The Prodigy Slave, Book Two: The Old World: (Revised Edition 2020) Read online

  While Jesse had sat downstairs with his company, eating, laughing, discussing business, and telling stories, his wife had lain there with her breathing slowly becoming labored. She fought to fill her lungs but inhaling and exhaling became more and more difficult. Several times she gathered the strength to call out her youngest son’s name. Each time, though, it came out in nothing more than a breathy sigh. Ironically, in every instance that his name faintly escaped his mother’s swollen lips, James looked over at the stairs that he had been eager to climb all throughout dinner. It was as if he could hear her desperate pleas. The fear of his father, though, kept him plastered to his chair. As James sat there too terrified to make a move, his mother exhaled for the final time while calling out her beloved son’s name in a faint weak whisper, before slipping away … alone, afraid, and helplessly locked in the dark.

  After having bid his company goodnight, Jesse was on his way up the stairs not knowing that his wife had just passed. The sound of a plate shattering, as well as his son crying repeatedly for his mother to wake up, was the first sign that something was amiss. Drawn to the sound of his son sobbing, Jesse walked in the room and was forced to look at what he had done to his beautiful wife of twenty years. Her eyes had swelled to the size of golf balls, her nose was twisted, her lips were twice their normal size, and dried blood remained in the crevices of her skin. Through the eyes of a sociopath, the horrifying sight did not faze Jesse at all, nor did the fact that his son was on the bed hunched over her sobbing uncontrollably. He simply walked over, snatched James off the bed, and told him to go to his room. He did not try to console his heartbroken son or attempt to tend to his emotional needs after witnessing his mother in such a horrific state, not then … not ever. That level of compassion would have required Jesse to have a soul.

  For emotional comfort, James turned to Lily. He met her down by the creek the next day. They sat shoulder to shoulder with their heads resting on each other’s underneath their favorite tree. They leaned on each other, both literally and figuratively. The first few days they met there, Lily did not say a word. She was just there for her best friend. She simply put her arm around James and prayed silently as he wept. Lily wept too. Elizabeth was kind to her whenever Jesse was not present.

  While sitting underneath that tree, Lily eventually told James about her method of remembering something wonderful about her mother whenever she was missing her. James attempted it late at night when he was alone in his room, but he still found himself needing Lily for comfort. He walked into her room in the slave quarters well past midnight and woke her up. “Lily?” he whispered, trying to shake her awake.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “James a-are you okay?” she whispered back.

  He sat down next to her makeshift bed. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Rememba’ your motha’ without cryin’? I think about ’er, just the way you say you do, but I can’t seem to stop myself from cryin’.”

  “I neva’ said I didn’t cry. If somebody really loves their mama, I don’t think it’s possible to rememba’ her without cryin’ sometimes.”

  “I wanna rememba’ her ’cause I’m afraid she’s gonna fade away from my memory if I don’t. But every time I try, I can’t stop the tears. And wheneva’ my brotha’s hear me, they start cuttin’ me down, tellin’ me I ain’t nothin’ but a sissy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that to you,” Lily told him, lifting the blanket he had given her, inviting him to lie down next to her. “Not eva’.”

  Without hesitation, James crawled beneath the blanket and lay down next to her. Though they had grown, they had yet to depart from the innocent thoughts of a child’s mind. There were no sexual intentions behind Lily’s actions, only a friend seeking to comfort a friend. When James settled in next to her, she began slowly running her hand through his hair. It was a tactic Lily’s mother had used to soothe her to sleep when they were lying next to each other every night. Ironically, James’s mother had soothed him to sleep in the same way whenever he had difficulty sleeping or was awakened by nightmares. Lily was unaware of that fact. She was simply using a method that had worked well on her to help her best friend cope with his emotional anguish. It worked beautifully. James was able to release his tears and mourn his mother, completely free from the judgment of his brothers. In fact, James was so relaxed while Lily gently ran her fingers through his hair that he drifted off to sleep.

  James became addicted to the soothing way in which Lily helped him deal with the intense pain of losing his mother so suddenly. For months, there was rarely a night that passed that he did not relive the fond memories of his mother while lying next to Lily as she hummed lightly and played with the tendrils of his hair until they both fell asleep. Her tender ritual helped the last gruesome images of his mother’s face quickly dissolve from James’s young mind. Unlike the night his father dragged him into the woods to witness the slaying of a slave, he completely repressed the memory of finding his mother after her savage beating, thanks in part to Lily’s comforts. She had unknowingly helped to spare her best friend from the lifelong mental trauma that would have accompanied such hideous imagery.

  It had taken James months to cope with losing his mother, but the same could not be said for Jesse. Although Elizabeth had a flu that developed into pneumonia, Jesse had very much contributed to her death. She may have had the strength to heal from one event or the other, but her body was just far too overwhelmed to handle both traumatic events all at once. Despite the role he played in his wife’s death, Jesse justified his actions as being necessary. He felt as if Elizabeth had brought it on herself. The consequences that followed, he therefore attributed to her disobedience. In his sick mind, the fault was never his. That fact made it easy for him to shove the images of Elizabeth’s mangled face into the deepest recesses of his mind the very night of her death.

  Shortly after discovering his deceased wife, Jesse proceeded to cover up what he had done. He forbid his sons from leaving their bedrooms while he carried their mother’s lifeless body into a horse stall in the barn and laid her down. He then rode off the farm to get the town doctor. “Somethin’ spooked our horse and he trampled her,” was the lie Jesse told to Dr. Whitfield after leading him to Elizabeth’s body.

  Dr. Whitfield never questioned Jesse’s explanation. He nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he saw Elizabeth’s face. He never once considered that a man would be capable of doing such a thing to woman, especially a man who was her husband. In fact, the entire small town accepted Jesse’s lie as the truth, even the sheriff and Elizabeth’s family. Elizabeth had kept the secret of her husband’s abuse so well that nobody ever once questioned whether her death was truly a freak accident.

  … That was that. Jesse never showed any emotion whatsoever after Elizabeth’s death. Not then, not even at her funeral. Outside of being questioned by the sheriff, he never mentioned or thought about that day again. Eleven years after her passing, though, eight simple words brought it all hurling back to the forefront of Jesse’s mind: “Afta’ the heinous things you did to her…” Those words unburied an entire evolutionary catalog of memories related to how cruel he had been to his wife throughout their marriage. The images in his head reminded him of the fact that it was not a horse, but rather he who had trampled on his beautiful wife’s emotions, her happiness, and her spirit with his brutality and vile words.

  For over a decade, Jesse had lived in a constant state of denial about those truths. But now, after having heard that Lily had been the only thing to make his wife smile in the years before she died, he could no longer repress his guilt-ridden emotions or deny any of the pain he had caused the one woman that he was just now realizing he truly did love. In that moment of acceptance, Jesse Adams unbelievably shed a tear. Just one. He wiped the solitary tear away quickly and wiped away the torturous memories along with it. Just as soon as his face was dry, Jesse returned to the man that everybody knew … and hated.

  Despi
te returning to himself emotionally, Jesse still spared James further harassment about his betrayal, but more importantly, spared Lily her life. He would never have admitted it, but Jesse was actually overcome with gratitude for the supposed joy that Lily brought into his wife’s life. So much so, that it ceased his desire to torture the only soul who had allegedly put a smile on his wife’s face during the years he had failed to do so. It was the first and only time Jesse showed anybody any mercy. It was a shocking notion, considering that he viewed Lily’s actions and his son’s betrayal as a major injustice against white society. But in honor of his wife and the love-filled life that he had denied her, he never said another word about what his son had done, or about Lily and her triumphant journey to Winter Garden.

  Chapter Eight

  The Old World:

  A term often used to describe the eastern hemisphere, specifically in relation to Europe.

  Or

  Something associated with a former time.

  “I’ll be damned,” Corrina suddenly said after glancing over at the Adams plantation entrance. The long-time Adams slave then tapped Henry on the shoulder. When he looked up at her, Corrina pointed toward the entrance. They both watched as Jesse and James rolled through the gates with Lily in tow. They stood there silently and continued watching as Lily was then helped down from the wagon, with her shackles still secured around her neck, arms, and legs.

  “Afta’ they done sold that po’ girl’s baby, I can’t believe masa’ Jesse got the audacity to haul ’er back here in shackles,” Henry replied, shaking his head.

  “Me neitha’,” Corrina agreed. “Afta’ my old owna’ took my son, I couldn’t hardly get my mind to work right, let alone my feet. Last thing masa’ got to worry ’bout is Lily runnin’ off.”

  “Hell, you know ol’ evil Jesse ain’t worried about that. He just wanna remind Lily that he owns ’er. That rat bastard loves to rub salt into everybody’s wounds.”

  “You sho’ ain’t lyin’ ’bout that.”

  “Afta’ all Lily done been through, we should do all we can to lift ’er spirits.”

  “You right,” Corrina concurred. “I know from experience, she sho’ gonna need it.”

  Lily definitely needed her spirits lifted, but the field slaves on Jesse’s plantation did not know the real reason why. Part of that reason was happening as they watched on from afar. Once Lily was taken out of the wagon and placed on the dirt of Jesse’s plantation, she felt as though she had just been fully submerged back into the life she hated with a passion. While Jesse worked to loosen her shackles, she looked up and surveyed the dilapidated home she had worked tirelessly in for fourteen years. After having lived in William’s pristine mansion, the peeling paint, crumbling edges, and rotted wood of Jesse’s home stood out to her this time. After her arms and legs were freed, she was marched up onto Jesse’s porch. She looked down at the creaky, loose planks beneath her feet. She then closed her eyes and began wishing she was sitting with William on his porch swing, sipping lemonade and listening to him tell nostalgic stories about his life in the Old World. That swing, William, and his stories were gone. Lily ached knowing that the only thing she would ever do on the porch currently beneath her feet was sweep it.

  After that harsh reality hit her, Lily opened her eyes to the nightmare of her old prison as she approached its entrance. This entrance was nothing like the massive set of decorative double doors at William’s estate. Here, there was just one door; it was plain with a squeaky screen attached to it. It squeaked open. She walked through it into the tiny foyer. Compared to the wide-open space in the Werthington mansion, it felt like it was closing in on her. Directly in front of her, there was no dual grand staircase leading to oversized suites either. No. Here, there were just fifteen average steps with creaky floorboards, leading up to four average sized bedrooms. Lily swiveled her head and noted that there was no beautiful artwork, expensive décor, or custom designed furniture. She did not smell the sweet scent of William’s pipe, but instead, felt smothered by the putrid stench of Jesse’s body odor.

  Once escorted in the house, Lily was not guided to an expansive dining room and treated to a five-course meal. Instead, she was dragged into the kitchen by the arm and shoved toward a sink full of waiting dishes. “Get y’ur ass in there and fix dinna’!” Jesse demanded as Lily stumbled slightly and caught her balance.

  Lily had not been barked at like that for nearly a year. The sound of Jesse’s first command was as grating to her ears as out of tune notes. She stood there alone after he went back outside to help James unload the wagon. As she massaged the raw skin on her neck, she turned in a circle looking at all the old cabinetry, the old stove, and the old sink. It was all reminiscent of fixtures in a doll house in comparison to the ones in the gourmet kitchen where she, Anna Mae, and Ben had once fixed meals together. The three of them would be stepping all over each other if they attempted such a thing in the tiny place she was now. In fact, Lily was wishing someone would step on her now, much like they would the massive cockroach that just crawled near her bare feet; she felt just as insignificant.

  After watching the filthy bug scamper away, Lily lifted her head and scanned the sea of pots, pans, and plates covering the counter. She did not know where to begin to get all of them in order, much like her scattered emotions. She began stacking the dishes in an orderly pile. Underneath the mess, she came across a knife that the skin on her neck had once been very familiar with. Blood from her finger once trickled along its sharp edges. Now, she stood there wishing that that blood had been from a self-inflicted wound, deep into the cavity of her chest. Had that been the case, she would not be dealing with the dismay of the year-long cruel joke she thought James Adams had just played on her.

  Just like the day she had contemplated suicide, Lily again dropped the knife into the sink after being startled by James and his father as they walked into the house with their belongings. To separate herself from them, she wandered out the back door to get a pail of water, taking her time while doing so. She wanted the devil and his demon spawn to leave the house again before she walked back in.

  When Lily saw James and Jesse head to the barn, she crept back into the kitchen and began her dreaded duties. She scoured the pots and pans until the skin on her hands were wrinkled. When she was finished, she started preparing dinner: a simple roast surrounded by various vegetables. Normally, she would have prepared a separate, more flavorful, portion for James … but not this time. She wanted both Adams men to get a taste of one of her infamous, unsavory, hate-filled meals. While she waited for the oven to overcook the meat and deplete it of every drop of its delicious juices, Lily got down and scrubbed the floor until her knees began to blister. She checked the food when she was done. Still juicy. She closed the oven and went about dusting, while the roast went about burning to a crisp.

  Lily begrudgingly forced herself to complete her other assigned tasks until she entered the parlor. She looked in the corner and froze. There it was … the catalyst for the grandest adventure she had ever been on in her life. She stepped forward to touch the piano she was once obsessed with as a little girl. She shut her eyes and realized how teaching herself to play it had changed her life in so many ways, especially over the last year. With great clarity, her mind suddenly began retrieving a stockpile of incredible memories from her experience during that time. She was recalling the dusty roads she had traveled on, from Ohio to New York’s famed Broadway, and the sold-out crowds she had played her beloved piano to in every city in-between. She swore she could feel the fabric of her custom dresses tickling her delicate skin like soft feathers all over again. Her taste buds still remembered the flavor of exotic cuisine and expensive fine wines. She thought back to the good fortune she had of sleeping in hotel rooms that were suited for royal families, as were the ballrooms she had waltzed in with William and James at after parties. She relived the excitement of being escorted on private tours at an exquisite art gallery and lavish museums, and of receiving gif
ts of jewelry, flowers, and other rare handmade pieces. She even felt herself becoming emotional again while recalling the moment she had picked up The New York Times newspaper and saw her picture gracing the front page. Had she not lived it, Lily would never have believed that a slave could ever be afforded such luxuries or experience such rarities.

  Fifteen years ago, while holding a dusting cloth in her hand, just as she was now, Lily had sat down at the very piano she was touching and gave into her desire to play it. But now, despite the once-in-a-lifetime experiences the piano had led her to, she wished she had never laid a finger on it. As if she had just submerged her hand in poison, Lily suddenly opened her eyes, removed her hand from the piano, and quickly took a step back. She realized that if she had only ever dusted that piano, like she was supposed to, James never would have had reason to take her on a journey that proved she was born to be far more than just a servant. Had she never defied the house rules, back-breaking chores would be all she ever knew about in her world. She would not have the slightest clue what the inside of an art gallery, museum, or state-of-the-art theater looked like. Fine wines and even finer hotels would be foreign to her, along with the luxuries of a real bed and the explosive lovemaking that could happen within one. She would still only be dreaming of what a grand life felt like and fantasizing about what the world was like beyond the plantation fences. But most importantly, she still would have no idea what a father’s love would have felt like.