Short Stories

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From the Light of the Master's Throne Room (3,993 words)

By C.J. Allison

"Lindy—Linda May. Wake yourself up, girl. The days a passin' you by."

Lindy stretched her slender frame diagonally across the full-size mattress. She suddenly became aware of how late it was; her sister and brother had already risen from the bed the three shared. All that was left behind was their warmth nestled in the mess of sheets.

Reluctant to rise, Lindy curled her six year-old body into a fetal position and pulled all the covers over her—something she could not do during the night. As she returned to a state of sleep she felt her mother’s hands invade the barrier of her blankets. Then, she was pulled out of her warm enclave.

"Have you lost your mind?" her mother asked, aggravated.

"Momma, it's still so dark." Lindy’s protest was void because there was no window in their room, yet the longing in her voice made her mother’s heart ache. Nevertheless, the dutiful woman minded her responsibilities and continued to prepare her daughter for the long day of work ahead.

She began to collect Lindy’s coarse, black hair into two thick braids while explaining, "It only appears dark; the suns bin 'wake for hours now.”

As the skin on Lindy’s head became numb from pinched hair, her longing for comfort grew. She tried to ignore the pain by placing her concentration elsewhere.

Lindy looked around the small space where her family slept. Last spring, when her mother and siblings and she moved into their new Master’s home, they were placed in the attic. At first she thought it was huge—much bigger than their previous cabin. But when winter grew long she realized its size was an illusion cast by the heights of the tall ceilings; actually it was much smaller than what they were used to.

Before she realized this, she often wondered if the room only appeared small because of the absence of her father. Even in their dilapidated cabin his presence created energy; a radiance shown through him. It accentuated the good of life and minimized its harm. Without him all things were dark and diminutive. Since his death, the family’s place in the world gradually diminished as well, especially their value as slaves.

Trying to emulate her husband, Lindy’s mother would point out positive things that happened in the life of her family—like how they were bought by the Master for a good price. But her underlying worries had tired her and the children could see through her facade. She was unsure of her new owner’s motives and often pondered why he purchased her and her children. She did not have the same gift of peace that her husband had. Her ease was most evident when she was singing hymns. As the sweet notes of age-old music crossed her lips, a light filled her as well.

The last time she sang a song was the morning her husband died. Since that overcast day last spring, Lindy’s mother was conscientious to hold onto the remnants of light that her husband left behind. She tried using them to comfort her children.

But in time, darkness overwhelmed them and the dim confines of their attic room did not help. There was no light and no personal space. Beside the full-size bed and wireframe cot Lindy’s mother slept on, the attic was filled with the Master's belongings. The only other dimension to the room was a slender staircase that led down to the main part of the house.

This was another reason why Lindy first thought the attic home was bigger than the cabin. She remembered how her previous owner’s would climb the stairs to reach their private corridors.
The act seemed prestigious to young Lindy but she soon discovered that the staircase to the attic, like the staircase in the back of the house, was nothing to be impressed by. In traveling them daily she began to notice what a burden they were. Unlike the main staircase, these flights of stairs were dark, dingy and primarily used by slaves.

This, not the size of the attic, irritated Lindy most of all. The small space was no bother for her because she did not like to be alone. She felt most comfortable near her mother—even when she inflicted pain on her child by struggling with her hair.

Tapping the thin line of scalp that divided the two braids her mother said, “Common’, lazy bones. All the others has got a head start on you.” This meant that Lindy’s hair was complete and it was time to enter into the pain of a different sort—the pain of relentless work.

Taken by her mother’s hand she was led down the attic staircase. As Lindy wiped the sleep from her eyes she began to trail behind the fast pace of her mother who sped through the narrow corridors with urgency. Finally, failing to keep up, she was lifted onto her mother’s hip. “Yous gettin' too big for this, child,” her mother said with a grunt.

"Ima head ‘bove a yardstick now, Momma,” Lindy responded gleefully. Then, she rested her head on her mother's bouncing shoulder and tried to store up the last bit of comfort she would receive for a while.

When they got to the kitchen there was no shortage of things to do. Her mother quickly tied on an apron and began taking orders from the chef. The plump woman with frizzy red hair and freckled cheeks delegated an overwhelming amount of tasks to the dark hands that helped her.

One of the orders was to bring a breakfast tray to the Master’s room. (He had fallen ill with pneumonia during the harsh winter and was not able to move about the house.) Such a task was usually saved for white hands. Often times the chef was overheard saying how the blacks dirtied the food she worked so hard to prepare.

However, on this particular morning, such assistance was not available. Since it was the easiest of the jobs conveyed through the kitchen, Lindy’s mother asked her to take the tray to the Master. She was to deliver it to the top of the staircase, seventh door on the left.

Lindy knew how important this task was because her mother passed on the information in secret; she whispered the directions into Lindy’s ear and sent her through the main part of the house—behind the chef’s back. With the food in hand she climbed the main staircase, careful to approach each step with precision. She walked tall with good posture but even as she held her neck straight and head high she could not contain the smile that wanted to escape her lips. She snickered to herself, thinking that this silver tray was the key to freedom; the Master’s food gave her the opportunity to walk through his home like it was her own.

When she veered left at the top landing, a dark hallway laid ahead of her. The only light came from a small slit beneath the last door, which faced her as she walked the carpeted corridor. Other than that, the slim hall was lined with tall, rectangular doors and square photographs that hung high on the looming walls. This overwhelmed Lindy.

There were too many doors but only one was correct. She was told to deliver the tray to the seventh door on the left, but Lindy had forgotten her numbers. She had not heard them since her father taught them to her. The longer she stood in darkness the more intimidated she became. In a desperate attempt to get more direction, she set the tray on the ground and ran down the back staircase (the appropriate staircase for a slave) to the kitchen.

She peaked around the corner of the doorway and saw her mother and sister rolling dough at the table. The eyes of Lindy’s mother were immediately drawn to her child’s needy expression. She rushed over to her and got down on one knee.

"Momma, I forgets my numbers when I got to the hallway."

Her mother, without a smile but absent of anger, held up her hands. She gave a number to each finger, beginning with the index finger on her right hand, naming it "one," and ending with the index finger of her left hand, naming it "seven".

"When you gets to this finger," she whispered and wiggled it rapidly, "you'll be there."

Lindy began to run towards the back staircase but her mother called her back with a sharp, "sspppizzzz." Lindy returned to her mother, who was still hunched over one knee. "If you can't count the doors... look for the family pi’ture. Is ‘cross from there."

At that moment a hand bell rang from upstairs. This grabbed the attention of the chef, who yelled out, "That food best been delivered to the Master by now."

"Yes, ma'am,” Lindy’s mother said respectfully but with a fearful stutter. “I think thas the bell to ring his wife," she lied.

Giving a complacent nod the chef turned back to
her cooking. Lindy’s mother’s eyes were wide and alert. Lindy knew she had to rush the food to the Master—fast.

After bounding up the back stairs she returned to the dark hallway. The food was still sitting on the ground but she passed by it to locate the Master's door.

Since she had come up the main staircase the first time she had to retrace her steps in order to count correctly. Careful to not miss a door, Lindy touched every one with the appropriate finger—assigning a number to each. She tried to remember what her mother had named each one but felt like she had messed up somewhere.
Exacerbated, she turned to the wall, seeking to locate the family portrait her mother spoke of. The lack of light made it difficult to discern which photograph was the right one. Still, the only source of brightness was pouring from beneath the door at the end of the hallway. Its large frame intimidated Lindy most of all. It sat open a crack, with light begging to be released, but she did not think of freeing it—not even for the sake of her duty.

Then, startled by a noise, Lindy jumped back. The hand bell of her Master rang again. This filled her with urgency. As it sounded, she pressed her ear to each of the doors on the left side of the hall but could not locate where it came from in time. The sound ceased.

In desperation she raced toward the door with the light streaming beneath it. She thought she would prop it open and use the light to find the family’s picture but when she got close to it she was confronted by another noise. This one was coming from the back staircase.

Heavy thuds echoed up the creaky, wooden steps. Even as it got louder Lindy could not discern the source. After a moment of wondering, the chef’s large presence appeared at the top landing.

Her eyes were wide. She stared at Lindy. Her freckled cheeks were now a flaming shade of red. Lindy began stepping backwards away from the chef, whose wrath sent her to a new height of intimidation in the child’s eyes.

It was apparent she wanted to yell at Lindy but her breath was slow to follow her up the stairs. "You..." she managed to say through her tightly clenched teeth. "You dumb, worthless, Negro." Then, before collecting her breath she passed Lindy, who backed up further—pushing open the door of the lighted room and crossing over its threshold. The chef bent over to retrieve the food sitting on the floor. "Look what you've done... dirtying up this food." The chef spoke harshly to Lindy but her words, accompanied by visible saliva, landed on the silver platter instead. When she refocused her attention on the slave child, the food became her last concern. "...And get out of that room! You are determined to dirty this whole place up, aren't you?” Lindy was smart enough to not answer that question. Instead of speaking, she looked up at the chef with obedient eyes and accepted the final blow, “You daughter of filth."
Just then the door to the seventh room on the left side of the dark hallway opened. There beneath its steady frame stood a feeble man.

Lindy remembered last seeing him tall and strong but illness robbed him of his physical stature and now he hunched over a cane which made him no taller than the chef. His eyes, however, had not lost their mighty force; they reached up to her with the look of a dutiful man determined to protect his property.

The chef’s eyes turned to her feet as the Master’s stare crippled her posture. Lindy took this opportunity to escape down the back staircase and into kitchen. As she leapt down the stairs she envisioned running into her mother's arms but when she reached the kitchen her mother was not available. She was taking instructions from the Master’s wife—a sure sign that she could not be bothered. Instead, Lindy went to the wash closet where the lock on door could keep her safe for a short while.

Once in the bathroom she huffed with emotion. She looked around for something to distract her from these coursing pangs. The mirror above the sink caught her attention. In it, all she could see was the top of her head and the braids her mother fixed that morning. Her nappy hair caused her mother to cuss as she struggled to tame it. This thought only fueled Lindy’s anger.

Beside herself, she began frantically unraveling the braids that held tight to her head. It was not easy and when she was done a grease-like substance covered her hands. She reached for a towel but stopped short of the lacy, cream-colored cloth that draped over the hand rail.
It occurred to Lindy that she might get the towel dirty if she touched it. After all, hadn't her blackness dirtied things before?

As she looked around the light colored bathroom she felt uneasy. She thought it would be impossible to get out of it without spreading her filth. This intensified her longing for the one place where she felt comfortable—in her mother’s arms. Alienated by the cleanliness, she wiped her hands on the dress she wore and left the bathroom.

When she emerged her unmanaged hair stuck in every direction. Now, she caught the attention of all the women in the kitchen—both blacks and whites. Her mother looked at her with a tired expression but before she could say anything the chef interceded.

"Girl,” (which was the only name she had for Lindy,) "...Master wants you to bring this hot tray of food to him. He is in his sitting room now."

"Where's that?" Lindy asked.

If her wild appearance did not catch everyone's attention, this sure did: A slave child asking for directions from the hired help. The chef had already turned her back to Lindy but her mother walked over and returned to her knees. She took the ribbon from her own hair and placed it in Lindy's after collecting the unruly mane and rolling it into a simple bun. "It's the room at the top of the back staircase, Lindy."

"With the light?" Lindy's excitement showed when she asked this.

"Yes'm." Her mother said this calmly but with a wide, expressive smile to match her daughter’s.
She then placed the hot tray into the hands of the young child who stood tall and poised. Lindy watched the tray carefully as she climbed the staircase. When she got to the top landing she turned toward the door where the light was held. It was still propped open slightly—just enough so her shoulder blade could send it towards the interior wall with a slight touch. She did not put down the tray this time but spoke softly into the space between the door and the room.

"Mmmaster..." she said.

"Come in, Child," the failing voice responded.
When she opened the door a brilliant light streamed forth. Her eyes winced as they adjusted. When they had, she saw the source of light; a large window took up the entire east wall. Lindy hesitantly walked towards it, slow to release her eyes from the trance of daylight. The window was at least three times as tall as her but its size did not make her feel small.

Through the window, radiating in the light, she saw a tiny cottage. The house stood separate from the Master’s but she could tell it was part of his property. Her eyes took in all the landscape around it; next to the cottage there was a large plot for gardening and behind it was a forest of trees. From the height of the second story, where Lindy stood, she could see their extent and what was on the other side. A sprawling community was in the distance where many free standing houses were being built.

Inside the room there was a single chair facing the window, taking in the same view as Lindy. It had a tall back and was a vibrant shade of purple; this reminded her of royalty. As she got closer she saw it was made of a velvet material—the finest of all cloths in her opinion. Taken by its beauty she diverted her eyes and placed them back on the tray. She had no idea how to properly serve one who sits on a purple throne.

She looked around the room, anxious for answers but the walls were all bare. The only other thing in the room was a white fire place, which had flames delicately turning, spreading warmth throughout.

Lindy walked around the side of the chair, making a broad circle to avoid contacting it. Beside it she saw the table where the food was to be set. While situating the tray on it, a roll of bread slid off its plate and nearly fell onto the floor. Lindy's faster-than-normal reflexes sent her arm to retrieve in mid-fall. When she caught it, she set it on the plate again and planned on returning to the kitchen to fetch another roll. As she removed the plate with the dirty bread from the tray, she said timidly, "Sssorry Master. Ima gonna getchu another one right away."

"No need!" He said waving his palm down at her. "What would I do with two rolls?" He began to situate his silverware beside the plate, preparing to feast.

"But sir," her voice reverberated with fear, "I touched it."

"No," he said, transferring his eyes from his meal to her, "you saved it."

Lindy smiled. She was so happy that she forgot to curtsey before exiting. With a bounce in her step she headed in the direction of the door but stopped when he addressed her by name.

"Linda May?" Slowly, Lindy turned to face the tall back of the purple chair. A sudden illness invaded her stomach; she knew she did something wrong—she forgot to ask if he needed anything more.

She approached the throne again with wobbling knees this time. “Yes’m, Master?”

“You have grown a head taller since you became a member of this household. That was only a year ago! Look at you now—I hardly recognized you.”

“Yessir.” Lindy said, still nervous.

“Soon you’ll be taller than me.”

Lindy looked at her Master in his sick state. “Yessir.”

She knew this was true but it did not excite her as it should. Lindy always looked forward to checking the progress of her growing body—but as she looked at her Master she desired to stay small.

“I suppose that does not say much.” The Master looked over himself as if he was seeing for the first time what Lindy’s eyes beheld—a dying man. He swallowed hard and let out a forced chuckle. “You know what, Linda May?” He continued to speak, “I realize now that I am a slave to this ill body just as you are a slave to your skin color.”

Lindy’s eyes grew wide; she had never heard a white man refer to himself as a slave before.
“It was always a dream of mine to integrate your family into a free society.” He paused for a moment, as if he forgot what he wanted to say next. “... But, I’m afraid my body’s bondage may end my life before freedom is offered to yours.” The Master’s eyes caught sight of something in the window and he concentrated on it. “This window is my only freedom now.”

Lindy walked towards it cautiously; she was curious to discover exactly what freedom was. She placed her hands on the cold panes of glass and got so close to the window that her breath painted a circle of fog between them.

“See that house there?” he asked pointing to the cottage. “I had it built for your family. I had many windows put in it as well...” his tone grew with excitement as he said this.

Lindy focused her eyes on the tiny house but her visible breath made it hard to see through the window. She took the palm of her hand and wiped it clean. Then she saw what the Master was referring too; on every wall of the cottage there was a window and on the front side of the house there were two.

The Master cleared his throat and spoke again, “... Even while you are known as a slave you should be able to experience the freedom of light.”

Lindy’s expression could not contain her joy any longer. She turned to the Master. She wanted to speak but waited for his permission, which she asked for with her beady eyes.

“Yes, Linda May?”

“Does Momma know?”

The Master took much effort to curl his face into a wide smile. Then he shook his head no and said, “Why don’t you go tell her?”

After a split second of awe she ran out of the room and down the hall without closing the door behind her. The light poured into the hallway. This made the photographs visible and highlighted the golden grains in the closed doors. Everything was brilliantly bright. Lindy was so moved by the light that she mindlessly pranced down the hallway. She approached the main staircase without even thinking of taking the back one.

When she was about to begin her descent down to the kitchen to find her mother, she heard a beautiful sound. It was coming from behind a closed door. Lindy pressed her ear up to the lightened wood and took in the hymn being sung. Recognizing the familiar voice, she opened the door to find her mother making a bed.

Lindy was quiet—not wanting to disturb the light that radiated through her mother’s song. “The people that walked in the darkness,” she sang, “... Have seen a great light.” Lindy did not need to search for the words to sing along—they had been planted inside her mind and heart from the time she was a baby. She joined in singing The Canticle of Light and Darkness, “They that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”

Lindy’s mother looked at her daughter but in a different way than she had that morning. She looked at her daughter with a light in her eyes that was brighter than ever before. It was this way because of the reflected light coming from Lindy. No words could explain what Lindy had seen so the mother and daughter continued to sing. They sat side by side on the bed freshly made and sang praises to a new season of life. For them, spring was coming on the promise of freedom and light.

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