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SEVEN
"I paid five hundred dollars for you. If I pay five hundred dollars, I expect to get five fights out of a nigger before you roll over and play dead. Don't cha understand? I'm runnin' a business here. I mean, you've fought three fights." Calvin said degradingly.
"But I won every won of 'em." D'Artagnan pleaded, choking out a sob.
I felt tears glass over my eyes.
"You did, but that last won was on the brink of winin' and losin'." Calvin added, and got up, brushing off his hands from kneeling down in the grass. He looked at all of us, "So the fact remains. I pay five hundred dollars, I want five goddamn fights. So where's my five hundred dollars, huh?"
He turned to look at D'Artagnan.
I felt my heart beating rapidly in my chest again. My blood ran cold knowing what Calvin was intending to do to D'Artagnan, and I knew that even though he probably would never listen, I had to try to talk Calvin out of it. I got up from the carriage, walking off the steps of it, walking by Schultz and Leo, who again looked surprised that I was attempting to tame and disobey Calvin.
"You gon' reimburse me?" Calvin hissed at him, "Do you even know what reimburse means?"
The dog holders and Calvin's men all laughed at D'Artagnan. Their snickering really got to me. It was arrogant, stupid hicks, laughing at another's impending death. I felt like I was trembling in anger as I heard their ugly, disturbing laughs. It angered me, to the point where I walked to where Calvin stood and grabbed his arm.
"Stop it, Calvin. Give him a break." I urged him, looking up into his unforgiving blue eyes, "No wonder he ran away with these fucking dogs chasing after him. Jesus Christ, he's just afraid."
I didn't wait for Calvin's response, I just saw his expression of shock that I had gone this far this time. He narrowed his eyes at me as I knelt down to D'Artagnan, and reached out for his hand, "Come here, D'Artagnan. It's okay. It's not a big problem."
I knew that the beating that was in store for me once we got back home to Candieland would be the most painful thing to ever come to me, but I blocked it out of my mind for the time being. D'Artagnan looked to Calvin to see if he approved, but Calvin just looked infuriated beyond belief that I once again was embarrassing him by disobeying him in front of everyone. He was boiling mad, from the expression on his face, his cigarette clenched between his teeth in anger. In spite of this, D'Artagnan took my hand, and I stood up with him, attempting to help his gain the little dignity he had left, back.
"Thank—thank ya, Madame Candie. Thank ya." D'Artagnan choked out, "I won't do it again, I—I swear."
"It's okay, don't cry. No harm done," I soothed.
I prayed Calvin would let this go. But of course, it was Calvin Candie. So naturally, he didn't.
"No harm done my ass, Gwen. Who the fuck is gonna pay me my five hundred dollars?" Calvin snapped, grabbing my arm, "You tell me that. Who's gonna pay me back for this fucking useless nigger? He can't even push a goddamn broom, let alone fight no more! There's no point in keepin' him!"
"Calvin." I urged, "It's okay. Let it go."
"It ain't okay! I'm gonna deal with this goddamn runaway nigger any way I see fit. And you ain't gonna influence me none." Calvin barked at me, then looked over his shoulder and yelled, "Billy!"
I looked at D'Artagnan, and he was beginning to panic again, knowing that this time, the master's wife could not help this time. That's how I guessed all the slaves at Candieland saw me, the only hope if Calvin decided to kill or beat them. I tried to talk Calvin out of things like that constantly, but he almost always scoffed at my opinion and carried through with the punishment anyway. This was the worst thing I'd done to Calvin in a long time, and I guessed that it was worse than the time that I'd helped in the kitchen. I could only imagine what Calvin was planning to do to me when we got back to Candieland, but I really wasn't too worried about myself at the moment.
Billy came up behind me and grabbed my arm roughly, "C'mon, Gwen."
I narrowed my eyes at Calvin. So now he was physically removing me from the situation, getting one of his men to drag me away from the situation.
Asshole.
Billy dragged me back to the carriage and sat me down, holding me there. I squirmed and protested, but I was not listened to. Calvin turned to the slaves that were being transported from the Cleopatra Club to Candieland, and said, "Let this be a lesson to ya'll."
My heart felt like it stopped.
Calvin turned to the holders, who held the vicious German Shepherds and mutts on stringy, breakable leashes, "Let the bitches send D'Artagnan to nigger Heaven."
It happened so quickly. I shouted, standing up to stop Calvin, but Billy yanked me back down. Tears streaked down my cheeks as the dogs were unleashed and attacked the runaway slave, gruesomely ripping him apart and attacking him. Calvin casually walked back to the carriage, dismissing Billy to let me go, and he made his way back to his horse. Calvin resumed his seat next to me, inhaling his cigarette like he hadn't just murdered a human being, and put an arm around me as the carriage began going again. I didn't sob, but silent tears ran down my face quickly. I didn't think I could look at Calvin. I effortlessly shrugged off his arm, and wiped my eyes. D'Artagnan's screams of pure terror faded as the dogs killed him and the carriage moved farther away from him.
The worst part was that he was given a false sense of hope. And I was beginning to think that Calvin slaughtered him because I disobeyed. I sat in the carriage, as far away from Calvin as I could be in the small coach. The worst part was that I was furious, yet I was stuck there with him until we got to Candieland.
Calvin made me feel like his slave. Like I was trapped, like i was looking for freedom. And the Lord knew I wasn't finding it.
I felt the coldness and tension between us, the master of the house and his wife. The two opposites. The Southerner and the Northerner, two completely different people who had such different views on life. I was terrified of him, yet I loved him. I seriously questioned myself as to why I was in love with him, or why he was in love with me. I was absolutely terrified of him, yet I was in love him.
Did we like the fighting? Or were the times when we were good—like at dinner, certain conversations, or in bed—so great that we couldn't stand being with anyone else but each other?
We arrived at the black iron gates of the Candieland plantation about twenty minutes later.
I remembered the first time I'd seen the plantation. It was massive, white with pillars at the front. The cotton fields, grass and trees made the yard beautiful. I was overwhelmed, thinking that it was the most beautiful, graceful and lovely place I had ever seen. The beauty that was my home deceived me, when I figured out the violence that happened behind those gates. The parties where Calvin's friends talked about their slaves, their own plantations, their bitchy wives and their precious Mandingo fights. The place were I was supposed to feel at home, but I was labeled as an outsider by everyone—Lara, Lara's friends, Calvin's friends, their wives, Stephen—except for Calvin.
Lara sat on the upper deck having tea, Cora and another slave standing up there with her. She smiled, seeing as Calvin was coming home. I rolled my eyes, staring at my home that always had an impending sense of hostility to it.
Calvin deeply took a drag from his cigarette holder, blowing out a streak of smoke.
We stopped at the front steps of the house. Django and Schultz were in front of us. Calvin's Mandingos were rounded up to stand in a neat line off to the side. Calvin and I still weren't speaking to each other. We didn't have to, because Stephen came hobbling out of the house with his cane. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Django, and began ranting to Calvin like always, kissing my husband's ass like no tomorrow.
"Hello! Stephen, my boy!" Calvin greeted, turning to look at him.
Stephen hobbled down the three steps in front of the house. "Yeah, yeah. Hello my ass. Who's dis nigger up on that nag?"
"Ah, what's the matter, Stephen? You eat nails for breakfast? What's the matter, why you so angry? Ya miss me?" Calvin bantered, leaning over to look at Stephen as he approached the carriage.
"Ah, yes sir I missed you. Like a hog misses slough. Like—like a baby misses its' momma's titty." Stephen teased in response, and Calvin laughed loudly as Stephen leaned himself on the carriage to look up at Calvin, "Yeah sir, I missed you like I miss the rock in my shoe!"
Calvin put his hand on my thigh, putting on an act again. Either that, or he was silently trying to do the "apologize without apologizing" thing.
"Now, I ask you," Stephen asked, "Who's dis nigger up on that nag?"
Before Calvin could answer him, Django chirped in, "Hey, Snowball."
Appalled at being addressed this way, Stephen glared around to look at him. Django was emotionless, and tense, when he added, "You wanna know my name or the name of my horse, you ask me." Calvin and Leo exchanged looks, raising their eyebrows that Django was that headstrong.
I stifled a smile at Django talking back to Stephen.
"Now who the hell you callin' 'Snowball', Horse Boy?" Stephen snapped, approaching Django, "I'll snatch your black ass off that goddamn—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stephen, Stephen!" Calvin intervened, "Let's keep it funny. Django here's a freed man."
"This nigger here?" Stephen asked surprisingly, jerking his thumb to Django.
Calvin nodded, puffing on his cigarette. "That nigger there. Now let me at least introduce the two of ya. Django, this here's Stephen. He's another cheeky black bugger like yourself. Stephen, this here's Django. You two outta hate each other."
"Calvin, now who here is this nigger that you feel the need to entertain?" Stephen snipped, glaring at him like Calvin had finally lost it. Calvin pointed to Django and Schultz.
"Django, and his friend in grey here, Dr. Schultz, are customers. And they are our guests, Stephen, so you—you old decrepit bastard otta show 'em every hospitality, you understand that?" Calvin said.
"Yes sir, him I understand"—he looked to Schultz—"but I don't know why I gotta take lip off this goddamn nigger—" Stephen ranted, but Calvin cut him off.
"No, no. You don't gotta know why. Do ya understand?" He asked, clearly losing his patience. "Yes sir, I understand." Stephen replied, knowing not to test Calvin's temper.
God knows I didn't know when to stop testing Calvin's temper.
"Good. They're spendin' the night. Now go up to the two guest bedrooms and get 'em ready." Calvin ordered, pointing with his cigarette holder to the upstairs of the mansion.
Stephen's jaw dropped, "He's stayin' in the big house?"
"Stephen. He's a slaver. It's different." Calvin explained. "In the big house?" Stephen asked again, shocked.
"Why, you got a problem with that?" Calvin snapped. Stephen put his hands up in defense, "Eh, i got no problem with it. Not my problem if you wanna burn the beds, the sheets, the pillowcases and everythin' else after this black-ass motherfucka's gone!"
"That is my problem, they are mine to burn. You're problem is makin' a good impression. So I want you to start solvin' on that problem right now and go upstairs and make them goddamn rooms ready! Now go on!" Calvin snapped again, and I knew that tone of voice was serious.
Once Calvin reached that level of his voice, tampering with his temper any further meant you're in trouble.
"Yes, Monsieur Candie." Stephen said, making his way back to the steps of the house, and muttering, "Can't believe you brought a nigger to stay in the big house. You're daddy's rollin' around in his goddamn grave, right now."
Calvin shook his head, mumbling to me, "He's gettin' worse and worse."
We got out of the carriage. Calvin had offered a hand for me to take, but I ignored him and got out on my own. He rolled his eyes, not believing that I was still upset and disturbed over D'Artagnan's death. He expected me to just forget the sight of the poor, sobbing slave begging for his life and then being ripped apart so easily. it wasn't easy in any sense of the work. A desperate, crying man who hadn't done anything wrong but run from Calvin was slaughtered by dogs. What did that say about Calvin? He was a cold, heartless asshole with no regard for humanity. That's the way I interpreted it.
Lara came walking out to the front steps, her big pink dress swinging in step as she did so, that fake Southern belle smile on her face, her brown hair twirled.
Calvin kissed her on the cheek and introduced her to Schultz and Django, who looked at her less than impressed. I just glared at her and didn't greet her. She did the same, the typical once over that screamed "You're not good for my brother, you Northern whore" in one look. I didn't think there was a person I hated more in my own home than Lara, with Stephen coming in a close second. So snobby, so hostile, so inhumane.
Calvin gripped my arm gently, ready to go inside with me, until Schultz inquired about Broomhilda. According to Stephen, she tried to run away while Calvin and I were at the Cleopatra Club, and that she'd been put in the hot box for the entire day. Calvin ordered her out, and for her to be cleaned up and sent to Schultz's room afterwards. Calvin instructed that Lara was to bring Broomhilda up there to him.
Curious. Why was Schultz and Django so engrossed with Broomhilda?
I was still steaming from the D'Artagnan incident, so when Calvin grabbed my arm again, I ripped away from him and stormed inside and up the stairs. I could hear him laugh lightheartedly at my attitude, trying to hide his anger in front of Django and Schultz.
"You gentlemen will have to excuse my wife. Her Northern ways are a bit different from mine." Calvin said charmingly, "She's a pistol. She's got a bit of a tendency to be rambunctious. So, gentlemen, I do apologize. I am weary from our travels beyond words, so it's time for me to rest my tired eyes."
I stormed into our bedroom, shutting the door and sitting on the bed. I wanted to scream, to punch Calvin in that goddamn handsome face of his. He ruined my emotions. He made me so furious, but then I loved him. I felt like I wanted to leave him sometimes, but then realized that I didn't want to. That I wouldn't be happy with anyone else.
I heard him coming up the staircase, then storming down the hall. He entered the room, yanking the door open and slamming it shut.
"What the fuck do I gotta do with you to get you to stop misbehavin'?" Calvin snapped, throwing his hands up in the air, like he was clueless, "Why don't cha tell me, Gwen? Enlighten me, goddamnit!"
I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him and standing up from our bed, "You're serious?"
"Pretty goddamn serious." He replied, his blue eyes furious.
"How about you stop feeding slaves to your dogs?" I asked him, on the brink of losing my own temper, "How about not having a sobbing man, who's pleading for his life, begging you not to kill him, ripped apart by a bunch of vicious attack dogs? What about that?"
"Oh, don't you even begin with that." Calvin growled, "You were gonna reimburse me on my money, Gwen? Huh? With all that money you got back in Boston?"
"Money? Money!" I yelled at him, "You are—if not one of—the most wealthy man in Mississippi. What the hell does five hundred dollars mean to you?"
"It's money! It's business!" He yelled, pointing at me, "You wouldn't know a fuckin' thing about that, would you, Gwen? You'd be poor as shit if it wasn't for me. You would be rottin' like a goddamn rat in a sewer back in Boston if you weren't married to me!"
"Better off a rat, then!" I snapped at him, and I knew I didn't mean it when it came off my lips.
It wouldn't let him win, but I was a sucker for his charm.
He was infuriated by that comment.
He glared at me and raised his hand to hit me, but stopped himself.
He roared, pointing in my face, "I can't be bothered to even hit you! You aren't worth the strength it would take to hit you! You are an ungrateful bitch sometimes, Gwen, and every time I try to even show that love you, you reject it! So don't act like this is all my goddamn fault! You disobey and disrespect me, and that's not goin' to go, sweetheart."
"You slaughtered D'Artagnan! He was begging for his life! He sobbed to you, begged you to let him live. And you slaughtered him!" I yelled at Calvin.
"I'LL DO WITH MY NIGGERS WHATEVER I FUCKIN' WANT TO DO WITH MY NIGGERS, GODDAMNIT!" Calvin screamed.
It was one of those screams that went right through me. It made my blood run cold, and I felt a chill run up my spine. It terrified me.
"You better begin valuing life more than you do now!" I screamed back, but I sighed. I quieted my voice and said miserably, "'Cause I'm pregnant."
"What?" He asked in shock at my sudden confession, his eyebrows raised.
"I'm pregnant. Are you happy now?" I asked. "That's what you wanted, right? To get me pregnant? The question is, Calvin, are you ready to have your baby be raised here and be exposed to people being ripped apart by dogs, or having people whipped or killed in front of them? Or if we go out to the Cleopatra Club or to one of you're friends goddamn awful plantation parties, will you be okay with a slave like Cora or Stephen watching them while the two of us are gone?"
I could only imagine how the rest of the plantation would react. Having a little baby at Candieland was really difficult for me to imagine. Calvin's slaves would have a lot to talk about. Lara was going to be livid, furious that Calvin had gotten me pregnant. She'd get so infuriated, I could already picture it.
"Yeah, of course that's what I wanted!" Calvin said, wrapping his arms around my hips, kissing my cheek, "And I'm—I'm so happy about it, darlin'. Yet you seem pretty goddamn bitter."
"I'm not—" I exhaled, attempting to calm myself down, since he seemed off the topic of our fight, "I'm—I'm not bitter. I'm asking you if you are ready for that."
Calvin looked down at me, "Stop it, Gwen. You gotta stop bein' so goddamn worried 'bout stuff like that. You're havin' a baby. You're gon' make a wonderful mother. I do believe that's a bit more important, darlin'. Or am I mistaken?"
I looked up at him, "No. No. Okay, okay. You're right."
"You know I really love you, don't you?" Calvin asked, his expression serious.
"I know." I replied, "I love you, too." He didn't reply. He just pressed his lips to mine, with a kiss that felt like he really meant it.
Little did I know things weren't going to be that easy for the two of us.
Trouble is a friend of mine.
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