Queen (89 page)

    longed for action, and for whom the defeat had been especially bitter,

    as if reassured by his easy, commanding presence. They talked into the

    night, of the future, of the protection of their families, and of the

    sweet smell of burning nigger flesh.

    Henderson slept well that night, for the first time in weeks. He hadn't

    felt so good since he heard of Lincoln's assassination, which he saw as

    divine and proper retribution. The future was looking good after all. The

    war was not over; it would simply be conducted differently now, covertly,

    by small groups of like-minded, true Southern men. And women, for he had

    no doubt that Letitia would share his purpose, and even less doubt that

    Letitia would be alone.

    "Let the niggers have their day," he said to his newfound friends before

    he bunked down. "A long, dark night is coming."

    63

Queen had solved the problem of leaving The Forks of Cy

press by the simple expedient of not going. Sally had not put

a time on her departure; she had simply indicated that Queen

should go at some time after the war, but when the war ended,

the Massa would come home, and everything would be all

right again. The Massa wouldn't make her leave; her pappy

    QUEEN 541

wouldn't make her go. So she stayed, and did all that she had promised she

would. She cooked and cleaned and scrubbed and gardened, and tended to the

household as if they were her own dear family, which, in her mind, they

were.

    She could not run the fields-that was beyond her-for as the Southern

    defeat became more and more obvious, more and more slaves decided to take

    their chances on another life, and left The Forks in search of a new

    bright day. Gradually, the mansion fell into disrepair, and the land

    became useless, the fields untended, the cotton unplanted, the fences

    unfixed. By the time the war ended, only old Isaac and young Davy were

    left to struggle against Nature's reclamation of its own, and even they

    had their hopes set on somewhere else. There was so much to do, they

    chose to do none of it, and spent their days whittling and dreaming.

    "What we gonna do, then?" Davy asked Isaac, as he did every day. "Go, I

    guess," Isaac replied, as he did every day.

    Davy nodded. He wanted to go; he wanted some adventure, some high life,

    some fun. He thought Isaac would go too, and didn't want to leave without

    him, but their choices of destination were so many they could never make

    a decision, and they had a residual loyalty to this place. Or to Missy

    Sally, who was kind to them, which amounted to the same thing.

    "Ev'ry nigger goin' North," Davy said, hoping they could decide on a

    direction, if not a haven. Really, he wanted to go somewhere else. "Be

    full up with black folk soon."

    Isaac looked at the empty, wasting fields. "We could stay," he said. "We

    ain't got nowhere else."

    But Davy was young, and, like a bird who has no alternative but to fly

    from the nest, whatever the danger of falling, he wanted to stretch his

    newly freed wings.

    "No, man!" he cried. "I wants me some freedom!" He knew Isaac wanted it

    too, just to try the taste of it. After all, if they didn't like it, they

    could always come back. "Hear tell y'c'n have a high ol' time in

    N'Orleens."

    He had heard wonderful stories, of music and dancing and beautiful women

    who were only too ready to cosset an energetic young man, and Davy had

    energy to spare, when there was something he wanted to do.

Isaac didn't seem all that keen on New Orleans, and they

542 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

lapsed into silence, Davy contemplating unfulfilled lust, and Isaac

wondering why he felt no real urge to go anywhere.

    Queen banged her way out of the kitchen door, in a grumpy mood. She was

    always grumpy these days. She saw Isaac and Davy sitting whittling by the

    well, and wanted to bang their lazy heads together.

    "Cut me some firewood, Davy," she yelled. She came to the well with her

    bucket, and stood waiting for Isaac to draw water. Isaac clambered to his

    feet, but Davy still wasn't too sure of this freedom thing, and wondered

    how far it could be pushed.

    "Don't feel like it, Missy Queen," he drawled, sticking a straw in his

    mouth and lazing back on the grass. "I's free now.

    Queen could, when she wanted to, turn it on. "Well, you better start

    feelin' like it, and get yo' free nigger ass choppin' wood, or you don't

    get fed!" she exploded.

    Davy, who had taken orders all his life, and knew nothing else, looked

    uncertainly at Isaac, who chuckled.

    "Ain't no one else gwine feed yo'," he told the reluctant boy. "An' yo'

    cain't cook."

    That surely was the truth and persuaded Davy to action, although he still

    thought that freedom meant more than it seemed to. But it was not sensible

    to argue with Queen, who was in charge of the kitchen, in charge of

    everything, and had a very short temper. He got to his feet and wandered

    off to the woodpile.

"I's a-choppin', Missy Queen," he assured her reluctantly. I Is a-choppin'."

    Queen sniffed, and waited for Isaac to fill her bucket. She didn't speak to

    him, because he was only an ol' nigger, and she was family.

:'Pretty day," Isaac said, to break the silence.

    'An' you better get fixin' the plow, or you don't get fed either," Queen

    snapped, and toted her bucket of water back to the house.

    Isaac watched her go. There was no point in fixing the plow, because even

    if the fields were tilled, there was no seed to plant, and he was bored

    with taking orders from that grumpy half-caste girl. Davy was right, they

    should go. Even if they

    QUEEN 543

ended up living on the land, like a few other ex-slaves from the Forks,

camped in the forest only a few miles from their former home, they would

be their own men, in charge of their own existence. While they stayed,

though, it was better to keep out of Queen's sight. lie wandered off to

the barn as if to repair the plow, but once inside he settled on some

straw and took a little nap. It was a warm day.

In the kitchen, Queen banged a pot on the stove and filled it with well

water, to boil. The weight of the bucket had strained her arms, and she

was tired, always tired.

    "Workin' my po' fingers to the bone, for folks as don't appreciate it,"

    she told the empty room. Or God, to Whom she voiced her many grievances

    these days.

    She slumped in a chair at the table while she waited for the water to

    boil. If only the Massa would come home, he would appreciate how very

    hard she worked, he would be kind to her, and make her feel as if she

    mattered. Miss Sally and Miss Lizzie couldn't manage without her, but

    they never said thank you or please, never spoke to her, pretended she

    wasn't there, that she didn't even exist. She did everything for them,

    and for the children when they were here-cleaned their clothes, cooked

    their food, emptied their bedpans-and they accepted it all, as if it

    happened by magic. She couldn't go on, she was exhausted, site hadn't

    even had time to visit her mother's grave in weeks, there was so much

    else to do. But she had to go on, somehow; it could only be a few more

    days, at the very most, and then he would be home again.

    01' Massa Henderson had come home last week; he'd been in fine spirits

    even though he'd walked a thousand miles, cheery and jolly, although not

    to Queen, and had whisked his wife away for a holiday in Charleston, to

    see her family. He seemed to have money, she didn't know how-perhaps sol-

    diers were paid a lot. He talked of buying a general store, of setting

    up in business for himself. If soldiers were well paid, the Massa would

    have money when he came home, and that would be such a relief; she

    wouldn't have to scrimp and save every penny that Miss Sally gave her,

    and wonder how on earth she could feed the family that night. But Massa

    Henderson had no word of Jass, nor had Miss Sally heard anything from

    him.

544 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

    She knew he'd lost an arm. A letter had come last year, and Miss Sally

    couldn't read well anymore. She'd left the letter lying on her table and

    when Queen came in to clean the room had wondered aloud, of no one, what

    news it might bring. So Queen had read the letter, and Jass said he

    couldn't imagine why the good Lord had given him two arms because he was

    doing just fine with one. Miss Sally had cried, but still wouldn't admit

    that Queen was there. It was as if she were listening to a ghost, someone

    who had been there once, and wasn't anymore.

    Queen had cried that night, and hoped that losing the arin hadn't hurt

    too much, and tried to imagine what he looked like. It didn't make any

    difference, he was her pappy, and she'd look after him and take care of

    him, nurse his body if he needed it and his soul if he would let her. One

    of the dogs had lost a leg once, caught in a trap, and rather than put

    him down, old Solomon had nursed the animal back to health, and kept him

    as his own. The dog managed fine with only three legs, and was a sweet,

    dear thing. Queen's heart had gone out to him, and she had always tried

    to save a few tidbits from the table for him. It wouldn't worry her that

    her pappy's body was incomplete. It would make him need her more.

    The water boiled, and she made the fake coffee, reminding herself that

    she had to roast and grind some more acorns, poured two cups of the

    drink, put them on a tray, and left the kitchen. Deliberately, she went

    the long way to the sitting room, through the hall, because she was

    taking stock of what had to be done before the Massa came home. Paper was

    peeling from the walls. The drapes needed to be washed. She couldn't

    possibly do it all.

Sally and Lizzie were in the sitting room, enjoying the spring day. It was

a mercy that warrn weather had come because they couldn't spare wood for

a fire. Lizzie was doing tapestry work, to make some cushions. Sally, her

eyes failing, was struggling to sew a patch on young James's pants.

William and Eleanor lived in Florence these days, with their aunt

Elizabeth. It made it easier for them to go to school, for the road was

too dangerous to travel every day. They couldn't afford a tutor these

days, and anyway there were none to be had. They could

    QUEEN 545

hardly afford the school fees. Now James had also gone to stay with

Elizabeth, to be with his brother and sister, and to prepare for school.

Life on the deserted plantation was no place for a growing boy.

    Jass must come home soon, Sally thought. They couldn't manage much

    longer. She had avoided digging up the small store of gold that Jass had

    buried at the beginning of the war, until there was no possible

    alternative. It had lasted surprisingly well because she doled it out as

    scrupulously as any miser, but it had gone six months ago, and then she

    had dug up the box in the cellar, and slowly but surely that nest egg was

    diminishing, and she was nervous of exhausting it. She thought of selling

    a few acres of land, but the price was rock bottom, thousands upon

    thousands of acres of prime Southern farming land were on the market, and

    there were very few buyers. Besides, it was not her land to sell. It

    belonged to Jass. She couldn't understand why they had not heard from

    him. The wretched Henderson had made it back, all the way from Virginia,

    and Jass had been stationed in nearby Georgia when she last heard from

    him. But for several weeks there had been nothing, not a letter, not a

    message, not a word. They weren't even sure he was still alive, but no

    death notice had been delivered, and they could only assume that he was.

    If only he would come home. If nothing else, he would solve the problem

    of Queen.

    Since the time that she had first raised the subject, Sally had never

    again suggested that Queen leave; she thought the point had been well

    made. Nor did she want her to go until the war was over and they could

    start putting their lives back in order. Until Jass came home, they could

    not manage without Queen, but when he came home they would not need her.

    Oh, perhaps for a little while, until they found someone else, or until

    one of the slaves came back. Sally, like many others, believed it was

    only a matter of time before several of the ex-slaves realized that life

    in a known environment was infinitely preferable to life in an alien and

    cruel world. She seldom went into town anymore-the road was too

    dangerous-but they had visitors from time to time, and already she had

    heard the horror stories of the way blacks were behaving in this new

    South, and even worse stories of how some of them were being

546 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

treated. Looking for a scapegoat for their defeat, many of the returning

veterans were venting their fury on blacks, in dead of night, and all the

efforts of the policing Federal forces could not control them. And many

of the blacks were vilely abusing their newfound status, treating any

white with disdain or impudence, reveling in an orgy of excessive behavior

and frequently abusing their former Massas and Missys, while the bodies

of those last slain in war were not yet cold in the ground. It was

inevitable, Sally thought. Like children in a candy store, they were

starting to indulge what could be formidable and dangerous power. She

feared for their potential and worried for their safety, and it didn't

matter that many of the stories she heard were untrue or greatly

exaggerated; she had no yardstick to judge the reality of the situation.

Jass would know, Jass would explain everything to her, Jass would-

    Yet we must not expect too much of him, she told herself. He will be as

    lost as we are. But he is a man, and he will know how to cope. If only

    he would come home.

For Lizzie, especially, the lack of him was unbearable, and yet it had to

be borne. She had survived the war with as much grace as she could muster,

which wasn't a lot, but now the war was over, and she longed for him. She

was not foolish enough to imagine that he would make everything all right

again-Hercules could hardly have improved their condition-but his place

was with them, to be responsible for the welfare of his family again. He'd

played at soldier long enough.

    During the last few months of the war, her emotions had taken a

    helter-skelter ride of despair at their state, fear of the lawless gangs

    freely roaming the countryside, joy at the small Southern victories, and

    bitter acceptance of their defeat. She had been in Florence on the day

    that news of Lincoln's assassination reached them, taking young James to

    Elizabeth, and like many in the town, she had cheered heartily at the

    news. Then the occupying Federal troops had swept among them, brutal and

    ruthless, announcing that the least demonstration of joy would result in

    the offender's home being burned, and any rejoicing by the townspeople

    would bring

    QUEEN 547

about the destruction of the town. This had forcibly brought home to

Lizzie the power that the Federals now enjoyed, and the new constraints

that governed their lives. She lived in fear, not only of the outlaws but

of the law itself. She simply didn't know how to behave in this strange

world of Northern, military rule, and so she kept her mouth shut and her

tail between her legs, and prayed for Jass's return.