Sweetsmoke (31 page)

    He
replaced the book in the hiding place, stepping back to be certain it would
draw no attention. Satisfied, he settled onto his pallet.

    As he
drifted off to sleep, he remembered that Hoke had said Cassius was an honorable
man. Perhaps his early inference was wrong and Shakespeare's Cassius would
ultimately surprise him. Gabriel Logue had said Cassius might one day be free
to search for his name. Perhaps he did not need to search, now that he was
familiar with the source of his name. Perhaps Hoke had aimed accurately and
Cassius had carried his true name from birth.

    He
slept briefly, but was awake before the bell, wanting to be away before
questions could be asked, planning to travel by day with his passes.

    Ellen
Howard was not amused by the smirk on her grandson's face. Something devious
had entered his mind and he was preparing to act on it.

    She
had tried over the years to like her grandson, but Charles had inherited his
personality from his father and grandfather, too much of it unfortunate. He had
an annoyingly high opinion of himself, earned not by deeds but by accident of
birth, and he was intolerant of those who did not share this glorified
perspective. Her husband, Hoke, had passed on that particular character flaw,
most flagrantly displayed when he took action in the world of business.
Something inside of her was satisfied when she saw Hoke encounter his
comeuppance. But he did not fail often; in fact, he exhibited a flair for
wealth accumulation. In the early years of their marriage, she had perceived
this flair to be happenstance, but over the years he had demonstrated it with
too great a frequency to have been mere dumb luck. How full of himself he
became when he was flush. Hoke was so imprudent with money that after prolonged
bouts of profligacy he would be forced to sell people and animals to make up
the shortfall. She found those times painful and humiliating. She was
especially moved when it came time to sell the animals. She remembered a
particular horse, a glorious bay named Ahab, which Hoke had gifted to Jacob. A
few months later, when they were overextended, Hoke had sold the horse without
warning, giving Jacob no opportunity to bid Ahab farewell. Jacob had been
heartbroken in a way that only a trusting young boy can be when betrayed by a
father. It exposed Jacob's stubborn streak, as it was years before he publicly
forgave his father. Jacob was too young to understand that his father was
deeply mortified by his fiscal weaknesses and had been ashamed to face his son.

    And
so began Jacob's history of mulish behavior in the face of his father's
disapproval, which led to his greatest obdurate blunder, his marriage to Sarah
Greenleaf. When Jacob finally took a good look at his permanent wife and
understood the enormity of his error, rather than admit his folly, he fled,
initially to bury himself in his business and later to bury himself in war. And
yet there was precedent for his obstinacy. She remembered how Hoke had insisted
on Ellen Corey as his bride, and oh, how Grace Howard had frowned on that!
Grace Howard. Ellen's mind ran to her mother-in-law. Lord, what a frightening
creature. Ellen was terrified of her, spent the entire first year of marriage
skulking around her. Grace Howard was a force of nature, so intelligent, so
certain, so inflexible. She had even infused her personal servant, Emoline,
with those traits. The two of them, in the same house, surrounding Ellen the
young bride. She shivered to think of it. Ellen had not felt safe in the bosom
of her husband's family until John-Corey was born. At the instant of
motherhood, she fell completely and utterly in love with her son, and no longer
recoiled at her mother-in-law's caprice.

    Grace
had not lived to meet Jacob. Grace had acted as if she would live forever, and
what a surprise her death had been, not the least to herself. A woman that
powerful and determined, and yet she was unable to go on after the death of her
husband. Grace left Hoke behind to take over Sweetsmoke. How young he had been
emotionally, a new father still struggling to cope with the death of his own
father.

    "Grandma
Ellen?" said Charles coyly.

    "Eat
your breakfast, Charles," said Ellen.

    Charles
had a few unpleasant traits that were all his own, one of which was that he
thought he was sly and clever, when he was in fact obvious and transparent.

    "Where
was the carpenter going in the middle of the night?"

    "Please
do not share your dreams at the table, as they are unappetizing," said
Ellen.

    "It
warn't no dream, Grandma Ellen."

    "And
please do not bite into the second muffin before you have finished your first one."

    "I
was up in the night and saw him."

    "Saw
whom, Charles?"

    "Saw
the carpenter," said Charles. "Cassius."

    "I
do not see how you could have recognized him in the dark."

    "It
was almost dawn and I was using the chamber pot."

    "Do
not speak of such things at the table, Charles."

    "But
I was, and before I got back in bed I looked out the window and saw Cassius
sneaking off. He had Daddy's old bag and his hat. Where was he going? Is he a
runaway too, like Joseph?"

    "Cassius
has been with us a long time, Charles," said Ellen, but she was interested
in this information.

    Ellen
Howard disliked Cassius. Hoke had always favored him and she had never
understood it. Cassius struck her as unexceptional, no different from the
others except that his closeness to her husband gave him permission to parade
his bad habits, such as being willing to look a planter in the eye and speak
his mind. If he had run, it was almost certainly because of Hoke's illness.
Cassius would know that Hoke's protection was now at an end and he would not be
indulged as he had been when Hoke was alive. She caught herself. She had
thought "when Hoke was alive." A superstitious chill gripped her and
she looked to perform some act of contrition, now that she had to protect her
husband from her dangerous thoughts the way she protected her son. Hoke was
alive still and would remain so, she was convinced of it. What had brought on
such an appalling thought? She would punish herself; she would avoid laudanum
for a day, no two, and drink her tea without sweet. Was it not difficult enough
being forced to learn the everyday workings of the plantation? Now she had to
defend against evil thoughts.

    Ellen's
mind turned to the plantation. She played a complicated game with the other
owners. Women were not acceptable masters, so she pretended her decisions were
made by her husband, even though everyone knew he was incapacitated. The other
planters likewise pretended that Hoke was making decisions as that allowed
business to flow smoothly. When they disagreed with one of her decisions, they
demanded she inform her husband that his decision was unacceptable. She would
then pretend to carry their response to him, and return with a new decision. In
one case she simply reiterated her original decision and they accepted it
without comment. Beyond that, she manifestly did not enjoy being in charge. So
many questions, Missus this and Missus that. She preferred the old days, when
she only had to inform her husband of her opinion to have her will thus carried
out.

    Ellen
was now forced to suffer through direct interactions with the personnel. She
found Mr. Nettle a bore, consumed with minutiae, and she dreaded his evening
report on the state of the plantation. Sometimes she refused to see him. She
would need to invent a new system. If there was little to report, he could wait
two or three days, perhaps even a week. Today was likely to be particularly
difficult. Food stocks were increasingly low, and she had delayed confronting
the problem. Hoke had hidden grain and preserves from the quartermaster, but
had neglected to share with her their location. She had to pretend to know,
however, because if she were to ask her people, they would recognize her
ignorance and go dumb, and subsequently raid the stocks for themselves. She
could not abide her people taking advantage of her. She thought to include the
new butler from John- Corey. Beauregard seemed loyal enough and willing to
please, but of course it was early in his stewardship, and he would want to
appear capable. That would change in time, it always did. It was decided then:
She would speak with him, and be careful not to tip her hand. The butler should
know the goings-on of the plantation.

    Lord,
she thought, where is Pet? I will need my laudanum drops if I am to get through
the day.

    "So
you know where Cassius was going?" said Charles.

    "Yes,
of course," said his grandmother.

    Ellen
would have to find out if Cassius was on the property. She did not appreciate
the spurious expression of shock on Charles's face.

    After
breakfast, she spoke with Beauregard, and asked for the
condition
of the
hidden food stocks, expecting a full report to be detailed by their location.
By mid-morning, Beauregard had reported back with an itemized list that
included the locations, and went further to report the condition of the hidden
livestock. Ellen's hands were rock steady, as she had increased the number of
drops and was feeling quite normal in her altered condition. She had forgotten
her superstitious promise until after her indulgence, vowing immediately to
curb her use the following two days. She asked Beauregard if he knew Cassius's
whereabouts, and was informed that Cassius had been seen going up to the area
that held the livestock, probably to work on the hog pen. Ellen was satisfied
with his report and relieved to know that Charles was wrong. But she would have
Mr. Nettle account for Cassius to confirm that he remained on Sweetsmoke
property. She would need to exert control over that one. He had too much
independence. She preferred to loan him out to other plantations, as then she
would not not have to see him day in and day out. If Hoke were not to recover,
perhaps a sale through Lucas Force would be in order; but she would never do it
unless Hoke was gone. With his skills, Cassius was likely to fetch a fine
price.

    Cassius
walked in bluish gray light, fog clinging to hollows in the surrounding fields
as he traveled the turnpike. The sun was still hidden behind the low hills. He
enjoyed the coolness knowing the midday heat would test his stamina. He carried
Jacob's old haversack, a boy's bag and hand-me-down given to him ten years
before. Inside was a kerchief that wrapped salt pork and ashcakes, enough to
last him two days, after which he would need to scrounge. He carried no water,
but the map foretold a series of creeks, and he had no reason not to trust
whites when it came to mapmaking. He stopped under the little bridge and drank,
lingering for only a moment as the swift current rushed by. At the fork, he
turned north away from town and approached the small farm of Thomas Chavis,
where he looked forward to speaking with Weyman.

    He
saw the Chavis barn shrouded in ground fog so that the upper barn and roof
appeared to float. He drew closer and an air current twisted a horizontal sash
of fog into a coil as if someone unseen had run through it. The barn was in
questionable condition, in need of paint with the random missing board, but the
siding that was in place appeared unwarped and flush. He thought that if Thomas
Chavis had a better than average harvest, Cassius might convince Hoke to rent
him out to work the property. With each step the farmhouse emerged from behind
the barn, small and simple and well kept, and he thought that on Sweetsmoke it
would have been mistaken for a shed. He slowed to a deliberate pace, expecting
to see them leaving for the field, and when they did not, he hesitated. He
began to walk on, but the ominously quiet house made him curious, so he crossed
to the far side of the turnpike and sat on a stony spot alongside grass still
damp with dew.

    After
a few minutes, Bunty emerged from the privy, pulling tight a rope belt, and
walked unhurriedly toward the farmhouse.

    Cassius
called out to him. Bunty turned, saw Cassius and nodded, then continued inside.
A moment later Weyman came out and waved him over with a full arm movement.
Cassius made his way, admiring the worn but well-kept tools lined up alongside
the house under the makeshift porch roof: butter churn, washboard and tub,
large crock pots, small barrels, and a heavy iron pot that had a hole in its
side. Weyman greeted him at the door.

    Cassius,
what y'all doin out here?

    On a
task for Old Hoke.

    "Come
in, Cassius," said Thomas Chavis from inside. "We are slow to the
fields today as it is Martha's birthday."

    Cassius
removed his hat and stepped inside, bowing his head to her.