Princess Ces'alena (2 page)

Princess Ceś alena

Princess Ceś alena, you’ve touched my heart,

enslaved my soul, right from the start.

Your smile so bright, your eyes boldly gold,

but to love you not, is what I’m told.

Your skin is brown, so smooth, so soft,

and in all of my dreams, within you I am lost.

Oh yes it is true, a white man I be,

the spell that you’ve cast, I’ve tried to break free.

God only knows of my struggle to kill,

and deny you the love, in my heart that I feel.

Manny I am, a powerful man,

not often moving from where ever I stand.

Then Lena comes, a blinding light,

my strength I then lose, and no longer think right.

Before me she is, I can’t understand,

how weak I become, from one touch of her hand.

All right, I give up, and admit I am through,

for each day that passes, I find myself falling,

deeper, and deeper … in love with you.

By Mercedes Keyes

Introduction

In the early 1700’s heavy settlement took place in the land of America…then still growing. In building this great nation, wars broke out, domestic and abroad, with history writers crediting Columbus as the one discovering America. As time has proven, various nations around the globe would be affected by the discovery of this Country.

As talk of its expanse and richness grew, promising a new and better way of life, the message of
all
it, had to offer spread, gearing Europeans up with an anxiousness to venture to this new land; many going to great lengths, fair and unfair, to experience and see this unspoiled land. The spread of the union would be like a plague, where over a period of time, through the 1800’s more land would be obtained to form what gradually becomes the “
United
States of America”.

Unfortunately, men claiming honor, respect and strong religious convictions, soon became covetous by the promise of rich pickings from this fertile land, the expanse of which seemed to go on and on, and set about finding the precious minerals, gold and silver. Many of these men became increasingly corrupt as they illegally acquired land once belonging to those who lay claim upon it
first
, the natives of the land, many years before the European influx.

Yet, because they —(The original Native Americans)- were not of the society, government, language and culture of those venturing to “the new world” their -( The Native American Indian)- original claim accounted as meaning nothing.

No matter how strong their fight or claim to keep ownership of
their
land, where they indeed won many battles - the original Native American Indian, lost the overall war against the
never ending influx
of the original illegal aliens – the British outcasts, rebels and criminals, who believed it
their
God given right; to take over the land. This continued after independence was gained. Organizing a government that was
supposed
to uphold a democracy that would keep men free, granting them freedom to own land, and dwell happily there, raising their families in a way in which to be proud. To live and love and die contentedly…but then, this freedom was won for
those
whom this new and rising nation,
defined
as men, only their definition – counted – discounted all others. Those would be, men of fair or white skin. Speaking a language they deemed acceptable; of a custom or culture most familiar to them. The word “Diversity” was foreign at that time, and there was little tolerance for it in their grand scheme plans.

Therefore, I write this novel to all those who, for some reason lost out on the right to live and love freely; to die in peace…for them it was impossible to live where they chose… to love whom they chose, and death…which in fact did come freely, sadly — sometimes before life and love could be fulfilled. It is my wish to highlight the small un-acclaimed heroes and heroines of our yesteryears.

This novel is to acknowledge those who fought their own small battles, even though those are the only ones they won. To most, the overall “battle” was unimportant, but to those who stood firm, and struggled and fought…it meant their lives. No matter that they be…red, black, yellow and yes…even
white
. They are and were the root of what we have become.

My story begins in the state of Mississippi, which was not a part of the union until the early 1800’s. At this time, American - Indian nations were still strong and high in population. Tribes of Choctaw, Chickasaw and the Cherokee, -(where a portion of
my
roots can be found)- with small sprigs of Creeks among the tribes. However, as the new settlers staked their claim to the lands, they were stunned by the welcome they received; mainly because of the existing neighboring tribes desire to live in peace. On a regular basis, pioneers were migrating further South and West.

Some bands small, others large — consisting of families, scouts, individuals of varying skills and trades — along with men and women willing to sell their added manpower for a new place to call their own; with the hope of starting a new family.

Among them, not mentioned above, many un-free men, women and children…coerced into aiding the colonization of this new land; they were a manpower resource used to mold and shape this nation forevermore. As time went on, more and more came to settle in the Southern territories, mainly Mississippi. By the start of the 1800’s Mississippi had a population of more than 8,850 white settlers and slaves, this number does not include the tribes of American-Indian.

For everyone involved, things began to change, some things for some, for the better…but many things… for others, for the worse.

Chapter One

March, 1809

“
Got the worms Mikey?”

“
Yep — you got a pole for me like y’said?”

“
Mm hm, right here. Since we got ever’thin we need, we bes’ get goin’. I gotta be back early today. My pa was some angry yesta’day when I come back home so late. He swore ta wop me good I do it again!” Jimmy remembered all too well the scolding he received the day before.

“
You sure ole man Grady ain’t mind us fishin’ in his pon’? I don’t want no trouble. I promise’ my mama I wouldn’t be getting’ inta thangs I had no bidness.” Mike remarked as the boys walked along Okala rd. from his plantation home, Webster Fields. For once Mike was enjoying a freedom he had not had the luxury of before. To venture off the grounds of the plantation made his mother nervous, but he felt good about his newly acquired friends. Convincing his mother to let him go hadn’t been easy, but she’d finally given in and let him. Not until, of course, his mountain of chores had been taken care of; but his mother aware of how anxious he was to join his friends, had relieved him of some, taking care of them herself. Hence, after taking a thorough bath, where she supervised and inspected him to make sure he was truly clean. Inspection entailed, behind the ears, under the arm pits, and around his ankles, saying, “The older you get, the stronger you get, and I don’t mean muscle. So wash, everywhere, and I do mean…everywhere!”

“
Mama! I know.”

“
No back talk …get it done then!”

Clean he was, by the time she’d finished with him, his blonde hair was squeaky and shining in the sun; his tanned fair skin glowing pink. His ears were usually cerise from her attention to them, with his flesh tingling all over from his bath. When done, he was neatly dressed, with given instructions followed by a hug, kiss on the cheek before sending him on his way; of course with emphasis of warning to stay out of trouble.

“
Naw, he won’t mind.” Jimmy answered.

“
My pa always goes fishin’ there. He ain’t gon’ mind us fishin’ in it.” Jimmy continued, turning to call back to Sammy, the other little boy of the threesome, who usually lagged behind. “Sammy, would you quit playin’ in them puddles and come on, we always gotta slow up t’wait on you. You bes’ be keepin’ up or one day, you fin’ ya’self left behin’, na’ come on!” Jimmy called, scrunching up his face in an impatient scowl.

The day was muggy warm for morning; the dew just beginning to evaporate. By afternoon, it would prove to be a gentle warm and humid day; the weather warming earlier in the year, the breeze unsteady and rare. Although it rarely got to freezing in the south, it was usually colder than this winter had been, which seem to disappear before February was over. The green grassed pastures they encountered were still wet with rain and dew as they turned off of Okala to a little path soggy and worn of thinning grass. They walked and dodged around muddy puddles to avoid dirtying their shoes. Sammy, however carried his shoes in his hands and walked into the heart of the puddles, enjoying the feel of the cold rainwater squish squashing through his toes, his pants rolled up to his knees flashing white calves and once white ankles, now muddy and wet with dirty water.

The three were around the same age, Mike nine; Jimmy eight and Sammy seven. This for Mike was the start of enjoying life away from the plantation, where there…the children of the slaves were his only source of play. Although he enjoyed them, because of who he was, there was always a hidden barrier that kept him somehow separate from them; even though he didn’t want to be but the difference in them was always there to see because of their skin color. Although they all cared for him in their different ways… he was the master’s son and that would always be.

Even so, Mike had always been polite and considerate. His mother had been adamant to instill within him right and proper manners, due respect for his elders, not being selfish or inconsiderate of those who had less than him.

He was taught to always share
with those less fortunate, such as the children who were labeled as slaves because their parents were un-free. Of his parents, Mike had always been closer to his mother, loving her to the point of doting on her and thriving on her love, approval and praise. And as most sons, his love for her was of a possessive protective one. Even when she embarrassed him with her babying, making him blush scarlet; regardless of how he tried to show what a big boy he was, she still insisted that he was her baby.

Kissing and hugging him in front of anyone, fussing over him for the slightest injury…she’d always been that way, and at the mature age of nine… it was just one of the things he had to accept. In his mind…that’s the way mothers were. Happily he knew that to be the case with his own, her love was unconditional and complete.

“
Mikey! Ya’ got one! Ya’ got a bite!” Sammy squealed excitedly. “Pull’er in nice n’ slow or you’ll lose’er.” He advised kneeling at the ponds edge beside Mike, ready to give aid, ignoring his own pole.