Chapter Thirteen

    Cassius walked until the moon came up, at which time he moved off the road to sleep. He dreamed of Emoline moving through an open field, then suddenly flying with her legs and arms snapping off in every direction. In his dream, he combed the field to find each piece so that he could put her back together. He was awakened by a nudge on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to find Ralph standing over him. He looked around and saw that the place he had chosen in the dark, assuming it would be concealed from the road, was obvious to any passerby. They said nothing to each other and climbed into Ralph's buggy, and Carolina pulled without Ralph doing a thing. Ralph and Cassius exchanged a look. Cassius understood the question in Ralph's eyes and shook his head no.

    "Dead?" said Ralph.

    Cassius nodded. Ralph looked away.

    Remember the last day of June? said Cassius.

    "The day she died?" said Ralph.

    Remember what you were doing?

    "Same as yesterday. Same as tomorrow. Odd job here, odd job there. Want to know if I killed her?"

    No, said Cassius. He already knew the answer.

    Cassius stared off and then he was asleep and the next thing he knew, they had stopped. He roused to find they were close to the town near Sweetsmoke. He climbed down and thanked Ralph for his help.

    At the fork Cassius turned toward town walking away from Sweetsmoke, but he took the small road that ran around the town to reach the northeast section, and on the outskirts approached Hans Mueller's bierhaus. As he approached, he saw that Mueller had fashioned a sign, and Cassius took a moment to consider it. "Bierhaus." The letters were ornate, painted in a style of writing with which he was unfamiliar. The capital B was identifiable as a B, but was preceded by an outstretched bar at the top, a forelock perhaps, and there was a thick decorative bar parallel to the main ascender. The round backs in the B were made with straight lines that came to hard corners. This was all in imitation of a broad pen nib. The dot over the i was very nearly a diamond shape, again as if made by the slash of the same broad nib.

    Mueller had built his bierhaus as an extension of his home. Cassius stepped inside, into coolness and the sour urine smell of old beer, with a great deal of uncertainty about the reception he was to encounter. The room was long and narrow, furnished with two long tables side by side, both with equally long benches that in the old country might have encouraged conviviality and conversation.

    Cassius's eye was drawn to the intricate woodworking in the furniture, done in a style he found unfamiliar. In particular, he noted a clock on the wall. It was handmade in the form of a house, and on its face was painted a garden scene, chipped and worn, perhaps from travel. Around the entire clock house was elaborately carved latticework. He would have liked to spend more time, as carpenter and woodworker, examining it, but he turned his attention to the room. The sole patrons were two German men, one with a tall elaborate stein. They met his eyes, then turned away. Mueller was at the far end inspecting his glassware and when he saw Cassius, he took a step toward him.

    "You cannot be in here."

    I look for a man.

    "I am a man, so you have found one, now go."

    Not you.

    "As you see, just these gentlemen and no one else. Auf Wiedersehen."

    Cassius held his ground for a moment, and as he was about to back out the daylight behind him was blocked and the long room grew darker. He turned to see Gabriel Logue filling the doorway.

    "It appears to be my old friend Cassius," said Logue.

    I'm here to find you, said Cassius.

    "Once again you expected me?"

    Said so yourself. When in town, you're here.

    "Damned imprudent of me. Why'd you think I'd be here on this particular day?"

    Hoke said, and I hoped you weren't gone.

    "I thought your master was indisposed."

    Said he had to meet the angel. I thought he meant death. Then I knew he meant you.

    Logue nodded and Cassius detected a thaw. "Well sit down, then."

    Cassius hesitated. This was not proper. Even if Logue insisted he was under his protection, this was likely to turn Mueller against him, and Mueller was a patroller.

    "Oh, go on, have a sit down, don't worry about Mule, he won't say nothing, will you, Mule? Care for a beer?"

    No, said Cassius. That would antagonize the German unnecessarily and he knew he would need his wits later on.

    "Fair enough. Just me, Mule. I take any and every opportunity to indulge."

    Mueller tapped Logue a beer and brought it, foam still building as he set it down. The head rose dense and creamy and finally boiled over the side, touching the table as a golden puddle. Mueller gave Cassius a wintry look, and Cassius pretended not to notice. It was done now, he had a new adversary with which to deal.

    "They call this Teutonic swill a lager. I'm a porter man myself, but I'm damned if I won't develop a taste for it, as my beer here is gratis."

    Cassius nodded, but still kept an eye on Mueller walking to the far end of the bar. Mueller's son, perhaps fifteen years old, blond and very pale, came in the far door. Cassius did not remember the boy's name, but he remembered that the boy was brain simple. He offered a large bowl to his father. A moment later, the pleasant smell of fresh baked goods reached Cassius.

    "Mule and me, we got an arrangement; I deliver certain items from the North for him and he affords me a home away from home and a ready supply of piss juice." Cassius decided that this was not Logue's first lager that morning, as he was surprisingly talkative. "Mule doesn't get a lot of customers, so he supports himself trading my wares. Anything you need, you'll do better here than the dry goods."

    I think you made him my enemy.

    "Mule? Nah, he's all right."

    Cassius said nothing and Logue looked up to see Mueller approaching a second time, setting down a bowl deliberately in front of Logue. Logue pushed it toward Cassius, and he saw what appeared to be thin sticks of bread. Mueller stared at Cassius with grave malevolence.

    "Well. I could be mistaken," said Logue.

    Cassius kept his eyes on the objects in the bowl.

    "Pretzels, try one. German food. Also got a thing called sauerkraut, damnedest food you ever ate."

    Mueller went off to the far end of the room, but Logue waved him all the way out. Mueller looked at him coldly, but he took his son by the arm and they both left. Logue did not care to be overheard. Cassius looked at the two Germans who remained. He met Logue's eyes.

    "Forget 'em, those boys don't speak English. By the by, in a minute that clock is going to announce the hour," said Logue.

    Cassius looked at the clock and saw a small door come open, built in under the clock's roof but above the clock face. He heard the wooden mechanism whir as a tiny carved bird poked its head out.

    In unison and without emotion the two Germans said, "Koo-koo, Koo-koo." The bird pulled back into the clock and the door closed.

    "Cuckoo clock," said Logue. "Had a little accident on the way over from the old country. Everything works but the bellows, so the bird doesn't sing."

    It's all carved? said Cassius.

    "German farmers do 'em in the winter, or so they tell me. What else is there to do when you're snowed in?"

    Every moment brought some new thing, and Cassius understood he had entered another world, so near to his home.

    "If you're here, you got something for me," said Logue, and Cassius saw him distracted and decided that his early morning drinking, his willingness to talk, and his hearty warmth were disguising something that disturbed his mind.

    You got some sort of trouble? said Cassius.

    "Me? Hell no. Me?" He sipped his beer. "Naw, nothing important."

    Cassius left Morningside's papers in the haversack and waited. Out of nowhere, and to Cassius's surprise, Logue spoke up.

    "You know anything about women, Cassius?"

    Cassius's head came up straighter.

    "I'm damned if I know what to do about this, me, a married man."

    Of all things, here's something I didn't reckon, said Cassius, fighting back a smile.

    "Just got a letter from my wife, caught up to me, or I suppose I caught up to it since no one knows where I am, and at first I was glad to have it, until I read the damn thing."

    How odd, thought Cassius. He is about to tell me about his wife.

    Sorry to hear it, said Cassius solicitously. She got someone else?

    "Someone? No, hell no! She doesn't want to end the marriage. God knows she couldn't afford it. No, she's offering lessons on manners. In a letter. Napkins and soup spoons and, and etiquette! Haven't seen her in eight months. Etiquette!"

    I see, said Cassius.

    "No sir, you do not. My wife is from one of those fancy waistcoat families up in Massachusetts. First time I saw her, Jesus wept, what a pretty little thing, like she stepped off a cameo, never imagined anything so dainty could walk and talk. And I fell for her, damn fool, I did, I mean she was a great challenge for a man like me. Acted unimpressed and above me, my own damn fault for taking it like a red flag in front of a bull. What pride won't do to a man."

    But then you caught her, said Cassius.

    "I chased her, but I did not catch her, no sir." A fine and healthy eructation gathered in Logue's belly, he fought it down, but it finally climbed through his chest and up his neck and escaped loudly. Cassius thought he could detect in the air a mist of lager.

    But you said she was your wife, said Cassius.

    "I got snared, Cassius. Snared. Walked right into it. A trap is what it was."

    Cassius did not understand why Logue was telling him this. Unless it was similar to the way planters spoke indiscreetly in front of their people.

    "I had a reputation by then, honed it myself to scare folks, get their respect, but I didn't think it could be used against me."

    You named yourself The Angel Gabriel? said Cassius.

    "Very nearly The Archangel, but then I thought that was a might ostentatious."

    Cassius was amused to discover Logue's moniker was self-christened, but not surprised. He was now convinced that Logue had also never killed a man.

    "That delicate little thing knew that someone with my reputation would need to claim such a prize, that was her trap, but she understood something else. She understood that I was the prize because I have the gift; I know how to make money off this good land. Her father came from old Europe and the old fool squandered his inheritance in bad deals. Only thing left of the family fortune was their manners. You are looking at the one and only breadwinner of my wife's noble ancestral clan."

    That's power, then.

    Logue slammed his fist on the table. "Now you'd think so, would you not? But all I get is disapproval. Money buys a seat at the table, and the right to follow their rules. I try, though. I try to use all those good manners. And now, refresher lessons in a letter."

    She thought it easier to change you than learn how to make money, said Cassius.

    "That precisely." Logue leaned in close and spoke conspiratorially. "You're around them, Cassius, tell me what to do."

    Around them?

    "Planters, rich folk. People with manners and culture, how do you deal with 'em, how do you handle 'em?"

    Angel Gabriel, said Cassius, hiding his smile.

    "Yes?"

    The Angel Gabriel.

    Logue sat back and cocked his head. "All right, I see where you're at. I got the reputation, I got the money, why not just let her and her kind have it?"

    Why don't you?

    "I guess I love her."

    Ain't that a funny thing.

    "Don't know what to do about it."

    Maybe that's all you can do. "What?"

    Love her, said Cassius.

    Logue sat up. He nodded and a light came into his eyes. "Show the woman that you love her and then maybe you don't need to change and get all fussy and grow manners. Love makes up for all that. I do believe she will like that. I knew you were the man to talk to. You certain I can't get you that beer?"

    No beer.

    Cassius reached for Morningside's papers in the haversack. But as he was about to reveal them, he said:

    Why did Emoline lie about Hoke?

    "Emoline lied about Hoke?"

    She said Hoke came to her bed the first time when I learned that in fact she went to him.

    Logue smiled. "Emoline was smart. Hoke took special care of her after that, which I think she counted on. Emoline knew, of all things, how to survive."

    But why lie to me about it? said Cassius.

    "Seems obvious enough to me, Cassius. Vanity. She did what was necessary, but when she got what she needed, she wanted to be seen as above it. She liked how you saw her. It was how she wanted to see herself."

    Cassius had not considered that as a possibility, but it made good sense to him and after a moment's thought, he was relieved to have the secret explained.

    With a smile, he laid Morningside's papers on the table. Logue looked them over, then looked up at Cassius.

    "Where did you get these?"

    You know what they are?

    "Of course I know what they are, they're from Morningside," said Logue.

    Cassius nodded. Logue had pretended that the members of the spy ring were unknown to one another, so everyone was protected, and yet the name Morningside was on the tip of his tongue. Cassius appreciated the man more every time he saw him. Logue looked at the documents closely.

    "This tells us Lee's movements. Indirectly, but it gives us everything we want to know, as it says where supplies are being directed. Good information. It would have been a boon for the Union brass… three weeks ago. This is old intelligence. When it's past its time, it's useless."

    Your man died for it. He was far gone as it was.

    "You continue to be the bearer of bad news."

    I saw him. Starving and talking crazy.

    "Tell me he died of starvation."

    No, Whitacre's ambush. Shot dead.

    "Did you lead Whitacre to him?"

    Whitacre was there before me.

    "Then I have less time than I thought. I will endeavor to skedaddle, although I can't leave until tomorrow the earliest. I reckon that allows you to feel somewhat more contented."

    Why contented?

    "With your murderer revealed."

    Not Morningside, said Cassius, genuinely mystified.

    "Of course not. Solomon Whitacre killed Emoline."

    Whitacre?

    "He's on to us, removing us one by one. I won't underestimate him again. He'll come next for me."

    Cassius felt a chill crawl under the crust of his back. It all came clear to him. He thought back and in his mind the pieces fit together. Whitacre. Of course. It made perfect sense. Maryanne had said that she and Whitacre were in town the week, no, the very day Emoline was murdered. He had only considered Maryanne as a possible culprit. Strange that Whitacre had not entered his consciousness. But there it was. Whitacre had been ordered to expose the spy ring.

    While Cassius did not experience emotional satisfaction in the knowledge of Whitacre's culpability, rationally he knew it was right. It seemed that Whitacre had not bothered to give the order, but had carried out her death himself. It fell in with what Cassius knew of Whitacre's nature, a man of bluster committing a cowardly act, attacking a female spy from behind. Cassius pictured him bragging to his men that he alone had destroyed the key to the spy ring. Cassius looked at his hands with grief. He had been close to Emoline's killer and had not realized it.

    Whitacre said he's returning to Lee. He won't come for you, said Cassius.

    "He said that?"

    To his men.

    "He caught you?"

    No. I overheard. Said Lee's taking the fight north, an invasion.

    Logue's expression changed and he sat forward. "That is good information. He said those words?"

    Close to them.

    "I thank you for that, Cassius. That is news I can carry."

    I heard a man speak once of the rascal's uncomplicated life.

    "I did say that, did I not? Can't seem to help myself."

    Cassius's gloom consumed him. His sense of hope slipped away.

    If Whitacre's her killer, then I've lost him, said Cassius.

    "You, Cassius? No, I think you will find a way. In time, Whitacre will return to his wife and family. You will have your chance then."

    Not before year's end, at Yule celebration, and he anticipates a command so probably not even then. How would I get to him otherwise, he is an army captain, always surrounded by his men. And what am I? Just another man's property.

    "Maybe someone else will carry out your revenge for you. Some Yank with a musket."

    I made her a promise and failed.

    "You carried it a good long way, Cassius, longer than any reasonable man could expect."

    Cassius snorted at the idea that he might be perceived as a reasonable man.

    I got to ask you a favor, said Cassius.

    "Ah, Cassius, I'd take you along but now I got to travel in a different manner. Under other circumstances you could be my body servant, but not this time."

    No, something else.

    Logue smiled. "A favor from a smuggler? A favor from a dangerous man? A favor from the Angel of Death?"

    Yes.

    "I am all ears."

    Emoline's money. Take it and buy her daughters.

    "And I had such high hopes for you."

    Give them their free papers. What hopes?

    "I imagined you would keep that money, and here you prove me wrong. All along you wanted those girls to have their manumission papers. You're not dishonest enough to be a smuggler, Cassius. We will have to work on that."

    Will you do it?

    "You would be wise not to trust me."

    Will you do it?

    Logue was motionless as he thought. Then he nodded his head once. "I will find a way."

    Then I will trust you up to that moment and distrust you after.

    A sparkle passed through Logue's eyes.

    "I will miss you, Cassius."

    You don't ask the amount.

    "No need. I had a look," he said with a gleam. "There may be enough if I do it right."

    Thank you, said Cassius, and his sincerity was evident.

    Cassius walked back from town, leaving the road well before Sweetsmoke so that he could approach undetected through forest. He had not realized that he had been away from the odor of the tobacco until he returned. It coated the back of his tongue and brought back the hard memories, but he forced it all aside. He went to his cabin, the quarters empty but for dogs and chickens, as the hands were in the field and the small children were up in the big house yard with Nanny Catherine. He ate from his rations and washed, then walked the lane to the carpentry shed.

    With everything he had faced on his journey, he knew that he now faced the greatest danger. If he had not been missed, then he would go on with his daily life. If anyone knew he had been gone, there was little he could do. He would face dire consequences and perhaps the loss of his life. Confronting this stark possibility, he wondered why he had not done the same as Joseph. Once at the railroad trestle, he was well on his way out of the county. He had been unprepared to travel farther, but others had escaped knowing less.

    He desperately wanted freedom and yet he had come back. What happened to his obligation to Emoline if he was unable to finish her justice? Accept defeat and run. And yet he had come back.

    He gathered tools and went to the yard so that he might be seen.

    The bantam rooster saw him first and lifted up on his toes, then ran fussing in the other direction. Cassius entered the yard and set down his tools by the wooden fence that he had repaired weeks before. Charles came out the front door and down the steps and he saw Cassius and stopped cold. Cassius stood tall and gave him a full look. Charles did not react at first, but Cassius saw the telltale surprise in his eyes, and at that moment he knew.

    Charles ran triumphantly back into the big house, yelling that the runaway slave Cassius had been returned.

    Cassius did not move from the spot. After a moment Ellen emerged gripping the bullwhip, spindle fingers white with tension. He saw the blaze of righteousness in her eyes, and the whip slowly unfurled from the handle in her hand, stretching down to her feet, and continuing its slow roll down the wood stairs, shaped by each individual step, until it laid its abradant head upon the dirt to wait, a swollen snake with a twitch. Charles leaned to see around her skirts.

    Her voice came out strained, spit chasing the words. "Cassius, you vile, you treacherous fiend! You ungrateful whelp! Go to the post directly and remove your shirt, someone secure him, two days missing, two days!"

    Cassius faced her with manifest calm, but he could scarcely hear her words for the roaring in his ears. Ellen had tied Marriah to the post and whipped her savagely and left her bleeding in the cold. But when Cassius did not move, Ellen hesitated, and in that moment Cassius understood that Hoke still lived. She was a powerful adversary and she held every card but one: He was still, in her eyes, Hoke's particular property. He had known the risks when he left the plantation, had known that this moment might come, but now that it had, it was worse than he'd anticipated. His life dangled by a thread. His reply needed caution and patience, and even then he saw little hope to elude her fury.

    Quashee came from deep within the house, framed by the front door, and he saw terror course through her like a disease in the blood and his hope was further undermined. Up to that moment he had thought he could take his whipping, but right behind Quashee stood Pet with her delighted vengeful eyes. Peripherally he saw Mam Rosie come from her kitchen, and he turned his head to see her stop suddenly as if she had lunged against the limit of an invisible rope. He recognized her inner struggle, stay or go, bear witness or shrink from the abject humiliation of another human being. She stayed, as he knew she would. Cassius also knew that from now on his audience would only grow.

    "Get to the post and strip, or by God I will lash you where you stand!" said Ellen.

    It's true, Missus Ellen, I was gone, said Cassius and he was surprised to hear strength in his voice.

    His comparative calm fanned the flames of her outrage. "How well I know that! Nettle inspected your cabin and the shed, you slept in neither! We sent a man to the clearing, you ran from Sweetsmoke, you cannot escape this!" She came down the steps, whip throbbing, optimistic snake. "Charles saw you creep away in the night."

    Master Hoke didn't want you to know where, said Cassius.

    She slapped him ferociously and the sting bit into his cheek like white-hot needles. "With my husband upstairs, I command this plantation, and I will know what he knows!"

    Quashee wavered in the door. Mam Rosie covered her mouth with both hands. Nanny Catherine arrived with Mrs. Nettle and the children, and then Genevieve and Anne came and he was surrounded. Every one of them wore an expression of glowing anticipation. His degradation would be a circus act performed for women and children. He was convinced that escape was impossible; her indignation had grown so immense that she could not back down. A massive urge welled up inside him, to grab and choke her, to batter her physically if only for the small dignity he would gain by giving willful cause for his humiliation. He repressed the urge, but his temper was alive in his arms, pumping into his palms and fingers.

    I'm loyal to Master. And you repay me with stripes, said Cassius softly, but inside his head, where the blood rushed hard, his voice chimed.

    "What is between you?!? Some satanic connection? What is it about you that entrances my husband? What, tell me what!

    The exertion of her words exhausted her. Deep bruises encircled her eyes, and he knew she had not slept. He pictured her sitting beside her husband hour upon hour, praying that he might emerge from his fever, and Cassius knew her fatigue fed the blaze of her outrage.

    Master Hoke sent me so you would face no danger, he said. The words came easily and surprised him as he had not anticipated them.

    "Me face danger?"

    I told him you're strong, that you can do what needs to be done, but he would protect you.

    The urge to attack her grew and he feared he could not control it. And yet words came easily, as if from another.

    "Then you tell me, Cassius, you tell me what needs to be done," said Ellen fiercely, but her grip on the bullwhip eased and the snake exhaled in the dust. "You tell me what my husband would not!"

    Pet angled her head, her eyes losing their smile. She too felt the change, and Cassius's overwhelming compulsion to strike out took a small step back.

    Master Hoke sent me to see a man.

    "How could that be? Who would meet with you?"

    The Angel, Missus Ellen.

    "Oh Lord," she cried out with full understanding. "Oh my dear sweet Lord."

    For Sweetsmoke.

    "The smuggler, dear Lord, I thought that was ended."

    You thought me a runaway?

    "No, I—After Joseph I did not know—And then Charles saw you steal away in the night, so I was certain of it, and Mam Rosie confirmed it, saying you had told her. But here you are, so how could you be running? Everything around me is intolerable and bewildering, everything."

    Master Hoke can't meet with Gabriel Logue. It falls to you.

    "You tell me it falls to me? You tell me my business? You? One of my people?"

    She spoke as if the decision had been made without her consent and she was forced to accept it.

    Mr. Davis's government would trade worthless paper for your crop. Gabriel Logue will make a fair arrangement.

    "I cannot. No. It is impossible; I cannot speak to that odious man."

    I got no authority and Master Hoke not able.

    "Mr. Davis's government," she said shaking her head. "You sound exactly like Mr. Howard."

    Ellen Howard was disgusted that she was obligated to take action, and further disgusted that one of her slaves compelled her to that action. She did, however, understand that Cassius was correct. With Hoke indisposed, she needed to rise to every call of the Master's responsibilities, including distasteful decisions necessary to maintain Sweetsmoke's survival. She considered whipping Cassius anyway, if not for the bold expression on his face, then for the fact that he perpetually took liberties. He needed to be reminded that if an idea was to enter the mind of a slave, the threat of punishment would be its eternal partner. But while she had the strength to plan his punishment, she had not the will to follow through. She thought to call Mr. Nettle from the fields; he would be glad to exercise the whip. But that thought fled as a familiar twinge grabbed her hip and she slid into the place of discomfort only laudanum could relieve.

    Cassius had seen the moment of danger flare back up and then recede, and he knew it was done. He breathed deeply and his breath pressed through him like fingers digging into hidden places he had given up for dead. He looked past her at Charles hanging on to her skirts and then at Pet in the doorway, and as he came back to life he smiled at them both. Charles looked as if he had been properly disemboweled, and Pet slipped away into the cool darkness of the big house. Only Quashee exhibited relief, her mouth open to welcome oxygen, her back leaning hard against the doorjamb. Nanny Catherine scuttled off with her charges like a hen shepherding chicks, Ellen's daughters wafted away, and Cassius turned to Mam Rosie. He was not surprised to find that she was no longer there. She had told Ellen that Cassius had planned to run when Cassius had been careful to tell her nothing.

    The gentleman is at the bierhaus, Missus. Best you be going this afternoon, as you won't find him tomorrow.

    Ellen nodded, her revulsion now complete as she would need to enter the German section of town.