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.

    This was a day she always dreaded, a day set aside for the "family," her people. It brought together the families of several plantations, and the gathering was often trying. She would have been in better spirits, as she would normally spend the early morning in mental preparation, but her daughter had chosen that particular time to revive her grievance about sleeping arrangements. Genevieve had whined prodigiously when Sarah and Jacob were given the front bedroom while she was relegated to the rear. Time had not diminished her resentment. This morning Genevieve had harped on the fact that even though Jacob had not returned, Sarah continued to enjoy the best bedroom all to herself, while from her back window Genevieve could see the trees that hid the privy and she could almost see the quarters. Ellen had made an early visit to her dressing table and had counted out twice the number of drops of laudanum, which brought her calm but did not diminish her hostility. The liquid within the bottle was precipitously low and she would need to speak to the doctor about obtaining more of the tincture. She disliked asking that man for anything, as he always bestowed upon her his most reproving look.

    She had spent the early portion of the gathering the way all gatherings were now spent, listening to the men justify the crisis at hand. The war was a necessity, they informed one another as if it were news; the Yankees conspired to terminate their way of life. If given the chance, the bastards—begging your pardon, ladies—would abolish slavery altogether, not just in particular states. And to steal our slaves was no different than stealing our homes and our land, as financially it would be equally disastrous.

    Once that conversation was laid to rest, with all in sober agreement—not that it would not reemerge at some future moment in the evening—Ellen simply had to count the hours and pretend to enjoy small talk until it was time to escape.

    Ellen looked over to see Hoke approach Solomon Whitacre from behind. Whitacre was a decent enough gentleman, but it had been a surprise to all when he managed to wed the elusive Willa Jarvis, particularly as Ellen still saw him as the cowardly child he had been growing up. Perhaps that was what led him to be among the first to join the army. His effeminate mannerisms had carried into manhood, mannerisms he attempted to disguise with coarse language and bluster. This led to the occasional odd public moment. She had once witnessed him at a social event with his children and wife, as generous a father and husband as you could wish, when suddenly and from nowhere he appeared to notice his surroundings and erupted with an unpleasant epithet, as if to disguise his breeding.

    Hoke clapped Whitacre on the back, and Ellen saw him start.

    "How do you do it, Whitacre? Why, you spend more time at home than all our soldiers combined."

    Whitacre turned to him, manhood under fire.

    "A quartermaster, sir, is required to scour the countryside to feed the army, as you well know."

    "Certainly, certainly, but must you continually scour us?" said Hoke with a hearty laugh. Whitacre did not laugh in kind.

    "Beyond that, I have damn well been ordered on a special mission!" said Whitacre.

    Willa Jarvis Whitacre's lovely head came around at once.

    "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Whitacre," said Hoke. "I may have unintentionally provoked your husband."

    "My apologies, my dear," mumbled Whitacre. "Upon my honor, I did not endeavor to be coarse."

    Willa turned away.

    "A mission, you say?" said Hoke. "Is it usual to entrust a quartermaster with special orders, if you would not find that question to be imprudent?"

    "General Lee has plans for me, sir."

    "General Lee? I see," said Hoke. Ellen recognized this moment. Hoke was drunk and likely to jab the man's pomposity.

    "It is serious business, sir, I am to expose a spy."

    "Perhaps you might care to lower your voice, Captain, as that sounds as if it may be privileged information," said Hoke.

    Whitacre was surprised by Hoke's measured response and he collected himself, his indignation wilting. "You are very good, sir," said Whitacre quietly, red-faced.

    Ellen saw that Hoke was not as drunk as she had supposed.

    "I am certain you are the very one for the job, Whitacre, carry on and best of luck to you."

    Whitacre saluted then, turned on a heel, and marched into the big house.

    Ellen looked at her husband with admiration for his discretion, but luck was not on her side. She saw his eyes fall upon the Jarvises' youngest daughter, Mary of fourteen years, a girl of seeming innocence and considerable ripeness. Ellen had lately been spared being witness to his lupine aggression and she was appalled to see him salivate over one so young. She had endured such behavior in the past, and were it not so painful, she might find amusing the way he always appeared stunned by the onset of sexual appetite. She watched his eyes seize adolescent Mary's jaw and glide down her slim neck to her rubbery collarbones, finally resting on her hidden breast. How expressive he is, she thought, watching his inner thoughts warp his face, while he imagines himself impenetrable. He saw women's beauty as an aggressive personal challenge requiring forceful masculine response. Ellen instinctively drew her own collar to her neck, exposing less so that his implicit rejection of his wife would draw less blood.

    Ellen saw the Judge, his face blotchy and red, move to block Hoke's view of his daughter. The Judge spluttered, "You, you…" trailing off, unable to find the words, until, at last, he said: "You really must control… your people, Hoke!"

    "I have peculiar control over my people, thank you," said Hoke idly. "It is, as they say, a peculiar institution."

    But the Judge leaned in. "Control," he said. Then he continued on, and Ellen wondered about his meaning: "Make them fear you; resort to the whip even in the most insignificant of circumstances until they understand you cannot be trifled with."

    Ellen finally understood. The Judge had recognized Hoke's lust. Jarvis did not speak of slaves but of his daughter, as she was not to be trifled with. But once embarked on this parallel path, he poured all his bile and outrage into it, allowing himself to be carried away.

    "I am surprised, sir, that I need to say this to you of all people," said the Judge. "Expectations in our negroes are a contagion that can only lead to insolent behavior and eventually spread across the county to injure the rest of us."

    "Unlike your people, Francis, my people do not require deliberate excessive correction."

    "That last one who walked past?"

    "Do you refer to Cassius?"

    "He made eye contact with me. And he did not look away!"

    "Cassius is a good boy."

    "That very fashion of coddling is what leads to rebellion. Have you forgotten Toussaint? No sir, beat them down and you will never hear the least murmur of revolt; if you do not, you will one day wake to find nigras in your bedroom brandishing farm tools!"

    "You will cease this sordid talk, Mr. Francis," said Frances Jarvis, coming to her feet. "These are our guests."

    The Judge pursed his lips, cowed by her disapproval. After a moment's pause he said with effort, "I will bring my friend Hoke another libation and we will speak of Victor Hugo's new book." The Judge turned, looked at his daughter Mary, and with a forceful nod of the head directed her inside the big house, out of sight.

    Ellen saw that Hoke nursed injured feelings, but she glared at him so that when his eyes met hers, he sat upright. He said then, "Yes, Hugo, what did you say it was titled?"

    "Les Miserables, and I had hoped to dust off my rather dismal French to read it, but with the embargo, well, I know you of all people understand," said the Judge.

    "You do realize it has also been published here, in English? The Miserable Ones."

    "Yes, yes, and I am having someone up North send me a copy, but

    it is so much better to read it in the original language, do you not agree?

    Ellen listened to her husband lunge and parry with the Judge and she fretted. She may have disliked the time spent with other planter families, but she also feared that the Howards were excluded from the social whirl of the county. She blamed her own personality, feeling that her moody, bitter thoughts leaked and made her transparent to others. But as she listened to her husband she entertained the possibility of another villain.

    In a moment of horror, she realized Frances Jarvis had been speaking to her. Ellen turned to her hostess. She knew that Frances would infuse the moment with her code of superiority; she would quash all discord with proper manners.

    "I must say, I rarely leave Edensong now," said Frances Jarvis.

    "Do you not?" said Ellen.

    "I do not and I cannot. It is our people, you understand. They need to be watched all the time, it is worse than ever. I am certain that you experience the same, my dear. The simplest requests, and they refuse to do what is expected of them, always doing things you do not wish for them to do, no matter how expressly you tell them. They are such children, and yet, unlike children, they seem incapable of learning the most rudimentary things. Repetition is not enough, oh no, if I am not present at all times the entire household will go to the Devil."

    Ellen watched Frances's words sour her face, and she thought of Frances as a repetitive scold, one whose tyranny had undermined her humanity.

    A strange and fleeting image entered Ellen's mind, that of a large cage in a small room. The cage was filled with slaves while their masters were outside the cage squeezed and immobile in the narrow space between cage and walls. This was a queer image indeed as both master and slave were unable to reach the fresh air that beckoned through a wide open door. In that tiny vision she thought she might be experiencing a moment of insight, but it came and went so quickly that she was unable to recall it a moment later. She returned to Frances Jarvis's ramble and was eased back into the comfort of what she had always known, that the negro was inferior and required the guidance and assistance of the white planters. We are, after all, benevolent, she thought, and by our generosity, our people are well served, as they are clothed, fed, housed, taken care of in all the small ways that they cannot do for themselves.

    "I do not know why they have so little appreciation for what we do for them," said Frances Jarvis. "We take good care of them, there is no way they could do for themselves."

    Little appreciation, thought Ellen. She also had seen the look in Cassius's eye. She knew well that when given a taste of freedom, her people were not grateful. Therein lay the danger of benevolence; a small morsel might bring appreciation, while a grand gesture might bring treachery. She feared them at those moments, imagining that they would indeed resort to offensive methods to obtain their freedom, thereby destroying their own wonderful existence. The Judge had it right. And Cassius was the worst of them all.

    "Now," said Frances, smoothing her dress, "perhaps you would care to join us in our cartridge class, Ellen?"

    "I beg your pardon, Frances, what is a cartridge class?"

    "We gather together a small group of the better ladies and load cartridges for the soldiers. Women all over the Commonwealth are doing it."

    Ellen Howard had already forgotten that she had, moments before, been fretful about the Howard family's social position, and she said, "Oh, Frances, I do appreciate the invitation, but I believe I will not be able to attend."

    Approaching the small barn, Andrew ran ahead to join his friends. Cassius saw individual exhibitions of vibrant color as everyone was dressed in their finery, and amid the bright oranges and yellows and greens and blues were spectacular splashes of bold red. He took note of his own attire. He had worn drab work clothes without thinking. Cassius had unintentionally estranged himself from the festivities. He wandered down to the orchard, where a storyteller rambled through an overlong tale while standing under a tree dense with tiny clenched green apples. Abram was among the judges, and his eyelids fluttered as his chin drifted to his chest only to jerk back up again. Cassius did not see Weyman, so he ducked behind a line of haystacks that separated the storytellers from the stage. He was surprised to discover Weyman holding a jug.

    You already done, Weyman? Sorry I missed it, said Cassius.

    No sir, mine just comin up, old windbag James been up there huntin for the end of his tale some ten minutes now, and if he don't finish soon, I'm hittin him in the face with a shovel. Uncle Paul there up next. Uncle Paul, y'all any closer to rememberin how your story starts yet? said Weyman.

    Paul nodded, looking green.

    Uncle Paul, said Weyman with false seriousness, ain't been real successful keepin down his supper.

    Never saw you romance a bottle in advance of your event, Weyman, and you got some hard judges out there, said Cassius.

    Y'all know a story tells better when lubricated, said Weyman.

    Never saw you lubricate in the past, when you won, thought Cassius to himself.

    I'll come back, said Cassius in a manageable lie. He left the orchard and went out to the lane where children shucked corn with their mothers. An impressive rig of green-jacketed ears were piled high against the planks of the small barn, unsheathed one-by-one rapidly and tossed to the summit of a rising stack even as the smallest children plundered the pile from below. The corn was from the previous years' harvest, each cob with teeth missing like an old man's mouth, while the remaining kernels were poorly kept with an intimate knowledge of mold. Cassius filched a husked ear and tasted kernels that ground to mush between his teeth and left a queer aftertaste.

    He walked past Tempie Easter and Pet seated high on a horseless buckboard. They preened for a pair of hands Cassius did not recognize, and he assumed they were from the plantation called Little Sapling. Tempie appeared snug and dry in her astonishing red dress, a vibrant revelation among even the grandest of outfits. Pet wore a dress she had borrowed from Tempie, but the red of her dress was a shade deeper and the cut was more ordinary, uncomfortably tight on the plump house girl, with underarm stains that were rimmed by salt down near her waist. The smaller Little Sapling man stood on tiptoes to appear taller. It seemed that he thought Pet bulged in all the right places.

    Initially, Cassius thought it a trick of his peripheral vision, but when he looked back he saw the edge of it clearly, a small wooden box that Tempie attempted to hide in the folds of her red dress. He recognized the box, he had seen it recently on Hoke Howard's desk; a box for snuff, predominately green with narrow brown strips inlaid. It had taken him a significant number of hours to carve that inlay. He thought her brazen and foolish to have it out in the open, especially if she planned to trade it for a special treat, and perhaps she recognized her error in judgment as he saw her push the box away, to hide it in the folds of Pet's dress. Cassius met her narrowed eyes. He returned to the path.

    Banjo George had found a spot that would both serenade the corn shuckers and carry down the lane. Cassius saw he was lit up and suspected the Edensong men had passed the jug early. Banjo George teased Joseph, holding the banjo just out of his reach.

    You gonna play for the folks, Joseph? said George, as the banjo wavered in the air.

    Joseph lunged to catch it as it appeared that Banjo George would lose his grip, but his reach fell short when George yanked it back.

    Not your fault, boy, you just a young dog sniffin 'round the big dog field, you got to earn the right to play this, said Banjo George.

    I know, said Joseph, shaking his head, embarrassed to be there and embarrassed that his teacher was making a fool of himself. Joseph stepped back, looking to escape.

    You want to be the Man? Then, earn the right to play. You got to live the pain. You got to suffer, can't just pick it up when you feel like it. Tell you what, we go set this blade in the fire, get it red hot and carve a little decoration in your shoulder, prove you can take it, then you be man enough to play this here banjo.

    Cassius stopped close behind Banjo George.

    No, I don't think so, sir, said Joseph.

    Sure, said Banjo George, goading. Prove to me you strong, show off for the ladies.

    Must not be man enough, said Joseph, and Cassius smiled at that answer. You play for us, George.

    Not ready to be a man? said Banjo George, louder and with an edge.

    Think I'll go check on the dance, said Joseph.

    You stay here, said Banjo George sharply.

    Cassius stepped in.

    You ever see what George here went through to become a man, Joseph? said Cassius.

    Reckon not, said Joseph guardedly, thinking two older men now goaded him.

    Maybe George'll open his shirt, said Cassius.

    His shirt? said Joseph. Banjo George patted his chest.

    This man George, he carved so much of his chest, why, if the angels don't weep when he plays, then pain ain't all it's cracked up to be. How 'bout it, George, you ready?

    I am ready, sir.

    You ready to play like nobody ever played before?

    Got me a new song I wrote myself.

    A new song, said Cassius in exaggerated awe.

    Not just new, this here song inspired by the Lord, said Banjo George, leaning sideways to look around Cassius at Joseph. Lord gifted me when I'se sufferin the great chest tattoo.

    Well I'll be switched, George, said Cassius. The Lord.

    That so, Cassius, song came with a bolt of thunder from the Lord hisself.

    A rumble of lightning, said Cassius happily in the voice of the preacher.

    Cassius, on the day I enter heaven, I will sing this song to the Lord.

    Cassius's brow furrowed. Didn't you say the Lord gave you this song?

    That so.

    Well, now you got me wondering. Why give it away? Why didn't the Lord keep his song? If He liked it, you'd think He'd want to hear it regular. I'm thinking the Lord didn't want that song no more.

    No, He wanted it—

    Maybe the Lord was drunk when he wrote that song.

    No sir, Lord warn't drunk when he wrote my song.

    Could be the Lord sent it on to you because He woke up and remembered He'd been a fool with drink the night before, and now He didn't much care to have his song remind Him. Send it down to George, He said, hide this song away from me in the corner of some field.

    Banjo George was indignant: He done sent it to inspire me.

    I'm just saying, to protect you, George, so you ain't embarrassed flying on up to Heaven with your banjo and He hear you start up and says, Quit that infernal racket, George, I's blind drunk when I wrote that song, and now here you is mockin the Lord.

    Banjo George's eyes narrowed. That ain't right, Cassius.

    You're right, I know you are, probably not that way at all. Maybe the Lord see you coming and He just real quick send you off to the other place so He don't got to hear it.

    Banjo George's mouth opened and closed like a fish on land.

    Cassius's eyes found Joseph's and he nodded toward the lane. Joseph was too stunned to laugh. He followed Cassius toward the big barn where the dancing was to take place.

    They had rounded the bend when they heard Banjo George's instrument sing. Joseph finally laughed.

    Hoo, you twisted him up good, Cassius. He ain't never gonna play that new song, I tell you that much.

    Banjo George ever show you his chest? said Cassius.

    Can't say he did. Seem like he always keep it covered.

    Looks like a pack of wolves got to him the way he carved and tattooed and scarred himself. You mind that Arkansas toothpick of his and let some other damn fool be his new blank sheet of skin.

    Believe I will, said Joseph, and he was grateful. And that there looks suspiciously like Miss Fanny, only this girl is taller and prettier.

    Cassius looked where Joseph was looking and saw that little Fanny of Edensong was indeed taller and prettier.

    Cassius continued down the lane to the far side of the large barn, close enough to watch the festivities, far enough to be outside of them, and there he found a circle of Sweetsmoke and Edensong men lounging and smoking and he joined them, pulling out a rolled cigar. The men noted the string tied around Cassius's smoke and smiled at one another. Cassius held the far end to the fire and brought it to his lips to suck the cigar alive. He settled back to listen to the discussion.

    We been findin hornworms with your name all over 'em, said one of the Sweetsmokes.

    Hell, all we done is whisper in they ears that your tobacco be nice 'n' sweet, which it got to be so's to balance out your mean old massa, said one of the Edensongs, and they all laughed.

    My massa mean? We done seen yours and he be nastier than a nidderin woodchuck.

    Why that warn't no woodchuck, that be your Missus Ellen. My Ol' Massa Francis be the kindliest gentleman in the Commonwealth of Virginie. Got hisself a whole delivery of oranges from that blockade runner, pay top dollar, and give 'em to his slaves, said the Edensong.

    No surprise you be confused, seein as how you blind as well as ignorant. He ain't but the second kindliest master. My Massa Hoke one day slaughter up his whole pen a' hogs and give us bacon and ham and pork shoulder and hog jaw and keep none back for hisself, said the Sweetsmoke.

    Well hell, that ain't but nothin, my Massa Francis gots a still and he gather up his taters and barley and mash 'em up and makes us some fine Christmas brew and we all happy and not gots to work till Feb'ry. You Suetsmokes back to work by New Year's.

    I take offense at you callin it Suetsmoke.

    Well, you call it that.

    All right for us to do.

    Then I pass you my jug and apologize.

    Cassius smiled as smoke and braggadocio washed over him.

    Massa Hoke got hisself a fat new bathtub can fit four hands sittin side by side.

    Massa Francis got a whole row of bathtubs, use a different one every night.

    Massa Hoke got hisself a new saddle made from the softest pigskin.

    Massa Francis got boots made from the skin of lions from Portugal.

    Massa Hoke own those lions and Portugal, too.

    Massa Francis so rich, he drown his ships come from Portugal after just one trip since he like the smell of when they new.

    Massa Hoke, said Cassius elbowing into the conversation, has a desk so large the hands from both plantations can sit around it and still have room for horses and mules.

    The Sweetsmokes and the Edensongs looked at him with pure admiration, nodding.

    And I built it, said Cassius, blowing out a plume of smoke. On that, he stood up and wandered away. For a moment he heard silence from the men around the fire, and then they started up again. Massa Francis got a chair so big he can sit at Cassius's desk all by hisself and not have room for no one else. Cassius chuckled to himself.

    Inside the big barn, men played improvised musical instruments, and a handful of dancers in the middle churned up straw dust. Cassius recognized one of the dancers as Maryanne, Captain Solomon Whitacre's cook, and a queasy feeling came over him. Emoline Justice had been dead less than a week and here he was, bragging and smoking. A shadow crossed his mind; no one would ever know who killed her.

    Cassius stared at the interplay of Edensongs and Sweetsmokes, Swan of Alicantes and Little Saplings on the dance floor without seeing them, a swirl of color and motion that hypnotized until a stillness at the center of it all caught his attention, Big Gus motionless on the far side of the barn. Big Gus brought a jug slowly to his lips just as Quashee entered with her father Beauregard. Big Gus lowered the jug and in a step was in front of her, wiping the jug's lip with his sleeve. He offered it and Quashee shook her head. Beauregard allowed himself a polite sip, but Big Gus's eyes claimed Quashee.

    Cassius felt his temper breathe, and then Weyman came in and saw him and Cassius was glad to have the distraction of his company so he might push his anger away, as this was not his fight. Weyman leaned hard against the barn wall.

    You win again? said Cassius, one eye on Quashee and Big Gus.

    Somethin wrong with them judges, said Weyman. Can't tell if they stupid or deaf. I done told that story the best it ever been told but they just look at me like I'se speakin in tongues.

    Sorry to hear that, said Cassius.

    It's the bad luck, I tell you. It spreadin.

    Not you too.

    Bad luck all over, like this war. Some say it's good for us, but I say it ain't. They just not tellin folks what it really about. What y'all got with war? More danger, less food, crazier white people, I mean, they a lot more of 'em dyin and that bad for us, see what I'm sayin? I know bad luck when it come.

    What's that you're drinking?

    Edensong firewater is what it is. Bark juice, busthead, rotgut, pop skull, help yourself.

    Maybe later, I had a little something before.

    And now your luck done turned worse, 'cause I offered and you said no and now I ain't sharin no more, said Weyman with a smile. After a long tug, he slid down the wall and looked around sadly.

    Can't look 'em in the eye, Cassius. Three years I been winnin, and now I'm one sad wicked creature.

    Sad wicked Weyman, said Cassius.

    Beauregard was speaking earnestly to Big Gus, and Cassius watched Quashee move away. He reminded himself again, it was not his fight. He looked back at Weyman and waited for an opportunity to knock the jug out of reach.

    Things bad, Cassius. Dreams keepin me awake.

    That's the busthead.

    Naw, busthead keep me warm. Only thing keepin me warm, women already look at me like I was somethin funny.

    Cassius reached for the jug, but Weyman picked it up first.

    Gotta have somethin, said Weyman. I am just a poor slave, never be nothin more.

    Sure, sure.

    Lord write it down in his book, can't argue with the Lord. Ol' Bible say, You a slave, Weyman, you just a slave.

    Lord says that in the Bible? Where in the Bible you see that? said Cassius.

    Right up there in the beginnin, with Noah and all.

    You mean the story of Ham?

    Yeah, that the one, Ham, he that son of Noah, saw Noah all naked and got hisself cursed and sent off to be a slave and we been slaves ever since.

    Who told you that, the white preacher?

    Him and Old Thomas, I don't know, everybody says that.

    First of all, Noah cursed Canaan, Ham's son. He never cursed Ham.

    It the same shit, still mean the same thing for me!

    And why's it matter if he saw old Noah naked? And where in that story, where in the Bible does it say Ham is black?

    If he ain't black, why they say he is?

    Look, Weyman, I tell you myself, I read that-

    Her hand came onto his shoulder, the lightest touch, and Cassius looked, and Quashee's eyes held his eyes for one important moment, and then her hand was gone and she glided away, smiling at someone passing.

    Weyman looked at him with drunken, rheumy eyes.

    I done talked to someone who read it, said Cassius, letting go of his anger, now imitating Weyman's drunken drawl, and they done told me ain't nothin in the Bible say Ham was black. Don't be listenin to what them preachers and planters tellin you, Weyman, not even your Thomas.

    Cassius came out of his crouch and turned casually away, but his secret eyes were alive and feral and they examined the nearby men and women, scanning the faces of anyone who might have been listening. Through the crowd, he saw Jenny. Hurt brimmed up in her eyes and they held each other's gaze. She turned away first and went out the far barn door. Cassius absorbed her pain and had his own moment of loss, and the spot Quashee had touched burned on his shoulder. Cassius knew Jenny would never again return to his cabin.

    He took a step to follow Jenny, but Big Gus blocked his path.

    Oh Gus, what the hell do you want? said Cassius. His patience was in rags and he was unwilling to pretend otherwise.

    Cassius, when you gonna stop botherin that little girl?

    Just exactly what little girl am I bothering, Gus?

    You already got yourself a girl, what you need two for?

    Got a whole collection, now what little girl you mean? said Cassius, thinking, too harsh, too harsh, but he did not care.

    Jenny already comin to your cabin, so you stop botherin Quashee or I do somethin about it. She don't like it.

    I'll try to remember, said Cassius. It seemed that others knew about Jenny and him.

    Cassius began to step around Big Gus, but Big Gus shifted his feet to remain in his path.

    Something else? said Cassius, and now he was dangerous.

    I'm feelin good right now, said Big Gus.

    I am gratified.

    Real good.

    Real gratified.

    And you mock me, Cassius, said Big Gus.

    At that moment, Cassius did not remember his words to Andrew, and Old Darby was not there to check him. Every successful To-Do ended in at least one legendary fight, and he was about to make history. Cassius was grateful to Quashee for keeping him from revealing his secret literacy, but her quick thinking had brought him to this. He did not fear Big Gus, but a fight would cause others to take sides and then he and Gus would be defined as enemies, and it would carry on into the weeks and the years. Cassius took the measure of the man. Big Gus was taller, broader, his hands were large and hard, his arm muscles rolled under his skin like iron bars. Cassius expected that he would take a beating, but that was not a sure thing as Big Gus had been drinking and Cassius would be quicker. He devised a strategy, to stay a step outside of Big Gus's reach and let him swing hard and often and eventually wear down. No positive outcome loomed; it would be bad if he won, worse if he lost. If he won, Big Gus would look for a rematch, and the advantage Cassius now held over Big Gus's drunken overconfidence would no longer exist. If he lost, he would take a severe beating and spend his life enduring Big Gus's preening pride.

    Would it matter if I say I don't mock you?

    No.

    Then I won't bother to lie. So explain something. You hear rumors, right?

    What rumors?

    Rumors that Quashee's bad luck.

    Sure, I hear 'em.

    Then why do you want her? Don't you think that bad luck'll rub off on you?

    Big Gus smiled at him, a leering unpleasant smile.

    I see, said Cassius, understanding the unintended double meaning of his own question.

    Big Gus turned aside to set down his jug, and Cassius set himself for Big Gus to come up swinging, as was his method. But Big Gus stayed low, and Cassius looked where Gus looked, at Joseph and Fanny dancing in the cloud of straw dust. Cassius saw twirling smiling Fanny, her inviting body imprinting delicious shapes on his eyes, shapes meant for Joseph alone. She reached up and tousled the white tuft on Joseph's head and laughed. He saw Joseph enraptured and reckless, and Cassius thought that all lovers were doomed.

    God damn, said Big Gus. I was savin that one.

    Big Gus started toward Joseph.

    Gus, said Cassius.

    Later, said Big Gus.

    You don't walk away, said Cassius, wondering why he was doing this. Gus!

    Big Gus came around snorting.

    Fanny's just a girl and that's a good age for Joseph.

    You callin me old?

    Calling them young.

    You lookin at the Driver of Sweetsmoke and I get what I want. Maybe she young, but after tonight she ain't gonna be a girl no more.

    I don't think so, Gus.

    Big Gus stalked onto the dance area, Cassius moving behind him, but Cassius slowed when he saw Abram across the barn.

    Abram caught his eye, then surprised him by turning away and slipping out the door back into the night. Because of that, Cassius missed the moment when Big Gus shoved Joseph. Fanny yelled at Big Gus, but Big Gus pointed his finger at Joseph and Joseph slapped the man's hand aside. Cassius knew Joseph had no chance, young and lean, and round in his cheeks, so Cassius reached for Gus, but three Edensongs stepped in then, men who did not fear the wrath of a driver from a neighbor plantation, followed by Fanny's mother. Cassius chose to let them have him and he walked away with his heart pounding.

    Cassius overheard Big Gus say, Mr. Nettle, he trust me, patrollers my friends, you all goin be sold to Sweetsmoke and then you mine, and Cassius overheard Fanny's mother say, You don't git my daughter, she ain't betrothin no Sweetsmoke driver, not while I'm her mamma, and he heard Big Gus yell, We in the fields tomorrow, Joseph, so I see you there.

    As Cassius left the barn, he saw Fawn weeping openly, having been witness to the whole scene. Irritated by Fawn's tragic tears, he moved away to escape them.

    The Big-To-Do went on as night fell over Edensong. Cassius had looked for Jenny but had not seen her since the barn. Perhaps that was just as well, as she might need time to cool down.

    So far, nothing had happened that would define the dance as furthering the bad luck. If he was lucky, it would be the first step in changing that tradition. He winced at his own superstition, but knew that when people started to perceive bad luck, any small fool thing reinforced it. The anticipation of bad luck could carry on for months, years. At that moment, as he mused, Richard Justice stepped out of the shadows and took Cassius completely by surprise. Richard Justice had chosen this time and place to guarantee shock and isolation.

    "What'd you find, Cassius?"

    Nothing, how long you been here? said Cassius.

    "What'd you find!?"

    What makes you think I found—?

    "That smug look on your face, you got something going on, empty your pouch!"

    Richard Justice rammed his forearm against Cassius's chest and shoved him against a tree.

    Cassius was stronger and taller, but even though he had expected this moment, he had been caught off-guard by Richard Justice's sudden appearance. He did not push back. Richard Justice dug under Cassius's shirt, found the string that held his pouch, pulled it out, and used his free hand to take out the three coins and the folded prewar bank notes.

    "Jesus Christ, this is prewar, these are bank notes! No faith paper in sight!"

    Cassius had chosen bank notes decorated with colorful depictions of cheerful slaves at work. He did not imagine Richard Justice would notice or care. It was Cassius's own small revenge, and it satisfied him.

    "No protest? Aren't you going to tell me you made that money as a carpenter?"

    You'd know it was a lie.

    "You should have hidden it, Cassius. That wasn't smart, carrying it on you."

    Didn't think you'd show tonight.

    "Couldn't help yourself, Cassius the clever, flashing prewar bills, showing off to the hands. That's so small of you, they are so easily impressed."

    Cassius held his tongue. Richard Justice now thought what he wanted him to think, that Cassius had been foolishly overconfident.

    "And the rest?"

    Not gonna say, said Cassius.

    Richard Justice put his open hand on Cassius's chest and pushed him toward the tree.

    All right, all right, back where it was, said Cassius.

    "I'll know if you're lying, we can go to your cabin right now."

    Cassius slapped Richard Justice's arm away.

    So come to my cabin, you won't find nothing. I put it back where she hid it, figured it's good there if you looked before and didn't find it.

    "Fair enough," said Richard Justice nodding. Cassius had read him correctly, he was too indolent to bother going further—the money in his hands satisfied his expectation of Cassius's greed, and Cassius knew he had buried enough money to convince Richard Justice he had unearthed her entire fortune.

    "So you reburied it. When were you going back?"

    Cassius shrugged.

    "Don't feel bad, Cassius, it was the smart play, the odds were decent, always a chance I wouldn't come after you."

    Richard Justice counted the money again with pleasure. Cassius described where the tin was buried in the garden.

    "I looked there."

    I dug deeper.

    Cassius knew Richard Justice would dig up the money tonight and never return to his mother's home.

    "Here, take this for your trouble." Richard Justice put a coin in Cassius's palm.

    Cassius again wondered if Richard Justice had murdered Emoline. But he did not believe it. For all his bluster, Richard Justice did not have that requisite inner coldness to crush the head of his own mother. A small voice inside of him spoke, If you don't find her killer, her death goes unpunished. He dismissed the voice.

    Which of your sisters will you buy first? said Cassius.

    Richard Justice hesitated. "Leave that decision to me."

    How would you do it?

    "This truly interests you?"

    In point of fact, it did. Cassius had no conception of how one would bargain for the life of another human being.

    "Dear Lord, Cassius, it's but a simple matter, I messenger a personal note to Mr. Sands, master of Philadelphia Plantation, and his oral reply is returned by my messenger. He would know it was about money and money is what drives such men. He would be obliged to entertain me."

    You would go as a visitor?

    "I am a free man, Cassius, as such I speak to anyone I choose. Now, if you don't mind."

    Richard Justice moved into the darkness, staying clear of the many lanterns that illuminated the dance, buoyant in his step, a whistled tune on his lips.

    Cassius returned to the big barn, and was irrationally happy. People drank and danced and ate boiled ears of corn. He had not indulged in more than a few swigs of the dreadful Edensong whiskey, but his head felt agreeably light and disconnected from his body. He warned himself against taking pride in his manipulation of Richard Justice but he could not make the happiness go away. He wandered among the revelers for some time with a smile on his face until someone leaned close to him in order to be heard over the music.

    You helped my boy, said Savilla.

    Cassius turned and she moved her head closer and said into his ear: I spoke to that Eula.

    Eula? said Cassius.

    Fanny's mamma, Eula, said you helped my boy. Didn't suppose that from you, Cassius.

    Didn't suppose?

    Not like you to put yourself out. Want to thank you.

    Where's Joseph?

    Actin the shamed puppy, probably crawled up inside a jug.

    And Fanny?

    Got the women all 'round her by the corn rig, keep her there till Big Gus drink himself to sleep.

    Savilla left him with a bittersweet taste in his mouth, as her gratitude had been generously salted with the low expectations of his character. The pleasure of manipulating Richard Justice now receded and left him unexpectedly thirsty.

    He searched for refreshment, brooding about Savilla's words. Did Savilla think the same about Mam Rosie, that she wouldn't put herself out for others? As a boy, he had tried to emulate his adoptive father Darby. But Darby was gone so soon, and as Cassius grew he was forced to define himself in opposition to the imperious, mercurial, self-centered Rose. Yet it was she he had recognized when Savilla described him.

    He found an abandoned jug along the outside barn wall and heard the slosh of liquid within. He carried it up a rise into darkness near a stand of trees. He was glad to be surrounded by the wind which pushed away the noise of merriment. He was finished with this dance, tired of the hands with their opinions and their ominous intonations of dire luck. All that was left was to drink himself stupid and stagger back to his cabin by morning. He sat on a flat divot in the rise but before he could enjoy the contents of his jug, he saw Quashee following in his footsteps. The memory of her touch on his shoulder returned, and a fire grew around his middle as she sat beside him and took the jug.

    I didn't know you house folk indulged in the bark juice, said Cassius, friendly.

    Oh, I been known to change my breath now and again. 'Course, we used to drink finer fare up at John-Corey's big house, said Quashee.

    So, the new girl sips planter juice.

    I think maybe I did try it. Once, said Quashee, her smile no more than a twinkle.

    She tipped the jug and he saw her try to hide the wince when the harshness gripped her throat, and he laughed. She returned the jug, eyes watering.

    Not so smooth as planter juice, said Cassius.

    If I'm goin be a hand, I'm goin learn to drink like a hand, said Quashee, voice snagging in her throat.

    Showing off, he tipped the jug and drank and it bit back and he knew he had taken too much. He fought to swallow as it burned down his throat into his chest and without warning he hooted. Quashee laughed and rolled onto her side.

    Thank you, he said, the words coming in a whisper.

    Didn't mean to laugh so hard, she said, still laughing.

    Laugh all you want, but I meant for earlier, when you stopped me telling Weyman I could read—hoo mama, that shit burns—'cause if Weyman knows, everybody knows.

    You're welcome, she said, wiping a tear of laughter from her cheek.

    And when you said about being a field hand-

    I'm good with it. See my hand? Look there, see that? No, right there, by the blisters. That's a callus.

    Does resemble a callus, said Cassius smiling. Might small, but congratulations on your first. Now listen, Quashee, maybe there's a way to get you up to the house.

    You goin save everybody tonight?

    What, me?

    I saw you with Joseph.

    Aw, that was, no, forget that, that was nothing.

    Taking on Big Gus is a damn fool nothing.

    Yeah, said Cassius, you got that right.

    Burning's just about gone, pass the jug, said Quashee.

    After she had fought down the bad liquor and could speak again, she said: I suppose you know some folks don't like you.

    And here I was thinking of running for governor.

    Be serious now. Folks who'd like nothing better than to hurt you.

    Big Gus, said Cassius nodding.

    The hands listen to him.

    The hands listen to the Driver.

    Just thought if you were warned—

    I'll be all right.

    You even talk different with them. Not like you talk to me.

    Maybe I do, said Cassius, knowing that he sometimes slipped into his field voice when he was with the hands. He did the same with the planters.

    I'm glad you don't talk that way to me, said Quashee.

    They listened to the music roll in and out with the wind and passed the jug until it was empty. Cassius appreciated her gift for silence. He had noticed it earlier in the week and now saw it was a habit.

    I hear you were married, said Quashee.

    Doors and windows and shutters slammed shut. Cassius did not move his eyes for fear of seeing himself fly away.

    Married, said Quashee. Someone said—

    I heard you.

    Quashee nodded. A few moments passed before he spoke: I was married.

    What was she like? said Quashee.

    Not sure I know anymore. Maybe never did.

    Know her long?

    Marriah. Her name was Marriah. No, she came when Hoke bought the people of another planter.

    Nice when it's someone new.

    Cassius looked at her, unsure of her meaning.

    So you don't know everything about them and they don't know all about you. Not like with someone you grew up with.

    He understood the unspoken implication. Humiliations from planters, their families, and every other white man, woman, and child in the county are more easily borne when your new partner hasn't been witness to your history of degradation, thus allowing you to maintain a small measure of dignity.

    What do the cackling hens say about my marriage? said Cassius.

    Quashee inspected the wild grass at her ankles.

    That she had a white child Missus Ellen forced Master Hoke to sell. That Missus Ellen whipped her something fierce, said Quashee.

    For once they say the truth.

    They say she died but I never did learn why.

    Those women can't shut their mouths long enough to chew, said Cassius.

    Cassius stared down the hill at the lights along the lane and in the barn, at the drinkers and dancers, at the lovers and the drunken sleepers. He stared at all that intense living that flourished despite oppression, and an image of Marriah's face hovered just outside his vision. He was beginning to forget what she looked like, and the harder he tried to bring back her face, the more it slipped away.

    She knew she couldn't run, said Cassius. They'd just keep bringing her back. Pretty soon they'd hobble her. Couldn't be a mother after they took her son. Maybe she also didn't think she could be a wife. She went to the place where the creek runs deep under the little bridge. They were looking on the roads farther out, so she had time.

    You don't have to, said Quashee.

    Put a large stone inside her dress. Few hours later the planters crossed the little bridge and one of them saw something wave in the water. Buried her before they let me out.

    Cassius appreciated more than ever Quashee's ability to be silent. He sat as if alone, hearing nothing. Gradually the sound of the wind returned. He was unsure as to how long they had been sitting in silence; when he looked around, she was in the same position, but the musicians now played a tune he had not heard from the beginning.

    They told you a lot, those women, said Cassius.

    Don't blame them; I played the spy, asking questions here and there so no one noticed I wanted to know about you.

    Cassius started at the word "spy." Intelligence agent, he said without thinking.

    When I first came, I thought I recognized you, another bitter, damaged animal, and I know enough to let the damaged ones be.

    I am so very happy I helped you out with Big Gus, said Cassius with evident sarcasm. And now you warn me that I bother him like a burr in his trousers.

    His trousers, his shoes, maybe a few other places, said Quashee, returning his smile. She passed the jug and said: So after Marriah, Emoline Justice nurses you, and now she's dead and the whole world creeps around you.

    God damn cackling hens.

    Oh, I pieced some of it together on my own. You been all the talk since she passed.

    Emoline brought me out of a dark place. Kept everyone away and just when I had to go back, Cold Storm hit, must've hit you too, snowbound for a week. Extra healing time so my mind could catch up to my body.

    Five years ago? I remember that, but we called it Cox's Snow.

    What's Cox got to do with it? said Cassius.

    Old Dr. Cox from Lynchburg got caught a half mile from his place, frozen in his buggy. Everybody there calls it Cox's Snow.

    Sounds funny in my ear, maybe 'cause I didn't know Dr. Cox. More likely call it Emoline's Snow.

    Tell me about her.

    Well, she was at Sweetsmoke and then Hoke let her be free and after a time she bought her son, and was working to buy her daughters. Taught me to read.

    Cassius was tempted to ask Quashee who had taught her to read, but he held his tongue.

    They sat awhile surrounded by the wind continually changing its tune, chasing the musical scale through leaves and branches.

    Looks like your friend down there, said Quashee.

    Cassius saw stumbling Weyman itching for a fight with one of the Swan of Alicantes, who was wisely attempting to walk away from a drunk. Cassius got to his feet.

    I'll see he gets home. I enjoyed our talk, Miss Quashee. I enjoyed it as well, Mr. Cassius.

    As Cassius walked down the hill, he sensed Quashee's eyes on his back, which at that moment burned hotter than the Edensong rotgut.

    Cassius held Weyman's arm around his neck and wrapped his other arm around Weyman's back, walking him out past Eden- song's big house to the road. When Weyman drank he rambled on about his early years, growing up in the cotton states. Weyman had been one of the lucky ones. His master had died when Weyman was still a young man and he had been sent north to Virginia as part of the inheritance of his master's son. The son had no use for him and had sold him to Thomas Chavis, and Weyman now lived a very different life. Intermingled with his horror tales of Georgia, he complained about Tempie Easter intruding on his territory.

    She sellin more shit to them trash whites and now they don't want what Weyman got to offer, said Weyman. Cassius, y'all got to carve me some more of them little soldiers so I can get my business back.

    Sure, sure, said Cassius.

    I could shoot that girl Tempie, said Weyman.

    Sure, Weyman, you shoot her with your finger, said Cassius.

    Y'all think I wouldn't? said Weyman, looking hurt, and then he shut his mouth.

    Most of the planters and their children had gone inside, but the two masters, Hoke and Judge Francis, remained on the front porch. They were impressively inebriated.

    "You know full well I purchased that land, Francis."

    "I would lay odds you cannot produce a document."

    "I never bet more than I can afford to lose," said Hoke. "And neither should you."

    "Then perhaps you recall that my grandfather, out of the kindness of his heart, permitted Buffalo Channing to clear and plow that land, and Channing's children as well, but never did he grant permission to Channing's grandson to sell it!"

    "I purchased that land from its rightful owner and I own it fair and square."

    "You waited until he was beyond desperation and pilfered it for a song. You are a land pirate, Hoke Howard!"

    "Land pirate!" sputtered Hoke, and his ensuing words emerged coldly: "My dear sir, I know that you will withdraw those injurious words and on your knees beg my pardon!"

    The women rushed from the house and surrounded the men, pulling them apart. Cassius walked Weyman out of sight. Cassius might have found the battle between two aging plantation owners comic were it not so fraught with dangerous implications. The planter argument would likely lead to further unpleasantness, and Cassius began to question if there might be some truth at the core of the superstition. Was it possible that the arrival of bad luck was more than coincidence? Francis Jarvis's son-in-law was a Confederate quartermaster, bad luck indeed for the plantation Sweetsmoke.

    Cassius scoured the area near the main road and eventually found Bunty, Weyman's fellow slave, who also worked Thomas Chavis's farm. Cassius unloaded Weyman so he could return directly to Sweetsmoke. He would need sleep—tomorrow promised to be a busy day.