Sweetsmoke (12 page)

    You
always come at a certain time?

    How I
do that? I come when my massa here.

    Between
you, was there a code?

    Code?
What that?

    Special
knock on the door?

    Why'nt
you just say so?

    She
showed him the knock that she had learned from Emoline. Rap-rap, pause, rap.

    You
with your master this last week? said Cassius.

    Like
I says, we travel together. Came through here for one day early this week, now
we back.

    Which
day?

    I
don't know what day. Monday, maybe. That right, Monday. Ridin all day Sunday,
didn't get no church.

    Did you
see her, did you see Emoline on that day?

    No
time for that. Gettin what-all for Cap'n Solomon's supper.

    Cassius
looked at her with suspicion, but there was little doubt in his mind about
Maryanne, she was not Emoline's killer. It was coincidence that she was in town
on the same day Emoline was killed.

    Cassius
asked more questions and got answers he imagined were incomplete. But Maryanne
did offer one piece of information: Someone was to meet Emoline here, at her
home, after dark on the full moon. The full moon was due on the following
Friday.

    He
watched Maryanne become more anxious as his questions continued. Her eyes
rolled toward the windows, her fingers knotted and unknotted, and finally he
let her go. She was out the front door and gone like a breath in the fog.

    He
followed her outside and stood by the tree. He listened to know that Maryanne
was away and that Richard Justice had not returned. He went back inside to the
false wall and opened it to reveal the secret hiding place.

    Emoline's
money was there, quite a lot of money, colorful prewar bank notes along with
her free papers and copies of both
The Odyssey
and
The Iliad,
her
Bible, and a few other books. Underneath the books were a stack of papers
wrapped by a ribbon, some of the papers very old. He undid the ribbon and found
that these were letters. He looked at the letter on the bottom, the oldest, and
he read it. He was still for a long time, and then he sat down to think.

    He
had recognized the hand immediately, a love letter from his old master before
Hoke was anyone's master. One line in particular caught his attention:

    You
came to me, and silently, to carry me aloft to heavenly gates of pleasure, O
gentle sweetness, O mystery of love, O kindness.

    Emoline
had lied. This was not the note of a predator. This was the swelling sentiment
of a smitten young man enfolded in the throes of love. Hoke had spoken the
truth, she had come to him, she had given herself willingly. Emoline had lied.

    Cassius
considered the meaning of this revelation. It saddened him to come face-to-face
with a new and altogether different Emoline now that she was dead. She owed him
no explanations, but her lies seemed not casual and careless, but deliberate,
and were compounded by lies of omission, as she had not told him about her
business with Maryanne. Cassius returned to her hiding place in the false wall.

    The
bottom of the space was now empty. He felt around and discovered, standing on
its end against the side wall, a packet similar to the one from Maryanne. He
drew it out. This packet contained not letters and maps, but handwritten notes.
Cassius thumbed through them, knowing they were not from Maryanne. Here were
transcriptions of official communiques, inter-army messages, supply requests,
supply routes and destinations. Cassius instinctively understood the importance
of such seemingly innocuous information; food and ammunition had a destination,
and that destination would be General Lee's army. General Lee's enemies would
gain a decided advantage with such information in their hands. Emoline had been
insane to collect it, the danger was prodigious, and Cassius saw it as yet
another example of how her personality blinded her-her arrogant confidence had
led her to misguided bravery, which led to her violent death. But who had
access to this official intelligence? He reached back into the hiding place,
searching with his fingers for anything else, and found in the corner a folded
scrap of paper. On it was a small map and he recognized Emoline's hand. It
included lines that he imagined were roads, leading to a spot in what he
guessed was forest land. Along the top of the paper she had drawn a line of
X's. The X's were likely to be railroad tracks. A road crossed the tracks, and
she had written something along the road: W York.

    He
paced the room. To hold something of such importance in his hands thrilled him
profoundly and his heart beat high in his chest. But what was to be done with
it? Even if Maryanne was correct and Emoline's contact would come for it on the
full moon, what did that have to do with him? Was it up to him to hand off this
information, so that it could be delivered to someone in the North? The very
thought of doing such a thing seemed no more possible than growing wings
overnight and flying to the sun. But perhaps he must do just that, for her. He
paused in his reckless enthusiasm. And what did he owe her, a woman who had
lied to him? He reflected on her lies. To protect her identity as a spy was an
impersonal lie, as it protected everyone around her as well, and so he let that
be. Her lies about Hoke stung and confused him, but they also explained other
things, including why Hoke had been willing to allow her to take Cassius back
to her home to heal him. When he thought of this, of what she had done on his
behalf, he forgave everything, even her puzzling personal secrets.

    He
returned to his pacing, and a shard of jug crunched under his shoe. He swept it
aside with his foot, his excitement returning. She would not have cared that
her things were broken. He now knew her for a different person and her world
grew clearer in his mind. She cared for maps and secret information. She cared
for the outcome of the war, believing the North needed to win the war if her
people were to have any chance to escape slavery. To Cassius, such a
possibility seemed remote if not ludicrous. The summer had brought a string of
Confederate victories, making the outcome of the war appear to lean heavily to
the South, and furthermore, the Yankees did not care a damn for slaves. Yankees
would not die for black people. He admired that Emoline had hoped to share her
freedom with all her people, but wondered if it had been worth her life. He
thought then of how, for a long time, he had been indifferent to death. At
least she had risked herself for a purpose.

    He
thought about Richard Justice. Richard could make life difficult for Cassius.
The man was entitled to his mother's money, even if Cassius did not want him to
have it. Cassius could have told Richard where to find it, but that would only
guarantee its eventual place in the pockets of white gamblers.

    Cassius
formulated a plan and acted quickly. He counted bank bills and separated out a
one quarter share. He returned the bulk of the money to the hiding place. He
also returned the packets, believing them safer here than in his cabin at
Sweetsmoke. If Emoline's contact knew of the secret place, he might collect the
documents without Cassius having to lift a finger. He resealed the hiding place.
He found a small tin on the floor and folded the quarter portion of her money
inside. He stepped outside by the tree and looked at her garden. He chose an
obvious spot where someone had previously been digging, by a green stave that
Emoline employed as a separator between herb beds. The herbs unearthed from
that spot had been carelessly tossed aside. Cassius dug out the loose soil,
then dug deeper into the compacted soil beneath. He placed the tin in the hole,
recovered it, and recompacted the dirt. He covered that with looser dirt. He
looked around. Down the row, he noticed where an entire patch of herbs had been
dug up and were nowhere to be found, as if rather than digging for treasure
someone had specifically targeted that remedy. But he gave that scant attention
as he thought of one more thing to help his plan and returned to the hiding
place, dug out the tin, and carefully separated out a few of the colorful bank
notes, choosing only bills on which specific scenes of Southern daily life were
etched. This impulsive decision brought a grim smile to his face. These bills
he folded and put into his pouch along with three coins.

    He
walked back to Sweetsmoke, alone on the road, carrying both books of Homer, and
was back in his cabin before the dawn of Sunday morning, the morning of the
Big-To-Do. Once there, Cassius slept.

    Cassius
opened his eyes to find sun streaming into his cabin through a small high window.
He blinked awake and gradually became aware that someone sat across the room on
the ledge of the dark and empty hearth. He raised his head.

    You
missed church, said Andrew.

    Andrew
rested his chin on his knees, his legs pulled up close and his arms wrapped
around his shins.

    I try
to.

    Mamma
say you can miss church but not the Big-To-Do.

    What
time is it?

    Afternoon
sometime. Some of us already gone over. Mamma said wait on you.

    Why
didn't you wake me?

    Believe
I did.

    Cassius
raised his head higher and saw
The Iliad
on the floor at Andrew's feet.
Andrew had dropped it, possibly more than once, which explained the sound of a
door slamming in his dream. A folded sheet of paper that had been hidden
between the pages had come partway out when Andrew dropped the book. Cassius
rose from his pallet and as he took the book off the floor, he pushed the sheet
of paper back and put both
The Iliad
and
The Odyssey
out of
sight. Leaving out a book was careless, and he could not afford to be careless.
He shook off the last layer of sleep and felt the deep exhaustion at his core.
He knew that he would drag through the day, and he already anticipated the
welcome of his pallet that night.

    They
walked to Edensong, the Jarvis plantation. Clouds moved in and blocked the sun
and a cool wind picked up.

    You
got new pants, said Cassius.

    Andrew
nodded.

    Cassius
did not wish to press Andrew, but he knew that sometimes a young man needed to
be prompted so that he understood he was being offered an opportunity to speak
frankly.

    New
hat. New shoes, said Cassius.

    Andrew
turned his face to Cassius, and for a moment appeared older than his ten years
as he searched Cassius's expression for hidden meaning.

    I
work the fields now, said Andrew.

    How's
that going?

    Andrew
shrugged, but a momentary wince around his eyes betrayed him. Cassius suspected
Andrew had received a warning from his father Abram to withhold his complaints.
It was likely that Andrew's middle brother Sammy tormented him as Sammy himself
had been tormented by his older brother Joseph when he had started in the
fields.

    Was
your age when I went to the fields, said Cassius.

    I
thought you was a carpenter.

    Didn't
start out that way. Had some trouble with the Young Master.

    Oh.
Charles? I mean, Master Charles?

    No.
Different young master.

    Andrew
nodded and watched the road as he walked. A handful of other travelers were
half a mile ahead, dressed up in their finest, but otherwise they had the road
to themselves, as the Big-To-Do would already have begun in earnest. The wind
came stronger and lifted the hat off Andrew's head, and he reached to catch it,
pulling it down snugly.

    I
remember being a young man, said Cassius.

    Andrew
said nothing.

    Didn't
know it at the time, but I had a bad temper, said Cassius.

    Andrew
cocked his head.

    Not
always obvious to the one who owns it. You might have a temper and not know,
said Cassius.

    Andrew
shrugged.

    What
about you? Ever get angry fast, when you don't see it coming?

    Don't
know.

    Happens
to me too, said Cassius, nodding.

    Andrew
looked at him again. With his head angled, the wind snatched his hat and this
time Cassius caught it.