Wilde, Jennifer (30 page)

"He's
gone," I said. "I don't know when he'll be back."

"You
go on in now, chile. Get yoreself some sleep. You's done enough. Ain't nuthin'
else you can do."

"I'm
just so worried..."

"'Bout
dem niggers? Don't you worry none. Dat 'Lijah Jones done took 'em off an' got
'em safely tucked away. Dem men gonna hoot an' holler an' have theirselves a
good time, but dey ain't gonna find no niggers. Cassie an' Adam is safe."

"I
hope so, Mattie."

"Ain't
no use you frettin', chile."

Mattie
was right, of course, but I continued to fret all that day, all the next. I
prayed that Elijah Jones had done his part properly, prayed that Cassie and
Adam were indeed safe. When Derek still hadn't returned by morning of the third
day, I began to feel relief. Surely if they were going to find the runaways,
they would have found them by this time, I told myself. Feeling that Derek was
bound to return that afternoon, I went down to the river and took a long, luxurious
bath, washing my hair as well, and when he did indeed return around two o'clock
I was wearing the red dress printed with tiny black flowers, the dress I had
worn to the fair.

His
clothes were dusty and rumpled. He looked incredibly weary, and his expression
was grim. I knew immediately that the hunt had been a failure, and it took
considerable effort to conceal my relief. Derek didn't say a word to me. He
went straight upstairs to wash and change clothes, and later on I heard him
come down to the study and close the door behind him. I knew what he must be
feeling. I felt very bad about that, but I was proud of what I had done. When
he still hadn't come out of the study by four o'clock, I couldn't contain
myself any longer. I had to see him, had to find out what had happened.
Stepping to the study door, I knocked lightly, and he called out sharply,
bidding me enter.

He
was sitting at the desk, poring over a stack of papers. I could see that he had
been adding up figures, had wadded up several sheets of paper and tossed them
to the floor. He turned around in the chair to face me, and I noticed that
three of the desk drawers had been pulled open, including the bottom drawer
containing the cigar box. My heart jumped when I saw that. Derek scowled
angrily, his mood clearly thunderous. I hesitated, wishing now I hadn't
interrupted him. "Well?" he snapped.

"I
thought you might be hungry. I thought perhaps you might like me to... bring
you something."

"How
very thoughtful," he said. His voice was sarcastic. "You're lying,
Marietta. You came to gloat."

"That
isn't true."

"You'll
be happy to learn we couldn't find a trace of them. No one had seen hide nor
hair of them. I finally realized it was futile, told Randolph and the others we
might as well give up. Cassie and Adam are long gone by this time. I'll never
get them back."

"I'm
sorry, Derek."

"I
still can't understand it! How did Cassie break open the door without anyone
hearing? How did Adam get free of the shackles? We found them on the side of
the road a quarter of a mile from here. They'd been opened, and I had the key
in my pocket the whole time. Somehow or other he managed to pick the
lock." He shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

"We'll
get by, Derek," I said quietly. "You'll find a way to—"

"Don't
play the hypocrite!" he interrupted. "You're glad they got away.
There's no need pretending you're not!"

"Derek—"

"You
won't be so damned glad when we all starve!"

Seeing
that it would be useless to try to reason with him in his present frame of
mind, I turned and left the room. I refused to let his mood disturb me, and,
stubbornly, I refused to feel guilty. I had betrayed his trust, yes, and he was
going to have a hard time because of what I had done, but the ultimate good far
outweighed the wrong I had committed. Derek would get over his ugly mood, and
he would find a way to save Shadow Oaks. In the meantime, two human beings had
been released from bondage and were on their way to a free life.

I
was at peace with myself as I stepped outside. The day was warm and sultry, the
sky a yellow-white without a trace of blue. The oak trees cast deep shadows
over the ground as I strolled toward the storehouse. Chickens clucked as they
wandered about the yard. Caleb must have left the gate to their pen open again,
I mused. Responsible for seeing that they had feed and water, he frequently
forgot to close the gate properly. I'd have to scold the boy and have him round
the hens up, for in Derek's present state it wouldn't do for him to find the
fowls roaming freely. First, though, I would fetch the basket of apricots on
the shelf in the storehouse. I would make a cobbler for supper this evening.
Apricot cobbler was one of Derek's favorite desserts.

As
I neared the storehouse, I heard a peculiar noise in the distance. It sounded
like a mule braying. Intent on getting the apricots and planning the rest of
the meal, I paid little mind. After he ate, after he got some rest, Derek was
bound to feel better. The storehouse was dim, filled with a variety of tangy
smells. I moved over to the shelf and took down the basket of apricots. The
shelf was dusty. Cobwebs stretched across the corners of the ceiling. The place
needed a thorough cleaning. I would have to get around to it one day soon. As I
stepped out into the sunlight, I heard the back door slam. Derek came down the
steps and walked across the yard toward me, his jaw thrust out, his fists
clenched.

I
could feel the color draining out of my cheeks. I seemed to go numb, paralyzed
in front of the storehouse, unable to move. He knew. He had counted the money
in the cigar box, and he knew I had taken several pounds. He knew why. Chickens
clucked noisily and flapped out of his way as he strode toward me. He didn't
even notice them. His cheeks were ashen. I could tell that he was possessed
with an icy, murderous rage.

"It
was you!" he said, stopping in front of me.

"I—I
don't know what you're—"

"Don't
lie to me, Marietta! You did it! You helped them escape!"

I
shook my head, terrified. His dark-gray eyes were blazing. His hands were tight
balls, the knuckles white. All the blood seemed to drain out of my body. I felt
dizzy and faint, yet still I couldn't move. I was rooted to the spot, clutching
the basket of apricots. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving. He was
actually trembling with rage, and it was a full minute before he could speak
again.

"I
opened the cigar box to count the money. Thirty pounds are missing. You're the
only one who knew I kept my money there. You're the only one who could have
taken it!"

"Derek—"
I pleaded. "You—you must—"

"I
knew then. I knew immediately! You helped them. You had to, else they couldn't
have pulled it off so smoothly. Cassie would never have had the guts to break
into that shed!"

I
looked up at him, silent. Everything seemed to go slightly out of focus. I
seemed to be standing a long way off, watching the scene with a curious
detachment. This wasn't real. It was a dream, hazy, blurred, not really
happening. My mind registered the sound of a mule braying, much nearer this
time, but that seemed unreal, too, part of the dream.

"That
night," he began. "I fell asleep right after supper. I was so sleepy
I didn't even pull my breeches off. I passed out on the bed. You gave me
something, didn't you? You got some kind of powder from Mattie and put it in my
food!"

Derek
seized my arms and shook me violently. I dropped the basket. Apricots rolled
all around us.

"Didn't
you? Didn't you!"

"Y-yes,"
I stammered. "Yes, I did."

"Goddamn,
Marietta! Why? Why!"

"Mattie—Mattie
had nothing to do with it. I... I told her I was having trouble getting to
sleep. She gave me the powder, but... she had no idea I intended to—"

"You
wanted to make sure I was asleep so I wouldn't hear!"

I
nodded, and he slapped my face, slapped me so forcefully that I reeled
backwards, stumbling, almost falling. I hardly noticed the pain. Through my
tears I saw the man in buckskins leading his two mules around the side of the
house, but I paid no attention. Everything was lost. I knew that. Derek would
never forgive me.

"How
could you do it to me?" His voice was calmer now, hard, laced with icy
rage. "You knew I had to sell him. You knew how important that money was
to me. Goddammit, Marietta, you
knew."

"I
had to," I said quietly.

"You've
ruined me. You know that, don't you?"

"Derek—"

"You've
ruined me!"

The
man moved slowly across the yard, his hair burnished with sunlight, the fringe
on his jacket swaying as he tugged the reins, forcing the mules to follow. His
dark-brown eyes were amiable. He wore a merry grin. One of the mules balked. He
sighed and heaved on the reins, causing the offending mule to bray loudly.
Derek turned around, aware of Rawlins for the first time.

"Afternoon,
folks," Rawlins called. "Thought I'd stop by and see if I could do a
little tradin'."

He
let go of the reins and sauntered toward us. His expression altered as he saw
my tears, saw the look on Derek's face. He stopped, a tiny frown creasing his
brow.

"I
say, it... uh... it looks like I came at the wrong time," he apologized.
"I reckon I... reckon I'd better came back later."

"You
couldn't have come at a better time," Derek said. His voice was steely.

"Derek,"
I whispered. "Derek, no—no, you can't—"

"You
still interested in buying her?" Derek asked.

Rawlins
looked dumbfounded. "Hey, you're not serious?"

"Dead
serious! I paid twenty-one hundred pounds for her," Derek informed him.
"Do you have that much on you?"

"Afraid
not, Hawke. Tradin's been a mite slow. Eighteen hundred's all I got to my name.
I got it in one of the packs."

"Very
well, I'll sell her for eighteen hundred."

Rawlins
shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. He looked at Hawke. He
looked at me. And then he grinned.

"You
got yourself a deal," he said.

The
trail was rough and rugged with trees pressing close on either side, their
trunks gnarled and choked with underbrush, leaves brown and green. The mules
plodded along patiently. I rode one, Jeff Rawlins rode another, and he led a
third laden with packs behind him. He was fairly casual about the Indians, but
I half expected a band of bloodthirsty savages to fall upon us at any moment. I
would almost have welcomed it. Almost two weeks had passed, and still I was in
a state of shock, trance-like, totally without spirit.

We
had been traveling hard every day, all day long, frequently into the night. It
had been exhausting, but I never once complained. Nothing mattered any longer.
I simply didn't care. I obeyed Rawlins passively, rarely speaking. From the
first he had treated me with the utmost respect, handling me as though I were
some precious cargo. He made camp at night. He took his rifle and shot game and
cooked it over an open fire. He ordered me to eat. He chatted pleasantly, and
my lack of response didn't seem to bother him at all.

He
had made no attempt to sleep with me. He seemed to respect my grief, and he
tolerated my lethargy and lack of spirit with remarkable patience. I wasn't a
very pleasant companion, but Rawlins paid no mind. Still good-humored, he kept
up his merry chatter, apparently enjoying himself immensely. Under other
circumstances I would have found him delightful, for he was undeniably
engaging, a hearty rogue with his fringed buckskins, boyish grin, and lively
brown eyes.

"We
should
be reaching Crawley's Inn before night," he informed me. "It's gonna
be nice to sleep in a real bed. This roughin' it, sleepin' in blankets on the
ground—it ain't been much of a treat to you, I'm sure."

I
did not reply. Undaunted, Rawlins continued in the same cheery vein.

"You'll
be able to have a bath, too. Reckon you'll welcome that. And a home-cooked
meal. That'll be a relief after all this wild game. Crawley's Inn is the last
bit of civilization we'll see for a long time. This is Daniel Boone
country."

"Daniel
Boone?"

"Ol'
Dan started explorin' these parts 'bout ten years ago. This land used to belong
to the French, but they ceded it to the British back in '63. Reckon the
British'll lose it 'fore too long—likely to lose everything the way things are
shapin' up back east. Tennessee's a wilderness now, but William Bean built him
a cabin on the Watauga River just a year ago. I figure there'll be a regular
settlement soon. Them folks up east don't like all them rules and restrictions
and taxes the British impose. They keep pushin' on to get away from 'em."

I
paid little attention to what he was saying. I kept remembering that terrible
day and Derek's anger, a nightmare I lived over and over again in memory.
Rawlins had given him the money, and Derek had handed over the Articles of
Indenture, and I had been numb with grief and shock ever since. I could barely
remember packing my few clothes up.