THE COLOR OF MERCY

The Color of Mercy excerpt #1

A horseman rode down the lane to the Revelation House plantation and reared his horse up on its hind legs.

     "The demons are coming!"

     A small-framed, young woman stepped out onto the veranda attired in a late 1850's day dress with the high-necked bodice fitted tight to her figure. She raised one hand to her bavolet cap and stood against the cool, north breeze. "What is it, kind sir?"

     "I must speak to your folks, girl."

     Esther, a twenty-four-year-old slave, walked onto the veranda stirring something in a bowl and stood next to her mistress. She wore a tattered cotton dress that stretched to just above her ankle. Esther's duties lay primarily in the kitchen, but her young mistress allowed her free reign of the house.

     The young woman shoved her hands into her hips. "Papa is on the other side of New Albany helping his folks with the spring planting. Mama's crippled … been bedridden for a year now." She curtsied. "Arabelle Tidman. I'm eighteen, sir. Surely you can communicate with me."

     Esther's chest swelled as her vision filled with the stature of her mistress. Arabelle stood strong and independent for a woman of 1863, but her attitude toward a slave's position in society was almost unbending. With luck and manipulation, Esther had engineered a bend or two to gain a level of favoritism.

     "Then, girl," said the horseman, "you'd better get word to your father right quick. The Yankees are just over the Mississippi border in LaGrange, Tennessee. Word is they're headed this way. A whole regiment of General Grierson's cavalry could be riding through here as early as tomorrow afternoon."

     "Thank you, sir, for warning us," Arabelle replied. "Godspeed."

     Esther watched her mistress shield her eyes against the late afternoon sun as she smiled at the horseman. Arabelle's small stature hid her take-charge quality. Her father willingly left the running of the plantation to Arabelle for days at a time.

     "You be careful on the roads, Miss Tidman," the rider said. "We had a lot of rain the past few days and there's a chill moving in." He yanked on the reins, turned his horse, and galloped down the lane.

     "Yankees," spat Esther, giving Arabelle a sentiment she knew she wanted to hear. "Didn't know they's so close."

     "Been attacking Vicksburg for months," Arabelle said. "Guess they figure on starting trouble on the east side to draw our boys away from there." Esther admired Arabelle's ability to analyze things better than most. She would have wagered that her mistress would have made a better general in the Confederate Army than most already there-surely better than the bungling Yankee generals. Arabelle probably would have whipped the South by now, had she been in command of the Yankees. What a scary thought-being freed by a prejudiced, close-minded Southern woman.

     Arabelle cupped her hands around her mouth and aimed toward the livery stables. "Moses!"

     "Moses is done ill with fever," Esther said.

     "Thunder and damnation!" Arabelle snapped. She turned and knocked the bowl out of Esther's hands, sending it crashing down the veranda steps. "Esther, you get them horses hitched. You're driving me to New Albany."

     "But, m-m-ma'am," Esther stammered. "I don't know anything 'bout driving a carriage."

     Arabelle pointed to the livery stables. "Then get Moses to show you how." She turned and stormed inside the house.

     Fifteen minutes later, Esther pulled the carriage in front of the plantation house. Arabelle climbed in and sat in the open-air buckboard.

     "I thinks I got the hang of driving already, Miss Arabelle."

     "Stop bragging on yourself. Don't you know vanity's a sin? Now get."

     "You ain't got no coat. Weather's turning cool."

     "No cooler than usual for April. Now get on."

     Esther knew she had pushed Arabelle too far and snapped the reins. They rode off on the road south to New Albany.

The Color of Mercy excerpt #2

With less than three hours of sunlight remaining, Esther searched for some edible roots while Arabelle rested by a big oak tree.

     On returning, Esther heard a snorting sound. When she came within ten yards of her mistress, she saw a wild warthog shove its head into Arabelle's midsection jamming her into the oak tree. Esther dashed forward and struck the preoccupied animal over the head with her sharpened rock. Dazed, it turned and fled downriver.

     Kneeling beside Arabelle, she tore open the midriff of Arabelle's bloomers and examined the wound.

     "Esther," Arabelle murmured, rolling her head from side to side. "Is it bad?"

     "I don't know. Hush up now and let me get a better look." Esther pulled the tattered cloth fragments from a large gash in Arabelle's left rib cage. "Oh, my God."

     "What is it?" Arabelle said.

     Ripping the left pant leg of the bloomer and removing a large piece of the material, she wadded it up and placed it on the wound. Then she grabbed Arabelle's right hand and held it on the rag.

     "You hold this, Miss Arabelle. Hold it tight. I gots to get me some more of that moss."

     Fifteen minutes later, Esther had bandaged Arabelle the best she could. She sat next to her at the base of the oak.

     "Miss Arabelle, you remembers the time when I was thirteen, and you's 'bout seven … I fell and run a stick through my calf when we's playing down by the corncribs. You remembers?" Esther waited, but Arabelle didn't respond. "Couldn't walk a lick. You cried for your playmate slave girl. You let me put my arm 'round you, and you become my crutch. I thought then that it was the kindest thing what any owner did for her slave. Yes, ma'am … that was the onliest day I felt more than a Nigger. I felt we was real friends. Then I remembers how your father scolded you. Said you should have left me and gone for help. To this day I'll never forget what he say … 'The color of mercy is not white.' I knowed then as I knows now, if there is mercy, the color of that mercy can only be black. That's the way of things. But maybe not if Mr. Lincoln gets his way."

     Arabelle rolled her head toward Esther and whispered. "Why don't you just hush your mouth, Esther? That was back before I grew up and knew better."

     Esther turned aside to hide the tear dribbling from her eye. She had spilled her deepest spiritual secret in the form of an olive branch and got it snapped in two for her trouble.

     "Well, Miss Arabelle, what we gonna do now? You's the white owner. Tell this Nigger what you wanna do."

     "I just want to go to sleep."

     Esther jumped up, spun around, and planted her fists in her hips. "That's 'bout the dumbest thing I ever heared. You lay here and sleep and you ain't never gonna wake up. We gots to make the last few miles to New Albany and get you to a doctor." She helped Arabelle to her feet and slung one of Arabelle's arms around her neck. "That's right, Miss Arabelle. Black: that's the onliest color mercy can be. Let's get going now."

     Together they hobbled along the river toward New Albany.