Sweetsmoke (40 page)

    He
filled Jacob's old haversack with salted beef and pork and ashcakes. He
inspected his hat, and was sorry he hadn't taken the time to repair it. It
would have to do. He would go out later, when the sun went down, to his traps.
He would give any trapped animal to Savilla, and then he would shut them down
for good. He would not allow an animal to starve to death inside an abandoned
trap.

    He
heard a light knock on his cabin door. He opened it to find Shedd, The Little
Angry Man.

    Let
me in, said Shedd.

    Cassius
backed up and The Little Angry Man dragged his bad leg into the cabin.

    Shut
that door, said Shedd. Cassius did so.

    What
brings you-?

    Shut up.
I know you're gonna run, said Shedd.

    Not
going to run, said Cassius.

    You
are. I seen it. New shoes, mendin trousers, everybody seen it.

    Cassius
wasn't surprised. Jenny had known, so others knew as well. Shedd's wandering
eye darted around his cabin, and he saw that Shedd was having difficulty
remaining still. Shedd's leg hurt him and he got jumpy and fidgety if he didn't
keep it moving.

    Not
going to run.

    Shedd
gave Cassius a violent look.

    Don't
need to, said Cassius.

    What's
that mean?

    Got a
pass from Old Missus. She's sending me.

    Hah!

    Think
I'm lying?

    You
listen up 'cause you can't make it with that.

    Not
taking you with me.

    You
think I go with
you?

    Cassius
was caught off-guard: Then why're you here?

    I'm
the one sent Joseph to the Underground Railroad.

    
You
sent him?

    'S
right.

    He
got caught.

    Not
my doin.

    How
do I know, how do I know you didn't set him up?

    Cassius
took a menacing step toward Little Angry Man, but Little Angry Man did not go
off.

    He
almost got there, said Shedd. I talked to him after, in the barn. Joseph did it
hisself, even said so. Tried to stand up to a paddyroller when he was almost safe;
I warned him, you can't run on hate, you got to run smart. He got hisself
caught. You ask him, he'll say. But that don't matter to you, you won't do
stupid like Joseph.

    Cassius
backed up across the room, sat and looked hard at Shedd. Shedd began to twitch,
needing to change the position of his leg. He finally turned it inward,
clamping his hip at a taut angle, forcing thigh muscles to grip so his leg
would stay there, then looked back at Cassius with an unforced grimace.

    You
don't got to trust me, Cassius, don't know why you would, except you smart
enough to know when somethin's right. So listen close, you son of a pox whore's
bastard, this what you look for. The song ain't lyin, "Follow the Drinkin
Gourd." Star up there called the North Star.

    You
think I don't know this? said Cassius, impatiently. I know north from south,
even at night.

    I
know you know, but I'm sayin it anyways, you follow it, 'cause that where it
leads. Travel at night, that give you the best chance.

    I told
you, I got a pass.

    Hah,
big head big shot got hisself a pass, only you take one step outta this county
and that pass only good to wipe your ass. No one outside knows a white Howard
from a white magnolia.

    Cassius
knew it was true. Shedd was offering authentic advice.

    Why
you helping me?

    Just
shut your hole and listen, swole-headed prick. Go at night and duck them
paddyrollers, they get nastier the closer you get to the North. Plenty of work
up there, grabbin runaway niggers. Folks always greedier when they got more.
You get yourself to a town call Shamburg, they got a safe house, part of the
Underground Railroad.

    Cassius
paid strict attention.

    You
wait till night, look for a light on a hill. They leave a lantern up when it
safe, not the house on the top, but about halfway. You go to the front door.
But don't be a mule's ass, keep your eyes open, 'cause shit changes. And don't
look down, look up and watch, you see a white man catch your eye and make a
sign with his hand, like touch his chin or his nose, he offerin you a safe
house. You follow him, understand?

    I
understand.

    Be
careful, Cassius. Don't talk 'bout what you doin. Don't tell nobody at
Suetsmoke when you're goin.

    I
know that, but why say so?

    They
try 'n' queer it for you. They resent you.

    Not
all of them.

    You
Hoke's boy, always been. You got more leeway, you don't get punished the way
others get 'cause your master favors you. But you ain't safe. Big Gus aimed for
you, and you damn lucky he missed. And if Hoke dies, there be more comin after
you. Who knows, maybe I be one.

    Shedd
headed for the door, his wandering eye taking one last look around.

    White
man make a sign, said Shedd, you follow
.

    The
afternoon of the first of September promised heavy rains.

    Mr. Nettle
drove him in the carriage. Cassius sensed his seething resentment at being
assigned this chore. The ride unfolded in silence, giving Cassius time to
consider Ellen Howard's surprising choice of a reinsman, wondering about her
motive. Had she taken into account the coming harvest and the demotion of the
Driver? If so, then she was taking Cassius's journey seriously, delegating a
white man to convey him. As they rode past the fields, the hands watched them
ride off the rim of the property.

    Mr.
Nettle dropped him at the fork and stared at him coldly.

    "Reckon
the next time I set eyes on you, you'll be in chains."

    Mr.
Nettle swung the carriage around to sprint back to Sweetsmoke. Cassius began
his walk north. He passed the Chavis farm and saw Weyman far off in the field,
but this time he did not stop.

    Cassius
was obliged only once to show his pass on the road, and

    he
offered the one signed by Ellen Howard. The man reluctantly accepted it as
real, and Cassius had the impression that he could not read.

    By
midday he had arrived at his first destination. Ralph had described the
location of his isolated one-room shack, and Cassius had no difficulty locating
it.

    Ralph
gave him food and, despite Cassius's objections, insisted he sleep there that
night, as he anticipated a full day's ride. They would leave in the morning.
Although impatient to begin, when the thunderstorms arrived, Cassius was glad
they were not on the road.

    Cassius
told Ralph as little as possible, but he did say that he wanted to get to Lee's
army. Cassius asked about Shamburg and the Underground Railroad. Ralph told him
that he was not likely to see that town as he was to travel in a different
direction altogether if he was to find Lee.

    Ralph's
roof leaked under the aggressive storm until the interior smelled of wet lamb's
wool and something musky. The raucous thunder habitually stomped at the very
moment Cassius was nodding off, so he slept poorly and woke ahead of the sun.
Ralph, however, was not a man to be rushed. He had waited most of his life to
be free, and reveled in the languid pace of his current existence. He woke late
and ate slowly. He owed speed to no one, and made no apologies for his torpor.

    They
set out under a strong sun, Cassius staring at Carolina's backside as she
pulled them. They avoided the large milky brown puddles, staying to the center
of the road as trees dripped on both sides. The road gradually dried, but the
journey was not unpleasant as the coating of rain kept dust to a minimum. By
nine o'clock Ralph informed Cassius they had left the county. Cassius
considered the journey ahead. He had memorized the maps, but lines and shapes
and names could not prepare him for reality. From here on, the world would be
unfamiliar. He could not control the large things, so he concentrated on the
small. He would not use Ellen's pass again, trusting Shedd's wisdom, and hoped
the forged passes would suffice. He had filled them out with planter names that
he hoped would be common throughout Virginia, names like Johnson and Smith,
fudging the signatures so that they would be tricky to read. He thought to
affect a stutter if questioned, in hopes that any slave catcher or patroller
would suggest a local name out of impatience. He did not need to implement his
plan on this day, however. They passed farms, travelers, villages, and just as
in the journey to the train trestle, Ralph was known. Cassius glanced at Ralph
to view him from a white's point of view. A fat, grizzled old uncle, salty
haired with silver stubble defending his chin and cheeks who would bring next
to nothing at slave auction. They would not know he only pretended to rejoice
when seeing this or that fool, and that he mumbled insults through his smile.
Cassius was initially unaware of his words, but after he'd heard the quiet
mutterings a half dozen times, he leaned in and caught the nodding grinning
remark about "waistcoat can't hide that watermelon abdomen, Alistair y'old
peahen," and Cassius laughed out loud. Alistair glanced back over his
shoulder and Ralph looked at Cassius as if he'd gone brain simple on the spot,
and he urged Carolina forward and did not mutter again.

    Cassius
gauged the sun and estimated they had reached the noon hour. That meant the
halfway mark, assuming Ralph was correct. They approached a small town nestled
among a dense cluster of trees, a white church spire jutting from the middle of
all that green, and as they rounded an elbow in the road they came upon a black
man swinging by his neck from the stout branch of a white oak. He had been
hanging a few days, his corpse bloated and gray, a sad swaying message to
someone somewhere. Then Cassius started because the man's eyes moved. He leaned
forward as the buckboard crawled closer and saw it was just the flies vying for
position inside the man's eye cavities. He stared at the man, his whole head
turning as they passed by, but neither he nor the swinging man uttered a word.

    "Martin,
of Orchard Bloom Plantation," said Ralph. "Good worker."

    You
knew him?

    "Well
enough."

    Cassius
twisted around in his seat to watch the man grow smaller behind them.

    "Ran
one too many times."

    Had
to be worth something if he was a good worker, said Cassius.

    "Ran
so many times they ended up payin the catchers and paddyrollers more'n he was
worth. Nothin more than a business decision."

    They
rode through town. A hand-painted sign with black letters dripping into the
grass leaned against the side of the church: "God Loves You." Cassius
looked at the men and women engaged in their daily affairs and thought the sign
was intended for them. He wondered which of the dapper gentlemen owned the
swinging man, which one of them insisted Martin remain squeezed at the neck
dangling. He wished to punish them for their casual capricious greed. He
surprised himself, knowing that just a few months before he would not have
imagined such a thing—as a slave he had endured in silence the horrors
perpetuated by white men, and yet here he contemplated retribution. He was
different and he did not know if that change was for the good.

    Ralph
stopped at the railroad tracks on the far side of town, out of the shade of
trees and beside a water tower.

    "This
is it."

    Thought
you said it would take all day, said Cassius.

    "All
day for me. I got to get back," said Ralph. "You wait. Train'll be
along soon enough."

    Wait
here?

    "
'Less you care to walk. Long way to Gordonsville. Train'll make it a good deal
easier."

    Why
would it stop for me?

    "Wouldn't.
Stop for water." Ralph pointed at the water tower. "Talk to the boys
in the freight cars, they likely help you."