The Slave Master's Son Read Free Page B

side of the tree, smiling sadly.
    “Of course I do. We can still swim. We just need to do so discreetly from now on.” John kissed Hannah on her supple cheek.
    As of late, Master Stewart had many female suitors from neighboring, affluent families visit John. Master Stewart was repeatedly arranging dinners and gatherings, introducing his tall, attractive, budding son to available young ladies. One evening, Master Stewart became increasingly concerned that several wolves were getting into the chicken coop and tearing the stock to shreds. He went out at midnight with his gun in tow, gliding quietly on horseback. He looked around with expert precision, listening for any sounds of wildlife. He heard the familiar resonance of his son’s laughter and the abrupt splish-splash of shallow water. A sweet, high-pitched female voice broke through the night, shattering the darkness with light. She sang so gently that even the crickets quieted to hear the songstress.
    Master Stewart gradually approached the running water. In the dimness of the cool night, only the full moon acting as a vibrant light source, he saw his son wading, naked and unashamed. To his son’s right was Hannah. Her arms covered her round, full breasts as she sang the intoxicating melody. John was entirely fixated. Master Stewart watched as Hannah finished her song then returned to her child-like ways, giggling and taking long backstrokes, rippling the water with her curvaceous, maturing body. The singing came from a grown woman – the laughter from a child. He watched as John swam after her, laughing and splashing about. He could see their innocence, but with the moon casting its romantic glow upon them, he knew the look on his son’s face. It was all too familiar – one of madness – the prelude to falling uncontrollably in love. Hannah’s exposed breasts and buttocks seemed to go unnoticed by John, maybe from years of desensitization, but soon he’d notice them.
    Hannah looked up suddenly from her book as she watched her door slowly open. “Mama!” she thought to herself as she abruptly shoved her book back under her bed. She turned out the light and feigned sleep. Heavy, slow footsteps approached. She waited nervously, her heart pounding. “That doesn’t sound like Mama,” Hannah thought to herself. She heard deep breathing. It was slow and hard as if the person had been running and was trying to catch his breath. Hannah tried to control her trembling. She slowly opened her eyes but did not dare turn around.
    “Hannah,” the deep voice whispered. It sounded like Master Stewart, only younger. Hannah opened her eyes all the way and turned slowly towards the man. She peered into the darkness trying to make out the tall, broad-shouldered individual standing before her. He got on his knees and knelt at her bedside. She touched his jaw line, felt the smoothness of his face, and ran her finger along his throat past his prominent Adam’s apple.
    “John!” she exclaimed as her fingers touched a scar that ran alongside the back of his ear. He’d cut himself accidentally at the age of eight while pretending to shave.
    “It’s me, Hannah,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down,” he warned. “I’ve been here for less than a day. I just wanted to let you know. I’ll be going now. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He stood up and began to slowly walk away.
    “No! Please don’t go!” Hannah whispered in the dark as she grabbed his arm, squeezing it with all of her might. “If this is a dream, I never want to wake!” she pleaded.
    “I thought…I thought you didn’t want me to be around you,” he said, the remnants of sullen grief gripping his voice with each uttered syllable.
    “John, I never got one letter from you! Your father never gave ’em to me. He’s got ’em under his bed right now as we speak. I never wrote you nothin’ ’cause I never got ’em. He made Ben give him the letters. I thought of you every day. I missed you morning, noon,