Birthright: Guy Reid

Chapter 1

Maude! he croaked as Brody Slaughter stood by his wife’s grave. It was an ugly red gash in the earth, surrounded by several inches of cold virgin snow. There was an uncharacteristic slump to Brody’s posture that became a defining feature the rest of his life. His wife died at age twenty-three, giving birth to their second child. How can I live without you? he mewled.

Maude Saddler’s love had saved Brody when he returned from World War I in the fall of 1917, physically sound but sick in his soul. Her devotion to him had softened his heart and Brody had begged her father to let him marry Maude. Mr. Saddler reluctantly gave them his blessing when Maude declared her eternal love for Brody and they were married in November of 1917. The bride honestly wore white, a vision of unsullied loveliness.

It was late January of 1924, Brody peered across the grave of his wife at his son Billy Jack, who was five years old. Brody showed him no outward affection. One quick glance at his pa’s stern expression forced Billy Jack to choke back hot tears demanding to be shed.

When the funeral ended, the living returned to the Slaughter home, a large white farm house with forest green shutters. Brody sneaked a fortifying nip of whiskey, but it did nothing to take the edge off the enormity of his loss. He shuffled toward the parlor to face grieving relatives and neighbors though he needed to be alone. Maude, he moaned.

Annis Crenshaw, the Slaughter housekeeper was sitting in the kitchen, near the wood-burning range to keep warm. She was holding the newborn child who slept peacefully in Annis’s arms. She was little angel God had sent to give her daddy comfort, Annis was convinced. Expect kindness done died wif th’ missus, she mused.

Annis had already begun breast feeding the little white infant along with her own baby Rufus. Brody glared with raw hatred. Brody had conveniently forgotten the doctor’s warning that they should never have another child after her pregnancy with Billy Jack almost cost Maude her life.

Brody loathed the very sight of the newborn. He could only manage to live with his own otherwise unbearable guilt by transferring blame to the baby, as if she had sprung out of her mother’s womb without any help from him at all.

Annis sighed and wiped tears from her eyes. She was crying for the baby. Lord, he don’t want this chile! Oh lordie, lordie, lordie!

Annis assumed the role of surrogate mother from that day forward, though it was white and she was a negro. No matter: Annis loved the child as if she were her own. It was actually Annis who gave the baby her name. Savannah. I be from Savannah, Georgia. Yore pa don’t give no name, so I gives you Savannah. And Savannah it was.

Annis and her husband Seine were sharecroppers on the Slaughter farm near Oxford, a small County Seat in the tobacco belt.

Brody Slaughter never used the child’s name, though his hatred for Savannah was mostly diluted with time. In fact, when he finally admitted (only to himself) that Savannah was innocent of any wrongdoing, the pattern was already set, and Brody did not know how to change his strained relationship with his daughter. In spite of the dark cloud of her father whom Savannah feared as if he were God Himself, she had some happy childhood memories. In the first place Annis was loving and kind, and doted on the little White Angel as she referred to Savannah. The large old house where she lived was comfortable and well appointed. It was set in the middle of a grove of ancient oak and pecan trees that had wisely been spared by her grandparents when they first erected the farmhouse. It was handsome and homey.

Around the farm, there was ample room for Savannah to play and she delighted in the beauty and bounty of the earth around her. There were blackberries in season along the pasture fence next to the yard, and honeysuckle sprawled in sweet profusion along the drive leading to the front of the house. They added a heady luster to long, languid summer days.

Also, while he had his shortcomings, Brody was a good provider. Though it was the Great Depression, neither Savannah nor her brother Billy Jack lacked material comforts.

Annis did the housework, but she was more than the household servant: She was Savannah’s mammy and confidant.

Billy Jack was withdrawn most of the time, and along with Brody, he seemed to blame Savannah for their mother’s untimely death. This manifested itself whenever Savannah tried to approach him. Invariably, he would put her off and say something like, Go find Annis. You’re too young to be tryin’ ta hang out with me.

But I’m your sister, she would wail, wanting him to love her because she loved him. Savannah was by nature a loving and caring child.

Fortunately, there was Elsie Watkins, a neighbor who was filled with kindness and maternal love that spilled over and engulfed Savannah, too. It was through Elsie that Savannah learned the intricacies of the social graces Southern style that Annis simply did not know.

Savannah was also the recipient of charitable love from the religious community, and was treated with special kindness by the members of the Baptist Church, which she attended each Sunday.

Brody Slaughter was always too busy to go to church on Sundays. He worked instead on his farm or at one of his several tobacco auctioneering warehouses in Oxford and Creedmoor. God didn’t show my Maude any mercy, so I don’t have the time of day for givin’ Him, he always spat when he saw his neighbors dressed in their Sunday best, and heard them singing with a blend of inspired voices. My Maude could sing better’n any of them. But no, God didn’t let her stay here to use that sweet voice singing hymns. I guess He is the loser on that count.

Annis would click her teeth when she heard Brody’s blasphemy. Lord, he don’ mean it. You knows he don’, she would cry, hoping God would not reach down and strike Brody dead in his tracks, leaving all of them in the lurch.

Chapter 2

In spite of the attention from the church and Elsie Watkins, Savannah still felt lonely. She needed her father’s love—and her brother’s, too. This dichotomy represented a painful void in Savannah’s emotional wellbeing. Coupled with adults who not too discreetly mentioned within earshot that Savannah’s mother died giving birth to her, their remarks were chronic reminders that she was responsible for the untimely demise of her mother.

The resulting loneliness was reflected in a faint, melancholy edge that haunted Savannah’s personality. She began to believe in the expression most often used by adults to describe her in her formative years: Poor little thing.

Savannah was frequently left to her own devices, and as an unwilling loner, she developed a sense of foreboding, as if something terrible was about to befall her, an almost palpable sense of dread. Then, as if fulfilling a self-styled prophecy, one night Savannah was suddenly awakened by the screams of her brother Billy Jack.

Savannah was jolted wide awake from a restless sleep. Fear gripped her insides, a vise which would not let go. No Pa! Please stop! Billy Jack pleaded, his voice heard from downstairs, carrying to Savannah’s second-floor bedroom. In a panic she ran toward the mews of her brother’s pleas, and the sickening sounds of the thrashing he was getting from their father.

She stood paralyzed in the shadows of the upstairs hall. I told you never to go in that parlor! If it weren’t for you and her, he gestured with his head towards Savannah’s upstairs bedroom and Savannah shrank further from sight, my Maude would still be alive today. He continued to flail abuse on Billy Jack who was trying to protect his face from his father’s belt buckle.

I’m sorry, Pa, Billy Jack wailed between thrashes. I promise I’ll never do it again. Please, please stop!

Brody finally gave Bill Jack a half-hearted kick as he looped his belt through his trousers and said, Git up! Go clean yourself up. And don’t defy me again!

Brody shuffled to the back of the house. Savannah flew down the stairs. She was still terrified of her father, looking over her shoulder, but the birth of a maternal instinct in her prevailed. Billy Jack, was all she could think of to say as she draped her little arms around his neck to offer comfort.

At first Billy Jack was surprised and touched. But the seed of hatred for Savannah that he had been fed by his father prevailed. He pushed her aside, feeling the bridge of his nose which was bleeding and in great pain. Git off me! I don’t need your help, he hissed.

If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be like that. I hate you! he said between clinched teeth and stalked out of the house.

Stunned, Savannah felt the dark stain on the hall rug where Billy Jack had lost control of his bladder. She busied herself with cleaning up the evidence, crying convulsive tears of distraught misery.

The next day and for the next several weeks Annis did not understand why Savannah tried to cling to her at every opportunity as if her very life depended on it.

Lordie, Lordie, Lordie, what be the matter wif you, chile? What done be come over you these past weeks? Come on, now, you can tell your mammy!

Savannah snorted and Annis handed her her own handkerchief, wrinkled but clean. Nuthin’, really. I’m just—Billy Jack hates me. And daddy hates me! I can’t help it if she died, she wailed, burying her face in her own hands.

Of course you can’t chile, said Annis, biting her lip to refrain from saying what she really thought: Savannah’s father and brother needed whipping for the way they treated her.

Come on now. Dry those tears. Why don’t you pretend you’re all grown up and on your own. You can do it.

Savannah gave her a blank stare. Tell you what, I’ll git the farm younguns to meet you in the barn cover. Then you can play-act for them. You can be the grand lady I know you goin’ ta become one fine day.

Like a play? With costumes?

Sho. With costumes. But you have to make ’em cause I ain’t got no time ta be foolin’ with no sewing, Annis said, but in a good-natured tone of voice.

Okay. I’ll find some things to use and you git the children. It is going to be a good play, you wait and see, called Savannah, rushing to the stairs to dig up costumes and props.

When Savannah performed for the children that day, it became a potent escape mechanism for her. When she was playacting, all of her problems evaporated and she was transformed to a world where she was always safe and happy.

Thus emotionally fortified, Savannah began to embellish her lines while she improved her makeshift costumes and props. At first, the children had been told to humor her by attending her productions. But soon they willingly came to watch these skits that evolved into amusing, entertaining pastimes for them, too.

Chapter 3

Savannah retreated more and more into her make-believe world. Annis clicked her teeth, sorry she had suggested the idea since the child’s grip on reality was clearly threatened.

But an event soon brought Savannah back with a thud. When she was told she was not allowed to go in the parlor, Savannah had blindly obeyed her mammy. But since the Billy Jack beating, she viewed it with all of the allure of the sirens of danger tempting her to break the rule. Why couldn’t she go in there?

Every time Savannah almost got the nerve to satisfy her curiosity, she would get interrupted. Either someone would show up or Savannah would step on a squeaky board, sneeze, or make some other noise which she was sure was going to bring her father down on her head in all his wrath.

But one day, feeling bold, Savannah stood hesitantly at the parlor door. She managed to forget that she had been recently warned by Annis that Savannah was never to go into the parlor by herself.

The room was kept in darkness during the day by heavy velvet drapes pulled tightly together. It was as if daylight was the enemy and would surely compromise the sanctity of the space.

Savannah looked up and down the deserted hall. Silence. Savannah held her breath and pushed the door ajar. It creaked, causing her heart to pound even louder in her ears. But no one seemed to be within earshot. Savannah tiptoed into the room. She eased the door shut so that it barely made a noise.

Savannah stood against the inside of the door, to catch her breath. While she was standing there and her eyes were adjusting to the dim light, Savannah’s fear began to turn into curiosity. She marveled at the beauty of the things that began to command her attention. Collector’s items painstakingly accumulated by her late mother. Now they lay useless and mostly unseen in this stuffy shrine to her memory.

Crystal gleamed. Silver shined. Fine China was on display. There was a veritable fortune behind protective glass, on tables, on chests, on the piano.

Piano? Piano! Delighted, Savannah turned her full attention to this discovery. She stared in fascination at this grand instrument placed in the bay window, from which filtered tiny streams of dusty light across the glossy rich wood. Savannah found herself standing between the bench and the piano. She lightly ran a finger down the cover hiding the keys. Freed of dust, a thin line of shiny mahogany appeared. Savannah looked furtively around.

Savannah carefully lifted the piano lid. The keys seemed to wink invitingly at her in the pale light. Savannah was hypnotized by the lure of those keys. With a palpitating heart, she gave one key a tentative touch. She jumped back at the sound it made, unconsciously placing a finger to her lips as if to silence the offending key. She stood still and waited.

The house was as quiet as a tomb. After a couple of minutes that seemed like several hours, she sat on the bench.

Ten minutes later, the sound of piano music chased the silence out of the large old house. The tune was light and lovely, if inexpert. It caught the attention of the field hands bent over their work. They stopped, stretching stiff backs and shielding their eyes from the sun as they looked towards the Slaughter house.

Seine, Annis’s husband, was the first to speak. "Been long time since we hear music ‘round these parts from that piany. Reckon it be th’ li’l white youngun Annis done raised. Savannah. Reckon she be skinned alive if’n her pa catch her.

That youngun got more guts than sense. Wonder how she know how ta play like that? It sound right purdy.

Brody Slaughter’s dour expression changed to one of surprise as he wondered, too, how she knew how to play that piano. Brody’s pants whipped in the wind as he made his way to the house, his face red with rage.

But when reached the living room, something in Savannah’s expression stopped Brody Slaughter and his fury in his tracks. He screeched to a halt in the middle of the room and stood there, transfixed by the beatific expression on his young daughter’s face. He knew she had never touched a piano before. Yet her fingers danced magically across the piano keys as she played by ear. She was so rapt in her playing that she did not notice he was standing there in the middle of the room, the embodiment of her nightmares come to life.

Slowly, Brody removed his cap and backed out of the room. I’ll be goddamned. She looks just like her mama, he said in hushed awe. Jest like her, he said as he took a dipper of fresh water from a galvanized bucket on the kitchen counter.

Savannah appeared behind her father, gripped by fear. She stood in the doorway leading from the dining room to the kitchen. She did not dare speak, waiting with threaded breath for Brody.

She was in the all too real world now. There were unshed tears shining in her eyes. It was too late to wish she had left the parlor and the piano alone, after all. Miserably she prayed her father’s belt would not be unbearable when he thrashed her for her unpardonable sins.

Mr. Slaughter’s expression was unreadable as he started out of the back door without even casting a glance at Savannah. But he said, "Reckon you can tinker with the piany. Jest don’ go gittin’ inta nuthin’ else in your ma’s—in that there parlor.

Now go on and play with those nigger babies. He jammed his cap down on his head and gave Savannah a quick look. His eyes registered shock all over again over her remarkable resemblance to her mother.

Savannah sobbed a sigh of blessed relief, an unspoken prayer nonetheless answered. Yes, sir! she croaked as she slithered past her father and flew down the back stairs. She had a smile on her face: It was all right for her to play the piano!

He said I look like my mama, she trilled to herself. Judging from the portrait hanging over the parlor mantle, her mother was beautiful. The heart-shaped face was sweet, with clear blue eyes, perfect bow lips, and a peaches and cream complexion. Her naturally arched brows were light, providing just the right eye enhancement. Her eyelids boasted long, lush lashes that appeared to be hiding a precious secret.

The figure was slender, with high, full breasts, for décolletage had Maude been more fashionable. Her hands were dainty. The artist had managed to convey a certain frailty shadowing the overall effect.

That day, Savannah’s mother had become real to her and somehow, Savannah knew that her mother in heaven held her blameless.

Chapter 4

Brody shook his head. Jest like her mama. If that don’ beat all. Even plays the piany by ear, too! He took a chaw of tobacco and left the porch, letting the screen door bang shut.

Annis stood in the back doorway. Her arms were crossed over her ample bosom. She had been gathering eggs in the hen house when she first heard the piano strands wafting from the Slaughter parlor. She had dropped and broken several eggs in her haste to return to the house before Brody Slaughter got there first and did God knows what to Savannah. But Annis had seen him already slamming the back screen door before she could reach the house.

Now Annis observed Brody Slaughter chewing his tobacco while he watched the children play in the barnyard, Savannah among them. Lordie, Lordie, Lordie! I think that be th’ first time he really done looked at that chile, Annis said. She clicked her teeth, shaking her head. She pulled the screen door shut and went to bank a fire in the wood-burning range to cook supper.

‘Course the real miracle be he ain’ done beat her half ta death, she said, snickering to herself.

Hey, Rufus, whatcha doin’? Savannah had asked when she joined the black children under the rickety porch attached to a log barn. Savannah hopped up on a tobacco sorting table, and tucked her legs modestly under her skirt.

Ain’ doin’. Too hot ta be doin, Rufus said, echoing his father’s favorite summer expression. Rufus grinned, showing brilliant white teeth. Done heard you playing’ th’ piany. Shore did sound nice.

Thank you. My pa said I can play it whenever I take a notion, said Savannah with a smug expression. She stole a look of affection at Rufus. He was her best friend even if she was the only one who knew it. Rufus was a handsome child with the same café au lait complexion as his Mother.

Let’s go to the swimming hole, suggested Savannah.

Swimmin’ hole! Now that be where I wants to be goin’. Let’s git over to th’ swimmin’ hole an’ cool off.

They took off for an area they had chosen where the creek widened several feet. This part of the creek was usually the coolest spot because of the protective trees that provided shade. It was flanked by a variety of mature trees.

Rufus was out of his clothes—bib overalls full of patches—and nothing else. He was already in the water before Savannah caught up with him.

Naked, innocent, and unashamed, they frolicked in the water for hours. While they were aware of the obvious anatomical differences between them, Savannah and Rufus played in unenlightened abandon.

But on this particular day, Elsie Watkins, happened along while Savannah and Rufus were enjoying the swimming hole. Hello, children. My, you have found the perfect spot to beat this unbearable humidity, she said as she wiped her moist brow.

Hey, Mrs. Watkins. Yes, ma’am, reckon we have, said Savannah with a big grin. Rufus gave her a lopsided smile and slyly tucked his head.

Savannah scrambled out of the water and swung out on a limb hanging over the swimming hole. She let go of the limb and landed in the water, splashing Elsie. She was on her feet in an instant. Savannah! Where are your bathing clothes? Elsie asked in a strident voice. Her face was hot with embarrassment when she realized that Rufus was also ‘naked as a jaybird’.

Ma’am? asked Savannah, surprised. Oh! It’s all right. Nobody ever sees us. Except now you have, Savannah pointed out in a matter of fact manner. She and Rufus both laughed.

Elsie tried not to act shocked. She forced herself to calm down. She sat down again at the water’s edge, and dangled her feet in the water while she decided these were merely innocent children.

So Elsie kept her concerns to herself after airing them with her spouse who not only saw no harm in the children playing together, but hinted that the only problem lay in Elsie’s imagination.

Savannah continued to mingle with the black children—and Rufus in particular—on their farm, as if they were her own siblings.

No one paid much attention. It was the normal pattern of their lives.

Chapter 5

When she was almost twelve, Savannah had her first period. Though she did not know it at the onset, this would signal a radical change in the social structure of her life.

Since Annis was not around when it happened, Savannah flew across the pasture and through a copse of woods to the Watkins farm. Elsie immediately recognized the origin of Savannah’s distress, and calmly attended to her needs right away.

Then Elsie sat down at her kitchen table, across from Savannah. Elsie explained about periods and their significance, too embarrassed to tell Savannah all of the details. Instead, she concluded with a pat on the hand, along with an admonition, Now be a good girl because you know what happens to bad girls, she said, wagging a finger in front of Savannah’s nose.

Yes, ma’am, said Savannah who had no idea what happened to bad girls. Thank you, ma’am. I feel better now.

Thank you, too, for the milk and cookies. I declare, I think you must make the best cookies in Granville County. Except for Annis, Savannah mentally amended.

Oh, now you flatter me just a tad, said Elsie. But she was pleased with the compliment.

Don’t you think you’d better run along now, child? Annis will be fretting about where you are. I guess I’ll have to stop calling you ‘child’. You became a woman today.

Yes, ma’am, said Savannah who did not fully understand why Mrs. Watkins thought she was a woman all of a sudden.

When Savannah arrived at home, Annis immediately started in, Where you done been, chile? I been lookin’ fo’ you all over tarnation. What you be doin’ in Miz Elsie’s skirt? You done had a visit from th’ Ole Lady? Annis asked suspiciously as she pulled at the hem of the borrowed clothing, looking for clues.

Savannah giggled. What old lady? Is that another of your old negro superstitions?

Annis dropped the skirt material. "No! You know what I be talkin’ ’bout. Now git outta that there confounded skirt an’ bring it to yo mammy like a good girl. I gotta git it cleaned right proper.

Why you done run off to where Miz Elsie stay to begin with, chile? asked Annis. But secretly she was relieved that Savannah had gone to Elsie Watkins with this particular crisis.

I—I didn’t think Savannah whined. She began to cry, the tears being just a trifle theatrical.

Now, you stop that mess, chile. Don’ go actin’ lak no po’ white trash, Annis warned as she hugged Savannah to her ample bosom. Now, you sit there at that there table. Yo’ mammy’s gonna fetch you some o’ the best cookies in Granville County, yes siree.

Dutifully, Savannah wiped at her eyes and sat down at the table. She was too polite to tell Annis that she was not hungry. You listen ta me, chile, continued Annis, now you be a woman an’ all, you don’ be playin’ wif my youngun no mo’. You understand? Ain’ fittin’ fo’ no young white lady from a good family to be playin’ wif no black-assed buck nigger like my Rufus."

Savannah shot Annis a shocked look of disbelief. But she kept silent when she saw the stubborn look on Annis’s face, her jaw jutted out in a firm set of finality. Savannah wondered why suddenly things had changed that much since she got out of bed that morning.

She was still the same Savannah Slaughter. Rufus was still Rufus. It did not make any sense to her that yesterday she was free to play with him, and today was forbidden to associate with the very same Rufus.

Chapter 6

But the next time Savannah saw Rufus, he was shy and bungling in her presence. What are you doing, Rufus? asked Savannah as she walked up behind him in the barnyard. It was the day after Annis had told her to stay away from Rufus. Savannah sat down next to him on the weathered tobacco table.

Rufus immediately jumped up, Ain’ doin’ nuthin’ ta speak of, Miz Savannah, he replied politely, tucking his head. He looked at the ground and dug his toes into the sand. Then he took off, sprinting toward his family’s shack.

Rufus! Where are you going? Rufus! she cried in frustration, stamping her foot, tears spilling out of her eyes. Savannah was shattered by a system not of her own choosing that suddenly isolated her best friend from her. She hated it. Rufus had just treated her like he treated all white adults.

Annis watched Savannah’s agony through the kitchen window. Annis shook her head as she let the kitchen curtain fall back into place. She grunted to herself and began humming a negro spiritual, Go Tell It on the Mountain. She wiped her hands on her apron, feeling like old Pilot himself, and returned to her chores.

Chapter 7

At first Savannah tried to fill the void left by Rufus through making new overtures to be friendly with her brother Billy Jack. Did you read about the King of England his wife Queen Mary going to the New York World Fair? asked Savannah. She had used what she hoped sounded like a grown-up voice, attempting to strike a sophisticated pose with the newspaper on her lap.

Billy Jack shot Savannah a disdainful glare. He spit a wad of tobacco juice at a hen pecking the ground in front of them. The hen squawked and waddled away in a huff. What th’ hell you prattlin’ ’bout, girl? Th’ way pa keeps me runnin’ from the crack o’ dawn till after dark! What makes you think I got th’ time to be readin’ nonsense sech as th’ King and Queen of England doing anything, like sittin’ on their royal fat asses on their royal thrones having a farting contest, for that matter?

Shoot, said Billy Jack as he pulled a fresh chaw of tobacco from his overalls pocket. And quit wastin’ my time. Why don’t you go and find Rufus? Lazy, no-good nigger. Why, you practically a nigger yourself you know,