But she was nothing if not unpredictable. She came into the studio two days later, looking absolutely radiant. He was speechless. Where was he to begin? He put up the ‘closed’ sign and sat down with her. Did she not understand what she had done? The cameras – he only owned two – were his most precious possessions in the world. She had told him one time that her house was the most precious possession she had. After her divorce, she told him, it had become a nest, a haven, a refuge where she could lick her wounds and heal. Supposing he said to her, he had deliberately burned her house down, how would she feel? In destroying the camera she had chosen to destroy the most precious thing of his she could find. And she hadn’t just done it by accident. She had deliberately chosen to do it.
Her answer gave him everything and nothing, simultaneously. It was the usual thing.
‘I want us to stop looking back,’ she said. ‘It’s no good. It does nothing. I just want us to be together and enjoy life. Maybe when this terrible war is over we could get married and go to Europe.’
There was no apology. She didn’t even appear repentant.
‘I’ll buy you a new camera,’ she said. ‘You just pick it – the best, the most modern there is. I’ll pay for it. And then let’s try and enjoy life, shall we?’
‘This must never happen again,’ he said.
She hadn’t answered but said instead, ‘Let’s take the rest of the day off. The studio is closed. We’ll go for a walk and have an early dinner and then we’ll have an early night. What do you say?’
And he had agreed.
Had he done the right thing? That night or ever? Had he ever done the right thing? Ultimately, he felt, he had failed her. She had looked to him for help and he hadn’t been able to give it to her. If he had, maybe she might have lived.
He held up the bottle. He had drunk hardly any of the whisky – and now he no longer felt like it. He put the cork back and stood it on the floor beside the mattress. He was just about to blow out the candle and try to go to sleep when there was a soft knock at the door. He assumed it must be Roberto. He got up, opened it and found a petite woman resting her head with its mane of blonde hair against the door frame.
‘Hello,’ she said, with a smile.
She stepped past Gilbert into the room. Her hair spilled down across her shoulders. She wore a sheer black negligee with wide sleeves that came down below her elbows. He could see patches of skin underneath it. She clearly didn’t have much on. She turned to face him.
‘Come in,’ he said ironically, closing the door.
‘It’s not nice being all alone in a strange town, is it?’ she said.
He agreed that it wasn’t. It wasn’t nice being alone in the world, he thought.
‘I don’t like it either,’ she said.
She undid the large bow on the belt of the negligee. It slipped off her shoulders and pooled onto the floor. Underneath, she wore black ankle boots, black stockings, some kind of lacy black pants that came about halfway down her thighs and a black corset with lots of pink bows on it. One of the stockings had a hole in it on the inside thigh.
‘So now you’re not alone,’ she said, with a smile.
He thought she was utterly ravishing and yet he felt nothing. She came to him and kissed him. He responded but he wondered if she felt she was kissing a corpse. She unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Then she went down on her knees in front of him and began to undo his belt. She had small breasts but the corset had pressed them up giving her a deep cleavage. She undid the trousers and shoved them down. Then she pulled down his woollen underpants. He stood naked above her but his penis remained unmoved, hanging limply just above the level of her eyes.
‘I think you’re a bit sad, this evening,’ she said.
She took it in her hand and played with it. Nothing happened.
She stood up again. She was short – probably about five foot – and looked up into his face.
‘What would you like to call me?’ she said.
‘Whatever your name is,’ he said blankly.
‘My name is Anna,’ she said. ‘But sometimes men like to call me the name of some other woman.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Maybe a sweetheart. Or some woman they’ve lost. Or that they can’t win. I tell them that with me they can have any woman they want.’
He thought about it and said, ‘I’ll just call you Anna.’
‘Don’t you find me attractive?’ she asked, and he wasn’t sure whether she was feigning being upset or that part of her was genuinely hurt.
‘You’re very beautiful,’ he said.
‘Maybe you’d like it like this,’ she said.
She went down on the mattress on all fours and waggled her bottom. Gilbert felt nothing. When that didn’t work, she knelt in front of him again and took him in her mouth but it made no difference.
‘Would you like to undress me?’ she asked.
She turned her back to him and he undid the lacing that held the corset together. When it was loose enough she slipped it down over her hips and stepped out of it. She turned to him again stroking her breasts upwards with her hands.
‘That feels better,’ she said. ‘And these?’
She pulled a ribbon on her pants and the bow it had been tied into opened.
‘On second thoughts,’ she said coquettishly. ‘Maybe not just yet.’
She lay down on the mattress and invited him to join her. He did and she held him and stroked his hair. He slipped a hand down the back of her pants and ran it over her buttocks. They were smooth and silky and perfect. He moved his hand to the front of her pants and she parted her legs slightly. His fingers slid along the line of her vulva. He could feel it open up.
‘You have very tender hands,’ she whispered.
She began to kiss him and he responded. He continued to stroke her and she made a little whimpering noise. It seemed an eternity since he had done this. He turned to look down at where his hand was but with her hand, she drew his head back to her. Now his middle finger was inside her and he stroked her upwards with it. She began to ride his hand, pushing herself against it. He probed with his finger and then stroked her again, alternating between the two.
He remembered – his body remembered – how it had been with Sarah. He slid down the bed and put his mouth onto Anna. She gasped but her hands held his head to her. He stroked her with his tongue. She tasted different from Sarah, but he could remember Sarah’s tang and the scent of her. He took Anna’s hands and he held them, their fingers interlaced, as he continued to brush her with his tongue. As he did so her fingertips began to dig into the backs of his hands.
Then he took her in his mouth as though she were a peach. He sucked hard. At this she let out a little scream and climaxed almost immediately. But then she went on climaxing. She gasped, squealed, panted like a train. She rolled her head from side to side and bucked with him. Eventually, she had to push him away. He clung on like a limpet. She squeezed her legs together to try to push him out but he was still there. Finally, she was able to clamp her legs tightly together and push his head away with her hand.
He slid back up beside her again. Her face had a look that was half-angelic, half-stunned. Gilbert remembered how he had always thought that Sarah’s face changed and became more beautiful after she had an orgasm. Anna was breathing heavily. When she eventually managed to speak, she said, ‘Jesus. I’m supposed to do that to you.’
‘Next time,’ he smiled and kissed her.
They fell asleep and when he woke later she was gone. In the morning he found that she had put a ten dollar bill beneath the bottle of whisky.
Friday 3 July 1863
25
Leroy Carpenter had a plan. Unlike most of the things that went on in his mind, this plan had taken shape with great speed. It had begun to come together yesterday after the woman had been added to their coffle. Up to that point he had just had some vague idea that at some time in the not too distant future, he would have more money that h
e had ever had before. But now after the woman last night, he saw the future with stunning clarity.
He would keep two of the eight slaves himself – this was assuming they didn’t find any more before they turned south. He would buy them out of his half of the proceeds. He would agree a fair price with Hays and then he would keep two of them and get paid for the other two. Land was cheap in the South at the moment, so he would buy some. It didn’t seem to matter what he would grow on it – cotton, tobacco, vegetables, fruit – everything was in short supply. He would start out small and then as he made money he would buy more land and more slaves. Initially though, it would just be him and the two niggers. They would work the land and in the evening, he would have the woman to do with as he liked. Because whatever else, she was going to be one of the two slaves. All of those fantasies that he had never had a chance to fulfil would now be within reach.
He had spent all of last night filling out the vision. He had a name for the place – he would call it Eden. He remembered the name from a handful of Sunday school classes he had attended. He had decided which male slave he wanted. There was a tall buck there with a good strong physique and who seemed quiet and more obedient than the others. Leroy would take him and the woman. And he had names for them too – whatever they were called at the moment, he would rename them Adam and Eve – and they would live in the paradise that he would create.
Leroy hadn’t yet broached the idea with Hays and he was now working on how best to do that. But there was no rush. There would be time and so, Leroy spent long hours lost in his daydream as they continued to move north.
That would have to change fairly soon, though. After they had taken the woman, they had discussed what to do next. Up to that point Leroy had been all for heading south. In fact he had been fretting that they were still in Pennsylvania where, at any time, they might run into Federal or Confederate soldiers. But, weighed against that, was the possibility of picking up a few more negroes. After they had moved on from the woman’s cabin, they hadn’t seen a soul – black or white – until well into the afternoon. It was at this point that Hays had called a halt and he and Leroy had a brief discussion.
‘What do you think, Leroy?’
Leroy liked this about Hays – he treated him as an equal, he sought his advice, he didn’t just tell him what to do.
‘Sure be nice to get to ten,’ said Leroy.
‘We could go onto the main road, circle round a town or two and see if we could pick up any more. Then go.’
‘It’s risky,’ said Leroy.
‘But think of the reward,’ said Hays.
Leroy pretended to think about it but in reality, he had already decided.
‘Give it another day maybe?’ he said.
And so it was agreed. They would take to the main pike. They would have to keep a sharp eye out for soldiers and, if they encountered any, be ready to take to the woods. If they came to any town, they could hardly go down the main street. Rather they would go round the back of it through the gardens and woodlots and fields and see if they could pick up any more niggers. Then they would return to the pike. They decided that tomorrow afternoon, come hell or high water, they would turn south with whatever number of niggers they had at that time. This was all a whole lot more risky than anything they had done up until now, but they both reckoned that it could potentially be worth it.
26
Gilbert and Sarah had enjoyed several weeks of uninterrupted delight after the camera incident. He bought a new camera and everything was as good as it had ever been. He went to the studio from her house in the morning and came back in the evening. She was happy and how he loved to see her like this. Sometimes, if they hadn’t lingered in bed in the morning as they tended to do, she would make him lunch to take with him. One day he opened the lunch package to find a note inside it. It read:
My darling Gilbert,
You are my life, my love, my lover, the joy of my life. I am your love until eternity and you are mine. You are kind, patient, tender, caring and every day with you is joyous and a beautiful adventure.
Stay with me always and I will adore you every minute, every day.
Love always
Sarah.
That evening, she asked, ‘What would you think of getting married, darling?’
‘I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask that,’ he said.
She laughed.
‘We’ve never been conventional,’ she said.
That was for sure. He would remember afterwards what Doctor Scott had said about people who suffered from melancholia being arch manipulators. But Gilbert found he could no longer separate what might have been manipulation from what was genuinely love.
He said, ‘There’s nothing would make me happier.’
And so they began to make preparations. They made lists – Sarah loved making lists. Whom they would invite? Where could they hold it? When would be best? It was summer now. What about the Fall? September was always a nice month. She had a patient who was a dressmaker – she would ask her about wedding dresses. Happiness reigned.
Then one evening, Gilbert arrived at the front door. As it opened he was met by a face that was scarlet with anger, a body convulsed with rage. She howled abuse at him. Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and left her screaming from the doorstep.
‘Do you not know what empathy is?’ she shrieked as he walked away.
She spelled it out.
‘Em-path-y,’ she said, crouching slightly so that she looked like some kind of malevolent witch. Then, as a parting shot before she slammed the door and went back inside, she screamed, ‘That’s right, run away. Run away like a frightened little boy. Run away just like you’ve always done!’
There was no communication between them for several days. The time stretched into a week. He began to become anxious about her. She had been completely out of control when he had left – perhaps more so than he had ever seen before. Supposing something had happened to her?
He went round that evening.
When he arrived he saw that there was a handwritten sign in the window saying that she was on vacation for the next three weeks. He knocked on the door, bracing himself, trying to prepare for anything that might be unleashed when the door was opened. He took a step back just to be out of range in case of any immediate physical assault. He felt ready for anything. Anything that was, except the one thing that met him as the door was opened a few inches.
She peeped around the door and when she saw that it was him, she opened it a little more. He saw that she was wearing her nightdress. Her hair was wildly dishevelled and there was an almost continuous blue bruise down one side of her face and around her eye. She looked small, frail, shrunken, frightened.
His initial thought was that she had been attacked, that the house had been broken into. He stepped across the threshold and took her in his arms.
‘What happened?’ he said. ‘What happened?’
He looked into her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but she just began to cry. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. As he stepped in and closed the door he saw that there was a large reddish brown stain on the wall at the foot of the stairs. There was a strong smell of alcohol from her.
He took her into the kitchen and settled her into a chair. She sat there head bowed, crying while he put the kettle to boil. There was an empty wine bottle lying on its side in the sink and a second one with a little wine left in it on the kitchen table. Without lifting her head, she said, ‘I fell down the stairs. I took it to ease the pain.’
‘But you’re a doctor,’ he protested. ‘Don’t you have other things for pain?’
She shook her head.
‘None of them worked,’ she said.
Later, hunched in her dressing gown and with her hands around a cup of tea, she explained what had happened. She had slipped and fallen down the stairs. It had happened the night he had ‘walked out’. He felt a rush of guilt both about having left her and the words she
chose to describe it. There had been a lot of blood, she said. It had blinded her. She had been terrified – she thought she had done some terrible damage. But then she managed to clean the wound and found that it was little more than a neat slice over her eye. She must have struck it off the banister – there was a heavy ornamental wooden banister on the stairs. She had tried to clean up the blood on the wall.
‘I didn’t do a very good job, did I?’ she smiled weakly.
Next day she had put up the sign in the window.
Later he put her to bed and sat in the kitchen, finishing the wine. He didn’t believe her. Oh he believed the falling down stairs alright but not about the wine to ease the pain. She had been drunk. And this now raised the possibility that it would happen again. What did that mean for the next time he ‘walked out’ on her?
27
‘So, you have a good night, boss?’
They were on the road out of Urbana. Roberto had managed to coax Leonardo into a reasonably sprightly trot. ‘We make some distance,’ Roberto had said. ‘While ‘e’s fresh’. The day was already hot with a blue sky and a yellow sun.
‘Er, yes,’ said Gilbert.
‘Sleep okay?’
‘Yes, fine thanks. You?’
‘Just fine, boss. But now I tell you my plan.’
‘Plan? What plan?’
‘To free the slaves obviously, boss.’
‘What?’ asked Gilbert in astonishment, but Roberto didn’t seem to hear him and just continued.
‘The slave catchers should be ahead of us now – that’s if they’re not going south. So we go find them. That’s to say, you find them. You ask them if they want to buy pictures of girls.’
‘What pictures of girls?’
‘The ones I bring with me. The ones I take at the studio. I got about fifty sets – gonna sell ’em to the soldiers. I’d have done more but I no ’ave time.
So you take the slave catchers into the wagon. Make up some reason why you gotta do this. Tell them something – the pictures ’ave to be developed and would they like to see it ‘appen before their eyes – something. While you do that, I free the slaves. Okay?’
Sunlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 2) Page 12