Soul Catcher (34 page)

^{He tried to keep her in the periphery of his vision as night came slowly on and softened the edges of all creation. He didn't think a man ought to look at a woman in such a vulnerable position, even one who might run on him. And yet, as he remained half-turned away, he felt this to be some sort of test of will, a temptation he felt bound to renounce in order to prove to himself, and perhaps to her, too, that he wasn't common, that he
wasn't
like Preacher or the Strofes as she had suggested, or even like old man Eberly for that matter. That he was different. That all southerners, all white southern men, weren't the same, that they weren't all tainted by the indelible stain of their peculiar institution. That there were a few white men of integrity, of principle still, who wouldn't take advantage of her simply because she was a slave and a woman.}

^{Yet as he watched her out of the corner of his eye, her naked body just a short ways off, he told himself he wasn't some harem eunuch, either. That he was a man, too, a man who hadn't had a woman in weeks. And there she was, her dark, naked body wet and glistening in the half-light, so full of life and vitality. Finally, he said the hell with it. He gave in to what he told himself would be one quick look, turning his gaze full upon her. But once he saw her he found it hard to avert his gaze. She had a gravity that pulled him toward her. She was tall and slender, long-legged, small-breasted, narrow through the waist. At the same time, she was muscular, sinewy as a racehorse, her flesh hard and taut as if, at some point, she had been not a house servant but a rugged field hand. She was slender through the hips, and while he saw only the outline of her buttocks above the water, they were full and round. She gave the impression of a resilient strength, and he thought back to their fight in Boston. He thought, too, of what Little Strofe had said, that she was a wild one, and he understood now how lucky he'd been to have subdued her without either one getting badly hurt. She ducked her head beneath the water and washed her hair, some of the plaits coming undone, then soaped up her face and shoulders, her breasts, her belly. She ducked her head a second time, rose up out of the river and shook herself, crying out, "Oh, Lordy." When she was done, she turned and came walking out of the water, now without benefit of the shift. Her small breasts were high and firm, the nipples erect from the cold water, wet and shimmering in the semidarkness. Cain thought,
Jesus.
Indeed, she was a fine-looking woman. Cain's eye was drawn to the darker shadow between her legs and he felt shamed as a rumbling commenced down between his own legs. He understood now why the old man had wanted her back so badly, why he'd pay so much to have her returned:
Bring her back,
he'd both commanded and pleaded. And Cain knew, too, that he was no better than him, no better than the others, either. He was just a man like any other, with the same sort of dark urges and appetites, though he tried to cover them beneath a gloss of education and this thing he liked to call honor.}

^{As he watched her come walking out of the river like a dark Venus emerging from the ocean, he noticed it: her belly. The slight swelling of it, the enlarged curvature below her navel. It was the only thing about her that wasn't lean and hard. Though he'd only seen mares and sows in such a state before, he thought with complete certainty,
She's with child.
He considered how he'd fought with her, twisted her arm and thrown her roughly over the saddle, ridden with her like that for miles. How he'd pulled her out of the flooded river and dragged her up onto the bank. How he'd pushed on her back, trying to force the water out of her lungs. How easily she could have lost the child or endangered her own health.}

^{Suddenly, he realized several things at once. They came to him like one of those pictures in which you connected the dots and then all at once could recognize the thing for what it was. First, what the old woman had said to him back there, how Rosetta didn't look it. He now understood that it didn't have to do with how light skinned she was but with the fact that she was carrying a child. And then he realized, perhaps what Eberly was talking about when he said she'd stolen something from him, something that he wanted back. Was it his child? Was that why he'd wanted her back so badly?}

^{Rosetta happened to glance up and catch him watching her. For a moment she didn't look away but returned his stare, modesty no longer a concern. Now she stared at him almost in challenge.}

^{"Fancy what you see?" she called up to him. He continued for a moment to look at her. "Well, do you, Cain?"}

^{Embarrassed, he turned finally and looked away.}

^{She dried off with her shift, and when she'd finished dressing, she came up the bank barefoot, holding her shoes and stockings and the wet shift balled under her arm.}

^{"I thought you said you had female trouble," he told her.}

^{"I do."}

^{"How can you have female trouble if you're carrying a child? You
are
pregnant, aren't you?"}

^{She just stared at him.}

^{"You should have told me," he said.}

^{"What difference it make to you?"}

^{"Why in God's name would you risk fighting with me if you're pregnant? Or jumping in the river. You could've gotten hurt. Could've lost the baby."}

^{With her hand, she calmly wiped a drop of water away from her face.}

^{"Because I
am
carrying this child is why. I rather die than go back there. Than bring this one back there, too," she said, one hand pointing off in the direction of
back there,
the other protectively rubbing the dress over her stomach.}

^{"Is it his? Eberly's?"}

^{She looked out over the river. The distant lights of the city shimmered in her eyes. He noticed the ball of muscle in her jaw tense, then relax, then tense again, as if she were chewing on something tough.}

^{"It his."}

^{"Does he know about it?"}

^{"Oh, he know, all right," she said scoffingly.}

^{"How about the other one? Israel."}

^{"That his, too. Was. He sold my baby off 'cause I run away with him. 'Cause I wanted him to grow up free."}

^{"Is that why you knifed him?"}

^{She laughed, a high bitter laugh. "You damn right. Just wisht I'd killed him is all."}

^{"Eberly said you stole something of value of his. Was he referring to the child?"}

^{She pursed her lips. "I reckon so."}

^{"If it was so valuable to him, perhaps he'll let you keep this one."}

^{"Let
me keep it? Talkin' 'bout my own flesh and blood. Besides, he figures he owns me and anything tha's mine."}

^{Cain had never talked to a captured runaway like this before, and he found it troubling. Yet he wanted to say he thought such a thing despicable, for an owner to treat his slave that way. He wanted her to know how he felt, though, of course, he couldn't. That would have been a breach of trust on his part. He loathed the man, the sort of owner he represented. Still, he felt a certain obligation that went deeper than money or his personal feelings or even the law. Instead, he said simply, "I'm sorry." It was the second time he'd said that to her.}

^{"What you sorry for?"}

^{"For having to bring you back . . . to that man."}

^{"He's not a man. He's a monster."}

^{"I heard he treated you well."}

^{"He treated me like his whore. Like something he bought and paid for. I ain't no more than a saw or a half acre of tobacco to him. Figured he could do what he pleased with me."}

^{"But you fared better than most."}

^{"He never laid a hand on me, if that's what you mean. Not in anger anyhow. But they's other ways of making a slave feel like a slave. Mr. Eberly he was a fine upstanding gentleman," she said with obvious sarcasm. "He never got his own hands dirty. He let Strofe or somebody like Preacher do it for him. He usta have them cat-haul runaways."}

^{Cain frowned. He had never heard the term before.}

^{"It when they tie a rope to a cat's tail and put the creature on the back of a slave. Then they pull the rope real slow, so the cat sinks its claws in. Another time he had Strofe flog this little runaway girl. She weren't no more than twelve. They tied her down on the ground. But on account of her being with child they dug a hole in the ground for her belly to fit. Mr. Eberly didn't want to damage a healthy slave child. Then they whup her so hard she give birth. Baby come out right in that hole."}

^{Cain glanced out over the river. "I gave him my word."}

^{"Your word! Huh," she snorted. "How much Mr. Eberly payin' you for your almighty word?"}

^{"The money's part of it. I won't deny that. But it's more than that. It has to do with honor."}

^{"Honor," she said, laughing in his face. "He done bought and paid for you just like me."}

^{"He doesn't own me," Cain snapped. "Nobody owns me."}

^{"Oh, he own you, all right. Difference 'twixt me and you, Cain, is I know it and you don't."}

^{"I have to bring you back. I don't have a choice."}

^{"Ever'body gots a choice," she said. "Only person don't is this young'un inside me. He don't have no choice. Can't choose not to come into this world. Or to come. People got to choose that for him."}

^{"You think you have that right? To choose for him not to be born."}

^{"Eberly may own this body," she said, patting the material over her breasts. "But he don't own what's inside me. Not my heart. Not my soul. That's more'n you can say, Cain."}

^{"Let's go," he said. He'd had enough of her jabber. He put the shackles on and led her back to camp.}

^{Once again, Henry complained that his wrists hurt. Cain squatted down and inspected them. They were in bad shape. The skin was rubbed raw from the irons and was beginning to bleed.}

^{"Them shackles way too tight, massa," Henry said.}

^{"They can't be loosened."}

^{"Maybe you gots a bigger pair."}

^{"Maybe you ought not to eat so much," Cain replied irritably. Still, he went over to his saddlebags and got some horse liniment and a rag. He removed Henry's shackles and poured some liniment on the rag and swabbed Henry's wrists with it.}

^{"There, that better?"}

^{"Any chance I could take me a bath, too?"}

^{"No," Cain snapped. "What the hell do you think this is? Now stop your damn bellyaching, nigger."}

^{He was suddenly fed up with both of them. Strofe was right. The more you coddled them, the more they expected. They were runaway slaves. Nothing more. Problems arose when you forgot that. His father had been right, about the difference between white and black. To go against it was to go against the natural order of things.}

^{He lay down on his bedroll and looked up at the stars. The pounding in his head had returned, so he took out his flask and tried to drown it under a sweet haze.}