Part 6 (1/2)

”Esther Mae, today's journey was particularly tiring. I shall retire to my room for a restful spell. You may serve me my refreshments there.” With each approaching step, the hunch in her back straightened into the usual stern posture of her confident shoulders. Her shadow draped across my face as I offered a modest curtsy.

”Welcome home, Aunt Augusta. I hope your trip was pleasant and successful.”

”You are looking gaunt and pale, Hannalore,” she said, examining me with more curiosity than concern. She pressed a cool hand to my forehead. ”Are you feeling poorly?”

”No, ma'am.”

”Attend to your quilt squares on the front porch. The fresh air will do you good.” I was relieved when she dismissed me from her query and moved toward the house.

”Yes, ma'am,” I called after her with pleasure in hoodwinking her. If she only knew how much fresh air I had enjoyed during the weeks she was away! I was not foolish enough to push the matter further, so I retrieved my quilt squares and settled into the wicker rocker on the front porch. I busied myself adorning the squares with decorative st.i.tching at a pace intended to make up for all that had gone neglected while I was tending to Livie.

Darkness eclipsed my thoughts the moment Livie came to mind, but I forced my concentration back to the unst.i.tched material folded neatly on my lap. Busying my hands with needlework had been my emotional haven for as long as I could remember. Recollections of my mother and me nestled in front of a glowing hearth often soothed me. I held dear the memory of hours tucked safely in her lap as she guided my untrained hands from st.i.tch to st.i.tch. Patterns of stars, sun rays through treetops, forked rivers, and unusual rock formations were her favorites. And mine too, I supposed, because they were easy to learn and did not require the delicate st.i.tching boasted by the icy debutantes gathered in self-righteous sewing circles throughout the county. I hated their air of superiority. They carried themselves with refined importance based on the misguided opinion that they were wildly desirable. I was surprised when Aunt Augusta did not demand my partic.i.p.ation in this social tradition. Perhaps she did not want me viewed as inferior.

It mattered not to me that I and my unrefined needlework were held at bay as awkward outsiders. I cherished those simple patterns of my childhood because they took me home to Kentucky and to the fireside, where I could once again nestle in the warm, comforting memory of my mother. Aunt Augusta allowed me this one indulgence and required I make only occasional appearances in these circles to maintain the appropriate ties. For the most part, I was allowed to sew in the quilting room, where a handful of Runians, who were either too old or unfit to work the fields, were delegated to spinning cloth, making clothes, and working together at the loom, creating quilts.

There was a time when I thought her sisterly attachment to my mother was what stirred Aunt Augusta's cooperation and encouragement in my quilting efforts, particularly because the patterns learned in my childhood were replicated in her household. However, I discovered early on that profit, not sentiment, drove her interest. She garnered great praise from her fellow planters for her inventiveness in gaining cash rewards out of otherwise unproductive slaves. Mr. Watkins of the town mercantile ordered a steady supply of quilts to stock his shelves; a modest profit for Hillcrest, but profit nonetheless. Aunt Augusta expanded this side business to include shops in many towns where she conducted her tobacco business. The demand grew to the point that a large compartment was built beneath her seat in the coach to allow for nearly fifty quilts to travel without chance of exposure to dust or rain.

My disgust in her greediness tempted me to abandon my pa.s.sion; however, it was offset by the fact that many of the quilts that fell short of salable perfection were dispersed among the Runians, or pa.s.sed along to Granny Morgan's blind sister, Mabelle, who was owned by Mr. Watkins. Since losing her sight, Mabelle spent long, lonely days rocking her plump, round body on a wooden stool next to the apple barrel outside the mercantile door. She had withdrawn into her own world, rocking and singing the same mournful spirituals Granny Morgan often sang when she was alone in the kitchen. Every Sunday, Winston took Granny Morgan to town so she and Mabelle could spend an hour or two together. It pleased Granny Morgan each time she took an armful of faulty quilts to Mabelle. Her sister enjoyed giving them to needy slaves who pa.s.sed through town on a master's errand. Instead of being lonely and isolated, Mabelle became so well-known that slaves from across the county sought out the ”quilt singer” during their trips to town. Mabelle looked forward to this social allowance, when news and stories were shared until the visitors had to rush off before their pa.s.ses expired. Granny Morgan smiled, knowing Mabelle was alive and vital again, and I found myself purposely adding imperfections to completed quilts so Mabelle's supply would remain abundant. I believed my mother would be pleased at the joy spread by those quilts.

”Wagon a-comin'!”

Elijah's yelp caused me to p.r.i.c.k my finger. I held my stinging finger to my lips and looked to where Elijah hustled with two large buckets slos.h.i.+ng with water. Elijah was our self-appointed lookout, and rarely missed the appearance of a wagon or horse over the far hill. He delivered the buckets at Winston's feet, and his father paused in grooming the horses to rise on his toes and look over their haunches. An unexpected voice came from the doorway behind me.

”I should have known curiosity would bring Mooney for a visit,” Aunt Augusta said, emotionless.

”Perhaps he is simply pa.s.sing through on his way to West Gate,” I said casually. ”He and Twitch had business in town.”

”Naive child.” She sniffed. I was taken aback by the hint of disdain with which her remark had been delivered. As intertwined as the two plantations were, I always sensed caution and distrust p.r.i.c.kling beneath the surface of Aunt Augusta and Uncle Mooney's familial partners.h.i.+p. Still, I dismissed her mood as fatigue from her trip.

Aunt Augusta stepped out into full view as Uncle Mooney climbed down from the wagon and greeted her with his usual robust banter. As they exchanged some business details, Twitch jumped down from the driver's seat. When Winston came to hold the bridle of the team, Twitch muttered a few words in his ear that caused Winston to lower his head in obedience. My jaw clenched to keep any words from spilling out that might result in another whipping for Winston. Unfortunately, my anger was fed by brittle emotion left in the wake of watching Livie swallowed by the Horse's Bend. Elijah's voice saved me from a foolish outburst.

”A-comin' a'gin!”

This time, Elijah stood on Uncle Mooney's wagon bench, tying the loose reins around the brake plank. He motioned his head to where Uncle Mooney's wagon had appeared moments earlier. I rose from my chair and clutched my chest as Colt's wagon traced the path of wagon grooves up the road. Aunt Augusta's words naive child naive child stung me from within as I realized how preposterous it had been for me to hold on to even a slim possibility of Livie making it across the river. Any hope I still harbored was dashed by Colt's lone figure atop the buckboard. stung me from within as I realized how preposterous it had been for me to hold on to even a slim possibility of Livie making it across the river. Any hope I still harbored was dashed by Colt's lone figure atop the buckboard.

A rush of despair flushed me, and I reached out for the banister to steady me. My hand fell on Twitch's bony shoulder, as he had slithered halfway up the porch steps and positioned himself intimately enough to whisper, ”I could swoon you in ways a spineless fool like Purebred would blush over. He don't understand the desires of a real man.”

I shrank from Twitch's words . . . his breath . . . his touch. Ever since he suspected my unexplained absences with Colt were for lascivious activity, Twitch oozed lechery when he looked at me. However, with Aunt Augusta hovering nearby, his boldness of words was loathsome, even for him. I ignored his vulgar remarks and crossed the yard as Colt guided his horses alongside those of his father. The late-afternoon breeze tossed his loose curls across his dark eyes, and when they met mine, they quickly diverted away.

”Welcome, son. We thought you would be gone a few more days.”

”Maybe his hunger fo' the finer things at home made him turn tail and come on back,” Twitch said with his dead eye staring through me. Finally, my glistening eyes locked with Colt's and held on to them, knowing his stoic gaze understood my hidden heartbreak.

”On my way down the lower ridge road, I came upon a family in need of help for their sick child. She was marble-eyed with fever, poor thing. I used sa.s.safras tea and mild laudanum to break a sweat and make her comfortable.”

”Mighty commendable, son. Did you charge them for your services?”

Colt tugged his gloves from his hands and jumped down from the rig, all the while avoiding Uncle Mooney's glare. ”d.a.m.n it, boy, when will you realize that medical service is a commodity, no different from pork or tobacco? If you insist on wasting time and resources unproductive to our plantation, I expect that at the very least you should profit from your endeavors. Anything less is dag-blamed frivolous!”

”They were a modest family with a long journey ahead. I did not wish to squeeze a few precious coins from them,” Colt countered, though his defense fell on deaf ears. Most of Colt's generosity and accomplishments in the venue of medicine were met with impatience and apathy. I ached to offer a word of admiration to offset the lack of respect given to him by his father, but grief had drained me of thought and reason. However, Colt did not slink away to lick his wounds. Instead he s.h.i.+fted his shoulders into fullness.

”Fact is, they did give me something for my efforts on behalf of their child,” he said, nodding toward his wagon. The buckboard creaked atop its axles with a subtle movement from within. My heart jolted alive when a pair of large, fearful eyes peeked up over the wooden plank behind the bench seat of the wagon. Livie! Livie!

My mind buzzed with excitement and disbelief. It was all I could do to keep from running past the dropped jaws beside me to throw my arms around her in euphoric relief. With their eyes glued to the battered, dark stranger crawling from the buckboard, Aunt Augusta, Uncle Mooney, and Twitch missed the beaming smile and swell of tears that came upon me before I tempered my emotion. Colt stole a glance my way, and though his expression remained blank and contrived in the masquerade, there was a glimmer of triumphant satisfaction conveyed in the split second when his eyes spoke to mine.

”Have you lost your senses, boy?” Uncle Mooney sputtered. ”What do we need with another young wench?”

”And not a prize piece neither,” Twitch added as he stepped closer to get a better look. ”From the looks of her, she's damaged goods.”

Indeed, Livie looked ravaged. Her hair, which had been wound in tight braids when last I saw her, was now pulled loose and standing wild in every direction. She had a dark knot on her forehead, and the lower corner of her mouth was grossly swollen. As Twitch slowly circled around her, Livie struggled to stand strong and steady. Her p.r.o.nounced limp had given her away, and to those scrutinizing her, she appeared frail and deformed in some way as she clutched her upper thigh and slouched to one side.

”What a pathetic specimen,” Uncle Mooney said as he lifted his walking stick and pressed the tip against Livie's shoulder, attempting to upright her. ”She'll be of no use in the fields.” He then lowered his stick and thumped the gold sow head atop the cane in his thick pink hand. ”What good is a wench that can't earn her keep, much less contribute to the care and harvest of our cash crop?”

Twitch scoffed as he ran his hand across her arm, toward her heaving breast. ”From the mangy look of her, she won't even make a good breeder.” Colt stepped over and grabbed Twitch's wrist before his hand reached its destination. Livie glared up at Twitch, causing him to twist his face into a snarl.

”What are you lookin' at, you worthless darky?” He reached for the whip looped on his belt. ”I don't know where you come from, but round here you're gonna know your place.”

As quickly as the whip unraveled to the ground, Colt moved in between Livie and Twitch. ”She is of no concern to you,” he said, staring at Twitch. ”Or you,” he added, turning to look over his shoulder at his father. Then, with his hand he gave Livie a gentle shove toward me. ”If Augusta approves, I would like to give her to Hannah.”

”What?” Aunt Augusta and Uncle Mooney said in acrimonious harmony. She arched her eyebrow and waved a dismissive hand. ”I have no intention of getting involved in this ridiculous matter. And I certainly will not have my household burdened with any more charitable causes.”

The bite of Aunt Augusta's remark reflected back at me in Livie's anxious eyes, which softened as she came nearer to me. With her back to the others, she winked devilishly and rolled her eyes up and down toward her feet. Perplexed, I finally glanced down and caught a glimpse of the reason for the prideful smile: a brand-new pair of hard-soled shoes. Livie's bruised face glowed like she was wearing a queen's dowry. The utter innocence of her delight filled my heart, and in spite of the risk, I widened my eyes with excitement, which was all the moment allowed. Colt's determined plea brought me back to the perilous charade we were enacting.

”Hannah will be celebrating her birthday in a few weeks, and she is coming to the age where a personal servant would be appropriate. Given the circ.u.mstance befallen me, I would like to offer this slave girl to Hannah as a gift.”

”Don't be fool- hearted, boy,” Uncle Mooney said with disgust. ”This coal black wench is not of proper stock for house duties. Cut your losses and send her to Richmond for auction. She may not command much in price, but at least you will profit from your time and trouble.”

Following Colt's lead, I jumped in. ”I truly don't deserve such a generous gift, Colt, although being the only lady-in-waiting within the circle of girls my age to be without a personal servant has been a bit awkward at times. I suspect Aunt Augusta intends to purchase a slave girl of high value and put those of my peers to shame.”

My words nudged Aunt Augusta's frugal nature into the debate. She ran her hard eyes up and down Livie's bent frame and then tapped her pursed lips with an impatient finger. ”Mooney, the boy is old enough to make a man's decision. If he has made up his mind, then so be it. I have serious doubts about her stock, but if I find her unsuitable, I will send her to the fields.” Aunt Augusta took the owners.h.i.+p paper from Colt's hand and shoved it in her pocket without a glance. ”My fields, of course, since she now belongs to Hannalore.” fields, of course, since she now belongs to Hannalore.”

”Thank you, Colt,” I said with a curtsy. ”You are indeed a gentleman.”

”Esther Mae, take this sorrowful creature down with the Runians and clean her up,” Aunt Augusta said, turning on her heels and motioning the two on their way. ”Bring her to me in the morning and we shall see what we can make of her.”

Colt smiled and offered a soft tug of his hat. I marveled at him as he climbed up onto his wagon and cracked his team into action. Twitch stepped from the cloud of dust that swirled between us and watched Livie hobble down the hill toward Mud Run. ”Somethin' don't sit right with that lowly chattel. Did you lay eyes on them st.u.r.dy shoes? She probably stole off with 'em 'cuz she's a-runnin'.”

Uncle Mooney shot out a belch of laugher. ”Twitch.e.l.l, you think every slave from here to Louisiana is a runaway. Not that I mind, boy,” he said, slapping Twitch firmly on the shoulder. ”Any profit Colton throws away, you bring back to me tenfold with your instincts and tracking skills. But you are crazed like a hound in the thick of a hunt. I swear you would chew off your own foot if it kept you from hog-tying a runaway. Keep your head about you, boy. That pathetic wench is a throwaway, not a runaway.” Uncle Mooney's reddened face appeared over Twitch's shoulder as they watched Livie disappear into a cabin below. ”The only thing not sitting right in my eyes is money taken from my till and dropped into Augusta's pocket.”

Twitch angled himself in such a way that Uncle Mooney could not see the slow wink offered me from the hollow of his dead eye. ”Well, the wench must be mighty good at somethin' to receive such fine shoes from the master of the house.”

”Watch yourself, boy,” Uncle Mooney said, mounting his wagon. ”There is a young lady present. Now, let's get on back to West Gate and take care of our own business.”

”Oh, I'll watch myself all right, along with a lot of other things round here,” Twitch grunted. He looked at me with penetrating fierceness, then glanced toward the shadowed cabins of Mud Run. ” 'Cuz in my my business, the watchin' never ends, and there ain't n.o.body better at it than me.” business, the watchin' never ends, and there ain't n.o.body better at it than me.”

Chapter 11.