Soul Catcher (36 page)

^{"I hope so. I'd hate to have anything happen to them."}

^{Henry's wrists continued to look bad, even infected. Little Strofe found some snakeweed and made a poultice and applied it to the wounds, but they seemed only to get worse. They took to leaving the shackles off except at night, and then placed them only around his ankles.}

^{Preacher didn't speak to anyone. Now and then he might look across at Cain and stare at him, his small dark eyes narrowed to a slit of unadulterated hatred. He ate his meals alone, taking his plate and going off by himself. He rode silently at the back of the group and didn't even offer his usual complaints about which way they went. He reminded Cain of a rattler that was getting itself all curled up, ready to strike. Cain was now convinced he'd made a mistake in not getting rid of him when he'd had the chance. Even more so now, he felt he would have to watch his back.}

^{As they rode along, Cain felt a subtle but definite shift in things. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, but the change was unmistakable. Of course, it had something to do with that night, with Preacher and what had happened. But it was more than that. He felt it in his spine as he rode along, in an acrid metallic taste in his mouth that even several swigs from his flask couldn't leach away. Even the day itself seemed to mirror the change that had come over Cain. The sunlight, ruthless as a scythe, swept harshly across road and field and forest; it was tinged an odd yellowish green, like the charged air right before a summer storm, filled with premonitory warning. It stung his eyes, as it would those of a man who'd been kept in a dark cellar and then brought suddenly into the bright light of day. And yet, he was not blinded. In fact, just the opposite. He saw everything in such detail--the edges of a chestnut leaf, the purplish black feathers of one of those crows perched on a fence post, a stone along the road shaped like an old man's head. All of creation stood out with such stark, austere clarity, it was as if he'd never seen any of it heretofore.}

^{He remembered right before his mother died, she had sat up in bed and grabbed his wrist so hard he thought she meant to hurt him. Her pretty gray eyes shone with an agitated fever and were sighted on something only she could see. "Augustus," she cried. "Oh, Augustus.}

^{It is all too much." That's what he felt now--that it was all too much to look upon.}

^{He thought it might have had something to do with his coming so close to death, yet several times before he'd nearly died, and he'd not felt anything like this. He thought this odd feeling had more to do with Rosetta. Now as she rode behind him, her hands pressing against his belly, he felt an awkwardness he'd not felt before. Perhaps it was his knowing that she was pregnant, that she was carrying Eberly's child, a life she wasn't sure she wanted to bring into the world and certainly not back to Virginia, to that monster, as she'd called Eberly. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that she'd had a chance to run, to save herself and her baby, and hadn't, that she'd chosen to wake up the others and save him from Preacher's knife.}

^{Why had she done that? he wondered. Especially after she said she'd kill him if she ever got the chance? It didn't make sense. Now he felt an obligation he didn't want to feel, a weight he didn't want to carry. He told himself he had a job to do and he was going to do it, that all other considerations were secondary. Of course he felt sorry for her. Any person with half a heart would, no matter that she was a runaway slave. And he felt only contempt and scorn for Eberly. What he had done to her was beneath what a man ought to do, especially a southerner and a supposed gentleman, and after this was all over, after he'd been paid his money, he had a good mind to tell the old son of a bitch exactly what he thought of him. Now Cain understood what Eberly had meant about this situation calling for someone with discretion. Someone to keep his secret quiet, that's what he wanted. Despite this, the girl was still his legal property, and he, Cain, was obliged to return her, as he'd given his word to do, whether he liked it or not. He didn't make the rules. He wasn't the one who'd written the law. Besides, there was the not-so-trifling matter of his horse and the five hundred dollars he would make. He needed that money. It would give him a new start.}

^{As he rode along, he was also troubled by something Preacher had said to him that night, that he'd seen the way Cain had stared at the girl and knew that Cain wanted to do the same thing to her that he had tried. Don't pay him any mind, Cain cautioned himself. He was a fool, his appetites little better than those of an animal. Still, Cain couldn't get the notion out of his mind. How
had
he looked at her? Sure, she was a fine-looking woman. He'd have to have been blind not to notice that. From time to time when he was growing up on his father's farm, Cain would take heed of some young slave wench. When the women washed their clothing down at the creek or when one lifted the hem of her dress to carry apples and he'd catch sight of a shapely calf--he noticed them. Sometimes it was more than noticing them. Sometimes he'd picture them as he lay down at night in the darkness of his bed, picture them as he took hold of his growing hunger. Yet that was only normal. Besides, unlike Preacher or Eberly, he'd never acted upon what he felt. So what if he'd noticed Rosetta? Any man would, no matter what color he was.}

^{Around noon the next day, they stopped for lunch at a pretty green lake surrounded by hemlock and spruce trees. Cain led Hermes down to the water's edge and helped Rosetta from the horse. She stood there, waiting for him to get the shackles out of the saddlebags. Instead, he took out the horse's feed bag and filled it with oats.}

^{She sat on a rock. "He a fine horse," she offered.}

^{"Yes, he is," Cain replied proudly. He thought of telling her that it was because of this animal that he had come after her in the first place. That he cared enough for Hermes and didn't want to lose him. That unlike the Strofes or Preacher, who did all this out of mere pecuniary reasons, for the money or because it was their job, his reasons were somehow more noble--he did it out of the love for his horse. But he had to admit to himself that he wanted the money, too. And then there was the fact that the
only
thing he'd ever been any good at was catching slaves, and he wanted to show up a man like Eberly, a man who looked down upon him. Rich, powerful planters like Eberly came to him with their tails between their legs to ask him to bring back their valued possessions. He knew all of this was true, too.}

^{From his pocket, he took out the money purse the old lady had given him.}

^{"Here," he said.}

^{"What's this?" Rosetta asked suspiciously.}

^{"The old lady we buried. She wanted you to have it. There's nearly ten dollars there."}

^{Rosetta opened the purse, shook the coins out onto the palm of her hand.}

^{"She had her a good heart. How come you giving this to me?"}

^{"Because it's yours."}

^{"You coulda kept it."}

^{"I'm not a thief."}

^{He removed the cinch and took off the saddle and the blanket and began to brush the horse. After a while, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. "I want to ask you something. And I want you to tell me the truth," he said.}

^{Rosetta looked at Cain, waiting.}

^{"Why did you do it?"}

^{"Help bury her?"}

^{"No, not that. Why did you wake up the Strofes? You could have run."}

^{"Wouldn't a got far," she said with a laugh. "Not with them dogs after me."}

^{"But you could have tried to get away," he said. "You had a chance. Just like the chance you had in the river."}

^{She jerked her shoulders up toward her ears, then let them fall slowly downward, one shoulder at a time.}

^{"You said you'd kill me if you got the chance," he reminded her.}

^{"I still might," she said, her face expressionless, so he couldn't tell if she meant it or not.}

^{"You had the chance to run and you didn't. Why?" he asked again. "I thought the last thing you wanted was to go back there."}

^{"It is," she replied. "But I got to ponderin' on what you said last night."}

^{"What was that?"}

^{" 'Bout whether I got the right to choose whether this chile gonna be birthed or not. More I got to ponderin' on it, more I thought you're right. How it ain't my choice. Never been mine. It God's choice. His will to do as he wants. Only thing I can do is protect this life I'm carrying."}

^{"What does that have to do with you not running?"}

^{"You saved my life. Twice. In the river and then again last night," she said.}

^{"So you figure you owe me?"}

^{"Not for me," she replied, raising her eyebrows. "If it was just me, I'da let him cut your throat, Cain. Mine, too, for that matter. But I owe you for my chile. For saving his life. Let me tell you something. When I found out I was with child again--with
that man's
child--first thing I thought of was doing away with it. I didn't want no part of it. No, sir. Didn't want his seed growing in me. Not again. But then I got to thinkin' how it wasn't my baby's fault. And how it was mine own child, not Eberly's. How if God decided to put life in me who was I to say no to it?"}

^{Cain looked at her and then nodded his head, not so much in agreement as because he didn't want to know all this about her life. "For whatever reason you did it," he said, "I want to thank you."}

^{"Oughta be thankin' God. He the one saved you."}

^{"You saved me."}

^{"Just like a white man to think we can save ourselves. Y'all so used to thinkin' you're in charge of things."}

^{She smiled at him again, this time without the note of irony, then glanced out over the lake. He stared at her. In the light of day her skin shone a warm golden color with reddish highlights on her cheeks and forehead. And her eyes seemed to keep changing hue, depending on the light and time of day, and her moods, which, he had begun to realize, were as unpredictable as the weather. Now they were lighter, a soft turquoise blue. She was, it suddenly struck him, beautiful, and he felt a familiar but long-dormant sensation move inside him, faint yet sure as the far-off rumble of a train. Was he no better than Preacher? Than Eberly? Did he want to possess her, to own her in the way men owned women of any color?}

^{"So we even now," she said, glancing up at him.}

^{"What does that mean?"}

^{"Just mean we is, is all."}

^{He wasn't sure if she was suggesting that she would put aside the hatred she'd previously harbored for him, accept her fate and no longer fight it; or if she was giving him fair warning that, if the chance presented itself, she would still kill him with impunity. He scrutinized her face, trying to read her intent there. Yet a cloud happened to pass overhead at that moment, making her expression all the more inscrutable.}

^{That evening only one of Little Strofe's dogs came straggling into camp, its tongue hanging out, and looking the worse for wear. It was Louella. There was no sign of Skunk. The bitch's back leg and foot were bloodied, and she was limping badly. When Little Strofe knelt to inspect, he found that her hindquarters had buckshot in it.}

^{"Some sumbitch shot her," he said, incredulous, his eyes watering. "Why would anybody want to s-shoot her?"}

^{Cain got his box of medical supplies and picked out the buckshot with a pair of tweezers. The dog stared up at him and made low whimpering sounds. "Hit's all right, girl," comforted Little Strofe, who held the dog while Cain worked. "Where's Skunk? What happened to 'im?" When Cain was finished removing the lead, he washed and cleaned the wounds, poured some whiskey on them.}