Chapter Nineteen
Ellen Howard was distracted from her calculations in the plantation's ledgers by movement out the window of the study. She saw her husband wandering in the yard and she watched him as he shuffled along. He walked with his head pressed forward, as if his curious mind wished to hurry his slow, stiff legs. She saw that he again carried, in the pocket of his coat, the September newspaper that reported Lincoln's address, delivered at Sharpsburg a week after the battle. Lincoln had made a proclamation in that speech, calling for the emancipation of the slaves. Ellen was convinced that Hoke did not comprehend the contents of the newspaper, as he now saw the world around him more simply, but he had discovered it was quite pleasurable to carry it on his person. When he was around the servants, he would draw forth the newspaper from his pocket and hold it up. The house people all responded with smiles and nods. He took pleasure in their reactions and repeated the exercise time and again until the house people made excuses to escape. She had initially believed that they humored him, but grew to understand that they knew precisely what was in that newspaper, despite the fact they could not read it for themselves. Ellen wondered how they knew. She shook her head, the gesture reflecting her inner thoughts. It seemed there were many small mysteries concerning her people that she would never understand. Hoke now moved out of her sight and she returned her attention to the ledger, noting that she still held her pen in midair. The air was drying the nib, and she set it back into its well.
Her patterns had altered since Hoke's illness and the majority of her time was spent in his ground-floor study. She scanned the room, thinking again about adding something of her own personality to the furnishings, now that Hoke no longer haunted his former sanctuary. She missed the leisure time spent painting in the afternoons, and considered telling Pet to bring down a few of her finished watercolors to decorate the walls. The one change she had made was to put away, in a drawer, his fancy wooden boxes. She had never shared his affection for trinkets and collectibles.
She opened and closed her writing hand to release a cramp, then rapidly shook it out sideways. Her fingers collided with the inkwell, and blue ink escaped to form a puddle on Hoke's desk. She leapt to her feet, grabbing the ledgers and stepping back to save her dress, calling loudly for her servant. She kicked Hoke's chair out of the way with frustration, and the chair struck the side of the desk loudly.
Pet came quickly, and Ellen reflected that she had been alarmed by her missus's abrupt call and the subsequent thump. Pet saw the spill and pulled off her apron, dropping it over the ink to sop it up before it rolled to the edge and then to the floor. Ellen saw, as Pet mopped, that the ink soaked into the wood and would leave a stain. She noted the blue that discolored her fingers, something with which she had lived for months now, and imagined it to be permanent.
She thought ahead to the spring, hoping that by then things would have calmed down. After Lincoln's speech, other plantations had suffered runaways, but the patrollers and planters had responded surely and assertively, tracking down those bold few, bringing them back in chains and inflicting extreme—in one case fatal—punishment as a warning to all. No one from Sweetsmoke had run, not yet. But rude anticipation was in the air of the quarters. Something in the world had turned on that day, or maybe it was the week before, when
Lee had given up his invasion of the North and come back to Virginia. Any talk of England and France recognizing the Confederacy vanished in that instant, as if Lincoln had wrapped the conflict in a moral imperative. But Ellen believed in Lee, and was ashamed by her shortsighted countrymen. Lee would regroup, Lee would reinvade the North. In due time, he would end the war, as he should have done in September. But what a shock it had been, she reflected, to learn that Lee was driven back at Sharpsburg, beaten for the first time. Her gaze was again drawn to the outdoors, through the window. November. The light was harsh, the dry leaves baked brown against the cold ground, the sun low in the sky, the afternoons rushing to a swift close. If she was to be in the quarters when the hands returned from clear-cutting, she would need to leave while there was still light. After the proclamation, she had increased her presence on the lane, to discourage any foolish notions in her people.
The business of running a plantation was beginning to suit her. Over the previous months, she had paid strict attention to the choices made by the other planters in their dealings, and had grown to appreciate their thought processes, adapting the ideas she found wise. Only occasionally did she view their decisions as inexplicable. Recently she had heard that Orville Sands, master of Philadelphia Plantation, had agreed to sell two female slaves to Gabriel Logue. These were the very two she had forced Hoke to sell to Sands years before, and she detested the idea of the daughters of Emoline Justice going free. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to dissuade Orville from making the sale. Now there was nothing to be done about it. But it had struck her as odd for business reasons as well; Orville was a rational man who valued his slaves, and as far as she understood, Philadelphia was not facing unusual financial difficulties. She also wondered what the Angel Gabriel planned to do with two females. He had impressed her as a man who preferred to be unencumbered by possessions, in order to facilitate his trade.
Ellen had also emulated Hoke's aura of command, particularly in the early days of her tenure, acting decisively to show Mr. Nettle her resolve and establish her power. She had purposely made an unpopular decision and returned Gus to the position of driver. Gus had seemed appropriately chastised after his demotion. In the past, Mr. Nettle had been lax with Gus. It now fell to her to control them both.
She sighed without realizing it, falling more deeply into reflection. Joseph, Savilla and Abram's son, had returned to work and now labored with the others to clear-cut the new parcel, the one to be planted in the spring. Joseph moved gingerly on his hobbled leg, but, in a bit of good luck, his work had suffered little. An image of his walk came into her mind, and it reflected Hoke, head forward, legs struggling to keep pace. The harvest had gone well, better than anticipated after the hornworm blight, and barring any unforeseen catastrophe, Sweetsmoke would roll along for the first half of the following year. She'd had a second tobacco barn built out of sight on the property, and a significant portion of the harvest cured therein so that it could not be requisitioned by Jeff Davis's government. She thought of Joseph functioning as the lead carpenter on that shed, and was reminded of an incident years before, when Shedd had run, and how quickly he had come to nearly full strength after his punishment.
She glanced out the open door, to the greeting room where Sarah swept down the stairs in her blue dress, her servant trailing behind. How well Sarah wore that dress. How thoroughly Sarah had taken charge of the household. She had stepped in to fill the void Ellen had left when Ellen took over Hoke's business. Sarah now managed the servants like the general of an army. It was as if she had stored up a fount of strength while lingering in her bed all those months. Anne simpered with discontent, chafing under her control, while Genevieve was beside herself with indignation. Ellen could not imagine why, as neither Genevieve nor Anne had shown the slightest interest in maintaining the big house. Perhaps it is my fault, thought Ellen. I encouraged Sarah, after all. But what a welcome surprise on that morning, when Sarah had risen, like Lazarus, from her bed, to join the household at the table, fully dressed with her hair carefully pinned. No one had spoken a word about it at the time, as if her presence were the most natural thing in the world. But afterward, out of Sarah's earshot, it was all anyone could speak of for a full week. And how Quashee had blossomed! As Sarah shouldered the household burdens, Quashee emerged as the predominant servant. Pet had tried, God knows, to manage the household when Ellen was in charge, but she was too clumsy, too easily distracted. Despite the graceful way Quashee instructed her, poor Pet now dwelled in a perpetual sulk, at loose ends.
Ellen ran her fingers along the side of the desk and happened upon a gouge. She bent to examine it with a scowl, realizing it was fresh and she had been the cause, at the moment she had thrust aside the chair. She closed her eyes in melancholy irritation. Hoke would no longer care about the degradation of his desk, but she remembered how he had loved it, how proudly he set his hands flat against it to feel the smooth wood, and she mourned the man who no longer existed.
Ellen became aware of a sudden bustle of activity and saw Sarah rush to the front door. Out the window, she saw the carriage returning from town, Beauregard arriving with the post.
She rose from her chair, her heart tinging high in her chest as it always did when there might be news. She feared that she would discover he had been dead for days or weeks while she had blithely continued her petty existence. She joined her family as they poured from the house and closed in from around the yard, Genevieve and Nanny Catherine, Mrs. Nettle and Anne, Pet and Mam Rosie, Quashee following Sarah, and even young Charles and the other children, all hungry for news. Hoke was not there, but he would come eventually, in his good time. Beauregard stayed on the buck-board's bench, holding Sam's reins, waiting for his missus to join them; he had been well trained by John-Corey. Sarah nodded to him as Ellen arrived, and he spoke:
Letter come from Master Jacob, Missus, said Beauregard.
"Let me have it, then," said Ellen.
She opened the envelope and removed the folded letter. Her entire family watched, and with so many expectant eyes upon her, she found herself moving more slowly than usual. She read his handwriting, Dear Mother, handwriting that was altered by a slight tremor. She imagined him less arrogant since he had gone to fight. It saddens me greatly to hear of my father's unfortunate accident. He was not coming home. Cassius had reached him, and he was not coming home. Her eyes flew down the page where she found excuses in a tone that rang hollow. At the bottom of the page, beneath his signature, in a rushed hand, she read the words Cassius was killed at Sharpsburg.
She looked up at everyone, saw their anxious eyes.
"He will not be coming home. Jacob will remain with his cavalry and fight on for his country, as is the right and proper thing."
A general sigh filled the air, a deflation of expectations, and already they began to move away, knowing the letter would reach their hands sometime later in the day, when they would have their own opportunity to savor Jacob's every word.
Ellen noted Sarah's reaction, and thought that, in her erect carriage, she expressed relief. It meant for Sarah that she would continue in her current position without the interference of a husband.
"He also writes that Cassius is dead," said Ellen.
She saw Quashee falter, saw Mam Rosie go to her, but then Beauregard stepped in to lend his support, leaving Mam Rosie stranded with her hands reaching. Ellen had not been aware of the connection between Quashee and Cassius, and she wondered when it had happened.
Ellen looked again at the words at the bottom of the page, and spoke aloud, but so that only she could hear: "So. He did not keep his promise."
The buckboard rolled down the road in the twilight, returning to the Chavis farm. He watched Weyman, drowsy on the bench, reins held lightly in his palms, and he thought to step out in front of the horse, but then thought better of it, as he did not want to shock Weyman into accidentally running him down. He stayed where he was among the trees, and as the buckboard moved past, he emerged and leapt up in the back, putting a hand on Weyman's shoulder from behind.
Dear Lord Jesus! said Weyman, shocked beyond reason that someone was behind him, and then shocked again to realize it was Cassius.
Good seeing you, too, Weyman, said Cassius.
What the hell're y'all doin, scarin old Weyman like that, gave me such a fright I ain't likely to recover.
See anyone else on the road? said Cassius.
Quiet out here. Jesus Lord, never thought to see y'all again, said Weyman.
Here I am, said Cassius.
Figured you for Canada.
Made a promise to come back.
Now that is the Cassius I know, y'all belong here, with me.
Picked up some things for you along the way.
Now, that is some good news, business been quiet. You got 'em now?
No, but get away tonight and we'll meet. Come to Emoline's.
Weyman looked over his shoulder at Cassius's face.
Maybe we could meet somewheres else, said Weyman.
Emoline's is best, nobody bother us there. Travel on foot, so you don't let your old Master Thomas know.
I don't know, Cassius, I ain't real comfortable with ghosts.
Never knew you to be superstitious, Weyman. Way I figure, she'll protect us.
Weyman considered, then nodded.
Good, said Cassius. I'll be getting off right up here, before you go around that bend. And Weyman. Don't say you saw me.
Don't say?
Not to Bunty, not to your Thomas, not to your Thomas's wife.
Why don't you want me to say?
You want I should give the goods to someone else?
No, I gotta have 'em, I won't tell nobody if that's what you like.
After tonight, you tell anyone you want, said Cassius with a smile, and he leapt off the back of the buckboard and was gone into the trees. He saw Weyman look around after him, and thought Weyman was questioning if Cassius had really been there.
Cassius settled to wait in the woods until it began to grow dark, then made his way toward town. He stopped at the little bridge and watched the motion of the water as it rushed by under him until the last of the light left the sky. When he could no longer see, he stayed awhile longer just to listen.
Cassius held a lantern in one hand and Emoline's pages in the other, with the page that diagrammed her garden on top. He looked at the hole in the ground where plants had been wrenched out, and on her map he confirmed it as the location of the jalap bindweed. He paused then, glancing at the names on the other sheets, and was reminded that Emoline refused to tell the fortunes of blacks; the burden and pretense of influencing the future was left to the whites. He folded the paper and replaced it in his pouch. He looked at the rows of vegetables and remedies, all dead or dying. No one had come to harvest her garden. They were all too superstitious. Her daughters would do it in the spring.
He went inside to wait.
Weyman came some time later, and he looked shaken. He had narrowly avoided the patrollers. They had been drinking and their moods were foul, hoping for trouble. He was concerned that he would encounter difficulty returning to the Chavis farm.
Don't worry about that, said Cassius. I'll fix it.
How you do that? said Weyman.
Write you a pass.
Write me a pass?
Been doing it for years.
Y'all can write?
Cassius nodded.
Read, too?
Read, too.
Don't that beat all, said Weyman. That some little secret you been keepin from Weyman. I could'a used you in my business.
Could be why I didn't say.
Speakin of business, what you bring back for me?
Left it outside, said Cassius.
Cassius led him to the garden and they stopped at the hole in the ground where the jalap had once grown.
Where is it? said Weyman.
This is it, said Cassius.
Ain't nothin here but a hole in the ground.
That's because I brought you a mystery.
This ain't funny, y'all. You got somethin for me or not?
You were getting remedies from Emoline.
What you on about, Cassius?
Something you couldn't remember. Started with one of the letters of the alphabet, what was it you said? "M," I think you said "M." But it wasn't "M," was it, Weyman?
I ain't followin.
It was "J."
Okay, it was "J." So?
Jalap bindweed. Sound familiar?
Maybe so. All right.
One more piece of the puzzle dropped into place, and Cassius knew a sadness expanding inside him.
She was growing it for you. Remember that? said Cassius. Sure I remember.
You pulled the whole thing out of the ground.
She didn't need it no more.
Because she was dead.
That right. She dead.
You pulled it out the night she died.
How you figure?
Knew you wouldn't get any more from her, so you took all you could.
Think I better get goin, said Weyman. What if the patrollers are still out there?
Weyman looked over his shoulder. He looked back at Cassius. Then he smiled.
This some kind of joke. I get it, Cassius. You messin with my head, look to see if you can get me in trouble. Yes, a joke. Let's go inside.
Cassius followed Weyman back inside Emoline's house, looking at the back of Weyman's head. Weyman moved to Emoline's favorite chair, the one she had slept in when Cassius was recuperating. Cassius stayed on his feet.
You had me goin there, Cassius. Didn't know what you were on about. No.
So you don't got nothin for me from up North, said Weyman. Not too many people in the world I care about, said Cassius. A girl back at Sweetsmoke. Maybe one or two others. Maybe even you. And Emoline Justice. I did care for her. She did more for me than just about anyone could want. Mended me, but you know that. Taught me to read and write. Even taught me a new way to think. You think we trust too much in hope?
Don't know what you talkin 'bout, said Weyman.
No, you don't. She gave me hope. Taught me to trust my own thoughts. And then you killed her.
Weyman's eyes went strange, he stood up from her chair and Cassius knew he was right. Something closed down inside of him. He crossed the room and stood over the stain.
Happened here, said Cassius. You hit her and she went down and bled.
You don't understand, said Weyman.
Help me understand, said Cassius.
She was wantin me to join her.
To join her?
She was spyin for the Federals. Bet you didn't know that.
I knew that.
Well, then you understand. She done ask me to help her spy, knew I got some freedom to move around, bein with Thomas and all. I said no, and she got mad.
She got mad, said Cassius.
Attacked me, said I know too much 'bout her spyin.
That little woman attacked you.
She done come at me, Cassius. If I hadn't'a killed her, she was gonna kill me.
She run at you backwards?
You fuckin with me?
Emoline was hit on the back of the head. You hit her from behind.
Weyman sat back down in her chair. He stared at Cassius and was smart enough to hold his tongue.
She never asked you to spy for her, said Cassius.
No, said Weyman.
She knew better. You couldn't keep your mouth shut if you were in a room full of bees. But you found out what she was doing.
Came for jalap, came in the door and saw her puttin stuff in a hiding place. She told me what it was.
She was proud of what she was doing, said Cassius, knowing that was consistent with what he knew of Emoline, a proud woman absolutely certain of her mission. Yes, he could imagine her telling Weyman about what he had seen.
Weyman looked off for a moment, then looked back up at Cassius.
I got it good here. You seen it. I live with whites, eat at the same table, sleep in the same house, work with 'em every day and I don't got to work no harder than Thomas. It's the closest I ever be to free. Almost like bein free, only we ain't never goin to be free, don't matter what that Lincoln says. This the only way I get a decent life. She was goin to ruin everything I got. I know what it like otherwise, I done picked cotton till my master died and I got sold to Thomas. I know what it was, and I know what it can be. I had to kill her, had to stop her from helpin the Union.
Cassius was cold inside. His temper did not raise its head.
What you goin do, Cassius?
Not going to do anything, said Cassius.
Nothin? said Weyman hopefully.
Fact that I know, that you got to live with yourself while I know, that's your punishment. I know what it would do to your farm if something happened to you. The Chavises are good people for slave owners. Working people, put all their money into buying two men to help with their farm. Losing a man to them would be like a fire burning down their barn with their entire harvest inside, along with their mule, and all their chickens. Without you, they'd lose their farm. Without you, they'd lose everything. They couldn't afford a new man. Never be able to make up for your work.
Cassius, I ain't sure what to say.
I'm tired, said Cassius. Maybe you best go.
Yeah, said Weyman. But maybe you do that thing you said?
What thing? said Cassius, but he smiled inside, having known that this moment would come.
You said you write me a pass.
That's right. I made the mistake of telling you I could read and write, didn't I? All right. I think Emoline had some paper over here somewhere.
Cassius crossed to a drawer and found a sheet of paper, a pen and an inkwell that still held some ink, so he didn't have to mix it from powder.
He sat and wrote. Weyman watched.
You really doin that, ain't you? said Weyman. Then he laughed happily, the laughter of relief: Y 'all was somethin, keepin such a thing a secret.
Cassius finished the note and handed it to Weyman.
This'll get you home, said Cassius.
Weyman held up the pass as thanks, moving to the door.
Got enough jalap to last you?
Enough to last.
Good.
Weyman went out the door and Cassius followed to watch him walk down the road in the direction of the Chavis farm.
Once out of sight, Cassius took the lantern, closed Emoline's front door, and ran in the street to the German part of town.
He stood outside the bierhaus. He knew that if he entered, they would know he was alive, and then everything he had planned would be near to impossible. But he had to alert Mueller. He was on the verge of writing a note when he saw the fifteen-year-old, Mueller's brain-simple son. Cassius made certain that no one else was on the street, then stepped out and caught the boy's arm just before the boy went inside.
Can you give your father a message? said Cassius.
"Message? What you mean?" said the boy.
Can you remember what I say, and repeat it back to him?
"Sure, ain't stupid, you know," said the boy. Cassius thought that the boy was not as brain-simple as he had heard, and he began to doubt his decision. But the boy did not recognize Cassius, so he went on.
Then listen close. You know that one of the patrollers, Bornock, been accusing your father of taking his gun? said Cassius.
"I hear 'bout that all the time," said the boy.
I know where that gun is.
"You ain't gettin no reward, boy."
Cassius started, not having anticipated that reaction. He knew he had to play out the moment.
Maybe just a little something? Cold out here.
"Nothin for you. Now you come in, you tell my papa."
Maybe better if you do it. Then he'll be happy with you. Yes?
Cassius watched the boy's eyes light up. He started to nod, and Cassius nodded with him.
You go tell your papa. You tell him the man who has Bornock's gun is on the road, walking back to his farm now.
"Walking back to his farm now," repeated the boy.
Tell him those words. The man who has his gun is named Weyman.
"I know Weyman," said the boy.
Weyman is on the road now and he has the gun. Tell your papa to get his patroller friends, and they'll catch him.
"I will," said the boy, and he ran into the bierhaus.
Cassius backed up and hid in the shadows, waiting to see that the message would be delivered. He still had time to write a note if it was needed.
Mueller came out in a hurry, dragging on his coat and pressing his hat on his head. He ran past Cassius's hiding place and headed for the stable, and Cassius heard him when he was down the street, calling aloud for Bornock and Lang.
Cassius set out on the road, traveling in the same direction as Weyman. He was already out of town when he heard the horses coming on behind him. He stepped out of sight and the patrollers thundered past, whipping their mounts and kicking up dust. The cold night air tightened the sky and made the stars hard and he felt winter coming on fast now. He came back out and continued walking along the side of the road, letting the beam of his lantern pick out the way.
He heard them ahead, on the far side of the elbow in the road, and he sat down on the cold hard ground to wait. He could see light from their lanterns poking through the leaves and trees, and he listened to the sounds of what was happening there. Fifteen minutes later they rode fast in the other direction, returning to town. Cassius put out his lantern and sat in the dark by the side of the road and watched them go by. In the quiet that followed, he thought about Emoline and knew that she would not have approved.
He waited a little while longer until the cold earth made his thighs numb. He found a Lucifer match in his pouch, relit the lantern, stood up slowly, and set back out on the road. He rounded the elbow and walked toward something white on the ground.
He picked it up; the same piece of paper that Weyman had thought was a pass. He angled his lantern and read his own handwriting: I got that pearl-handle gun to sell. Meet me tonight.
He angled the lantern's beam to the level of Weyman's feet, swinging gently. One of his feet still wore a shoe. He folded the note and tucked it in his pouch. He continued to walk down the road toward Sweetsmoke. The pit of rage inside him slowly, slowly burned out.
Cassius came through the woods, skirting the quarters and Mr. Nettle's place to approach the big house well before dawn. He entered the open area and crossed to the privy, hidden as it was from the big house by a stand of trees. He dragged a stump over to where he could see it from a hiding spot he had chosen in the woods.
He took a cigar from his pouch, knelt to the frayed cuff of one of his trouser legs, and unraveled a small length of thread. He tied it around the cigar, near the lip end, and placed it on the stump, pointing it at the place where he would wait.
She came out in the early morning, as he knew she would, but she was not alone, and she no longer carried the chamber pots herself, as he had expected. She was directing Pet and Anne's girl, Susan, and he knew that things had changed for her in the big house.
He watched her with his heart full. His memory during the time he had been away had done nothing to enhance her; in fact, she was prettier than he had remembered, and she warmed his lonely eyes.
She kept her distance from the privy. His heart, which had soared when he saw her again, now began a rapid drumbeat as he feared she would not notice his marker. He did not know another safe way to let her know where he was. This was the moment; it had to be now. Cassius saw Pet intentionally drop a chamber pot when Quashee looked away. Quashee grimaced at the prospect of having to help clean up the mess, and then she stopped. Cassius held his breath. He saw that she was looking at the stump. He saw her take a step toward it. He experienced an idiot delight at this success, because he knew she had seen the cigar. But he had expected a different reaction from her, and his pleasure fled as he saw her do battle with shock and confusion when she recognized his signature. Pet asked her a question, and she did not respond. Pet asked again, a little louder, but from where Cassius watched, he could not hear what it was.
Quashee looked up at Pet, attempting to cover the astonishment that ruled her face, and she waved Pet back to the big house. Susan, who was more clever than Pet, looked to where Quashee had been looking. Cassius recognized the danger in this moment. Quashee walked quickly to the stump and sat on it, thus hiding the cigar, bringing her foot to her knee as if to examine a sliver. Quashee indicated that Susan should follow Pet and take the empty pots, and after a moment, she was alone.
Cassius watched as Quashee took the cigar in her hands, finger and thumb running along its length, stopping at the thread, and then, as if suddenly picturing something that she dared not believe to be true, she lifted her head. She turned in the direction that the cigar had pointed and looked directly at Cassius. It was a jolt to meet her eyes, but he knew she could not see him, hidden as he was. She knew that if he had come back, then he was right there.
Quashee stood, a hand at her breast, running suddenly, directly, toward him. After a few steps, she forced herself to slow, throwing a glance over her shoulder toward the big house, but she kept on coming, the longest walk Cassius had ever experienced. She entered the trees with their naked limbs, leaves crunching beneath her feet, and she looked this way and that for him. When he knew she could no longer be seen from the big house, he stood up. She stopped dead in her tracks.
Still twenty feet away, she lifted her hand toward him, but came no closer. She was in the presence of the dead come back to life. She opened her other hand and revealed the cigar in her palm.
You, said Quashee in complete amazement.
I've come for you. To take you with me. To the North.
You're dead. Jacob's letter.
I wrote that in his letter. To keep them from looking for me.
What that did to me. To hear you were—And now you're here, you're alive, she said.
I had to, I'm sorry. I came as fast as I could.
She moved to him then, stepped up very close, close enough to breathe his breath, but she did not touch him until she put her hand on his chest to be certain that he stood there. Slowly her hand moved and he felt it graze his neck and cheek, running over his eyelids, his forehead, stopping to rest on his lips. He pressed his head forward against her fingers, kissing them, then kissing her lips. He said quietly and deliberately: I've come for you. I'm here.
Yes, you're here, yes, said Quashee, her face against his chest, and he heard a small, joyful laugh well up from deep inside her. Her narrow arms wrapped tightly around him, and then, of a sudden, she let go and stepped back. As she stepped, she shook her head.
I was done, I understood, it's what we have in this life, it's what we are. I was prepared to be lonely, prepared to mourn you. I'd already started.
Cassius spoke warmly, explaining: We'll go tonight. The nights are long now, so there's more time to travel. Patrollers say they're on alert, but it's winter. With the cold, the whites rather stay inside. Even the patrollers like to be warm, in their homes. We stay alert, stay away from towns and keep moving, we can make it.
You went off, like you said you would. Never thought to see you again. A man on the road, those were your words. It was different than the man I had at John-Corey's. Worse, so much worse than when he got sold. Didn't even know I was still waiting for you until Jacob's letter. I was relieved, Cassius, do you understand? I was relieved to know for certain you were dead.
He did not move toward her. He thought that was too risky, as any sudden movement might startle her, like spooking a cautious deer who had already stepped too close.
You said if you don't take the good too, then you got nothing, said Cassius. Just pain.
But you were right. Don't love nothing in this life. You only give them power over your mind as well as your body.
I'm here to take you away. To a place where it's safe to love something again.
I can't go with you, she said.
You can.
No. My father.
Bring him.
They think you're dead. They won't look for you, not now, not ever. If you go alone, you'll be safe. What will they do if two house servants run?
They'll come after you, but I can get us through, I know the way.
You know the way of a ghost. But they'll catch flesh and blood and make it pay. You won't make it with me. I won't let you give up your freedom.
He had no answer for that. There was no point to argue. Everything he had seen in their future rushed away from him.
Don't stay here, said Quashee. Go now. Go tonight. Get away from this place, I can be happy if I know you're away and safe.
He wanted to say that he would find a way for them to be together. He wanted to tell her how it was to see her again. But he said none of it.
Maybe the war will end, said Cassius.
He reached out, but she backed away, shaking her head no, her palms out to keep him from touching her. He knew her resolve was shaky, but he also knew that it would return if he touched her, so he dropped his hands to his side.
She turned and walked out of the trees into the open, back to the big house and her day's work. He moved to the edge of the trees to watch her go.
He saw the bantam rooster flit across the yard, come to a sudden halt at Quashee's approach, lift up on his toes, and flee in the other direction. He saw Pet pass by a second-story window carrying pillows. He saw Old Hoke come outside with a blanket, walking uncertainly, stopping to look in both directions, then deciding to approach a chair near what had been the vegetable garden during the spring and summer. He watched Hoke sit, then fidget in the chair, finally drawing his legs up under him and covering himself with the blanket, curled up like a child.
She left the backyard, entering the big house without looking back, and he saw her no more.
He wanted to stay there for the rest of the day, to watch for glimpses of her, anything to fill the well of emptiness inside him. He vowed that he would come back, somehow, someday, for her.
He watched Hoke for a time, saw his body relax and knew that he had fallen asleep under the blanket. Cassius thought of all that had happened between them, and the small flame of his anger started. But then something came over him, quickly and in a surprise: He smelled that sweet smell of the curing tobacco, and it was good and rich, warm with captured sunlight, and the aroma was intoxicating for him again. The younger Hoke Howard returned to him, the man who had taught him, who had even cared for him. Now he looked across the open ground at the big house and Cassius saw only an old man fallen asleep. Finally, for a moment, he let go of his disgust and acknowledged the fact that Hoke was the only father he had ever known. He wished him a silent good-bye, turned away, and walked deeper into the woods, to wait for dark, when he would begin his journey to the North.