The Last Confederate (6 page)

They drove back slowly, the mules throwing their strength to pull the heavy load, and all along the way Toby was pointing out different kinds of trees, animal signs, and the best places to hunt coon and possum. He seemed to Thad so gentle for all his enormous strength, and yet the boy sensed the potential for explosive anger in the black man.

They unloaded the ice in a building such as Thad had never seen before. Only the roof was out of the ground, and a stone ramp led down to the chamber dug out of solid earth. Inside he saw rough-hewn chunks of ice stacked to the heavy rafters, and they guided their new store of ice into place, then covered it with straw. “Make good ice cream nex’ summer, Thad!” Toby said as he closed the heavy door.

Every day they went early to the lake and cut ice, and by the end of the week Thad’s strength seemed to have been restored by the fresh air, work, and good food. “I always was quick to get well,” he said to Toby as they made their way back with a load. “Why, I bet I can work more now than before I got sick!”

Even as Thad spoke, a man on a bay horse caught up with the wagon, gave the two a cursory glance and rode on. Suddenly he pulled the horse up sharply, wheeled, and spurred the animal back to them.

“Well, I’ll be dogged!” he said in amazement. Throwing his scarf to one side he exposed a massive mustache that covered the lower half of his face. “I been wonderin’ what happened to you.” He gave Thad a quick look. “Guess you don’t remember me. I’m Dooley Young. Took you over to ol’ Pitchfork at the Mission.”

“Sure, I remember,” Thad said. “Well, some of it, anyway. Never did get a chance to thank you, Dooley.”

Dooley waved his thanks aside, and pulling at his mustache, said, “Well, I reckon ol’ Pitchfork’s preachin’ was worse than I thought. When I went back to the Mission, you was gone, and all the preacher would say was that you wasn’t no fit candidate for a Methodist! Guess you hurt his feelings, Thad!”

“I got sort of confused, I guess,” Thad smiled. “Got out on the road and would have died if Toby here hadn’t pulled me out of the snow.”

“I remember you asked the where’bouts of the Winslow place,” Dooley nodded. “But you shore was temptin’ fate to start out walkin’ to it in that storm and as sick as you was. You stayin’ there now?”

Thad saw the intense curiosity in Dooley’s sharp eyes, but said only, “I’m working for Mr. Winslow for a while. Long enough to get some traveling money.”

Dooley knew better than to press the issue. “Well, that’s real fine, Thad. Say, we’re havin’ a little Christmas party next week. Now, it’d pleasure me a heap if you’d come over and shove your feet under the table! All right?”

“Well, I’ll try and come if I can. It depends on what Mr. Winslow has for me to do.”

“Shore,” Dooley nodded. He spurred his horse and wheeled her around with an expert hand. “We’ll be lookin’ for you, anyhow. You jest leave one little ol’ red-haired gal named Julie May alone, you hear? I got that claim staked out!” He lifted the reins and left on a dead gallop.

“He sure can ride a horse,” Thad said with admiration. “Is he friends with the Winslows, Toby?”

“Him? Not likely! Boy, you don’t know much ’bout da South!” Toby shook his head. “Dooley Young an’ his folks might git to set with the Winslows in heaven—but dey ain’t nevah gonna git no invite to Belle Maison!”

Thad thought about that, then shrugged. “Guess it’s the
same here as in the North. Rich and poor just don’t mix, do they, Toby?”

They cut ice every day except Sunday, and it soon seemed the natural thing for him to drop by Toby’s house in the evening. Thad would play small games with Wash while Toby told tales of hunting and fishing.

On Tuesday Sut Franklin gave Thad a rude awakening when he said, “Novak, guess you ain’t to blame for it, seein’ as you ain’t from around here—but you got to watch what you do on this plantation.”

They were preparing to go to bed, and as usual, Franklin had been nipping at his bottle. His words were somewhat slurred, and there was uncertainty in his movements as he slumped to pull off his boots.

“What’s wrong?” Thad asked in surprise. “Ain’t I been doing my work right?”

“Guess that’s all right—but you been hangin’ around the niggers too much. You don’t know no better, so I’m tellin’ you; they ain’t to be trusted! That’s what I’m here for—to see they don’t get uppity! Got to make ’em do what they’re told.” He stared at Thad and added in a hard tone, “And you ain’t makin’ it no easier the way you been cuddlin’ up with ’em!”

Thad was silent. He had never considered it wrong to spend time with Toby and his family. He had little choice, for the only two classes of people on the plantation were the Winslows and the slaves. He wanted to ask,
You think I ought to go eat at the Big House?
but held his peace. He
liked
being with Toby and somehow could not feel guilty about it. “Did Mr. Winslow say that?” he asked.

Sut spat a stream of tobacco juice to the floor and cursed. “He ain’t said nothin’ because he’s got more to do than watch a dumb Yankee makin’ up to his niggers!
I’m
telling you, Novak—stay away from the niggers, or I’ll run you off the place. Ain’t you got no sense atall? Don’t you know there’s about to be a war over the slaves?” He spat again, then rolled into his bunk and mumbled, “You ought to be
thankin’ me—but I don’t reckon you Yankees got enough manners for that!”

Thad was miserable, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not feel guilty. Who else was he supposed to talk with? He slept little that night, but finally said under his breath, “He’s
wrong!
Even if he weren’t, Toby saved my life and that settles it!”

The next day was Christmas, and the entire population of Belle Maison had a holiday. The smell of pies, cakes, baked meats, barbecue and other spicy aromas began to flow out of the Big House and from the slave quarters as well. Men and boys were run out of the kitchens with dire warnings, and they engaged in games and singing outside in the snow with a freedom Thad had not seen before.

It was nearly three in the afternoon when the slaves gathered in the barn where planks had been placed across saw-horses to make tables. Lanterns were hung across the ceiling to break the gloom, and the food was stacked high!

Hams, chickens, ducks, turkeys and wild game of every sort covered one long table. A variety of steaming vegetables in huge pots filled a second long table, while another table bowed under the weight of potatoes with thick gravy, yams dripping in syrup, mountains of hot biscuits, corn bread, and rolls fresh from the oven. Farther down, a line of desserts was placed full length on yet another table: peach cobblers, apple pies, tarts, blackberry muffins, taffy, and candy.

Thad edged in close to Toby and Jessie for a time, then moved back into the shadows. Soon the master of Belle Maison entered with his family and the house servants. The slaves quieted down as Mr. Winslow raised his hand. “Let us thank God for the food.” Thad expected a long prayer, but it wasn’t. “Lord God, you are the source of all our blessings. We are unworthy servants. We know this good food comes from your hand, and we thank you for it—and for all the other good things that come to us. In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen!” He lifted his head, smiled and said, “All right, now, let’s get at it!”

There was a scramble, and Thad stood back, watching with a smile as the slaves piled their plates high with food. As they retired to an open area to eat, continuing animated conversations, Thad discovered that their slurred speech was becoming clearer to his ears. At first all the slaves had looked alike, but now he found he knew a great many, having encountered them in Toby’s company. Thad waited until the first rush was over before he went forward to get his plate. Some of the food looked strange to him, but having tasted Jessie’s cooking, he knew it would be good. He sat by himself, noting the goodwill among the slaves as they laughed and slapped at each other playfully.
They sure don’t seem to be as bad off as Lincoln says,
he thought. The whole matter of slavery had puzzled Thad ever since he had met Toby.

When the meal was almost over, the Winslows began to pass out presents. Thad had often thought of the younger member, Pet. Now she sought him out with her eyes and gave him a smile, which he was too bashful to return. He nodded and forced his gaze away to the other members of the family. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, and he had supposed that the three young men were sons. The one he couldn’t stop watching was the beautiful girl with Pet. She was a Winslow, of course—the older daughter he had heard about. But he had not known that a woman could be so gorgeous! She was finely dressed and moved gracefully as she handed out gifts to the slaves.

Every time one of the slaves would take a gift, he would cry out “Chris’mas gift!” and there was a constant stream of giggles and shouts of pleasure as gifts were unwrapped. Most of the gifts were clothes, but there were candy and other small favors as well.

Thad was so engrossed that he was startled when a voice right beside him said, “Christmas gift, Thad!” He turned quickly to see Pet and the other girl standing there, each of
them holding out a package. “This is my sister, Belle, Thad,” Pet said.

“I’ve heard all about you,” Belle smiled. “You’ve got a mole on your left shoulder, haven’t you?” She laughed gaily at Thad’s puzzled expression and explained, “Pet told me!”

“But, how—”

“Why, who do you think washed you off when you were unconscious?” Belle teased. “It was Pet!”

“Oh, Belle!” Pet’s face turned a bright red. “You’re awful!”

Thad was speechless. He stood there struck dumb by Belle Winslow’s beauty.

Finally, Pet asked, “Well, are you going to open your presents—or just stand there staring?”

Glad for an interruption, Thad carefully removed the paper from Belle’s large package and found a heavy wool coat and a red wool cap. He stared at them, then said “Thank you” in a breathless voice.

Pet thrust two small packages into his hands. “I made some cookies and knit some socks. I expect you won’t be able to chew the cookies or tell one end of the socks from the other—but Christmas gift to you anyway, Thad!”

From across the room, Sky Winslow was watching the scene. He had just given Toby a pair of bright yellow suspenders that the black man had admired for some time. “Toby, what kind of young fellow do you make Novak out to be? Guess you’ve been around him more than anyone else.”

Toby was donning the garish suspenders, but he paused to glance over to where Thad was standing in front of the two girls, looking very awkward. He snapped the suspenders into place, and said emphatically, “Well, I tell you one thing, Mistuh Winslow—dat Yankee boy is da mos’ fo’ work I ever seen!”

“That so?”

“Dat is de unvarnished truf!” Toby snapped the suspenders for emphasis. “He can almos’ put a good mule outta work when he git goin’!”

Winslow nodded, as if it were something he expected to hear, then left Toby to drift over where Thad stood staring at the gifts in his hands. “Merry Christmas, Thad,” he said.

The young man looked up and responded slowly, “Best Christmas presents I ever got.” He stroked the coat softly and looked at the crudely made socks.

Winslow cleared his throat and studied the boy. “I’ve been talking to Toby. He says that if you could stay around and help, you two could fill the icehouse in a month or so. I’ll pay two dollars a day if you want the job—and if that works out, maybe we can discuss a permanent job.”

Thad stared at him in astonishment. “You mean, you’d hire a Yankee?”

Sky Winslow scowled. “Well, to tell the truth, Thad, being born in the South doesn’t necessarily confer sainthood on a man!” Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s just say I’ll take a Yankee who is ready to do a day’s work over some of our southern ‘gentlemen’ who are too good to get their hands dirty. How about it? Do you want the job?”

Thad began to twist the button on his shirt. He seemed to have trouble speaking for a time. Finally raising his eyes, sparkling with new hope, he said softly, “I’ll try to please you, Mr. Winslow.”

CHAPTER FIVE

NEW YEAR’S BALL

“Lucy—pull harder! I’ll never get into my new gown if you don’t hurry!”

Belle’s maid heaved back on the strings of the corset, and Belle held tightly to the post of her canopy bed. She gave a gasp, crying, “That’s it! Tie it quickly!”

Lucy finished lacing and tying the corset, grumbling all the time. “If you don’t hold still, I ain’t never gwine git you dressed! Now, hold up them hands and git this dress on.” She took the bright red taffeta dress from the bed and Belle wiggled into it, then twisted impatiently, trying to see herself in the mirror as Lucy laced up the back.

Pet sat cross-legged on the bed, watching her sister curiously. She did not mind in the least that her parents felt Pet was too young to go to a ball—held this evening at Belle Maison. Next year when she was sixteen she could go—but watching Belle’s excitement and frantic preparations for the New Year’s Ball, Pet failed to understand what the excitement was all about.

“Pet, be a dear and hand me my locket,” Belle purred. “Over there on the table—the gold one with the red stone.” She took it from Pet, held it against her throat and sighed. “It’s so
tacky!
I must have a new necklace before the ball at Deerfield next month. Papa will just have to understand that I can’t go around looking like a scarecrow!”

“I think you look beautiful, Belle,” Pet said. “Anyway, you’re always the prettiest girl at the dances.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Pet,” Belle replied with a trace of smugness.

Pet’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure you’ll be the prettiest one there—unless Martha Sue Grimes comes.” She was delighted to see Belle’s head snap up, and added innocently, “‘Course, I think you’re much prettier than she is, but you know what I heard—” She stopped. “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t mean to tell you!” Pet clapped her hand over her mouth and pretended to be horrified.

“Didn’t intend to tell me what?” Belle demanded. “Tell me!”

“Oh, it was just Beau Beauchamp, Belle. You know how he is!”