Page 31 of Backwoods
And the sight of the plantation mansion, more so than the old shackles on her feet, truly brought it home for her.
The mansion stood off in the distance, surrounded by pine trees. It was built in the Greek Revival style popular for wealthy landowners in the South during the antebellum era: a two-story, square-shaped structure fronted by thick Doric columns.
But this estate, as grand as it no doubt had once been, had devolved into extreme disrepair. Kudzu had invaded the residence, the vines climbing and coiling through every visible inch of the façade. The windows looked like empty eye sockets. A portion of the roof had collapsed.
“What the hell is that?” Nick said. “You think someone lives there?”
Amiya couldn’t answer his question, her attention drawn to another region of the property, west of the estate: the fields.
Am I dreaming?she thought.Please let it be so.
The fields were pale green and she wasn’t sure what crop had been cultivated, but people were out there working. She saw at least ten of them. They were too far away for her to discern the details of their appearance, or their activity. But they were stooped over, intent upon their labors, methodically working along rows of land.
“They’re working like actual slaves,” Nick said, and it sounded as if he’d been slugged in the stomach.
He reached for her hands, and despite their shackles, she clasped his hands in hers, tightly. She and Nick had experienced their share of disagreements this day, but he was the only thing in this new reality that seemed real; the only thing she understood.
She pulled him closer to her, their noses nearly touching.
“No matter what, we’ve got to stick together,” she said.
“We will. Promise.”
The wagon veered off to the right, away from the mansion and fields, and toward a barn so dilapidated it was a miracle it was still standing. The horse drew to a stop in front of the barn doors.
“Where are you taking us?” Nick asked.
“Bringin’ you in the barn here, fella,” the man said, speaking for the first time. He ambled around the side of the wagon, the old woman at his side. He held the rifle he’d taken from them, and from the casual ease of his grip Amiya didn’t doubt he knew how to use it. His beard was so thick and unkempt that it looked as if a red-haired furry animal had attached itself to his face, but Amiya saw that “W” etched above an eyebrow like an old scar.
“You got the brawny look of a field hand we can use out here,” he said.
“Field hand?” Nick stared at them, mouth open in disbelief. “This is insane. This is my family’s property. I told you that!”
“That don’t mean nothin’ to me.” The man spat in the dirt.
“We want to speak to the person in charge here,” Amiya said, in the most forceful tone she could muster. “We want to talk to the Overseer.”
“Nah, you don’t,” the man said. Something that looked like fear flashed in his eyes.
“Where is the Overseer?” Amiya said. “Take us to him. Please.”
“Ain’t you just a little firecracker?” The old woman reached out to touch Amiya’s hair. Amiya jerked away from her hand. The woman grinned like a snake. “We gonna take you up to the big house, gal. You way too pretty to be workin’ outside. I think you just his type.”
“Keep your hands off me,” Amiya said, but a fresh, cold current of fear had washed over her.Whose type?
“Listen to me, both of you, please,” Nick said. “Obviously, neither of you want to be here, either. You’ve been branded. Take us back to my granddad’s house. We can all leave this place, every one of us.”
Amiya hoped that Nick’s appeal to reason would have gained some ground with them, but both the man and woman laughed. Their laughter carried a note of anxiety, however, and she realized:They want to leave, too, but they’re afraid.
But what could they have been afraid of? The Overseer wasn’t present, and they had their own means of transportation. What stopped them from taking that horse and wagon and driving right out of there for good?
“You want to leave, don’t you?” she said, and looked from the man to the woman. “Why can’t you? What’s keeping you here?”
“That’s enough talkin’,” the man said. “We got to get y’all settled in. Go on, now, Betty. Let’s get ’er done.”
The old woman—Amiya figured her name was Betty—lowered the gate of the wagon. She reached for Nick.
“Come on,” Nick said. “You don’t need to separate us. It’s not necessary.”
