Wormsloe

The Isle of Hope rests just south of Savannah on Georgia’s Lower Coastal Plain region and is home to the historic Wormsloe Plantation, founded by Noble Jones in 1736. Originally indentured servants supplanted slavery, as it was not permitted until 1749 when the ban was revoked. As a plantation, Wormsloe never proved profitable and Jones turned to real estate to amass his fortune. The following is a true story. The year was 2000.

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 “Rastus git yore neggar ass over here! Aiigh tole ya to clean up those d’ere leafs yesterday.” The words flowed easily from my husbands mouth.

“Yuh…Yesum, master.”

Normally his southern drawl isn’t so pronounced. Eddie was walking in front of me, alone, talking seemingly to only himself. The sunlight filtered through the thick avenue of oaks and the Spanish moss hung like smoke among the branches. I could hear him laughing; strolling in a side-to-side gait, and kicking the dirt like a child. There wasn’t another person in sight.

“I’m fixin’ to whup yore ass boy,” he was now chuckling.

A slight breeze brushed the bare of my arms and for a moment, I felt chilled. I stood there, my mouth agape, eyes squinting…confused. My heart was slowly pounding.

This visit was unplanned and now I was beginning to regret coming here with him. He stopped talking. It was quite now except for the rustling of leaves and acorns beneath my feet.

This was not the first time I heard him talk like that, nor, I’m sure, will it be the last.

My late Aunt Bonnie always said, “It is not black on the skin, but rather black on the heart, that I find disgusting.” Those piercing blue eyes of hers pegged Eddie the moment she saw him. If Bonnie was here right now, I’d be humiliated and she would be furious with me…furious for not saying something to this bigot walking in front of me. Even so, despite her disappointment, I wished she was here with me right now.

“Eddie, stop that.” I chided him.

“You live in the South, honey, better git used to it. This is how things are, taint no room here fer yore way of thinking shoogar,”  he replied smoothly.

I continued to take photographs and tried to ignore the offense. “Concentrate Becky! Concentrate on anything but him!” I keep telling myself.

The ruins of the tabby house stood just a few feet tall. It had never occurred to me that one could use oyster shells as building material. What is this ash that is used? Ash from what? I continue to read the brochure hoping to find an answer and a distraction.

“Best I grab my whip and set Rastus straight. Don’t have time nor worry for any thoughts of rebellion.”

Why does he keep do that? It is quite frightening.

The quietness and beauty of the landscape masks the sadness of Wormsloe’s history. But, alas, it seems as if Noble Jones had found a fitting recipient for his spirit, even if for only a moment. From appearances, Eddie seems quite content, even at home here. He is rejoicing in the history.

Again, that cold breeze on my arms. The birds are now quite and I can hear the slight lapping of water against the shore. Nothing else. Just the repeated quiet splash like a distant, faint clap. Maybe there is a reason for my unforeseen visit here today.

I want to just walk over to him and punch him in the mouth. Why do I stay? What is this hold that he has over me that keeps me when I’m so offended and disgusted. Why do I just stand here? I am so angry, but my feet won’t move, words won’t form. I remain quite and still; rooted to this very spot as sure as the oak looming overhead.

“Damn!” That cold breeze whips again and this time goose bumps cover my arms. Eddie has wandered off and I am standing here alone. There is a fear that overwhelms me. Not a fear of the sounds and the shadows, a much deeper terror; one that burns deep within my soul. Despite the chill of the air, I begin to sweat.

Maybe it is my spirit that is tormented, not his. I can hear the oppressed of long past whispering to me. Eddie is just acting, unaware of the ghosts surrounding him. To me, they are softly speaking a warning. Listen Becky! Listen to their wisdom.

“Run! Run now! You life is over if you stay. Oh you might walk about, pretending you’re alive, but you’re just the walking dead. Even if he shoots you, either way you’re just as dead as if your body is living, everyday, breathing in the smell of blood and salt air.”

The ground releases me and I start hurriedly down a trail, not sure of where I’m going. The grey, gnarled base of a tree stops me. There is a strange face amidst the curves of the dead timber.  It looks like the head of bird. The eye, a black hole and smaller opening to the right, for the nostril. A young eagle. I can see it now! But why an eagle? Why here? Why now?

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”Eddie’s voice startles me.

At least he is no longer speaking as if a cruel slave owner. A smile comes across his face and he moves closer to put his arms around me.

“Don’t run off like that sweetheart. You had me worried.” He says gently.

I show him the tree and point out the resemblance to the eagle but he doesn’t see it.

“That’s nice baby. Now com’on, I want to get back before it gets too late. We promised Dan and Kim we’d meet them for dinner.”

The sun slowly sets on my back and fogs begins to creeps across the ground. He takes a firm hold of my hand, and we head back, from where we came.