that love and hope and joy can create.

Somehow, this will be possible for us. We can make this work.