Free Tea and Tomahawks by Leanore Elliott, Dahlia DeWinters Page B

a root and fallen, from the sound of it.
    She clawed at the earth, trying to pull herself forward and away from her captor. Where is the tomahawk?
    A cold, clammy hand closed around her ankle. She screamed and kicked backward, connecting with only air.
    “I got you now.” Richard’s voice was harsh in the thick darkness. “I’m going to cut you, so you’ll never walk again. I’ll take you back to South Carolina.” He squeezed the thick tendon at the back of her ankle. “One quick slash right here, and you’ll be all mine.”
    Fright coursed through her, and she grabbed at the wet ground, frantic to escape his cold grip. It was like an iron shackle, tethering her to him forever. She fought as if death itself had her, for to be recaptured by him would kill her soul. She stretched her fingers to reach the handle of the tomahawk she’d dropped.
    She gave one last desperate kick and was satisfied with the connecting of heel to face. Scrambling to her feet, she snatched up the tomahawk and turned to face him.
    Richard knelt on the ground, holding the side of his face. His blond hair glinted in the moonlight. “You nigger whore,” he snarled, attempting to get to his feet. “Give me that.”
    Nigger? He called me a nigger whore. That’s what he thinks of me. She gripped the handle, feeling the power of the weapon. “No.”
    He’s your demon. Only you can kill him.
    Richard pulled himself to his feet and wiped the blood from his chin. “You knocked out my blasted tooth, you goddamn bitch.” He made a motion with both hands. “Give me that hatchet!”
    She pressed her elbows close to her sides to keep her arms from trembling. “Where do you want it? In the heart or the stomach?”
    “You don’t have the courage of a weevil.” He took a step toward her. “We both know that. I fucked you and threw you away. You thought you were the only black wench I lay with?” He grinned, blood running from his mouth. “You were the only one who thought I loved you. Black or white, the others knew better. Then you ran away. Making me chase you through two states.”
    Her breathing accelerated, and she made a small sound in her throat. Grandmother was right. He was nothing but a demon, a devil who had bewitched her and humiliated her while he laughed with this other women. Annie blinked, caught between the two worlds. He had chased her to the motel in Ohio, two states away from New Jersey. Then now, in the present—or was it the past?—he had chased her from South Carolina to Florida.
    A life of wealth with no pleasure flashed before her eyes. Impossible things. The silk chaise in her Grandmother’s parlor on the Cape. But she was in Florida now, wasn’t she? And Grandmother was dead. Annie shook her head to clear it. Where was she now? When was she? The Seminole Wars. Wars between the white man and the black and red peoples.
    Was she a slave? Or—was she an enslaved housewife?
    Annie blinked to clear her head and Richard, her slave master? Her husband? Whoever he was, he was close enough for her to smell his blood.
    “Give me the hatchet, Mattie.”
    Holding it at shoulder height, she didn’t answer. Snippets of memories flashed through her head.
    The only clear thing was her enemy, in front of her. She steadied the knife and took a step forward. Haiola’s words echoed in her mind.
    If I should ever meet him, I would kill him.
    Richard reached for the tomahawk that trembled in her hands. “You give me the hatchet now, and maybe I won’t brand you when I get you back home.”
    “That is not my home,” she said. “It never was. You buy and sell stolen goods.” She took another step forward.
    “Annie.”  Richard shook his head. “Do you know what will happen to you if you kill a white man? Anything I would do would be a blessing.”
    In her mind, she was far away, thinking about something that had happened in the future. Something she shouldn’t know about, but she did. The bruise on the side of Richard’s