Sweetsmoke (4 page)

    Workin
on it, said Weyman, puffing his chest like an old peacock. He had won the
storytelling competition three years running. Sunday's Big-To-Do was to be
hosted this year at Edensong, Francis Jarvis's plantation, and the hands of the
neighboring plantations waited on that day with great anticipation.

    You
want to practice your story, go right ahead, said Cassius. The dust cloud was
larger. Cassius observed it without turning his head.

    Well,
now, I was just thinkin 'bout that time Old John went on up to Heaven and met Saint
Peter at the gate. Old John, he look inside the gate and saw this mansion look
just like his old plantation, and he say to Saint Peter, Saint Peter? Why you
done built a copy of my Massa's plantation up here in Heaven? And Saint Peter
say, Well now, why don't we go on over there and have a little look, and Saint
Peter leads John over to the plantation, and it's all big like his plantation
but it's different, too, fancy-like, made with jewels and gold and silver, and
John is surprised and all wonderin and he says, Why, Saint Peter, this here
plantation is even nicer than my massa's plantation, but who that workin over
there on the roses, he look just like my old massa hisself, and Saint Peter
says, Shhh, that be God, he just
thinkin
he your old massa—

    Weyman
laughed at his own story, and in the middle of his laugh he looked around and
saw the dust cloud and stopped laughing.

    That
your Hoke?

    Cassius
smiled and said, That's him.

    Weyman
snapped the reins and tsked at the horse, turning him around to head back
toward town and the Chavis farm, setting off at a trot to build some distance
between himself and the oncoming dust.

    Guess
I'll meet that customer some other time, said Weyman over his shoulder, and he smiled
at Cassius, knowing Cassius had gotten some of his own back, after Weyman had
held off from telling him who had died.

    Some
minutes passed before Hoke Howard came up in his carriage. Sam made the wide
turn into the road to the big house, wheels coming up over the ruts. Hoke
pulled Sam to a stop and looked at Cassius without a word.

    At
one time, up until five years before, Cassius had been Hoke's favorite. During
the subsequent years, Cassius struggled to disguise his hostility toward the
man. He would see Hoke most days, but for the times when he was loaned out,
specifically the six months he spent building the addition to The Swan of
Alicante, Lamar Robertson's plantation. Not once in that time apart was his
anger diminished.

    Hoke
made a clicking sound out of the side of his mouth and Sam lurched forward,
carrying them under the arch of the gate.

    Cassius
sat back in the shade and watched Hoke get smaller. The sun was two hands up
from the horizon. An early mosquito tested his ear. They would call for him
when they were ready. Cassius knew he was facing a late supper.

    Cassius
was called to the big house after the bell rang for the field hands, and he
heard them dragging back to the quarters in the twilight. The sun was gone, the
black trees framed a pale blue sky, and the big house grew larger with each
step. The indoor lamp flames fluttered and flitted across the warp of the large
blown-glass windows. Crickets chirked, a mourning dove warned a mockingbird of
excessive celebration, and under it all he felt more than heard the munching
hornworm jaws out in the fields.

    Something
pulled his attention to his left near the kitchen. He saw a figure in the dark
and recognized Tempie Easter. Curious that she was hanging around the big
house, as she had no legitimate business there. Tempie had come from another
plantation, the only slave who insisted on a last name. She had arrived alone,
an unattached high yellow, and for a time, the single stallions circled her.
They moved on when it became apparent that her mind was otherwise occupied. She
had brought with her nice clothes and campaigned to join the big house staff.
Cassius thought she might have been what she claimed, a big house negro, as she
carried herself in that superior way, with her aristocratic chest and small
upturned breasts, her high hips and swaybacked walk. Cassius saw a second head
peer around the corner and met Pet's eyes. So it was business. Pet had allowed
some trinket to slip into her apron, something Tempie might offer to a
customer. Pet backed up and he knew she would run to the side and come through
the house to answer the front door as if she had been indoors all this time.

    Cassius
stepped onto the porch where only hours before Otis Bornock had stood, and Pet
opened the door.

    Two
winters had passed since Cassius had been inside the big house. The subtle
smell of fish embraced him, a smell he associated with wealth and power; despite
the deprivations of war, they still had whale oil for the lamps. The big house
was alive, children upstairs emitting occasional shrieks of delight or misery,
their footfalls thunderous. The main foyer opened to a majestic greeting room
that extended all the way to the back of the house, where a grand fireplace
dominated and the walls were covered with paintings. In the far corner, a door
led out to the rear gardens. In the wall to his right was the door to Hoke's
study. To his left, the staircase ran halfway up, to a landing at the back
wall, turned, and finished its climb to the second floor. On the far side of
the stairs, a wide breezeway opened into the dining area and other rooms. The
ceilings were high, the rooms large, the floorboards scrubbed clean, the rugs
elegant, the windows huge. The volume of light was staggering, coming from a
multitude of candles and whale oil lanterns that filled this room and leaked
from other rooms, around corners, down the stairs.

    Anything
left in Mam Rosie's kitchen? said Cassius. Or did all them starving planter
children eat up the leftovers?

    Pet
shook her head at him, mouth set, eyes grim.

    Cassius
understood. It was going to be bad for him. But bad news was a constant, bad
news was forever and bad news would keep because right then he was more
interested in his belly.

    Pet
scrutinized the grime that clung to Cassius from the day's work. She shook her
head and rushed out of sight, returning with a damp cloth. She did what she
could to clean his face and arms and hands, saying nothing. She left him alone
with a warning look.

    Cassius
heard Hoke Howard's voice from his study.

    "I'll
not repeat the error of bringing you gifts in the future, if this is how they
are to be received."

    "This
locket appears to be gold. How can we afford it, Mr. Howard?"

    "Perhaps
it is extravagant, but we can still afford special things."

    "That
is a crooked path to an answer, husband."

    "I
had a bit of luck gambling."

    "You
know very well my opinion of gambling," she said.

    "I
never bet more than I can afford to lose," said Hoke pompously.

    Cassius
moved to change the angle of his view of the inside of the study through the
slightly open door. He could make out Ellen with her back to the door, but her
full skirt blocked Hoke at his desk.

    "And
you were not gambling," said Ellen decisively.

    "Was
I not?"

    "You
have taken advantage of that tax business up North."

    "You
refer to the Morrill Tariff Act."

    "Just
so, you and your specificity, the Morrill Tariff Act then."

    "There
are certain benefits to—"

    "You
met with that man Logue."

    "Now,
Ellie."

    "Gabriel
Logue is a—he is a—"

    "Logue
is a businessman, no more, no less, just as I am a businessman, and I will tend
to my business." His voice was loud and she was silent and Cassius backed
up so that he would not be observed. Weyman had told him the truth. "If
the North sees fit to tax tobacco, then I am but a damned fool if I do not take
advantage. People desire my product and dislike being taxed. Logue offers me an
excellent price, but lest you think me greedy, I have held back a portion of
last year's crop to satisfy Mr. Davis's government so that we do not incite
suspicion. And it is damned lucky I was able to make Logue's deal. You see the
condition of the crop. If we do not terminate this affliction, we will need
Logue just to see us through the winter!"

    "I
do not approve of you dealing with men like Gabriel Logue," said Ellen
quietly.

    "We
are at war, and this is man's business."

    "War
and man's business," she said derogatorily.

    Cassius
heard Hoke's chair scrape against the floor as he pushed himself back.

    "I
have summoned Nettle and we will attend to it. It is his fault we are in this
mess, I let him convince me to use the south fields for the third straight year
and the soil is played out. This winter we will clear cut the parcel I took
from Buffalo Channing's grandson. I cheated him out of
that
one, at
least."

    "Is
the Produce Loan from the government inadequate?"

    "Will
you leave man's work to men, Mrs. Howard!?"

    Cassius
listened to the ensuing silence. If the Howards sold property to pay debts,
life would change irrevocably. His carpentry skills could transfer to a new
master, but would a new master allow Cassius to rent himself out? Would a new
master allow him to retain his saved money? Cassius might even be sold to a
cotton state. At that moment, life seemed not unreasonable in Sweetsmoke.

    "Was
there word from Jacob?" said Ellen.

    "Nothing
today, my dear, but do not fret, your son has never been a regular
correspondent. Remember that in March we received a collection of his letters
in a bundle."

    "Does
he not understand what it does to me?"

    "You
must consider that, with Sarah…" His voice trailed off.

    "Yes,
he married a ninny, which does not excuse him from communicating with his
mother."

    "Hush
now, lest she hear through the floorboards."

    Cassius
glanced up at the ceiling. Pretty Sarah Greenleaf had been a sickly thing well before
Jacob had taken her as his wife. She brought him one son, Charles, and in the
ensuing ten years had yet to recover from childbirth. Not long after Jacob
announced he would be joining Ashby's cavalry, Sarah was rushed to her bed with
an undisclosed illness. Her husband, expected to remain behind to nurse her to
health, had instead ridden away sooner than originally planned. Her illness
persisted and she remained in her bed to this day.

    Pet
crossed to the Old Master's study and pushed open the door, entering as if she
was but a gust of wind. Cassius now saw Ellen and

    Hoke
standing in opposition, but then Pet closed the door behind her and he heard
the latch click.

    The
knot in his belly tensed. A slave never closed a door. It was difficult to hear
through a closed door.

    A
moment later, Pet opened the door, Ellen emerged and marched past Cassius
without making eye contact. Pet nodded that he should enter the study. Cassius
did not move. Pet followed her Missus Ellen to the stairs, and spoke rapidly.

    I
don't know if this be the time, Missus Ellen, said Pet, but I was thinkin that
if Missus Sarah was goin get herself a personal servant, ain't no one better
than Tempie.

    "Do
not say 'ain't,' Pet."

    Sorry,
Missus.

    "Tempie,
now who is this Tempie?" said Ellen.

    Why
surely, Missus Ellen, you know her, Tempie Easter, she the one wear them nice
clothes and such?

    "I
will have to consider that, Pet. I have yet to meet with John-Corey's people,
and they were in his house."

    Oh
but Missus Ellen, Miss Genevieve got herself a personal servant and Miss Anne
do, too—but Tempie, she been here a while and she know everythin 'bout the
place.

    From
the stairs, Pet caught Cassius's eye and made a more urgent nod toward Hoke's
study.

    Still
Cassius did not move.

    "Cassius?
Come on in here now," said Hoke.

    Cassius
entered the study. Hoke sat behind his desk, writing. Cassius noted that his
pen hand moved with more deliberation than usual.