Caleb (9 page)

22

Full light found her still locked in his arms.

“Let’s just stay like this all day,” Missy suggested.

“Sure, we’ll have Cassie bring us breakfast in bed. How many eggs you want with your grits?”

“You’re not romantic.”

“Not anymore, I guess,” Caleb admitted, “but you catch me later. You’ll get romance. But right now, I want to see.”

“See?” Missy pretended that she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“See!” said Caleb emphatically, taking a handful of the blankets covering them both.

“Wait a minute!”

“Minute’s up!” Caleb pulled the blankets down, revealing her totally naked body. There were no surprises. The breasts were full but still stood high, the nipples well defined. Her torso tapered to a slim waist before flaring to impressive but still girlish hips. The pubic hair under her tight stomach was the color of smoked honey, and it coiled in a tight triangle that had obviously been trimmed.

“What you think?” Missy asked in a slightly tight voice. “You want to buy me?”

“I’m thinking,” Caleb said, reaching out a hand. “Let me just—”

“Let you just nothing,” Missy said, stopping his hand. “I want to show you somethin’.”

“What?”

“Somethin’,” said Missy. “You just keep your big hand to yourself and your bright eyes on the area between my bellybutton and my bush.”

“Okay,” said Caleb, “but—”

Before his eyes, the hard, smooth muscles of her stomach seemed to melt until what had been firm, taut flesh was now flaccid. Missy’s body had aged ten years in two seconds.

“What the hell!” Caleb said before he could stop himself.

“Pretty, huh?” Missy’s voice was bitter as she pulled the blanket back up. “Had me a baby when I was thirteen, another at sixteen, and one more last year. That will do things to your belly, you believe me.”

Caleb put his arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t pull away. “Where are they?” he asked.

Missy shrugged. “Who knows? White men don’t want a girl like me to come complete with no family. They took them away, one after the other, before I could even nurse them. Don’t want to mess up my pretty breasts, you know. Got to keep ’em firm. Massa likes them firm.”

Caleb felt a tear fall on his chest and pulled her tight to him. He held her until she stopped shaking. “But,” he whispered, “how do you do that thing with your stomach?”

“Muscle control,” she told him. “Old mammy down New Orleans way showed me how, but I had to study long and so hard. I can hold it twenty minutes now, but it’s getting harder.” Her voice grew confidential. “No white man ever seen the real me.”

“It’s a good trick,” Caleb said. “Had me fooled.”

“Has them all fooled,” Missy said. “Now it’s my turn.”

“To what?” Caleb asked suspiciously.

“To see! Strip that blanket, boy!”

Reluctantly, Caleb pulled the blanket down until he was naked to the knees. Missy looked at him appraisingly.

“Well,” she said, “I can see that you ain’t had no babies yet. Good, wide hips, though—child-bearin’ hips.”

“Thank you,” Caleb said.

“But whatever do you do with that thing?” Missy reached down and flicked his limp penis with a forefinger.

“I’ll show you!” Caleb said, raising his body and rolling over on top of her. He could feel himself getting hard.

This time the sex was slow, almost loving. Caleb collapsed on top of Missy, exhausted.

“My,” Missy said after a while, tangling her fingers in his kinky hair. “You were a hungry boy. What do you usually do?”

“What do you mean?”

“For a woman, sex, pussy?”

“There’s a girl down in the quarter. She meets me now and again in one of the barns.”

“I hope she’s clean,” said Missy.

“I hope
you’re
clean,” Caleb replied.

“Don’t you worry ’bout that. Massa took me to a doctor in Cassatt, and that white doctor gave me a clean bill of health. Massa don’t want no diseases.”

“Me neither.” A little later, Caleb looked at the sunlight on his bedroom wall. “Hey, girl, we have to get moving.”

“Do we have to?”

“You know we do. No telling who’s going to be wandering up here to the house.”

“They’re all drunk and asleep in the quarter.”

“Don’t count on that—not if you want to stay sweet with Master.”

“Oh, all right.” Missy started to move, but Caleb stopped her.

“First we got to get some things straight.”

“Such as?”

“First,” Caleb said, “this is the one and only time this is going to happen. From now on, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. We work together. That’s all. No foolin’ around. We have to act as if white eyes are on us all the time. I don’t want you even to look at me with any old secrets. A lot depends on this.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Missy answered sharply. “I got more to lose than you do.”

“You think so? Master suspects you, maybe he beats you and throws you away like an old shoe that stepped in dog shit—”

“Thank you!”

“But what do you think he’s going to do to some trusty slave who just happens to be messing with his little bit while he’s away?”

“He likes you,” Missy declared.

“Master likes his hound dogs,” Caleb said, “but if they get into his chicken house, he whips the shit out of them. He hangs them up for the buzzards. That isn’t going to happen to me.”

“I know, I know,” said Missy. “But think of somethin’, Caleb.”

“What’s that?”

“In a couple of years, maybe less, Massa’s going to get tired of me. Or he’s going to get himself a nice little wife. She’ll know. They always do. But can’t we wait until then, and then maybe I can be your woman?”

Caleb looked at her sharply. “You love me?”

Her eyes were intelligent and honest. “No, but—”

“Well, you’re a good, smart girl and all that, Missy. And a damned wonder in bed, but I don’t love you, either. And if you last as long with Master as I think you will, I’m not going to be around then. I’m going to be free!”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but as sure as you got two pretty titties, I’m going to be free. Even if it costs me my life.”

“Oh, yes, a free dead man,” Missy scoffed. “That sounds just fine and dandy.”

“Don’t you want to be free?” Caleb asked her with wonder.

Missy thought for a moment. “You know what my freedom is? A roof over my head, a warm, dry bed, enough to eat, and work that’s not too hard. That’s my freedom. Oh, and a good man and a couple of babies. I’ll take that.”

“Okay,” said Caleb, “you do it your way. But you mind what I said. You hear?”

“I hear.”

“Good. Now you get your sweet butt down the hall, lock that door, and don’t ever open it again. Understood?”

“Understood,” said Missy a bit sulkily.

“Do you recall where you found that key and exactly
how
it was when you found it?”

“I remember,” said Missy. “I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not, but this is important. Too important. You get that key back there, and Master better not suspect that it ever left its hidey-hole. Or we are both in trouble.”

“Okay, okay,” Missy said impatiently. “I’m going.”

“No, wait,” Caleb insisted. “Maybe Master doesn’t suspect, but he’s a white man and a slave owner, and they think a certain way.”

“So?”

“So,” Caleb said earnestly, “we have to trust each other. If Master suspects, he’s going to get tricky and try to turn us against each other.”

“What you mean?” Missy asked.

“I mean, he’s likely to come to you and say,
Missy, you might as well fess up. Caleb done told me he had you. Make it easy on yourself, girl.
Well, don’t you believe it. And I won’t either. Master can beat me to death before I tell him the truth, because he’s gonna beat me to death if I
do
tell the truth. And that applies to you, too. You never had that key, you never opened that door, you never were in here. You admit nothing. You stick to your story—our story. Even if he looks at you funny, you just ignore it. Act natural. You’re innocent. You didn’t do anything. You understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Caleb said. “Now get.”

Missy slipped on her nightgown, and Caleb followed her to the door of his room. As she was going through the doorway, he grabbed her wrist. “One last thing.”

“Another one?”

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

“Missy.”

“I mean your
real
name.”

Missy turned back toward him, looking serious. “Melissa,” she said.

“That’s a very pretty name,” Caleb said. “Very pretty. Master knows that?”

“He never asked.”

“Well, I did,” Caleb said. “And it’s our secret. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly, and Caleb released her wrist.

When Caleb heard the door in the corridor close, he quickly walked to it and listened as Missy turned the key in the lock with a raspy sound. Then he examined the rough wooden floor on his side of the door for minute scrapes that would show that it had been opened. He saw nothing except disturbed dust. Walking back past his door to the tall, thin window at the end of the corridor, he turned and saw that in the slant of morning light there were two sets of footprints on the dusty floor leading to the door. Wrapping the head of a broom with a cloth, he swept the rough floor lightly, covering the footprints with an even layer of dust as he walked backward to the door of his room. Looking back down the corridor, he saw an undisturbed layer of dust right up to the partition door. He reckoned that would do. He’d have to tell Missy to do the same on her side of the door.

23

Caleb was standing out front when Jardine returned from the Bentleys’ late Sunday afternoon. Missy was nowhere to be seen.

“How’s it going, Caleb?” Jardine asked, throwing him the reins. “Any problems? Any excitement?”

“No, Master. Things pretty much as usual. Nobody did much work. We had a good vacation.”

“That’s more than I can say,” Jardine replied.

“Would Master like a cup of tea?”

“Later. I have some things to do. Where’s Missy?”

“Gone to church meeting down in the quarter, Master. That old preacher is visiting again.”

“Pious is she?”

“It looks like, Master. Will there be anything else?”

“Take Bruno to the stable and tell William to rub him down well. I gave him a bit of a workout on the turnpike. That old boy can run. Any of the house girls around?”

“Yes, Master. Drusilla.”

“Not worshipping God, eh?”

“No, Master.”

“I’ll have to watch that one. Well, tell her to heat me up some water—very hot. I’ve got six miles of red dust on me. I can taste it.”

Upstairs, Jardine went to his room and looked behind his tie rack. The big brass key still hung where he had left it, caught at a small angle by a slightly proud nail at the bottom. As far as he could see, it had not been moved. Pocketing the key, he went down to the kitchen, where Drusilla was tending the old boiler. It was already starting to steam.

“I want that water boiling, Drusilla,” he called as he passed her.

“Yes, Massa,” she replied without looking up.

Walking through the kitchen and back offices, Jardine came to the back staircase and climbed up it. He opened the door to Missy’s room and was amazed at the change in it. From a spare room full of junk, it had become a cozy and feminine bedroom. The rough wooden walls were concealed with hangings that he recognized as old bedspreads from his mother’s day. The small window was covered with a red scarf so that the room was bathed in a roseate light from the late-afternoon sun. On the floor was a rich Persian rug. For a moment Jardine’s temper flared—where the hell did she get that? But then he remembered: it was the rug Uncle Giles set on fire one Christmas. Underneath that chest in the corner would be a large burnt patch. How like his mother not to throw that rug out. The double bed was tidily made and covered by a counterpane that had once been a rich royal blue. It was now faded but not displeasing. Jardine reflected that he had not only gotten himself a good-looking girl but one with style and taste.

He closed the lockless door and looked down the hall toward the tall, narrow door that divided the passage. The afternoon light streaming in illuminated the dust motes in the air. The floor was newly swept and mopped. Swiftly moving to the door, he took out the brass key and tried it in the lock. At first it would not move, but gradually, with a small grating sound, it turned, and Jardine slowly pushed the door open. The old, dry hinges creaked. On the dusty floor on the other side were footprints that led from the other staircase to Caleb’s room at the end of the hall. He would have to have a talk with Caleb about the housekeeping. Satisfied, he pulled the door shut, locked it with some difficulty, and returned the key to his pocket.

After dinner, Jardine called Caleb into his study. He did not order him to sit down. This was business. “Are you satisfied that Missy can meet my standards in the dining room?” he asked Caleb.

“Yes, Master. She still needs watching on some of the small matters, but she’s learning fast. She pays attention and she doesn’t make the same mistake twice. I think she’ll make a good dinner server. And soon.”

“That’s good, because we’ve got half a dozen guests coming to stay for two nights next Friday, and I want things to go smoothly. There are some people who think a house can’t be run without a woman. I want to show them different.”

“Yes, Master.” Caleb waited to see if that was all.

“Oh, Caleb,” Jardine asked, “what did you do while I was away?”

“Pretty much like the rest, Master,” Caleb said. “Not much. I did some reading and caught up on the bookkeeping. I think it’s in pretty good order now.”

“I’ll be checking it,” Jardine said briskly. “That will be all.”

“Yes, Master.” Caleb started to leave the study.

“One other thing,” Jardine said.

Caleb turned back. “Master?”

“Missy,” Jardine said, and Caleb caught his breath. Blood rushed to his head.

“Master?”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s smart. Hard worker. Pretty willing and makes a good appearance.”

“Do you find her easy to work with?”

“No problems so far, Master.”

Jardine paused. This was damned tricky. Caleb was a slave. So was Missy. But they were human beings. “Damn it, Caleb. Sit down for a minute. Over there next to the sideboard. You know I don’t like you hovering over me like that.”

Caleb sat down. “Yes, Master?”

Jardine didn’t really know where to start, but he had to start somewhere.

“You know Mrs. Bentley,” he began, then stopped.

“No, Master.”

“Yes, you do. She was all over the place last year after—you know what I’m talking about. And, well, after next weekend, you’ll know her one hell of a lot better, damn it, so just listen.”

“Master?”

“She’s going to come here with about a million eyes looking for all kinds of things that I am doing wrong. Do you know what I mean?”

“No, Master.” Caleb was not going to help him.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Caleb,” Jardine warned. “The Bentleys are bringing a party with them, including this cousin of hers from Savannah who—well, never mind. But I want to show them that Three Rivers is a showplace, the best-run farm this side of the turnpike. Or on either side, for that matter. I’m counting on you, Caleb, in the next few days to make sure that it is. I want you to run the raggedy asses off of those house girls to make sure it is. And anybody else on this damned place. You understand
that
?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And I want you to see that Cook serves up the best food those folks have ever had. I’m having a whole raft of good things sent over from Camden and the ice to keep them fresh. You’re always running on about how things are done in Boston and Paris and those places. Well, I want them done better at Three Rivers next weekend. That clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I want . . .” Jardine faltered. “You know damn well what I want. And I better get it.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Is that all you can damn say?
Yes, Master
?”

“No, Master.”

“Oh, get the hell out of here.” Caleb got to his feet. “And tell that Drusilla girl that if that bath water isn’t scalding, she’ll be out in the field tomorrow morning, working for a change.”

“Yes, Master.” Caleb turned to leave the study.

“Hold on!”

Caleb stopped at the door. “Master?”

“This is important. Mrs. Bentley has got some funny ideas. And one of these just might be that you and Missy are—well—a couple. That Missy came here to be your . . . to be with you. Do you understand what I am talking about?”

“Yes, Master. I think so.” Caleb’s face was perfectly straight.

“Well, if that’s what Mrs. Bentley wants to think,” Jardine said, “that’s fine with me. That’s what she’ll find. We want Mrs. Bentley to be happy, don’t we?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good! You have a little talk with Missy and explain what I mean. Just for next weekend. You think you can do that?”

“Yes, Master.”

“All right, you can go. I want my bath in ten minutes, my supper in an hour, and I don’t want to see your black face again until tomorrow. Missy can serve me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Go!” But before Caleb could get through the door, Jardine stopped him again. “Caleb!”

“Yes, Master?”

“Get something done about the corridor outside your room. It’s disgusting.”

“Yes, Master.”