Sweetsmoke

by David Fuller

  Willa Jarvis, said Cassius.

  She the one, said Maryanne.

  Cassius opened the packet and found a letter from Captain Whitacre to his wife.

  This is a letter. How is it he doesn't notice when his letters go missing?

  Well, I don't take 'em all. And anyway, he writin all the time, then ask me to mail 'em and the way things is, some get lost.

  Cassius scanned the letter and saw that Whitacre was candid with his spouse and had informed her that General Lee was planning to leave Richmond, and General T. Jackson's command was to go north on the Virginia Central Railroad to Gordonsville.

  You readin that? said Maryanne.

  Cassius refolded the letter, thinking about the meaning of this information. Why did Emoline collect such information? What did she plan to do with it?

  I seen it. You read that letter, said Maryanne.

  No, I can't read. Tell me about these, said Cassius.

  I am done tellin you, and done takin from Cap'n Solomon 'cause he lookin at me like he know somethin.

  What did she do with this information? She travel north?

  Miss Emoline never leave here. You go on the road on you own, even if you free, bad things happen.

  So someone came to meet her.

  Don't know for sure. Best not to know nothin. She force me to do it, say I got to if I ever want be free. I knowed all along it never goin happen, and now that she dead, I seen it for sure. Just another fancy dream, gonna be a slave all my life and my children gonna die slaves.

  You always come at a certain time?

  How I do that? I come when my massa here.

  Between you, was there a code?

  Code? What that?

  Special knock on the door?

  Why'nt you just say so?

  She showed him the knock that she had learned from Emoline. Rap-rap, pause, rap.

  You with your master this last week? said Cassius.

  Like I says, we travel together. Came through here for one day early this week, now we back.

  Which day?

  I don't know what day. Monday, maybe. That right, Monday. Ridin all day Sunday, didn't get no church.

  Did you see her, did you see Emoline on that day?

  No time for that. Gettin what-all for Cap'n Solomon's supper.

  Cassius looked at her with suspicion, but there was little doubt in his mind about Maryanne, she was not Emoline's killer. It was coincidence that she was in town on the same day Emoline was killed.

  Cassius asked more questions and got answers he imagined were incomplete. But Maryanne did offer one piece of information: Someone was to meet Emoline here, at her home, after dark on the full moon. The full moon was due on the following Friday.

  He watched Maryanne become more anxious as his questions continued. Her eyes rolled toward the windows, her fingers knotted and unknotted, and finally he let her go. She was out the front door and gone like a breath in the fog.

  He followed her outside and stood by the tree. He listened to know that Maryanne was away and that Richard Justice had not returned. He went back inside to the false wall and opened it to reveal the secret hiding place.

  Emoline's money was there, quite a lot of money, colorful prewar bank notes along with her free papers and copies of both The Odyssey and The Iliad, her Bible, and a few other books. Underneath the books were a stack of papers wrapped by a ribbon, some of the papers very old. He undid the ribbon and found that these were letters. He looked at the letter on the bottom, the oldest, and he read it. He was still for a long time, and then he sat down to think.

  He had recognized the hand immediately, a love letter from his old master before Hoke was anyone's master. One line in particular caught his attention:

  You came to me, and silently, to carry me aloft to heavenly gates of pleasure, O gentle sweetness, O mystery of love, O kindness.

  Emoline had lied. This was not the note of a predator. This was the swelling sentiment of a smitten young man enfolded in the throes of love. Hoke had spoken the truth, she had come to him, she had given herself willingly. Emoline had lied.

  Cassius considered the meaning of this revelation. It saddened him to come face-to-face with a new and altogether different Emoline now that she was dead. She owed him no explanations, but her lies seemed not casual and careless, but deliberate, and were compounded by lies of omission, as she had not told him about her business with Maryanne. Cassius returned to her hiding place in the false wall.

  The bottom of the space was now empty. He felt around and discovered, standing on its end against the side wall, a packet similar to the one from Maryanne. He drew it out. This packet contained not letters and maps, but handwritten notes. Cassius thumbed through them, knowing they were not from Maryanne. Here were transcriptions of official communiques, inter-army messages, supply requests, supply routes and destinations. Cassius instinctively understood the importance of such seemingly innocuous information; food and ammunition had a destination, and that destination would be General Lee's army. General Lee's enemies would gain a decided advantage with such information in their hands. Emoline had been insane to collect it, the danger was prodigious, and Cassius saw it as yet another example of how her personality blinded her-her arrogant confidence had led her to misguided bravery, which led to her violent death. But who had access to this official intelligence? He reached back into the hiding place, searching with his fingers for anything else, and found in the corner a folded scrap of paper. On it was a small map and he recognized Emoline's hand. It included lines that he imagined were roads, leading to a spot in what he guessed was forest land. Along the top of the paper she had drawn a line of X's. The X's were likely to be railroad tracks. A road crossed the tracks, and she had written something along the road: W York.

  He paced the room. To hold something of such importance in his hands thrilled him profoundly and his heart beat high in his chest. But what was to be done with it? Even if Maryanne was correct and Emoline's contact would come for it on the full moon, what did that have to do with him? Was it up to him to hand off this information, so that it could be delivered to someone in the North? The very thought of doing such a thing seemed no more possible than growing wings overnight and flying to the sun. But perhaps he must do just that, for her. He paused in his reckless enthusiasm. And what did he owe her, a woman who had lied to him? He reflected on her lies. To protect her identity as a spy was an impersonal lie, as it protected everyone around her as well, and so he let that be. Her lies about Hoke stung and confused him, but they also explained other things, including why Hoke had been willing to allow her to take Cassius back to her home to heal him. When he thought of this, of what she had done on his behalf, he forgave everything, even her puzzling personal secrets.

  He returned to his pacing, and a shard of jug crunched under his shoe. He swept it aside with his foot, his excitement returning. She would not have cared that her things were broken. He now knew her for a different person and her world grew clearer in his mind. She cared for maps and secret information. She cared for the outcome of the war, believing the North needed to win the war if her people were to have any chance to escape slavery. To Cassius, such a possibility seemed remote if not ludicrous. The summer had brought a string of Confederate victories, making the outcome of the war appear to lean heavily to the South, and furthermore, the Yankees did not care a damn for slaves. Yankees would not die for black people. He admired that Emoline had hoped to share her freedom with all her people, but wondered if it had been worth her life. He thought then of how, for a long time, he had been indifferent to death. At least she had risked herself for a purpose.

  He thought about Richard Justice. Richard could make life difficult for Cassius. The man was entitled to his mother's money, even if Cassius did not want him to have it. Cassius could have told Richard where to find it, but that would only guarantee its eventual place in the pockets of white gamblers.

  Cassius formulated a plan and acted quickly. He counte
d bank bills and separated out a one quarter share. He returned the bulk of the money to the hiding place. He also returned the packets, believing them safer here than in his cabin at Sweetsmoke. If Emoline's contact knew of the secret place, he might collect the documents without Cassius having to lift a finger. He resealed the hiding place. He found a small tin on the floor and folded the quarter portion of her money inside. He stepped outside by the tree and looked at her garden. He chose an obvious spot where someone had previously been digging, by a green stave that Emoline employed as a separator between herb beds. The herbs unearthed from that spot had been carelessly tossed aside. Cassius dug out the loose soil, then dug deeper into the compacted soil beneath. He placed the tin in the hole, recovered it, and recompacted the dirt. He covered that with looser dirt. He looked around. Down the row, he noticed where an entire patch of herbs had been dug up and were nowhere to be found, as if rather than digging for treasure someone had specifically targeted that remedy. But he gave that scant attention as he thought of one more thing to help his plan and returned to the hiding place, dug out the tin, and carefully separated out a few of the colorful bank notes, choosing only bills on which specific scenes of Southern daily life were etched. This impulsive decision brought a grim smile to his face. These bills he folded and put into his pouch along with three coins.

  He walked back to Sweetsmoke, alone on the road, carrying both books of Homer, and was back in his cabin before the dawn of Sunday morning, the morning of the Big-To-Do. Once there, Cassius slept.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Cassius opened his eyes to find sun streaming into his cabin through a small high window. He blinked awake and gradually became aware that someone sat across the room on the ledge of the dark and empty hearth. He raised his head.

  You missed church, said Andrew.

  Andrew rested his chin on his knees, his legs pulled up close and his arms wrapped around his shins.

  I try to.

  Mamma say you can miss church but not the Big-To-Do.

  What time is it?

  Afternoon sometime. Some of us already gone over. Mamma said wait on you.

  Why didn't you wake me?

  Believe I did.

  Cassius raised his head higher and saw The Iliad on the floor at Andrew's feet. Andrew had dropped it, possibly more than once, which explained the sound of a door slamming in his dream. A folded sheet of paper that had been hidden between the pages had come partway out when Andrew dropped the book. Cassius rose from his pallet and as he took the book off the floor, he pushed the sheet of paper back and put both The Iliad and The Odyssey out of sight. Leaving out a book was careless, and he could not afford to be careless. He shook off the last layer of sleep and felt the deep exhaustion at his core. He knew that he would drag through the day, and he already anticipated the welcome of his pallet that night.

  They walked to Edensong, the Jarvis plantation. Clouds moved in and blocked the sun and a cool wind picked up.

  You got new pants, said Cassius.

  Andrew nodded.

  Cassius did not wish to press Andrew, but he knew that sometimes a young man needed to be prompted so that he understood he was being offered an opportunity to speak frankly.

  New hat. New shoes, said Cassius.

  Andrew turned his face to Cassius, and for a moment appeared older than his ten years as he searched Cassius's expression for hidden meaning.

  I work the fields now, said Andrew.

  How's that going?

  Andrew shrugged, but a momentary wince around his eyes betrayed him. Cassius suspected Andrew had received a warning from his father Abram to withhold his complaints. It was likely that Andrew's middle brother Sammy tormented him as Sammy himself had been tormented by his older brother Joseph when he had started in the fields.

  Was your age when I went to the fields, said Cassius.

  I thought you was a carpenter.

  Didn't start out that way. Had some trouble with the Young Master.

  Oh. Charles? I mean, Master Charles?

  No. Different young master.

  Andrew nodded and watched the road as he walked. A handful of other travelers were half a mile ahead, dressed up in their finest, but otherwise they had the road to themselves, as the Big-To-Do would already have begun in earnest. The wind came stronger and lifted the hat off Andrew's head, and he reached to catch it, pulling it down snugly.

  I remember being a young man, said Cassius.

  Andrew said nothing.

  Didn't know it at the time, but I had a bad temper, said Cassius.

  Andrew cocked his head.

  Not always obvious to the one who owns it. You might have a temper and not know, said Cassius.

  Andrew shrugged.

  What about you? Ever get angry fast, when you don't see it coming?

  Don't know.

  Happens to me too, said Cassius, nodding.

  Andrew looked at him again. With his head angled, the wind snatched his hat and this time Cassius caught it.

  You probably want to carry that.

  Andrew took it in his hands and said: Yeah.

  I remember Old Darby, Mam Rosie's husband, you never met him, was a few years where he looked out for me, and sometimes he'd be watching when I didn't know and he'd see me get all mad and he'd stop me. Ooh, that burned me up, I'd get even madder, man telling you how to be. No, we are not always smart for ourselves.

  Cassius saw no reaction from Andrew. He tried again: Darby taught me a little trick. He'd say, When you feel that anger growing and spitting inside, reach down and snatch it, just snatch it right out and take it in your hands and bring it real close, and then when you got a good hold, get it up close in the light, look at the top and bottom and see if it maybe get you in trouble. Sometimes, just thinking about that would be enough and things'd slow down and then you realize the anger be gone.

  You sound like my mamma.

  Suppose I do. I apologize.

  That okay.

  For a quarter of a mile they walked in silence. Cassius continued to worry his point in his head.

  What I got to say is, you can still be a man. There's other ways to hold on to pride. You don't need to fight and get it all back right then. Sometimes it's better when it comes later, different kind of satisfying. Maybe that way, Master Charles won't see it coming.

  Andrew furrowed his brow.

  That's a good point, Cassius, said Andrew seriously.

  Cassius was unable to stop the laugh that rolled up inside him.

  What's funny? said Andrew as his temper raised up its head.

  Cassius put his hand on the boy's shoulder. I don't tease you, Andrew, I was surprised to see you look ten years older just now when you spoke.

  Andrew raised his hat to cover his head and pulled it down close to his ears, turning back to the road at his feet.

  They turned off the main road into the wide entrance of the plantation Edensong, winding through trees and manicured bushes to the big house. The main yard was empty of all but the occasional domestic animal, while the front porch of the big house was thick with planters and their families, the white railing penning them in. Edensong was the home of Judge Francis Arthur Jarvis. "Judge" was an honorary title, honorary and ubiquitous, although when the war became imminent, Cassius had the impression that the number of planters bearing the title "Colonel" increased. Cassius saw that Hoke was there with Ellen and his daughters, Genevieve and Anne; Anne's husband was speaking with one of the Jarvis boys and his wife. Notably absent was Sarah Greenleaf Howard, Jacob's wife, now left alone in the big house at Sweetsmoke, as Missus Ellen would have insisted the house people attend the dance. Lamar Robertson, planter and master of The Swan of Alicante Plantation, was in attendance with his extended family. Cassius recognized Willa Jarvis Whitacre, and predicted that the short man in uniform was the quartermaster, Captain Solomon Whitacre. He noted Whitacre not only because of his servant's connection to Emoline, but because his letters to his wife
exhibited a great affection for her, and for that Cassius thought well of him. Cassius was amused to see that the planter children were kept to the porch, underfoot, and not permitted in the yard. The red-faced master of Edensong, Judge Francis Arthur Jarvis, a contemporary of Hoke Howard, struggled to his feet with glass in hand as the two blacks crossed the yard. Lines of sweat coursed down his cheeks and vanished under his collar, soaking the shirt beneath his waistcoat. He dabbed helplessly at his eyebrows with a handkerchief, but his smile appeared genuine.

  "Welcome, welcome to Edensong, welcome," Judge Jarvis said pompously. "Mrs. Frances, welcome our late-arriving guests."

  Wick-thin Mrs. Frances Jarvis appeared beside her husband as if she had been invisible sideways and had turned to face them like a swinging gate. Frances and Francis Jarvis stood together, a blade of grass and a brick of cheese. She planted a smile on her face and said, "Welcome to Edensong, the others are back there, all the way in back, you cannot miss them. Oh my dear, your glass is empty, may I secure you another, Mr. Francis?"

  "Thank you kindly, Mrs. Frances." He handed his half-empty glass to his wife and they both laughed with the other planters at their excellent jest, Mr. Francis and Mrs. Frances, a joke as comfortable and worn as it was anticipated.

  "Now don't drink too much," admonished his wife, laughing still.

  "These slaves of yours keep coming, Hoke. Are they ignorant of the time?"

  Cassius still found it odd to be spoken of as if he were deaf or invisible. It happened often; whites simply said whatever was on their minds in front of their "people," bluntly revealing their thoughts and secrets. He stared at Francis Jarvis with frank curiosity. What would cause a man to reveal himself so nakedly, unless he truly believed he was not judged? Despite the intimate knowledge Cassius carried about the planters and their families, knowing he was taken so lightly made him feel small.

  Ellen watched Cassius and the boy walk past. She thought again about the death of the free black woman who at one time had lived at Sweetsmoke and had meant something to her husband. She had dreamed about Cassius and Marriah, and when she woke had spent confused moments believing the war had yet to begin. As the years in between filled back in, she had an intense feeling that she was paying for those events with the lives of her sons.