MULATTO (Iyila) (Editing)

chapter six ~ Dedicated to Abraham Lincoin

AT THE JOHN's MANSION

"All of you should stay here, Racheal will soon be here to attend to you, none of you should move, or else," he paused and grunted, "I will blow off your head." the man who had escorted them from the wagon to the house said before exiting. They were left alone, supposedly waiting for this Racheal woman, Iyila sighed.

Though grieved to the core that she had witnessed a murder scene, and angered to the brim that she had been separated from Tari; Iyila could not help thwart her unwilling drive to admire the almost faultless nature of the inner house. It was a glorious piece of intelligence and certainly like nothing she had ever seen, except in the books that she had secretly read when she was much younger. Still this house looked more outstanding.

The decoration and designs on the walls were a perfect match to the house therefore making it more intriguing. Soon she realized the other slaves were likewise as excited as she was. But their excitement was no longer mute, because chattering soon followed. She smiled. She was not good at openly declaring her feelings, except the angry ones. But inwardly she couldn't stop appreciating the house. As she aimlessly scanned the room with clear astonishment on her face, her eyes sighted an old portrait on the wall, it was grey in colour, in it was a young boy with curly hair, he was completely good looking and he almost resembled the man, the murderer, what was his name again? Zachary. she thought.

The very man she had fallen for, just minutes ago before he brutally murdered a mulatto boy. She hated him now even more than the way she hated Amos. Perhaps it was because she had excepted too much from him and expected nothing but evil from Amos. She had judged him by his looks and had mistaken him. And she loathed her foolishness because she had never let her guard so loose. Just for what, a handsome face, she scoffed disgusted, never trust a White, never expect something different from brutality, she mentally berated herself and pushed that thought away.

She believed that he would rot in hell, so no need to deliberate on an already spilled milk. All she wanted to do for now was to admire the boy in the portrait. She noticed that he almost resembled Zachary except for the deep dimples that made his face more outstanding than Zachary's. Could this be his brother? Or a relation? she thought, but in as much as she admired the house and the lovely portrait boy, she didn't want to feel too comfortable, too relaxed as the other slaves were, she frowned at her naivety.

Feeling relaxed Iyila? her conscience mockingly teased, she couldn't fathom how easily she could completely forget her enigma, how easily she could forget that they were in the lion's den. She inwardly scolded herself from taking any further glances at the room. She had her priority and comfort was certainly a distraction, she needed to be focused. Yes focus Iyila, focus, she mentally yelled at herself. And stop staring at the portrait stupid, she added, hating herself the more for being so idiotic.

Immediately she removed her eyes from the portrait, her eyes met a bulky mulatto woman walking down the stairs. She was clearly starting towards them. She seemed neat and healthy, and the brown dress she wore hugged her figure so perfectly, which confused Iyila. "Could she be the mistress?" she whispered to herself.

Slaves were always dirty, tattered, and not healthy looking. So why was the woman so bulky? That was when she noticed the complete silence. The woman's presence seemed to attract all their attention, leaving them speechless. Iyila turned her gaze to the other Mulattos. It was easy to identify that they were obviously as confused as she was. "Welcome to the John's plantation,"  the woman said in a light African accent, the slaves nodded.

"I am Racheal and I am the head slave," the woman proudly declared, scanning the slaves with obvious disdain, oh so this is the Racheal. Iyila thought and an irritating frown soon graced her face. She had never heard of head slaves, except for favourite slaves like late Amanda.