Tea and Tomahawks (5 page)

CHAPTER NINE

I
t wasn’t fair.
Richard parked in the graveled drive, grabbed his overnight bag and slammed the car door. With a frown on his face, he surveyed the rolling lawn, the huge house, and the woods beyond. Why should the old woman have what was rightly his? This should be his house, his land.

Shoulders aching from the long drive, he stalked up the porch stairs, royally pissed off that Annie wasn’t there to meet him. He rapped on the heavy oak door, wondering if they were even home at all. If they weren’t, then how would he get in? Maybe it was a mistake, leaving his wife here under the undue influence of the old biddy. He slapped at the mosquitoes trying to use him for their evening meal.

Just as he was considering trying to get in through a window, his wife opened the door, a strange expression on her face. “Richard, hello.” She pushed opened the screen door to allow him to enter. “We were just sitting down to dinner.”

“Traffic was bad,” he grumbled, walking in behind her and closing the door. “It was a mess on 95.”

Annie just stood there, her expression barely registering interest. Instead of hanging on to every word, she had an air of bored tolerance about her, as if she were simply waiting for him to finish.

He paused, unsure of how to address this new attitude.

“Yes, well, I’ve got to get back my dinner. You come down when you’re ready.” Annie turned and walked into the dining room.

Too tired to argue, and needing to check for an urgent email, Richard took his bag upstairs.

The old computer in the room adjacent to the bedroom must have been manufactured when Bill Gates was running Microsoft out of his garage. The DSL connection was no comparison to the high-speed connection he had at work. Also, his phone refused to hold a connection long enough to download anything.

Stomach growling, he clicked on the browser and waited for the program to open. After about thirty seconds, he gave up. He was too hungry to process anything but a good meal right about now. The email would have to wait. By the time he washed up and had dinner, the browser might ready to use.

Downstairs, he entered a dark dining room. Annie and the old lady were nowhere to be found. In the kitchen, there was a plate sitting on top of the microwave, covered with a white linen napkin.

Richard ate his dinner in the quiet kitchen, his mind on the email and the strange change in Annie’s attitude. She hadn’t even called upstairs to check on him, when usually she would be there, unpacking his overnight bag and setting up everything the way he liked it. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. She was up here with his permission.

He never realized how quiet the house was until now. There were no outside sounds but the crickets and if he strained his ears, he thought he could hear the sounds of a television somewhere in the house. Richard rinsed his plate and put it the sink with the others, surprised that Annie hadn’t washed the dinner dishes.

First, he would check the email, then have a little chat with Annie, wherever she was. Richard mounted the stairs two at a time, hoping to see good news rather than bad. Taking a second mortgage on the house hadn’t been in the plan, but when the broker called him to tell him the bad news, it was the only way he could cover his overages.

What Annie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?

He entered the bedroom and made the hard left past the bed into the adjoining room.

Annie sat in front of the computer, reading his email. She glanced up at him briefly when he entered the room, then went back to her clicking without a word.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.” Annie cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re taking out a second mortgage when you can barely pay the first?” She got up from the desk and walked up to him. “How could you do this to us?”

“You’ve got a lot of mouth,” Richard replied, a little surprised at her boldness. “Who are you to question me? I’m the one working for a living in the house.”

“I wanted to get a job,” Annie shot back, her eyes fiery. “You didn’t want me to. You took my parent’s money and making a mess of things.”

“I want you at home. And there’s nothing going on with the company that I can’t solve.”

“You’re full of shit. You’re going to ruin us.” Annie pushed past him on her way into the bedroom.

Shocked, Richard almost let her pass. What had happened in the last two weeks that made her so bold? And how long was it going to take to knock it out of her? He reached out and grabbed her hair, twisting the strands in his fingers as he jerked her backward. “Now you listen to me, you little whore.” He squeezed his hand into a fist, and she whimpered. Using his grip to guide her, he marched her through the doorway to the bed, where he made her sit on the mattress. “Are you listening?” He kept his voice calm and level. Shouting would expend too much energy and make too much noise.

Annie nodded as best she could, tears sliding down her cheeks and hands folded in her lap. All the bravado of minutes before had drained out of her, and she was his again. “I’m listening,” she whispered.

“Good. I’m going to tell you this once, and once only. Stay out of my email. It’s none of your business.”

“But Richard, the house, we can’t—where will we live?” Annie wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“It’s a second mortgage, not a foreclosure, although I expect you would be too stupid to know the difference.” Grabbing her hair again, he jerked her head upward and slapped her across the face.

Her head rocked backward, and she stared at him with dull eyes. “I just thought…”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me do the thinking here.”

Annie nodded, a trail of blood trickling from her nose.

Good. A good lesson for her.
“Now, you mind your business and do as I say. Act like a wife ought to act, not like some common street trash. Got it?”

She nodded, all the fight gone out of her. “Yes.”

Richard yanked her to her feet. He had to resist the urge to make her strip and fuck her. Time enough for that later. He grinned. Didn’t want to get blood on dear Grandmother’s precious sheets. “Go in the bathroom and clean yourself up. Your nose is bleeding.”

~* * * *~

Gingerly, Annie touched her nose with a wet towel, shocked at the dark red stain on the white terrycloth. He was right to be angry. She shouldn’t have read his email. It was his private domain, and she had no right to go snooping.

The subjects flashed through her mind. Besides the loan approval and other financial notes, there were the “thanks for Wednesday” and “lunch on me” emails. One said, “take a look” and contained a full frontal shot of some willing female. Blonde with long hair covering her boobs. Not all of her boobs, though. One pink nipple peeked through the blonde strands to mock her.

Annie sat down on the closed toilet seat and put her head in her hands. Her face felt hot, her cheek burned from the slap. She had always known that Richard was having affairs, but she kept herself willfully ignorant. Now the evidence, all the evidence was too much to be denied. And the house! What was he doing with the house?

Richard knocked on the door. “Let’s not take all day in there. I need you out here.”

She shuddered, sensing the eagerness in his voice. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Checking herself in the mirror, she wondered why Richard hated her so much. Why couldn’t she have someone who loved her?

CHAPTER TEN

A
fter suffering the indignities of his hands all over her body, Annie lay staring at the ceiling. The same movie ran in her head, the story of her triumph, where she killed Richard, hid his body and lived a life without fear. She turned on her side to watch him sleep.

A pulse beat at the base of his neck. His hair was tousled, like a little boy’s, but even in his sleep, his face held the hard lines of cruelty.

Annie imagined herself going down to the kitchen and selecting one of her grandmother’s wickedly sharp knives. She would then creep back upstairs, slide into bed and stab him twice. Once in the stomach, then the final slice across the neck.

The blood would flow red against the white linen sheets as he gasped and gurgled his last breaths. The life-light, his evil essence, would seep out of his eyes until he was dead.

Then she would be able to live again.

Realizing she was panting with the visceral image painted by her imagination, Annie threw back the covers and slid out of bed. Restless, she paced over the soft, thick rug and tried to banish the murderous thoughts from mind.
What was she turning into?

Too wired to go to back to bed, she crept downstairs to the parlor.

The Village Realm…

“C
ome, come.” The older woman grabbed Mattie’s arm and pulled her toward the crowd that had formed in the center of the village.

From what she could gather, a new set of reclaimed people were coming in. Mattie always held her breath when a new group was brought back to the camp. Often, husbands, brothers, and sons were lost on these missions. Her gaze scanned the crowd of tired faces until she spotted Haiola helping a man limp into the village. Only then was she able to focus on what the old woman was saying.

“Many babies and small ones. We need your help.”

Sure enough, there were at least seven children with this crew, and several of the exhausted mothers carried babies tied to their bosom.

Without hesitation, Mattie reached for the nearest woman with an infant. The faster she got them rested and fed, the faster they would be able to take care of their babies again. The journey from slavery to freedom was hard on many of them. “Come with me. Come, sit and have water and food.”

Tears streamed down the woman’s dark face.

Mattie bit her lip for fear she would cry in sympathy. She knew what it was to be lost, hopeless and alone. Now it was her turn to make the woman feel safe. “What is your name,
chat-ske
?”
Chat-ske
was the term used for mother, young or old.

“Betty,” she said, sobbing. “Oh, I am so tired.”

“Betty.” Mattie guided her to a seat in front of the fire. “Betty. Sit.” Using her name seemed to make her pay attention.

The baby cried, a tiny mewling sound against its mother’s breast.

“Betty, what is the baby’s name?”

“Abraham.”

Mattie took some water and cornbread from the tray of Talisa, who was about ten years old. She offered the food to Betty. “Eat now, so you can feed your baby.” She indicated the iron pot next to the fire. “There is venison stew when you are ready.”

The woman sobbed still. “They killed my husband and tried to take my baby. Nursed the master’s children but ain’t got no milk for my own. He’s dying.”

Mattie clasped her hand in combined anger and helplessness. Too many times, she had heard the same story. Her heart ached in sympathy. “Betty. Give me little Abe. We have milk for him.”

Betty’s hands trembled as she tried to undo the cloth sling holding the baby to her body.

“Let me.” With nimble fingers, Mattie untied the knots and cradled the baby in her arms. She winced at its light weight and hoped it wasn’t too late. “Talisa!” The little girl hurried over and she handed her the little bundle. “Take him to Nila. Quick, now. Wake her if you must.”

The little girl nodded and bore the precious cargo off.

She knelt in front of the newly freed slave. “Betty, Nila is nursing, and she can feed little Abe. Everything will be all right.” Again, she offered the cloth-wrapped cornbread. The woman needed her strength. “Now you must eat.”

Bettie reached out and took the bread. After the first, reluctant bite, she devoured the rest and picked up the crumbs with a moistened finger.

Mattie placed the cup of water in her hands. “Drink now and rest. Little Abe will be good. Nila will nurse him.”

Betty drank half the water in one swallow. “Nila?”

Mattie nodded. “She will nurse Abe. He will get the milk he needs.”

Betty’s eyes were already closing from exhaustion. Now that her baby was being taken care of, she too could rest.

What a journey they must have had!
She had heard stories of slaves coming to them from as far away as northern Georgia. She grimaced as she stood, wondering how long the U.S. Army would allow this drain on the Southern resources. She suspected not very long.

Haiola came over to her then, put his arm around her waist and dipped his head to kiss her neck. “Mattie,” he whispered against her cheek. “I have missed my wife.” He steered her toward their chicksee. “The newcomers are settled. Now we have some time to ourselves.”

Leaning against his firm, solid body, Mattie nodded. “Yes, we do.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The following weekend…

T
he three-hour drive took four and by the time he got to the house, he was looking forward to a drink, dinner and to see what his wife had been up to. Maybe the rest had done her good, made her more tolerable.

But that was not to be. Even before he shut off the engine, he saw her, sitting on the wooden steps in jeans and a t-shirt. He squeezed the steering wheel in both hands, hoping he would be able to control himself until they were in the privacy of their room.

She looked like she was on her way to a rap concert as she made her way over to the car.

“You put your hair in twists.”

Annie touched her hair as if she didn’t realize the style had changed. “Oh, yes. It was too hard to keep it up the other way.”

“You don’t remember what I told you?”

Then his wife did the strangest thing. She pressed her lips together and gave him a look that made her look like the old bitch. She dropped her gaze to her hands and shrugged. “I guess I forgot,” she said softly. “You don’t like it?”

He climbed the three steps to the porch and brushed past her. “I hate it. You look like a common nig—”

“Like a common what, boy?” The old woman’s voice cut him off.

He could just make out a dark shape behind the screen door. She must have been hovering, listening to their whole conversation.

Richard forced a pleasant smile to his face. “Lise. Good to see you.” He climbed the porch stairs and took his wife’s arm. He marched her past the old lady with the intent of taking her upstairs and questioning her more closely about her ethnic hairstyle.

However, the old bat seemed to sense his intentions. “Why don’t you take some time for yourself, freshen up after such a long drive.” She sounded almost friendly. “I need Annie to help me with getting dinner on the table.”

Reluctantly, he released his wife’s arm and was annoyed at how quickly she ran to her Grandmother’s side, helping her into the kitchen area without so much as a backward glance.

He watched them walk into the hallway, away from him. From the kitchen, the crinkling of paper bags and the relaxed feminine chatter mocked him. Frowning, he climbed the stairs alone.

~* * * *~

Dining with the two of them, with their inside jokes and chatter about people he didn’t know, was such a task that he excused himself, choosing instead to sample the bottle of twenty-year-old Scotch he found in the parlor bar. The rest of the evening was spent drinking and starting at that damned painting, which looked like a cheap paint by the numbers project.

The two women came in from their evening walk.

Annie peeked in at him and indicated she was going to bed. Her tone was cautious and apologetic.

He didn’t even bother to look at her as he continued to sip at the smoky amber liquid until his rage built to its breaking point. Annie hadn’t learned her lesson. She needed a refresher course.

An hour later, as the liquor gave him courage, he felt giddy with strength. Miss Annie would get a lesson tonight that she wouldn’t soon forget.

Richard stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching his wife sleep. She looked the picture of innocence lying there, but he knew what was in her heart. He’d lay money on the fact that she had a secret boyfriend who visited her during the week, pleasuring her in the same bed that he slept in on the weekends.

In two strides, he was over by the bed. “Get up.” He yanked the covers off her and pulled at her nightgown.

She tumbled out of bed and made a small sound when she hit the floor. Her expression was dazed as she tried to get to her feet.

He knelt beside her and whispered in her ear, “I want to talk to you. You make one sound, and the old hag gets it.” It wasn’t like dear Grandmother wasn’t going to get it anyway, but he had to take care of Annie first.

The sleepy, confused look on her face made him feel better. It made him feel like he was in control again. She was his wife…he should be in control. He pulled at her arm. “Get up.” Fueled by anger and hatred, he threw her against the mattress. Her behavior towards him could not go unpunished.

The twists on her head, standing up every which way, enraged him further. He had specifically asked her not to change her hair, but she had gone her way, done her own thing. What else had she taken the liberty of doing under the influence of dear old Grandmother? The woman’s meddling was going to come to an end tonight.

“Richard, please?” She kept her voice low. “Please don’t do this. Grandmother might hear.”

“Which is why you aren’t going to make any noise.” He reached for his belt buckle, unable to contain his glee at her fearful expression. “Even though this is going to hurt.”

~* * * *~

Annie closed her eyes. When Richard got like this, there was no reasoning with him. Better to take the beating. She shoved her face into the mattress, muffling her cries of pain. She didn’t know what was more humiliating, being whipped by her husband or having her grandmother find out.

Panting and out of breath, he pulled her limp body to her feet.

She had no more fight in her.

“You’re going to learn, Annie. My rules, wherever you are. Do you understand me?”

“Yes...yes.” Her hands trembled as she wiped the tears from her face. Why couldn’t she be stronger when she needed to be? Sometimes, she felt she could take his head off, other times she was so afraid. “I understand.”

“If I even get a whiff of you telling your grandmother anything that went on here...”

“I won’t say a word, I promise. Please...” Annie touched him on the arm. “Please, may I have some aspirin?”

“Of course.” He went to the bathroom and brought her two white pills and a cup of water. “Anything for my Annie.” He kissed her temple. “Lie down. You’ll feel better.” He spoke to her as if she had a cold.

Still trembling, she lay on her stomach on the bed, praying the aspirin would work quickly enough on the searing pain on her back and legs. Soon enough, she fell into a restless sleep.