Soul Catcher (17 page)

"I don't mean to interrupt your reading, sir," the bearded one began. Up close, Cain could see that something was wrong with his eyes. They had a light bluish-gray film coating them, like the glaze that forms over the eyes of a fresh-killed deer. "May I ask you a question?"

Cain stood and, glancing at the man's companion, said, "Of course."

"Is that man a fugitive?" the older man inquired, indicating with a flick of his woolly head the general direction of the Negro, as if he could actually see him.

"He is," Cain replied.

"And you, sir, are a slave catcher?" the blind man asked.

"I catch runaways as mandated by the law. If that's what you mean."

"That is man's law, not God's. Slavery is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord."

Cain smiled at the man. "Is that so?"

"We are your friends," the man said.

"My friends?"

"Yes. And we come to warn you that your soul is in immortal danger."

"I don't reckon you know much about my soul, mister," he replied.

"No, I don't. But the Almighty does," the blind man said. He gathered his beard together in one hand and stroked it the way one might a cat as his cloudy eyes drifted upward toward the heavens. "He knows every last thing about your soul. Every act you've ever done. Every thought you've ever had."

Cain raised his hands, as if in surrender to someone whose defect made him an opponent he couldn't challenge. He then glanced at the younger man, as if he might translate this gesture for his friend and call him off. "I reckon the Almighty has more important things to fret over than my soul," he said, trying to make light of it. "Have a good day, mister."

He started to turn, but the blind man said, "But that's where you are wrong, sir. He is as concerned about your immortal soul as he is that of the poor wretch over there. And he would not have you tainting it by selling a man into slavery."

"I'm not a slave trader," Cain said curtly. "I don't own slaves. Never bought or sold one. I am merely returning stolen property to its rightful owner."

"This poor man isn't chattel to be bandied about like so many goods."

"I don't make the law, mister. I just enforce it."

"Slavery is unjust," the blind man continued. "All laws regarding its promulgation are equally unjust."

"There's always been slavery," Cain said. "Even in the Bible. In Leviticus doesn't it say something about buying bondsmen and women from the heathen?"

"I see you know your Bible, sir. Yet in Deuteronomy it is written, 'Thou shalt not deliver onto his master the servant which is escaped from his master onto thee.' And in Galatians, Paul says, 'There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.'"

Cain chuckled. "I won't get into chapter and verse with you. I can see that's a losing proposition. But I've heard all this abolitionist talk before. You Yankees would have us set the black man free. Then what?"

"Then he could assume his rightful place at the table with his brethren. The one that the Almighty intended."

"And how would the three million slaves survive? Like the Irish working in your stinking factories? Or in your cities where young girls sell their bodies or children beg on the streets for a handout. You call that freedom? Emancipate the Negro and you will invite chaos into the land."

As Cain said this he heard his father's voice behind it.

"It is already here," the skinny man said, the first time he'd spoken up. "Chaos."

The blind man leveled his gaze at Cain, almost as if he could actually see through the gauzy film that covered his eyes and make out his features. And yet Cain could perceive only a gray nothingness, an opaque emptiness like looking into a snowstorm.

"You, sir, strike me as a man who has lived much," the blind man said.

"Like I said, you don't know me from Adam," he replied.

"Blindness may have robbed me of sight. But God has given me another and grander gift than physical sight." "A gift?"

"Yes. I can see by an inner sight."

Cain smiled. "Ah," he scoffed. "A modern-day Tiresias."

"You don't believe me. Most people don't." He turned toward his younger colleague, as if to have him vouch for him.

"It's true," said the skinny man, who looked deferentially upon the older man, as an acolyte might look upon his master. "Mr. Willowby has a gift. He can see a man's future. He has lectured all over the States."

"Is that so?"

The skinny man was about to go on when his blind colleague stopped him with a touch of his hand.

To Cain he said, "I can tell that you are a man both of learning and of rectitude."

"Rectitude?" Cain repeated.

"It means--"

"I know what the hell it means."

"Well, it's my duty to warn you to give up this immoral path you're on."

"What path is that?" Cain asked.

"Satan's. Surely you can appreciate the nature of the wrong you commit in bringing this poor Israelite back to bondage in Egypt."

"I am only doing my job," Cain replied. A second time he made as if to turn away, but the old man grasped his arm. His grip startled Cain.

"A moment, sir. Please," the man begged.

Cain pulled his arm free but turned to face him again.

"Your job is working as Satan's lieutenant," the blind man said. "Renounce it! Before it is too late. If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out." Then the man did an odd thing. He reached out and touched Cain's chest with his right hand. His hand moved slowly upward over his coat until it came in contact with the skin of his neck; his light, feathery touch moved delicately over his neck to his chin, then his nose and cheeks, finally touching his eyes one by one so that Cain had to close them. Cain didn't know whether to laugh or be offended at the fellow's audacity. He'd never let another man lay a hand on him before, at least not with impunity. He felt like slapping the hand away, but for some reason he allowed it to remain there. The blind man's eyes fluttered rapidly as his fingers spread out over the left side of Cain's face, touching it gently.

"I see two souls."

"What?" Cain said.

"Two souls shall be entrusted to your care."

Cain wondered how he knew there was another runaway. He figured it was just some sort of illusionist's sleight of hand. A clever trick. Still, his interest was piqued.

"That's good," Cain said. "But if you really do have a gift, you would know where the other fellow we're after is."

The man smiled. "Do you really think I would tell you if I knew?"

"See, you're just talking bunkum. You don't know anything."

The blind man paused for a moment, one hand still touching Cain's face. His sightless eyes fluttered again, and it was now his turn to smile. "You shall have to find her without my help," he said.

Her, Cain thought. He was good, this Willowby. A skillful con man. Then he moved his hand over Cain's forehead. The blind man's eyes narrowed, as if sighting something at a great distance.

"You will have a choice to make."

"What choice is that?"

"You shall have to find that out for yourself. But I can tell you this. If you make the wrong one, I see hard times ahead for you. Make the right one, though, and you shall be freed."

"I am not some slave."

"You are wrong there, sir. Like it or not, slavery binds us all. Master and slave alike. And God has in store for us a terrible day of reckoning. When the country will have to pay for its sins and brother shall slay brother. When rivers will run red with blood and fire shall consume the land." The blind man leaned in close so that Cain could smell his sour breath, like a whiff of a charnel house. "Choose wisely, my friend. Choose wisely."

* * *

When they reached the Vermont side, they headed southeast along a toll road. At the first tollhouse, they had to pay a

bald, sleepy-eyed man five cents for each man to pass and two more for each horse, mule, and dog. There was no charge for the Negro. It being April, back in Virginia farmers would already have been plowing their fields, but this far north the fields remained untended and muddy, some, especially those in the shadow of a mountain, still covered with snow. For half a day, the road followed a surging river as it coursed through low, hump-backed mountains. Several times the road traversed the river by way of a covered bridge. As they passed through one, Little Strofe said, "This is a waste of a good barn," his voice reverberating through the tunnellike structure.

The road they were on was broader and more well traveled than what they'd ridden on back in New York. Here they passed other travelers, some on horseback or foot, others driving wagons filled with goods or sitting in a stagecoach with other people. They saw small villages clustered around whitewashed churches and brick courthouses, not so very different from what Cain had been used to growing up in the rolling hills of western Virginia. They saw large factories built on rivers, their smokestacks belching black soot. Just outside of White River Junction, a mill town at the confluence of two rivers, they made camp in the woods down near the water. They were almost out of certain supplies--cornmeal, bacon, smoked fish, boxes of locofoco, as well as coffee and plugs of tobacco and whiskey--so they decided to go into town. However, recalling the trouble they'd had back in Albany, they felt it prudent that only two should head in so as to not draw attention to themselves. It was decided that Cain and Strofe would go, while the other two would remain behind with the runaway at their camp.

Preacher, though, objected to this arrangement. "How come you two git to go into town," he complained.

"We're just pickin' up some supplies is all," Strofe said.

"Oh, I reckon that's all it'll be," Preacher replied sarcastically. "And how come he gets to go?" He nodded over at Cain, who was cinching the belt of his saddle.

"He's got to wire Mr. Eberly where we're at."

"Why couldn't I do that?"

" ' Cause you cain't write a lick, Preacher," Strofe said with a laugh.

"Well, next time it's gonna be my turn," Preacher said. As they rode off toward town, Preacher called after them, "Make sure you bring back some liquor."

The streets were muddy from the spring thaw and rutted with wagon tracks. Women walked along holding up the hems of their skirts, and everyone was pale and had the pinched look of someone with constipation. Along the main thoroughfare were a courthouse and town hall building, three white steepled churches within spitting distance of one another--Congregational, Methodist, and Unitarian--a lending library, a blacksmith and livery, two saloons, an inn, various shops and business concerns, and a long brick mill whose sign out front said New England Textile Mfg. When they reached a general store, Cain said to Strofe, "I'll look for a telegraph office. Meet you back at camp."

He stopped a small boy in the street and asked where the telegraph office was. The boy, brown haired, with pretty features, was lugging two heavy pails of milk on a yoke balanced over his thin shoulders; he told him it was just past McCreavy's Saloon, at the other end of town. Cain tossed him a penny and continued on his way. He first went over to the livery and had a loose shoe on Hermes attended to--the last dozen miles the horse had been favoring the foot. Cain also bought a sack of oats. Finished there, he then rode down the street and stopped in front of a trough so Hermes could drink. He dismounted and wrapped the reins around a hitching post. He spotted a mangy- looking dog sauntering out of an alley. It was an emaciated thing, a brindled color, with patches of fur missing, its narrow head low to the ground, its bony shoulder blades jutting almost through the splotchy coat. The thing was growling at nothing, it seemed, other than the general state of affairs. Cain kept his eye on the creature to make sure it would not lunge at him, then he turned and headed toward the telegraph office across the street.