There were snide whispers in the slave community about all these goings-on. The Abyssinian Queen’s stature was enhanced among her peers: no one ever thought they would see the day when The Owner was reduced to a raving lunatic by his craving for a mere slave.
The lady of the house got wind of her cruel games and reprimanded her strongly. The Abyssinian Queen, of course, was adamant that she had nothing to do with his behavior. She was merely performing the duties that were expected of her.
“I’ll talk to him,” said the lady of the house. “From now I want you to lock your door at all times. I don’t want him spending his nights with you ever again.”
He came at night and tried the door. It was locked. He knew at once it was his wife’s doing. The doors to his concubines’ rooms were never locked, allowing him free access at all hours of the day or night. He knocked and when she refused to open he threatened her with a flogging that she would remember for the rest of her life. She was not swayed by his threats; she was, after all, carrying out the lady’s instructions. He was banging on the door and threatening to break it down when the lady arrived and ordered him to stop making a fool of himself and to go back into the house and get some decent sleep. He submissively followed his wife, but repeated the ruckus for the next three nights. Again and again Mrs. Fairfield came out to drag him back into the main house.
Until he finally gave up.
After a few weeks he was back to his normal self again, working his slaves hard in the fields and driving them in yokes and chains to auctions throughout the west of Virginia and the whole of Kentucky, and spending his randy moments with the mulatto concubines, some of whom were a more beautiful and graceful version of his image.
Everyone believed The Owner was finally cured of the Abyssinian Queen.
Everyone but the lady of the house. She suspected that sooner or later the power of the woman’s voodoo would return and her husband would fall victim to madness again. She therefore planned to marry the Abyssinian Queen off to a house slave from a plantation owned by a family friend in Kentucky, who paid a good price for her since as the wife of his principal house slave she would now be his property as well. Although the prospective bride and groom would only set eyes on each other for the first time on their wedding day, they resigned themselves to their fate and braced themselves for a lifetime of mutual bondage. There could be worse fates.
There was great excitement at the big house as wedding preparations were being made. The lady of the house, her children, her servants and her house slaves were taking the wedding quite seriously. It was as though a Fairfield daughter was getting married. The meticulous planning took months. The wedding gown was purchased in Charleston: an elaborate construction in silk dupion with gold and silver thread embroidery and layers of lace in places, a long beaded boned bodice with corset, and a velvet train with appliquéd detail. No expense was spared, although everyone knew that she would not be taking the gown with her to Kentucky. It belonged to the big house and would be used for future weddings of house slaves. Marriages that would only be recognized as valid by The Owner and his family, and would subsist at his pleasure.
As the day drew near everyone at the big house was getting the wedding jitters. The lady of the house did not want anything to go wrong.
And yet it did. One morning the Abyssinian Queen came with a bombshelclass="underline" she could not marry the man chosen for her, because she was pregnant. No, not by The Owner. The Owner had not touched her for months. But by a nondescript field slave she met when she went to see Abednego at the mulatto cabins.
It was a slap in everyone’s face. She had disgraced the family by sleeping with a field slave. She had scandalized generations of house slaves who had been groomed to know and cherish their superior place. Obviously the tastelessness of her original breeding had not abandoned her despite her living in the big house all those years: you could take a slave out of the field but you couldn’t take the field out of a slave. Refined house slaves were those born of house slaves.
The marriage must go on, insisted the lady of the house. A lot of planning had gone into it, and a lot of money spent. The multi-tiered cake had been baked by a slave borrowed from a neighboring plantation. It was waiting to be unveiled in the hall. It did not escape The Owner that her main motive was to get rid of the Abyssinian Queen once and for all. The Kentucky man supported the lady of the house: the marriage could not be canceled at this late stage. Again it did not escape The Owner that his real reason was not that he had already paid for her, for the money could always be refunded, but she had become more valuable since she was with child. The Kentucky man would be getting two slaves for the price of one. The Owner put his foot down: the woman was impregnated by a Fairfield slave, and therefore the child belonged to Fairfield Farms.
“But I had already bought her when she got pregnant,” moaned the Kentucky man.
“From my calculations she conceived even before we engaged in negotiations to marry her over to your property,” said The Owner.
“How would you know that?” asked the Kentucky man. “You weren’t there when she conceived, were you? Unless it’s your little bugger.”
“That’s preposterous, old coot, and you know it!”
The Abyssinian Queen was summoned to answer some questions to determine at what stage she conceived. She was rather vague about it, especially because she wanted to protect the identity of the father. She knew exactly what would happen to him for engaging in copulation outside the sanctioned boundaries: castration. The man would be reduced to an ox fit only for labor. No one personally knew anyone who had ever received such punishment at Fairfield Farms, but it was common knowledge in the slave community that it was meted out to those who were foolish enough to sleep with The Owner’s special concubines.
The Kentucky man, still adamant that the conception must have happened after the transaction and therefore the child belonged to him, suggested that the woman be whipped until she came out with the truth. And she was whipped. Not by The Owner, but by the Kentucky man. The Owner was a compassionate man and never undertook the often necessary but unpleasant task of whipping his slaves himself. He delegated it to others — particularly the burly male mulatto house slaves.
This was the Abyssinian Queen’s first experience of the whip and she found it very humiliating since it was done in public under the very hickory tree she had previously used to play her cruel games on The Owner. As the whip cut deep into her flesh, spectators could not help noticing that not only the wielder of the whip was breathing heavily, but The Owner as well. A sudden bulge had developed in the general area of his crotch, just as it had developed on the Kentucky man. In no time the wielder of the whip was screaming and cussing and foaming at the mouth. There was a wet spot on his pants. He thrashed even harder as the pants got wetter. Yet she was determined to maintain her dignity and only winced inwardly as the whip slashed her bare back. She maintained a stoic face; she wanted to deflate the flogger. And this made him even madder. He lashed out indiscriminately, no longer taking particular care to create symmetric patterns of oozing blood on her back. He even lashed at her dangling breasts. This did not sit well with the Fairfields.
“She messed up my wedding,” said the lady of the house. “But it ain’t no reason to kill her!”
“It’s enough,” said The Owner. “You stop now.”
His pants were wet too, and he was finding it difficult to stay steady on his feet.