Sweetsmoke (13 page)

    You
probably want to carry that.

    Andrew
took it in his hands and said: Yeah.

    I
remember Old Darby, Mam Rosie's husband, you never met him, was a few years
where he looked out for me, and sometimes he'd be watching when I didn't know
and he'd see me get all mad and he'd stop me. Ooh, that burned me up, I'd get
even madder, man telling you how to be. No, we are not always smart for
ourselves.

    Cassius
saw no reaction from Andrew. He tried again: Darby taught me a little trick.
He'd say, When you feel that anger growing and spitting inside, reach down and
snatch it, just snatch it right out and take it in your hands and bring it real
close, and then when you got a good hold, get it up close in the light, look at
the top and bottom and see if it maybe get you in trouble. Sometimes, just
thinking about that would be enough and things'd slow down and then you realize
the anger be gone.

    You
sound like my mamma.

    Suppose
I do. I apologize.

    That
okay.

    For a
quarter of a mile they walked in silence. Cassius continued to worry his point in
his head.

    What
I got to say is, you can still be a man. There's other ways to hold on to
pride. You don't need to fight and get it all back right then. Sometimes it's
better when it comes later, different kind of satisfying. Maybe that way,
Master Charles won't see it coming.

    Andrew
furrowed his brow.

    That's
a good point, Cassius, said Andrew seriously.

    Cassius
was unable to stop the laugh that rolled up inside him.

    What's
funny? said Andrew as his temper raised up its head.

    Cassius
put his hand on the boy's shoulder. I don't tease you, Andrew, I was surprised
to see you look ten years older just now when you spoke.

    Andrew
raised his hat to cover his head and pulled it down close to his ears, turning
back to the road at his feet.

    They
turned off the main road into the wide entrance of the plantation Edensong,
winding through trees and manicured bushes to the big house. The main yard was
empty of all but the occasional domestic animal, while the front porch of the
big house was thick with planters and their families, the white railing penning
them in. Edensong was the home of Judge Francis Arthur Jarvis.
"Judge" was an honorary title, honorary and ubiquitous, although when
the war became imminent, Cassius had the impression that the number of planters
bearing the title "Colonel" increased. Cassius saw that Hoke was
there with Ellen and his daughters, Genevieve and Anne; Anne's husband was
speaking with one of the Jarvis boys and his wife. Notably absent was Sarah Greenleaf
Howard, Jacob's wife, now left alone in the big house at Sweetsmoke, as Missus
Ellen would have insisted the house people attend the dance. Lamar Robertson,
planter and master of The Swan of Alicante Plantation, was in attendance with
his extended family. Cassius recognized Willa Jarvis Whitacre, and predicted
that the short man in uniform was the quartermaster, Captain Solomon Whitacre.
He noted Whitacre not only because of his servant's connection to Emoline, but
because his letters to his wife exhibited a great affection for her, and for
that Cassius thought well of him. Cassius was amused to see that the planter
children were kept to the porch, underfoot, and not permitted in the yard. The
red-faced master of Edensong, Judge Francis Arthur Jarvis, a contemporary of
Hoke Howard, struggled to his feet with glass in hand as the two blacks crossed
the yard. Lines of sweat coursed down his cheeks and vanished under his collar,
soaking the shirt beneath his waistcoat. He dabbed helplessly at his eyebrows
with a handkerchief, but his smile appeared genuine.

    "Welcome,
welcome to Edensong, welcome," Judge Jarvis said pompously. "Mrs.
Frances, welcome our late-arriving guests."

    Wick-thin
Mrs. Frances Jarvis appeared beside her husband as if she had been invisible
sideways and had turned to face them like a swinging gate. Frances and Francis
Jarvis stood together, a blade of grass and a brick of cheese. She planted a
smile on her face and said, "Welcome to Edensong, the others are back
there, all the way in back, you cannot miss them. Oh my dear, your glass is
empty, may I secure you another, Mr. Francis?"

    "Thank
you kindly, Mrs. Frances." He handed his half-empty glass to his wife and
they both laughed with the other planters at their excellent jest, Mr. Francis
and Mrs. Frances, a joke as comfortable and worn as it was anticipated.

    "Now
don't drink too much," admonished his wife, laughing still.

    "These
slaves of yours keep coming, Hoke. Are they ignorant of the time?"

    Cassius
still found it odd to be spoken of as if he were deaf or invisible. It happened
often; whites simply said whatever was on their minds in front of their
"people," bluntly revealing their thoughts and secrets. He stared at
Francis Jarvis with frank curiosity. What would cause a man to reveal himself
so nakedly, unless he truly believed he was not judged? Despite the intimate
knowledge Cassius carried about the planters and their families, knowing he was
taken so lightly made him feel small.

    Ellen
watched Cassius and the boy walk past. She thought again about the death of the
free black woman who at one time had lived at Sweetsmoke and had meant
something to her husband. She had dreamed about Cassius and Marriah, and when
she woke had spent confused moments believing the war had yet to begin. As the
years in between filled back in, she had an intense feeling that she was paying
for those events with the lives of her sons.

    This
was a day she always dreaded, a day set aside for the "family," her
people. It brought together the families of several plantations, and the
gathering was often trying. She would have been in better spirits, as she would
normally spend the early morning in mental preparation, but her daughter had
chosen that particular time to revive her grievance about sleeping
arrangements. Genevieve had whined prodigiously when Sarah and Jacob were given
the front bedroom while she was relegated to the rear. Time had not diminished
her resentment. This morning Genevieve had harped on the fact that even though
Jacob had not returned, Sarah
continued
to enjoy the best bedroom all to
herself,
while from her
back
window Genevieve could see the trees
that hid the
privy
and she could
almost
see the quarters. Ellen
had made an early visit to her dressing table and had counted out twice the
number of drops of laudanum, which brought her calm but did not diminish her
hostility. The liquid within the bottle was precipitously low and she would
need to speak to the doctor about obtaining more of the tincture. She disliked asking
that man for anything, as he always bestowed upon her his most reproving look.

    She
had spent the early portion of the gathering the way all gatherings were now
spent, listening to the men justify the crisis at hand. The war was a
necessity, they informed one another as if it were news; the Yankees conspired
to terminate their way of life. If given the chance, the bastards—begging your
pardon, ladies—would abolish slavery altogether, not just in particular states.
And to steal our slaves was no different than stealing our homes and our land,
as financially it would be equally disastrous.

    Once
that conversation was laid to rest, with all in sober agreement—not that it
would not reemerge at some future moment in the evening—Ellen simply had to count
the hours and pretend to enjoy small talk until it was time to escape.

    Ellen
looked over to see Hoke approach Solomon Whitacre from behind. Whitacre was a
decent enough gentleman, but it had been a surprise to all when he managed to
wed the elusive Willa Jarvis, particularly as Ellen still saw him as the
cowardly child he had been growing up. Perhaps that was what led him to be
among the first to join the army. His effeminate mannerisms had carried into
manhood, mannerisms he attempted to disguise with coarse language and bluster.
This led to the occasional odd public moment. She had once witnessed him at a
social event with his children and wife, as generous a father and husband as
you could wish, when suddenly and from nowhere he appeared to notice his
surroundings and erupted with an unpleasant epithet, as if to disguise his
breeding.

    Hoke
clapped Whitacre on the back, and Ellen saw him start.

    "How
do you do it, Whitacre? Why, you spend more time at home than all our soldiers
combined."

    Whitacre
turned to him, manhood under fire.

    "A
quartermaster, sir, is required to scour the countryside to feed the army, as
you well know."

    "Certainly,
certainly, but must you continually scour us?" said Hoke with a hearty laugh.
Whitacre did not laugh in kind.

    "Beyond
that, I have damn well been ordered on a special mission!" said Whitacre.

    Willa
Jarvis Whitacre's lovely head came around at once.

    "I
beg your pardon, Mrs. Whitacre," said Hoke. "I may have unintentionally
provoked your husband."

    "My
apologies, my dear," mumbled Whitacre. "Upon my honor, I did not
endeavor to be coarse."

    Willa
turned away.

    "A
mission, you say?" said Hoke. "Is it usual to entrust a quartermaster
with special orders, if you would not find that question to be imprudent?"

    "General
Lee has plans for me, sir."

    "General
Lee? I see," said Hoke. Ellen recognized this moment. Hoke was drunk and
likely to jab the man's pomposity.

    "It
is serious business, sir, I am to expose a spy."

    "Perhaps
you might care to lower your voice, Captain, as that sounds as if it may be
privileged information," said Hoke.

    Whitacre
was surprised by Hoke's measured response and he collected himself, his
indignation wilting. "You are very good, sir," said Whitacre quietly,
red-faced.

    Ellen
saw that Hoke was not as drunk as she had supposed.

    "I
am certain you are the very one for the job, Whitacre, carry on and best of
luck to you."

    Whitacre
saluted then, turned on a heel, and marched into the big house.

    Ellen
looked at her husband with admiration for his discretion, but luck was not on
her side. She saw his eyes fall upon the Jarvises' youngest daughter, Mary of
fourteen years, a girl of seeming innocence and considerable ripeness. Ellen
had lately been spared being witness to his lupine aggression and she was
appalled to see him salivate over one so young. She had endured such behavior
in the past, and were it not so painful, she might find amusing the way he
always appeared stunned by the onset of sexual appetite. She watched his eyes
seize adolescent Mary's jaw and glide down her slim neck to her rubbery
collarbones, finally resting on her hidden breast. How expressive he is, she
thought, watching his inner thoughts warp his face, while he imagines himself
impenetrable. He saw women's beauty as an aggressive personal challenge
requiring forceful masculine response. Ellen instinctively drew her own collar
to her neck, exposing less so that his implicit rejection of his wife would
draw less blood.

    Ellen
saw the Judge, his face blotchy and red, move to block Hoke's view of his
daughter. The Judge spluttered, "You, you
…"
trailing off,
unable to find the words, until, at last, he said: "You really must
control… your
people,
Hoke!"

    "I
have peculiar control over my people, thank you," said Hoke idly. "It
is, as they say, a peculiar institution."

    But
the Judge leaned in. "Control," he said. Then he continued on, and
Ellen wondered about his meaning: "Make them fear you; resort to the whip
even in the most insignificant of circumstances until they understand you
cannot be trifled with."

    Ellen
finally understood. The Judge had recognized Hoke's lust. Jarvis did not speak
of slaves but of his daughter, as she was not to be trifled with. But once
embarked on this parallel path, he poured all his bile and outrage into it,
allowing himself to be carried away.

    "I
am surprised, sir, that I need to say this to you of all people," said the
Judge. "Expectations in our negroes are a contagion that can only lead to
insolent behavior and eventually spread across the county to injure the rest of
us."

    "Unlike
your people, Francis, my people do not require deliberate excessive
correction."