When she passed the last log house and turned the corner, she doubled over, dropping the bottles of seasoning at her feet. She crouched to the ground, yanking the hem of her skirt above the shards of glass and brown sprinkles against her ankles and vomited. She squatted there coughing, gagging, until she was able to swipe the last line of spittle from her lips and stand again. But she found she wasn’t standing. All day, she was still stuck stooped in her sickness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hang him.”
Jackson bit down and yanked the skin from the flesh of the chicken, dangling the bone between his fingers over a cylindrical ivory candle beside his plate. He flicked the meat, swung his head to its sway, and roared at the shadows dancing on the maroon walls. Henry and Mae stared in silence. Pompous dolts!
“Jackson,” Caroline whispered. “Annie, dessert, please.” She lifted her fingers at the girl at the back of the dining room, then slyly tugged on his sleeve.
Jackson pulled away, annoyed. He had every right to jest, to say what he wanted, to give his friend some advice without interruption from anyone. This was his house. She wasn’t even his wife yet. He shoved breast meat into his mouth, winced, and grabbed his jaw. His tongue slid over the mount burning in his gums and locked down angry words that verged on erupting. Numbing potion. It kept him smiling, laughing more and more, but its power to soothe had worn off in a wild way. He needed a stronger concoction. And for this dinner to be over.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m telling you what to do, Henry. You’ve got to get him before he gets you. It was people like you who that wild Nat—what was his name?”
“Nat Turner.”
“Yeah, it was people like you he slaughtered.”
“I don’t even remember that, Jack. We were kids.”
“We were kids, but we weren’t fools. You remember the fear folk had. I remember my pa getting ready. Loading up all his guns, getting all his boys together in case that coon showed up here.” The panic he had seen in his father’s face angered him still. “I’m telling you, Henry, if you don’t get your slaves under control, they’ll turn on you. Slaughter him before he slaughters you. If your boy is sniffing around, congregating with those other Coloreds, you best believe he’s trying to run away. You know that. Take care of it. Unless you’re thinking about becoming some kind of Quaker or something.”
“Me? A Quaker?” Henry laughed loudly. “You know I could blow one away as quick as I could a possum. Only thing is, his mama treated me like her own until her death. She was a good woman.”
“So that gives her son the right to sneak behind your back and plan his escape? She did for you what she was supposed to do and now she’s gone.” He shrugged. “If you don’t show him who’s in charge, you’re not going to be able to control any of them. Watch and see. You’ve got to put the fear of God in them.” Jackson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you. I’d love to help you get your place in order. I could be there Saturday.” He glanced at Mae, then back at Henry. The two had been together so long, looking at one was looking at the other. “If that works.”
Mae leaned over, her red curls springing over her heavily painted eyes, and peeked at Caroline. “Is that all right, dear? A wife’s not apt to give up her husband so soon.”
Caroline’s eyes widened before her cheeks pinked.
“It’ll be fine, won’t it, dear?” Jackson placed his hand over hers and patted. “I won’t be gone more than a couple of days. Back by Monday night.”
He hadn’t told her the lie. When he invited them to dinner, Henry made it clear that Mae would not break bread with sinners. Jackson had sneered. She was doing more than breaking bread with one every night. Fine. Fine. Tell her they were married. They would be soon enough.
“I don’t know,” Henry said. “I just think there’s a better way.”
A better way. He’d sure like to see this better way.
“I’ll be over Saturday.” He was alone in a world of weak men.
Both of the women were quiet, knew well enough not to speak, but he could see Caroline out of the corner of his eye, looking at him, judging him. He turned to her and bore into the icy green daggers of her eyes. “Didn’t you call that girl? Annie? Annie, get over here.”
Jackson tugged at the neck of his collar. It was so hot. Is it hot in here? He glimpsed the open windows, the people from across him and the one at his side. None of them were perspiring, dripping, melting like he was. He was burning up. Never comfortable lately. Under his own roof.
Annie rushed to his side with a golden brown lace pie. The smell of warm cinnamon rose and floated over him, lured him in, distracting him from all discomfort. Enticing him.
“Dessert, sir?”
“No.” Blasted tooth. “I’ll pass.”
He watched Caroline crumble the flaky crust and spoon creamy slices of apple into her mouth. She licked her lips. Her eyes closed a moment too long.
It wasn’t right. How could something so sweet cause so much pain?
Caroline was still seated at the table, in the same chair she had sat in during dinner, afraid to move.
“Caroline.”
She watched Jackson approach, screeching the leg of a chair back behind him. Her heart pounded at the stranger falling into the seat across from her.
“You did well tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.” She bowed her head, afraid he would see in her eyes what she had witnessed in the last hour. A beast of a man. His beautiful appearance marred by his rage for her people.
If he knew them, Cora and Lou, John… If he knew them… If he knew Lydia…
Annie entered the room from the kitchen. Jackson nodded at the girl.
“Get me a drink.”
Caroline sighed. She hated to smell the liquor, the rum, the whiskey on his breath, in his pores. He was not the man she had sat across the table from the first time with Lizzy. Mean and cold when he drank. Not himself at all. She glanced up at him. Or perhaps he was more himself. His eyes met hers. She hadn’t a clue what was true.
“Must you?”
“Must I what?” His tone was calm, but the question was a threat. Without doubt, she knew, could hear it in the simmer of the words. He was changing, turning from the inside out. She pressed her back against the chair until her spine was flush against the wood. Careful, Caroline, careful.
“Drink. Must you drink, Jackson? I was thinking maybe you’ve had enough for tonight.”
He paused, then laughed bitterly. “You amuse me, Caroline.” He stared at her until she looked away. Annie returned with a glass that he lifted in Caroline’s honor. “This is to my beautiful wife-to-be.” He tipped his head back and gulped the drink in one swallow, flinched, and handed the glass back to Annie.
“I was wondering about something.” Caroline waited until the woman cutting her eyes at her left the room. She needed to be wise, lay her words softly at his feet.
“What is that?”
“I was listening to you at dinner.”
“All right.” He frowned.
“You seem to have a real dislike for Coloreds, I noticed.”
“All right.”
“And I was wondering…why?”
“You want to know why?”
“Well, yes.”
“Am I wrong in my dislike? Let me ask you a question.” He leaned forward on his elbows and clasped his hands together under his chin. “Do you like all animals? Do you? Probably not. If I’m not particularly fond of one type, does that make me a bad person?”
Caroline clenched her hands, hidden in her lap. The pulse in her temple throbbed.
“Listen, Caroline. It’s my last night here for a few days. Let’s just make the best of it.”
But there was something more. There was always something more behind such harshness. “I was just wondering if something happened. Did something happen, with a Colored, I mean?”
He shook his head.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes!”
Fear clamored in Caroline’s throat.
“Don’t say anything else about it.” He grabbed his jaw and cursed under his breath. “Forget about it.” He stood from the table. “Go. Go, Caroline. Get some rest.” He swayed into a chair, steadied himself with a firm grip against the headrest, and left the room.
For the third time, Jackson rolled over on his left side. He stuffed the thin pillow into a ball that he pounded, squeezed, flattened under his neck, squirming until it sealed the curve between his head and shoulder perfectly. The discomfort was more than a sleep position. With every pound, every squeeze, he tried to flatten the feeling, squash away the thoughts that plagued him.
And now he couldn’t get rid of them. Images ran through his head, as dark and wild as the people he despised.
When intoxication and torment ran their course, sleep came and the memory of his brother filled his dreams.
They were just kids.
“Hey, wanna see something?”
Jack grabbed Tim’s arm and pulled him down the dirt road near the blueberry patch. Pebbles and debris bit into the flesh of their bare feet as they ran in the sweltering heat of summer.
“Look there, ’cross the river.”
Tim brushed aside the tall blades of grass.
“See her?”
A slave girl knelt bathing in the water. Her plaits, erect as soldiers, saluted the sun as its rays beamed a shower of gold against sable skin.
Jack giggled at the sight, but Tim gawked in silence. “Funny, ain’t it? We better get back before Mama comes looking for us.” Tim didn’t move. “You hear me?”
Jackson woke up in a sweat, his hands shaking, his mouth throbbing. He closed his eyes and tried to stop the story in his mind.
Every chance he got, Timothy returned to the same spot and watched the girls, the women with black skin, even when Jack wanted to chase squirrels or trap fireflies. Nothing compelled him more.
The moment whiskers sprouted on his chin and his laughter deepened, he took them, mothers and daughters alike, one after the other. He forced himself on them until one of their men sliced his throat a red river in the middle of the night.
Those dirty women had lured his brother to an early grave. Their darkness brought death. He was grateful his father lynched the slave who killed him. His only regret was he hadn’t done it, hadn’t strung up the coon himself. It was his only regret. And showing Timothy that wench in the water in the first place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As soon as the early-morning rays of Saturday spilled into the corners of her room and she heard the pull of gravel under carriage wheels, Caroline stretched across the white lace of her bed and sought rest, but as it had done for days, sleep teased and weariness taunted.
She could dine every night with a man who hated her only if she imagined it wasn’t so, but pretending was exhausting. Capturing every thought, reining in every impulse, pulling in every emotion, pressing down all honesty at all times—it was more than exhausting. It was suffocating, killing her. Every truth she bit down against, she swallowed until her belly swelled. She feared after a while, Jackson would take notice if she didn’t burst before.
Caroline felt the weight of her lids close, only to open again moments later at the sound of a tap. She glanced at the door, waiting for Annie to knock again. When she didn’t, she rolled over on her back and closed her eyes. She was as worn out as the first day she arrived, as weary as she had been as a slave.
Another tap. At the window. She dragged herself to the edge of the bed and sat with hunched shoulders and a hung head until she mustered the strength to rise.
She crept across the wooden floor and peeked through the drapes. John. His face lit hers before she fought the impulse.
Even from two stories above, she could see what she had always seen in his eyes.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t wave. He just stood there waiting, waiting until something in his stare, something about the way he looked at her, stirred her and made her walk away from the window to him.
Caroline headed down the back steps of the manor for the fields. When she saw him, she smiled.
She lifted the hem of her skirt over her ankles and made her way toward him.
He simply waited.
In the dark corner of the stable, Caroline watched John light a candle.
Two days. Two days he had been on the same land with her. When he turned to her, she could feel a sprout, one tiny sprout of life break through.
He sat leaning forward, his elbows on denim-covered knees crossed in front of him. A thin cord around his neck peeked from inside the collar of his dark shirt, navy, black, she couldn’t tell in the dimness, but she could see his sleeves were cuffed. She nodded. Always cuffed.
He watched her head move, her hands fidget. Finally, she spoke.
“I left because I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
“Is that right?” He didn’t believe the lie.
“I didn’t tell you about Dr. Kelly because I was yours. He tried to take the only thing you had. He had so much, so many women, and what did you have?”
“I had everything.”
His words cut, they always cut, made her heart bleed. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing had changed, Lydia. I was angry, but nothing changed.”
“I wish…” But the words broke off in her mind. She didn’t even know what she wished anymore. The thing she had wished for, she had wanted all her life, she now had. Didn’t she?
He looked at her for a long time until finally she could feel the corners of her mouth lift. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“You too.” He nodded.
She was glad he was alive, but speaking with him, meeting with him at this place, on this land, was unwise.
“You have to be careful, John. Careful here.”
“I come and go as I please.”
“No, you don’t understand. Jackson hates Coloreds.”
“Does he?” She watched his eyes glance over her.
“He doesn’t know, of course.” If Jackson found out, if he discovered the truth… She could feel an unrest, a panic creeping in, bubbling in her veins. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“Who do you think I am, Lydia?” He shook his head. “I don’t know who you think I am.”
“I was just making certain. I’m scared.”
“Be scared, that’s fine, but don’t be scared of me.”
She looked at the face of the man she loved, she had loved. Quickly, she swallowed the feeling. She couldn’t feel it and stay where she was. She batted away the tears.
“How is everyone? I heard Lizzy’s getting married. How’s Lou?”
He shook his head.
“John?” Her heart thumped. “Something happen?”
“No, but she’s not doing well. A bad sickness fell in The Room a couple of weeks ago. She’s been asking for you. I don’t know. Looks bad, Lydia.”
“I’ve got to see her.”
“Lydia…”
“I have to.”
“Do you know how dangerous that is?” He leaned forward. “Do you know how dangerous this is?”
She knew. He had no idea how much. What she had seen, the change in Jackson’s demeanor, the loathing in his eyes. She knew, but she had no choice.
“I’m going.”
“Now?”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow night. Please, will you come?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cold settled in Lou’s chest like a web, thin at first, practically unnoticed, but slowly it netted and weaved itself around her lungs until she felt trapped.
It was freezing lying on the ground, no matter how close she was to the others, no matter how many covers she wrapped herself in. Although several young slaves had filled as many cracks in the walls as they could with mud to keep out the air, there was no getting warm in the winter. She could see that now. She shivered. What
would night bring?
The knock startled her. No one knocked here, especially this time of morning. They just walked right on in whenever they felt moved to do so.
She eased her quilt down low enough to peek at the sleeping faces of her friends and saw Cora walk in with a wooden bowl and a cup.
“Miss Lou, you getting better, right?” The girl squatted next to her, flashing a bright smile. “Yes is all the answer I’ll hear, I hope you know.”
“You gotta give me some time to get better. I’m old now. This body don’t do like it used to.”
“Try and eat something, Miss Lou.” Cora sat with a bowl of okra in her lap and smiled. “Maybe some tea would make you feel better.” She lowered the hot toddy to her mouth. “Can you sit up?” Lou pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“You seen my baby yet?”
Cora’s smile faded.
“Ain’t she ever coming back?”
Please, Lord, send my baby.
“Drink.”
“Where’s my Lydia?”
“She’ll be here.”
“When she coming?” Lou coughed. The web tightened, refusing to break. A fire fought on the inside of cold limbs. Panting, she shifted to her side.
“You’re going to be all right.” Cora patted her hand. “You’re going to make it.”
“Yes. God’s going to do it.” On this side or the other.
“And if He don’t, this here hot toddy will.” Cora laughed.
“If God don’t do it…,” Lou whispered. She shook her head. No more words. No more moving.
“You need some doctoring. I’m going to see what I can do to get Master over here to see about you. Get you some tonic. Don’t seem like nothing I’m doing is working much.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t need no doctor, no man poking and prodding. Just some rest and Jesus. If God didn’t do it, it wasn’t going to be done.
When Cora waved good-bye, Lou didn’t pray for her, didn’t say a word.
“You sure you all right, Miss Lou?”
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