The Cottoncrest Curse (9 page)

“Well, it ain't as if you and me hadn't talked about it first. You know that if I hadn't sent Cubit to go get Mr. Raifer first thing when we found those bodies, they'd be saying that us coloreds did it, and then there'd be hell to pay. No, you and me agreed, got to call the law in right away and let them handle it.”

Sally huffed and raised her eyes to the night sky. “When I was a little girl, I used to look at the stars and pray and pray that one day I would be free. Free of a place where all the slaves I knew had whip scars on their backs. My Grandma tried to join up on that Underground Railroad, but she was caught. Old Marse, on that plantation we used to live on, had her drug back behind a mule, her hands tied, and in front of everyone he had the overseer whip her until she couldn't stand. Then that overseer took a knife that he had heated red-hot, and he poked her eye out, tellin' her, ‘That's for lookin' to run away. You look to run away again, and you ain't gonna look no more.' ”

Sally shook her head in dismay. “And now we're free, and what's it gotten us?”

Marcus put his arm around her fleshly shoulders. “Well, it got you me, didn't it?”

Sally shook out from under his arm. “Don't you start in with your sparkin' now. You know what I mean. The Colonel Judge is dead, and we ain't gonna have a home no more. And all you want to do is… well, it's foolishness, just plain foolishness, when we got this big problem in front of us.”

“We always had this problem. At least for the last year. So, what was I to do? I think I did a good job of answering the questions Mr. Raifer asked without talkin' about that other problem even once.”

“Well, I'll give that to you, but that ain't sayin' much, is it? Why did you have to go and talk about that peddler man?”

“I was only answering the questions Mr. Raifer asked. He said he knows that Miss Rebecca, she always like to dress fancy like, and she like nice things, but she ain't been into town in Parteblanc in months and months, and the Colonel Judge ain't been doin' nothin' but runnin' into court, doin' his business, and goin' home. He ain't invited no one out in the longest while, not even Dr. Cailleteau. He ain't been to New Orleans or Baton Rouge in the longest time, and yet somehow he still got them fancy cigars that he smokes while he's on the bench. So, where's he gettin' all the things he and Miss Rebecca needs? That's all he asked.”

“And you got to go and answer him? Fool! You can't say you don't know? But no, you gone and done it now. You not only told him about that peddler man coming all the time here, but you told him about that peddler man speaking French to the Colonel Judge and Little Miss and En glish to Miss Rebecca and all.”

“I don't see no harm in that. That's what he did.”

“Sure he did. But you didn't have to go on about what they talked about. If I was asked, I would have said I don't know nothin' about what they was sayin'. But you, you gots to answer, don't you.”

“But Mr. Raifer asked. What was I to do? He knows I speak French.”

“But did you say they talked of this and that and then hush up? No. Did you say they talked about the weather and the crops and all and then hush up? No, not even then. Did you say they talked about politics and that there president who's come and gone and come back again, what's his name?”

“Grover Cleveland.”

“Yes, him. You could have stopped there, but you didn't. You said that they talked about religion a lot. Well, that was like honey on a cow's teat, weren't it? Then Mr. Raifer asks you all about that. And you told him.”

Jenny heard Sally going at Marcus good, but it hadn't disturbed Little Miss. She was sleeping soundly.

Jenny opened the French door from Little Miss's room and stepped out on the veranda that wrapped the house. She cautiously peeked around the front corner. No one was there. Jenny tiptoed to the back. Sally was still chewing on Marcus.

It was just as well that they didn't know where she was going. Sally was right. The less they knew, the safer they'd be.

Jenny took a deep breath and prepared herself. It was up to her now.

Bucky was having a wonderful time. Tee Ray could not have been nicer. Tee Ray had just bought him another drink. Tee Ray wanted to hear all that Bucky had to say.

It had all happened just as Bucky had imagined, from the moment he and Raifer had gotten to Cottoncrest. He was famous because he had seen the dead Colonel Judge and all. He had been where the curse had hit and had seen what it had done. People wanted to listen to him. They wanted his opinion on everything. He had shown them. He had become a real somebody.

“Yessir, Tee Ray. Me and Raifer, we investigated real good. Once the Doc headed back to town, we stayed a while and questioned Cubit and Jacob, but they didn't know nothin'. And we talked to Sally, and she don't know nothin'. But Marcus, well, that's a different story, ain't it.”

“Is that a fact, Bucky?” Tee Ray was solicitous.

Bucky could see that Tee Ray was hanging on his every word. Maybe the others weren't paying attention now, having gone back to their drinking and card games, but Tee Ray was still there with him, standing next to him at the bar. He could tell Tee Ray respected him for his investigation. “Fact for sure. We got Marcus talkin' good. Where was he during the night? What did he see? We all know that times is tough, but why is it that the Colonel Judge ain't had no one out and ain't had no wagons full of goods going to bring stuff to Miss Rebecca but the Colonel Judge always got fresh cigars? How did they get the stuff they needed all those months? Marcus, he told us everything. Everything!”

“And that,” asked Tee Ray, “explained the curse?”

“Marcus explain the curse? I don't think so. How can anyone explain the curse? It just is. But Marcus, you see, did tell us that the only white man that the Colonel Judge had let come see him and Miss Rebecca in the last year is that peddler man. You know who I'm talking about?”

“Yeah. Jake. The man with the cart.”

“Right as gold specie. Jake, the Peddler Man. Did you know that he speaks French?”

“Well, I figured as much, all that time he spends peddling down in Lamou.”

Bucky paused. He should have realized that everyone knew that the peddler walked a five-parish area, and that Lamou and the other Acadian villages were on his regular route. Of course Jake had to speak some French because a lot of those folks didn't speak En glish.

Bucky was not going to be deterred, however, and pressed on. “Maybe, but did you know
what
they talked about in French? He and the Colonel Judge?”

Tee Ray poured some more whiskey into Bucky's glass. “I don't speak no French, and you don't either. So, how was it that you know what they were talking about?”

That was more like it. Tee Ray needed him. Tee Ray needed to listen. Bucky would show Tee Ray. “We… Raifer and me… we questioned Marcus good. You know he speaks that French. Anyway, he said that they talked all about religion. Not just good Christian talk, no sir. They talked heaven and hell and lots of different religions. Religions that no respectable Christian could tolerate. The Colonel Judge had spent a lot of time at the Cotton Exposition when Cottoncrest was king of the cotton plantations, and he talked all about what he had learnt from them Chinese and Japanese and foreign folks about their religions, with lots of gods and no Christ or Virgin Mary. They were talking about how there could be so many religions and so many gods. 'Course, we all know that there ain't no god but Jesus, but them heathens don't know that. And then, Marcus said they even talked about…”

Bucky paused dramatically. He waited for Tee Ray to show the proper degree of anticipation. Tee Ray did. Bucky felt that he was really getting the hang of impressing people.

“Yes, Marcus said they even talked about those Jews what who killed Jesus. And you know what that Jake peddler told the Colonel Judge? Jake said he was a Jew and claimed that Jews didn't kill Jesus or use Christian blood in their ceremonies! Imagine that.”

Tee Ray was glad he had let Bucky prattle on for the last half-hour. It had been worth it. It was perfect. Sure, it could have been a curse. But you don't need a curse if you have a Jew.

That's because Jews are cursed.

The sky was clouding up by 10:00 a.m. It was going to rain by evening. If Jake didn't hurry, he was going to get soaked.

The wedding had been held at sunrise in Lamou's tiny Catholic church. The
cochon de lait
and
fais-do-do
had lasted all night, and everyone barely had time to get home, change into their church clothes, and walk to Sainte Clotilde sur le Rive before Father Séverin began. During the wedding itself, Father Séverin had talked about how love is perfect, like the perfect circle of the wedding ring, and how Jeanne Marie and Étienne were perfect for each other and would be bound until death by the perfect circle of Jesus's love.

Jake had been attentive throughout the service. When the congregation stood, he stood. When the congregation kneeled, he kneeled. He had let the Latin of the Mass wash over him. He was going to blend in wherever he was. Religion was something he never talked about to anyone. Anyone, that is, except the Colonel Judge, and the Colonel Judge knew how to keep a secret. And there were secrets to be kept.

After the church services he had offered his congratulations to the young bride and groom and to their families and started walking up the road, into the woods that surrounded the bayous, heading for the agricultural lands to the northeast. His cart, which had been half-empty before he had gotten to Lamou yesterday, was now full with the skins of deer, muskrat, beaver, and cougar. He had long snakeskins—brown water moccasins, black diamond rattlers, and the coral's red cross-bands bordered by yellow rings—all poisonous, all deadly, and all beautiful, stretched on boards and ready to be made into belts and purses and boots. It had been a full night of trading during the
cochon de lait.

Jake knew that if his father were still alive, he would be appalled. A Jew slaughtering a pig and joining in the eating of it! If his father had known what Jake would do, would he have had second thoughts about sending him away? Would his father have thought that being an involuntary Cantonist was better than being an enthusiastic violator of many commandments, including the ones on keeping kosher?

Eating a pig was not the worst commandment that Jake had broken, but Jake liked what his sister Leah had whispered in his ear as he was leaving:
Az me est chazzer, zol men essen fetten.
If you're going to eat pork, let it be good and fat.

At the church the white of Jeanne Marie's dress and of the lace around her puffy sleeves and on her collar reminded Jake of the white lace on the petticoats of all the women on the train.

White lace. It always reminded him of trains. Maybe because it had been his first train ride. Even then, he liked being around women, but after that ride, trains always bothered him and lace always excited him.

Woman after woman in the cars on the train. Petticoat after petticoat. He was twelve, and they were hiding him in their vast petticoats. He was crouching down, hugging their legs, feeling the warmth of their skin and inhaling their odors. The Czar's soldiers were checking the trains, looking for those trying to escape being made Cantonists, and the women had taken pity on him and had hidden him. Mile after mile, hour after hour, he had stayed there, trying not to make a sound, trying to ignore the aching in his legs and back and trying not to move.

With each jolt of the train, he feared that he would be found. Each time he heard a footstep in the aisle, his heart beat so hard inside his little chest that he felt it could be heard above the constant rumble of the wheels. Each time the whistle blew, he knew it must be a signal to someone about his hiding. When the train stopped at stations or for water or coal, he held his breath and tried to curl up tightly under the petticoats, hoping against hope that the soldiers would not ask the women to stand or move to the next car. If the women moved, he would be captured. Then the train would start again, but the fear would not subside. Soldiers were still on the train, watching.

The women around him talked and talked. They kept up a constant stream of conversation to amuse themselves and to make the soldiers think nothing was amiss. They spoke softly in Russian of their sisters and their families. Jake's heart ached as he thought of Leah and Beruriah. The women shared stories about children and parents. Jake tried not to cry thinking about how he would never see his parents again.

And through it all, the train rumbled on, and Jake's fear continued. The closer they got to the border, the more fearful he became, for the risks were increasing. His tiny frame ached from being contorted in hiding. Would the soldiers find him? What would they do when the border guards got on the train? Would the women have to leave at that point, and what would he do then? Could all the women be trusted? Would one of them give him away?

The belching of the coal engine. The clacking of the metal wheels against the tracks. The creaking of the cars as the train rounded curves. Train noises and escape. And fear. And inner courage. For Jake they all were united somehow.

Cooper was out in his garden, picking fall tomatoes and pinching the green, leafy suckers off the plants, when Jake rolled into Little Jerusalem. Cooper stopped, the muscles rippling in his massive arms as he held up a ripe tomato in his hand. “I've been done growin' the finest tomatoes you everest did see, Peddler Man. Sweet like a woman's kiss and moist as a woman as well.”

Jake halted his cart and stopped to mop his brow. “It's as big a tomato as I think I ever saw, Cooper. And it's as red as the face of a white man telling a lie so big even he's embarrassed after saying it.”