A Woman of Two Worlds

Prelude:

Feet raw and blistered as I stumbled through the brush, thick vines and roots tangled within my tattered dress. Pausing only a moment to catch my breath against an old moss covered willow. The pain was agonizing, my limbs were throbbing and burned with each step. Drenched in sweat I made my way towards the clearing just ahead, the scene of lights and curls of smoke coming from endless rows of cabins spread about the grande plantation. Crimson streaked down my legs, grasping at my womb with shaken hands I felt the urge to bear down, the pressure became so overwhelming I feared if I rested it would happen where I stood. Nearing towards the old shack that sat off furthest from the others. The smell of chamomile,lavender and various other herbs grew stronger, its intoxicating aroma almost nauseating. I was almost there… Ma'mere Viola had been expecting me. But how ? I had only four days prior made up my mind to set off on the difficult journey. The sudden events had sent my familiar world into frenzy, it was crucial to my survival to escape. The cabin door swung open, the scent of sweet and bitter herbs danced around my nostrils. The silhouette of a large and homely woman in the threshold stood waiting. "Tu vas bien" (are you okay) Ma' mere called out as I drifted towards her, unable to complete the task I fell at her feet. "Je muers ma mere!" ( I am dying mother) as the world around me went black. I awoke to a flickering fire casting shadows of Ma' mere and what seems to be an older man, I felt under a trance as I heard their whispers from the far corner of the room. The man's tone coated in fear and doubt, but ma'mere hummed a vaguely familiar tune as she stirred the huge pot and pulled herbs from various jars. My eyes fluttered as I fought against the urge to sleep. A sharp pain shot up the middle of my belly, causing me to groan like a wounded dog. Ma'mere viola rushed to my side placing hot rags against my head and womb. They smelled of the herbs, as I slipped in and out of consciousness. During my travels I lost a lot of blood and they feared the worst. Thinking of Collier Manor, Master Baptists and his wicked Mistress. I recalled the night of making my way down to my sleeping chambers, being ambushed and a victim of his cruel lust. Filled with anger and pure hatred towards the being that used me. Death would have been the sweetest surrender in that moment. But fate guided me here, wouldn't allow me to let go. I would find no solace, I felt death cheated me… As if my purpose was much greater than my current reality . Ma' mere's gentle and callused hands stirred me from my slumber. The pressure was back, she sang to me in Creole guiding my labor and keeping time of my contractions with the rhythm of the song. I braced myself to push as she had instructed, the older man I noticed earlier, called Papa Jacques began to beat his sheep skin drum, syncing the beat with Ma' mere. The shack door opened suddenly, ushering the crisp night air into the tiny room sending a chill up my spin. My breath heavily labored, wanting to release so bad. But no relief to the gnawing at my stomach. Again consumed by my thoughts, I could no longer hear my birthing song… I was transported from the little shack and comfort of Ma' mere. His face haunted me, the musky smell of his skin, I felt the heat of his whiskey soaked breath against my neck as he spoke foul words to me in French. Things one could only appreciate from the tongue of a lover, I felt nauseous and alone. I knew all of his deeds those spoken and unseen… The raw transparency made the betrayal that much colder.

It was October in 1828, and at the tender age of 16 years old, I was a run away "wench" who had been considered cursed by a Parrish almost a week away on foot. They had wanted to hunt me down, lynch and burn me at the stake… for my transgressions and the rumor of my gift of sight had spread like wild fire. The church had gotten wind of a foul negress who could tell a man the day of his death,the season the crops would fail or the darkest deepest secrets one could hide by the touch of a hand. I was born with a caul over my face, my mama said that's how she knew of my sight. Said I had always been a awkward and witty child. Had knowing of things I shouldn't she would tell me. Deacon Elder Wentworth, the father of Mistress Elizabeth had heard of his son in laws infidelity, and my gift. He had convinced the church I was an abomination and had brought about the drought that plagued the Parrish. Since most plantations had been affected but ours, he had the support of the other Masters and local law. This forced the hand of Master Baptists, shaming him if he opposed. Word had got around that I was cursed, leaving me ostracized from the whole plantation, even my fellow house servants. I had seen my death, their plots on my life haunting my dreams even though everyone was careful enough not to alert me of my demise… Including Master Baptists. After over hearing the Mistress and a good acquaintance giggling over tea of how "the little uppity high yellow nigger" would finally learn her place. "She'll be stinking come noon of Sunday, her and that bastard ripening in her belly… My daddy will see to it" she spat. A fire rose up in me, I had only dreamed of leaving that wretched place… To bond by fear before. But now I craved to survive, I had been given new courage… She wanted to live. She needed me to live, but I wondered how could something conceived from such darkness and pain want to thrive?! "Marguerite ", "Marguerite" " aye Chile non gwan an die on us yet?", my baby was coming I could feel her. Reaching down my hand full of silky waves, I dug deep and mustered all my strength to push.

"Bienvenue belle"(welcome beautiful), bienvenue Amelia!" Ma'mere rejoiced, naming her before any suggestions. I didn't protest, I had no true desire to know the child let alone name her. Lulled by the elixir Ma'mere spooned between my parched lips, I drifted off into the abyss exhausted by the whole ordeal.