Dark Plantation Ch. 01

Marv readjusted his chair, settling in for what would surely be many more hours of work. He'd already sifted through what must have been a thousand applications for homesteads that day. But no matter how tired he was, he would continue his work. The recently freed slaves from the civil war deserved that much.

Sadly, despite all the sacrifice and bloodshed, many felt otherwise. The Freedmen's Bureau still lacked proper funding and thus had not enough workers to meet the demand.

Marv and his handful of staff would have to distribute the land as fast as they could before the political situation changed once again. The white man should be happy the blacks are so willing to take rough, unwanted land off their hands. It would eventually enrich the government and thus the country.

Marv gave the application in front of him another look before giving it his stamp of approval.

It was for a family. The man was a blacksmith and the wife a sewer of fine clothes. Their family had been reunited after the war thanks to the bureau. He would do them one more kindness and give them a larger plot of land.

They had the skills to make it great. All the blacks who sent in applications did. Marv was surprised how many of them knew how to read and write.

A knock on the door stopped Marv from moving to the next application.

"Come in. The door is always open."

Marv expected to see another poor black, hat in hand, begging for aid. Marv would be happy to give it. No begging was needed, and soon all the freed blacks would come to know this and expect decent treatment.

But the man who stood at the door was no poor black. It was Major General Oliver Howard, commissioner of the bureau.

"Sir. What are you doing here?"

The sound of the general's horse outside muffled his answer, but the general repeated himself. "I've come to speak to my hardest worker."

"It's an honor, sir."

"Honor is mine." General Howard to a seat in front of Marv. "This is not good-paying work."

"But it is godly work, helping freed souls."

"That it is. Tell me, how have you made do with such little staff?"

"Well, not to raise my own self-importance, I do a bit of everything. I negotiate labor contracts, give out loans for the black veterans, and of course, give out land."

"The land is key. Something for them to call their own."

They both nodded their heads in perfect agreement.

General Howard went silent, and so Marv continued to work, stopping only when the general had a question about why he approved some applications and denied others. Marv had to be careful with the applications, as some plantation owners were forcing blacks' still under their power to send false applications in order to take the land for themselves.

This displeased General Howard greatly. "Some would have the results of the civil war reversed. They would have the victors act as the vanquished."

The General spoke of President Andrew Johnson, but could not openly besmirch the president he served.

Marv, a firm abolishonist, could not let that happen. "Is there anything else we can do?"

This seemed to be what General Howard was waiting to hear. He stomped his boot on the ground. "There is. Our offices are too far from the majority of blacks. And so, just as we have taken unused land and given it to the blacks, we will take the centers of power of the defeated to carry out our work."

"What are you saying?"

"You will be reassigned to a plantation."

Marv was to be an owner of slaves.

***

Marv shifted on his horse as he rode up to his new workplace, a plantation. A hell for blacks and a place whose owners demanded war to keep their rights to own people while not fighting in the war themselves.

To take control of this place went against everything he believed in as an abolitionist. But as General Howard explained, it had everything the bureau needed to expand their work; access to the black population, food, shelter, workers.

It was the last part that stuck in his craw. All he knew of the plantation was that the majority of the blacks were house slaves, ill-suited for working the land. That meant he could not simply send them away. They would still be under his employ.

He sighed and hurried his horse along. He found it odd that there were no farms near the plantation. Most of the farms he saw on the way there were owned by poor whites. A question for later.

As he approached the estate of the plantation, Marv saw a tall lady waiting for him. Dismounting from his horse, he dusted off his boots by kicking the ground and greeted her with hand outstretched. "Good evening, lady. I'm—"

"The new master," she said, bowing her head. "A pleasure to meet you."

She wasn't wrong. Still, he was caught off guard.

"This is temporary, I assure you."

The lady raised her head. Standing in front of her, Marv could see was just a pinky taller than himself and that she was black, though very light-skinned.

"I hope not," she said. "Call me Mia, sir."

"Mia, you are mistress of this house?"

She puffed out her significant chest. "Yes."

"Please, a tour."

"Of course."

The entrance of the house was also the living room, it looked to take up the entire floor. Couches lined the walls, and several tables were set up around the carpeted room. Chandeliers hung over each table, given it the appearance of a fine tavern.

"Did the former master have a large family?" Marv asked.

"He had many guests who stayed the night."

She took him to several private rooms connected to the living room next. Each room was more luxurious than the last, with fine paintings and gleaming plates.

"This is a unique set up for a plantation."

"The master liked both his private and public entertainments. The estate was redesigned at great cost to suit his tastes."

"I see," Marv said, grimacing.

Likely the cost and the labor were born by his hapless slaves.

"A pity he died during the war," Mia said, dabbing a tear from her eyes.

Marv respected her loyalty and kindness for a man who must have been a wretch. "Most plantation owners didn't participate in the war. Was he the exception?"

"No," she said after leading him out yet another garishly appointed room. "The estate was attacked by a band of black soldiers. Black soldiers!"

She turned to him as appealing for him to share her shock.

"I hope you and the slaves were OK."

She turned away and said dismissively. "They were fine. Let me introduce you to them." She then whispered under her breath. "They better be ready."

Mia opened the door to a brightly lit kitchen of expansive size. Lined up for his viewing were the estate's slaves.

Instead of the drab clothes he expected, they all wore uniforms and were in good health, their dark skin youthful.

A group of slaves stepped forward in unison and bowed. He assumed these were the kitchen staff by their uniforms that consisted of an apron and scarves covering their heads.

"Ask them to make anything, and they will have it for you ready within the hour," Mia said.

The girls stepped back, and the next group stepped forward, repeating the actions of the first.

"These are the cleaning slaves. If there is even a speck of dust anywhere, let me know and I will have them properly punished."

The girls flinched, grasping their floor-length skirts in their gloved hands, and hurriedly stepped back for the last group to take their place.

Unlike the other girls, these took their time getting into position. Where the other girls tried to keep their heads down and stay unnoticed, they held their chins up and stared him directly in the eyes.

Mia didn't like that and glared at the girls, who pretended not to notice. "These are the servers."

How lavish of the former master to have slaves just to deliver food.

But they weren't dressed as servers. Each had fine clothes—for a slave—and some had jewelry. Their skirts stopped at their knees, exposing far too much of their smooth legs. And those bust lines—

"Those were not the clothes I told you to wear," Mia hissed.

The girls pretended like they didn't hear, to Mia's anger.

It was good that the slaves were showing independence. But there was something Marv had to address.

"Hello, girls." Why were there only girls? "I am to be the new administer of this plantation and thus, the estate. But I am not your master or owner. As soon as possible, I will have you sign labor contracts. Unfortunately, due to some backward laws passed by our president, you must work for a white employer. For now, that will be me."

"Still slaves," Mia said to the girls with a tone that said, 'See!'

"There is more bad news. If a former slave does not have a job, their kids can be taken to be educated by a white teacher."

"Why this sounds like an honor," Mia said.

Marv tried to hide his frown. The extent of Mia's slave conditioning must have run deep. But it seemed the other girls felt the same way. The reaction was muted. None complained or made visible reactions of any sort.

Then he understood. They already knew, or at least, never expected anything good from him in the first place.

This could not stand. "I want you all to be assured that the contracts have to be ratified by me and as such, they will be fair as can be. This will be done for you and all the people of the parish."

Still no reaction. This would take time—time Marv was more than willing to donate.