Sweetsmoke (28 page)

    Alone?

    One
night there was Nanny Catherine, but she usually stays in the young'uns'
bedroom. Most sleep on the floor near their masters, Pet like to hold Missus
Ellen in her arms if she could, and Miss Genevieve and Missus Anne and all
them, their servants sleep in trundle beds pulled out from under their
mistress's beds.

    Your
attic got a window?

    Small
one, in the gable.

    Got
room to set a candle there?

    Think
so.

    You
light it and I'll know family's down for the night.

    How
do I know what night?

    Cassius
looked at the fires in Mam Rosie's hearth as he thought for a moment.

    You
watch for a signal from me, said Cassius.

    Can't
see the quarters from the big house.

    No,
but you can see the carpentry shed.

    No
window in that one.

    Watch
the chimney, I saw a stack of elm logs somewhere and even old elm makes good
smoke. Make that my signal.

    Lit
candle if it's safe, said Quashee.

    Good.
I'll watch tonight.

    No.
Not tonight. Too many patrollers come in and out at night, and Master Hoke's
not even back yet. Not tonight.

    Then
watch for the smoke tomorrow. After supper. Look for it.

    Cassius
spent the better part of the following day working in and around the carpentry
shed. He located an old pile of elm logs near the slave graveyard and rolled
them to the shed in a wheelbarrow. He climbed the shed roof as if checking for
a leak and looked to see that the view was clear from the attic's gables. He
walked around the shed to locate an innocuous place from where he might see
Quashee's signal. He found a likely spot. He rolled a wide log and stood it on
one flat end, the other end his seat. He was ready for night to fall, with the
sun still high in the sky.

    In
the middle afternoon, a vibration came through the ground, almost unnoticed
until the tools in the shed softly chimed as they touched. The vibration grew
until he looked up with the air throbbing deep in his ears and in that moment
he knew fear. They were coming, all of them together, men and horses, and that
meant things had gone bad. Hooves agitated the hill and he knew the dishes
would be rattling in the big house and every living soul would be running to
the windows and he didn't want them to witness what was about to happen. He
moved to the door of the shed and came off the step onto the ground, holding
the doorjamb as if the vibration might knock him off his feet, but it wasn't
vibration that made him unsteady, it was the awful weakness in his legs. He
walked to the front yard and they were coming up the hill, he estimated at
least a score. Dust trailed them and the wind came around briefly and blew the
dust ahead, burying them in a cloud from which they emerged, bigger, closer,
closer. Their expressions were grim not in defeat but with self-satisfied
victory. Cassius expected them to stop in the yard before the big house, but
they did not turn at the gate, riding instead past to the quarters. He saw one
riderless horse and realized that a body was secured across the back of the
horse facedown, arms and legs lashed underneath. The trailing cloud of dust
rolled silently over him and consumed the big house. When it passed, they were
out of sight around the bend, most likely already passing the house of Mr.
Nettle.

    Cassius
ran down the path to the quarters. The pounding of the hooves stopped suddenly
and he knew they had reined in and now waited in the lane. He arrived to see
Otis Bornock and Hans Mueller cut the body free and pull on its arms to drop it
facedown in the dirt. The others sat waiting on their horses as Mr. Nettle's
iron bell rang. It was a few minutes before the first hands came in from the
fields, and they made a semicircle facing horses and men, staring at the body
in the lane. Cassius had hoped for his sake that he was dead, but then Joseph
moved and Cassius heard a dry pitiable moan rasp out of his throat and
Cassius's heart sank lower, to scratch its own place in the dust. Blood was
everywhere on Joseph with none of it on the ground. Trails of dried blood
coursed along the outsides of his arms and down the backs of his hands and made
a perfect line along each of his fingers to where it collected in small oval
bubbles on his nails. Blood was slick on his neck and his hair was matted with
syrupy nubbles of coagulate grume. His trousers were soaked a deep luxuriant
red, and as Cassius looked at his back, he felt his own quiver with empathy and
felt wetness inside his shirt. Joseph's back was slashed and furrowed and
swollen and shreds of his shirt had been driven deep into his wounds. And yet,
when Cassius looked at the back of Joseph's legs, he knew the worst was to
come. They were waiting for the hands to assemble before performing surgery. He
saw the dull bowie knife in Otis Bornock's hand, and he was almost glad because
Bornock was a dull and impatient butcher and might bungle the job and Joseph
might yet lose enough blood to allow him to die.

    Fawn
began to shriek into her hands as she drew close, dancing from one foot to the
other with her eyes set on Joseph's back. Banjo George leaned in, inching
forward as he gaped with fascination, absorbing every last mark of Joseph's
pain.

    Savilla
ran up the lane from the fields. One of the hands stepped in her path, but she
pushed him aside. She went straight at Fawn and slapped her soundly across the
face, and Fawn's eyes went round and she stopped her noise. Abram came behind
Savilla but held up a few yards short and Cassius saw that Sammy and Andrew
were farther down the lane and would come no closer. Hoke nodded to a rider
Cassius did not recognize, and the rider spurred his horse to block Savilla,
but she bellowed and with her heavy legs and tree-trunk arms tried to push the
horse aside to get to her son. The rider finally quit and she was around him
standing over Joseph. She could not safely touch him without causing more pain,
so she just stood there, her legs wide as if he had only then emerged bloody
from her womb, her arms reaching out in an empty embrace, hands opening and
closing in a gesture so helpless that Cassius felt tears burn his eyes. She
whimpered for her baby boy and no one moved to her side. Abram stayed back and
the others shied away. Big Gus marched up the path, saw Savilla, and walked
straight for her. The unattractive Polly reached out, a subtle but knowing hand
catching his forearm to hold him back. Big Gus stopped, looked at it, and she
took her hand away. He then continued his march to Savilla. He offered his
broad chest, steel arms moving to enwrap her. She accepted the welcome gesture,
unable to take her eyes off her boy, but then she recognized Gus's smell and
her head reared back and her eyes opened wide in feral revulsion. Abram quickly
came, surrounding her arms before she could lash out, guiding her to the older
women of the quarters who smothered her fury. Abram turned to Big Gus, and
Cassius saw what would come and moved to support him, but then Abram's head
dropped, mimicking a bow. Big Gus put his hand on Abram's shoulder
affectionately and they stood that way, a frozen moment, and Cassius thought he
would be physically ill.

    Cassius
looked up at Hoke and saw that his whip encircled the pommel of his saddle.
Blood from the ends had darkened the leather with drops that ran down toward
the stirrups, spreading sideways. Splatters of Joseph's blood resembled a pox
on the backs of Hoke's hands with more hurled up his sleeve and across the
front of his shirt, while a red streak remained on his cheek from where he had
tried to wipe his face. In Hoke's eyes Cassius saw no satisfaction, only a deep
exhaustion from the grueling search that had lasted many days and nights. Hoke
would pay each man for his part, and Cassius wondered if there was coin enough
for all or if Hoke would give them paper. That would disappoint them.

    "Do
it," Hoke said, and his voice was pitched high, thick with phlegm.

    Otis
Bornock wiped the dull blade against his shirt and dropped to one knee, rolling
up Joseph's trouser leg. No one moved to help him, and he looked up and said,
"Get down here and hold him!"

    Hans
Mueller stepped in and Isaac Lang quickly came off his mount. One held Joseph's
foot and the other leaned his entire bulk against his legs and buttocks,
staying clear of his back. Bornock angled the knife, choosing an awkward angle
that would do the most damage, and he commenced to split the skin with great
effort too high above the heel, sawing through muscle until he scraped the
Achilles tendon. Joseph's head and back reared up and a sound came out of him
that chilled Cassius, a sound he would not soon forget. Cassius thought of
young, pretty Fanny at Edensong Plantation and knew that as much as she liked
that white tuft in Joseph's hair, she would settle for a husband with less
damage. Not one of the hands made a sound but Banjo George smiled, and Cassius
thought the insects and birds had gone dumb. Bornock looked up when it was done
and said, "The other one?"

    Cassius
almost cried out, ready to intervene, which would have been worse than
pointless as it would have brought him into the circle of Hoke's rage, but Hoke
said, "No, that will do."

    Cassius
turned away, but his eye caught the eye of one of the hunters, Thomas Chavis,
the owner of Weyman. He saw the disgust and horror in the man's face, and was
grateful for that small shred of human conscience. Cassius walked away, and
behind him heard Hoke issue orders, "Take him to the tobacco shed and
shackle him."

    Cassius
did not remember anything of the rest of that afternoon. He did not remember
hearing the men on their horses come back up to the big house to get paid, did
not remember hearing them ride off singly or in small groups, but after a time
he knew they were all gone.

    Cassius,
come, come quick!

    Quashee
was running toward him.

    Something
wrong with him, hurry!

    Cassius
ran, swiftly overtaking her and came around the side of the big house where
Beauregard was trying to drag Hoke inside with his arms under Hoke's armpits. The
women were bees bursting from the house, Genevieve at the door, Anne in the
lane, Ellen at Hoke's side, all buzzing madly, pointlessly.

    Set
him down, said Cassius to Beauregard firmly.

    "Don't
put him down, get his feet!" said Ellen, and her corrosive panic sprang at
him.

    No,
Missus, said Cassius quietly, with grave authority.

    "Get
the doctor," said Ellen. "Someone take the carriage, go to town, get
the doctor!"

    "I
saw the whole thing, he got off his horse, the groom took it, and then he was
on the ground," said Genevieve to anyone who would listen.

    Cassius
knelt over Hoke and looked for signs of a wound, but the only blood on him was
Joseph's.

    Hoke
spoke quietly and Cassius moved in to hear. "Time to meet the angel,"
he said.

    Not
yet, said Cassius so that no one else could hear.

    "He
awaits me."

    House
servants crowded them as they saw Hoke speak, and Cassius stood and his cold
expression forced them back. They would never understand the pride Hoke took in
maintaining his power in front of his people, and despite Cassius's anger, he
did not want his master to be seen like this.

    "Cassius,"
said Hoke, his voice thin.

    You
know me?

    "Yes,
of course," said Hoke, sounding more like himself.

    Are you
injured? said Cassius.

    "That
stupid boy, that stupid stupid child," said Hoke, shaking his head
mournfully.

    Joseph,
said Cassius.

    "Get
him up!" shrieked Ellen.

    Just
wait! said Cassius severely, and Ellen stepped back, shocked and silenced.

    "I
am so tired, Cassius, so very tired," said Hoke.

    I
know, said Cassius gently.

    "Poor
stupid boy."

    Been
out after him for days, said Cassius.

    "Barely
slept, cannot remember what it is to sleep."

    You'll
sleep soon and you'll be well, said Cassius.

    Cassius
slid one arm under Hoke's back, the other under his knees and lifted him in his
arms. Standing, he saw Pet in the door. He scowled, looked around, saw Quashee
and nodded to her.

    Make
a path, said Cassius.