Burke County, NC
“I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.” — Psalm 37:25
[In our previous installments, Edwin spent his first night in Caol Ait sheltered in the King’s Carriage Barn, befriending the animals within, among them the Tumbletotbobkin mice, whose nine children bear the names of the fruits of the Spirit. The dark wolves of the witch Cailleach battered at the barn doors in the night before withdrawing. Now, as a new day dawns, we meet John Taylor, the King’s coachman, and his wife Martha, former slaves who found their way into Caol Ait through the burning doorway of a South Carolina plantation house during the Civil War, leaving behind a lifetime of suffering to serve the King faithfully in this thin place.] Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
John Taylor looked into the crackling, black cauldron of the cast-iron skillet as it sat on the large wood stove. The smoke from the bacon swirling above the meat created a robust aroma, tantalizing the senses. The dark texture of the bacon was like that of his skin, rich and abundantly brown, like earth. His temples were flecked with gray, a testament to his time in Caol Ait.
Martha, his wife, stood over the rough-hewn table, working the dough. The white streaks of flour on her strong, dark forearms complemented those in her thick, black hair, pulled back behind her in a long braid that ran the length of her back.
A single lantern hung overhead, the only light source other than what the small fire in the hearth provided. She wore a threadbare, embroidered apron that ran the length of her knee-length, calico dress. It was a hand-me-down from the Queen, but she cherished it nonetheless.
As Martha worked, she leaned into the dough, kneading the ball of flour, preparing it for biscuits. While she toiled, she quietly sang a spiritual hymn, keeping time to the rhythm of the dough’s pressing.
John smiled at the sound of her joyful voice as he turned the strips of meat over. He was greeted with a hiss as the grease welcomed the fresh side. His heart was glad as he thought of how much his life had been blessed.
It hadn’t always been so.
Born into slavery sometime after 1840 on a plantation near Charleston, South Carolina, John spent his early life living in forced servitude. Martha arrived later at the estate, having been purchased at the auction in Charleston. She became one of the household staff.
Their master was a genteel southern gentleman, Dr. Edmund Ravenel, known by his slaves as Doc. Dr. Ravenel wasn’t anything like his estate’s overseer, a man known to all under his brutal control as Old Scratch.
The evil Scratch took out his frustrations and low self-esteem upon the plantation’s slave population, whipping and brutally persecuting anyone who broke his codes of conduct. Of course, Scratch and his crew kept their brutality hidden from Doc and his family, creating a secret layer of penal abuse not uncommon throughout the antebellum South.
John learned, as did anyone living in this time of torture and persecution, how to live a double life. To give the master the subservient smiling negro face, and then, behind closed doors, to live almost entirely in the spiritual realm, the only escape from the relentless pain and suffering.
It was here that John would learn how the dark forces of this world could control mankind. It was also here that John and his other servants found their faith, endowed upon them from the master’s own belief that a good Christian slave is a good slave.
Having them attend the negro church every Sunday morning was a ritual expected by all. The good Doctor would sit in with them, relishing in the fact that he was offering the savage man a chance to obtain salvation of their souls, even if their bodies were chained to the church pews.
From there, the slaves took their faith a step further, finding escape in the spiritual. Some went even farther, delving into the supernatural, and with it, finding a way to bear what this life brought to their doorstep each day.
It was here that John and Martha first discovered their gifts, and with them, the ability to step beyond the confines of the bondage they faced day to day.
However, the war eventually came full force to their little corner of South Carolina when Brigadier General Edward E. Potter led a force of 2,500 Union soldiers (including the 54th Massachusetts) from Georgetown into the interior.
This raid specifically targeted the supply lines and plantations in the Lowcountry that Sherman had bypassed. It was with bittersweet satisfaction that Doc’s slaves watched the Union forces set fire to the grand house that had been the backdrop of their lifetime of misery.
As the façade of that glorious mansion, still smoldering, stood, it was an eerie reminder, like a skull, still watching, its mouth agape. “How could they?” it asked.
Potter had all the slaves’ shackles removed, providing for them as much as they could from what his men had pilfered from the big house before setting fire to it.
Inviting them to join him, they had lined up on the driveway in front of the mansion, preparing to continue to march to the next plantation.
It was then that Martha remembered there was one last thing she wanted to see if it had survived the fire — a dear old Bible that Mrs. Ravenel had kept in the kitchen.
From where they stood, she could see that part of the house had not been fully consumed by the flames. Eager not to be left behind, she left John’s side and ran up the grand staircase of the front portico.
The Roman columns, now blackened by smoke, stood as sentries, as the gaping front entrance, void of its doors, like missing teeth of the cadaver, grimaced as she approached.
Fearing for her safety, John ran after her.
Time slowed to a crawl.
Unaware to everyone watching, hiding in the shadows of an ancient oak that stood lumbering nearby, the Spanish moss, its adornment of time, the evil waited. Seeing his chance to take out his vengeance on one more soul, Old Scratch darted after them.
The soldiers had missed the most vile human being on the entire plantation. Being a true coward, he had hidden in the spring house, cowering as shouts of joy erupted from the men and women he had tortured, now set free.
As he trembled, the seething anger of losing control boiled in his blood until he could take it no longer.
The other slaves watched in horror as he raced from the shadows, chasing Martha and John up the steps and past the ghoulish edifice. Some screamed, others held their breath, not believing their eyes.
The Union soldiers nearby, unprepared, raced to draw their weapons, but it was too late. The demon had dashed beyond the doorway, smoke obscuring his form.
Martha and John, the first to enter, stopped in their tracks a few paces inside what was once the beautiful foyer just below the grand double stairs that led to the ballrooms of the second floor.
Standing in awe, they didn’t initially notice Scratch materializing through the doorway, an apparition out of the darkness. He stood focused on the prey before him, a demonic grimace on his face, his victims now within his grasp.
He went to draw his buck knife from its sheath, but instead of finding the handle, there was nothing but air.
He looked down in utter disdain to find that everything of his former life was gone, vanished. The blade he sought to wield upon his intended victims was as invisible as his clothing.
The wretched smile slowly began to fade from his demented face.
To add to his disbelief, before him, what should have been the smoldering remains that stood between them and the back kitchen, now lay a different land, a different world. It was as though the fire had never happened, for once they each passed through the portal of the mansion’s doorway, everything changed.
John looked at Martha, his gaze fell upon her familiar, bright eyes, but surrounding them was the face of an aged woman.
He hadn’t noticed their tormentor had raced into the room.
Martha, likewise, found a similar expression in her beloved’s complexion.
There was no time to contemplate the startling revelations or their missing clothes as he reached out to grab her hand.
But with equal horror and disbelief, they suddenly turned to watch as Old Scratch, groping at his side for the invisible blade, began screaming.
In their shock, they hadn’t realized that the demon had followed them, seeking to slay one more being before he was caught by the Northern army.
As alarming as it was to find him in their presence, let alone in this ungodly form of exposure, it took a minute for them to understand what was happening.
When the sunlight shone upon his body, it appeared as if it began to melt, like a candle before the flame.
As the rays of light hit his exposed flesh, it was as if the evil within began to evaporate into black smoke.
Swirling in maligning particles of dust, some lashing out at them from that swirling darkness, as the demon slowly dissipated into thin air.
The remnants of his being escaped, whimpering and squealing, to the dark vestiges of the nearby woods, hiding until his damned soul was consumed by the Slaugh.
That was what now seems a lifetime ago.
Sitting in the quiet of the morn, often John looks deep into Martha’s eyes and wonders where they would be today had she never sought out that precious Word.
In the back of his mind, he knows that the evil Scratch still lurks within the Slaugh, roaming the land of Caol Ait, seeking whom they may devour.
But one thing was for certain: finding themselves in this different world, a place far removed from war and destruction, even with the threat of evil, they could not have been more blessed.
Escaping from all the prejudice, the realities of the antebellum South, and stepping into a land where the supernatural becomes natural, it was as if a dream had come true.
There was a growing, gentle glow on the horizon as their little tenant house came alive with the smells and sounds of breakfast cooking.
As a member of the household staff, herself a senior member, Martha always enjoyed surprising the help with little treats every now and then. Today’s surprise would be homemade biscuits.
John was the royal family’s coachman, tending to the carriages, wagons, and assortment of animals necessary to maintain their transport.
They both had served the King and Queen faithfully since arriving in Caol Ait.
Here in Caol Ait, serving another was nothing like the world they had left behind. It was seen as more of a term of endearment to a beloved, a work done out of love for the one to whom you offered your services.
In this manner, John and Martha experienced life to the fullest.
Eventually, as their time in Caol Ait passed, John and Martha began to notice gifts appearing that, in their old world, might have been considered mystical.
Through their continued devotion to God, these became stronger, and their physical age increased accordingly.
However, they didn’t realize then how that evil that had followed them into Caol Ait would grow, and with it, they would soon need to lean on those things bestowed upon them by the Father above, all the more.
While the biscuits were still baking, John and Martha sat down at the humble table, now cleared and set for the meal.
They held aged hands, heads bowed, as John prayed over their meager meal and for the start of another day to honor God in all they did.
“Amen,” Martha echoed, as John finished, both squeezing the hand of the other warmly.
“I’ll be off shortly to go feed before I head up to the great hall to see where the King wants me to drive him today.”
“Do be careful. I heard the wicked howls of the Slaugh roaming these hollers last night.”
She put the clay cup to her mouth, looking over the top into the eyes of John, as if to add weight to her caution.
“Yes, my lady,” he said, tipping his head in her direction, “I will certainly be on the lookout.”
It was the crack of dawn when John Taylor left the little abode.
The morning dove was still cooing in the trees that lined the trail as he made his way up the mountain.
In the distance, over the pools of white, like ponds of ether lying between the dark tops of the peaks below, he glanced into the vast expanse and smiled at the life he now lived.
To be continued…
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Timothy W. Tron lives in Collettsville, NC. with his family. He is currently the Systems Administrator for the Computer Science Department at App. State. Timothy is the former Director of the Trail of Faith in Valdese, where he still volunteers and helps with tours. He is the author of a new Christian series, “Children of the Light”, with the first book being, “Bruecke to Heaven”, revised as “Bridge to Heaven”, and his recent book, being the second, “The Light in the Darkness”. He is an active blogger, artist, and musician. Timothy also has a BSEE from UF, and is a Lay Speaker. He is currently acting as the Faculty/Staff Liaison for the Ratio Christi campus ministry at App. State. He can be reached at [email protected] You can visit his website at //www.timothywtron.com/ or see more of his writings HERE
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