The Cottoncrest Curse: A Novel

by Michael H. Rubin

  It was a perfect job for Jenny. It gave her an escape from the oppressive oversight of the Vigilance Committee. It gave her a way to start a new life.

  Jenny could not have known when she first came to Cottoncrest how close she would become with Miss Rebecca. Jenny became her support. Jenny became her confidante. Eventually, the two of them became like close friends. Almost like… well, not like sisters, not with all their differences, not with Miss Rebecca married to the Colonel Judge, not with Jenny being the Colonel Judge’s employee.

  But now Miss Rebecca had abandoned her. Not voluntarily. Not peacefully. Not without great pain. But abandoned, nonetheless.

  It was not for the Colonel Judge that Jenny had done what she had done, although the Colonel Judge was nice in his own formal, ancient way. It was for Miss Rebecca and for Miss Rebecca alone. In her memory. In her honor. It had been dangerous, but it had to be done.

  Now that it was accomplished, there was nothing left for her here. Not with both the Colonel Judge and Miss Rebecca dead. Someone else would have to take care of Little Miss. Besides, tomorrow morning, or even this evening, Little Miss would not remember who Jenny was, would not recognize her face even though she had seen it thousands of times over the last few years, hour after hour, day after day.

  Jenny adjusted her tignon, tucking the loose strands of her hair underneath the kerchief, and glanced out the window. Far away, past the haze of smoke lingering over the cane fields, she could see the sharecroppers’ homes. She could see men on horseback riding up to Tee Ray’s cabin. It was not even dark, and already they were gathering.

  Jenny stared at the figures, miles away in the distance. They were dismounting. They were milling about. They were talking. They were climbing back up on their horses. They were starting to ride. They headed east down the long dirt path from Tee Ray’s and the other sharecroppers’ cabins toward the Mississippi River, and once they reached the river road, they split into two groups. One group headed south, toward Little Jerusalem and, beyond that, Lamou. The other group was riding north, toward the Cottoncrest big house.

  Jenny knew they would come looking for the fine bourbon that the Colonel Judge had kept. They would drink their fill and steal the rest. Then they’d probably head back south, toward Little Jerusalem. Jenny was glad she had sent Marcus ahead to warn Nimrod and the others.

  The horsemen headed her way were picking up speed. The wind shifted, and the smoke from the burning fields blocked her view of the riders.

  There was no time left. Jenny cinched the blanket, into which she had rolled the few things she was bringing, firmly into the small of her back and over her hips with her belt. It held only a blouse, a skirt, and her hairpins. She put on her cloak and shut the door of her room behind her for the last time and ran down the three flights of servants’ quarters stairs and out into the back.

  Sally, in her cabin, was waiting for her, wearing a thin jacket over the only sweater she owned, a bundle already tied on her back.

  The two women, one young, one old, walked hand and hand up the road to the north. They walked away from Cottoncrest, not looking back. There was nothing back there that they wanted to see.

  Chapter 36

  Marcus raised his arm toward the northern horizon, in the direction of Cottoncrest. Jake, the bearskin over his shoulders, looked up and saw what Marcus was pointing at. It was worse than either of them had feared, and it had come faster than they thought.

  Jake and Marcus were standing on the porch of Cooper and Rossy’s cabin, and they could see horsemen, ten or more, riding their way at a fast gallop. They were riding along a high ridge next to the Mississippi River. The fast-moving images below the darkening sky were silhouetted against a reddish glow. The horsemen were rounding a large bend in the river to the north of Little Jerusalem. Behind them there was a curtain of spiraling flames and smoke rising from the burning cane fields. The vast Cottoncrest cane fields came within a mile of Little Jerusalem. The riders would be here, at this rate, in less than fifteen minutes.

  “Got no time to lose, Mr. Jake,” Marcus said, a trace of panic in his deep voice. “ROSSY,” he yelled, “COOPER. GET OUT NOW. GET ALL THE OTHERS. THE KNIGHTS ARE COMING!!”

  Rossy emerged from the cabin, still in the process of wrapping her daughter in a blanket. The temperature was falling. It was going to be a cold night. She started toward the woods. The inhabitants of Little Jerusalem, hearing Marcus’s frantic voice, ran out of their homes and, holding children by the hand, followed Rossy. They moved quickly and quietly through the muddy yards seeking the safety of the woods.

  Marcus looked around, doing a quick head count. Two were missing. Marcus ran toward Nimrod’s cabin and pounded on the door. “ESAU. NIMROD. YOU’VE GOT TO LEAVE RIGHT AWAY!”

  Nimrod came to the door and started toward the woods, but his pace was halting. Esau tried to hurry Nimrod, but the old man was stiff and in pain, and try as he might, he could not walk as quickly as Esau wanted. Cooper, halfway to the woods, looked over his shoulder and, spotting Esau’s efforts, urged Rossy, who was clinging to their child, to go on ahead.

  “It’s hurryin’ time, Nimrod,” Cooper said, running back to the old man and his son. “We can’t leave you behind. You’re gonna travel in style, like some fancy person. I heard that in the olden days, them Egyptian pharaohs what enslaved the Israelites had people carry them everyplace they went. Four men or more would haul them in some type of contraption, walkin’ all the way, so that ol’ Pharaoh’s feet never touched the soil. Well, consider yourself tonight an Egyptian pharaoh, ’cept without the contraption.”

  With that Cooper, his big muscles flexing, picked up the old man as easily as a baby and, cradling him in his arms, started at a slow, loping pace to catch up with Rossy, who already had disappeared into the woods.

  “What about y’all?” Esau asked Marcus and Jake.

  “We’re going to stand and fight,” Jake said, pulling out the ten-inch Freimer blade. “I’m not afraid. I’ve run enough in my life. Halfway across Russia. Halfway across a continent. I don’t want to run anymore.”

  “Mr. Jake…,” Marcus said, clearing his throat.

  “That’s all right, Marcus. You go. You save yourself.”

  “You don’t understand, Mr. Jake. They got them long rifles. They’ll shoot you down from a hundred yards off, and you won’t do no one no good. Not yourself and not the ones in Little Jerusalem and the ones you want to see. We got to do something else. We’re gonna start up the road to the north, you and me.”

  Turning to Esau, Marcus explained, “If the Knights get here and find everyone gone, they’ll head for the woods, and none of you will be safe, for they’ll catch you before you reach the safety of the marsh, but if they see us first, then…”

  Marcus didn’t have to say anything else. Jake understood what Marcus was doing. The riders, if they caught anyone from Little Jerusalem, might whip them or kill them. The only way to save Little Jerusalem was to have the riders follow him and Marcus, and to do that, they’d have to head directly toward the horsemen.

  Esau nodded. He understood that Marcus and Jake were going to risk their lives to save everyone in Little Jerusalem. “We’ll be at Keith and Peggy’s. No horse can make it through the marsh to their house, and no one knows where they live except us. We’ll be all right. I just hope that Keith and Peggy don’t have a fit when they see all of us coming. You know how they keep to themselves and hate any visitors, much less crowds.”

  Esau turned toward the woods. Once he had disappeared behind the trees, Marcus and Jake walked quickly to the road and turned north, toward the riders. The horsemen, as they came around the bend in the river in a few minutes, would spot them.

  Chapter 37

  As he urged his horse on, Bucky’s hair flew in all directions. His hat had been blown off by the combination of fast gallop and the strong winds that continued to whip at the flames in the sugarcane fields, but Bucky was not about to pause to retrieve it. Bucky rode with aband
on, digging his spurs into the horseflesh.

  Bucky was right behind Tee Ray, who was riding a gray roan mare. The two of them were thirty yards ahead of the rest of the group. Bucky was glad that Jimmy Joe and Forrest had led one group of the Knights up to Cottoncrest to pick up “provisions.” This way, Bucky would be right with Tee Ray and the lead Knights as they pursued the peddler. The Knights hadn’t ridden in years, but now they were riding again, and Bucky was with them. He was not a Knight, but Bucky knew that when they finished, they would make him one.

  Bucky was sure that by the time Jimmy Joe and Forrest and their crew had caught up with them, Bucky and Tee Ray would already have the peddler in hand. Bucky had a set of handcuffs latched on his belt, and he had an extra length of rope in his saddlebag. When they caught the peddler, he was going to be ready.

  Bucky had it all planned out. He would leap off his horse, gun drawn, and confront the villain. “I arrest you,” he would say, in a loud, clear voice, letting Tee Ray and all the rest know he was fearless, “for the cold-blooded, heartless murder of Colonel Judge Augustine Chastaine and Rebecca Chastaine. I arrest you,” he would declare, louder still, “in the name of the law and all that is righteous and holy in Petit Rouge Parish.”

  Bucky knew that, at the sound of his voice, the peddler would lose all hope. The peddler would cower. Bucky would point his gun at the quaking peddler and hold out his handcuffs. “Put these on,” Bucky would snarl, “you miserable, godless heathen.” The peddler would drop to his knees and beg forgiveness, but Bucky’s face would show no emotion, and his heart would be stone. “Put these on and rise to your feet,” Bucky would declare. “You shall be well tried and convicted, and then you shall hang, and we shall all be witness. Verily.” The verily would be a nice touch, Bucky thought. He would say it sternly, like those fancy actors on the steamboats. It would add a sense of drama to the event and make it memorable. Bucky knew that when he had finished with his speech, the peddler would be reduced to helpless tears, and the others, especially Tee Ray, would not help but be impressed.

  Then, after the peddler had put on the handcuffs and Bucky had made sure that they were snug, Bucky would slide his rope around the peddler’s waist and through the handcuffs so that the peddler could not escape, and then Bucky would tie the rope to his saddle horn and triumphantly lead the riders back to the courthouse in Parteblanc, the peddler jogging behind, trying not to fall so as to be dragged by the rope. There Raifer would book the peddler into jail, and Bucky would go to the bar to tell the waiting crowds how he and he alone had made the arrest.

  Then they would respect him. Then they would know that Bucky was meant for great things.

  “UP AHEAD,” yelled Tee Ray.

  Bucky was startled. He had been so deep in thought his gaze had wandered out over the river and not on the road. There, a mile ahead of them, running north up the river road alongside the burning cane fields, were two men on foot. One black, in a short coat. One white, in a long fur coat.

  “IT’S NIGGER MARCUS AND THE JEW NIGGER LOVER!” Tee Ray screamed. He whipped his horse and rushed down the ridge toward the road.

  Bucky and the others whooped and urged their horses on, following Tee Ray’s lead, racing toward the two retreating figures.

  Chapter 38

  “NOW,” yelled Marcus with urgency, as the Knights came down the ridge, whipping their horses into a frenzied gallop.

  Marcus and Jake turned due west, away from the river, and ran at full speed, toward the smoke and flames, into the cane fields.

  The sugarcane, with stalks as thick as heavy clubs, was densely packed. Moving through the field was difficult. The sugarcane formed a forest of unyielding plants in row after wide row. The leafy tops towered a foot or more above their heads, and the sticky stalks clung to their clothing. Shoots had sprouted up between the rows, and Marcus and Jake had to push their way through the bamboo-like foliage.

  The smoke hung over their heads in spots; in others it enveloped them in a choking cloud. Marcus pulled out a handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth, and Jake followed suit.

  Deeper and deeper they plunged into the field. The rain had made the soft delta dirt a sea of mud, but still the fire blazed on. They could hear the pounding of horses’ hooves behind them, and ahead they heard the crackling of the fire. Marcus and Jake could feel the heat as one long sugarcane leaf after another was burned away, leaving only charred but intact stalks.

  Marcus moved with remarkable speed across and through the high furrows, sliding on the mud, pushing aside a stiff curtain of plants here, ducking low there to avoid the roiling smoke. Jake stayed close behind him.

  The sweet smell of burning cane foliage was everywhere, mixed in with the acrid smoke. The leaves were sharp and could cut you if you were not careful. The ashes fell around them, and embers drifted down like a storm of red snow, stinging whenever they found skin. The smoke penetrated their handkerchiefs and filled their lungs. Their mouths were dry. Their throats ached.

  Still they pressed onward. As they wove their way through the field, sometimes Marcus would step to one side to let a large snake slither by. Jake could hear the scurrying of panicked mice and rats trying to outrun the fire destroying their homes. Occasionally, two or three rodents would dart across Jake’s path and sometimes across his boots.

  Farther and farther they pushed into the field. Now the smoke was so dense they could hardly see. Marcus bent low and kept moving, sometimes on his hands and knees in the mud, but always moving. Jake had tied the bearskin that Rossy had given him around his neck like a cloak, but now it was dragging in the mud. Nothing to do about that now. He pushed it onto his back and crawled along behind Marcus. Their pants were soaked and heavy, now coated with the wet alluvial soil, but as long as they stayed low near the furrows, the smoke was not that bad. The leaves were near the top of the plants, and that was where the flames were concentrated. Only when a downdraft hit, or when the wind shifted, did the smoke curl along the dirt, rolling toward them in thick billows, only to swoop up and away again, leaving them coughing and spitting up black phlegm.

  “DAMN!!” Tee Ray exclaimed, his horse rearing on the muddy road. The gray roan was not about to enter the burning fields. Its nostrils were distended in fear, and no amount of beating from Tee Ray’s whip or prodding from his sharp spurs would compel the horse forward. Again and again, Tee Ray flayed the roan’s haunches, drawing blood, and the horse reared high into the air in anguish and distress. Tee Ray simply yanked the reins harder and, beating the horse over the head with the whip, forced it back down.

  The wind shifted. The smoke and embers now swirled around all the riders. Bucky raised his hands to his face to wipe his stinging eyes, and the moment his horse felt the reins go slack, it reared up. Bucky slid backward in his saddle, dropping the reins completely and grasping for the saddle horn. The reins fell to the ground. The horse, frantically pawing the earth, started bucking.

  Bucky was bounced out of the saddle and came down hard upon it again. He groaned with anguish as his groin crushed down on the stiff leather. The horse reared again, and when it came back down, it lowered its head. Bucky, who had been hanging on to the saddle horn, now slid clear over it, over the horse’s mane, and onto the ground, tangling in the reins. As Bucky fell over the horse’s head, it reared up one more time, and now the reins looped themselves around Bucky’s neck and arms. The horse’s hooves came perilously close to Bucky’s head, and Bucky tried to move away, but this only caused the reins to wrap around him more firmly. Feeling the reins entangled, the horse furiously flung its head up and down, trying to free itself, and started backing up, dragging Bucky along while the reins formed a leather noose that tightened around Bucky’s neck. Bucky couldn’t get his arms free. The horse was now in full terror mode, and it tried to jerk free, all the while backing up with increasing speed. Bucky’s face was turning blue as he was dragged through the mud.

  Tee Ray jumped off his horse. With his right hand he reached int
o his waistband and pulled out a short, rusty knife and, sawing at the reins, finally cut them. At the same time, with his left hand he roughly grabbed the bridle of Bucky’s horse, holding on with an unyielding grip until the horse quieted down.

  Bucky lay there in the ruts in the road, still entangled in the cut reins, gasping for breath.

  Tee Ray shook his head in disgust at the sight. “Bucky, I’m gonna glue your seat to that damn saddle if you can’t stay on it.”

  Bucky slowly unwound the reins from his neck and arms and stood up. Mud from the road coated his already dirty outfit and matted down his hair. Thick gobs of it dripped off the knees of his pants and clung to his boots. “Thanks, Tee Ray, it was just…”

  Tee Ray didn’t even bother to listen. He swung his foot in the stirrup and climbed back up on his horse, considering the situation. The other eight Knights, high in their saddles, gathered around him, their horses obedient now that the wind had shifted yet again and the smoke around them had cleared.

  “This is what we’re gonna do,” Tee Ray announced. “Ain’t no way that we can ride into that burning field, and followin’ them on foot is just plain foolish. They could be anywhere in there. “Morgan,” he said, pointing to one of the Knights, “you ride up this road toward Cotton-crest. When you spot Jimmy Joe and Forrest, tell them what happened. Y’all divide into three groups. One group needs to ride each cane break, one needs to go to the back of the cultivations—back where we first set the fires—and patrol there, and the third needs to head back down this way. They can’t stay in those fields all night; the smoke will get to them and force them out. You know, I think Marcus was going to try to sneak the Jew Peddler back to Cottoncrest to pick up his things and all them Jew knives. Well, they don’t know that Raifer’s got his whole chest of stuff and has taken it back to Parteblanc as evidence, but even so, they sure as hell now ain’t gonna go to Cottoncrest, not with us out here. So, where can they go? They gotta go south. That leaves Little Jerusalem. And after that, Lamou.”