I like short stories because they're stories that may or may not be inspired by other stories or events, but they can also be forged from imagination. This short story was inspired by The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman novel. I wanted to write this story to focus more on the part of history that contained slavery.
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The Girl and the Orange Blossom
Girls my age worry about frilly things like the
color of their dresses or the bonnets in their hair but not me: I care more
about my beautiful garden. Bernard and Lucy help me tend it but I don’t like
them doing my work. My favorite days are those spent with soil adorning the hem
of my dresses, sweat trickling my skin, and the wonderful aromas of my apple
tree, lemon tree, strawberry bushes, and the other colorful flowers. Mama
thinks that taking care of the earth is not proper for a young lady and that I
must start looking for a suitor (a thought that leaves me ill every time I
think about it).
As I walk toward my garden, I hear the whips and the
slaves’ cries from the cotton and tobacco fields. I hate that they must suffer
such cruelty and I always try to stay away from the slaves’ barracks but today
I feel as if someone were calling me from those fields. As I near, I know why:
a new slave has arrived. She’s around my age, with dark scared skin, her afro
held back with a rag as a headband, and a dress made from a potato sack. Even
thought she was in a poor state, her eyes were the beautiful: golden and
almond-shaped, as if two tiny suns were hiding behind the night’s curtains.
Master Grant cracked his whip in the air, commanding attention.
“Hear me. This nigger’ll work them cotton fields.
Should she misbehave, come calling to me. Now, back to work”.
I didn’t understand his harshness but the other
slaves didn’t seem to mind and continued gathering cotton, sugar, and tobacco.
Two women grabbed the shy girl by her elbows and set her to work immediately. I
didn’t feel the huge shadow behind me until he started to speak.
“Miss Elizabeth. This ain’t no place for a sweet
little thing like you. Run along now: your mama calling to you”, said Grant
with a sneered. He had red hair, an even redder mustache, and he was a terrible
man. I glared at him and left. When I arrived to our manor, Mama was waiting
for me by the huge, mahogany doors. “Eliza, where have you been, young lady?”.
“I was tending the gardens, Mama”.
“Why didn’t you ask Bernard for help? Anyhow, your
aunt Mary has left you a gift. It’s in the backyard, but first you must-“.
I left running for the backyard and I found the most
precious, little orange tree in a blue pot. Attached to it was a letter. “My
dear Eliza, may this plant be as sweet as you and gives you blessings aplenty.
Love, aunt Mary”. My aunt had lived in Florida before settling in the North so
she must’ve sent this on her way there. Aunt Mary never liked forcing people
into labor, but she had a few slaves (which she paid and treated well, giving
them freedom when she left). I took my little orange tree, planted on a special
place in the garden, and watered it.
In the few months that passed, Union and Confederate
soldiers battled each other, many slaves from our household died, and Mama was
impatient because I wasn’t behaving like a lady. These months, the girl with the golden eyes wept
endlessly. My orange tree became taller, spreading branches filled with beautiful
orange blossoms. Their aroma was the sweetest and the oranges were the juiciest
fruit on the whole garden. But one morning, the white flowers were gone and the
fruit was scattered around the trunk. I went to our neighbors, the Williams, to
ask if they’d seen what’d happened to my tree but they didn’t know. Next, I
went to Mama.
“Mama, do you know what happened to my orange
tree?”.
“Eliza, honey, I ain’t got time for this. Grant has
been bickering ‘cause of that Negro girl whom he says goes out of the barracks
and runs hollering at spirits”. I was stunned, for I’ve never heard a girl shouting
the night before (or the previous nights). So I made a plan: I would go on the
highest branch of the peach tree (which was next to my vandalized orange tree)
and would jump on the robber.
When I was sure everyone was asleep, I ran out of
the house into the backyard in my nightgown and climbed into the peach tree. I
waited and waited for hours until I heard the rustle of grass. I was in the
ready and I almost jumped but then she appeared: the golden-eyed girl. Her
dress was in rags, blood adorning the back of her dress, tears streaming down
her face. She was chanting something and when she was neared, I heard her
words: “Oh mama how I miss you. You my brightest star in the sky. Come to me,
come to me”. My branch snapped and I fell, making the girl jump. When she saw
me, she turned, ready to spring to the barracks but I grabbed her arm fast.
“Are you well?”, I asked. “What’s wrong?”.
She was shocked and I thought she wouldn’t answer
but then she said: “I miss my mama. She gone and now I’m here all alone. Please
don’t hurt me. Master Grant has punished me too much and he said he’d kill me
next”. I was heartbroken. “I won’t do you harm and I will talk to Mama ‘bout
Grant but you must answer me: are you robbing my orange blossoms?”.
“Yes. My mama loved oranges. Orange was her favorite
color and she would smell like the white flowers even when sweatin’”.
“What do you do to my tree?”.
“I take them blossoms
searching for my mama’s smell and, in them blossoms, I hear her calling me
“Lily, Lily, my tiny Lily”. I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks. This
girl, living constant cruelty, missed her mama. I had to do something, to keep
her away from here and Grant. I walked to the orange tree and plucked the
prettiest orange blossom that was left. “Lily, you suffer greatly and I think
we could’ve become friends but the world doesn’t want that. You might die
tomorrow by Grant’s hand, but I won’t let that happen. Take this orange blossom
and flee to your mama, wherever she is”. Lily smiled cautiously, took the
flower, and ran away. The next day, everyone was looking for Lily and Master
Grant was redder than his hair, but I felt
peace. I knew that she would be reunited with her
mama and, even if she didn’t find her, she would have something greater: her
freedom.
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