“But for God’s sake, after the last time, what can he possibly do to us?” she’d said, more to assuage her own sudden flaring of doubt than to stop his highhanded takeover of the situation.
“Enough,” David said.
“It won’t hurt to be civil,” she said. “After what we—what Judah did to his face, he can’t—”
David exploded, slapping his hand hard against his leg and sending her into a shocked, worried silence. Now, as she darted through the kitchen and out the back door, she regretted more than ever having taken him to her bed. It made no difference what the reasons had been, and it made no difference that she’d scarcely been able to look Melissa in the eye since; David had taken the incident far too seriously. Having breached the sanctity of her body—and despite the fact that it was primarily her doing, not his—he had taken it upon himself to insinuate his presence into as much of Riverrun’s daily life as he could. He had grown a shell of arrogance and propriety that Cass did not understand or recognize until it was too late. Since then, they had done little else but argue whenever their paths crossed.
The situation was rapidly becoming intolerable, especially when Cass tried to point out to him that she gave what she wanted, and took what she wanted, neither instance bestowed upon him any rights whatever.
“Judah!” she called out, racing toward the stable. “Judah!”
The tall black man poked his head out through the door, a currycomb in his left hand. Cass slumped against the rail fence and blurted out her news, pointing toward the front of the house as she spoke. Judah’s face darkened into a dangerous scowl. He tossed the brush to one side and reached into the building to pull out a pitchfork. He hefted it in both hands.
“No, Judah,” she said as he walked angrily past her. “I don’t want any more fighting. Just be there so he can see you, that’s all.”
“If you say so, Miss,” he grunted, clearly unhappy. “Don’ like no one like that botherin’ you, though. ’Specially when you already done tol’ him to stay clear.”
Cass touched his arm to show she understood, and moved ahead to sweep around the house just as the trap pulled up in front of the porch. David stood on the top step, one hand shoved into his trouser pocket, the other casually on the post he leaned against. He seemed bored.
Cass joined him immediately, one step below, and composed her features into a neutral expression while Forrester reined in and held the rawhide thongs loosely in his left hand. He seemed uninjured by his encounter with Judah, but he had obviously not forgotten it. When the black crossed his far side and stood beneath the spread of an aging chestnut, the gunman stiffened perceptibly, and it was several moments before he was able to turn back to Cass. The smile she knew only too well was there. Nothing to fear, she thought then; you’re on your own ground now, girl, and you’re doing damned fine so far.
“Mr. Forrester,” she said with a slight nod. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your … accident.”
“It takes time, Mrs. Roe,” he said without a trace of malice in his voice. “It takes time. But everything heals sooner or later.”
Not quite everything, she thought; not quite everything.
“What d’you want?” David demanded. “Seems to me you were escorted off Riverrun the last time you were here.”
Cass saw their gazes lock: Forrester’s deep and hard obsidian against David’s too-soft black, like shadows struggling for substance.
“Indeed I was,” the gunman said politely. “Indeed I was, and I never did apologize for the heavy-handed way I behaved. Bad of me, very bad.”
David, Cass saw, was fighting not to squirm. “I suppose that’s what you came out here for?” he asked.
“I suppose I came out here to have a quick word with Mrs. Roe,” he said. “I don’t intend to trade words with the help.”
She felt David stiffen and heard him shift to place his weight on both feet. Turning, she glared up at him, and she could see in his face the belief that she was taking Forrester’s side against him. But there was nothing she could do now, not in front of the gunman. Instead, she tried to tell him with a look to keep his mouth shut and let her do all the talking.
“Mr. Forrester, I don’t know what you have to say, and I don’t know if I want to hear it, but please speak your piece and be on your way. I do have work to do around here, as you well know, and I can’t waste my time dawdling.”
“Fair enough,” Forrester said. “And it’s clear neither of you have been into Meridine in a while. A pity. I know you would much prefer hearing this from someone else.”
“Hear what?” she said.
“Well, it’s like this, Mrs. Roe. Our mutual friend, Captain Hawkins, has done some investigating in that quaint little community by the river, and he has discovered that you are considerably in debt to a number of the local establishments, not counting the bank that Mr. Jennings runs.”
“Who the hell gave you the right?” David demanded loudly.
Cass ignored him. “Then you must also have learned that I have paid off a number of those debts, Mr. Forrester.”
“A number, yes,” he said, “but not all. And Captain Hawkins realized that you were antagonizing several of these fair-minded creditors by not giving them their due.”
“They know they’ll be paid, Mr. Forrester,” she said.
“The captain has decided to make things easier for you, and for this marvelous plantation you have here.”
David laughed harshly.
Cass kept her hands at her side, gripping her thighs tightly to keep from displaying her agitation, and her sudden fear that she knew what he was going to say next.
“Upon my advice,” Forrester continued, shifting his gaze to the surrounding trees, “Captain Hawkins has thoughtfully consolidated your outstanding … loans. Mr. Jennings, in this respect, was extremely helpful.”
“I’ll bet,” David muttered.
“The point, Mr. Forrester,” Cass said then. “Come to the point at once.”
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Roe. Captain Hawkins has generously taken gold from his own pocket and has purchased each of your credit certificates himself. At the same terms, for the most part.”
“Incredible!” David exclaimed, almost leaping down the steps to the ground. “You mean to tell me he’s … that man … you mean to say we are now indebted to Captain Hawkins? Solely?”
“Mr. Forrester, what do you mean: ‘for the most part’?” Cass asked.
“Well,” he said, “there’s only one minor, almost inconsequential change.”
“Which is?”
“You have until the end of October to repay every penny of that debt, Mrs. Roe. The end of October, no later. By our reckoning, that gives you exactly ninety days. And if the debt is not repaid, if the monies due are not forthcoming …” Forrester shrugged elaborately and flicked the reins to set the trap in motion.
Cass could not move. It was as though she had abruptly been cut off from the world by thick walls of glass that slammed down around her. The only noise she heard was a faint roaring in her ears, like the surf at the height of a winter’s storm. It was impossible. To have come so far, to have come so close …
David was ranting, shouting incoherent curses at the sky while he kicked at the ground and dislodged great chunks of turf and stone. He grabbed a rock, threw it at Forrester’s back so violently he lost his balance and sprawled on hands and knees.
In the distance, Cassandra thought she heard guns—the guns of Gettysburg, of four years and one month ago when a young wounded man rode out of the trees to faint in her arms. It had been a dream. It had to have been. Just as this moment was a dream from which she would soon awaken. A tear blurred the vision in her right eye. She wiped at it angrily with the back of a hand. It was like her, she thought, to succumb to weakness when strength was needed, to fall back on a woman’s foolish and tearful self-pity when what she had to do was summon her courage and see to it that Hawkins was given every ounce of his gold, every ounce
, without a drop of blood. But how long, she wondered, would she have to keep on summoning that courage? How long would it be before the well ran dry and she was left with nothing but a hollow space where her soul had been? How much of this abuse could she withstand before she split herself in half, like an unyielding tree before an unrelenting wind? She wanted to join David in his tantrum, release the rage and frustration that sent spasms of fiery pain through her chest, but she did not. It would be to no purpose but the satisfaction of Gerald Forrester that he had once more reached her where she did not want to be touched.
“Cassandra? David? Wha’s goin’ on?”
Cass turned slowly, very slowly, her fingernails still digging into her legs. Melissa was standing at the door, holding tightly to the frame. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy, and in her left hand there dangled a faceted decanter of red wine.
“Wha’s all the noise out here? A body can barely hold herself to … gether with all the noise out … here.”
“Melissa, go back to your room,” Cass said. She was feeling too great a mixture of rage and despair to have sympathy for the drunken woman.
“I will not,” Melissa said sternly, weaving away from the door to stand in the center of the porch. “I can … do what I want. It’s a free country, y’know.” Her eyes closed briefly, and Cass thought for a moment she was going to fall. “Davy, don’t you think it’s time—”
“For God’s sake, Missy!” he snapped, getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers. “For God’s sake, you’re making a spectacle of yourself. Get inside before the servants see you.”
“Oh?” Melissa staggered to the railing and held on tightly. “Oh?” Her eyes narrowed and her face grew hard. Then she looked plaintively to Cass. “Am I makin’ a spec’cle of myself, Mrs. Roe? Is that what I’m doin’?”
“Missy,” Cass pleaded as she hurried up the steps. “Missy, please go inside. You’re not—”
“Oh yes, I am,” Melissa said. “I’m makin’ spec’cle of myself. Davy said so, and Davy’s a’ways right, aren’t you, Davy?”
David took a long step toward the porch and stopped, realizing that anything he would say now would only inflame his wife’s temper. “Melissa,” he said quietly, “just do as Cass asks. I’ll be in to see to you in a minute.”
“Oh? Is that after you see to your whore?”
“Melissa, please!” Cass said. “This isn’t the time.” She reached out for the woman’s arm, but Melissa shoved her away and lurched to the head of the stairs.
“Well?” she demanded. “Isn’t that what you’re going to do?”
David took a second step, stopping when he heard Judah leaving the protection of the trees behind him. He looked up at his wife, then down at the ground and kicked hard at a stone that skittered to the steps and bounced loudly away.
“Oh dear,” Melissa said sarcastically when she saw the black man move. “Oh dear, Davy, shouldn’t I mention your whore in front of … him? Oh my, what have I done?”
“Melissa,” he said, threateningly.
Melissa grinned wickedly and lifted the decanter high, tilted her head and let the wine drain into her mouth. Cass once more grabbed for her arm, and Melissa angrily swung the bottle at her. She ducked, took hold of Melissa’s wrist and twisted it until the decanter fell to the porch, and shattered.
“Damn you, Melissa,” she hissed. “Now get inside—”
Melissa swung again, with an open palm that caught Cass unaware on the side of her head. She staggered back against the door, more surprised than hurt, and decided that Melissa could go to hell for all she cared; they all could. She was done with them, and done now.
Melissa, meanwhile, had turned back to her husband, then raised her voice to speak to Judah. “I s’pose you think I’m crazy, too, Mr. Judah?” When Judah did nothing but stare at her blankly, she laughed and shook her head. “Poor Judah. He doesn’t even know his precious is … being … is being had by the ver’ man, the ver’ same man, mind you, who’s payin’ his wages. Poor Judah. Poor stupid nigger! David, you son of a bitch, if you ever come near me again without washin’ yourself first, so help me I’ll tear your eyes out!”
She collapsed against the post, with both her arms wrapped around it. She was weeping, swallowing air in great painful gulps, until finally she pushed herself away, shoved Cass to one side, and stumbled through the door. Cass watched her, one hand outstretched, then heard an odd sound and spun around quickly. Judah was standing close to the porch now, his mouth working, his throat producing animal-like groans as he struggled to demand that David deny his wife’s accusations. But David only stared at him scornfully, then turned his back after spitting dryly on the ground, and walked away toward the gardens.
Judah grunted.
“David!” Cass screamed.
David turned just as the black man lunged at him with the pitchfork. He sidestepped neatly and, making a single massive fist of both hands, brought it down on the back of Judah’s neck. Judah stumbled, dropping his weapon as he collapsed to his hands and knees, his eyes dazed.
“God … damned … nigger,” David whispered, lifting his boot and catching Judah twice in the side, sending him onto his face in the dirt. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Another boot in the small of his back, and Judah arched his spine with a wail that was cut off when David struck him again on the thigh.
“David, that’s enough,” Cass said, leaping down the steps and taking his arm. He glared at her fiercely, then pushed her away.
“No black scum is going to do that to me and get away with it,” he said.
“David, he’ll kill you!”
David laughed and lashed out again; but this time Judah was able to catch his heel with one hand, and for a long moment they posed there—Judah half-risen, David flailing his arms to keep his balance. And when he fell, he was just able to roll out of Judah’s grip before the huge man could reach out and grab him again. Instantly they were both on their feet, circling each other warily while Cass pleaded with them to stop before someone was seriously injured. But the rage of the men deafened them both. As soon as Cass realized that her own presence wasn’t going to stop anything, might even make the matter worse, she backed away to the house and watched, wide-eyed and fearful.
“Bastard,” David grunted, his lips twisted back in a feral grin. “Think you’re so damned big, why don’t you do something about it, huh? Why don’t you tell me about Alice and that day I saw you gettin’ her like some kind of crazy bull? You’re disgusting, you know that, Judah White? You’re nothing more—”
His taunts finally struck home. Judah bellowed and charged, and once again David made a club of his fists and hammered at the man’s back as he passed. This time, however, Judah was able to stay on his feet and he whipped around too quickly for David to escape; within the blink of an eye they were wrestling, their arms around each other, their biceps straining, their neck muscles like thick cords running down to their shoulders. Clearly, however, David was going to lose such a test of strength and he knew it. As soon as he was able, he brought up his knee sharply into Judah’s groin, and danced away when the black man grunted and dropped to his knees.
“Come on, nigger,” David said, looking triumphantly at Cass, who could only turn her head away. “Come on, little man.” He laughed, realized Judah’s helpless position and ran in to drive a knee into his face. Judah sprawled backward, his arms flung up over his head, his skull striking the ground with an audible crack. David nearly howled his delight. He raised his arms high and spun in a tight circle. Perspiration and dust covered his face and clothes, blood from Judah’s nose was spattered over his trousers.
Judah rose unsteadily to his knees. He rocked back on his heels and opened his mouth wide. Blood streamed from his nostrils, and from a deep gash across his upper lip. He spat, and a red-tinged tooth landed in the dirt.
David walked calmly over to him and landed a fist on his jaw. Again. And again. And Judah fell forward onto his face.
> “Enough, David,” Cass said.
“No,” he answered, his face flushed with victory. “Not until I teach this goddamned—”
“David, I said enough!”
He scowled at her. “Mind your tongue, woman! Who do you think you are talking to?”
“The woman who gives you a place to live, you bastard!”‘
“The woman who gives a place to live to the man who saved her life” he said. “Saved her life and ruined his own!”
Cass could have said more, and would have, but Judah had let out an anguished moan and David, irrational now with triumph and bloodlust, turned back to him slowly. He walked over to him and kicked him once, lightly, in the side. Then he stepped over him, one boot heavy on his spine. Judah did not move.
David laughed, a high girlish giggle, and made a low, sweeping, mocking bow to the trees as though there were an audience there applauding him.
And when he turned, Judah had the pitchfork in his hands. David gaped. Cass choked back a scream. The two men were several yards apart, and Cass could not credit what her eyes told her. Judah, his face running crimson, his lips back to show gleaming yellow-white teeth, heaved the instrument as hard as he could, bringing it up from his waist like a whaler’s harpoon. The tines flared once in the sunlight spearing through the trees. David was unable to step out of the way. There were four, rusted and curved, and the two center ones sunk themselves deep into David’s left thigh. His eyes opened wide, his mouth sputtered as his hands reached down to grasp the shaft. Blood spurted down his leg and covered his fingers like gloves, and he swayed as the initial shock began to wear off and the pain found its way to his throat. He tried to yank the tines free, but Judah had regained his feet; he walked over to David and grabbed the shaft, held it as David looked to him for help like a small boy. Then, without blinking, Judah shoved. Hard. And David fell onto his back, the tines protruding from the leg burying themselves deep into the ground. He screamed.
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