Caleb (12 page)

28

A few weeks later, Jardine went for a visit to Charleston with the Bentleys and a party of other local people.

“I don’t know how you can leave that darkie in sole charge of Three Rivers for this long. I couldn’t sleep at night.” Jardine was sitting with Martha Bentley on the top deck of a paddle wheeler as it churned down the Wateree River through the black night.

“That’s because you don’t know Caleb,” Jardine said.

“Nor would I want to,” she responded. “I wouldn’t have a bumptious slave like that on the place. That boy thinks he’s white. Who knows what on earth he is up to?”

What Caleb was up to was a complete turnout of the house. With the exception of Jardine’s bedroom and study, everything came out, including the contents of the kitchen, larder, brewery, bakery, and dry stores. The field slaves were brought up from the quarter to do the carrying.

“I swear,” said Big Mose, struggling with one end of the vast sofa from the big reception room, “that Caleb is worse than Marse Boyd ever could be. I was goin’ fishin’ this afternoon.”

“Plenty of time for fishing when we get finished, Mose,” said Caleb, carrying a big leather chair down the broad front steps. “Plenty of time, plenty of beer, and plenty of barbecue. But right now there’s plenty of work to do. Let’s get it done.” The grumbling continued but so did the work, and nobody worked harder than Caleb.

Coming down from the attic, which had been cleared for the first time in over twenty years, Caleb nearly bumped into Missy. Since Missy had moved into the nursery with little Boyd, now called Birdie by everyone but his father, Caleb had spent little time alone with her. He wasn’t particularly happy to see her now, but she stood in his way without moving.

“How are you doing, Caleb?” she asked.

“Just fine,” Caleb said.

“And how’s Drusilla getting on with her new job and
otherwise
?” Missy’s big smile was cold.

“She’s learning the dining room right smartly,” Caleb said. “As for the
otherwise
, that’s a personal matter, Missy, and nothing for you to concern yourself with. I’d have thought that you had enough to do in the nursery.”

“Oh, I do,” said Missy. “You know, Caleb, you really ought to visit us in the nursery once in a way while Marse Boyd is away. Birdie has got so used to the presence of a man, and he does miss it.”

“I might do that, Missy,” Caleb said, “and I might bring Drusilla along with me. She likes babies.”

“Is that necessary?” Missy asked. “I thought maybe, just for old time’s sake—”

“You thought wrong,” Caleb said abruptly. “If you’ve got any wayward thoughts, you can just forget them. Things are the way they are, and they’re going to stay that way. You understand me?” His face was hard.

Missy weakened. “I miss you, Caleb. He’s not the man you are,” she said softly.

“You’d better be getting back to your nursery, Missy, and get ready,” Caleb said. “We’ll be coming there before long to clear it, and you better be all packed up.”

“You afraid of Drusilla, Caleb?” Missy’s catlike smile was back.

“No, but you ought to be. If she finds out you’re even thinkin’ of messing around where you don’t belong, that girl is likely to rip your heart out.”

“She’s obviously got your heart where she wants it,” Missy replied.

“Go to your nursery, Missy,” Caleb said sternly and stared at her until she did.

A little later, Caleb was in the dining room with one of the house girls, packing up the linens, when Drusilla came in with a determined look on her face.

“Get out,” she told the house girl.

But before the frightened girl could move, Caleb said quietly, “You keep on packing, girl. I’ll be right back.” He motioned with his head for Drusilla to follow him out through the big double doors to the garden. When they got out of earshot, he stood looking calmly at Drusilla until she spoke.

“I hear you been talking to that Missy.”

“That’s right.”

“What about?”

“That’s my business,” said Caleb, “but I’ll tell you that it’s nothing for you to worry about. If it was, you’d be the first to hear about it—from me.”

“I don’t want you talking to her.”

“I talk to everyone on this farm, Drusilla,” Caleb told her calmly, “including Missy. There’s not a damned thing you can do about it but trust me to tell you the truth. And I am. You have nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?” Drusilla looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“As sure as sure can be,” Caleb said. “Let us understand each other. You’re in the dining room because I chose you to be. You are in my bed because you chose to be. You can stay in or leave either, or both. They do not depend on each other. Now, you had better think about that. In the meantime, I want you to go back in that dining room and apologize to that little girl. You about frightened her to death. When I’m working with someone, you have no right to order them about. Is that clear?”

“That’s clear,” Drusilla said, but she avoided his eyes. She turned without another word and walked back into the dining room.

29

When Jardine came back from Charleston, he wasn’t alone. With him were two women: a pretty young woman with masses of curly blonde hair and an older woman dressed all in black with a face like a closed barn door. Strapped on the back of the buggy was a big trunk. When Jardine had helped the two women down, Caleb came forward. The rest of the house staff stood on the veranda, wondering who the visitors were.

“Caleb,” said Jardine, “Miss Lacey and her aunt Mrs. Brooks are visiting for a while. Get some bedrooms ready.”

“They are ready, Master,” Caleb said, signaling for two of the boys to come forward to get the visitors’ luggage.

Jardine gave Caleb a quizzical look and then said, “This is Caleb, Lacey. I think I told you about him.”

“Yes, you did.” Her smile was wide, but her voice was cut glass. “And how did you get along, Caleb,” she asked, “with your master away?”

“Just fine, Miss Lacey,” said Caleb.

The visitor let her gaze traverse the front of the house as if to say,
We’ll see about that.

“And where, Boyd,” she asked in a completely different tone of voice, “is that precious baby of yours?”

Jardine’s eyes scanned the veranda, but Missy was already coming forward with Birdie in her arms. She dropped the two women a curtsy as Caleb had taught her and the other house girls, and held the baby up like a bouquet of fresh flowers for them to admire.

The women made all the appropriate noises, but Caleb noticed that the younger woman was paying at least as much attention to Missy. Her violet-blue eyes ran over the pretty young slave without missing a thing. This, Caleb thought, was not a good thing. At least, not for Missy.

After Caleb and Drusilla had settled the ladies in the guestrooms at the front of the house so that they could freshen up after the dusty trip from the river, Jardine motioned Caleb into his study and closed the door behind them.

“What the hell have you been doing here, Caleb?”

“Just a bit of cleaning up.”

“Just a bit?” Jardine said. “The old place looks like new. Except for this study.” He looked around.

“And your room,” Caleb said. “I thought we’d leave those two until you came back.”

“You thought right,” Jardine said, “but how did you know I’d be bringing guests back?”

“I didn’t, Master. I just thought that with you being away it was a good time to get some work done. I know how you hate upset.”

“Upset,” said Jardine. “Yes, that’s the word for it. Well, Caleb, so far you are doing fine, but I want things to go smoothly while Miss Lacey and her aunt are here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“It’s very important.”

“Yes, Master.”

“By the way, Caleb,” Jardine said, as the slave was leaving the room. “When you unpack my bags, you’ll find a batch of newspapers from Charleston. I saved them for you.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Dinner, which was augmented by the Bentleys, Pastor Buchanan, and young Jim Braddock, who was home on leave and proudly wore his gray uniform from the Citadel, went well. Everyone—even Martha Bentley—seemed impressed with the way that Caleb and Drusilla served the meal: smoothly, swiftly, and unobtrusively.

“Damn, Jardine,” Rafe Bentley said between the salad and the fish course. “I’m going to get you over to Bellevue to see what you can do about smartenin’ up our house darkies. I can’t do a thing with them.”

“That would cost you a bundle, Rafe. Skills like mine don’t come cheap.”

“Is it true, Boyd,” Martha Bentley asked, ignoring the fact that Caleb was serving her at that very moment, “that your Caleb can read and write?”

“Some, Martha, some,” Jardine said. He was not eager to discuss the subject. Caleb kept his face blank but could not help thinking of the new stack of newspapers under his bed, including a month-old copy of the
New York Times
.

As he helped Drusilla serve dinner, Caleb noticed that Miss Lacey’s eyes kept going back to the large oil portrait of Jardine and the late mistress of Three Rivers that hung in a heavy gilt frame. Once, while they’d polished the silver, Miss Nancy had told Caleb that it was painted the year before by a wandering artist. He’d turned up at their door and offered to paint their portrait in exchange for the cost of materials, room and board, and fifty dollars cash if the likeness was satisfactory. Jardine had wanted to turn the fellow away, but it was getting dark and storm clouds were gathering. The artist was emaciated and wearing only a thin coat and no hat.

“Tell you what,” the artist had said with a Tennessee accent. “Let me stay tonight, and I’ll do a free preliminary sketch. If you don’t like it, I’ll go in the morning and you can keep the sketch or burn it as you like.”

Miss Nancy, her eyes shining, told Caleb how after dinner that night, the sketch had burst into life under the artist’s hand. With a few quick strokes, her face and Jardine’s had appeared on the sketch pad. There was no question of the artist leaving the next morning. In fact, he was at Three Rivers for over two weeks and left only after framing and hanging his work. He’d planned to come back this year to do another painting—this one of Miss Nancy, Jardine, and their child.