by David Fuller
Lucky you already got yours, said Cassius.
"My what, my name?"
The Angel Gabriel, said Cassius.
Logue bowed from the neck in acknowledgment, collected water rolled off his hat brim onto the toes of his boots, and he swept his heavy, saturated coat around to cover his shoulders, this time sending a fine circular spray across the floorboards.
Cassius suddenly found himself saying: Gonna find the mongrel son of a sour bitch. Don't care what it takes, I will run him down.
Logue looked at him with wonder and, Cassius thought, awe.
"Perhaps we will meet again," said Logue, and he stepped into the rain and was gone.
Cassius waited, hearing intense rain against the window, listening for a shout, a gunshot, horse hooves. When he heard none of that, Cassius thought The Angel had safely flown away.
Cassius needed to sit, and found Emoline's favorite chair. He had not known that his commitment went so deep. He sat a long time and embraced the emotion with fear and satisfaction.
He did not know how long he sat, but he roused himself, took his lantern, and returned to the muddy road to slog his way back to Sweetsmoke. He estimated that it was after midnight. The journey home would be slow going.
As he walked, his mind brought forth suspects and he tested them for motive and opportunity. He did not care for Richard Justice, but that did not make the man a killer. If Richard had known where to find the money, Cassius might have seen it differently, but that would mean he was counting on finding the money after her death. Her money was well hidden, and Richard would have known how difficult, unlikely even, it would be to find. From Richard's perspective, Emoline might have hidden it in the deep woods. No, for reasons of his greed alone, Cassius did not think Richard Justice had done it. Maryanne had been in town the night of her murder. Cassius dismissed her as a suspect. Logue had rejected the idea that one of her white clients was guilty, and his reasons had been sound. Cassius's thoughts fell to Gabriel Logue. If The Angel saw an old woman as a danger to his freedom, he would not hesitate to kill her. But Cassius had seen the man's face when he had been informed of Emoline's death. As clever as Logue was, that instant of shock was near impossible to conceal. He put Logue to the side, thinking him unlikely. Hoke Howard had been on Emoline's list. Try as he might, Cassius simply could not conjure a motive for his master to have killed her. If her death was connected to her spying, then his best chance for information was the telegraph operator, but to find him, he would need to understand Emoline's map. He began to formulate a plan and realized he would need Hoke's help, albeit indirectly.
The steady rhythm of rain gradually drummed his thoughts away. He was exhausted and as the intensity of the day released, he felt his energy drain. He was cold, he was wet, and he'd had little sleep. His pace had grown slow in the persistent rain, and he estimated he had yet to reach the halfway point home. Reality set in. How could he possibly find her killer? He tried to push that thought aside, renewing his effort, forcing his legs to move faster, but after some two dozen steps his concentration waned and he drifted back to his original trudge. The weight of his sodden shirt and trousers dragged on him. He lifted his feet and his shoes fought back, thick with water as mud sucked them back into the road. His hat brim scraped the back of his neck and drooped so low in front that it blocked part of his vision. He felt as if he was being swallowed whole by despair. He did not know what it would be like to be free. He yearned for that knowledge, and knew it would never come to pass. He was acquainted with free blacks, Emoline and Richard Justice among them, and they could go where they chose, work when they chose, they knew they were free. But they still lived in the South, they were compelled to carry their free papers, and if any random white man was to take those papers or destroy them, they could be sold again into this ferocious life.
Freedom. He had grown to despise the word, tantalizing him with flimsy hope, shimmering in the mocking distance. It meant everything to him and brought him irresistible anguish. He would have preferred to know nothing about the state of freedom, to live in ignorance and hopelessness rather than be tempted by something so odiously out of reach. And then a terrible thought crawled through his body: Suppose freedom did come, what then? He considered himself, Cassius Howard, as a man, and in a blaze of clarity realized that he did not believe that he deserved to be free. What had he done in his life that freedom should be awarded to him? He did not envision himself as a kind man or even a decent man, quite the opposite when he listened to the bitter rage that crusaded through his mind. He helped no one and allowed no one to help him, as he would be obligated to no one. But he feared the true reason: He was pridefully incapable of gratitude. Cassius bemoaned his weakness, and the thought of hunting down Emoline's killer now struck him as pathetic. He cast his eyes down and followed the tiny shaft of light from his lantern as it revealed the muck ahead, puddle surfaces frothing with thick-falling raindrops.
He didn't hear them in the relentless drumming of rain. They came up behind him and he was suddenly surrounded by horses, their hooves splashing water up against his calves and thighs, their lanterns angled into his face.
"He the one?"
"I dunno, turn your lantern more."
"It's turned, damnit!"
Three of them. Cassius barely had the energy to look up, but he knew them, patrollers, Otis Bornock, Isaac Lang, and Hans Mueller. Big, ugly, stupid men who had him, they had him and there was no escape. A small voice cut through his resignation: What the hell were these men doing out in this ungodly weather?
"Don't much matter if he is or not, we got him. What you doin out here this time of night, boy?"
Got a pass, said Cassius.
"Oh, you got a pass, well let's see it, boy, we don't got time to waste on you," said Otis Bornock.
"He say he got a pass," said Hans Mueller in his German- accented English. "Give him the minute."
Cassius wearily moved his right hand to his pouch and realized that the three folded sheets were there with Emoline's map and nothing else. He reached for the band of his trousers but found nothing. Now he was awake, realizing he had not remembered to bring the forged pass.
"Give him the pass," said Hans Mueller.
Seems I lost it, said Cassius.
"I told you this boy was askin for it. Been askin for it a long time. You gonna get yours now, you black bastard."
"Aw, hell, we don't got time for this," said Isaac Lang.
"Das ist richt" said Hans Mueller. "We need find the other one."
"We always got time to teach our nigras a lesson," said Bornock.
Why you out tonight? said Cassius.
"Runaway," said Lang.
"Shut up, Lang, don't answer him, what're you answerin him for?" said Bornock.
"Friend a' yours," said Lang.
Who? Who's running? said Cassius.
"Y'see, that's what I hate," said Bornock. "This darky always had a sass mouth, never knew his place. This is it, we teach him a lesson right now."
"Joseph," said Mueller. "Joseph run off tonight. Call us outta beds in the rain."
Cassius sagged at the news.
"Jesus Christ, what's the matter with you, Mule, why you tell him that? Now we got to take care of him, teach him his place, and it's your fault," said Bornock.
Cassius knew he was facing a beating. It would be worse in the cold rain.
"You think I'm gettin down, we got a boy to chase, I ain't gettin down; you want to take time to beat his ass, you do it, Bornock," said Lang.
"All right, then just me and Mule. Come on, Mule."
"You spend last three hour accuse me of steal your gun, and now you want my help? Go on yourself, you always say you hotshot, handle anyone," said Mueller.
"Damn," said Bornock. He angled his horse in front of Cassius and pressed him off the road, into a clear area around a hedge. The other two walked their horses down the road to a stand of trees under which they were partly protected from the rain.
&
nbsp; Cassius stood his ground in the clearing, in the light from the two lanterns. Bornock sat on his horse, looking at him. Cassius knew he didn't have his full strength, but he gathered what he had.
"I'm beat your ass," said Bornock.
Come on with it, said Cassius.
Bornock came down out of his saddle into the muck and grass. He hooked his lantern over the horn of the saddle. His horse did not move. Bornock was a big man, he outweighed Cassius and was about the same height.
"You git on over here."
Cassius stayed where he was.
"Damn," said Bornock, and he charged, swinging his short whip. Cassius caught his hand and twisted it, and he felt the uncertainty in Bornock's attack. Bornock had expected help from Lang and Mueller, and when it had not come, he expected Cassius to acquiesce. Now he faced an enemy he did not know. Cassius gained strength and power from this knowledge, and he let Bornock's weight work against him, stepping aside so that Bornock slipped and tumbled in the mud. He came up spitting and his fury made him foolish. He found his feet and moved at Cassius again.
Come on then, give me that lesson, said Cassius. Come on!
Bornock came on in the dim light of the lanterns, but Cassius moved at him now, and landed a solid fist in Bornock's belly. He heard an "oof" as Bornock doubled over, dropping to his knees, sending water out in a wave.
"I'll kill you," said Bornock hoarsely. "We gonna string you up so high the birds won't reach your eyes."
Cassius moved in and grabbed Bornock by the hair.
You do that. You call 'em over, 'cause it goin take all three of you, and you tell 'em they gotta help you 'cause you couldn't handle me. You tell 'em that and I'll wait here.
"Damn," said Bornock and he spit something into the mud.
Or you say you did me good, you say Cassius can't stand up. Tell 'em you let me live so Hoke Howard don't come looking for the two thousand dollars it cost to replace a prime hand.
"Uh," said Bornock, squeezing his eyes together at the pain. He got to his feet, holding his stomach. Cassius took his short whip from him and threw it away in the dark. He noticed Bornock did not have his fancy pearl-handled Colt Army revolver, and realized that he had not seen it earlier, before they came into the clearing.
Bornock moved to his horse. Cassius leaned to pick Bornock's hat out of a puddle and spun it to him. Bornock swung himself into the saddle. Cassius watched Bornock ride back to the road, losing him in the rain but for the light splay of his lantern. The three lanterns joined and for a moment Cassius thought his ploy hadn't worked, but then they moved away together. Cassius picked up his lantern and walked back to the road. He followed the group of three lanterns as they moved ahead, growing smaller.
Big Gus, he thought. Big Gus had done exactly what he'd meant to do, he drove Joseph until Joseph could take it no longer, and now Joseph was running. Cassius hoped Joseph was smart and knew how to get north. The rain clouds would hide the star markers in the sky, but they could also help him avoid the patrollers and slave catchers that Hoke would employ. But things would now be more difficult for Cassius, he would have less room to maneuver as everyone would be on edge. Every white man in the area would be alert and the patrols would increase. If it had been dangerous before, now it was worse.
He came to the small bridge and stopped, listening to the swollen creek rush by under his feet. He thought about his escape from Otis Bornock, and he was gratified. Bornock might brag and preen, but Cassius knew the kind of bully Bornock was. Cassius had instilled fear in the man. Bornock would, from that moment on, always be unsure of himself around Cassius, and was unlikely to bother him again. That at least was something.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Cassius stepped into Mam Rosie's kitchen and the intense heat burned his eyes and pressured his forehead, and his brain pounded as if expanding. Something in the room was unusual, and he looked to see that her unmade pallet and personal possessions were out on the brick floor-if she had not found time to tidy her few belongings, then she had been hard-pressed, cooking constantly for the hunters of Joseph. Within the demonically heated air dwelled good smells that were complex, accented by sweet. He looked to the great hearth; she had built the fire so that it burned at various levels of intensity across its full width. Up front, the older glowing coals slow-roasted embedded potatoes; behind that, a hearty flame licked the side of a hog set on the spit. To the left, heavy cast-iron pots hung from trivets, and coals rested on the cover of one pot so that the insides cooked evenly. Hot as it was, the hearth fire alone would not have made the room unbearable. He looked to the side wall and saw heat waves from the brick oven in full burn. She had been all night bringing the oven to temperature in order to bake. The sweetness was the first boil molasses added to cornbread.
All this food would deplete the stores quickly, and he projected a lean winter.
Lot of rumors out there, Rose, said Cassius.
What you doin here, Cassius, why you come in here today? said Mam Rosie. You see what's goin on.
You think I got something on my mind?
Mam Rosie moved at him swiftly, her corded right arm rising to wag a threatening finger. Don't you pretend with me, Cassius, I raised you, I know you, I know how you think! This a dangerous game you playin, you close to findin yourself with a stretched neck.
What you hear?
You expect to come in all easy sweet and I just tell you?
You know me, Rose, you raised me, you know how I think.
Mam Rosie lowered her finger. Her mouth turned down and her head swiveled side to side, wanting to shake him out of her kitchen and out of her thoughts.
Somethin goin on with you and that little girl? said Mam Rosie with venom.
No, there ain't, he said, meeting her venom.
The hell you say.
You ask, I answer.
Pet is like to git you, Cassius, and I can't say's I blame her. What you got against Tempie?
Never gave her much thought. But she hid that box in the dress of "that little girl," so I ask you: What Tempie got against Quashee? You think Quashee should get sold? You think that fair? You think that right?
So now you all powerful with right and wrong?
Rose, said Cassius softly, I did not know what would come to Tempie. I just know she set out to injure someone who did her no harm, someone who belonged out of the fields.
You never thought maybe Tempie belong out of the fields? You not think that?
I think she had her chance and it didn't go her way.
You are the slipperiest, the snakiest, how you get so damn tall anyway? Someone sneaky as you ought be short and oily.
Cassius thought that he got to be slippery and sneaky because of Mam Rosie, but he said: What you know about Joseph, Rose?
And don't be callin me Rose.
Nobody here but us, said Cassius easily. Tell me about Joseph.
Mam Rosie heard it before Cassius knew anything, a subtle change that caused her to cock an ear, then move directly to the kettle on the right, arriving just as froth bubbled over the lip and sizzled against its outer bowl. She took an iron rod with a C-shaped bend at the end and hooked one leg of the trivet that held the kettle, jerking it two inches off the heat, at which the foam fell back and relaxed to an easy roil. She made mental calculations on the rest, added three coals to the top of the covered pot, nodded to herself, and sat on a low chair setting her elbows on her knees, resting her head forward where her palms covered her eyes.
Took off in the rain, she said.
I know that much.
Goin in the rain was smart, no tracks or scent to follow. Paddyrollers and them dogs havin a bad time 'cause of it. Even got Ol' Mr. Nettle out there, ridin around like some holy prince, and you know Mr. Nettle ain't been on patrol three year now. They got slave chasers and whites comin in from every plantation, don't want no big ideas gettin in the heads of their nigras, got to make a 'xample out of this one or all our nigras goin think they can r
un, too.
One rumor is he's caught. Another is he's beaten, whipped, even hanged; can't turn around without a rumor that he had everything done to him that white men can think up to make the rest of us crap the hope out of our sorry asses.
Rumors, she said bitterly. Rumors are Master Lincoln goin free us, lot of good that do. Right now I settle for just one of us gettin away.
So he's not caught.
No, she said wearily, not 'less someone right now bringin him in.
Somebody had to help him.
What for, why somebody had to, can't a man just run? said Mam Rosie, her eyes unfocused.
Man can run. Man can hide for a while, but Joseph ain't much of a man, yet, and if they don't have him already, figures somebody helped him. You think he linked up with that Underground Railroad?
Mam Rosie whirled at him, her face animated: Don't talk 'bout that, don't even think 'bout that!
Emoline was alive, she'd've helped him, said Cassius.
Just wipe that Underground Railroad out your brain, you hear me?
Cassius remembered that Darby had often spoken about the Underground Railroad. Mam Rosie blamed his loose talk for getting him sold.
So he didn't come to you, said Cassius.
Come to me?!? Ain't no way that boy comin to me 'bout no railroad. He just a boy, I ain't never sent nobody, specially not a boy.
All right, Rose, all right.
She stared at him, a hard, mean look in her eyes.
He was the only one allowed to call me that, she said.
He called you that in affection, said Cassius.
He was a good man.
Took real good care of me, he said.
You sayin I didn't?
You didn't need a little boy to love you, Rose. When they sold Darby, they took all the love you had.
Mam Rosie stood straighter, and he saw her forcing her mouth tight to cut off the tremble of her lower lip, but in that struggle her entire head began to tremble. She turned away suddenly and made a nervous tour of her kitchen, testing the hog's side and peering into the pots with her back to him, using her apron to wipe her brow and then her eyes and cheeks. After a long moment, she came back to where he stood, cocked her head, and shifted it back to look at him.