MOSANA (THE UNION) - PART XIII
EPISODE 13
Flint.
I struggled to say something, to draw in air, but couldn’t. It was Flint. Flint!
I must have said something, because that’s when he noticed me. And all the colour drained from his face.
I had imagined this moment a million times. The moment where I would get to see Flint again. But for all my imaginings, I could never have dreamed this moment. I stood, staring at him for what seemed like minutes until my new slaveholder, Mr. MacGregor, cleared his throat.
Flint recovered himself quickly and led me and the other girl that had been bought into the house. He walked straight ahead and didn’t look at any of us until we had gotten to the attic. Then he showed us where we would sleep and walked out again, without a word. I tried to call his name, but somehow couldn’t get the word past my throat. He didn’t speak to me, or even look me in the face.
I was assigned to the kitchen house on my first day, and while I worked to get dinner ready for the entire household along with the other slaves, I analysed what had just happened a million different ways.
Flint was alive, and here, in Kansas. Kansas was a long way from Virginia. So, he had been alive all these years, and never thought to find me? Did he even look for me? And why wouldn’t he look at me? Almost like he wished I wasn’t there…
“Sarah!”
For a moment, I had forgotten that I was using an alias. The name finally registered, and I turned my head to who had called me. It was Sue, a grandmotherly woman, who I assumed was head of kitchen duty, and it seemed she had called me more than once.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What are you doing?”
I looked down at my hands and discovered that I had left the potatoes I was peeling. I was holding the knife, sure, but I wasn’t doing any peeling. I looked up at her guiltily and proceeded to continue.
Sue shook her head at me and said, “You best forget where you came from, child. This is your home now. If you work hard here, things will be easy for you. If you slack, you gon’ make us all suffer.”
I smiled ruefully at her. She assumed I was sorry about being sold. Well, I wasn’t happy about it, but I wasn’t about to tell her that I was worried about something else. I went back to peeling potatoes.
It was on the third day after dinner that I was able to speak to Flint. He called me out of the kitchen house, and walked me to the line of trees that partially surrounded the property, away from prying eyes and ears. As soon as we were hidden, he grabbed me and held me fast against his chest. My first instinct was to protest, seeing that anyone could walk in on us, but it was quickly overpowered by something I didn’t know I had – longing.
We were like that for a few seconds, with Flint muttering my name over and over again, and me trying to remember what he smelled like, if it was the same as what I was inhaling right then. At last, he withdrew from me and held me at arm’s length. He looked me over, as if seeing me for the first time.
“What happened?”
“Where have you been?”
We spoke at the same time.
“You first,” I said.
“No, you first. Last time I saw you, you were in the Russell Manor.”
And the last time I saw you, you were being dragged away, right in front of me.
I gave Flint the abridged version of how we escaped from the Russell Manor and made it to Pennsylvania. When he heard his sisters were still alive, and worked with me in the Society, he hugged me again. Then I told him about the mission we were on for the Society, and his face took on a slight frown.
“Still got a knack for trouble, I see.”
I smiled, and he smiled back. I wanted to keep talking, to tell him about Tricia, Jerome and Mr. Fisher, but I wanted to hear his side of the story too. He was the reason I came back to the South, and I had feared the worst. But here he was, alive, and well. I had to know what happened.
By now, we were sitting on the ground, with our backs resting on the trees, facing away from the property. Anyone looking for us wouldn’t find us unless they came around that particular line of trees.
“So…” I began. “Kansas?”
“Yeah. It’s a long story.”
“I ain’t got nowhere else to be,” I replied.
He shifted a bit, and I couldn’t help noticing that his shoulders were no longer touching mine. That area suddenly felt cold.
Flint began. “Uh, after the Russells uh,… sold me away, I was taken to a slave market in Georgia, then sold again to Florida. Worked in the docks for my new slaveowners, a group of fishermen brothers. It was new, and damn hard work, Mo. We moved around a lot, and I could be out in the water for days, trying to fill the boat with fish until I could taste the salt in the air. ‘Twas a wonder how I didn’t get seasick."
So that explained why I could never get word of him. He wasn’t in a usual settlement.
Flint went silent for a moment until I prodded him with my elbow. “And? How did you get here?”
“I met Angelia,” he said simply, like I was supposed to understand.
“Angelia MacGregor,” he said again.
MacGregor? Wouldn’t that be—
“Mr. MacGregor’s daughter.” Flint finished for me.
The implication of what he said next dawned on me before the words came out of his mouth. But I waited for him to continue.
“Angelia came down to the docks one day to rent a boat with some of her friends. They wanted to go on a joy ride or something. This was two years ago. I helped them with whatever they needed and me and Angelia kinda hit it off right there and then. She was… nice.”
Nice? I didn’t voice my thoughts, so he could finish.
“But she came alone the next time. And again, the next. I just thought she enjoyed my company, and she didn’t seem, you know…”
Flint trailed off here, and I knew what he wanted to say. Racist. She didn’t seem racist. It was usually unheard of for white girls to even deign to speak to black, male slaves, except to issue commands.
Again, I kept my thoughts to myself and let Flint continue.
“The fourth time she came, she came with her father. He walked up to my owners and talked with them. I didn’t know what they were talking about until I was asked if I would like to go with the MacGregors or remain with the fishermen.”
Flint took a deep breath before the next sentence came out of his mouth. “Apparently, Angelia wanted me as a husband.”
Silence.
“I’m married, Mosana.”
More silence.
They say shock is like a million electrified needles hurtling through your body, pricking and numbing your senses at the same time. I sat there, dumbfounded, as Flint fumbled through his words trying to explain to me how he and Angelia had ended up together.
As I fought through my brain freeze, one single thought kept rolling in my head. A white woman? A white woman?! Eventually, I could keep it in no longer, and it fell out of my lips. But not with the same intensity that it had been rolling with in my brain.
Softly, I asked, my voice betraying the emotion I was feeling, “A white woman, Flint?”
He shifted again, and answered, “Only her father’s white. Her mother’s black, but she never met her.”
So, a mulatto… Probably from a slave mother. Didn’t make it hurt less though.
After another bout of silence between us, I found the tongue to ask, “did she ask you?”
“What does it matter-” Flint began, but I cut him off.
“Did she ask you to marry her, Flint?”
“No. Her father negotiated with my-”
“Then she bought you, Flint.”
He didn’t have a reply to that.
I got up slowly, feeling like I’d aged an extra 20 years just sitting on the ground listening to Flint. I dusted myself as Flint scrambled up hurriedly to stand next to me.
“I had to, Mosana. My former slaveowners weren’t going to let me go any other way. And it was back-breaking work, harder than anything I’d ever had to do. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life on those docks. I saw a chance, and I took it.”
He tried to get me to look at him, but I wasn’t having it. I was too busy trying to rein my emotions in.
“Angelia seemed like a nice girl, and… she’s a free woman.”
At that, I finally understood. Freedom was the bait and Angelia was the hook. I looked at him and snarled. “So, what are you here as, exactly? A son-in-law, or a slave?”
“Both,” he said, without the remorse I expected to be there. This was nothing but survival to him. And he wasn’t going to apologize for surviving.
“Here, I’m an indentured servant. I work as other slaves, but for pay. And my pay is Angelia. Since I didn’t have any money to marry her, her father demanded my services as a price. Once I’ve worked my debt off, I’d be free like her.”
“How many?” I asked.
“What?”
“How many years are you indentured?”
“Ten. But Angelia says she can beat it down to around six for me, if my work is good.”
I looked at him again, trying to find his eyes in the thickening darkness. I didn’t see much, but I felt it all. He had made up his mind. And I couldn’t blame him. He deserved freedom like the rest of us, never mind that his route to that freedom tore at my heart.
“Mosana…” Flint called softly.
Something snapped in me, and I looked up at him, hardening my voice. “You can’t call me Mosana anymore. I go by Sarah now… Mr. Joshua, sir,” I added, using his real name for the first time with mock respect in my voice. And with that, I walked away, angry at myself for letting the tears fall.
Flint.
I struggled to say something, to draw in air, but couldn’t. It was Flint. Flint!
I must have said something, because that’s when he noticed me. And all the colour drained from his face.
I had imagined this moment a million times. The moment where I would get to see Flint again. But for all my imaginings, I could never have dreamed this moment. I stood, staring at him for what seemed like minutes until my new slaveholder, Mr. MacGregor, cleared his throat.
Flint recovered himself quickly and led me and the other girl that had been bought into the house. He walked straight ahead and didn’t look at any of us until we had gotten to the attic. Then he showed us where we would sleep and walked out again, without a word. I tried to call his name, but somehow couldn’t get the word past my throat. He didn’t speak to me, or even look me in the face.
I was assigned to the kitchen house on my first day, and while I worked to get dinner ready for the entire household along with the other slaves, I analysed what had just happened a million different ways.
Flint was alive, and here, in Kansas. Kansas was a long way from Virginia. So, he had been alive all these years, and never thought to find me? Did he even look for me? And why wouldn’t he look at me? Almost like he wished I wasn’t there…
“Sarah!”
For a moment, I had forgotten that I was using an alias. The name finally registered, and I turned my head to who had called me. It was Sue, a grandmotherly woman, who I assumed was head of kitchen duty, and it seemed she had called me more than once.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What are you doing?”
I looked down at my hands and discovered that I had left the potatoes I was peeling. I was holding the knife, sure, but I wasn’t doing any peeling. I looked up at her guiltily and proceeded to continue.
Sue shook her head at me and said, “You best forget where you came from, child. This is your home now. If you work hard here, things will be easy for you. If you slack, you gon’ make us all suffer.”
I smiled ruefully at her. She assumed I was sorry about being sold. Well, I wasn’t happy about it, but I wasn’t about to tell her that I was worried about something else. I went back to peeling potatoes.
It was on the third day after dinner that I was able to speak to Flint. He called me out of the kitchen house, and walked me to the line of trees that partially surrounded the property, away from prying eyes and ears. As soon as we were hidden, he grabbed me and held me fast against his chest. My first instinct was to protest, seeing that anyone could walk in on us, but it was quickly overpowered by something I didn’t know I had – longing.
We were like that for a few seconds, with Flint muttering my name over and over again, and me trying to remember what he smelled like, if it was the same as what I was inhaling right then. At last, he withdrew from me and held me at arm’s length. He looked me over, as if seeing me for the first time.
“What happened?”
“Where have you been?”
We spoke at the same time.
“You first,” I said.
“No, you first. Last time I saw you, you were in the Russell Manor.”
And the last time I saw you, you were being dragged away, right in front of me.
I gave Flint the abridged version of how we escaped from the Russell Manor and made it to Pennsylvania. When he heard his sisters were still alive, and worked with me in the Society, he hugged me again. Then I told him about the mission we were on for the Society, and his face took on a slight frown.
“Still got a knack for trouble, I see.”
I smiled, and he smiled back. I wanted to keep talking, to tell him about Tricia, Jerome and Mr. Fisher, but I wanted to hear his side of the story too. He was the reason I came back to the South, and I had feared the worst. But here he was, alive, and well. I had to know what happened.
By now, we were sitting on the ground, with our backs resting on the trees, facing away from the property. Anyone looking for us wouldn’t find us unless they came around that particular line of trees.
“So…” I began. “Kansas?”
“Yeah. It’s a long story.”
“I ain’t got nowhere else to be,” I replied.
He shifted a bit, and I couldn’t help noticing that his shoulders were no longer touching mine. That area suddenly felt cold.
Flint began. “Uh, after the Russells uh,… sold me away, I was taken to a slave market in Georgia, then sold again to Florida. Worked in the docks for my new slaveowners, a group of fishermen brothers. It was new, and damn hard work, Mo. We moved around a lot, and I could be out in the water for days, trying to fill the boat with fish until I could taste the salt in the air. ‘Twas a wonder how I didn’t get seasick."
So that explained why I could never get word of him. He wasn’t in a usual settlement.
Flint went silent for a moment until I prodded him with my elbow. “And? How did you get here?”
“I met Angelia,” he said simply, like I was supposed to understand.
“Angelia MacGregor,” he said again.
MacGregor? Wouldn’t that be—
“Mr. MacGregor’s daughter.” Flint finished for me.
The implication of what he said next dawned on me before the words came out of his mouth. But I waited for him to continue.
“Angelia came down to the docks one day to rent a boat with some of her friends. They wanted to go on a joy ride or something. This was two years ago. I helped them with whatever they needed and me and Angelia kinda hit it off right there and then. She was… nice.”
Nice? I didn’t voice my thoughts, so he could finish.
“But she came alone the next time. And again, the next. I just thought she enjoyed my company, and she didn’t seem, you know…”
Flint trailed off here, and I knew what he wanted to say. Racist. She didn’t seem racist. It was usually unheard of for white girls to even deign to speak to black, male slaves, except to issue commands.
Again, I kept my thoughts to myself and let Flint continue.
“The fourth time she came, she came with her father. He walked up to my owners and talked with them. I didn’t know what they were talking about until I was asked if I would like to go with the MacGregors or remain with the fishermen.”
Flint took a deep breath before the next sentence came out of his mouth. “Apparently, Angelia wanted me as a husband.”
Silence.
“I’m married, Mosana.”
More silence.
They say shock is like a million electrified needles hurtling through your body, pricking and numbing your senses at the same time. I sat there, dumbfounded, as Flint fumbled through his words trying to explain to me how he and Angelia had ended up together.
As I fought through my brain freeze, one single thought kept rolling in my head. A white woman? A white woman?! Eventually, I could keep it in no longer, and it fell out of my lips. But not with the same intensity that it had been rolling with in my brain.
Softly, I asked, my voice betraying the emotion I was feeling, “A white woman, Flint?”
He shifted again, and answered, “Only her father’s white. Her mother’s black, but she never met her.”
So, a mulatto… Probably from a slave mother. Didn’t make it hurt less though.
After another bout of silence between us, I found the tongue to ask, “did she ask you?”
“What does it matter-” Flint began, but I cut him off.
“Did she ask you to marry her, Flint?”
“No. Her father negotiated with my-”
“Then she bought you, Flint.”
He didn’t have a reply to that.
I got up slowly, feeling like I’d aged an extra 20 years just sitting on the ground listening to Flint. I dusted myself as Flint scrambled up hurriedly to stand next to me.
“I had to, Mosana. My former slaveowners weren’t going to let me go any other way. And it was back-breaking work, harder than anything I’d ever had to do. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life on those docks. I saw a chance, and I took it.”
He tried to get me to look at him, but I wasn’t having it. I was too busy trying to rein my emotions in.
“Angelia seemed like a nice girl, and… she’s a free woman.”
At that, I finally understood. Freedom was the bait and Angelia was the hook. I looked at him and snarled. “So, what are you here as, exactly? A son-in-law, or a slave?”
“Both,” he said, without the remorse I expected to be there. This was nothing but survival to him. And he wasn’t going to apologize for surviving.
“Here, I’m an indentured servant. I work as other slaves, but for pay. And my pay is Angelia. Since I didn’t have any money to marry her, her father demanded my services as a price. Once I’ve worked my debt off, I’d be free like her.”
“How many?” I asked.
“What?”
“How many years are you indentured?”
“Ten. But Angelia says she can beat it down to around six for me, if my work is good.”
I looked at him again, trying to find his eyes in the thickening darkness. I didn’t see much, but I felt it all. He had made up his mind. And I couldn’t blame him. He deserved freedom like the rest of us, never mind that his route to that freedom tore at my heart.
“Mosana…” Flint called softly.
Something snapped in me, and I looked up at him, hardening my voice. “You can’t call me Mosana anymore. I go by Sarah now… Mr. Joshua, sir,” I added, using his real name for the first time with mock respect in my voice. And with that, I walked away, angry at myself for letting the tears fall.
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Apologies for the lateness, but here you go.
Who else is angry with Flint? :-D
xoxo,
Ava.
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