The African trinkets

(Continuation of) Lost are Found

Lance wailed his plea and froze Mary's feet. She had stopped running and stood still but did not turn around. By this time Rosie had come outside and jogged to join Lance.

"What is she doing?" Rosie huffed, out of breath. Lance stared out at Mary who stood approximately one hundred meters away.

"I don't know." Lance answered honestly. He scolded himself for having scared Mary off with a hug too intimate for a girl who hadn't known her brother.

"Do something, Lance!" Rosie panicked and instinctually set off in a run but Lance grabbed her arm before Mary could see Rosie's intention.

"No, Rosie, respect her distance." Rosie pulled her arm back and turned on Lance as if his words had bitten her like a snake.

Despite her old age and Lance's warning, Rosie ran after Mary. The younger girl still hadn't turned around, something in her horizon had captivated her. Lance didn't try to stop Rosie. How could he?

Rosie's child was just within her reach and to stand in Rosie's way would be cruel and unnecessary. Lance could only watch and hope that Rosie chance of happiness would not disintegrate into dust before her eyes.

Rosie ran with a conviction that overwhelmed her feet which faltered and caused her to fumble rather loudly. Loud enough to make Mary start at the sound; she turned around to find Rosie weeping on the floor. Without hesitation, Lance sprinted to help Rosie to her feet.

"Rosie," Lance had tried to pull Rosie up but the older woman solidified herself by curling up into a crying ball. Lance rubbed her back to comfort her, "Come Rosie. I'll help you up and walk you back inside."

Rosie only bawled louder in response to Lance. He could sense that Rosie desperately wanted these words of comfort from someone else. Lance began to feel anger on Rosie's part towards Mary who hadn't come running to her mother's rescue.

Lance could barely stomach his own agony and refused to see Rosie writhe in pain. He stood up but remained by Rosie's side, "Sister!" Lance shouted and even with the distance between them, Lance could feel Mary's eyes fix on him.

"I beg that you remain where you stand. Allow me to apologize to you and to explain myself. Allow me to convince you to stay!" Lance decided to petition on Rosie's behalf who had fallen into a hypnotic stupor of repeating Mary's name to herself.

Mary contemplated this and eventually agreed by signaling with a raised and beckoning hand. Lance did not waste a second and crossed the hundred meters between them in a matter of seconds.

The closer he got to Mary the more emotionally distraught she appeared. Lance noticed that Mary resembled Victoria when she was on the verge of tears. He belatedly noticed that Mary strongly resembled their father in the sense that she refused to cry.

"Speak!" Mary demanded of Lance. Her eyes darted over Lance's shoulder to where Rosie stood in anticipation. Mary felt guilt as Rosie held her heart and waited.

"Stay. Stay for her. Rosie is your mother and has yearned to hold you in her arms from the day of your separation. Stay because her happiness depends on it." Lance couldn't think of a better argument. He wanted to tack on that Mary should stay and claim her portion of inheritance but Lance remembered that there was no inheritance, no security, for any living Tate.

If Mary were to come forth as the daughter of Richard Tate then she would have unshackled herself from slavery just shackle herself to a lifetime of her father's debt. Of course Mary was unaware of all of this and Lance had to remind himself of that fact.

Mary's large hazelnut eyes darted from Lance to Rosie to the sky and then her hands, "I am not Marianne Tate!" She proclaimed, "I am not Mary property of the Tate estate." Mary broke down and choked on tears but she continued, "I am Maarinitjie; no more and no less." Mary's nervous hands scratched at her neck as a nervous habit and her high yellow skin began to tint pink, "I cannot stay because I do not belong here."

"There is no better place than with your family." Lance wanted to give Mary a sense of calm and stop her nails from breaking the skin of her neck and drawing blood.

"Neither of you are my family!" Mary pointed at Rosie over Lance's shoulder and took a step toward Lance. He could see the accusation in Mary's eyes, "I am not your sister. I am your property, your slave! I left my mother in South Africa. That weeping woman is a stranger to me and may have supposedly given me life but she knows nothing of my life."

"That is not fair, Mary." Lance failed to understand Mary's apathetic attitude toward her own mother, "She did not choose to neglect you, Mary, no matter how lonely and misplaced you felt."

"You assume far too much, sir, and I suggest that you abandon your guilt trip before I'm forced to strike you. Although I am a slave and have been deprived of many, many things; a loving mother has not been one of them. I haven't the place in my heart for a second nor the tolerance to play along with the fantasy of belonging in your family." Mary spoke through gritted teeth as she restrained the strong muscles of her arms.

"So you expect me to accept that your undersized heart does however have the capacity to kill the spirit of another?" Lance's question made Mary flinch.

Mary hadn't considered Rosie's emotional state. She supposed that she liked Rosie well enough but Mary just couldn't fathom how she held so much power over another.

"You over estimate her affection for me. Five minutes ago she thought me bothersome and now she suddenly cannot live on without me? If she were any mother of mine then surely Rosie would've partially recognized me."

Lance blinked at Mary and let a small smile appear on his face as he stared at his half-sister, "Something funny?" Mary barked, offended by Lance's amusement.

Lance raised his hands in surrender, "No, it's just that you sound exactly like him." Mary was confused by what Lance was trying to say. She screwed her eyebrows up and Lance elaborated, "Like father, I mean that you sound like our father when you speak." Lance stopped smiling and shook his head before he continued, "Rosie, your mother, did not instantaneously recognize you because you look like nothing she had ever imagined."

The sarcasm rushed out of Mary's frame and she shoulders sunk. Mary began to fiddle with her fingers and eventually began to bite at her nails. Lance only realized how young she truly was, "Then who do I look like?"

"Our grandmother, you too even go as far as sharing a name. She was a fiercesome woman." Mary shirked off her newly found innocence and as if to validate the similarity.

"Is that all the persuasion you have at your disposal? Was that meant to warm me, move me, melt my heart?" Mary looked at Lance with the full severity of her brown, hazel-specked eyes.

Lance was taken aback and dumbly blinked at Mary, "As a slave, why would I ever embrace my slaveholder?" Mary took a step toward Lance, "I always knew that I was a bastard and conceived under the circumstance of rape. My own stomach twists when I'm sorely reminded that I belong neither here nor there."

"Mary, your rightful place is with whatever family you have." Lance offered the idea but he knew that Mary's mind was already made.

"Then by all means, Master, send me back to mine and stop trying to immerse me into yours!"

Lance threw his hands in the air, out of frustrated hopelessness, and then over his eyes as he sighed, "What am I to tell Rose?"

"If I am free to leave then tell her that I am sorry but I cannot force myself to love a stranger but if my flesh is still bound to your name then..." Mary took a deep breath, crossed her arms and stared blankly in Rosie's direction.

Lance knew that Mary did not care for Rosie as he did and knew that by asking Mary, he was simply thinking aloud. Lance knew that he was in some way Rosie's child, more so than Mary. For as long as he could remember, Rosie was a constant figure in his life.

"I'll convey your sympathy. You're free to leave but trust me when I say that you can never seek out either Rosie or myself, understood?" Lance spoke fast and clearly and Mary had already walked passed him to leave...

*Ok so its safe to say that I've abandoned this story. Sorry, but I'm writing a new one! It's called 'The Belle Village'. It's histroical fiction, slavery with a bit of a twist. Please go read and comment :)*