A Flash of Change

A Flash of Change

By Courtney L. Smith

    Sweat saturated the eyes of Michael Beauregard as his calloused hands grasped the thorny balls of cotton waiting to caress his palms with lacerations and torment. However, he knew his back would have a fresh set of scars to accompany the many that had already healed if he stopped or slowed his pace. Occasionally, a smaller, darker set of arms working as vigorously would graze his own before he felt their marital embrace during the night. Martha’s scarred hands were a reminder that equal hardship awaited the women as well as the men. Periodically, he glanced to his left to see a couple of his teenage sons pushing through the heat and discomfort with nearly the same tireless effort. 

    He grasped another handful of cotton before a searing flash of pain raced across his back like lightening. Michael did not have to turn around to notice it was the whip of Clyde Beauregard. Clyde became an overseer like his Black father, but took a certain satisfaction of whipping the other slaves who did not like him. Michael knew Clyde did not really need a reason to strike him because he was always working without slack or delay. Nevertheless, Michael kept working and smiling as though nothing happened. He knew acknowledging the unwarranted act or seeking vengeance would result in consequences for his family. He continued smiling with his family acquiescing to the harsh treatment of their patriarch to avoid further repercussions. Besides, they knew they could make fun of Clyde with the other slaves once the sun sunk beneath the horizon, and they were behind closed doors. 

    “Daddy! Can I go to the well to get some water?” Michael slowly turned his head to see Clyde’s horse trotting off to the other side of the plantation before nodding to his son, Reynaldo. The boy reflected his father’s concern by staring in the same direction Clyde trotted away before his feet raced toward the well. He grabbed the bucket and brought back enough water for everyone. 

    Reynaldo submerged the ladle beneath the water before a familiar whip rose into the air.  The leather barely touched the skin of the boy’s back before Clyde choked upon soil and grass as he felt the paternal wrath of Michael pressing his weight into his back and knuckles burying themselves into his ribs. Clyde glanced behind him to see glimpses of enraged eyes between the blows of clenched fists. Michael slowly rose to his feet before he stood over one of his oppressors. Clyde glanced around him as he slowly stood as well. 

Gasps rose from the other slaves as they continued grasping the cotton and filling their bags with trembling and bulging eyes. A woman grabbed her child upon seeing Clyde walking past them.

    “Please, don’t hurt my child. We good workers! We work hard all day long!” pleaded the thin woman as she embraced her daughter. Clyde chuckled as he continued his trek before pausing.  

    “I never punish anyone who does not deserve it, but someone will pay for this!” spoke Clyde, casually as he stared at Michael. 

    Michael slowly returned to his work as he listened to the overseer’s footfalls become distant echoes into silence. 

    Echoes of laughter and relief filled the evening skies as several groups of people wearily but gratefully trotted off to their cabins. Michael wrapped his right arm around Martha as both of her arms grasped his waist. Michael paused and took a deep breath as Martha walked ahead of him.  He gingerly headed toward the threshold before seeing his wife moving slowly toward a large pot with an amber flicker swaying beneath it. 

    Michael’s family did not have to ask what was for dinner. The slaves gathered whatever parts were left from the butcher as the preferred muscles of slaughtered calves, pigs, sheep, and goats were removed. Martha stared at her husband as she slowly stirred the pot over the fireplace. She turned her head and gazed at him with wide eyes as her right arm continued moving in a circular motion above the food. 

    “Michael. I can’t help but wonder if we gone be safe in our beds, tonight,” voiced Martha.

    “We are too valuable to the master to be killed by Clyde. The price on our heads would cause the master too much trouble if we died all of a sudden,” replied Michael.

    “Well, Clyde can still string us up without the rope being about our throats and beat us within an inch of our lives without killing us,” suggested Martha.

    “Do not worry about that, tonight. If we gone die or suffer, there is no sense suffering that much more or worrying about it before it actually happens. Besides, Clyde cannot do what the master does not allow,” clarified Michael. Martha shook her head with trembling fingers as she succumbed to her husband’s confidence.

    Martha slowly grasped her sheet and climbed into the bed beside her sleeping husband. Her eyelids felt heavy before a thunderous sound preceded the door reverberating with a flat echo as it struck the floor. Both Michael and Martha jumped to their feet to see a familiar silhouette with moonlight outlining it.

    “I told you I was going to get my revenge one way or another!” stated Clyde, flatly.

    “You know the master will have your hide if you decide to kill us!” shouted Martha.

    “Not if he thinks the plantation was raided! It has been happening to other plantations, already,” said Clyde as he raised a rifle in their directions.

    He began pulling the trigger before his head suddenly exploded like a firecracker as his lifeless corpse struck the ground. Many dark-blue uniforms raced across the blackness with torches and shotguns in their hands. Fields erupted in glowing, amber billows with smoke darkening the already dim atmosphere. Michael and Martha stared at each other with empty expressions as their minds attempted to understand what was happening. The couple looked to their right to see their teenage sons and daughters were already huddled in a corner, preparing for what was about to happen next. 

    “Daddy! I’m scared!” whimpered a feminine voice from the huddle. Michael clutched the rifle that almost ended his life mere seconds ago before walking slowly to the entrance. He peered outside to see several men in dark uniforms brandishing their rifles as they raced throughout the blazes. A silhouette lunged at Michael before he aimed his rifle in its direction.  The silhouette immediately stopped. Michael lowered the weapon upon seeing the familiar face of his friend.

    “What’s happening, Jacob?” asked Michael.

    “Those men running across the plantation and wrecking havoc upon it are Union Soldiers. They are tearing up everything Master Collins built up.” Jacob slowly turned his head in multiple directions before returning his wary gaze to Michael. 

    “In other words, we are free!” Jacob slowly turned around and followed the Union soldiers as they vanished into the darkness.

    “Who do you suppose shot Clyde?” asked Martha.

    “I have no idea, but I would love to invite them over for dinner if I ever find out,” replied Michael as he motioned for his family to run after him in the same direction that Jacob and the Union soldiers left. Their hearts raced with excitement as they happily passed the property line, which would have meant certain death, previously.