In His Father's World: The Love Affair of Seth Hunter Jr. and Sandy

By C. D. Harper

Imagine a life engulfed by a civil war that will change everything about the world as you know it. A world built by your father for you and your son on and on into perpetuity, a world built on the promises of slavery with the acquiescence of God but compromised by the ideals and will of the new nation. T

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Dec 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781684863464

C. D. Harper

C. D. Harper is a retired Professor of Theatre Arts and Dance, California State University, Los Angeles, where he served as Chair of the Department of Theatre Arts and Dance, Founding Executive Director of the Harriet and Charles Luckman Fine Arts Complex, Founder of the Luckman Jazz Orchestra. He also served as Executive Assistant to the President of the University. He received an undergraduate degree from the University of Illinois, and a Master and Ph.D. from St. Louis University. Dr. Harper has published two novels: Covenant and Face the Unknown. He resides in Gleneden Beach, Oregon.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was past midnight when Seth Junior arrived back at the big house. After hours of searching for Sandy and the others, he thought how foolish he had been, perhaps even desperate. Still, sleep would have eluded him, so he had searched for the hidden paths and trails on the plantation, realizing that hiding out for at least one night was the easiest thing for slaves to do. They did it all the time. But not his Sandy! He doubted if she knew where those hiding places were. She had no reasons to know; besides, if she knew, she would have told him. Like everything else in their lives, they had no secrets; at least, he couldn’t think of any.

He thought of their life and knew their time together couldn’t have been better, for her or for him. Their life was pure, as innocent as could be, perfect, he thought, and he delighted in knowing that. She was his life partner. They had grown up together, touching and feeling and knowing each other from the day his daddy brought her into his room. He’d been six or seven and always thought she was younger. He didn’t know for sure, but that was the way he wanted it.

The stillness and quietness in the house at that hour certainly was not unusual, but that night was somehow different. It was as if Providence had sucked all the air out of the house, leaving it devoid of life. Normally the air would be filled with energy: quiet and still, but strong and powerful. He could always count on that energy being there, waiting, no matter the hour, the weather, the season. Sandy, his Sandy, was its source.

Now, that energy was missing. That night, he knew, he would not find her sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out of the window, thinking only of him. And the adrenaline, the anticipation that he always felt when he opened that door, was gone too. He realized that, somewhere in the crevices of his mind, he had known all the time, from the moment her horse jumped forward into a full gallop, he had known she would not be there. Why else would he have searched and searched for her?

When he finally opened the door to his room, for a moment, maybe two, he was paralyzed; he felt frightened, saddened, angry, and violated. He had never ever experienced anything remotely like this; consequently, he had no idea what to do.

The room he and Sandy had grown up in, made love in, slept in, dreamed in, talked in; the very room that had been their haven for so many years, had been destroyed. Shredded bedding and feathers from the mattress she had been so fussy about covered every surface. Her shawl, the beautiful green one with brown and gold leaves that he loved to see wrapped around her shoulders, was ripped apart, deliberately and precisely. The drawers had been pulled from the chest and clothing had been thrown all over the room. Even the locked drawers in his desk had been torn open and the contents flung about. And finally, the jewelry box was missing: his mother’s box, the one he had forbidden Sandy to ever touch, the one with his daddy’s letter and the ripped pages from the Book attached to it.

Sandy! Sandy! He screamed at the top of his lungs, at a volume he didn’t even know he could produce, hoping she would hear him, wherever she was. He didn’t know what else to do. Where in the hell are you? It was more of a statement and a resolution than a question. He paused, knowing she would not answer, and knowing, too, that she had taken his mother’s jewelry box.

Clara. He paused. Clara? Somebody better answer me. He waited, anxiously, impatient, and nervous. He had learned, long ago, to treat his house slaves with respect. He had confidence that nothing would be lost. Sandy, his Sandy, had assured him. But in the back of his mind, he knew his daddy would not have approved.

Clara. Clara? You deaf? You best be getting your black self out here. What the hell happened here? Somebody is going to get it. There was no answer from anyone, not Joe, not Sam, not Clara. Somehow, he knew his house slaves were gone, too. He had been abandoned. And in the world his daddy had made for him, he had never, ever been without someone within calling distance to address whatever his needs might be.

He was, for the first time, alone.

But he pushed on with more energy and determination than ever; he looked in every room in the house, the bedrooms, the closets, even the pantry, saving Belle and Abe’s rooms for last. He knew that they would be gone, too. Sandy, his Sandy, would never have left them behind.

She had wanted them to be his children, important to him, not his property. They were, after all, the only things he had created and brought into the world. But he had not thought much about them, ever. They had simply been there, like other things on the plantation that his daddy had left in his charge.

His daddy, Seth Hunter Senior, had been the master builder. He had moved his family south, bought the land, and created everything around him. He had cut away the forest, planted the fields, made the land accommodate his desires, and created Covenant Plantation, literally from nothing, except the strength of his faith in his daddy’s dream and the strong backs and skills of his slaves.

William P. Hunter, Seth Senior’s father, had insisted that his dream become the family’s raison d’ être. Seth Senior had accepted that dream fully and passed it on to his son, Seth Junior, who was to pass it on to his son, who would then pass it on to his son, and on and on. It was written, according to William P., that it would happen in this way, that Providence had blessed them all and given them the responsibility to build a new life in a new land that He had provided for a free white people.

Seth Senior made the land and the slaves yield to his own dream, a bigger and more intrusive vision than his daddy’s. It became Seth Junior’s responsibility, his charge, to continue that vision, even expand it. It was really Providence’s plan. He had only to open himself to its promise. It had been in his granddaddy’s death bed whispers, not the exact words but there nonetheless. And it had been written all over his daddy’s face, shining from deep within his eyes.

But now here he was the son of the master builder, the dreamer, Providence’s right hand man, the third in the long line of sons of sons, staggering back to his room, heart pounding, confused and bewildered. He needed to calm himself, to make some sense out of what was happening so he could stand tall, like his daddy, and do what he knew his daddy would do, Sandy or no Sandy.

He wanted to collapse, to close his eyes for as long as necessary so that when he did open them, everything would be back in place. Sandy would be sitting on the side of their bed, waiting for him. Clara and Sam and Joe would all be asleep, resting in preparation for the day’s chores. And his mother’s box would be locked away; protecting the letter his daddy had written to Seth Junior’s mother after she had died, the one with the pages attached from the Book his granddaddy said explained everything.

Seth Junior wanted to call Clara again; he even thought about calling Joe or Sam, but knew he would receive no answer. He wanted to pretend everything was back to normal. Maybe Sam was down in the quarters on one of his late-night visits and Joe went with him. Maybe Clara was away too, tending to some mission Sandy had assigned her. Maybe Sandy was down at the stable, making sure her horse was cared for. Maybe, while they were all away, some rebel slaves broke into the house. Maybe. There were many maybes running through his mind, but deep down inside, he knew.

His daddy had warned him about making Sandy the center of his life. Seth Junior had not understood, or had not wanted to understand, or perhaps had not even cared. Sandy was central! He had trusted her implicitly, and she had never given him any reason to doubt her.

His mind told him he should get Jack, the overseer, involved. That was the usual way of dealing with run-away slaves. Sandy wasn’t just a run-away slave. She was special! He knew what he should do. But he didn’t know how or what to feel.

He knew Sandy was responsible. He felt deep down that she had taken her revenge in the way that would hurt him the most. She had stolen his mama’s jewelry box! Slaves were not supposed to steal, ever. Field slaves, house slaves, even slaves with some skill and special relationship with their owners wouldn’t dare act, as he knew Sandy had.

What could she possibly do with his mama’s box? He remembered how curious she was the last time she had held it in her hands.

Seth Junior, this is such a pretty box. Did your mama keep her diamond rings and jewelry in here?

What diamond rings? Ain’t nothing in there for you, anyway! He reached for the box; playfully, she had moved away.

Sandy, give me the box. I told you. Ain’t nothing in it for you. Just papers, that’s all.

She smiled. Then why can’t we open it? It’s so pretty. Does it play music when you open it?

No, ain’t no music, and that box ain’t pretty. He was laughing at her.

Now you’re making fun of me.

"No, I’m not. What you look like wearing a diamond ring?

Like anybody else wearing one! My finger fits one, too! She retorted.

Just give me the box, Sandy.

Seth Junior, ‘nigger slave’? Is that what you want to call me?

He shook his head. No, no, but . . .

Then I am a nigger slave, even if I don’t look like one and ain’t in no field, she continued. I don’t even know what I’d do out there. Bet you none of them wearing a ring! She was laughing now, enjoying the moment.

He laughed too. I don’t know what they wearing! Tell you this, though, you’d work the field like the rest of them. Course, you’d have other duties, too. Now give me the box.

If I don’t give you the box back, you make me go to the field, like you say? Make me your girl, your wench, wouldn’t you? Probably rape me right out there in the field, in front of everybody, the slaves and all.

Now you know I wouldn’t do that, He reached for the box again.

Why not? By the river, remember? What you call that? Show wasn’t playing ’round that day. You think anybody saw you; just took me like I was some common slave! Not that anyone would care, since your daddy bought me for you. She was teasing, mimicking slave dialect and enjoying it.

Makes no difference now, does it? He reached for her and she felt his touch.

Here, take this old thing. One of these days, maybe I’ll get to see what’s in it. Wear me one of them rings.

One of these days nothing! I don’t want you messing with this box. Nothing in it anyway, just some old papers my daddy had and a letter he wrote to my mama. Ain’t no rings, Sandy. Money, maybe, don’t know. But for sure, no rings! So you stay away. You hear me, Sandy? She had smiled at him then, moving slowly into his arms.

Ain’t you ever going to give me a ring, Master Seth Junior?

Seth Junior had a difficult decision to make. If she were not back by morning he would look for her again. Alone! But after that he would have to get help, find someone who understood his relationship with her and would honor that. He thought about Crazy Bill, who had a reputation for bringing slaves back any way the owner wanted, whole or in pieces, dead or alive. But there were other issues with Crazy Bill that he would have to address, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to do so at this time.

He thought about Jack again, but he knew the overseer would want to bring the dogs in, and those were thoughts and images Seth Junior didn’t want created in his mind. But they were there anyway, the images were, and at some point he would have to work his way through all the vivid tales of dogs dismembering and mutilating slaves, That was simply the way things were done. And Sandy was a slave. He had to remind himself of that over and over. Within the gates of Covenant Plantation, his daddy had worn the crown, and getting the dogs would have been his way. But he wore the crown now and that wasn’t his way, not with Sandy it wasn’t.

He didn’t sleep much that night. He thought he heard voices, lots of them, somewhere in the house, but he had looked everywhere and found nothing. He felt fatigue even as he was agitated by unfamiliar emotions. Most of his life he had felt only joy, knowing he was somehow special. His daddy and Sandy and Providence Himself had made that possible. But his daddy was gone and no longer able to protect him or to ensure his life of bliss. And Sandy? She was gone too. No longer would she take care of Covenant Plantation and him, or be waiting for him to return from a night of cards and women and fun. And Providence, Seth Junior was told, would aways be there.

He began to think about what could happen to her, the things that often occurred to runaway slaves. It wasn’t just the images of dogs pulling and ripping and tearing her soft, honey-colored skin. It was the other men! They would touch her, run their hard, grimy, ugly hands all over her body, caressing parts of her that no one but him had ever touched or seen. And then they would have her. As many times as they wanted! All of them would have their way with her, defiling her beauty, destroying her worth to him. Again and again and again, she would be used, passed from one to the next, on and on, and there would be no one to say enough.

The thoughts, the images of other men touching her flashed through his mind and hastened his resolve to find her, to bring her back to Covenant before it was too late. If he didn’t, anything could happen to her. She could even be sold into prostitution or become a concubine or become a common slave fit for the field.

Maybe, he had thought, she was trying to impress him, to convince him that he really didn’t want to leave her for some other woman who would bear him a son. He already had her, and a son. In her mind, he already had a family. But his responsibility to the future, that inner something that he wasn’t even sure he understood, also made him determined to have his world, the one his daddy had made and left for him to pass on to his proper heir, a son, a white son.

CHAPTER 2

L et’s take a ride after supper. I want to look around, get my bearings, check the fields, everything. I know how Jack does things, gets things done, and I ain’t saying things will change. Jack’s a hard man, like my daddy was. No need for nothing new. But, you know, I just need to look around. Besides, it’ll be nice to ride down by the river. We ain’t done that in a long time. Remember? That’s where we finally, after trying for so long, you know, made it and all. He had this big grin on his face for a moment. Then it was gone, replaced by an expression that turned his face into a mass of worry lines. You know I . . .

That’s okay. You don’t have to say nothing. I know you got a lot on your mind, with them talking about war and all.

They ain’t just talking anymore, Sandy. They’re fighting now. This was an awkward time for Seth Junior. Most of the Southern men, plantation owners, poor laborers, struggling family men and future stragglers, had left to fight in a war to preserve their way of life, his way of life. Yet he remained unsure.

You have to decide, Seth Junior. All the other men have gone.

I know! I know my daddy would have been the first to go.

You ain’t your daddy, Seth Junior.

I know who I am! If I was my daddy, you wouldn’t be in this house, living like you’re a white woman. He wouldn’t stand for it! There was a tinge of anger and bewilderment in his voice.

I know. She was trying to see his face, his eyes, but he had turned away.

In the silence which followed, she remembered how they had played together, touching, looking, exploring. Even when she was flat chested and lanky, even when everybody’s eyes told her she was just a slave, she thought she was special, but he didn’t make her feel that way.

He hadn‘t thought of her as special. She was simply Sandy, a gift from his daddy. In that moment of silence he was thinking about that day at the river, which he wanted to remember as the first real day of their life together. And although his touch had always been gentle before, that day down by the river, it was different. He had pushed and pushed, like it was time, like Providence had willed it to happen at that precise time, in that particular place. Deeper and deeper inside her he had pushed, releasing a new pain that would soon be forgotten. She had screamed and cried and even fought, but those were instinctual responses. She knew, in the midst of the lingering pain and anger, she had become a woman, his woman, and it was just another part of their being together.

They didn’t think of that experience down by the river as the usual master-taking-one-of-his-slaves incidence that was so much a part of slavery. She knew about Seth Senior, about how being white afforded sexual privileges with any slave at any time. It was usually an act of power, of control, the most powerful animal herding his pack. But their relationship was different. They knew the moment would come when Seth Junior would make love to Sandy. For them it would be the culmination of their youth and the commencement of their adulthood together.

What they didn’t know was that the world would change, that new realities would demand a different relationship, a different life.

Anyway, you never courted me, in the right way, I mean. Like you would have if I had been a white girl, She murmured,

But you’re not! It wasn’t necessary anyway. Daddy bought you for me.

Sometimes I forget that! When we’re together, I do, all the time. I guess I want to, huh? I’ll get the horses saddled. She paused and thought for a moment, because maybe what she was thinking should not be spoken. But that was not her way, certainly not with him.

Too bad it happened that way, huh? Your daddy buying me the way he did, I mean, for you. Sometimes I used to wonder but ain’t no sense in that, is it? Ain’t that funny? He didn’t respond. She knew he wouldn’t, but she went on. I didn’t like you for a long time, a long time, Seth Junior. I mean, I did like you, but I didn’t, you know. I don’t know how long it was. Funny, I don’t rightly remember when I started liking you again. I think I first decided I had no choice. That’s what you said, ain’t it? Your daddy bought me for you, and there wasn’t nothing I could do about that! Ain’t that what you said? She was laughing and smiling, but then at several times she did neither.

He smiled back. I guess not! But you know, it was different for us anyway. They both laughed. What could you do, run off somewhere?

She shrugged. Where could I run off to? Don’t know no place but here! Don’t know if I want anybody else touching me, either. Even if I did, those dogs would tear me apart. You know what those dogs do. So I guess you right; ain’t much I could do.

You didn’t need to do anything. What was there to do?

I mean, your daddy buying me and all, right? He meant for you to come at me, you know, have me the way you did. Didn’t he? I knew that, but I didn’t want it like that, by the river. I wanted it to happen like . . . like I was somebody other than me. Anyway, I ended up itching, not you, with scratches all over my arms and legs. I guess I should have expected no better, huh?

You fought. That’s why.

You never did decide on me yourself, did you? I think about that sometimes. I mean, Seth Junior, did you ever wonder ‘bout that? Would I be your wife now, and Belle and Abe, your children? Would you have courted me, the right way, I mean?

He didn’t answer. Instead, the questions lingered in the open air. He would ignore them, as if they had never been spoken. His ability to immediately ignore her and not answer questions he didn’t want to hear had always fascinated her and many others. Life had given him that, a way of doing things that no one challenged.

Maybe we could . . . you know, when we get down there. You know! He would never finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

It always surprised her, his arrogance, his knowing her so well, and her inability to resist or refuse his touch. She had gone from fighting him, to a state of numbness, to giving herself to him at his will, wherever, whenever. But there were days when her will seized the moment, and he had given himself to her. Sometimes they would look at each other from across the room, and know their wills had met head on. But what was that? She often wondered if it was lust or love.

We could what? She felt that nervous laughter, which always came, no matter what, touching gently and sending its thrill down into her stomach and deep into her womb. And he laughed too, because he knew what she was feeling. He felt the same movement down inside his stomach and beyond.

He would never answer her question, leaving it there, expecting her to know the answer, to know how he felt. It was eerie, as though Providence had willed their minds, as well as their bodies, to function as one. It made her feel safe and secure, like she was his perfect mate, straight from his ribs.

Yet, even with all her privileges and her feelings, Sandy was not satisfied. Old Hattie had attempted to explain to her, telling her she would learn the hard way that she was a mere slave, but she never wanted to believe it.

Often when she rode through the slave quarters and the fields, she would look at the female slaves, thinking that she was not really one of them. Sometimes she would say it aloud: I am not a slave! She would have to hear it, to feel it reverberate in her throat and mouth before feeling comfortable with it. I am not a slave! And comfort was sometimes hard to come by when she was out there in the fields, looking at the backs of their heads as they bent over, picking that cotton and dragging those awful long sacks behind them.

I am not a slave!

She insisted on always taking the south rather than the north road because she didn’t want to look into their eyes; she didn’t want to see the slaving there, as it surely was. She knew it would be penetrating and unbearable and unthinkable. Slaving consumed a person, finding its way into every fiber of the body and soul, shaping the vertebrae, possessing the mind, and numbing the smile. She didn’t think about it much. She allowed it to exist just in her mind, not in her heart, hoping that it would never ever be there, because if it were, it would surely be in her eyes.

So they rode, cutting across the back yard up the slope and onto Hunter’s Bluff, then down Devil’s Row through the slave quarters and into the north valley. Although every slave knew who she was, she felt even more special when Seth Junior and she rode down Devil’s Row together. It wasn’t that she needed to be seen; rather, she just liked that extra surge of pride, the feel of his presence and protection and the knowledge that she was next to him. But on that evening, as they made their way down the path behind the overseer’s cabin to the Tangipahoa River, that sense of protection eluded her.

Spring always brought the life giving rains that brought beauty to this time of year. It would drizzle for a day or two, progress from a soft sprinkling to a downpour, and sometimes to a flood, which, in its own time, flowed back into the river, leaving behind the richness needed for its magic.

The cool and the drizzle were gentle against their faces that evening. He had admonished her to wrap something around her shoulders. His preference, of course, was the shawl, the beautiful green silk dotted with orange and yellow and red and white flowers and with leaves tinged in brown and gold. He had purchased it for her on one of his trips up north. It was a perfect piece of craftsmanship, a perfect blend of colors.

She resisted wearing it, especially in the light rain, but he insisted, and of course, she complied. Perhaps it was the season, but her beauty seemed to blend perfectly with the softness and richness of the shawl draped easily and softly around her shoulders, as if Providence had placed it and them together at this moment in this place in the very midst of His preparations to burst out with His own beauty and power.

On this occasion she preferred to be absorbed in the beauty of the evening, the land, the light drizzle and the feel and smell of the black beauty strutting with ease beneath her. But through it all, she knew something was not right. Something intrusive was in the air, creating an uneasiness. She felt incomplete, as if something was missing or about to happen.

When she looked at him she knew that he, too, wanted to be engulfed by the beauty of the evening, by her presence, and by the shared memories that electrified the space between them, perhaps influenced and enhanced by his announcement that he would be home more often and they could have many evenings like this.

As she watched him that evening, fleeting moments of pride and joy and desire flashed through her. She did indeed make him happy. What she didn’t know was that he continued to struggle with the reality that he had not chosen her, his daddy had.

She didn’t know that it bothered him, occasionally, that in the midst of a precious, almost perfect moment with her, that reality would raise its ugly head. She didn’t know it interfered. He never gave her any clue that it was there.

Seth Junior had been the recipient of a gift from his daddy, a man whose eye for buying slaves had been described as the best in Louisiana. For his part, Seth Junior had never personally bought or sold a slave, though he remembered going to an auction with his daddy and watching him run his hand over the bodies of the female slaves and hearing them scream when his daddy’s fingers dug deep into their flesh and cavities. The screams were what he remembered most. He never went to an auction again, nor could he erase that image of his daddy’s hands all over the female slaves. It was part of the process, part of the ritual. It had thrilled and excited, but also sickened and confused him. Sometimes, when the screams and the image of his daddy’s hand would suddenly appear in his mind, the face would be Sandy’s.

They both remembered the very spot. It was overgrown with the same weeds that always came with the first signs of spring. Usually she would have known what to expect. She knew him well, but this time, the air was filled with anxiety and mystery. Did he really want to make love with this strange energy hanging in the air? But before she realized what had happened, they were standing on the ground, facing each other.

He had her in his arms, wanting to kiss her, to caress her. But it wasn’t the same. The connection wasn’t there. It was as if they had been deserted by the destiny they had assumed, even agreed, was theirs. It was an awkward moment, during which reality forced its way into the very center of their thoughts, their emotions, their embrace.

Time has a way of defining itself in a manner only it knows. He knew he needed to tell her. He had to put the words out in the open air, hear them himself for the first time, feel them reverberate around in his brain and in his heart, knowing that she would be hurt and angry. But those moments would pass. She would understand. She always did. They would go on with their lives.

Sandy, I ain’t intending to do you no harm. It’s just that it’s time. My dad, he . . . Seth Junior trailed off. Neither one of them had ever experienced silence like this earsplitting, nerve-wracking silence.

He looked away from her, concentrating on something in the distance. Sandy followed his stare, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but feeling the distance between them deepen, as if the river had rushed between them, eroding away the loose bits and pieces of their feelings and taking them downstream to some unknown place.

Your daddy what? If you got something you want to say, Seth Junior, just say it. You always say you want me to know things, best I can. So just say it.

I know! He turned and walked away, leaving her and the horses.

Seth Junior, are we suppose to follow? It wasn’t really what she wanted to say, but it was all she could think of at the moment.

Nah, nah, I’m sorry. He was back beside her in a flash, and then, somewhere between his lifting her and her settling in her saddle, he had simply said it: I’m getting married so I can have a son to take over when the time comes. The words came out without a breath, without a thought.

Her response was so sudden, so quick that it startled both horses. Her horse bolted like a runaway, leaving Seth Junior standing in shock, trying to control his horse and holding the side of his face where Sandy had struck him with her riding crop. It took only a moment before he reined in his horse and felt the pain. Only then did he realize that in that brief moment, she had disappeared.

His first thought was to go after her, but her horse was as fast as his, perhaps faster. In an instant, he realized that maybe this was the best solution, her running off, and his allowing her to run off. Yet at the same moment came the realization that he couldn’t bear the thought of being without her. If she left the plantation, his land, she would be just another nigger slave gal, beautiful and desirable and available. He gasped when he felt the words in his mind: another nigger slave gal. He had never thought of her in that way, and it disturbed him that he could with such ease.

CHAPTER 3

She didn’t know how she ended up in his room. It was like a dream. She heard the words, I’m getting married so I can have a son to take over when the time comes. Words that were etched across her mind and heart, that sent her into a rage, reacting instantaneously, without hesitation or even thought. When she came to herself, when time stopped long enough for her to reflect on what had happened, she was in his room, ripping and tearing everything into pieces. Clara and Sam were trying to stop her, while Joe stood off to himself and watched.

Miss Sandy, what don’ got into you? Lawd, look at her! She look like a crazy person. Miss Sandy, it’s me, Clara!

"The devil don’ got her. If he ain’t, when Master Seth Junior gets here, she