Elysium: The Plantation Series Book IV (12 page)

He returned to her mouth,
hungry and urgent. Lily should step away. He wouldn’t insist. But she didn’t.
She responded with all the hunger she had saved up, too.

Finally, breathless,
Alistair pulled back.

"I’m glad we got
that out of the way," he said.

"What?"

"Our first kiss. The
first one is hard to ask for, but not the next one." He pulled her close
again and kissed her till she was boneless.

"Alistair." She
took in a ragged breath and put her hands on his chest.

"Lily," he said
softly, his fingers stroking hers.

"I really . . . "

"What, Lily?"

"I really can’t ever
marry again."

The question was there in
his face, but he didn’t ask it. She couldn’t have answered it anyway.

He wiped her cheek with
his thumb. "Someday you’ll tell me why."

She shook her head. "No.
I won’t." She gathered her skirts and ran from him, back to the house
where she was safe.

Thomas spent his days
talking to people, individually and in small groups. People heard so many
things and so many of those things were contradictory or just plain wrong. They
had questions, and he stayed to answer them as long as they wanted to ask.  

Was it true the Freedmen’s
Bureau guaranteed freedmen a $10 a month wage? No, that wasn’t true. What Mr.
Witherspoon did was help the freedmen and the planters negotiate a fair wage.
It was a give and take, both sides having to learn to compromise.

What if the boss promised
a dollar extra for levee work, and then, when the job was done, refused to pay?
That was exactly the kind of the thing the Freedmen’s Bureau is meant to
handle, Thomas told them. Take your case to Mr. Witherspoon and see what he can
do.

All the while Thomas talked
to people, he kept an eye on the white people who lolled about on the edges of
the crowd, looking to see if they were the same men shadowing him every week. The
U. S. Army couldn’t be everywhere, and Thomas’s people watched them, too, wary
eyes keeping track of those who wanted the old days back, the days when any
white man was better than a nigger slave. They weren’t going back to that.

He returned to the house
every night dusty, sweaty, tired and exhilarated. People were listening, they
were talking. On September 27, they would vote. They would have a black man at
the constitutional convention.

He and Mr. Bickell had
talked to Major Whiteaker – the guards around the farm were not
needed,
they thought. They hoped. At any rate, they couldn’t live like they were under
siege.

Jacques Valmar had not
been seen since the town had discovered him tarred and feathered and tied to
the post in the middle of the square. Thomas wished he could have seen him
scurrying down the street like a feathered monster from a children’s book, but
he did see the picture a traveling photographer took of him and sold to the
newspaper. The story was every man in town laughed and pointed. The women, most
of them, turned their heads. There, in the middle of the man’s body, was a bright
red . . . well, they pretended not to know what the bright red was.

Of course Thomas knew who
had done it, but no one was confessing and he wasn’t going to tell anyone, not
even Fanny. Someday, years from now, he’d get Cabel to tell him how they’d done
it. They’d probably laugh themselves silly over it.

The only time Thomas
could see Fanny was in the early morning. He rode over to the Whiteaker place
first thing every morning so he could walk Fanny from the cabin to the ballroom
where she was holding classes. He told her everything – except who had done the
tarring and feathering. They talked over what he would say, what the news from
New Orleans and Baton Rouge meant, what President Johnson was doing in
Washington. Two years ago, they had assumed Johnson would continue with
Lincoln’s plans to rebuild the South and strengthen the Union. Instead, the
president was working hard and fast to restore the rebels’ lands to them, to
cut the heart out of the protections put in place to make former slaves full members
of society.

"My granny would
have said, ‘That man come here straight from the devil to do evil on this
earth,’" Fanny told him. "I don’t think I’d argue with her."

"When we have the
vote, we’ll get men like him out of office." And off he would go again.

Thomas knew he would be a
bore to anyone else, but Fanny was as obsessed as he. She listened, and she
contributed, too. She had a good head for strategy.

"Don’t act like you
the only black man got a head on his shoulders, Thomas Bickell. Let these others
know they have an important part to play, too. It’s going to take all of us,
not just one brilliant, handsome orator."

"Handsome, huh?"

She poked him. "There’s
Marcus Deslondes – he’s keeping up with the news, he can talk to people."

"Marcus,"
Thomas said. "I heard it was his great grandfather led that slave
rebellion in 1811. Was that just gossip? Do you know?"

"My grandmother knew
Marcus’s granddaddy. It’s true."

"I don’t think Marcus
is but fifteen or sixteen, Fanny."

"And how old were
you when you ran off to Donaldsonville to join the Union Army?"

Thomas nodded. "All
right. He’s old enough."

"And he can read,
Thomas. All the Deslondes can read. And there’s Amelia Cassatt. She knows
everybody, and she’s smart as a whip."

"A woman?"

"Don’t you dare tell
me a woman can’t think and talk as well as any man."

"Fanny, don’t get
all huffy. I just meant it’s dangerous, talking out."

"We’re all in danger
if we don’t get the vote."

He walked a few steps. "You’re
right. I’ll go over all of it with Marcus. You talk to Amelia?"

There was an arbor
covered over with grape vines this time of year about fifty yards from the main
house. When they stepped into the shady nook, they put politics aside. Thomas
took her into his arms, she wrapped hers around his neck, and they kissed until
they barely had sense enough to stop. Struggling to get their breath back, they
fixed Fanny’s hair and Thomas’s tie.

"You look mighty
fine in this suit, Mr. Bickell," she said as she patted his lapel
straight.

"I do, don’t I?"

"You wipe that grin
off your face."

"Or what?"

She stretched up and
pecked him on the mouth. "Or I’ll kiss it off."

He grabbed for her and
she backed away, laughing.

"I’m going to work.
And I don’t want you messing my hair up again."

"They’re just kids.
They won’t know why your hair’s mussed."

"The older ones will
know exactly why my hair’s mussed."

They spent a few more
moments smiling at each other. "All right. Let’s get to work."

They emerged into the
sunshine. "When’s the school house going to be ready?" he asked.

"Major Whiteaker
hopes we can move in next Monday."

"Already? I’m
impressed."

"I dream about it,
Thomas. About the way the light comes in the windows, how the soft gray of the
walls makes us feel cool, how it sounds when the children come in excited and noisy
in the mornings."

Her brown eyes shining,
Fanny gripped his hand. "Thomas, this has to be the best time of my life.
I’m so happy."

He didn’t care if someone
saw them from the house. He pulled her into a hug and whispered in her ear. "We’re
going to have lots of happy years, Fanny. You and me."

She tilted her face up to
his and he kissed her, right in sight of the mockingbirds, the blue jays, and
God.

"I love you, Thomas
Bickell," she whispered.

He grinned at her. "I
am brilliant and handsome, after all. You said so yourself."

"You
thought I was talking about you?" She shook her head. "Men. Such
foolish babies."

He gave her a grin and
squeezed her hand. "See you in the morning."

Thomas strode back to
where he’d tied the horse he had on loan from Major Whiteaker. Cabel was
standing next to the mare waiting for him, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Peep said I might
catch you here before you headed out."

"What’s wrong?"

"They got Alfie."

"What? Who’d mess
with an old man like Alfie?"

"They didn’t mess
with him. They killed him."

Thomas couldn’t have
heard right. "They didn’t kill him."

"They did. Burned
the cabin with him inside. Annie got out, but she’s burned up pretty bad.
Thomas, you need to hear what she has to say while she can still talk, but I
came for Major Whiteaker as much as for you. She used to belong to him, and she
wants to tell him who did this."

In twenty minutes
Whiteaker had his mount saddled and a rifle in his scabbard, and the three of
them were on their way to Alfie’s cabin.

When they arrived, the
cabin was still smoldering, still flaming weakly at the back wall. Most of it
was simply gone, black soot and ash all that was left. Two women knelt beside
Alfie’s body laid out under a pine tree, a horse blanket covering him.

Alfie’s aged wife was in
the back of a wagon with Dr. Huggins bent over her.

"Whiteaker," he
said, "you want to talk to this woman, do it quick. She won’t take the
laudanum till she’s told who did this."

"Let me get up
there, Doc," Alistair said.

"She said there were
three of them," the doctor murmured to Alistair as he climbed down.

Alistair climbed up and
knelt at the old woman’s side. "Annie," he said. Her hair was burned
off on the right side of her head. Half her face was blackened and oozing.
Alistair was grateful a sheet covered the rest of her body. He’d seen wounds in
the war – limbs blown off, blood spurting – but burns were the worst.

"Annie, I’m here."
He didn’t know where to touch her. She pulled her left hand out from under the
sheet and he grasped it. "You must be in terrible pain. Let the doc give
you the laudanum."

"In a minute."
Her voice was raspy and breathless.

Alistair looked at Dr. Huggins.
He shook his head. "I think she inhaled some fire."

"I seen ’em, Major."

He leaned over to catch
her voice. "You know who they were, Annie?"

She closed her eyes
tight. "One man didn’t talk like he was from around here. From up North
somewhere."

"All right. Just
breathe, Annie. Let me hold you up some. You’ll breathe better."

She gasped, her chest
heaving, her eyes wide. "Don’t move me. Please."

"Annie, take the
laudanum."

"One of them had
yellow hair," she whispered. "Down below his collar. A blue bandana."

"All right."

"The other one, the
one with the torch . . . " She gripped his hand tighter. ". . . had
new boots. Pointy. Red scarf."

She closed her eyes
again. It hurt Alistair to take a breath listening to her try to breathe.

"All right, Annie.
Rest. The doctor will give you something to help you rest."

"Pray with me, Major,"
she rasped.

Alistair wrapped both hands around
hers and bent his head. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy
name . . ."

He continued the prayer
as Doctor Huggins climbed back into the wagon and held a cup of laudanum to her
lips. "Drink a little more," he said gently.

Annie’s hand in his began
to relax, then lost all its tension.

"She’ll sleep now,"
the doc said. "Deep enough not to feel all this pain."

They climbed out of the
wagon and one of the women climbed up to sit with her.

"She won’t make it,
will she?" Alistair said, not really asking.

"No. Her lungs are
filling up."

"Thank you for being
here, Doc."

"I’ve known these
people all my life."

"Even so, not every
doctor would have bothered."

Doctor Huggins grimaced. "Yes,
I’m aware." He looked Alistair in the eye. "That’s got to change,
Alistair."

"Yes. It has."

Thomas had been gripping
the side of the wagon, straining to hear what Annie said. He stepped away, feeling
sick. He’d known Annie and Alfie all his life, too. It was going to be an awful
blow to tell his mother and father they were both gone. Murdered.

"We got to talk,"
Cabel said.

Hands on his hips,
looking at the dirt, Thomas nodded. "And Whiteaker. We need him if we have
any hope of getting the sheriff involved. You’re going to have to tell the
major you were in on the tarring and feathering."

The three of them stood
in the shade of a bay tree while Cabel told them Valmar had been wearing a pair
of pointy-toed boots the night they temporarily abducted them.

"So how did Valmar
know it was Alfie?" Thomas asked.

Cabel shrugged. "I
guess there aren’t a lot of black men as old as Alfie."

Alistair narrowed his
eyes at Cabel. "Any way he can guess who the rest of you are? Valentine
Chamard is uncommonly tall. We’ll have to warn him. Anybody say anybody else’s
name?"

"We knew not to do
that. Don’t think we did." He paused a moment. "Hope we didn’t."
He looked at Thomas, a little shamefaced. "We were having a lot of fun,
you have to understand." He grinned. "Funny as hell, in fact."

"You better come
back with me," Alistair said. "Get you a rifle and some ammunition."

"And you’ll have to
move out, Cabel. You can’t be at home with all those little brothers and
sisters in the house."

"I know it. And
we’ll have to make it known I’m not there."

Alistair put his hat back
on. "Let’s go see Chamard."

Single file they directed
their horses up the back roads toward Cherleu. Thomas’s stomach roiled. The
stench of burned flesh still clung to his clothes. The sight of Annie’s poor
burned body – he’d never forget that.

Half a mile from Chamard’s
place, Thomas’s head jerked up – rifle fire. They spurred their horses on, but
Alistair was the only one with a firearm.

They met Bertrand Chamard
and Valentine running along the edge of a patch of woods toward Thomas’s own
home.

"I reckon they after
you," Valentine panted.

"You stay back,
Thomas," Bertrand Chamard commanded. "You aren’t armed and you don’t
know how to shoot anyway."

"Cabel, you too,"
Whiteaker said. "You can’t do any good without a firearm."

"Then give me one,
dammit. I can shoot better than Valentine, that’s for damn sure."

Valentine bent over,
catching his breath. "All right then." He handed Cabel his rifle. "Don’t
shoot one of those little girls, for Christ’s sake."

"Valentine,"
Chamard said, "take Thomas back to the house. Arm him, and then you stay
home, you old coot."

Valentine straightened,
every inch the insulted gentleman. "You are almost as old as I am."

"Yeah, but I’m not
the one can’t catch his breath." Chamard softened his tone. "We’ll
need someone to patch us up when we come back with our battle wounds.
Valentine, please. I couldn’t bear it if – damn it to hell, why am I explaining
myself to you? Just stay home, Valentine."