by Dalton Quick (with art by Freeman) Josiah often fell asleep beneath the willow. He would come home \u2013 his body worn physically and mentally in equal measure, his heart racing with the pains of today, his mind anxious with the thoughts of tomorrow. He would walk around the house, careful not to look beyond the glass panes, not to see inside. He would slip off his shoes, and slide his bare feet into the shallow creek, feel the cool, placid, perfect ripples stretch over his scared skin. And after he\u2019d crossed the waves, when his feet stood again on the soft, luscious grass, he\u2019d gaze up into the emerald-colored canopy and drift away. That\u2019s when the dreams began\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n He first heard her sing beneath the willow.<\/p>\n He was sweaty and tired, his body burning under the fierce August sun of a Mississippi heat wave. Daddy had brought him home from school early when he needed help on the plantation. Never mind his mother\u2019s protests, or his son\u2019s wishes, or the 23 colored slaves he had working the fields from dawn to dusk \u2013 when daddy put his mind to something, he\u2019d find a way to will it into existence.<\/p>\n Problem is, he\u2019d never been able to drive away his son\u2019s own will.<\/p>\n Mandias, or Mandy as the others new him, was peaking at 67-years-old. His body had long ago broke beneath the pain of endless work and the whip his father\u2019s foreman carried daily, and so it wasn\u2019t unexpected that in the midst of a scorching 101-degree afternoon, Mandy might break for a moment of rest.<\/p>\n But that wasn\u2019t the worst of the sins committed that day. It was Josiah bringing Mandy a glass of water from the house.<\/p>\n The battle between he and his father was vicious. Josiah was 16, taller and stronger than his daddy, but still subject to his money and authority. He looked into his eyes \u2013 shaded in the same blue as his own \u2013 while he whipped the slave for sloth, and all the while he wondered how a man who looked so much like him could be so different.<\/p>\n Mandy fell to the ground in a heap as dust swirled around his body and settled against the bloody welts on his back. Josiah reached for him, but his father\u2019s body reacted much too quickly, raising the whip again.<\/p>\n \u201cTouch him and\u2013\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Josiah stood taller, moving between Mandy and his father. \u201cYou gonna whip me next?\u201d<\/p>\n His father\u2019s voice was as callous as Mandy\u2019s hands. \u201cDon\u2019t give me a reason to.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReason.\u201d Josiah looked down, wishing he could do something \u2013 anything \u2013 to end Mandy\u2019s discomfort.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve never needed a reason to hurt people. Not them, and not me.\u201d<\/p>\n He thought his father might strike him. It wouldn\u2019t be the first time. But as if struck by something himself, he turned around and walked back out to the fields, throwing the whip into a side ditch where Josiah was sure the foreman would retrieve it later.<\/p>\n He helped Mandy to his feet, supporting his weight in its entirety. He looked toward the barn, but knew it was too far for him to reach if Mandy didn\u2019t regain some of his strength, and the pale complexion in his cheeks told him that wouldn\u2019t happen soon. So, instead, he walked for the next nearest piece of shade.<\/p>\n Beneath the old willow tree, he\u2019d played under as a kid.<\/p>\n There was a stream that ran alongside it, that offered enough fresh water for him to clean the wounds.<\/p>\n That\u2019s when he first heard her voice.<\/p>\n \u201cAmazing grace\u2026 how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.\u201d<\/p>\n And sweet it was. His hands were stained with another man\u2019s blood, his father was a monster, his home a prison\u2026 and yet, Josiah felt entirely content as he listened to her sing.<\/p>\n \u201cI once was lost, but now I\u2019m found. Was lost, but now I see.\u201d<\/p>\n The sound rebounded against Josiah\u2019s heart, as thoughts of his father, of Mandy, of everything he hated about his family\u2019s farm and his country\u2019s laws, surfaced in his stomach \u2013 a deep pain that took his breath away. Until the second verse started.<\/p>\n \u201cT\u2019was grace that taught my heart to fear. And grace, my fears relieved. How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.\u201d<\/p>\n He held Mandy\u2019s hand until he fell asleep, and stayed listening until her voice faded. And in that moment, he knew he had to talk with her.<\/p>\n She was lying in the field, with grass so tall and golden, there was no chance of her being seen by anyone who hadn\u2019t followed the voice, by anyone who hadn\u2019t been beneath the willow.<\/p>\n Her skin was darker than he\u2019d expected \u2013 browner than the dirt she was lying on. Her hair was matted with the sweat of a day\u2019s work, and there was no hint of a smile on her shadowy lips.<\/p>\n But her eyes were stunning. A honey-gold that seemed to surround him, as if bathing him in sunlight. And even amidst the heat, that light felt refreshing.<\/p>\n \u201cSing it again\u2026 please.\u201d<\/p>\n The way he spoke to her was different from the others. Yes, he was asking something of her, but not as a demand or order; as a request \u2013 as if he were her equal.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019m not very good.\u201d<\/p>\n His smile fell gently, his eyebrows shifting at her words, as if his body physically reacted to her insecurity.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s absurd. You\u2019re \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n There was a groan, and then a scream. Then another. Then another.<\/p>\n It sounded beneath the willow.<\/p>\n Josiah ran the short distance, taking Mandy\u2019s hand in his own the moment he could reach for it. The man had woken from his sleep, the adrenalin gone, and his body now physically convulsed beneath the pain.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay, Mandy\u2026 It\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMister, please!\u201d The man screamed every word as if it might be his last. \u201cPlease make it stop, mister.\u201d<\/p>\n The girl was at his side the next moment, their arms brushing together, as she fought to help Josiah hold the man down.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat can we do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know\u2026\u201d Josiah whispered the words. His mind working to think of something he could do \u2013 anything.<\/p>\n There were medicines in the house, but if his father had whipped the man over a glass of water, he\u2019d kill him for expensive creams.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease! Please make it stop! Please!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSing!\u201d Josiah looked to her, a begging in his eyes, while hers lifted in misunderstanding. \u201cSing to him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWh\u2026 why?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust do it! It helped him before\u2026 just try.\u201d<\/p>\n She shifted her gaze from Josiah, to the fields, to Mandy, to Josiah, to the fields, to Mandy, to Josiah, to the fields\u2026<\/p>\n Until Mandy screamed again.<\/p>\n \u201cBeneath the willow\u2026 Far from harms way. The old farmer\u2019s son holds the monster\u2019s at bay.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at Josiah the entire time she sang, as if he were the one giving her words life.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd though things are dark, the light is still here. Beneath the willow\u2026 where God\u2019s men endear.\u201d<\/p>\n She made the words up as she sang. He was sure of it. Each one sounding a perfect harmony that brought him closer to her, and her to him, as Mandy drifted into a deep sleep. But even then, she kept singing \u2013 singing for him, singing to the perfect smile that seemed to radiate against the sun.<\/p>\n Singing for a man that scared her more than he could possibly understand.<\/p>\n She sang for hours, until dusk fell over them and they both ended up together, lying on the ground, looking up through the canopy to the stars beyond. He held her hand, and she finally understood why he scared her \u2013 scared her more even than the farmer with the gun or the foreman with the whip.<\/p>\n She liked him. Liked him much more than she should. And that made her more unsafe than she\u2019d ever been on this plantation.<\/p>\n Even after returning Mandy to the barn, they stayed together under the willow. Her singing\u2026 him smiling\u2026 as if they were the only two people who existed in the world.<\/p>\n Even though their worlds could never not be apart.<\/p>\n \u201cI think\u2026 perhaps it\u2019s time for me to go. If you\u2019ll excuse me, mister.\u201d<\/p>\n His disappointment was clear as they stood from the ground.<\/p>\n \u201cYou um\u2026 you don\u2019t have to call me that, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at him, amazed and confused at the same time.<\/p>\n \u201cMy name is Josiah.\u201d<\/p>\n They stood in silence for several moments, until finally he asked, \u201cAnd your name is?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh\u2026\u201d She looked down, embarrassed, as she twiddled her thumbs together. She wasn\u2019t used to the procedure.<\/p>\n No one asked for a slave\u2019s name.<\/p>\n \u201cAmabelle.\u201d<\/p>\n The sound of the word sliding from her lips, was more beautiful than the star-soaked sky.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, Amabelle, it is a pleasure to have met you.\u201d He turned toward his house, and she turned toward the barn. \u201cI hope to see you again tomorrow. Here\u2026 beneath the willow.\u201d<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n He taught her to read beneath the willow; and she taught him to sing.<\/p>\n He spoke from his heart beneath the willow; and she did the same.<\/p>\n He told her of his dreams beneath the willow; and for the first time, she felt she could dream too.<\/p>\n They both fell in love\u2026 beneath the willow.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n He decided to run away with her beneath the willow.<\/p>\n \u201cWe come here every day\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Her voice never startled him, even when it sounded sudden and close enough for her breath to reach his ear. It was a tone so familiar, comforting, and soft, it seemed to drift through the trees with the brighter notes of a bird\u2019s song.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I watch you\u2026 and I listen to you breathe\u2026 and I feel your heart beat\u2026 and, still, you haven\u2019t shared with me what troubles you.\u201d<\/p>\n He turned, his cheek falling to the grass as hers already had \u2013 his blue eyes finding the deep honey-color of her own, before trailing to her dark lips.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s because when you\u2019re here, nothing troubles me.\u201d<\/p>\n She knew he was lying. Their troubles were palpable, paramount, even deadly.<\/p>\n Because he was the farmer\u2019s son. And she was the farmer\u2019s slave. And, yet, not their skin tones, nor his family\u2019s hate, nor her family\u2019s distrust, not the confederacy or the battles in the North, not even the law had been able to fight whatever it was that always brought them back here. Lying together. Everyday. Beneath the willow.<\/p>\n \u201cI love you,\u201d he said, all the while thinking that love is the only thing strong enough to fight through it all.<\/p>\n \u201cBut can you love me enough?\u201d The question wasn\u2019t accusatory. It was fair. Because while he was taking a risk, she was the one risking everything. \u201cDo you love me more than your father? More than your mother? More than your family?\u201d She looked down, where the breeze lifted a blade of grass between them and it settled on his calloused hands. They were cracked and bleeding \u2013 signs of his day on the land. A day with him. \u201cDo you love me more than your home?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou are my home?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Josiah\u2026\u201d She wiped his face with her hand, half expecting there to be dirt where her skin touched his. They treated her like it\u2026 his family. You can only be told you\u2019re dirt so many times before you start to believe it\u2019s true. \u201cThis is your home. This house. This land. These crops and animals. These people\u2026\u201d her hand held toward the negros in the barn, \u201cyour property. Even this tree. This is your home.\u201d Her voice settled and her eyes closed, as if she were trying to block it out \u2013 to erase this place completely. It was the first time she\u2019d ever admitted it \u2013 that she had ever dared utter it aloud \u2013 the idea that they might be together. Impossibly\u2026 Hopelessly\u2026 Somehow.<\/p>\n \u201cAs if it is even a question.\u201d Her voice faded as her mind traced the thought back to truth. There was no world in which the two of them could be together if they weren\u2019t beneath the willow. \u201cIt\u2019s against the law.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHere it is\u2026 but not in the North.\u201d<\/p>\n She lifted her gaze and found his smile, crooked, lifted just slightly higher on one side, reaching toward his perfect, clear blue eyes. In them she saw a certainty \u2013 a promise in every word that sparked a hope she was terrified to give life.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re asking me if I can love you enough\u2026 But I already do. I love you enough to leave here, to leave this place. I love you enough to run away. I love you enough to sacrifice everything, because you are my everything. That is how much I love you.\u201d \u201cTell your family that we\u2019ll send for them as soon as we can. I\u2019ll gather a bag.\u201d The smile on his face was endless, the thoughts of forever \u2013 of forever with her \u2013 bringing a sense of purpose and hope to his life that hadn\u2019t existed for a very long time. They could be free. They could be together. They could survive. \u201cWe\u2019ll meet here in an hour\u2026 one last time. And then we go.\u201d \u201cI love you enough, Amabelle.\u201d<\/p>\n The words robbed her of breath, and it took her several minutes to find the power to speak again.<\/p>\n Power is so hard to come by when you\u2019re born a slave.<\/p>\n \u201cI love you too, Josiah.\u201d<\/p>\n It was the first time she\u2019d said the words. Finally\u2026 she trusted him.<\/p>\n Josiah woke from the dream; but he\u2019d never been able to wake from the nightmare. From the last night he\u2019d seen Amabelle. <\/em><\/p>\n He looked through the branches out toward the fields, the house, the workers. This place was beautiful. His family home was at its best in springtime \u2013 when the flowers were bright, and the air clean. When the birds whistled their songs in the branches, while the rivers ran clear with every hue of cerulean. When the leaves of the willow were vivid and new and perfect. <\/em><\/p>\n He guessed that\u2019s why he\u2019d returned. Why he\u2019d come back all these years later \u2013 to search for color and hope and light.<\/em><\/p>\n But it all looked dark to him now. Dark and grotesque and lifeless. Without Amabelle it was nothing. He was nothing. Just the slave owner\u2019s son. The man who, as a boy, fell for the one person he shouldn\u2019t have. Who trusted his heart over his mind and reaped the consequences. <\/em><\/p>\n Or she had. Amabelle. The woman he\u2019d loved. The woman he\u2019d promised forever. The woman bound by a life of servitude. The woman who was his everything. And at the same time nothing at all. Because she was a slave. <\/em><\/p>\n The slave his father murdered. <\/em><\/p>\n Here\u2026 beneath the willow.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Beneath the Willow by Dalton Quick (with art by Freeman) Josiah often fell asleep beneath the willow. He would come home \u2013 his body worn physically and mentally in equal measure, his heart racing with the pains of today, his mind anxious with the thoughts of tomorrow. He would walk around the house, careful not…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":6699,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[937],"tags":[188,1170,1171,1169,1172],"class_list":["post-6697","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-ozarkwriters","tag-civil-war","tag-dalton-quick","tag-mississippi-plantation","tag-slavery","tag-southern-gothic-fiction","category-937","description-off"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6697","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6697"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6697\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6700,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6697\/revisions\/6700"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6699"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6697"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6697"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stateoftheozarks.net\/showcase\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6697"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat man is your home. That man who has beat my father, and broken my brother. That man who has violated my sister, and killed more friends than I can count. That man who looks at me and sees my skin as if it is colored from filth and not from God. A man like that would rather kill me, and you, than see his son be with someone like me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nHe reached for her hand, and she nestled in closer, their bodies as if one\u2026 at least, beneath the willow.<\/p>\n
\nHis words seemed to carry her to another life \u2013 one where she felt protected and secure\u2026 where she felt loved, just as she did beneath the willow.<\/p>\n