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Georgia tea

Jesse Townsend

    “William, hurry in to the kitchen, the governor is coming up to the house now.”
    “Yes sir, Master Dixon.”
    “My dear boy, how many times must I tell you not to call me that? Please, make sure the table is set and the food is prepared for our honorable guest.”
    “Yes sir, right away.”
    “Help yourself to a square meal as well.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Richard Dixon, a wealthy farmer and abolitionist in rural Georgia, remains seated, looking across his plantation. William steps inside to prepare lunch for the approaching governor. The governor’s coach pulled by two mighty steeds is brought to a halt in front of the large plantation house. A tall lanky man steps down from his luxury cart, dressed in a white suit, with a curled mustache and a pistol on his hip.
    “Welcome, Governor Fairchild, to my humble estate.”
    “Well, Thank you Mr. Dixon.”
    “Could I make any accommodations for your horses and driver?”
    “Yes, send them to the stables to drink from your trough.”
    “And your driver?”
    “Let him drink with the beasts.”
    Richard turns his head to his housemaid. “Ms. May, see to it that the driver and Steeds are appropriately accommodated,” said Richard.
    “Yes sir,” said Ms. May. She waved the driver to follow her.
    “Do come in, Governor. May I offer you something to drink.”
    “That would be swell, Mr. Dixon. Do you know the purpose of my visit?”
    “William, fetch us some tea! Yes, governor. You wish to procure some of my people.”
    “Slaves, Mr. Dixon. They are hardly people.”
    “Well, Governor, you have the right to your opinion. On my estate they are to be respected as Americans. For they are all born under Old Glory, and have accepted our lord and savior. They are good Christians and well educated I might add.
    “What you call your slaves is your business. I am only here to purchase two score of them as fodder for the war.”
    William overhears the conversation. His face twists in disgust as he prepares the serving tray. He places a kettle of tea, a bowl of sugar, two spoons, and two tea cups on the tray. William reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a glass vial. He pours a small amount of powder into one of the empty cups. William enters the dining hall with a smile and places the tray in between the two men.
    “What took you so long, boy?” said the governor.
    William hides his smile and pours the tea for the businessmen. “Pardon me, sir,” said William. “One or two lumps of sugar, sir?”
    “The usual two. Thank you, William.”
    “Three would serve me well,” said the governor.
    William spooned the sugars into the cups, and placed them in front of Mr. Dixon and Governor Fairchild. “May I get you anything else, gentlemen?”
    “May I offer you anything to eat from the kitchen?” asked Mr. Dixon.
    “No. Leave us to our discussion.” said the governor.
    “Very well. That will be all, William.”
    “Yes, sir.” William exits the dining hall and returns to the kitchen.
    “I am not okay with selling my people for war. We are but simple farming folk who tend to fields,” said Richard. He then sips his tea.
    “Well, Mr. Dixon, it would be a shame for me to raise taxes on your estate for having too many negroes,” said the governor.
    “Do what you must, Governor Fairchild. I stand by my right to refuse the sale.”
    “There is nothing I can do to convince you otherwise? I will offer you one hundred-twenty-five percent of the going rate, for your negroes.”
    “Governor, as I’ve said before. My people are not for sale.”
    Governor Fairchild takes a large swallow of his tea. “Mr. Dixon, I am a generous man. I will offer you one hundred and fifty percent for forty of your strongest men.
    “Governor, I don’t believe I have made myself clear enough. No one here is for sale. Richard takes another sip of his tea. “And I’m not sure why you think I am so easily convinced, Governor, but I assure you—”
    The governor stands up and finishes off his tea. “I am sorry I can not convince you otherwise, I bid you good day, Mr. Dixon.”
    “Governor Fairchild.” said Richard “William! Call to the stables and send ready for the governor’s carriage,”
    “Yes, sir,” William replied. William yells out the back door, passing on the message to Ms. May.
    Richard follows the governor out the front door of his plantation home and sits in his favorite rocking chair. “Thank you for the pleasant visit Governor.”
    The governor paces in front of the porch clenching at his stomach. “This isn’t over Mr. Dixon. I always get what I want.”
    The wood stained coach turns the corner of the house. Governor Fairchild reaches for the kerchief in his front coat pocket and wipes the sweat from his brow. “You will see Mr. Dixon,” said Governor Fairchild. The governor climbs into his coach and directs the driver home.
    Mr. Dixon stares angrily as the governor departs his property between the mossy oak trees. He turns his head when William opens the red French doors. “Yes, William?”
    “Mr. Dixon, I got something I need to tell you.”
    “What’s that, William?” said Mr. Dixon.
    “I don’t like that old governor or the way he was speaking to you.”
    “Pay him no mind, William. He is stuck in his ways.”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Dixon, when you wasn’t looking I slipped some poison powder in his tea. I’m sorry, sir, he was a bad man. He wants to send us folk to die.”
    The governor’s stagecoach is halted by its driver. Governor Fairchild opens his door and falls to the ground. He staggers towards Richard while gripping his abdomen.
    “That doesn’t mean poisoning him makes it right,” said Richard. “This will bring about quite a dilemma for us all.”
    The governor draws his pistol, aims in their direction, and fires.

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