Excerpted from Serpent of Eternity

She righted the bonnet on her head and then… Wait a minute. “Oh no,” Anya moaned, looking down at her clothes. It’s happening again. She struggled briefly before melting completely into the other woman. Looking out through a pair of shining eyes, Anya whispered, “Careful, Mary. Something bad is coming.”

       Mary flinched. Now, why should I think such a thing? Surely, no harm could come to her on such a beautiful day. It was the dead of winter, but not a cloud in sight; just an amber sun resting high in the cerulean sky. The good Lord himself had touched this day. The same way he had touched her.

       Still, it was best to heed the warning and watch out. Mary had made it this far trusting her intuition, listening to the little voice inside her head.

     It was already a bit after noon, and she was due to speak at an abolitionist’s meeting. It would not do to be late. Mary hurried along in a quick but graceful stride, her straight as an arrow, thick as rope, jet-black hair swung back and forth between her shoulder blades. It had taken almost two years to grow it back this long. It used to be nearly two feet long, and hung all the way down her back.

     That was before the great escape — before the plan her husband Harry referred to as her harebrained scheme. Well, harebrained or not, it had worked and they had gotten away. Although at the time, success or failure hadn’t mattered to Mary; for her, it had been run or die trying.

     Her master, Captain John Ellis, had taken a liking to her. That was unbearable enough, but he’d have sold her Harry away, like he wasn’t rightfully her husband, like he wasn’t a man, like he was no more than chattel or some chewing tobacco.

     Captain Ellis started looking at Mary when her older sister Eleanor died of consumption. She’d followed his wife, Elisabeth by just a few weeks. Mary always knew he’d get around to her sooner or later. Now that she thought about it, she wondered what had taken him so long. Her mother had been fifteen when he’d started making babies with her. And when their mother died birthing Mary, Eleanor inherited the task.

     Of course, Captain Ellis thought himself a good man. He never used profane language in the company of women, paid his debts on time, and according to him, treated his Negroes charitably. He seemed to be admired and respected by his friends and neighbors, who accepted his generous hospitality on every occasion it was offered. The parties at his capacious mansion were legendary.

     In truth, he was a large, overbearing man with a booming voice. And people were a tad afraid of him. He was also one of the richest men in central Georgia.

     It was no secret that Captain John Ellis was Mary’s father. Everyone knew, but no one said anything. They couldn’t help but know. All his half-breed children looked like him. But Mary was the spitting image of their father, down to her skin color that was every bit as white as his.

     He liked keeping it in the family. And he liked keeping family close. He never sent his spawn to work in the fields, never gave them away as gifts, never sold them either. But that was pretty much where his paternal instincts ended, except when it came to Eleanor’s two boys, James and Roger. They received what could have been considered special treatment. They were his only sons. Even his wife had only bore him a daughter. The boys had grown into two strapping young men. They wore fine clothes and had more agreeable jobs. James, the older one, served as valet to the Captain, while Roger drove his coach. They had some money saved up, too. They’d shown Mary where it was hidden once, but wouldn’t tell her where it had come from.

     Until the captain began having designs on Mary, her life hadn’t been nearly as bad as Harry’s. She did her share of cooking and scrubbing, but that was nothing compared to the work Harry did. Poor Harry: he toiled in the fields under the blazing sun, or the pouring rain by day, and made furniture for Captain Ellis’s shop till the wee hours of night. Harry’s hands were calloused and his back was bent from pushing a plow, yet he always stood tall and proud.

     He was as black as the night, and he smelled of earth. It was Harry’s blackness and the way he smelled that had made Mary want to marry him. Captain Ellis had consented to their marriage. At first, he allowed her to go live with Harry in his run down cabin in the slave quarters on the perimeter of the plantation. But that generous gesture didn’t last long. Soon he asked her to move back to the mansion.

     Mary started thinking about running the moment Captain Ellis said he needed looking after until he found a new wife. She knew well enough what that meant, and there was no way she was going to end up in Ellis’s bed. No way. She would have died first.

     It took him a while to make his move. He wasn’t slow about deciding. Once he got it in his mind, it was going to happen. But he took his time getting it done. Partly because he liked to pretend he was having a romance — wooing a suitor. And partly because he felt ashamed for what he was doing. He didn’t want it to seem like rape.

     First, there would be small gifts of trinkets or food, and then he’d progress to larger items — like enough material to make a new dress. After that, before you knew what was happening, the occasional kiss on the cheek. And not long after, you’d get an invitation to his bed. It was put to you nicely, like you had the right to decline. But of course, you didn’t.

     In the beginning, Harry wouldn’t help her with the plan; he wouldn’t even listen to her. He was bitter and becoming angrier and more unruly each day. He told her he always knew they’d end up apart and that the only reason “old man Ellis” even let them get married in the first place was cause he thought they might have some little nigger babies that he could sell.

     Mary began plotting her escape in earnest when Ellis gave her a bunch of wild flowers he said he’d picked especially for her. Harry changed his mind when she showed him those flowers, and told him in no uncertain terms that she was going with or without him. Mary was a sweet and lovely woman, but strong willed by nature, and had inherited her father’s mean streak. The look in Harry’s eyes told her he knew there’d be no stopping her, and that the time had come for him to pay close attention to what she had to say.

     Still, when she’d told him her plan, she’d watched him bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Harry said it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard tell of, and they were surely going to die trying to carry it out. Right after, he’d said dying by her side was better than living without her. So, he’d continued to listen. After awhile, he began to nod, to admit that her plan could work. Throughout, Mary remained steadfast. Whenever Harry found a flaw, she found a solution. Mary could read some, but had never learned to write. When Harry pointed out that sooner or later she’d surely be asked to sign her name, she came up with an answer right away. She’d wrap her right arm in bandages all the way down to her fingers and wear it in a sling.

     With that idea, the rest of her daring plot fell into place and became their means to freedom. Mary would play the role of an ailing southern gentleman with Harry pretending to be her servant. To conceal her smooth, hairless face, she fashioned a compress to wear tied from her chin to her head. Feigning a terrible toothache would also solve the problem of her unmistakably female voice. Mary spoke properly enough, but would do so only when absolutely required, and in a very low tone. All those who saw her would take pity on the poor, flawed and fragile young man who was lame in one arm and wore tinted spectacles to protect his sensitive eyes. That was the last part of her disguise. Mary hoped the spectacles would hide any fear and anxiety her eyes might disclose.

     On the eve of their escape, Ellis gave Mary a new bonnet and matching cape. The next day she stole a pair of trousers and a jacket from Roger. The outfit wouldn’t need much tailoring, as he was slight of build and only a few inches taller than her. Later that night, she cut off her hair in Harry’s cabin. He helped her to trim and style it into a Dutch bob. That same night, she removed all the money from her brothers’ hiding spot, leaving her shorn hair in its place. Mary hoped they would understand and forgive her. One day she would pay them back.

     In full costume, with her breasts bound, her arm in a sling, and a poultice covering most of her face, Mary was indeed transformed into a small, invalid white man.

     “My, my,” Harry said. “You make a fine-looking gentleman.”

     Mary smiled weakly in response. She knew he no longer doubted that they could pass as master and servant, but wasn’t about to reveal that she didn’t quite share his level of conviction.

     They left just before dawn, taking the most secluded route to the railroad station. Mary had never been so scared in all her life, but once she bought two tickets to Savannah, she relaxed a little. That was the first hurdle. They had a good chance of making it the whole way.

     They traveled up north from Georgia — first by train, Mary in a first-class carriage, and Harry up front in the Jim Crow car — and then by steamer, and then again by train.

     Along the way, Mary was forced to mingle with her fellow first-class passengers. Fortunately, due to her affliction, her association was limited. But she couldn’t avoid them completely. Inevitably, one or more would engage her in conversation if the opportunity presented itself. Her weakened state served as a sufficient excuse for her not to partake in any long-winded discourse, but she was still obliged to listen. Ungrateful niggers, the damned Abolitionists, and the wonders of cotton seemed to be the favorite topics of discussion.
 
     Even though Mary and Harry were in constant fear of discovery, their journey ran its course almost without a hitch. They were only detained once. The trouble came in the guise of a suspicious officer at the Customs House office on the wharf. The white man’s eyes bore into them as he pointed at Harry.

     “Is this your boy?”

     Mary couldn’t stop staring at the long, yellowing nails on the tips of his grimy fingers.

     “Yessir,” Harry piped up.

     Mary remained silent. The blood had frozen in her veins. Harry must have figured she couldn’t play her part.

     “My master here is mighty ill,” he spoke again, keeping his eyes lowered to the man’s grizzled salt and pepper beard.

     “That a fact, boy.”

     Both Harry and Mary nodded weakly.

     “Well, ill or not, sir, you’ll have to show proof that this here is your boy.”

     Mary knew she’d better do or say something — and pretty damn quick or they’d be dead. Borrowing from all the upper class white folk she’d been exposed to over the years, she summoned up her best insolent attitude and a haughty tone to match.

     “You have no right to keep us from passing.”

     “I’m sorry, sir, but no slaves are allowed to pass through here without the proper ownership papers. That’s the rule — plain and simple.”

     “I was not told anything about ownership papers when I purchased these tickets.”
Mary held the tickets just under his nose. The Customs officer tried to stand his ground, but couldn’t match her cold hard stare.

     “Well, I reckon it’ll be all right.”

     Ten hours later they were in Philadelphia — free, but not yet safe, so they had pushed on further north.

     That was a year and a half ago. The months had gone by quickly and the first few were mostly a blur. Mary sometimes allowed herself to forget her fugitive status, though any minute freedom could be taken away if Captain Ellis had them arrested and brought back. He had the right to do so. The reminder came in her dreams where slave hunters chased her. Those dreams scared the life out of her. They were bad and getting worse.

     Neither the scary dreams nor the danger of recapture stopped her from exposing herself on an almost daily basis. She and Harry had begun speaking on the abolitionist circuit thirteen months ago. It had been a difficult decision to make. But, in the end, it had been the right choice — the only choice. They were giving other slaves hope. And for Mary, it was a way to let her sister and brothers know she was alive and well.

     Folks admired them both. But Mary was the favored one, the one people wanted to hear. It was her story that left them openmouthed and teary eyed. Each time she finished speaking, the audience would stand up and clap loud and long. They were enthralled by her, couldn’t get enough, especially the antislavery women. They all wanted to meet her, to touch her, and to sometimes press small tokens of gratitude into the hands of “the white slave.”

     Mary often overheard their whispered comments. Most of them believed that the absence of African blood in her features made it all the more appalling that she’d once been held as a piece of property.

     When she’d told Harry, who was a dark mulatto, he’d said, “That’s how it is, Mary. To them, black folk either pets or beasts of burden, no matter which side they on.”

     Her husband usually said what was on his mind, but he didn’t complain. Mary knew that, of the two of them, he suffered far more indignities. It didn’t bother him that she received all the attention. Neither one of them had ever sought to be public figures, but it was especially difficult for Harry. He’d always been a quiet sort.

     In their work, they moved about freely between anti-slavery Boston and the Black section, an area called “Nigger Hill,” where they made their home. Yet despite his training in furniture making, Harry still couldn’t get a paying job — a slight that seemed to go unnoticed by their white abolitionist colleagues. Not being able to earn a living did bother Harry, but it didn’t lessen his gratitude for his freedom. They both felt grateful, and they both wanted those who remained enslaved to realize their dream of freedom, too. That’s why the abolitionist movement took precedence over everything else. And they persevered for the cause, vowing to sacrifice their lives if need be.

     Mary knew that sacrifice could come any day, any minute, or any second. Their effort in the struggle had made them famous and infamous, both. Last month, they received word that slave hunters were in town, and that a warrant for their arrest had been issued; she’d actually seen a wanted poster. According to the new Fugitive Slave law signed five months ago, escapees and even freeborn blacks could be seized and sent south. Still, the two of them went about their daily routines unchanged.

     This morning was no different. She’d be careful, but she wouldn’t be deterred. Even though the omen grew stronger with each step she took.

     Mary was only two feet away from the meeting hall when they grabbed her. The next thing she knew it was nightfall and she was being dragged through woods, with no idea of where she was or how much time had passed. Right then and there, Mary decided that if the chance came she’d run or kill herself before letting them take her back. But when they put the burlap bag over her head and tied her hands behind her back, hope of either dwindled.

     She wept then. But the tears were for Harry. He was away at a speaking engagement. The thought of him returning home in a few days to find her  gone was more than she could bear. He’d be lost without her. And the guilt of not being by her side when she needed him would tear him apart.

     Mary prayed for the strength to accept whatever was coming her way. She figured if the good dreams came true, perhaps it was only fair that the bad ones did, too. She waited for the rape or the bullet in her head. But hours seemed to pass and nothing happened.

     Mary could hear the men whispering and milling about in the near distance. She didn’t know what their hesitation meant, but allowed hope to re-enter her heart. Maybe they were planning to leave her there to wither and die. Maybe Captain Ellis wanted her dead or damaged now, more than he wanted her back. Or maybe he’d instructed them to scare her so badly she’d never run again. Her conjecture came to an end, and all hope of escape vanished when the noose went around her neck. They were going to lead her back like a tethered dog.

     It wasn’t until she was dangling by the neck, from what seemed to be the high branch of a tree, that she realized what was actually happening to her.

Copyright © 2006 Nikki Persley