Free Receive Me Falling by Erika Robuck

of circulation
returned with each passing step.   The smells
of cornmeal browning over fires, the curious babble of the slaves, and the
shrill scraping of knives on stones foretold her arrival at the slave
village.  
    Esther crept behind Mary’s hut and waited for an
opportunity to sneak unnoticed into its shelter.   She was forced to wait before the slaves
moved off to their stations and the morning bustle subsided.   Before Esther could sneak into the hut an
ancient, African voice whispered behind her.
    “I smell you, Esther, under all that hurt.”
    Startled, Esther turned too quickly and gasped
from the pain in her rib.
    “Don’t speak.”
    Mary handed Esther a patched, threadbare quilt and
instructed her to cover herself as she snuck with her wounded patient into the
small, thatched dwelling.  
    Esther felt stronger as Mary eased her onto her
stomach in the soft bed of straw.   She
could smell the pungent aromas of the herbs that hung from Mary’s ceiling in
tight bundles—bundles scavenged and dried by expert hands.
    “Is Leah gone?” asked Esther.
    “She is.”
    Mary crouched and shuffled her way across the hut
to a small bowl.   She hummed with a voice
deep and thick like molasses as she crushed the long grass, bee bush, and water
into a thick paste.   Her aged fingers
pressed into the paste to feel its consistency.   Once it felt like lagoon-bank mud and smelled sickly sweet she turned
and moved back to her patient.  
    Mary helped Esther remove her worn, filthy,
bloody, cotton dress and ran her hands over Esther’s skin.   Esther peered out of half-shut eyes into
Mary’s eyes—glazed-over and frosty-white like the clouds on Mount Nevis.   Mary’s sightless eyes, coarse white hair, and
deeply lined black skin gave her the appearance of a witch.   Her healing powers convinced the village
children that she was a witch, and caused some to fear her.   Most, though, revered and loved
Mary—especially Catherine, who spent hours at Mary’s side filling countless
journals with her healing remedies, plant sketches, and general wisdom.
    Esther knew that Mary could heal her body.   She lay patiently as Mary’s fingers moved
like zephyr over her abrasions without disturbing them. Esther tasted the sharp
acid of the soursop on her tongue, and allowed Mary to feed her the sedative
before beginning treatment.  
    As her body relaxed, Esther could feel the warm
water dribbling into her wounds. Mary’s fingers peeled away the crusty film
from her cuts, exposing virgin skin that tingled in the light breeze that crept
into the hut through the door-flap.   Once
she was clean, Esther felt the sting of the paste as Mary pushed it deep into
her cuts, followed by a numbing sensation that grew like roots down to her
bones.   The numbness traveled through her
body, up to her eyes and head, and brought on a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

 

 
    The
needle bit Catherine’s finger, startling her out of her sewing trance.   A tiny red bead oozed out of her fingertip,
and Catherine put her finger to her lips, tasting the sharp metallic flavor of
the blood.  
    “That’s the third time you’ve done that in an
hour.   Do you need a break?” asked Leah.
    “No, I’m fine.   We have to finish these shifts for the field women.   I will not have female field slaves working
bare-breasted next to their male counterparts, and under the eye of Mr.
Sarponte.   Besides, now that I’ve
convinced Father to allow the use of this extra material for slave clothing, I
want to get it finished before he has time to change his mind.”
    “It is good of you to do this.”
    “It is nothing.   Decent clothing is the right of any human being.   It is scandalous the way the Ewings and Halls
allow their women to walk around half-naked.   It is dangerous for those poor things.   Men cannot be trusted around such a display of flesh. Why tempt them?”
    Leah continued to sit in silence as the young
women finished the