When the Reckoning Comes, page 14
“But they couldn’t have been,” Mira said abruptly. “Jesse, come on. What you’re saying. They’re not real—”
“I’ve seen them, Mira.”
“What have you seen?” she asked. She crossed her arms to keep her body still so Jesse wouldn’t see she was shaking.
“Well, you know I’ve been working here long enough that you get to know what everyone does. Every person has their role and they rarely change up. One night I was the last to leave my shift and I saw a group of men. They wore the uniforms but I didn’t recognize any of their faces. They were walking to the cabins, but I couldn’t figure why. They should have been following me toward the exit to go home, since the day was over. What could they be doing? I should have followed but I thought it wasn’t my business and left. I never saw them again.”
Jesse paused to take a breath, but his story reminded Mira of the woman she’d seen on the grounds, and she needed to ask. “I’ve seen a woman,” she began. “Dressed all in white. Young. With long dark hair. Have you seen her? I wish I could describe her better but I couldn’t really see her face. She wouldn’t look at me. She kept staring out into the fields. I don’t know what she was looking at.”
“No, I haven’t seen anyone like that. Not a woman.”
“Oh,” Mira said, frowning in disappointment. She questioned if Jesse had really seen anything. It could have been new employees he’d seen that evening, and maybe they’d quit soon after, which would explain why he never saw them again. How much of what he said to her now was because he wanted to believe her, and not because it was true? She couldn’t be sure, but felt it made a difference.
“Just because I haven’t seen her doesn’t mean—doesn’t mean it’s not—” Jesse hesitated. “I think you’re seeing them too, like that day when we were kids. You wouldn’t tell anyone then, I guess because you didn’t think they’d believe you, but you can tell me now.”
This broke her. “Jesse, I tried. I went to the police station but they wouldn’t listen. I should have done more. I should have told you. I’m so sorry,” she stumbled out. It was an apology she’d waited years to say, and hearing it released something deep within her and she began to cry. She’d held it in all these years and now she couldn’t control it anymore. Her whole body shook as she cried into his shirt. She was sorry she hadn’t tried harder, she told him, sorry that she’d left Kipsen and attempted to wash her hands of everything that had happened. Sorry for trying to forget. She was sorry for so many things, too many to even begin to explain, so she kept repeating the words in the hope that it would be enough.
He reached for her hand. “I would have believed you if you told me. I hope you know that. None of this is your fault,” Jesse said after she finished. “It never was. It’s their fault for not seeing the truth, for not believing you. They should have. I wish they had. They should have believed you then.”
They remembered the feeling of their beloveds sold, the shouts of hallelujah! for the money bartered, and their children’s cries as they were shuffled into the arms of another, onto the wagon they went, and they remembered the moment when the coil grip of their fingers loosened, and the don’t you let go don’t you do it hold on hold on screams until the skin slip, last touch, and their hollering wail quieting as the wagon jostled along the road, and days months years of the sound continuing to echo in their hearts, subsuming all other noise. No sorrow song could quench a loss such as this, no, but it could dim it enough so they could survive, and that dulled ache they carried with them.
You can make another—the words panted out in between clutching a handful of their dress, reaching underneath and up, handling them as if they could never hurt, and it was like that moment right when they were thrown on their backs, legs spread wide, right when they could feel the push as they muffled the urge to scream. They clenched their teeth and bore it, but right before, they told themselves to remember this injustice done—the way they were ruined until they bled, their insides bruised and swollen, and the half-cocked smile asking if it was good.
They remembered the rising lurch in their throats when it was long past dark and one of them didn’t come home, the night hours moving slow as their eyes stayed steadfast to the door, and when they could wait no longer they joined the search, their hearts full of hope and hurt as they trudged on, until at last they came upon their sons and daughters and saw their necks broken, eyes bulged, bloodstained from their beating and hanged from the branches above.
Or those times of weakness when they smarted back because they could no longer contain their resolve, the seconds between the words escaping their mouths and what came after—the crackerjack strike of the whip against their backs, or if they were lucky a hard slap across the face, but before all this there was the single space of a moment stretched before them between an action and its punishment, between their rising defiance and their forced submission; before the snuff of recognition there stood a brief glimmering moment in which they understood that a person’s hold could not last forever.
Every day for them was the feeling that it could swing another way, followed by the pain of what lay true. For them it was like this, always, and yet always the early morning after, the sight of dawn breaking and knowing there would always be more, more to suffer through, more to resist, more to pull them down, knowing that today is tomorrow is yesterday, it was the fear of believing this was the way it would be, forever and ever amen, and what remained were only the beleaguered days ahead.
But what if when faced again with that space in time they decided to choose another path? This was what they asked themselves—what if we resisted further, refusing to stop? What if we clamored and yelled, fought in every way we could? And what if we weren’t alone? What if it was all of us together rising? Can you imagine it? Can you imagine what we could do?
XV.
AFTER THEY’D CLEANED up from lunch, had gathered the plates together and called room service to get them, Jesse said he might have an idea of where they might find Celine if she’d bailed on the wedding. A Hail Mary plan he’d called it before asking if she wanted to go. She agreed, thinking it might at least be a good idea to leave the plantation for a bit. Jesse said he needed to change his clothes first, so he left to find the spare jeans and T-shirt he kept in his locker and they decided to meet up in the front parking lot.
After Jesse left, Mira picked up the phone to call Phillip. The afternoon had come and gone without any calls from Phillip and she wanted to know what news, if any, there was. She dialed for his room number first and listened as it rang and rang. When the phone eventually clicked off from no one answering, she tried Celine’s room. “He can’t possibly have been waiting there all this time,” Mira said as she glanced at the clock, but Phillip picked up at the first ring.
“Celine? Celine?”
“Phillip, no—it’s Mira,” she said, feeling the need to instantly apologize. She refrained and instead told him she was calling to check in.
“Oh, Mira. Yes. You still haven’t seen Celine?”
“No, that’s why I was calling. So she’s still gone?”
“Yes. I’ve been calling her cell phone but it always goes straight to voicemail.”
Phillip’s voice sounded strained, as if he was trying hard to keep it from cracking. He told her that the other bridesmaids had gotten a group together to search the property for Celine but that was hours ago. He’d called her father, thinking maybe she’d left with him somewhere, but her father also wasn’t answering the phone.
“I heard you called off the wedding.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. It’s been hours. I thought I could hold out a little longer but there’s been no sign of her. I’ve just been waiting in this room expecting her to open the door any minute now. Or even to call. I don’t understand why she couldn’t even call. If she didn’t want to get married after all—I could understand her leaving, not wanting to tell me, but to not even call? No note or anything? It doesn’t feel like her.”
“I don’t know, Phillip.”
“And she didn’t say anything to you? About the wedding or me? About having doubts or—”
“We weren’t as close as we used to be,” Mira explained. “I think Jesse would know better.”
“Jesse?” Phillip asked. “You mean that boy from last night? The one who got kicked out?”
Mira flinched. Boy. She fumbled over an answer to Phillip’s questions. “We were all best friends once,” Mira said in spurts of anguish, “and since he lives here and I moved away—I just thought, you know, between the two of us, she would have had more of a chance to talk to him over me, but I don’t know how close they are, if they even are friends. She may not talk to him at all anymore.”
“Well, she invited him to the wedding.”
“Right,” Mira said. She regretted mentioning Jesse, as Phillip began to ask her more questions.
“Where is Jesse now? Have you seen him?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“He works here, doesn’t he?”
Mira didn’t like where Phillip was taking the conversation or the assumptions he was beginning to make, but she didn’t know how to steer things in a different direction.
“Listen, Phillip, I think Celine will call eventually, or we’ll figure out where she is. Everyone’s out searching for her, so she’s going to turn up sooner or later. You’re right, it’s not like her. I’ll try and keep looking too. I’m sure we just need to wait a little bit longer. We have each other’s numbers, so that’s good. I’ll call you if I learn anything else.”
Mira hung up the phone before Phillip could say more. Even if they managed to find Celine, it was long past time the wedding would have started and ended. She gathered her things and left to find Jesse.
As Mira walked along the plantation grounds, she expected the environment to feel somber and quiet, but it wasn’t. With no ceremony to attend, the guests relished in their vacations. Many had already changed out of their wedding attire. Some of the guests wore outfits bought from the gift shop, having fun dressed up in their costumes while they got drunk and played pretend. Or were they visitors to the plantation? Mira couldn’t discern, but they mingled with each other. The bar was so crowded that patrons had spilled out onto the walkway in front of it, sitting in groups on the grass and drinking. Others strolled the grounds. Mira passed a cluster of couples near the slave cabins.
One of them climbed the railing to get inside a cabin. The others held back, watching and laughing, their glasses sloshing. Guests were becoming reckless and emboldened in the freedom of the day.
Mira had meant to keep her gaze down, out of shame for what she saw but also from fear of being recognized, but as she looked around in the hope someone on staff would see, she realized no one was around. Mira guessed they were overwhelmed with everything going on, or maybe they’d decided it’d be easier not to interfere, to let the damage be done, knowing Celine and Phillip would take care of it in the end.
Mira looked again in the direction of the group by the cabins and this time she recognized one of the women. “Kristina?” Mira called, remembering that she was in Celine’s wedding party, a bridesmaid.
“Oh,” Kristina said, swallowing another gulp of her drink. “I know you. Yes. Celine’s black friend. That’s you.”
“Obviously,” one of the men snickered, and the rest of them laughed.
“Mira,” she corrected, but they all paid her no mind. “Kristina, what are you doing? I thought you were looking for Celine?”
Kristina waved her hand at the mention of Celine’s name. “Look, I tried. I’ve asked everyone who might have had an idea but they either don’t know or don’t care. Who knows where she is? If she doesn’t want to be found, who am I to bother? Let her come back when she’s ready. In the meantime—” Kristina raised her drink in the air and took another gulp. The others followed suit.
“Hey, you all got to see inside here. It’s kind of cozy. All we need are some pillows or something.”
Mira looked at the guy who’d gone inside the cabin. He popped his head out of the window frame, smiling at his sense of accomplishment. “Thomas, you want to go back to the cottage and get some?”
“Yeah, cool.”
“Also, see if you can get one of those servers to come down here. I’m kind of hungry.”
“They’re kind of swamped though,” Kristina interrupted. “We’ve got some snacks.”
“Get them! And maybe some beers at the bar. Yeah, this place is great. Cool in here too. You need to come inside and see.”
All of them except for Thomas crawled across the railing to get into the cabin. Mira heard their clamors of excitement as they stole inside. She walked briskly away, passing the tent from last night’s post-rehearsal ceremony, only now it was set up for the wedding reception. A few girls sat at the tables guzzling champagne from the abandoned bar. “I should have known Celine would stand him up,” one of the women complained. “I don’t know what we’re all sitting waiting around for. Celine is gone. No way she’s coming back now and risking everyone laughing in her face. We should just go home.”
“I wouldn’t come back now if I were her. Not with that fiancé of hers running around like he’s lost his favorite toy. The man needs to buck up and realize she didn’t want him. It’s not happening. The wedding ship has long since sailed. But at least there’s free booze for us,” the other said, taking another long sip from her glass.
“True. We’ll stay until it runs out and then I say it’s time to get out of here. Besides, it’s starting to get hot.”
Mira left the women and passed the gardens. The guests around her had become more brazen. Fueled by alcohol and dizzy from the heat, their recklessness began to feel destructive. A group of men were laughing. They were dressed in matching black suits with silver ties. Mira meant to ignore them but she recognized them: the groomsmen. They stumbled over themselves, slurring their words as they whooped at another man who ambled over to a flower bed a few feet away. His pants bunched at his feet, he held his penis, moving it around in small circles as he peed on the flowers. His face was flushed pink from laugher. “I’m just doing my chores, is all. Watering the flowers. Yessir,” he said, grinning. The others slapped their hands against their knees in their own howling fits of laughter. “Make it rain!” they yelled back.
Mira hurried past the men. She wanted to get off the grounds as soon as possible, to leave for a little while and return once things had settled down, if at this point, they even could.
Eventually, Mira got to the gate where Jesse waited. Jesse wore a white cotton shirt and pants and large brown boots caked with dried mud. The image of him brought up the memory of the Woodsman workers, their bodies hunched over as they picked tobacco during their reenactments, but also of the men she saw earlier digging while they sang, keeping up their pace. She also couldn’t forget the men she’d first seen out by the highway while driving here. All those anonymous men. And now Jesse. She stopped walking, feeling sick. Jesse caught her stare and asked if something was wrong.
“I thought you said you had another set of clothes,” she told him, her voice shaky.
“I should have clarified,” Jesse said, shrugging. “It’s fine for where we’re going. Hey, you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Mira lied. In the distance, she could have sworn she heard the hum of singing. Master, he be a hard, hard man. Sell my people away from me. “You hear that?” she asked, listening to the whispered chorus.
Both of them stood still as the chorus grew louder. Jesse gripped her hand, and their fingers interlocked as the rhythm and hum filled her ears.
“You hear it too, don’t you, Jesse?”
Lord, send my people into Egypt land. Lord, strike down Pharaoh and set them free.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jesse said, and Mira agreed, following him to his car.
XVI.
MIRA DIDN’T ASK where Jesse was driving her. He said it wouldn’t take long. She sat in the passenger’s seat as his car bumped along over the potholes in the road. She closed her eyes and let the breeze from the open window cool her face. Jesse didn’t talk as he drove, nor did he turn on the radio, and Mira didn’t ask him to, preferring quiet. After the commotion at the Woodsman Plantation, it was nice to listen to the silence; she hoped it would calm her for whatever was to come.
In the silence, the memories she’d collected of him flooded back to her, like a strong current she couldn’t keep at bay. School bus drives as he told jokes to distract her from the other boys’ teasing. Birthday ice-cream sandwiches using money they’d saved and pooled together to celebrate on one single day for them all. Jesse’s idea since Celine’s father never cared about her birthday and Celine refused to tell them the date. Jesse with his hair pick in his constant attempt to grow out his Afro. His barely there freckles. His always skinned, sometimes ashy knees. The way he dreamed of his life, as if what he wanted could be possible if he loved it enough. She looked at this boy, now a man, and wondered how much of her memory of him had remained.
Jesse drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, a nervous tic to pass the time as he drove, and Mira glanced at his hands. Thick calluses had formed on his knuckles. A jagged scar was etched in the skin of one of them and she wondered if it was from when he’d broken the window, but she was too afraid to ask. His nails were stubs, bitten down to the quick. Rough and tanned, his hands gave away the signs of years of his work outside in the sun, aging him far beyond his years.
The marks of the world are on us, Mira thought. It’s often as simple as looking at a person’s hands to know who and all of what we’ve been.
