by David Fuller
They walked until they came to a spot that gave Cassius a view of the wide Potomac and sat side by side, a few feet from each other. Cassius had time to observe Jacob's actions, and was taken by surprise. Jacob had developed a nervous twitch in his right hand, and he blinked often. His shoulders slumped and he grimaced as if he had chronic pain, but Cassius could not guess where the pain would be.
"William is dead," said Jacob, speaking of his personal servant.
Thought he might've become contraband.
"That thought did not cross his mind."
You know that? said Cassius.
"Oh, I knew William."
Cassius simply smiled.
"Killed at South Mountain a few days ago. Seems longer. If you wanted to, you—"
No. I won't be your body servant, Jacob, said Cassius.
"No. Will you join the contrabands?"
Cassius said nothing.
Jacob looked at the river through sleepy eyes.
"So my mother wants me home," said Jacob. "What an effortless solution."
Ought to read her letter, said Cassius. She runs the plantation. Other planters don't like a woman master.
"No, I reckon not," said Jacob, but he did not remove the letter from his pocket. "I should read it and show it to my commanding officer and return home at once, ride away from all this." Jacob smiled but his right hand twitched with greater force.
For your father, said Cassius.
"You are the one who should be there for him, Cassius."
Cassius frowned.
"He had a great affection for you."
Never knew my own father. I do know it wasn't Hoke Howard, said Cassius plainly, a simple declaration.
"I did not say you were his son, only that he looked on you with affection. Do you remember Ahab?"
No.
"That great bay? No memory of him?"
No.
"That horse was to be given to me, and he let you ride him first."
I don't remember, said Cassius.
Jacob shook his head, an important piece of his history that was not important to others. He thought for a while before he spoke again.
"It can be difficult to love your son at times," said Jacob. "You want him to be some version of you, the best of you, but also something better, and then he grows up to have his own mind, his own thoughts, his own opinions. Tragic, really." Jacob smiled. "In his actions, his choice of words, he continually reminds you of the parts of yourself that you wish to suppress, the parts you deliberately avoid in the looking glass."
Wouldn't know. Didn't get to raise my son, said Cassius coldly.
Jacob looked at him with mild surprise. "No, you did not, did you? I have a son, of course. He is a rank little turd, the very worst parts of his mother and father and grandparents. I do not miss him."
Jacob stared at the river, and Cassius thought that he had lost his train of thought.
"A pet is something to love, a dog particularly. He loves you without opinion or judgment, he does not speak to you indignantly, he does not confuse your affections with foolish ideas and odd perspectives; he merely loves. I sometimes think of how easy it was for my father to favor you, Cassius."
Cassius fumed at the idea that he had been Hoke's pet, and then he thought that this was Jacob's justification, arrived at after years of resentment. Or maybe just a way to get back at Cassius for Ahab.
If only he'd protected me from you, said Cassius, swinging back.
"From me? Was I also injurious to you, Cassius?" Jacob looked to be humoring him. "How intriguing, that I might be as injurious to you as I felt you were to me."
You only did what I expected. He could've stopped you.
"What you expected of me. Whatever it was must have been dastardly indeed, and yet you don't blame me because it was in my nature," Jacob said, in wonder.
Cassius held his tongue, and fought to keep his temper in check.
"Look at you, Cassius. You would kill me if you could. Is that why you came here?" Jacob did not sound concerned about the prospect.
No. Not to kill you, Jacob.
"What was it that I did that so angers you?"
Young Master Jacob fathered my son, who was sold to protect you.
Jacob laughed.
Cassius felt every expulsive bray of his laughter. He listened to it roll down the bank and saw it embraced by the wide Potomac, carried downriver to coat the Commonwealth of Virginia with a layer of mocking mirth.
"That is what you think? That I lay with Marriah? Poor Cassius. Marriah did not share with you the truth. Your Old Master Hoke was the baby's father. I did not touch her."
Hoke? said Cassius.
"My mother sold that boy so she did not have to confront daily her husband's moment of weakness."
Cassius's thoughts reeled back. Hoke, in his moment of delusion, had said, "I killed her," and Cassius had thought at first he referred to Emoline, then to Tempie. But it had not been delusion. His torment was Marriah. His indiscretion had led to his acquiescence in the sale of his infant son, and that in turn had led to Marriah's self- slaughter, and Hoke bore that in self-loathing.
Why? said Cassius.
"Have you no looking glass, Cassius?"
Cassius was confused by the question and answered with a simple: No.
"My father admired you. You think not? You were strong and virile, things he doubted in himself. He protected you in the way he wished he had been protected by his father, and you repaid him with admiration. How I hated you. How little he had left for me. Marriah was his way of experiencing your strength as his manhood faded. You were strong and loyal, you made him feel loved, and he craved more; he wanted more control."
He owns me, said Cassius with astonishment. He controls me.
"That is merely the law. This was deeper. He wanted your soul."
I'm a black man, a slave, said Cassius, a surge of rage overwhelming him. He wanted more?
"Yes," said Jacob. "The perfect compliment to you, as a black man and a slave."
They were quiet together for some time after that. Cassius was about to stand up and leave, but Jacob spoke again.
"You made a serious gamble with your life, coming here," he said.
I never bet more than I can afford to lose, said Cassius.
Jacob nodded, recognizing Hoke's words. "Spoken as a true Howard."
Maryanne waited until Cassius left Jacob behind at the river.
She carried a haversack in her hands and approached him.
Why do you follow me, what do you want from me? said Cassius unkindly.
She offered the haversack to him.
Want you should take this, said Maryanne.
What is it?
Cap'n Solomon's bag. Got his personals in there. Figured you know some way to get it back to his widow.
You're staying.
Stay and be contraband with them Yanks, cook for 'em.
Better than Edensong.
Maybe one day get free.
Cassius opened the haversack, and among Whitacre's personal items he found a kerchief with something wrapped inside. He brought it out and unwrapped it. A small amount of jalap bindweed, old and withered, was revealed.
That what I think it is? said Cassius.
Jalap is what that be, said Maryanne. Cap'n use it regular. Ain't no more left after that, didn't know where I was goin be findin more. Seem like I don't need to, now.
Don't need to give it to his widow, said Cassius, returning the jalap to her, but keeping the haversack. He had seen the quartermaster's wagons preparing to return south, most of them empty, but some would carry the badly wounded and limbless soldiers, those who would never fight again, to return them to their homes across the Confederacy. Among those wagons he would find one that would pass near Edensong, and with it, send Whitacre's belongings.
Maybe use it for someone else, said Maryanne, as she rewrapped the jalap and put it in a pocket in her apron. Then she stared off with something on her mind. Cassius waited for
her thought to emerge.
He sure didn't look like much, said Maryanne.
Your captain?
Lyin dead like that, he sure didn't look like much.
No.
'Cause of him is how I connect up with Emoline, said Maryanne, patting her apron.
For the jalap, said Cassius.
That first time I be lookin for some for Cap'n Solomon and heard 'bout Emoline in town. She tryin to grow it in her garden, got someone else who use it, but she done share a little with me. Not so easy to find, partic'lar this far north. Hers be real scrawny and sad.
Hard to grow in this climate, said Cassius, nodding.
Went lookin for it in her garden that night, but it be tore out.
What night? said Cassius.
That night I seen you in the window. Looked there 'cause Cap'n Solomon be runnin low.
You knew where she grew it in her garden?
Sure I did. Every bit of it pulled out, roots and all.
Cassius remembered the hole there, and he began to understand something that he did not want to understand.
It was possible someone else had come along after she was dead and pulled out the jalap plants. But why not other plants, why not harvest the whole garden? Why just the jalap?
Emoline would not have pulled up all of her jalap at once. Her son Richard had not done it; he was digging for her money. Gabriel Logue had not done it.
At that moment, Cassius believed that the one who had done it was her killer. He had no proof, but pieces fit together for him, like a perfectly planed tongue and groove. Whitacre might have done it, but then he would have had more than enough bindweed and
Maryanne would not have needed to look for more in Emoline's garden that night. In a sudden jolt, Cassius knew what he had to do.
Night fell and the Confederate army made rapid, discreet preparations to leave Maryland. Cassius met with Jacob by lamplight to collect the letter Jacob had written to his mother that afternoon. Cassius asked why the Confederates were leaving, and Jacob said that they were obliged to leave, that Lee had lost one- quarter of his army in that single day of fighting. Jacob then told Cassius what Cassius already knew, that he would stay with the 7th Virginia Cavalry. He would not return to see his father. He would not return to take control of the plantation.
Cassius walked away from Jacob Howard and his men, but once he was out of their sight, he stopped. He took an unattended lantern, and under its light opened Jacob's letter, which, as was his usual, was not sealed. He scanned it, but Jacob's cautious words to his mother did not interest him. With a pencil, Cassius added something to the bottom of the letter underneath Jacob's signed name. He then refolded it and returned it to the envelope.
Cassius walked down Hagerstown Turnpike toward Sharpsburg and found the quartermaster wagons that were preparing to return to Virginia. There was great confusion as the army also prepared to depart, and Cassius used the confusion to his advantage. He came upon wagons where soldiers loaded crippled and damaged men while teamsters coupled horses into their harnesses. Cassius was directed to a wagon that would travel near the vicinity of Edensong and Sweetsmoke. From a short distance, he examined the faces of the men going in the wagon and was grateful to discover that none of them would recognize him. He approached the teamster, a corporal, and gave him both the haversack and Jacob's letter. The corporal accepted them without comment and placed them with the other mail, barely acknowledging Cassius in the process.
Cassius stepped away in the dark.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
Ellen Howard was distracted from her calculations in the plantation's ledgers by movement out the window of the study. She saw her husband wandering in the yard and she watched him as he shuffled along. He walked with his head pressed forward, as if his curious mind wished to hurry his slow, stiff legs. She saw that he again carried, in the pocket of his coat, the September newspaper that reported Lincoln's address, delivered at Sharpsburg a week after the battle. Lincoln had made a proclamation in that speech, calling for the emancipation of the slaves. Ellen was convinced that Hoke did not comprehend the contents of the newspaper, as he now saw the world around him more simply, but he had discovered it was quite pleasurable to carry it on his person. When he was around the servants, he would draw forth the newspaper from his pocket and hold it up. The house people all responded with smiles and nods. He took pleasure in their reactions and repeated the exercise time and again until the house people made excuses to escape. She had initially believed that they humored him, but grew to understand that they knew precisely what was in that newspaper, despite the fact they could not read it for themselves. Ellen wondered how they knew. She shook her head, the gesture reflecting her inner thoughts. It seemed there were many small mysteries concerning her people that she would never understand. Hoke now moved out of her sight and she returned her attention to the ledger, noting that she still held her pen in midair. The air was drying the nib, and she set it back into its well.
Her patterns had altered since Hoke's illness and the majority of her time was spent in his ground-floor study. She scanned the room, thinking again about adding something of her own personality to the furnishings, now that Hoke no longer haunted his former sanctuary. She missed the leisure time spent painting in the afternoons, and considered telling Pet to bring down a few of her finished watercolors to decorate the walls. The one change she had made was to put away, in a drawer, his fancy wooden boxes. She had never shared his affection for trinkets and collectibles.
She opened and closed her writing hand to release a cramp, then rapidly shook it out sideways. Her fingers collided with the inkwell, and blue ink escaped to form a puddle on Hoke's desk. She leapt to her feet, grabbing the ledgers and stepping back to save her dress, calling loudly for her servant. She kicked Hoke's chair out of the way with frustration, and the chair struck the side of the desk loudly.
Pet came quickly, and Ellen reflected that she had been alarmed by her missus's abrupt call and the subsequent thump. Pet saw the spill and pulled off her apron, dropping it over the ink to sop it up before it rolled to the edge and then to the floor. Ellen saw, as Pet mopped, that the ink soaked into the wood and would leave a stain. She noted the blue that discolored her fingers, something with which she had lived for months now, and imagined it to be permanent.
She thought ahead to the spring, hoping that by then things would have calmed down. After Lincoln's speech, other plantations had suffered runaways, but the patrollers and planters had responded surely and assertively, tracking down those bold few, bringing them back in chains and inflicting extreme—in one case fatal—punishment as a warning to all. No one from Sweetsmoke had run, not yet. But rude anticipation was in the air of the quarters. Something in the world had turned on that day, or maybe it was the week before, when
Lee had given up his invasion of the North and come back to Virginia. Any talk of England and France recognizing the Confederacy vanished in that instant, as if Lincoln had wrapped the conflict in a moral imperative. But Ellen believed in Lee, and was ashamed by her shortsighted countrymen. Lee would regroup, Lee would reinvade the North. In due time, he would end the war, as he should have done in September. But what a shock it had been, she reflected, to learn that Lee was driven back at Sharpsburg, beaten for the first time. Her gaze was again drawn to the outdoors, through the window. November. The light was harsh, the dry leaves baked brown against the cold ground, the sun low in the sky, the afternoons rushing to a swift close. If she was to be in the quarters when the hands returned from clear-cutting, she would need to leave while there was still light. After the proclamation, she had increased her presence on the lane, to discourage any foolish notions in her people.
The business of running a plantation was beginning to suit her. Over the previous months, she had paid strict attention to the choices made by the other planters in their dealings, and had grown to appreciate their thought processes, adapting the ideas she found wise. Only oc
casionally did she view their decisions as inexplicable. Recently she had heard that Orville Sands, master of Philadelphia Plantation, had agreed to sell two female slaves to Gabriel Logue. These were the very two she had forced Hoke to sell to Sands years before, and she detested the idea of the daughters of Emoline Justice going free. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to dissuade Orville from making the sale. Now there was nothing to be done about it. But it had struck her as odd for business reasons as well; Orville was a rational man who valued his slaves, and as far as she understood, Philadelphia was not facing unusual financial difficulties. She also wondered what the Angel Gabriel planned to do with two females. He had impressed her as a man who preferred to be unencumbered by possessions, in order to facilitate his trade.
Ellen had also emulated Hoke's aura of command, particularly in the early days of her tenure, acting decisively to show Mr. Nettle her resolve and establish her power. She had purposely made an unpopular decision and returned Gus to the position of driver. Gus had seemed appropriately chastised after his demotion. In the past, Mr. Nettle had been lax with Gus. It now fell to her to control them both.
She sighed without realizing it, falling more deeply into reflection. Joseph, Savilla and Abram's son, had returned to work and now labored with the others to clear-cut the new parcel, the one to be planted in the spring. Joseph moved gingerly on his hobbled leg, but, in a bit of good luck, his work had suffered little. An image of his walk came into her mind, and it reflected Hoke, head forward, legs struggling to keep pace. The harvest had gone well, better than anticipated after the hornworm blight, and barring any unforeseen catastrophe, Sweetsmoke would roll along for the first half of the following year. She'd had a second tobacco barn built out of sight on the property, and a significant portion of the harvest cured therein so that it could not be requisitioned by Jeff Davis's government. She thought of Joseph functioning as the lead carpenter on that shed, and was reminded of an incident years before, when Shedd had run, and how quickly he had come to nearly full strength after his punishment.