Sweetsmoke (37 page)

    Cassius
had seen the moment of danger flare back up and then recede, and he knew it was
done. He breathed deeply and his breath pressed through him like fingers
digging into hidden places he had given up for dead. He looked past her at
Charles hanging on to her skirts and then at Pet in the doorway, and as he came
back to life he smiled at them both. Charles looked as if he had been properly
disemboweled, and Pet slipped away into the cool darkness of the big house.
Only Quashee exhibited relief, her mouth open to welcome oxygen, her back
leaning hard against the doorjamb. Nanny Catherine scuttled off with her
charges like a hen shepherding chicks, Ellen's daughters wafted away, and
Cassius turned to Mam Rosie. He was not surprised to find that she was no
longer there. She had told Ellen that Cassius had planned to run when Cassius
had been careful to tell her nothing.

    The
gentleman is at the
bierhaus,
Missus. Best you be going this afternoon,
as you won't find him tomorrow.

    Ellen
nodded, her revulsion now complete as she would need to enter the German
section of town.

    Cassius
met her near the stand of trees that shielded the privy from the big house. He
waited while she emptied chamber pots and noted the flowers blooming around the
structure. She set the pots aside in a clump of tall grass shiny in the sun and
they moved back but still out of sight of the big house. Face-to-face with her
actual person, he realized that a dream version of her had accompanied him on
the road and he knew that he had exaggerated their moment, a single impulsive
kiss that she had likely found inconsequential. She glanced nervously in the
direction of the big house and he read that as an onerous sign.

    Good
to see you safe, said Quashee.

    How
is he? said Cassius.

    Doctors
came. They bled him, but no change.

    He
nodded, and thought about what would happen if Hoke were to die.

    She
reached out and took his hand as if reading his mind: He won't die, Cassius.
He's strong.

    Her
hand was warm and dry and he was reassured, but now he thought of how fragile
the connections were when others held the power over their lives.

    Sometime
you got to tell me about where you went, said Quashee. But I got to get back
soon.

    I'll
tell you everything, said Cassius. He smiled then, remembering something else:
You ever imagine your Sarah a dancer?

    I
wait up every night but she ain't been dancing since. Sorry, Missus
hasn't
been dancing since. What dance was she on about?

    It's
what they do at white dances, call it the waltz, one two three one two three.
Pictured herself decked out in a fancy dress. I got to wondering who was
dreaming—the invalid from her bed, or the slave breaking into his master's
study?

    Is
that so, she saw herself in a gown? said Quashee, and her face opened up with
the wonder of a child.

    He
imitated Sarah lifting the fabric of her nightdress: Held it so, looking in the
eyes of a partner who was a might taller than her Jacob, and did a curtsy.

    That
poor, sour old thing. You'd never know, listening to her—Quashee get me water,
Quashee I'm too cold, Quashee now it's hot—a gown and handsome partner. Always
wondered why she don't want me sleeping in her room. Would've ruined her
secret.

    The
back door of the big house slammed shut and they heard a child scream and
laugh, another one chasing, all out of sight.

    Got
to be careful, said Quashee. Pet watches me. She pretends now, like she's my
friend, but sometimes I see her face when she thinks I'm not looking. Got to
get back before I'm missed.

    When
do I see you?

    In
the afternoon, she said and picked up the empty pots on her way back to the big
house.

    They
were not able to meet that afternoon, nor in the afternoons that followed. With
Cassius returned, Quashee was under greater scrutiny. They were limited to
brief moments of conversation in passing.

    Ellen
Howard had gone to see Gabriel Logue on that afternoon, but had not left the
plantation since. Nothing about their meeting had reached Cassius's ears.
Beauregard had driven her in the carriage, but he had remained outside and she
had revealed to him no indication of its success or failure. Cassius had been
directed to town the next day to collect the post and newspaper. He had looked
for Logue, but by then The Angel was gone.

    Joseph
was released from the barn after a week of confinement, and was carried
facedown on a litter to Abram and Savilla's cabin where his rehabilitation
continued. Cassius was sad to see that his tuft was no longer a unique mark, as
the hair on Joseph's head had gone completely gray. Hoke's condition was
unchanged.

    Cassius
returned to the drudgery of plantation life as July moved into August. He thought
often about Whitacre, but did not know how to resolve his promise to himself
about Emoline. He often worked close to the big house, to be near Quashee, near
Hoke. Cassius was taken for granted. He had not run when given the opportunity,
and had so earned Ellen's trust. He was sent with regularity to the town to
conduct basic family business. He drove the carriage, but as it was not a
buckboard, it resisted transporting supplies, showing wear and distress.
Cassius's presence in town became no more unusual than a shadow. He created a
routine, stopping initially in front of the dry goods to review the lists
posted of the local dead. As most of the men were members of the same unit,
when they saw battle, multiple casualties were common. He made a show of pretending
he could read, entertaining the townspeople. Thus he was able to spend time
perusing the list. To maintain his secret, he would eventually ask one of the
passing whites to read him the list, keeping the game alive by saying he had
something in his eye or could not make out the handwriting. The white would
chortle agreeably, a willing partner in Cassius's charade of intelligence, and
while the white read aloud, Cassius pretended to listen. Upon his return, the
Howard family would rush to meet him and he would inform them of Jacob's
absence on the list. Once they knew Jacob was safe for another day, they would
ask for news of others, always double- checking his memory.

    "Are
you sure William Anderson was on the list?"

    Oh
yes, ma'am, Mr. Morse told it to me particularly.

    The
women would mourn the names and make plans to visit widows or mothers. But the
overall mood was good, as their Jacob was alive, the war continued to go well for
Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia, and they anticipated an overall
Confederate victory within weeks.

    He
did not seek out Mam Rosie. She would come to him, in time.

    He
finished reading
The Tragedy of Julius Caesar
and was disappointed. He read
to discover in what way Shakespeare's Cassius was an honorable man, only to
find that those exact words were never uttered. Mark Antony, or Antonius, spoke
of Brutus as an honorable man. He said, "So are they all, all honorable
men," a reference meant to include Caius Cassius. Brutus was
"honorable" many times over, while the honor of his ally Cassius was
but inferred. Cassius understood that Mark Antony did not mean what he said.
Mark Antony's speech roused the Roman masses and by its conclusion, "honorable"
had come to mean "traitorous."

    Within
the shadows and hollows of a hot and unusually dry August, Cassius reviewed
Hoke's meaning when he had said Cassius was an honorable man. Had he meant to
be injurious? Was he enjoying a laugh at Cassius's ignorance? Cassius decided
that the irony worked against Hoke. When Hoke had not prevented his son Jacob
from taking Marriah to bed, Hoke had been an "honorable" man, while
Cassius—to use Mark Antony's sarcastic words—would choose to wrong the dead and
wrong himself rather than wrong such an honorable man. When his temper
retreated in fatigue, he wondered if perhaps Hoke had known all along that he
had wronged Cassius, and had intentionally pointed the irony back at himself.

    Cassius
grew increasingly unhappy with his name and began to weigh alternatives. But
each new moniker he tried on fit him no better than a costume; he tugged and
stretched them until abandoning each one in turn.

    Cassius
made weary plans to return the book to Hoke's library.

    Work
in the fields took on a normal, seasonal urgency. The blight was long defeated,
the occasional plucked hornworm now an anomaly. The summer aged. The hands
primed and topped the tobacco plants, removing leaves close to the ground, as
well as flowers, seeds, and compact leaves from the head of the plant. Harvest
was weeks away, its timing to be decided by Mr. Nettle, and he was meticulous
in his inspections, shuffling from row to row, touching each plant,
contemplating the sun, anticipating precipitation, rolling handfuls of soil in
his palms, calculating, calculating. The hands did the same, arguing among
themselves about the optimum moment. The sun hung lower in the sky and the days
were shorter, with daylight pinched from both ends. Ellen surprised her people
with unwelcome visits to the fields, more visits than her husband had been
known to make. Her ignorant fingers grasped leaves that seemed to waver and
withdraw from her touch. Savilla recognized her urgent desire for a triumphant
harvest, and she followed Ellen discreetly, superstitiously touching the same
leaves as if to calm them.

    One
afternoon in town, Cassius met Weyman loading supplies onto Thomas Chavis's
buckboard. Weyman paused and allowed himself to be entertained by watching
Cassius rearrange sacks of grain to fit in the carriage.

    I see
y'all Sweetsmokes take your dry goods real serious, said Weyman.

    How's
that? said Cassius.

    To
me, that's just a sack of barley.

    It's
barley, so?

    I'm
just sayin, barley is barley, and if you don't look out, you goin spoil it.

    It's
not spoiled, Weyman. It's fresh.

    Lugging
it around in the fancy—nancy carriage, I bet y'all sing it to sleep with a
lullaby.

    Cassius
caught up to Weyman's joke and joined in: Dry goods getting pretty dear around
here, Weyman. You don't treat 'em right, they likely to run off to war.

    Cassius
wanted to stay and banter with Weyman, but he had a week—old copy of the
Whig
as well as a letter from Jacob to his mother, and he was anxious to
read them.

    Once
outside of town he eased off on the reins and Sam slowed to an amble. Jacob
rarely sealed the envelopes that carried his letters and this one was no
exception. Cassius opened it. It was cautious and newsy and told him nothing
except that at the time it was written, Jacob did not know of his father's
illness. Reading between the lines, Cassius understood that Jacob was changed
by the war, but that Jacob knew his mother well enough to pacify her with
platitudes. Ellen however would not be fooled. He unfolded the
Richmond
Daily Whig.
A battle had taken place at Cedar Mountain and General Thomas
Jackson, referred to by his nickname "Stonewall," had driven Union
general Nathaniel Banks from the field. Cassius refolded the newspaper, and
snapped the reins to lift Sam out of his lethargy. He would learn later that
Ellen read the newspaper aloud to her unconscious husband, but he did not hear
if she had done the same with Jacob's letter.

    Throughout
this time, Quashee continued to be watched closely by Pet and even Sundays when
the hands were free, Quashee's presence was always urgently needed at the big
house.

    Cassius
tested boundaries. Some nights he slept in the quarters, others in the
carpentry shed. He noticed no increased suspicion, from either Mr. Nettle or
Big Gus. He gradually recognized his opportunity, and began to contemplate a
plan to shadow Lee's army in search of Solomon Whitacre. With the decision
still unresolved in his mind, he began to mend his clothing and hoard food. He
built a new pair of shoes and did not skimp. He carefully measured his foot so
that there was room for his large toe to spread when he walked; he used the
best leather he could find, leather reserved for the planter family's shoes; he
rejected exposed stitching to make the more durable pegged soles, but once that
was done, he decided to disguise his handiwork by adding exposed stitching,
thereby making the shoes appear of lower quality. Once finished, he scuffed and
dripped paint and glue on them.

    On a
night when he planned to sleep in the quarters, he saw Jenny hovering near his
cabin. Her intention to speak to him became obvious when she did not rush away.
She waited for an opening. He surmised that she had come to offer a truce. He
stepped out his door and sat on the extended step that served as a small deck.
He nodded to her and took up his whittling knife and set to carving. She stayed
a few steps off in the lane.