The Cottoncrest Curse (19 page)

Deeper and deeper they plunged into the field. The rain had made the soft delta dirt a sea of mud, but still the fire blazed on. They could hear the pounding of horses' hooves behind them, and ahead they heard the crackling of the fire. Marcus and Jake could feel the heat as one long sugarcane leaf after another was burned away, leaving only charred but intact stalks.

Marcus moved with remarkable speed across and through the high furrows, sliding on the mud, pushing aside a stiff curtain of plants here, ducking low there to avoid the roiling smoke. Jake stayed close behind him.

The sweet smell of burning cane foliage was everywhere, mixed in with the acrid smoke. The leaves were sharp and could cut you if you were not careful. The ashes fell around them, and embers drifted down like a storm of red snow, stinging whenever they found skin. The smoke penetrated their handkerchiefs and filled their lungs. Their mouths were dry. Their throats ached.

Still they pressed onward. As they wove their way through the field, sometimes Marcus would step to one side to let a large snake slither by. Jake could hear the scurrying of panicked mice and rats trying to outrun the fire destroying their homes. Occasionally, two or three rodents would dart across Jake's path and sometimes across his boots.

Farther and farther they pushed into the field. Now the smoke was so dense they could hardly see. Marcus bent low and kept moving, sometimes on his hands and knees in the mud, but always moving. Jake had tied the bearskin that Rossy had given him around his neck like a cloak, but now it was dragging in the mud. Nothing to do about that now. He pushed it onto his back and crawled along behind Marcus. Their pants were soaked and heavy, now coated with the wet alluvial soil, but as long as they stayed low near the furrows, the smoke was not that bad. The leaves were near the top of the plants, and that was where the flames were concentrated. Only when a downdraft hit, or when the wind shifted, did the smoke curl along the dirt, rolling toward them in thick billows, only to swoop up and away again, leaving them coughing and spitting up black phlegm.

“
DAMN!!
” Tee Ray exclaimed, his horse rearing on the muddy road. The gray roan was not about to enter the burning fields. Its nostrils were distended in fear, and no amount of beating from Tee Ray's whip or prodding from his sharp spurs would compel the horse forward. Again and again, Tee Ray flayed the roan's haunches, drawing blood, and the horse reared high into the air in anguish and distress. Tee Ray simply yanked the reins harder and, beating the horse over the head with the whip, forced it back down.

The wind shifted. The smoke and embers now swirled around all the riders. Bucky raised his hands to his face to wipe his stinging eyes, and the moment his horse felt the reins go slack, it reared up. Bucky slid backward in his saddle, dropping the reins completely and grasping for the saddle horn. The reins fell to the ground. The horse, frantically pawing the earth, started bucking.

Bucky was bounced out of the saddle and came down hard upon it again. He groaned with anguish as his groin crushed down on the stiff leather. The horse reared again, and when it came back down, it lowered its head. Bucky, who had been hanging on to the saddle horn, now slid clear over it, over the horse's mane, and onto the ground, tangling in the reins. As Bucky fell over the horse's head, it reared up one more time, and now the reins looped themselves around Bucky's neck and arms. The horse's hooves came perilously close to Bucky's head, and Bucky tried to move away, but this only caused the reins to wrap around him more firmly. Feeling the reins entangled, the horse furiously flung its head up and down, trying to free itself, and started backing up, dragging Bucky along while the reins formed a leather noose that tightened around Bucky's neck. Bucky couldn't get his arms free. The horse was now in full terror mode, and it tried to jerk free, all the while backing up with increasing speed. Bucky's face was turning blue as he was dragged through the mud.

Tee Ray jumped off his horse. With his right hand he reached into his waistband and pulled out a short, rusty knife and, sawing at the reins, finally cut them. At the same time, with his left hand he roughly grabbed the bridle of Bucky's horse, holding on with an unyielding grip until the horse quieted down.

Bucky lay there in the ruts in the road, still entangled in the cut reins, gasping for breath.

Tee Ray shook his head in disgust at the sight. “Bucky, I'm gonna glue your seat to that damn saddle if you can't stay on it.”

Bucky slowly unwound the reins from his neck and arms and stood up. Mud from the road coated his already dirty outfit and matted down his hair. Thick gobs of it dripped off the knees of his pants and clung to his boots. “Thanks, Tee Ray, it was just…”

Tee Ray didn't even bother to listen. He swung his foot in the stirrup and climbed back up on his horse, considering the situation. The other eight Knights, high in their saddles, gathered around him, their horses obedient now that the wind had shifted yet again and the smoke around them had cleared.

“This is what we're gonna do,” Tee Ray announced. “Ain't no way that we can ride into that burning field, and followin' them on foot is just plain foolish. They could be anywhere in there. “Morgan,” he said, pointing to one of the Knights, “you ride up this road toward Cotton-crest. When you spot Jimmy Joe and Forrest, tell them what happened. Y'all divide into three groups. One group needs to ride each cane break, one needs to go to the back of the cultivations—back where we first set the fires—and patrol there, and the third needs to head back down this way. They can't stay in those fields all night; the smoke will get to them and force them out. You know, I think Marcus was going to try to sneak the Jew Peddler back to Cottoncrest to pick up his things and all them Jew knives. Well, they don't know that Raifer's got his whole chest of stuff and has taken it back to Parteblanc as evidence, but even so, they sure as hell now ain't gonna go to Cottoncrest, not with us out here. So, where can they go? They gotta go south. That leaves Little Jerusalem. And after that, Lamou.”

A nasty grin crawled across Tee Ray's face. “Come on, boys, we're gonna have some fun in Little Jerusalem. Gonna whip up on some niggers tonight.”

“I don't know how you did it. I been scared ever since it happened. When we found the Colonel Judge and Miss Rebecca, my skin was crawlin' like crawfish dumped in a boilin' pot, and my wits were as fidgety as a grasshopper, and yet there you was, calm as calm could be, doin' what had to be done, tellin' me and Marcus and Cubit and Jordan what had to be done. You was right. Everything you said. The things had to be moved right then. We did it. The room had to be rearranged before dawn. We did it. And all the while, you was out there in the middle of the night, traipsing who knows where to get them safe. How you stayed so collected, I don't rightly know.”

Sally walked slightly behind Jenny as they moved north along the river road, the soft rush of the Mississippi River in their ears. To the west the sky was red from the setting sun. To the south the sky was red from the fire in the cane fields. But ahead of them the sky was already dark. That was good. It was safer for them in the dark.

“It was you that stayed so collected when all this started, Sally. If it hadn't been for you, Rebecca would have been dead long before. Yet there you were, calmly telling all of us what to do.”

Sally brushed off the compliment. “That's nothin', nothin' at all. Weren't anythin' I hadn't done lots and lots of time before. But you? No one has ever done somethin' like that.”

“When you come right down to it, neither one of us had a choice.” Jenny readjusted her cloak as the temperature continued to drop. “We both did what had to be done because not to do it would have been worse.”

“Well, when I do what I usually do, I just get myself started and follow on through. But the other night I had the conniptions. My stomach was all tight like. And ain't none of us got no sleep, but at least we had things to do. Unlike you, at least we could stay in and around the big house, haulin' the stuff down the back stairs and breakin' it up and buryin' it, like you said. Ain't none of that won't ever be found. But you was up all night and gots to have traveled miles and miles before you got back. Must've half-run on your way back, from the looks of you. Yet, you got cleaned up so quick and seemed so calm that by the time Mr. Raifer and Mr. Bucky came out, you looked like you hadn't gone any farther than from Little Miss's room. 'Course, I don't want you to tell me where you went. Don't ever want to know that.”

“No, you don't. That's the only way you and Marcus will be safe. What you never know you can't reveal.”

“Lord, I was worried that if Marcus talked any longer to Mr. Raifer, he was goin' let somethin' about them slip for sure. You were right that we all gots to leave. It's for our own safety. And for their safety as well.”

“Hell, Tee Ray, there ain't no one here and ain't no one been here for a long time. Don't know how these niggers live—don't got hardly nothin' in their cabins. Nothin' worth takin' anyways.”

Jimmy Joe, his sandy hair blowing in the gusty wind, stalked out of Cooper and Rossy's cabin, a half-empty bottle of the Colonel Judge's bourbon in his hand. He paused to take another drink and then passed the bottle up to Forrest, who was sitting high on his horse, his saddlebags bulging with bottles. He knew that there were children who lived in Little Jerusalem, but there weren't no sign of them either. No toys. No blankets. No cribs. Hell, he had it up to here with children anyway, what with Maylene whining all the time about wanting to have kids. And now they had one, and what difference did it make? That kid was whining all the time, just like Maylene. It was like they was related. Sometimes he wished that the baby and Maylene both would just go away.

“Just like Cottoncrest, Tee Ray,” Forrest said, wiping his beard on his sleeve after taking a swig and passing the bottle on to the next rider. “The niggers done flee'd. What did we tell you. Ain't no one was at Cotton crest when we got there 'cept Little Miss, and she was just kind of dozin' in her chair in her room. None of them darkies around at all. They all had left the big house and are now prob'ly doin' whatever darkies do when they think ain't no one watchin'. So, we just ‘freed' these here bourbon and whiskey bottles that the Colonel Judge ain't got no more use for, just like you asked us to.”

Tee Ray rode his gray roan slowly around Little Jerusalem. The other men remained on their horses and waited for him to finish, not daring to do anything until he gave the instructions. To pass the time, they passed the bottle among themselves, each taking a sip and handing it to the next one.

The bottle finally reached Bucky, who brought it to his lips and, tilting it up too far, overfilled his mouth. The bourbon spilled out over the corners of his lips. Bucky tried to swallow quickly to keep the rest in, but it was too much. He began to choke, and the rest spewed out of his mouth. The other riders backed their horses quickly out of the way to keep from getting sprayed.

“Can't keep your seat in the saddle, and can't keep your liquor in your mouth, Bucky,” Jimmy Joe said with disgust. “Tell you what, you just stay on your horse far from me 'cause I got no interest in seeing what you can't keep in your pants.”

Forrest and the others laughed loudly.

Too loudly, Bucky thought. He'd still show them. They'd learn to respect him.

Tee Ray, hearing the laughter, came riding up, holding his old rifle. He wished he had taken his other pistol as well, but now it was too late. “Shut your gaps and stop callyhotting! Are you so liquored up from elbow crookin' that you can't see what's goin' on?”

“Them darkies are long gone, Tee Ray. We can see that.”

“Jimmy Joe,” Tee Ray shot angrily back at the huge, sandy-haired man whose forearms were as big as Tee Ray's thighs, “you don't see nothin'. Look over here.”

Tee Ray pointed to the hoes and rakes on the muddy ground. “Ain't no farmer, even a nigger farmer, just leaves their tools on their ground to rust, not with the rain that passed through here. And look at this garden. It was being tended to. Them tools ain't rusty, and they ain't muddy. Jimmy Joe, I know you got muscles, so why don't you use some of them to open your eyes. Come on. What do you see here?”

Jimmy Joe didn't need Tee Ray to be larkin' on him, but he took it anyway. There was plenty of liquor in his saddlebag for later on to forget his problems.

Jimmy Joe squinted hard in the dimming light at the spot on the ground where Tee Ray was pointing. “Mud. Lots of mud, Tee Ray. Deep ruts and stuff filled with water. That's what I see.”

Tee Ray, rifle still in hand, jumped off his horse, throwing the reins to Forrest to hold. “Your eyes ain't connected with your brain, Jimmy Joe? What's caused the ruts? Them is the ruts of a cart or a wagon. And them's fresh ruts. So, where's the wagon? And where's what was in the wagon? You said you looked in this cabin?” Tee Ray turned his back on Jimmy Joe and the others and walked into Cooper and Rossy's home.

Jimmy Joe slowly dismounted and, pushing down his anger, followed Tee Ray. Bucky, now seeing his tormentor, Jimmy Joe, brought to earth, dismounted as well. Bucky was not going to miss what else Tee Ray might say to the big man.

Inside the cabin was dark. It smelled of sweat and stench and old grease. The smoke and steam from too many meals had permeated the walls, giving off a slightly rancid odor. And although it smelled just like Tee Ray's own cabin, to Tee Ray it didn't smell the same at all. To Tee Ray, all the smells of Little Jerusalem were the smells of niggers.

Tee Ray lit a match and looked around for a candle. There was none. A forlorn-looking mattress lay on a crude bed frame in the corner. Tee Ray took his knife from his belt and made a long slash though the mattress ticking and, reaching inside, pulled out a handful of dried moss. He threw the mattress on the floor in the center of the room, on top of the loose dirt, and lit the moss that was spilling out. A small fire erupted, throwing off a musty smell but little illumination. Gray smoke curled through the cabin, drifting out the door and spiraling up the chimney.