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Fray spent his morning playing host to the newly arrived security squad that had been handpicked by Zyon and Warwick. The group of 40 arrived on New Island by one of the Exodus ferries from Charleston. They were met by Fray and taken to The Taylor for check-in and a breakfast meeting with the chiefs and squad leaders of the island’s security force.
The group seemed to get along well. Fray didn’t sense that the island’s security felt slighted by the arrival of backup. Likewise, the handpicked security team didn’t appear offended about assisting a small security squad off the coast of South Carolina.
Fray wouldn’t have hung around were it not for the fact that both teams were very interested in insights regarding the inconspicuous spots that those with foul intent could use to find their way onto the island. Who better than an island native to provide such info? One who had scoured the terrain during his boyhood.
The group had set out on foot after breakfast and was making its way onto the residential end of the island. They were an impressive looking lot- all black fatigue, capped and shaded. Knife sheaths, holsters and gun belts added to their inarguably dangerous appearance.
“How long will it be quiet around here once the place is closed to tourists?”
“No more than two weeks,” Fray took the question from one of the new security members. “Then family starts arriving in Charleston to be ferried over.”
“And how long does that go on?” Another of the new security members asked.
The question roused an amused look from Fray and a few of the other members of the New Island security team.
“That goes on into the new year,” Fray said. “Through the first two weeks of January. With so much family, it’s hard to get schedules synced especially when so many of us hold key positions in very sensitive areas of government worldwide.
There’s a gathering each of the last few months in the year to celebrate my grand-aunt’s birthday,” Fray explained as heads began to nod. “We’ve been doing it this way for the last five years.”
“And the island’s capable of handling that kind of traffic?” Someone asked.
“There’re still many of us who can’t make the events.” Or won’t, he added silently. “Even though we split everything over three events- a costume ball on Halloween, a reunion during Thanksgiving and the Christmas Party, it’s still difficult. My cousins and I usually fly out to celebrate privately with our aunt given our schedules. We get here in late February once the crowds have dispersed. We have our aunt brought over to Columbia for a few days.”
Fray didn’t bother to explain that plan was to ensure they didn’t run the risk of unsettling anyone-namely any member of the Taylor, Desmond or Croix families. Besides, Bin always seemed to have a splendid time being adored and pampered so it worked out all around.
“In short,” Frayzer said to his companions, “we rarely run into any issues with overcrowding. The Taylor is more than adequate to accommodate us all.”
“It’s still quite a group to deal with,” Chief Cassius Sagers cautioned, “especially when you factor in the weather.”
“Chief Sagers is right,” Fray added. “We’re blessed in that we aren’t hit at the same time or with the same ferocity as the mainland but caution’s still in effect and there are those rare occasions when Mother Nature turns her fury on us.”
“But we haven’t been hit with a storm season like that in over five years,” the chief interjected having spotted the worry on the faces of some of the new team members.
Soft laughter swelled among the men and then Fray was continuing with his tour guide duties. He explained the setup of the residential sector and its six founding families.
“There were once more single family homes and schools on the island, but as people started heading off to seek their fortunes, those structures were absorbed into the larger estate homes you’ll see as we head further in. Those are occupied by family elders and such. You could say they keep the home fires burning for when the rest of us come back needing to be babied.”
“She doesn’t look like a family elder.” One of the new security team made the observation, his expression and tone seeming mesmerized.
Fray and the others turned to watch Ellia make her way across the low bridge that joined the Taylor side of the island to the Guthrie’s. A rapidly moving stream flowed beneath a plank wood bridge; secured by the tall steel posts at either end. The day was a chilly one and El kept her head down a bit. She seemed focused on warming herself, rubbing her hands briskly over the sleeves of a violet fleece sweater.
“Got any more visions like that around here, Guthrie?”
As Fray was too busy watching El take the shaded path that led to Binta Hammond’s estate, Chief Sagers supplied the answer to the team member’s query. “That’s a definite yes, but it’d be safer for you to browse on the other side of the island for them.”
The advice was well received. Sagers wasn’t the only one who had noticed how intently Fray observed the woman who had captured everyone’s attention. The security member; who had issued the comment, sent Sagers a silent nod of thanks- happy that his words hadn’t riled his cool yet disconcerting host.
***
Brisk, determined steps carried El to Binta Hammond’s. The night had come and gone in a blur. Dawn had emerged to find El curled in the closet doorway. She’d been there since tugging the journal from its hidey hole beneath the floorboards. The journal inscribed with the names of Taylor ancestors- male ancestors- dated back almost to the island’s inception.
In 1858, a community of plantation owners formed by Josh Hammond and Lennox Croix led the charge to free the slaves they kept. El had settled in with the thick tomb and read the story told in the words of those who had lived it.
Hammond’s and Croix’s...affections for their slaves was widely known. Several children were believed to have been sired by the plantation owners who had no legitimate heirs between them. The beliefs weren’t hard to be taken as fact given that so many slaves of the suspected Hammond and Croix lines were fair-skinned with light hair and eyes.
According to the writings, it seemed that Hammond and Croix were first to accept the idea of abolition as the next and correct step in the great slave debate. The two owners wanted to lead the charge. They knew they wouldn’t have the support of every owner along the South Carolina coast. Still, they were of a mind that if they could sway those closest to them, it might be enough for other owners against the idea to offer little resistance or retaliation once the move was made. Hammond and Croix sought support from the man whose lead they felt others would follow.
Brock Taylor Guthrie was known to rule his estate with an iron fist. Yet no one could accuse Guthrie of burdening his slaves with the sort of brutality most suffered-aside from the brutality of being owned. Caring master or not, Guthrie wasn’t of a mind to free his property.
Guthrie, like many other slave owners viewed his acquisitions as no more than children needing to be controlled and guided. Nevertheless, 1861 saw Guthrie freeing his slaves and convincing two other powerful estate owners Jeremiah Desmond and Stanford Noble to do the same. Desmond and Noble joined in and took charge of their destinies before the looming threat of war intervened to do it for them.
Between 1858 and 1861 Brock Guthrie worked with his trusted field and house-men Bronson Guthrie and Elijah Taylor to explain the coming changes to their people. Guthrie and Taylor were to manage the exodus from the mainland to one of the uncharted seaside isles far off the coastline.
The land claimed for New Island was chosen for its location and topography. The treacherous cliffs and strangely stormy climate gave Brock Guthrie and his associates hope that it would not be a spot that would attract Union or Confederate soldiers. The hope was that they wouldn’t want to risk time and possible damage to their vessels trying to reach the island in hopes of scavenging for supplies.
New seemed to lead a charmed existence and was somehow spared the ugliness of the war that ripped a nation in half. The island came into its own and the area flourished. Though every man, woman and child had been freed from their lives of bondage, there was still law and order to be maintained. The people looked to Guthrie and Taylor to continue in their positions of management in the place they now called home.
“Guthrie and Taylor were named for their master Brock Taylor Guthrie,” Bin gave a wry smile, shaking her head as she reared back slowly in a cushioned rocker.
“My great-grandfather and your three times great grandfather were among the first born to any of the African lines forced here to America.”
“They named their children after a man who bought them-used them like cattle,” El didn’t think she would ever understand that custom.
“Stories describe him as a hard man, but surprisingly fair when it came to his slaves.”
“Fair to his slaves, Bin? Do you realize how oxymoronic that sounds?”
“You’ll have to forgive an old lady her political incorrectness,” Bin sighed, maintaining her content rocking, “Those were the times and that way of thinking would seem foreign to you. It should seem foreign to us all, but...” Airily, Bin lifted a hand and set it back to the fabric she was supposed to be studying.
“I’m sorry,” El shook her head, grimacing at her edginess. “I’m just cranky because I didn’t get much sleep. I found that thing ‘round four-been reading and re-reading it ever since.”
The Taylor journal sat on the stout coffee-table occupying a wide space in the big parlor that also doubled as Binta’s home office.
Despite her exhaustion from an afternoon and evening of reading, El didn’t cancel out on the day’s meeting. There were plans needing to be finalized for Bin’s birthday celebration. In just shy of a month, family and friends would begin descending on the island from all over the world.
“It said the branding was a security measure,” El stared at the journal and could see its weathered pages inside her mind. “The rituals...came later.”
“The rituals were madness,” Bin’s voice was uncharacteristically dry. “It was all madness,” she tacked on following the look Ellia sent her.
“You already know that brandings were how plantations sorted its slaves,” Bin continued, caressing the slab of fabric she considered. “That was a useful practice when plantations were close like the Guthries, Hammonds, Croixs, Nobles and Desmonds. They were practically a town to themselves outside of Charleston and a big reason why the other owners didn’t argue too much-the way they could have when approached with the idea of freeing slaves.
My grandfather, Frayzer’s great great-grandfather Bronson Guthrie, was born in 1849 and he was almost ten years old before all this progressive talk of freeing slaves began to take shape among those in bondage. By then, he’d lived long enough to witness things no child should see-no adult should see.” Bin clasped her hands, her dark face radiant with memory.
“It didn’t matter how...fair those owners thought they treated the slaves- it was a horrific existence.” Bin’s radiance clouded with weariness. “I won’t sit here and justify the things my grandfather did as he came of age, child, but you must understand that no child could live that sort of life and not be darkly marked in some way by it.
Some might take that dark mark and use it to bring about change. I suppose my Grandfather Bron thought he was doing that. His father had been dead almost ten years when Grampy brought back the brandings.”
Bin curled her fingers into the cloth and stretched it. “He didn’t do it to ensure no one forgot who they belonged to, but to punish those who forgot their place. Grampy was the last of the children born on the mainland. He was branded when he was seven.” Bin’s smile was sad in reaction to El’s sharp breath.
“Grampy said the people had gotten out of hand. There were so many of us then and free to do as we wanted. He thought we needed stronger...laws to keep everyone controlled. The Guthries and Taylors were still who everyone looked to as the island’s leaders. Most saw that status as a line between the families. My grandfather took over after his father passed on. He and your great great great-grandfather Elijah never agreed on how the island should be managed. Eventually, the Guthrie Taylor friendship was over. The Guthries, Hammonds and Nobles basically ignored the Taylors, Croixs and Desmonds.”
Bin sighed and rocked back a ways in her chair. “From what I know, everyone got along pretty well ‘til...something happened and a branding was demanded. After that, it started to happen all the time until soon nobody was surprised. The Guthries would be calling for them against the Taylors, Croixs and Desmonds. My grandfather decided the people were too out of hand- he thought everyone could stand more frequent reminders of the consequences for threatening the island’s harmony.
Binta gave a faint shrug but her eyes glowed with heightened dismay. “Since the Taylors and those on their side were the ones causing the disruptions, it was customary for them to be branded when time came round for the rituals.”
“But that-that’s insane,” Ellia gaped. “They were branded just-just because? Why didn’t anybody argue, fight?”
“Many did, sweetness,” Binta’s soft smile tempered the dismay in her warm eyes. “But doing so put them at the front of the line for brandings when they came around every full moon.
You should remember, child, that there were still many former slaves on the island- they were bred to be controlled by fear. Many remembered the plantations and the punishments. They were conditioned to fall in line when the master dictated and they taught their children to do the same until it was an ingrained response. After a while, no one argued. It was just the way of the island.
Then your great-great grandfather Hayes Taylor took a stand. Bronson Guthrie II was as corrupt as he was insane. I was about ten and there’d been these disappearances...it was nothing new, people always ventured off. We were a free people. Some returned after a while if they could. A black person had no place in the world beyond the island in those days.”
The dismay surged on Bin’s face again. “There were still things about some of those disappearances that had people on edge. They happened often and in large numbers.” Her smile was a bit harsher. “‘Course, my grandfather blamed the Taylors even though it was people on the Taylors’ side who were disappearing. It was a mad time.”
Binta’s harsh smile softened. “I told my mother I’d make it stop, but I forgot I was a girl. I didn’t have the power to do anything but watch and then help to nurse wounds later. When my grandfather died, nothing really changed. I loved my father, but he was a weak man. He allowed those loyal to Guthrie philosophies to convince him to keep the tradition going.
By the time my brother, Fray’s grandfather, came of age to take charge, the brandings had gone on long enough to darkly mark a whole new generation.”
“Fray’s father,” El guessed, her eyes going back to the journal. “My dad made the last entries in the book. He suspected something that could ruin the island. He wrote his last passage to me and said it was his duty to give an accurate account of the family’s history. He wrote that what he suspected wasn’t something he would put into writing and that he prayed he was wrong.
He said that what happened to me was his fault and the fault of everyone who sat by and watched impotently as their loved ones were hurt. He wrote that he couldn’t let it continue and was going down to get answers. He died a week after that entry. Never wrote another.” Curiosity flooded El’s eyes then.
“Going down to get his answers- that’s just how he wrote it. Where was he going Bin?” She shook her head suddenly then. “I’m sorry, Bin I-” She massaged her neck, exhaustion wedging deeper. “This is all like a bad dream.”
“You’ve taken in over a century and a half of history in one night,” pity swam in Bin’s still vibrant eyes. “That would take a toll on the strongest brain.”
“I guess,” El managed a tired smile toward the fabric Bin had been testing. “You haven’t made any headway.”
“Hmph,” Bin studied the fabric once more. “I hear the mind’s the first to go. In my case, I guess it’s sensation. All these fabrics feel the same.”
“Juwon just wants everything perfect for your party,” El mentioned the Charleston party planner. “He says even the drapes for the ballroom windows need to be spectacular.”
“Spectacular, huh?” Bin sighed, tossing aside the fabric. “Tell Mr. O’Shay that we’ve done enough parties together for me to trust his expertise by now. He’s got carte blanche status.”
“Really?” El’s brows lifted as laughter tickled her throat.
Bin considered, and then inclined her head. “Carte blanche with your supervision.” With that settled, she pushed out of the Queen Anne styled rocker that was upholstered with miniature portraits of African warrior queens.
“I need to check on something, child. Lay back and get yourself a little nap.”
El was already shaking her head. “I’ve got too much to do at the hotel.” Silently, she recalled the unexpected time she’d taken to enjoy Fray Guthrie. She had to clear her throat when an unexpected throb began to nag.
“I won’t be long, do as I say,” Bin waved a staying hand.
Knowing better than to argue and pleased by the idea of a quick nap, El took off her canvas shoes. She swung her legs up on the long, coral colored sectional she’d occupied since her arrival. Sleep visited within a few minutes.
~~~
Fray handled his tour guide duties admirably but started to plot his exit shortly after Ellia had crossed his path. Cassius Sagers and his men were more than capable of handling the rest of the tour. Besides, Fray wouldn’t even attempt trying to convince himself that his focus wasn’t shot to hell by then.
El hadn’t drifted far below the surface of his thoughts since she’d left him sleeping the day before. A full night of sleep was hopeless once he’d woke to find her gone. Immediately, he wanted to go and drag her back to his bed. He wasn’t upset by her leaving...too much. Moreover, he was sure she needed her sleep as well as her space.
They’d enjoyed one another during those long quiet hours spent in the privacy of that hotel suite, but Fray knew they were a far cry from where he wanted them to be. Where was that exactly? El trusting him-completely. He wanted her to completely trust him with her life in a way that she wouldn’t have to speak of. It would be a trust that he would see when she looked at him with those bright eyes of hers. Was he asking too much? After all they’d been through, all she’d been through, was he asking too much?
He’d arrived at Bin’s and stood there watching as El stirred from the nap she’d been grabbing on the parlor sofa. A quick look over his shoulder assured him the coast was clear. Pushing off the room’s high, arching entryway, he shortened the distance between them. She’d turned from her side onto her back upon stirring. Beneath the fuzzy sweater she’d been bundled into, he saw she wore a simple gray capped-sleeved blouse with an empire bodice that shelved her breasts in an inviting fashion.
Fray was so mesmerized that he’d taken a knee next to the sofa. He lost himself in several moments of running the backs of his fingers across the slowly heaving mounds and took his pleasure in the silken quality of her mocha skin.
Soon, he was greedy for more than just restrained grazes and was then undoing the tiny buttons on her blouse with a skillful, deliberate touch. Ellia was stirring a bit more consistently by then. No doubt, greed had his touch turning more insistent than skilled.
He closed his eyes to savor the pleasure blooming when his fingers slipped inside the deep valley between her breasts. The spot was as soft as felt and Fray was already nuzzling into the fragrant hollow when she sighed his name. Guilt over the advantage he’d taken, had him hesitating a moment before meeting her eyes. He found no accusation there, only smug approval that only hinted of admonishment.
“We’re on your aunt’s sofa.”
“We’ve done worse on other things in this house.”
“Mmm...” she sighed, “So we have...”
It was her giggle that broke him. The delighted, purely girlish sound took him right back to what he’d known with her at a time when everything was still so new.
He was on her then, driving her head back into the cushions as his tongue plundered her mouth. El welcomed his technique, tugging at fistfuls of his denim shirt and using the material for purchase. She met the demand in his kiss with her own. Moaning, she begged him to join her on the sofa. Fray was bracing off his knee to do just that when Bin’s voice touched his ears.
“Should I come back or would you two like to go on up to the attic suite you used before?”
Frayzer and Ellia didn’t jerk apart, they couldn’t when they were each desperate to hide their faces in the other’s neck.
“You knew about that?” Fray was first to acknowledge his aunt’s presence though he kept his face averted from her knowing gaze.
Binta was tickled while she stood there beaming at the two adults she’d practically raised. “If there’s one thing you can count on when it comes to children, it’s that they never put things back where they found them.” Hands folded contently across her waist of her elegant housedress, Bin strode into the room.
“I appreciated finding the blankets folded neatly in the closet, but I used to keep them in the chest at the foot of the bed.”
“In our defense, anyone could’ve put them there,” Fray reasoned.
“True, sweetie, but not anyone had a compact with her initials inscribed on top. I do give the best birthday gifts, don’t I El? You can imagine my surprise when Claudia found it under the bed during her vacuum cleaning. Then there was another surprise finding one of my Quiet Storm CDs in the changer while the case was on the night table next to an empty bottle of that fizzy water you were addicted to, Fray. You were the only one who liked them, remember?”
Fray shook his head while El worked her fingers against her temple.
“Jesus, Bin,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Bin uttered another sigh while continuing her turn around the room. “My mother always said it was smart not to always let the children know you’re on to them. That fosters security and therefore mistakes.”
“Thanks for not giving us grief over it, Bin.” El said.
Bin stood behind her chair. “I thought you two had enough grief in your lives in the form of my nephew.”
Fray’s and El’s grateful smiles waned until they’d completely disappeared.
“You should tell Fray what you found in your father’s journal,” Bin said to El and then turned to her nephew and presented him with a small pouch. Afterwards, she returned to the extraordinary Queen Anne chair. “It’s time you had that,” she told him.
Fray studied the pouch at length before opening it. Inside was a long, old-fashioned key. His expression was question enough.
“I remember when my father gave it to your grandfather,” Bin explained.
“Where does it lead?” El asked, her eyes following the key Fray turned in his hands.
“I’ve always thought it led to darkness. The kind that drove my grandfather and molded Fray’s father.”
“This should probably be yours then, Bin,” Fray bounced the key against his palm, “Men in our family seem swayed by the madness of others.”
“Well...” Bin raised her round shoulders and sighed. “Since my brother was older and...well... male, it went to him. Your father wasn’t the only one who kept journals,” she told El. “That’s what the key is for.
I never read them- they weren’t for women’s eyes and I didn’t care. I didn’t want an explanation for what my grandfather thought justified his actions.” Bin eyed the Taylor journal on the coffee table.
“Justifications for that kind of evil were dangerous. Your grandfather discovered that too late, Fray. His son had already been seduced by the words in those books. My brother kept them displayed as things of pride- they were history after all.”
She sent Fray a refreshing smile. “Your father never took a shine to reading, but when he found those journals it was like he’d been bewitched. He was barely thirteen. An immature mind with access to such insanity...it was a formula for trouble.”
Quiet settled between the three for a long while.
“Your grandfather sealed the journals in a box that the key will open. You’ll find it in the cliffs on the other side of the island. Don’t ask me where inside,” Bin seemed to shudder. “Your grandfather and granduncle Fiske went to hide it. They gave me the key when they got back. We were all still so young... and dumb, we figured- out of sight, out of mind and it was...for us. Not your dad. Not for a long time-once he had other things occupying his mind.
He never knew what happened to the journals-pitched a fit when he found out they were gone. I think he always thought I had them or that I knew where they were which greatly improved his manner toward me. I think he hoped they’d turn up in my effects when I died but as the years went by, he seemed to forget about them. Like I said, he had other things on his mind-the brandings for one. Then after what happened and I called for everyone to agree for your boys to be educated away from the island...oh he hated me then.”
“Because he realized you had more power than he did.”
Bin sent a nod toward Fray. “I think he’d have surely helped me into my grave if someone hadn’t helped him into his first. El honey, I think what you’ll find there might explain more of what you read last night.”
“Thank you Bin.”
“Don’t,” she waved off the younger woman’s gratitude. “I’d prefer you put that key somewhere and forget about it. I was of a mind to have it buried with me, but my father and brother were right- it was history. Good or bad, it’s ours. What’s the saying? If you don’t know your history you may be doomed to repeat it?”
Fray and El exchanged placid looks which they turned to the key resting on Fray’s palm.