“You should care what happened to him,” the woman shouted.
Ice glazed over Alden’s skin. It wasn’t his mother in the chamber. It was Mammy, screaming at her master.
“You killed my son, and you don’t even care ...” her words trailed off in a sob.
Alden collapsed back against the wall, stunned at her accusation. Then rage bubbled up inside him, and his head felt as if it might explode.
He knew his father was outraged, that he might try to maim Benjamin in some way to ensure he’d never run again, but Alden never imagined him killing one of their slaves.
Across the corridor, his mother opened the door and peeked out at Alden in the candlelight. In that brief moment, he saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. A trace of vulnerability. Shame.
Perhaps she saw something new in his eyes too. Without a word, she slammed her door shut, as if the wood barrier could block out the reality of what her husband had done. And block out the fury—the accusations—of her son.
Mammy’s wails grew louder. “How could you kill him?”
“He wouldn’t stop running away,” his father replied.
“You should have let him run,” she said, her voice trembling. “All he wanted was to be like Alden ... and you.”
“If I’d let him go, the others would have followed him.”
“You are a proud man, John Payne, and the Lord above despises pride.”
“You spoiled him ever since he was a child,” his father said, as if Mammy had somehow wronged him. “He was useless as a slave.”
“Indeed.” She paused. “Benjamin was too much like his father.”
A sound—a slap—resounded into the hallway, and when Mammy cried out, Alden reached for the doorknob, throwing the door open. Mammy cowered near the window, her dark eyes swollen. The red mark on her cheek matched Alden’s, and he felt as if he might be sick all over his father’s woven rug.
His father towered over Mammy, his face stark white like one of the marble statues at Harvard. Lifeless and resolute. He pointed Alden back toward the door. “Leave my room.”
“You—” His voice trembled with shock as he stared at the man who’d sired him. “You killed Benjamin.”
“Get out, Alden.”
Weariness swept over him, his soul reflecting the look on Mammy’s face. He was tired. Tired of his father’s demands and the expectations placed on his shoulders. Tired of watching other people being treated worse than his father’s dog. Tired of hands that folded in prayer over a meal before striking the backs of people who had harvested and prepared it.
Mammy wouldn’t suffer anymore at his father’s hand.
Alden reached out toward her. “She’s coming with me.”
“This isn’t your business,” his father said, stepping closer to him.
Alden’s voice escalated. “You killed Benjamin, and now you want to hurt her?”
“I own them.”
“No, Father,” Alden said, his tongue burning in anger. “It seems that slavery actually owns you.”
His father lifted his hand again to strike, and Alden closed his eyes, waiting for the pain. He wanted to feel what Benjamin and Mammy had felt, suffer alongside them.
But instead of hitting Alden, he lowered his hand. “Leave my room.”
“Not without Mammy.”
His father swore. “Both of you leave my sight.”
Mammy slipped out in front of Alden, and as he turned to follow, he heard his father mutter, “Nigger-lover.”
