Sweetsmoke (49 page)

    Jacob
Howard, said Cassius. Never before had Cassius called him anything but Master
Jacob.

    Jacob
Howard squinted. "Cassius," he said, with unmistakable surprise.
"How have you come here? Did my father send you? You have come a great
long way."

    I'm
sent by your mother, said Cassius.

    "Cassius.
Of all people. And my mother, she is well?"

    Well
enough. Your father not.

    "My
father will outlive us all." Jacob looked around at the sad scarecrow men,
at the bodies being buried, at the weapons and horses. "That will by no
means be difficult."

    She
calls you home. Says you won't see him alive again if you don't come along.

    "I
may never see anyone alive again. I may not survive this day."

    I got
her letter for you, said Cassius. He pulled the letter out of

    Jacob's
old haversack. It was crumpled and stained with grease. Jacob took it and put
it into his pocket without opening it.

    "There
is a good place to sit over there," he said pointing. "We are close
to the river."

    They
walked until they came to a spot that gave Cassius a view of the wide Potomac
and sat side by side, a few feet from each other. Cassius had time to observe Jacob's
actions, and was taken by surprise. Jacob had developed a nervous twitch in his
right hand, and he blinked often. His shoulders slumped and he grimaced as if
he had chronic pain, but Cassius could not guess where the pain would be.

    "William
is dead," said Jacob, speaking of his personal servant.

    Thought
he might've become contraband.

    "That
thought did not cross his mind."

    You
know that? said Cassius.

    "Oh,
I knew William."

    Cassius
simply smiled.

    "Killed
at South Mountain a few days ago. Seems longer. If you wanted to, you—"

    No. I
won't be your body servant, Jacob, said Cassius.

    "No.
Will you join the contrabands?"

    Cassius
said nothing.

    Jacob
looked at the river through sleepy eyes.

    "So
my mother wants me home," said Jacob. "What an effortless
solution."

    Ought
to read her letter, said Cassius. She runs the plantation. Other planters don't
like a woman master.

    "No,
I reckon not," said Jacob, but he did not remove the letter from his
pocket. "I should read it and show it to my commanding officer and return
home at once, ride away from all this." Jacob smiled but his right hand
twitched with greater force.

    For
your father, said Cassius.

    "You
are the one who should be there for him, Cassius."

    Cassius
frowned.

    "He
had a great affection for you."

    Never
knew my own father. I do know it wasn't Hoke Howard, said Cassius plainly, a
simple declaration.

    "I
did not say you were his son, only that he looked on you with affection. Do you
remember Ahab?"

    No.

    "That
great bay? No memory of him?"

    No.

    "That
horse was to be given to me, and he let you ride him first."

    I
don't remember, said Cassius.

    Jacob
shook his head, an important piece of his history that was not important to
others. He thought for a while before he spoke again.

    "It
can be difficult to love your son at times," said Jacob. "You want
him to be some version of you, the best of you, but also something better, and
then he grows up to have his own mind, his own thoughts, his own opinions.
Tragic, really." Jacob smiled. "In his actions, his choice of words,
he continually reminds you of the parts of yourself that you wish to suppress,
the parts you deliberately avoid in the looking glass."

    Wouldn't
know. Didn't get to raise my son, said Cassius coldly.

    Jacob
looked at him with mild surprise. "No, you did not, did you? I have a son,
of course. He is a rank little turd, the very worst parts of his mother and
father and grandparents. I do not miss him."

    Jacob
stared at the river, and Cassius thought that he had lost his train of thought.

    "A
pet is something to love, a dog particularly. He loves you without opinion or judgment,
he does not speak to you indignantly, he does not confuse your affections with
foolish ideas and odd perspectives; he merely loves. I sometimes think of how
easy it was for my father to favor you, Cassius."

    Cassius
fumed at the idea that he had been Hoke's pet, and then he thought that this
was Jacob's justification, arrived at after years of resentment. Or maybe just
a way to get back at Cassius for Ahab.

    If
only he'd protected me from you, said Cassius, swinging back.

    "From
me? Was I also injurious to you, Cassius?" Jacob looked to be humoring
him. "How intriguing, that I might be as injurious to you as I felt you
were to me."

    You
only did what I expected. He could've stopped you.

    "What
you expected of me. Whatever it was must have been dastardly indeed, and yet
you don't blame me because it was in my nature," Jacob said, in wonder.

    Cassius
held his tongue, and fought to keep his temper in check.

    "Look
at you, Cassius. You would kill me if you could. Is that why you came
here?" Jacob did not sound concerned about the prospect.

    No.
Not to kill you, Jacob.

    "What
was it that I did that so angers you?"

    Young
Master Jacob fathered my son, who was sold to protect you.

    Jacob
laughed.

    Cassius
felt every expulsive bray of his laughter. He listened to it roll down the bank
and saw it embraced by the wide Potomac, carried downriver to coat the
Commonwealth of Virginia with a layer of mocking mirth.

    "That
is what you think? That I lay with Marriah? Poor Cassius. Marriah did not share
with you the truth. Your Old Master Hoke was the baby's father. I did not touch
her."

    Hoke?
said Cassius.

    "My
mother sold that boy so she did not have to confront daily her husband's moment
of weakness."

    Cassius's
thoughts reeled back. Hoke, in his moment of delusion, had said, "I killed
her," and Cassius had thought at first he referred to Emoline, then to
Tempie. But it had not been delusion. His torment was Marriah. His indiscretion
had led to his acquiescence in the sale of his infant son, and that in turn had
led to Marriah's self- slaughter, and Hoke bore that in self-loathing.

    Why?
said Cassius.

    "Have
you no looking glass, Cassius?"

    Cassius
was confused by the question and answered with a simple: No.

    "My
father admired you. You think not? You were strong and virile, things he
doubted in himself. He protected you in the way he wished he had been protected
by his father, and you repaid him with admiration. How I hated you. How little
he had left for me. Marriah was his way of experiencing your strength as his
manhood faded. You were strong and loyal, you made him feel loved, and he
craved more; he wanted more control."

    He
owns me, said Cassius with astonishment. He controls me.

    "That
is merely the law. This was deeper. He wanted your soul."

    I'm a
black man, a slave, said Cassius, a surge of rage overwhelming him. He wanted
more?

    "Yes,"
said Jacob. "The perfect compliment to you, as a black man and a
slave."

    They
were quiet together for some time after that. Cassius was about to stand up and
leave, but Jacob spoke again.

    "You
made a serious gamble with your life, coming here," he said.

    I
never bet more than I can afford to lose, said Cassius.

    Jacob
nodded, recognizing Hoke's words. "Spoken as a true Howard."

    Maryanne
waited until Cassius left Jacob behind at the river.

    She
carried a haversack in her hands and approached him.

    Why
do you follow me, what do you want from me? said Cassius unkindly.

    She offered
the haversack to him.

    Want
you should take this, said Maryanne.

    What
is it?

    Cap'n
Solomon's bag. Got his personals in there. Figured you know some way to get it
back to his widow.

    You're
staying.

    Stay
and be contraband with them Yanks, cook for 'em.

    Better
than Edensong.

    Maybe
one day get free.

    Cassius
opened the haversack, and among Whitacre's personal items he found a kerchief
with something wrapped inside. He brought it out and unwrapped it. A small
amount of jalap bindweed, old and withered, was revealed.

    That
what I think it is? said Cassius.

    Jalap
is what that be, said Maryanne. Cap'n use it regular. Ain't no more left after
that, didn't know where I was goin be findin more. Seem like I don't need to,
now.

    Don't
need to give it to his widow, said Cassius, returning the jalap to her, but
keeping the haversack. He had seen the quartermaster's wagons preparing to
return south, most of them empty, but some would carry the badly wounded and
limbless soldiers, those who would never fight again, to return them to their
homes across the Confederacy. Among those wagons he would find one that would
pass near Edensong, and with it, send Whitacre's belongings.

    Maybe
use it for someone else, said Maryanne, as she rewrapped the jalap and put it
in a pocket in her apron. Then she stared off with something on her mind.
Cassius waited for her thought to emerge.

    He
sure didn't look like much, said Maryanne.

    Your
captain?

    Lyin
dead like that, he sure didn't look like much.

    No.

    'Cause
of him is how I connect up with Emoline, said Maryanne, patting her apron.

    For
the jalap, said Cassius.

    That
first time I be lookin for some for Cap'n Solomon and heard 'bout Emoline in
town. She tryin to grow it in her garden, got someone else who use it, but she
done share a little with me. Not so easy to find, partic'lar this far north.
Hers be real scrawny and sad.

    Hard
to grow in this climate, said Cassius, nodding.

    Went
lookin for it in her garden that night, but it be tore out.

    What
night? said Cassius.

    That
night I seen you in the window. Looked there 'cause Cap'n Solomon be runnin
low.

    You
knew where she grew it in her garden?

    Sure I
did. Every bit of it pulled out, roots and all.

    Cassius
remembered the hole there, and he began to understand something that he did not
want to understand.

    It
was possible someone else had come along after she was dead and pulled out the
jalap plants. But why not other plants, why not harvest the whole garden? Why
just the jalap?

    Emoline
would not have pulled up all of her jalap at once. Her son Richard had not done
it; he was digging for her money. Gabriel Logue had not done it.

    At
that moment, Cassius believed that the one who had done it was her killer. He
had no proof, but pieces fit together for him, like a perfectly planed tongue
and groove. Whitacre might have done it, but then he would have had more than
enough bindweed and

    Maryanne
would not have needed to look for more in Emoline's garden that night. In a
sudden jolt, Cassius knew what he had to do.