Tidsby by Mista Midas

CHAPTER 2

Realizing that I had fallen asleep, I open my eyes, and upon seeing where I was, I snapped to my feet. I groggily rubbed the irritating sleep from my eyes. A sweeping glance revealed the only person in the kitchen was Anabelle. It felt like I had only dozed off for a brief moment, but the bright sunlight streaming through the kitchen window proved otherwise.
Why didn't someone wake me up? And who had covered me with a blanket?
My mouth sour. My eyes itched annoyingly and still burned a little from not sleeping enough. Anabelle's roaming eyes and impish grin made me realized that the trousers I had on was too tight and over six inches too short. I could feel her stripping me naked with her big brown eyes. Feel the yearning desire that she never seen to try to conceal, burning through her penetrative gaze.
Anabelle was Ms. Anabelle's great-granddaughter. She was eight years older than me. A Strapping Amazonian; a big woman; thick and healthy. Ever since my growth spurt at seventeen, she had sat her eyes on me. But I paid her affable approaches no alienation. The irony is, she ended up blessing me with my only child.
"You go on wash up," she instructed as if I was a child. "I'll have something ready for you to eat when you get back."
I ignored her invitation like I ignored all her other advances. "Where is everybody?"
"Yo' mama and auntie is upstairs. Mas'a Prescott and yo' grandpa left soon as the sun came up."
My grandpa? I thought. Memories of the night before flashed back. "Where'd they go?"
"You stop guest'n me rite this second, boy!" she ordered, pointing at me with a big wooden spoon. "I's ain' yo' woman!"
I thought about replying but quickly changed my mind. I shook my head. I'm too young for this.
I left her standing in the kitchen and hurried to my quarters. After freshening up and changing clothes, I-even though I didn't want to have to face Anabelle's burning lust-returned to the main house with Mr. Prescott's trousers.
As I approached, I could hear the broom scraping against the wooden kitchen floor. The back door was wide open. I rapped a few times on the doorpost and got Anabelle's attention. She glanced up, and seeing me, frowned as if I displeased her. I sighed and ignored her now sour attitude.
"Wha' chu wan' boy?" She huffed as if I was bothering her.
"I brought back Mr. Prescott's trousers."
"Go on set it on the settee in the sitting room," she instructed.
As I walked by, she watched me cautiously as if I was a known thief who could not be trusted.
In the sitting room, I saw the trousers I had worn in the rain the night before; dried, pressed, and folded. I quickly swapped Mr. Prescott's for mine and hurried out the room. I didn't say a word to Annabelle-who was still posted in the same place as a faithful sentinel, leaning on her broom, watching my every move. As I walked towards the back door, I sniffed the air and the pleasant aroma of her cooking suddenly hit me. My stomach growled like an angry Doberman Pincher. Whatever it was she was cooking sure smelled delicious. If not for my stubborn pride, I would have asked her for some. My mouth suddenly began to water as I neared the door.
"Is you gone eat yo' food?" she asked before I could step outside.
I stopped but didn't turn around. A roguish grin playfully twitched across my face. "Wha' chu cook?" I asked; my back to her.
"Wha'eva it is, it sho nuff gone taste better'n that porridge an' bread that out there waitin' fo' yo' hungry-behin'," she replied sassily.
I turned and faced her. I wanted so bad to retort, but before I could think of something to say, she smiled. As hard as I tried, I could not stop myself from returning a smile.
She knew she had me cornered. She had won the battle I had lost. Like Esau, who had sold his birthright for a bowl of stew, I had compromised my pride for a morning breakfast. I walked to the small, round kitchen table and took a seat.
As I sat at the small table, spreading a glob of strawberry jam on my fifth biscuit-I had already devoured a large bowl of grits, four fried eggs, a mess of bacon, and a large mug of girts, four fried eggs, a mess of bacon, and a large mug of freshly-squeezed orange-I heard the chatter of horse huffs heading in our direction. Anabelle walked to the door and glanced outside. "Yo' grandpa an' Mas'a Prescott's back," she informed.
Like Esau, who had sold his birthright for a bowl of stew, I had compromised my pride for a morning breakfast. I walked to the small, round kitchen table and took a seat.
As I sat at the small table, spreading a glob of strawberry jam on my fifth biscuit-I had already devoured a large bowl of grits, four fried eggs, a mess of bacon, and a large mug of freshly-squeezed orange juice-I heard the chatter of horse huffs heading in our direction. Anabelle walked to the door and glanced outside. "Yo' grandpa an' Mas'a Prescott's back," she informed.
I quickly swallowed the remainder of the biscuit and washed it down with what was left of my second mug of orange juice. Anabelle smiled, shaking her head as she watched me hurriedly gathered all the empty dishes and placed them in the sink.
My grandfather and Mr. Prescott rode straight to the stables. Leaving their horses to be tended to, they strutted slowly to the main house.
My grandfather stepped with confidence, proudly holding his head high. He was armed like a lawman-two pistols holstered on his belt, long gun stopped across his back, Stetson propped on his head and stopped under his chin.
As they walked towards the kitchen, Mr. Prescott reached inside his vest pocket and took out his cigars. He handed one to my grandfather. They both lit up I moved aside so they could enter the kitchen-Mr. Prescott first.
"Elijah," he said, acknowledging me with a slight nod. He took off his Stetson and smiled gentlemanly at Anabelle. "Anabelle."
"Mas'a," she greeted bowing slightly.
My grandfather was only steps behind him. "Grandson," he greeted me as he walked by. He shot Anabelle a tight stare. "Missy."
"Good afternoon," she greeted my grandfather timidly.
After a few days, life on the plantation returned to how it was before my grandfather had shown up. He had stayed a couple of days and then had vanished again. Only Mr. Prescott knew where he had gone, and no one dared to question the Master of the plantation about the whereabouts of his friend.
He had mysteriously returned the night of the storm; Monday and had vanished again that Thursday morning. That Sunday afternoon after church, I had walked about a mile to a river that boarded the northern end of the plantation. With my baited line cast far out in the middle of the water, I sat at ease on an old log by the river bank with my feet in the water, chuckling childishly every time the minnows nibbled on my toes. Hearing a splash to my right, I glanced over only to see ripples. Thinking it was small fish, I returned to my state of tranquility. Moments later, I could feel something nipping on my baited hook. As I slowly prepared to set the hook, the line began to tug strongly. I swiftly snatched the line, feeling the hook set in the jaw of some unfortunate aquatic creature, and began bringing him in. A few feet from the bank, a silver shape flashed under the water and then leaped in the air. As the fish twist and turned, the tension on my line suddenly went slack. The fish hit the water, causing a great splash, and then was gone. Frustrated, I pulled in my line, only to realize that my hook was gone also. As I inspected the end of the line, I noticed that it did not snap, but had come loose from the hook. No worries, I had one more hook.
As I began tying on the other hook, something splashed in the water only a few feet away from me. Thinking it a cottonmouth, I sprang out of the water, stumbling. Regaining my footing, I momentarily realized that the tip of the hook was partially embedded in my fingertip. I carefully removed it and cautiously moved back to the river bank. Seeing no signs of anything venomous slithering on the river bank or swimming around in the water, I once again commenced to stringing my hook. After completing what seemed a very complicated task, I inspected the knot, then nodded my approval. I stop and began spinning the line, wheeling it to build up the momentum needed to cast it out in the middle of the river, where I believed the biggest fishes to be. Before I could cast the baited hook out into the water, something-I, later on, saw an orange bobbing in the water-clunked me in the back of my head. I was so frightened, I completely forgotten about fishing and sprung awkwardly off the bank-like a startled tree frog-and landed sideways in the water with a stringing splash. When I surfaced, I was greeted by something I thought not possible; my grandfather laughing.
About twenty minutes later, I sat-stripped down to my breeches-waiting for my clothes to dry. It was the first time I and my grandfather had said more than only a few words to each other. Today, like every other day since he had returned, he was around to the tenth. Never had I seen a black man so confident. I wanted to, but I knew it wasn't possible, based on what I heard, to walk in his footsteps. But ever s, I vowed that day, I would stand in the shadow. I was his descendant; blood and flesh; his grandson. He would be the guiding light that leads me on the path to manhood.
Realizing that I was no good at tying knots, my grandfather had taken the liberty of tying the hook on the line. It was a complicated knot; one he promised would not easily come loose. He showed me how to bait a hook the correct way, how to cast my line. It was a complicated knot, one he promised would not easily, and how to set a hook correctly. When I hauled in my first catch, he showed me a way to quickly and easily scale and clean it. Later on, he thought me how to build a small fire, and though me how to build a small fire, and how to prepare and roast some of the fishes I had caught. For the hours we sat on the river bank, I was his eager student and he was my patient teacher.
At the end of the day, my grandfather and I hiked back to the plantation. I thanked him for spending the day with me, and offered him his choices of the four fish I brought back, he refused, suggesting that I have Annabelle prepare and cook them for me. Before we parted company, he informed me that he had something to tell me. When I asked, what it was, he only said to be ready in the morning, he would tell me then. He took the four fish and walked off, heading to the main house. I watched until he walked inside before I turned and walked to the slave quarters.