by David Fuller
He estimated three days as the least time needed to complete the journey, a day and a half in each direction. If he was to do it, he had to leave soon, as Whitacre's men were already somewhere in the northern part of the county, hunting the telegraph man as a spy. The more he thought about it, the more he thought he could be away for a few days without drawing attention. It would take a bit of luck, but the timing in and around the household was good. The planter family was caught up in Hoke's illness. They were likely to be uninterested in the comings and goings of the carpenter. It was not so unusual for him to be absent. He was sometimes loaned out to other plantations, occasionally for days, one time for six months. He did not answer to the Overseer or the Driver, and they often did not see him for days at a time. He had made a conspicuous show of not sleeping in his cabin, so his absence on the lane would raise no questions. Pet worried him, but she was no longer studying him as closely. That did not mean she was off her guard, and if she happened to discover him missing, she would gleefully inform Ellen and destroy him, but he thought that a reasonable risk.
His strongest ally was Hoke's illness. He could explain that Hoke had laid out a mission for him before delirium set in. Hoke would be unable to remember, but it was not out of the realm of possibility. Cassius simply needed to muddy the waters enough for three days.
He had one more thought to help cover his tracks: to find someone to say they had seen Cassius around in case someone became suspicious. He considered those he trusted in the quarters, Abram and Jenny, but things were not good with Jenny. He decided against Abram, who was a good and decent man, but might not be thinking clearly with his son in chains. He considered Savilla, but she was too much the gossip. He decided to speak to Quashee.
He met her in passing and they carried on a brief conversation. He asked her to say, if anyone questioned his absence, that she had seen Cassius going to the livestock clearing with his tools to repair fences. He appreciated that she did not ask about his plans.
He spent the early part of the evening doing what appeared from the outside to be his normal chores; in fact he was collecting supplies for his journey. His initial impulse to go had occurred during his conversation with Logue in Emoline's home, made in emotional haste when the reality of the journey was so distant that it mattered little if it was unrealistic. Tonight, he saw it in a different light. He knew his logical mind might argue against it, might even have a legitimate argument, but when he looked at his life, at what he was and had always been, when he thought of what it would mean to him to give up his quest and return to all that, he knew he would not be able to face himself. Living the predetermined life of a carpenter at a plantation was no longer enough. He had experienced too many small freedoms, he had tasted the knowledge that his search for Emoline's killer had already brought. He was determined to find this telegraph man, he was determined to learn what he could. Cassius drove himself toward his journey in a step-by-step fashion, willing to risk everything, to know. To know.
Once finished with his preparations, he sat down to write himself a pass. With that done, he thought again, then wrote two more passes, so that one would rest in his pouch, the second in his hat, and the third in his shoe. Anyone who might destroy the first pass would not imagine he carried others.
It was late when he brought out Hoke's copy of Julius Caesar. He was curious to know Hoke's inner mind, what his choice of the name Cassius revealed about Hoke's attitude to his slave. He sat by the lantern and held the book open close to it and began to read from the beginning.
Caesar's reference to "yond Cassius" appeared early in the play, and Cassius was amazed at the emotion it evoked. Looking at the words "a lean and hungry look" on the page, the precise words that Hoke had used to describe him after he was born, he had a profound sensation of ownership. He then took pleasure in Caesar's dialogue, that "he thinks too much, such men are dangerous."
As he continued to read, he found he did not care for Caius Cassius. He had hoped to admire his namesake or at least find some redeeming value in him, but instead he was embarrassed by him, as if he and Shakespeare's Cassius were connected and the other Cassius's personality reflected back on him. Shakespeare's Cassius was intelligent but conniving, an arrogant plotter with a thin skin, an inciter who used others to carry out his desires. Shakespeare's Cassius was unpleasantly envious of Caesar's exalted position. The thought of Hoke naming him after such a man humiliated him. It reflected poorly on the memory of the relationship he and Hoke had enjoyed when he was younger.
He caught himself dozing off and knew he would not finish reading that night, nor would he tote the book to W York. It might be some time before he could finish the play and have a full understanding of Hoke's perspective. He mulled over what he had read, and thought that perhaps he recognized himself in Cassius.
He replaced the book in the hiding place, stepping back to be certain it would draw no attention. Satisfied, he settled onto his pallet.
As he drifted off to sleep, he remembered that Hoke had said Cassius was an honorable man. Perhaps his early inference was wrong and Shakespeare's Cassius would ultimately surprise him. Gabriel Logue had said Cassius might one day be free to search for his name. Perhaps he did not need to search, now that he was familiar with the source of his name. Perhaps Hoke had aimed accurately and Cassius had carried his true name from birth.
He slept briefly, but was awake before the bell, wanting to be away before questions could be asked, planning to travel by day with his passes.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Ellen Howard was not amused by the smirk on her grandson's face. Something devious had entered his mind and he was preparing to act on it.
She had tried over the years to like her grandson, but Charles had inherited his personality from his father and grandfather, too much of it unfortunate. He had an annoyingly high opinion of himself, earned not by deeds but by accident of birth, and he was intolerant of those who did not share this glorified perspective. Her husband, Hoke, had passed on that particular character flaw, most flagrantly displayed when he took action in the world of business. Something inside of her was satisfied when she saw Hoke encounter his comeuppance. But he did not fail often; in fact, he exhibited a flair for wealth accumulation. In the early years of their marriage, she had perceived this flair to be happenstance, but over the years he had demonstrated it with too great a frequency to have been mere dumb luck. How full of himself he became when he was flush. Hoke was so imprudent with money that after prolonged bouts of profligacy he would be forced to sell people and animals to make up the shortfall. She found those times painful and humiliating. She was especially moved when it came time to sell the animals. She remembered a particular horse, a glorious bay named Ahab, which Hoke had gifted to Jacob. A few months later, when they were overextended, Hoke had sold the horse without warning, giving Jacob no opportunity to bid Ahab farewell. Jacob had been heartbroken in a way that only a trusting young boy can be when betrayed by a father. It exposed Jacob's stubborn streak, as it was years before he publicly forgave his father. Jacob was too young to understand that his father was deeply mortified by his fiscal weaknesses and had been ashamed to face his son.
And so began Jacob's history of mulish behavior in the face of his father's disapproval, which led to his greatest obdurate blunder, his marriage to Sarah Greenleaf. When Jacob finally took a good look at his permanent wife and understood the enormity of his error, rather than admit his folly, he fled, initially to bury himself in his business and later to bury himself in war. And yet there was precedent for his obstinacy. She remembered how Hoke had insisted on Ellen Corey as his bride, and oh, how Grace Howard had frowned on that! Grace Howard. Ellen's mind ran to her mother-in-law. Lord, what a frightening creature. Ellen was terrified of her, spent the entire first year of marriage skulking around her. Grace Howard was a force of nature, so intelligent, so certain, so inflexible. She had even infused her personal servant, Emoline, with those traits. The two of
them, in the same house, surrounding Ellen the young bride. She shivered to think of it. Ellen had not felt safe in the bosom of her husband's family until John-Corey was born. At the instant of motherhood, she fell completely and utterly in love with her son, and no longer recoiled at her mother-in-law's caprice.
Grace had not lived to meet Jacob. Grace had acted as if she would live forever, and what a surprise her death had been, not the least to herself. A woman that powerful and determined, and yet she was unable to go on after the death of her husband. Grace left Hoke behind to take over Sweetsmoke. How young he had been emotionally, a new father still struggling to cope with the death of his own father.
"Grandma Ellen?" said Charles coyly.
"Eat your breakfast, Charles," said Ellen.
Charles had a few unpleasant traits that were all his own, one of which was that he thought he was sly and clever, when he was in fact obvious and transparent.
"Where was the carpenter going in the middle of the night?"
"Please do not share your dreams at the table, as they are unappetizing," said Ellen.
"It warn't no dream, Grandma Ellen."
"And please do not bite into the second muffin before you have finished your first one."
"I was up in the night and saw him."
"Saw whom, Charles?"
"Saw the carpenter," said Charles. "Cassius."
"I do not see how you could have recognized him in the dark."
"It was almost dawn and I was using the chamber pot."
"Do not speak of such things at the table, Charles."
"But I was, and before I got back in bed I looked out the window and saw Cassius sneaking off. He had Daddy's old bag and his hat. Where was he going? Is he a runaway too, like Joseph?"
"Cassius has been with us a long time, Charles," said Ellen, but she was interested in this information.
Ellen Howard disliked Cassius. Hoke had always favored him and she had never understood it. Cassius struck her as unexceptional, no different from the others except that his closeness to her husband gave him permission to parade his bad habits, such as being willing to look a planter in the eye and speak his mind. If he had run, it was almost certainly because of Hoke's illness. Cassius would know that Hoke's protection was now at an end and he would not be indulged as he had been when Hoke was alive. She caught herself. She had thought "when Hoke was alive." A superstitious chill gripped her and she looked to perform some act of contrition, now that she had to protect her husband from her dangerous thoughts the way she protected her son. Hoke was alive still and would remain so, she was convinced of it. What had brought on such an appalling thought? She would punish herself; she would avoid laudanum for a day, no two, and drink her tea without sweet. Was it not difficult enough being forced to learn the everyday workings of the plantation? Now she had to defend against evil thoughts.
Ellen's mind turned to the plantation. She played a complicated game with the other owners. Women were not acceptable masters, so she pretended her decisions were made by her husband, even though everyone knew he was incapacitated. The other planters likewise pretended that Hoke was making decisions as that allowed business to flow smoothly. When they disagreed with one of her decisions, they demanded she inform her husband that his decision was unacceptable. She would then pretend to carry their response to him, and return with a new decision. In one case she simply reiterated her original decision and they accepted it without comment. Beyond that, she manifestly did not enjoy being in charge. So many questions, Missus this and Missus that. She preferred the old days, when she only had to inform her husband of her opinion to have her will thus carried out.
Ellen was now forced to suffer through direct interactions with the personnel. She found Mr. Nettle a bore, consumed with minutiae, and she dreaded his evening report on the state of the plantation. Sometimes she refused to see him. She would need to invent a new system. If there was little to report, he could wait two or three days, perhaps even a week. Today was likely to be particularly difficult. Food stocks were increasingly low, and she had delayed confronting the problem. Hoke had hidden grain and preserves from the quartermaster, but had neglected to share with her their location. She had to pretend to know, however, because if she were to ask her people, they would recognize her ignorance and go dumb, and subsequently raid the stocks for themselves. She could not abide her people taking advantage of her. She thought to include the new butler from John- Corey. Beauregard seemed loyal enough and willing to please, but of course it was early in his stewardship, and he would want to appear capable. That would change in time, it always did. It was decided then: She would speak with him, and be careful not to tip her hand. The butler should know the goings-on of the plantation.
Lord, she thought, where is Pet? I will need my laudanum drops if I am to get through the day.
"So you know where Cassius was going?" said Charles.
"Yes, of course," said his grandmother.
Ellen would have to find out if Cassius was on the property. She did not appreciate the spurious expression of shock on Charles's face.
After breakfast, she spoke with Beauregard, and asked for the condition of the hidden food stocks, expecting a full report to be detailed by their location. By mid-morning, Beauregard had reported back with an itemized list that included the locations, and went further to report the condition of the hidden livestock. Ellen's hands were rock steady, as she had increased the number of drops and was feeling quite normal in her altered condition. She had forgotten her superstitious promise until after her indulgence, vowing immediately to curb her use the following two days. She asked Beauregard if he knew Cassius's whereabouts, and was informed that Cassius had been seen going up to the area that held the livestock, probably to work on the hog pen. Ellen was satisfied with his report and relieved to know that Charles was wrong. But she would have Mr. Nettle account for Cassius to confirm that he remained on Sweetsmoke property. She would need to exert control over that one. He had too much independence. She preferred to loan him out to other plantations, as then she would not not have to see him day in and day out. If Hoke were not to recover, perhaps a sale through Lucas Force would be in order; but she would never do it unless Hoke was gone. With his skills, Cassius was likely to fetch a fine price.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Cassius walked in bluish gray light, fog clinging to hollows in the surrounding fields as he traveled the turnpike. The sun was still hidden behind the low hills. He enjoyed the coolness knowing the midday heat would test his stamina. He carried Jacob's old haversack, a boy's bag and hand-me-down given to him ten years before. Inside was a kerchief that wrapped salt pork and ashcakes, enough to last him two days, after which he would need to scrounge. He carried no water, but the map foretold a series of creeks, and he had no reason not to trust whites when it came to mapmaking. He stopped under the little bridge and drank, lingering for only a moment as the swift current rushed by. At the fork, he turned north away from town and approached the small farm of Thomas Chavis, where he looked forward to speaking with Weyman.
He saw the Chavis barn shrouded in ground fog so that the upper barn and roof appeared to float. He drew closer and an air current twisted a horizontal sash of fog into a coil as if someone unseen had run through it. The barn was in questionable condition, in need of paint with the random missing board, but the siding that was in place appeared unwarped and flush. He thought that if Thomas Chavis had a better than average harvest, Cassius might convince Hoke to rent him out to work the property. With each step the farmhouse emerged from behind the barn, small and simple and well kept, and he thought that on Sweetsmoke it would have been mistaken for a shed. He slowed to a deliberate pace, expecting to see them leaving for the field, and when they did not, he hesitated. He began to walk on, but the ominously quiet house made him curious, so he crossed to the far side of the turnpike and sat on a stony spot alongside grass still damp with dew.
After a few minutes, Bunty
emerged from the privy, pulling tight a rope belt, and walked unhurriedly toward the farmhouse.
Cassius called out to him. Bunty turned, saw Cassius and nodded, then continued inside. A moment later Weyman came out and waved him over with a full arm movement. Cassius made his way, admiring the worn but well-kept tools lined up alongside the house under the makeshift porch roof: butter churn, washboard and tub, large crock pots, small barrels, and a heavy iron pot that had a hole in its side. Weyman greeted him at the door.
Cassius, what y'all doin out here?
On a task for Old Hoke.
"Come in, Cassius," said Thomas Chavis from inside. "We are slow to the fields today as it is Martha's birthday."
Cassius removed his hat and stepped inside, bowing his head to her.
A good one to you, Missus, said Cassius.
"I thank you, Cassius, have you had your breakfast?" said Martha Chavis.
I'm fine, Missus, thank you.
"Nonsense," she said, and scooped beans and meat from a hog jowl onto a tin plate. Cassius noted that she was in no way the disagreeable creature Weyman often made her out to be, as she smiled at him with her small handsome face, leathered by weather and brutal years, but all in all pleasing to behold. Her pregnancy was evident, and as he glanced around at the one-room farmhouse—an area with a curtain for the married couple, pallets on the floor across the room for the hands—he wondered how they would arrange the sleeping once the baby was born. He sat gratefully and ate, and was surprised at the intensity of his hunger. He looked up midway through the plate, aware that he ate alone for an audience, and remembered that everyone in Thomas Chavis's home sat at the common table and ate at the same time, Thomas at the head, his wife opposite, Bunty and Weyman facing each other on the long ends. The other plates had been cleared and Thomas indulged in what Cassius imagined was his second cup of coffee, which smelled like the coffee in the quarters, made of roasted okra flavored with molasses. While Weyman had often spoken of it, to physically consume a meal in the company of a master and his wife brought the experience home with a considerable jolt. Weyman had a most unusual life for a slave, in that he lived in conditions which were better than for many poor whites in town. Cassius envied him, treated with decency and dignity, and he flashed on Hoke waxing poetic on the idyllic life of the happy-go-lucky slave with no crushing burden of responsibility. Surely this was Weyman's world, and Cassius's envy lasted but a moment longer when he suddenly grasped that he was ensnared in white man's romantic twattle. Weyman was not free, he-was-not--free.