One Big Mistake

The shoe banged against the wood of the floor, abandoned and unnoticed as it bounced once, and fell once more into disarray. Jodi stared at the slave, her jaw dropped and eyes wide.
“W--what? What did you say?” She demanded. Had she heard her right?
The old woman looked at her, seeming to withdraw once more into silence, her black eyes shone big and wide in the dark.
Jodi quickly became bothered by her staring. Her instant reaction brought her to stare down at her feet, and noticing her shoe, she squatted to pick it up.
“Sorry, ma'am.” She muttered, holding the shoe by its shoelaces, “Thought you said something funny.”
The old woman responded by lurching into the doorway, keeping her muscled arms stiff and clenched as she held the swaying bucket. Shaking her head in confusion, Jodi followed after her.
The slave woman placed the bucket nearest to the piano. She stretched, placed both hands on the small of her back and groaned. Finally she looked at her again, her eyes sharp and straightforward against her. Sizing her up, Jodi saw, and she frowned. Everyone here seemed to have eyes like that, she mused, they all seem to bore against the object of their interest, just like animals. She had seen it from the Hessian, from the soldiers outside, from just about everyone. Doing so much as glancing back at them seems to be asking for a staring contest.
“Nice room.” Jodi commented, spinning around slowly by her feet, her head tipped up to stare at the walls and ceilings. “Nice place.”
“What is your name?”
She finally speaks. Jodi thought. “Jo.” She said simply, her eyes still drawing on the details on the ceiling. Pretending an interest in them, and desperately trying to avoid the notion in looking back at those eyes.
“You?” She threw back.
“An awful and strange name,” The old woman mused. “You should change it.”
A sharp and rubbery scrape sounded in the room, Jodi saw the woman had reached underneath the piano and dragged out its accompanied stool. Getting back up once more, she walked back to the door and shut it.
“Come, take the seat.” She said over her shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Jodi habitually crossed her legs as she sat down. Almost immediately, a strong sense of weariness swept over her like a heavy cloak. She had walked, ran, and fell off a horse; That Wimund woman was right, she needed her rest ASAP.
Seeing the slave woman walking back to her, she quickly grabbed a cloth and dunked it into the bucket. She hissed and quickly drew back, God that was freezing!
“Are you alright?” The woman asked, stooping over her to criticize.
“Yeah.” She muttered, she wiped her shocked hand roughly on her jeans.
“I'm sorry.” She said, “I had to draw the water from the well.”
“Don't worry, it's nothing.” Jodi replied, offering her a quick flash of a smile.
The corners of her mouth trembled, she saw, more as a reaction than intentional. When she became fully possessed once more, her mouth dropped into a frown, her face becoming as strict as a schoolmarm's.
“You should work on that voice of yours.” She commented, “They'd think you be french.”
“Why?” Jodi asked, she couldn't keep the amused smile from her face. Does she even know how a french sounds?
“I'll explain.” The woman said firmly, dipping her hand into the bucket of cold water. “I have much to say.”
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A gloved fist banged against the base of the door; pausing between them for emphasis.
He let his hand drop for a moment, waiting for the inevitable rush of feet within the other side, while withdrawing back to the silent musings in his mind. He wondered how thick the door was. The building before him, the headquarters of his superiors, had once been a seasonal home of a gentleman, He doubted it could withstand the butt of a musket. He smirked, it probably wouldn't stand a chance against him.
He straightened himself as heavy footsteps thudded towards his direction. The doorknob turns, and the slab of wood was thrown aside.
The Hessian blinked as he found himself staring at eye to eye with the apparent lady of the house. She was dressed too fine to be otherwise, and her french perfume was heavy on his nostrils, responsively he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Of course, such finery did not do anything with her physical appearance. Bucktoothed and long in the face, she looked at him vehemently with small, widely-spaced eyes. Her head was covered with a frilly cap, although he could see naked patches of where there should be hair beneath the lace trim.
“Yes?!” She barked, “It is very late, soldier, what is it that you acquire?”
So this is the hag from the battlefields, he realized. She was famous in riding out with her servants to the lands where bodies can be found, to drag back the wounded and order the burying of the dead. He had also heard that she was very adept with a pistol.
He responded by clicking his heels together and bowed slightly to her, “ The Lord of Westmorland requested for my presence, my lady.” He said.
“Is that so?” Her voice was cold enough to form mist in the air. “At this hour?”
The Hessian nodded once. He himself was surprised and exasperated when his page boy trespassed into his camp. The triumph he would have felt for the apparent change of the noble's mind was soured by the notion of not being able to relax after the hard day, but by a force of habit, he did not hesitate in following these abrupt orders.
“Hmf. Fine then, come in quickly.”
She stood aside and held the door as he entered, not even bothering to wipe his feet before trudging in. He heard the woman sniff loudly.
“He should be upstairs in the fifth room.” She continued, “This is a most unseemly hour, tell him that, soldier.”
The Hessian grunted in affirmation, nodding absently. Yet his attention was absorbed by his surroundings. His eyes roved over the yellowing china wallpaper, the smooth wood of the barrister of the stairs...it felt strange to him, and...

New.

He stiffened, the very thought seeming to freeze him with its mutual touch. It struck him back to reality, and by then he realized his behavior. Stilling the shaking inside of him, he corrected himself by meeting the woman in the eye, muttering a solemn, “I will do so.”

For a moment the lady blinked, but then she smiled approvingly, her big teeth seeming to fan out by the movement. They were a healthy shade of gray, for a woman born to all accesses to sweets. Suddenly the image of that strange girl lept upon him, her teeth bared in a mocking grin; white and unrealistically flawless, yet tainted with the smell of chocolates.
He grimaced and turned away, inwardly shaking off the thoughts. He had a purpose. Here. Now. The last thing he should do was to dally with the womenfolk, most of all allowing them to drift into his mind. Without another word, he turned on his heel, ignoring the shocked expression of the lady's face as he began climbing the stairs.

*********************************************************

Jodi stared at the hunched figure of the woman before her. Her mouth was open agape for some time now, until finally she noticed, and, self-consciously, closed it.
She had never been so very scared in her life before. Scared, and, more dominantly, ashamed.
She now wished more than ever that she hadn't let the woman so much as touch her feet.
She took a deep breath, licked her lips impulsively and said, “How old were you then?”

“Sixteen.” The old woman smiled to herself, still looking down on the floor. Jodi couldn't see much in the dark, but she imagined the smile as wry or ironic.
“I remember because I kept thinking about my birthday.” She said monotonously. “My mother, no matter what, always found the time to make some ice cream for me. It's something we do, you know?”
“Yeah?”
“They were born not long after my birthday.” She murmured. She began to draw circles on the dusty floor. As if she could see them past that wood surface, and was merely highlighting their images. “There was no motherly feeling, like they kept saying, it just kind of...it was more of a thing I had to do. It wasn't until they were old enough to walk did it change.”
Jodi did not look down to the roving finger. She didn't want to look down to the floor, not at her feet. Not at her cool, damp and clean feet.
“Where are they now?”
God, she sounded like a shrink. But the thought was swept out of her mind when her voice suddenly got strained.
“I don't know.” She said, her head sank lower to her chest. Jodi instinctively leaned forwards to glimpse her face, then stopped. It was all perfectly understandable.
“They were sold, perhaps to some other farmer.” She said tensely. “Two fine strapping young boys! I knew the auction block loomed before them even back then.” She huffed in laughter, rolling herself into a tight and protective ball.
Jodi had no idea how to act. She was always the one that froze, almost apathetically whenever someone cries or suddenly cracks. Feelings are for the inside. You were meant to suck it up and hold it in if such terrible things happen to you. Otherwise, where would you be if you'd just collapse and cry?

But Anna's ordeals were much, much worse.

“If they're not somewhere breaking their backs in some god-forsaken farm, I'll wager they're out there dying for whatever side their master pushed them into. Maybe they're already dead! Cursed to a short and meaningless life because of their skin!”

Jodi felt her own eyes sting. More in self-pity than sympathy for the woman. Here she was, stuck in the brutal world called 18th c. America, about to be questioned and convicted by the enemy, while her whole world and sense of security was wiped away. She clapped her face with both hands when she quickly realized it, suddenly furious with her selfish thoughts.

Anna continued to rave.
“And they say they're doing it for freedom! They write the constitution talking about every man deserving his rights and freedom, while I was sold and kept under lock and key...Jo? Oh, don't cry, oh please don't. I've lived my life long enough...”

Jodi sniffed and tried to trap the whimper that threatened to give out. Guilt washed over her as the old woman suddenly began clucking over her like a concerned hen, oblivious to the true cold and harsh feelings inside of her.
She mustn't know, she mustn't know, She mustn't...!
She almost half-expected it to show on her face, like a great branding or a taboo tattooed on her. The sight of her dark and gentle face made her duck her head into her balled-up hands, trying t resist the desire—this urge, to weep and wail and scream in a frenzy.
It's not fair, She thought, It's SO not fair!

Earlier, a mere minutes early, Anna had told her as she bathed the filthy feet of her plight. Of how she got here, of what she was, and the world that just kept on pushing her down, trying to mold her into a role she did not want.
She had been just a girl in Tarrytown. Two centuries after this era. She was found close to the Hudson river, lost and frightened as she was. But unlike Jodi, who found herself in the den of wolfish men of war, Anna was practically dragged into an auction. Her knowledge in reading and writing forced her here, as a tutor of the very lady of this house, who was then a small child when she met this slave girl of thirteen. The family knew her likelihood of escaping, and kept her in locked doors. Months later their restrictions turned flaccid, and Anna took the opportunity without thinking. She gathered up her food and ran, imagining real civilization as she remembered waiting just for her. But then the roads kept going on. Her pace slowed into a painful walk, seeing nothing but cornfields as she passed, her only witnesses the scarecrows that stood there for many an eternity. By morning she was found by farmers, and was duly taken back to her awaiting masters, and the birch switch.
Since then Anna learned, and never ran away again.

Anna then lived her days as the white men wanted. Thanks to her, Jodi now had someone to relate to. But in the beginning, Anna didn't.

Jodi let out a pained groan and gulped desperately, as if the very action would swallow up the emotions that now had its hold on her.
“Jo, look at me. Breathe. Good and slow, Jo, I said look at me.”
Jodi wanted to look up, smile, feel the tears clear up and dry, shrug it off. But she'd be damned if she knew. Frustrated, she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, pulled the stretchy fabric to her face and blew her nose. She blew it hard and loud, her nose flaring up with intense pain, but she didn't care anymore. She wanted the feeling out, gone. She blew until nothing remained but thin and watery substance, and finally wiped her eyes with an unused corner.
Sniffing, this time more moderately, she looked up and smiled. She felt much better now. The emotion was purged, gone.
“Sorry.” She said sheepishly, “It...just...it just wouldn't stop.”
Anna stared at her, perhaps surprised or shocked by her behavior. Jodi had to admit that that was pretty disgusting, she realized with a new shame, but she was desperate.
“Well, that could work.” Anna said drily, rising to her feet. “I was going to have to scrub that shirt, regardless.”

************************************************************************************

The Hessian walked briskly towards the room where his superior may be. There were many doors in this corridor, all of them the same in design and form. They were generally dark in color, the color of crimson, he supposed, all bordered with patterns of gold leaf.
Useless finery.
He made the door rattle with the usual beating, and almost immediately, a weary voice calls out.
“Enter.”
The Hessian let himself in. His foot moved to kick the door closed behind him, yet stopped midway, recosidering. Even though it would be a pleasure to break a few sleeping spells, it would not be wise either.
He pushed the door firmly instead.
“You wanted to see me, m'lord?” He asked.
Despite of looking like death warmed up, Westmorland still somehow managed to obtain his look of authority. He blinked his worn, red-rimmed eyes as he stared at the Hessian disdainfully, hunched over his desk and a set of papers, a quill between his small fingers.
Westmorland nodded in reply, and the Hessian managed a look at the paper beneath his quill. It seemed he had already started.
“I'd like to hear your report, Hessian.” He said curtly.
The Hessian smiled at this.
“Which one?” He replied, “do you mean of the battle? Or the girl?”
“You know damn well what I meant!” The commander shouted. The mercenary narrowed his eyes at his outburst, his smile twisting into more of a smirk. What happened to this man? He mused. He watched as Westmorland checked himself immediately, staring at the table with a curious and foreign look. Then, as sudden as his outburst, he changed. Folding his hands before him, his face smoothed over into the expression of calm superiority, and spoke more softly.
“It would be interesting to hear your opinion in my prowess of today's battle.” Westmorland exclaimed, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. “But I fear that would be a waste of my time. I'd much rather hear the story of the latter, though.”

The Hessian took a moment to regard his superior.
“Very well, my lord.”
“Good then.” Westmorland adjusted his seating and flexed his wrist, dipping the quill into the inkwell before resting it against the paper. “You found the girl in the woods, with a band of armed rebels...Is that correct?”
“Yes.” This time without hesitation.
“Then tell me what else had happened.”