––––––––
By sundown, things had returned to normal just as Cosah thought. The overseers had already returned after chasing the scent of Jane to the waters. They failed to cross it, however, and returned back to the house.
As Cosah stared at the sky and the activity around him, he knew that it was about time to go and get Misty from the house. He was waiting for the one person to walk outside and across the vast yard, but he never did. Time carried on, and still, there was no Harvey. Cosah knew the set time had gone and past, but even though he sensed something was wrong, he proceeded anyway. Tucking Mr. Marksman’s gun into his pants and leaving his food in a hidden spot so that he could come back to it fast and depart, he started on his way slowly, having already watched the overseers leave an hour ago.
From the back of the Marksman’s house, he crawled by as fast as he could in order to get to Misty’s hut, but right before he turned the corner of the house, Harvey jumped out from behind Misty’s hut which was in Cosah’s plain view. Then, Harvey waved his hand furiously while rushing toward him as fast as he could. When he reached Cosah, he fell to his bottom and slid right next to him on the grass, sorely afraid to be this close to the plantation house for no work related reason.
He took a deep breath and started, “Cosah, you got to leave. One didn’t leave yet, and it don’t look like he be goin’ nowhere. Go on now,” he explained, turning back to see if he had been followed. “They think that lady we put in the Still River ran off, say a gun missin’, too, and that’s what lead it on...”
As he spoke, he ended up quieting down when he watched Cosah lean to one side, revealing the truth of where the gun was the whole time. Fear struck Harvey’s eyes as he looked at Cosah like he’d lost his heaven given mind.
“What you do that fuh, Cosah? Could be done got us killed!” he complained in a frustrated whisper.
“Well, it’s good they think she took the gun now ain’t it?” he stated as he lowered his body back flat to the ground. Then he looked out toward the slave quarters. “Now where that overseer? It’s the Negro one?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harvey answered as he swallowed and caught his breath.
“He on foot or ridin’?”
“On foot right now. On foot and he looking every which way, especially this way near the house. Got to be careful. He the fastest overseer out here, and they leave him with a gun and one bullet. Say he either shoot himself or the fella he catch runnin’ He’ll alert Mr. Marksman if he see you, and I tell you, Cosah, you won’t get far, not with Misty.”
“Listen here,” Cosah started, doubting the overseer’s speed. As far as he knew, he was always the fastest on any plantation, so he wasn’t afraid. “You go on back, and you tell him you done packed some food for him ‘round the corner of one of them huts, just for the holiday, or matter of fact, make up anything that will bring him back ‘round yonder. When he come ‘round, I’ll be waitin’. Make sure he come ‘round my vision, too, on this side. I’ll come right straight out them woods and cut his throat.”
Harvey didn’t know what to say. He could only stare at the man he used to know as a boy, but then, he remembered how head strong and physically able his parents were, and how he was raised up until he left. It was only then that he knew, killing someone would come second nature to him if he had to do it. Harvey knew that this was something Cosah had to do in order to get away free or risk being caught.
“Go on. I can see him. Distract him. I’m goin’ round the fourth hut. Ain’t that one directly ‘cross from yours?” he asked with his eyes sharply focused on the overseer, watching how fast he moved, turned and stood in place.
“You sho, Cosah? Massah still...”
Cosah’s eyes briefly but threateningly met with Harvey’s. “He ain’t my massah.” Cosah then pulled out the knife he took from Mr. Marksman’s kitchen. He nodded his head for Harvey to continue with the plan, and as they both split up, Cosah headed toward the nearby woods and Harvey back beyond Misty’s hut toward the overseer, it was only a matter of time before anything could go very wrong or very right.
As he maneuvered through the trees, he remained focused on his aim, never attempting to look from side to side, nor behind himself, as he approached the clearing to the hut to which he told Harvey to lead the overseer. What Cosah knew about the Negro overseer was that the only reason he was called an overseer was so the white ones got rest. If he didn’t do what they told him to, which was tell on all he knew of the other slaves, he would die just as fast as they could string him up. It wasn’t because he wanted to tell on them, but because he felt he had no choice. Cosah remembered this particular type of Negro overseer very well. To him, he was the coward that helped Mr. Marksman and Mr. Thomas separate him from his mother. Even though Cosah knew the Negro overseer felt he hadn’t a choice, it made for the perfect excuse for Cosah to do what he was about to do to him – because he had no choice.
It wasn’t long before the makeshift overseer was on his way to the hut with Harvey. From what Cosah could perceive, it appeared that Harvey told him a lie more persuasive than food because they were both rushing to get back behind the hut as quickly as possible. Cosah didn’t concern himself with much else, like other slaves watching, because he knew that no one elected to ever follow behind an overseer. They were the last people to see them before they went to bed and the first people to force them to work at sun rising. Anything worse than the plantation owner was the overseer, and many times, they were far more brutal.
Cosah knew that Harvey’s life was on the line, so no matter what, he was going to go through with the plan. Even if someone saw, there wasn’t a slave out there who was going to tell it the way it happened, and Cosah was going to make sure of that for Harvey’s sake.
Cosah timed his dash perfectly, and it wasn’t more than four seconds later that he was planted behind the hut on the highest alert that he’d ever been. His eyes were stretched as wide as his eyelids could part, and when Harvey came around the corner, he sliced Harvey’s arm, causing him to leap back in horror as he fell to the ground. In the next second, he’d pushed the gun directly onto the overseers head and dared him to make one noise.
“Walk back here right now.” Cosah wasn’t planning to make the meeting long. “You stay right there, Harvey.” Still, following the overseer behind the hut, he asked, “You remember me?”
The frightened overseer couldn’t think about anything, much less who was standing in front of him, due to the gun at his head. Then, Cosah reached for the knife in his pocket, causing the overseer to see the scar on Cosah’s hand.
“No, no no, please, Cosah,” he began to plead, but it was too late.
“We meet now like this because I have to do what I have to do to stay alive.” He then sliced his throat, and the blood immediately poured out as the overseer’s hands were left fumbling all over his neck as he fell to his knees and died.
A shaken Harvey stayed on the ground, for fear of being seen or killed, not understanding why Cosah cut him. “What you go and...”
“Shh!” Cosah stated as he continued to walk by him as if he didn’t even know him, headed toward the woods. “I cut you so you won’t be blamed for it.” Then he turned back around viciously, walked back toward him and cut him again, muffling Harvey’s holler with the palm of his hand. “That man knife still on him. Don’t go nowhere near him. Just let somebody find you back here. Lay flat and pretend to be on your dyin’ bed. In case somebody seen me, they’ll think I really attacked but had mercy.” Before he left, he told Harvey the one thing he truly needed to say. “Thank ya.” He stormed back off, controlled by nothing but rage as he headed directly for Mr. Marksman’s home, consumed by thoughts of his mother. There were no more overseers left watching and telling. However, someone else was watching as he stomped past her hut – Misty – and she saw the anger in his eyes. She stood outside her door with tears streaming down her face. Once he saw her, he snapped out of his fury, and only for a moment, he became as gentle as a lost puppy.
“Misty...no, no, no. I’m here. I’m right here,” he calmly said to her as she looked him over as if wasn’t real. She punched his chest and cried without saying a word. He took the blows to his body but then swiftly moved her toward the plantation house with his hand across her mouth. When they got to the house, she broke away from him and whispered angrily.
“I thought you’d done been killed, Cosah. They looking for that lady I...”
“Be quiet. I know. I watched ‘em all go and come back and leave again.” He stared behind him and then back at her. “Listen here, I got to go inside this here house.”
“No! No,” she argued, grabbing his shirt and shaking it as hard as she could to make his senses come back to him, but he just stood there with an emptiness in his eyes that she’d never noticed before. That was when she knew what was about to happen. “Cosah, no. That man in that house will kill you dead. Look at me! I’m right here! I’m who you came for.” She then slapped his face, but that didn’t force his attention her way. She then asked, “What are you lookin’ at, Cosah?” Standing right behind Misty was his mother, and she wasn’t sick or hurt, but her appearance was beautiful.
Misty turned around in circles, noticing that his attention was on something or someone that stood behind her. However, it was Cosah who stood still and silent, calmed and steady, longing for the person who stood before him and as she faded once again, she pointed in the direction of Mr. Marksman’s bedroom.
“Cosah!”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he began walking toward the side of the house, and Misty, not knowing what to do, followed behind terrified. She watched as he opened the door with ease and go inside. She could do nothing else besides follow him in.
Cosah stood there in the kitchen and listened. Misty stood behind him breathing much too loudly, so he raised his hand to her face and then put his finger at her lips. Then, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out his knife, handing it to her. Misty knew what it was for, her protection, because she’d already spotted the gun in Cosah’s possession.
“I’m ready now. Just waitin’ on you. We’re already late, Jim, honey,” Mrs. Sarah’s voice called as she strolled down the staircase, reaching the attention of Cosah. He expressionlessly followed her every move like a cheetah ready to pounce its prey, but his first target was Mr. Marksman. Therefore, he waited on her to pass by, and as she did, she headed directly for the front door. She was draped in a long flowing white dress with a small purse and pink hat dangling from her hand. Her head was held high, and her feet stepped like she was a swan as she approached the door and went outside the huge mansion that the Negroes paid for underneath the hot, scorching sun. Cosah knew once she stepped outside, that she was all alone because he heard no one greet her, which had always been mandatory. As the door closed, the smell of the fresh evening breeze entered the foyer.
He walked to the edge of the kitchen door to make certain no one else was in the area, but as soon as his foot hit the floor, he caught a glimpse of Mr. Marksman walking on the second floor. He quickly, but silently, removed his foot and pushed Misty from the area, behind the wall to his right. She watched his chest raise and his veins protrude from his hands all the way to his neck while on his forehead, a large vein pulsated through his skin as he awaited his moment.
Each step Mr. Marksman took felt like an eternity to Cosah as his grip on the gun tightened. When there were only three more steps for Mr. Marksman to climb down, he noticed the gun on his side, so he moved over toward Misty, waiting until he heard the sound of a steady walk. Cosah then crossed the room, making it directly behind Mr. Marksman before the plantation owner turned to face the barrel of his own gun.
Mr. Marksman’s joyous appearance turned south as he stood there in his boots, vest and wide brim hat, confused and under attack by what he saw as a Negro male intruder in his home. When he finally noticed that the gun was the one he thought his slave girl stole, he quickly reached for the other gun at his side, but Cosah then jammed the gun to Mr. Marksman’s head and clasped his hand tightly around his wrist while Misty watched in horror. Cosah then took his gun from him, resulting in a defenseless Mr. Marksman and a fully loaded and vengeful Negro slave with two guns.
“Misty!” Cosah called only once, and she could tell by the demanding sound of his voice that he wanted her immediately. She knew that this was just like last night when she had to kill Jane. There was no turning back. They had to kill them, and that was why she stormed into the room, tears covering her cheeks but staring angrily, directly at the man who raped her since she’d been on the plantation. “Take a look at her,” Cosah ordered Mr. Marksman.
“That nigger whore! And you love her, huh? Huh, boy!” he started laughing. “Is this what this is all about? This whore? Are you the man who wanted to marry her, huh, boy?” he taunted.
“What’s all the noise going on in here?” Sarah walked in asking as she adjusted her shawl until she looked up from her frolicking. “Jesus the Christ!” she called out, stagnated in shock as Misty drove home a full out attack on her, shoving her away from the door, causing her to fall to the floor as Misty fell directly on top of her, placing the knife directly at her throat. Sarah screamed and hollered for help, but Misty pushed the knife closer to her neck and then kicked the door shut with her foot.
“Get off my wife!”
“The same way I told you to get off of me the first time you came in my hut?” Misty cried in a furor. “All of you been on me, and this is the one you care ‘bout treatin’ nice?” she asked, looking down at a terrified Sarah. Then she shouted at the top of her lungs, sending a chill down Mr. Marksman’s spine. “I got a baby in me! A baby! And it ain’t yours! None of your property. It’s his!” she yelled referring to Cosah.
“You don’t remember me do you, Mrs. Sarah...Mr. Marksman?” Cosah interjected. “I’m son of Marcus who died there in that lake after you and your men chased him out.”
Mr. Marksman’s face turned as white as the cotton in his yard. His knees weakened when everything registered, conjuring up his memories of Cosah when he was nothing but a little boy on his plantation and how he sold him off from Shelone with his sisters. He looked down at the feet of the man who stood before him aiming the guns at him and his wife, and then he traced Cosah’s brown skin all the way up to his face once again. That was when he saw her. He saw her – Shelone – in the face of the man standing before him, and he cringed.
He’d heard the whispers of the slaves ever since that day his children were killed. The overseers would come and report to him the sayings of the curse, that the evil that was done by Shelone to get her peace wasn’t over. He remember he’d called on the Negro overseer a long time ago and forced him to speak on the unspeakable, and when he spoke, Mr. Marksman didn’t believe that Shelone would come back, but the Negro curse was true, and it sent horror directly into Mr. Marksman’s spirit that she had really come back in her firstborn son.
“Cosah,” he uttered like he’d seen a ghost. He looked at the man who saw his mom being whipped in front of him, who he stripped from his mother over fifteen years ago, mercilessly and heartlessly. His body became even more limp as he reached for a wall, but there was none on either side of him to lean on. “You...you were my property,” he whispered, his lip quivering before he started yelling for his overseers to no avail.
“I wasn’t nobody’s property then, and I ain’t never gonna be nobody’s property. I’m a son. I’m a son of Shelone.” He then pulled the trigger, and Mr. Marksman died with his eyes open wide, staring Cosah in the face, before he fell down on his back flat on the floor dead. It was a screaming Sarah whom he turned the gun on next. “Let her go,” he ordered, and Misty moved away, confused at his words.
“She gonna get away, Cosah...”
“Where she goin’? She got nowhere to go.”
Sarah scrambled to the door, swung it open, and ran out of the house, falling down the stairs screaming and horrified after watching the one person she finally recognized as Cosah execute her husband in cold blood. To her right, she noticed the gathering of Negroes in the yard coming her way after hearing the gunshot and the familiar voice of her screaming and calling for help in terror, however, she was sorely afraid to run their direction for help as she felt they were going to kill her as well. Therefore, she ran out into the open cotton fields in the darkness.
“Get away from me! Help me somebody. These niggers...they’re coming to kill me! They’re crazy!” She turned behind her as her legs were being cut by the cotton bristles having never strolled through them in her natural born life being the daughter of a wealthy slave owner herself. When she looked back, she noticed Cosah standing at on the porch along with Misty, but she began running even faster when she saw them jogging towards her. Even though she ran her fastest, her speed was no match for the strength and speed that was built in the limbs of the Negroes that were worked so hard all of their lives. They ran like it was nothing and catching up to her was inevitable.
As she struggled to run, the image of a woman appeared, highlighted by the whites of the cotton fields that surrounded her. Sarah dropped to her knees and belted out in anguish and fear as she recognized the woman in slave garb standing there under the evening’s night sky.
“Get away from me, you murderer! You killed my children! It was you...you came back. Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Shelone? Shelone!” Sarah wailed at the spirit of Shelone that stared down at her groveling body in the middle of the cotton fields. Sarah was slowly losing her mind, relentlessly speaking to the spirit waiting on an answer as if Shelone was still her property and owed her some sort of respect, until she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. They were the steps of Misty and Cosah. At that, Sarah turned around in horror as she faced the people who she knew were about to take her life.
Cosah wasn’t looking back at Sarah. Instead, he watched his mother who stood calmly before him, until she turned her eyes toward Misty. Misty then froze in fear as Shelone’s face turned as stagnant as stone. Only her eyes moved toward the knife that was in Misty’s hand. Quickly, she looked at Cosah, but Cosah didn’t move. He stood like a soldier before his mother and all the rest of the slaves who stood behind them in awe watching Shelone as she cared for her family from the dead.
When Misty noticed Cosah wasn’t moving and Mrs. Sarah crawling away, she turned back to Cosah’s mother who had then already moved within centimeters of her face. “Take care of my family!” Shelone screamed to her face.
The Negroes who lined up behind them fell to the ground in fear and some ran back toward the huts, but it was in that one second that Misty ran over to an escaping Sarah, placed the knife to her throat, turned to Cosah, and at the nod of his head, slit her throat as Sarah called out a name that was never mentioned again on the plantation – Shelone.
Blood streamed out of Sarah’s neck as she fell over, choking on her own red blood as her eyes turned from Misty to the spirit of Shelone who was then carrying what looked to be a small white child in her arms. It was the spirit of baby Joseph, and on the side of Shelone’s leg holding on tight was baby Abraham. Joseph was asleep in Shelone’s arms, and as Sarah recognized her own baby, she loosened the grip she had on her bloody neck and reached for her child, unable to call his name, and then she fell backwards in the cotton and died.
Shelone then turned to the Negroes that remained in the fields as a warning to never disturb her family again. Then, as Misty dropped the knife and ran back over to Cosah’s side, Shelone walked closer to him, kissed him on his cheek, turned and walked away.
They followed her back to Still River, leaving Mrs. Sarah’s body in the midst of the cotton and her husband’s body in the foyer of the plantation house, leading every single Negro that wanted to go and could fit...on a boat ride to freedom.
This was the slave story of Shelone and how her actions cursed the Marksman’s plantation.
THE END
Enjoyed? Please leave a review. Thank you.