Caleb (11 page)

26

A few weeks later, Jardine told Caleb, “There are going to be some changes around here. Get Jabeth up here to turn the big guestroom at the end of the hall into a nursery with a sleeping area for a nurse. He’ll find a lot of nursery furniture up in the attic. I want it finished by the end of the week. It’s about time little Boyd joined civilized society. Any questions?”

“No, Master.”

“You should have,” Jardine countered. “You should be wondering who that nurse will be.”

“I am wondering, Master.”

“Well, it’s Missy.” Jardine studied Caleb’s face keenly, but could discern nothing that gave away emotion or thought. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Missy has learned fast and has become very useful in the dining room. It won’t be easy to replace her,” Caleb said in a businesslike tone.

“You’ll manage,” Jardine said. “Promote one of the house girls. Have you got a prospect?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I thought you might have.”

After lunch, Caleb went into the kitchen, where Drusilla and the other house girls were tidying up.

“Drusilla,” he said, “I want to talk to you when you’ve finished here. In my office.” Caleb walked into the hallway leading to his little office.

After a few minutes, Drusilla appeared in the doorway. She didn’t say anything.

“Come in,” Caleb said, indicating the chair by the side of his desk. She sat down, still silent but seemingly at ease. While waiting to see if Drusilla would speak first, Caleb openly studied her. She was tall for a woman, slim but not bony. Drusilla’s flesh looked as though it would be resilient to the touch. Beneath her loose cotton dress her small, high breasts seemed to resist gravity. Her face was handsome, with high, wide cheekbones, a fleshy but well-shaped nose, and appraising eyes below hair wrapped in a cloth. The lobe of her left ear had been mutilated, but had long since healed. Her eyes gazed at him without expression.

Finally Caleb asked, “Do you like your work, Drusilla?”

“It’s better than the fields,” she said shortly. “You going to send me back?”

“Why would you think that?” Caleb asked her.

“You don’t like me,” Drusilla said. “Never have.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t kiss your black ass like Missy and the other girls,” Drusilla said flatly.

“And you don’t like me,” Caleb told her.

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“You don’t think you’re one of us. You’ve got your bags all packed. With your educated reading and writing and Yankeefied ways, you think you’re going to be gone from here while we’re staying. In your head, you’re already on your way.”

“On my way where?”

“North, where else? Where you belong. You think. Far away from us nappy-headed slaves in the field. Do you know what the people call you down in the quarter?

“No.”

“Mr. Yankee White Nigger,” she spat out.

“You too?”

“Why not?” she asked defiantly.

“Am I mean to you here in the house?” Caleb asked.

“Mean?” The question seemed to puzzle her. “I do my job. I earn my bread. You got no call to be mean. Without me, those girls run you ragged. You don’t know anything about this house. You got here yesterday; you leaving tomorrow. Good-bye.” Her lips curved down in an ugly sneer.

“It’s a shame you don’t like me, Drusilla,” Caleb said. “I was going to offer you Missy’s job.”

“You tired of Missy?” she said.

Caleb ignored the question. “Missy’s got another job. She won’t be working with me anymore. I’m going to need a new girl to train in the dining room. Can you recommend one of the girls for the job?”

“Yes,” said Drusilla immediately. “Me!”

“But you don’t like me.”

“I don’t have to like you,” Drusilla said. “I’ll do the job well. I know it already. I’ve watched what you and Missy do. It’s easy.”

“Oh, is it?” Caleb could not help but show his amusement. “Maybe you don’t need me in the dining room, then?”

“Yes, I do,” Drusilla said. “For a while. I still can learn.”

“Your modesty amazes me, Drusilla,” Caleb said. “If I give you the job, can one of the other girls take your place?”

“Teazie is okay,” Drusilla said. “I’ll kick her fat ass, and she’ll do just fine. With an eye on her now and then.”

“And I suppose you’ve got another girl picked out to join the house girls?” Caleb asked.

“Yes. There be a girl in the laundry. Thin and not much to look at, but she got promise.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” Caleb asked with wonder.

“Yes.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Yes. If you want me for your bed, too, there are two things.”

“You think I might?”

“Yes.”

“And what are these things?”

“First, you have to let Mammy Doc down in the quarter look at you. I’m not catching anything that Missy might have.”

“You think that might be a problem?” Caleb asked, trying to pin her down with his stare.

Drusilla did not flinch. “Yes, it might.”

“I see. And the other thing?”

“You have to teach me to read and write.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” She looked at him directly but without defiance.

“Well,” said Caleb, trying to be businesslike, “I’ll consider what you said and let you know. You can go to the other girls now.”

Drusilla rose from the chair gracefully and walked out of the tiny room without looking back.

Caleb tried to believe that he hadn’t made up his mind about Drusilla, but he knew that it had been made up for him.

27

It did not take Caleb long to work his way through the newspapers Miss SallyAnne left at Three Rivers. First he read the portions that he thought would be of interest to Jardine aloud. After the first few lines, if Jardine wasn’t interested, he would call out, “Skip that,” and Caleb would move on to another article. Then, in his own room, Caleb would devour the newspapers line by line. Jardine was surprised to find that he missed the newspapers once they were all read. That night after dinner, he said to Caleb, “Well, where’s the newspaper?”

“All finished, Master.”

“All?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Well, let’s try reading them again,” Jardine suggested, but it didn’t work. He soon got bored, and on his next trip to Cassatt, Jardine ordered a copy of the
Charleston Courier
sent once a week. Both Jardine and Caleb waited eagerly for it to arrive and then made it last as long as they could. Soon, Jardine was having Caleb reading almost the entire newspaper to him. He would sit in his armchair sipping brandy as Caleb read.

“Don’t think I couldn’t read this paper to myself,” Jardine told Caleb more than once. “I could. But what is the point of keeping a literate slave around the place if you don’t use him?” It wasn’t really a question, and Caleb felt no need to answer him.

As they devoured the papers, one topic began to dominate: the growing conflict between the government in Washington and the slave states. War went from being a remote speculation to a recurring subject and then to an almost definite prospect.

“All this talk about war,” Jardine said after Caleb had read an editorial on the conflict of aims between the two regions, “is beginning to sound serious. Well, I don’t want any part of it. From what Colonel Braddock says about that affair he got involved in down in Mexico, it’s not a hell of a lot of fun. Do you think it will come, Caleb?”

“I don’t know, Master, but it sure sounds like people are talking themselves into it.”

“Well, I’m against it,” said Jardine, pouring himself another glass of brandy. “I may not have been up north very long, but I was there long enough to know that those Yankees are crazy sons of bitches and there is one hell of a lot of them. I like Three Rivers just fine as it is, and I don’t think any old war would improve it.”

Caleb did not say anything.

“How about you, Caleb?” Jardine asked, half taunting. “You think that if the Yankees came down here and kicked our raggedy asses, they’d set you free?” When Caleb did not answer, Jardine added, “Maybe give you Three Rivers, and you could hire old Boyd Jardine to work for you.
Yes, Master Caleb, no, Master Caleb, right away, Master Caleb.
How’d you like that? I bet you would.”

When Caleb did not answer, Jardine started to say something else but then thought better of it. “Read me some more of that paper, Caleb. Anything but that damned stuff about war.”

The combination of the warm evening and the brandy soon had Jardine yawning and fighting off sleep. “That’s enough reading for tonight, Caleb,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, Master.” Caleb folded the newspaper, put it in its place on the sideboard, and got to his feet. He was about to leave the study when Jardine stopped him.

“You still got that idea in your head about being free, Caleb?” Jardine asked.

“Yes, Master.”

“You think you’d be better off than you are at Three Rivers?” Jardine asked. “I treat you well here, don’t I?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Well, why then? You got a big bag of gold coins hidden somewhere so you can pay for the roof over your head, the food in your belly, and the clothes on your back?”

“No, Master.”

“Well, tell me this: What would you do if I said tomorrow,
Okay, Caleb, you’re a free man
, and gave you a piece of paper to prove it?”

Caleb thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Master. Probably go back to Boston.”

“You think they love niggers up there?” Jardine asked incredulously. “You think someone’s going to take poor Caleb in and look after him? Because he has a piece of paper saying he’s a free, free man?”

“No, Master.”

“Well, you bet they won’t. The world’s not like that. There’s a saying I learned up there at Harvard. It goes like this:
Nothing for nothing.
And that’s what they’d give you. Nothing! Damn it, Caleb, you’re going to close the house up now and then go to bed, right?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Well, just suppose Caleb was just a little bit hungry. What would Caleb do?”

Before Caleb could open his mouth to answer, Jardine continued. “I’ll tell you what he would do. He’d go back in that kitchen, cut him a couple of big slices off of a ham, and grab a big chunk of fresh-baked bread and maybe even a jug of that new batch of beer brewed last week. Does that sound possible, Caleb?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You bet it does,” Jardine said triumphantly. “Damn, it sounds all right to
me
. Now tell me this, Caleb,” Jardine continued more seriously, “do you know any house in goddamned Boston where you could do that?”

“No, Master.”

“
No
is right,” Jardine crowed. “I think I’ve made my point. Now, get me a candle, Caleb. I’m going to bed.”

“Yes, Master.”

Later, lying in bed with his lamp blown out, Caleb thought about what Jardine had said. It was true that he hadn’t thought much beyond the very idea of freedom. And he knew that when it came, if it came, he would be exchanging a solid known—in fact, a not-so-bad present—for a totally unknown future. But there was something deep inside Caleb that could not settle for anything less than freedom.

In his own larger, more luxurious bed below, Jardine was bothered by no such thoughts. The combination of brandy and fatigue allowed him to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.