Devil Water (65 page)

“No, but it is now in mine. Let me go on, Robbie --

“Oh, a maiden I am, and a maid will remain
‘Till my North Country lad asks to wed me,
And now in this place, I at last see the face
Of him that’s allotted my love for to be!
Oh, the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy-tree
They do flourish at home in our own countree.”

She sang in an infinitely sweet and wooing voice. He did not look at her as she sang. His fingers stumbled at times on the chanter, his swarthy face paled, and then flushed. When she stopped his hands fell down from the pipes. She waited, a tender half smile on her lips.

“Shall I sing the verse
again,
Rob?” she said. “Did you perhaps not quite understand it?”

“Jenny --” he said. “Jenny, I can’t wed thee. A convict cannot wed during his bondage, and I’ve thirteen years more of it. A just sentence it was. I killed a man.”

“My father killed several at Preston,” she said briskly.
“They
may have been good men. The one you killed was evil, and you did it to save me.”

“You know
that!”
he cried. “Then you’ve come to me out of gratitude and pity, and this I cannot stand.”

Jenny stiffened, she tossed her head and cried with anger that was nearly genuine. “Robert Wilson, you’re a pigheaded dolt! A blind mawthering fool! You know well that I’ve always loved you, and you love me, whatever you pretend, for you’ve proven it. And we’ll not mention again what you did for me in London if you wish, but I’m quite sure nobody kisses a woman as you did me -- without there’s true love.”

He did not speak. He looked at her quickly with pleading.

She stamped her foot. “Am I wrong, Rob Wilson? Am I wrong?”

“No, hinny,” he said very low. “I love thee. But
you
must not love a slave in an iron collar.”

“Well, I do,” she said. “And we won’t waste breath on what I must or must not do -- there’s been plenty of that in the past. As for your bondage, there’s a way out.” She spoke with far more conviction than she felt, for now that her doubts were resolved certainties outside herself seemed to direct everything she said.

“What way out?” he asked in a dead voice. “Except escape again. And I couldna take you with me -- to the wilds with a hunted fugitive!”

“I’ve brought some money,” she said, and at once retrieved her mistake as she saw his head lift proudly, and his hazel eyes harden. “Your
own
money, Rob! Three hundred and near sixty pounds of it!”

“What!” he cried. “You’re daft, lass, I have no money! They stripped me of all in Newgate!”

She thought rapidly, and found an answer. “ ‘Twas for your house, the one you’d built on Wigmore Row. The Earl of Lichfield sold it for you after you left England. Naturally he couldn’t get much -- in the circumstances.” Jenny stopped, afraid to go on, afraid that the transaction might sound too implausible; but Rob did not question. His face was transfigured, he grabbed her hands and held them between his own.

“Three hundred sixty pounds,” he whispered. “Oh, Jenny is it true?” She nodded, and he said hoarsely, “Is’t enough to buy my freedom, d’ye think?”

“Of course,” she said, refusing to consider the difficulties ahead, and knowing herself completely ignorant of the legal aspects. “It’ll buy that and a lot left over to give you a start.”

In his gaunt square face the lines vanished, his eyes glowed.

“To the west,” he said, “a hundred miles, nay more, along the river there’s a canny bit o’ land -- a stream nearby tumbling down a hill, mountains to the north -- ”

“Like Tosson and the Cheviots?” she interrupted softly.

“Nay,” he answered surprised. “These are high blue mountains, higher than the Cheviots, and there’s no moors.
This
land will grow crops, and too, there’s a stand o’ timber -- oak and walnut, and a slate quarry, that’d make any builder shout for joy, and clay pits too for bricks, and I found iron ore in a spot about a half mile off.”

“Off from what?” she asked very softly.

“Why, from the house site. The bonniest house site I ever saw. It’s on top a hill, yet sheltered by oaks. The days I was there I paced off and measured as best I could how it would go. If I’d had a hatchet I’d ‘ve started it.”

“Did you picture a woman in that house?”

“How could I dare?” he said. Suddenly he smiled down at her. “Yet I do now, hinny. I’ll build you the finest house in Virginia -- not at first, that’ll have to be a cabin, but in time.”

“Ah-h --” she breathed, resting her cheek on his chest.

“Yet,” he said holding her close, “if I’m free, we wouldn’t have to go so far -- ‘tis way beyond white man’s ken, ‘tis the wilds. Nay, Jenny, it wouldna be right to take a soft dainty lass like you into such a rough way o’ life, and we maybe shouldn’t go so far.”

She heard the hidden disappointment in his voice and she said quickly, “I was born to a rough way o’ life, remember, Robbie? Besides, land out there can be had for the asking, I know that much, and you’ll need your every penny to get started.”

“And to buy Nero,” he said unexpectedly. “He’s a huge, able Negro here. Strong as an ox. I’ve trained him to carpentry and he does well. We’ve become friends, I know he’d go wi’ me, ‘specially if I freed him.”

Jenny gulped, and drew away from Rob with a worried frown. She knew that it would be hard enough to arrange one freedom, without endeavoring to deprive Corby and Mr. Harrison of still another of their best workers. Yet she had not the heart to dampen Rob’s dream. It was rare enough that she had seen his face like this -- hopeful, boyish, eager. Nor was it surprising that, after so much degradation and suffering, his normal common sense should be a trifle blunted. He shifted unconsciously to ease his injured foot, and she said, “What’s happened to your foot, Robbie? Sit down, and let me take that filthy rag off it.”

“ ‘Tis nothing. It’s healing. My shoe wore out and I stepped on a jagged rock.” Yet he obeyed her, and sank down on the pallet with a grunt of relief.

The sole of his foot was heavily calloused from the weeks of walking, but on the heel there was a puffy wound. She silently bathed it from the bucket of water which stood near a peck of corn-meal, the usual daily slave rations. There being nothing else in the cabin, she lifted her skirt and held out to him a corner of white linen petticoat.

“Tear, Robbie,” she said. “I’ve not quite the strength. Not yet,” she added with a smile, “though I’ll learn.”

He tore a strip from the petticoat, and as she bound his foot the homely, wifely little action struck to his heart. She had always seemed so far from him, separated by her youth at first and then her class and rearing, separated too by his own repeated determinations to forget her, and his stubborn pride. He realized, as he watched the blond head bent over his foot, how little he had ever thought
with
her, or listened when she tried to tell him. He was appalled to think of the journey she had made for his sake, and of which he hadn’t even asked, so overwhelmed had he been by thoughts of freedom.

“My darling,” he whispered.

She looked around startled. That endearment sounded strange from Rob. The ordinary folk of the North did not use it. Her father did, and the word gave her a faraway muffled pang.

“My darling,” said Rob again, looking deep and steadily into her widened eyes. “If God lets us be wed, I’ll try to be worthy of ye.”

She shook her head in protest, but he went on solemnly, “You may wonder that I speak of God -- I never thought much about Him, yet out there, alone -- in the wilderness -- there was a night, when --” He stopped, unable to express the feelings he had had that night, and he added only, “I believe there
is
one.”

“Aye,” she whispered. “Perhaps I’ve felt Him too.”

He smiled at the childish earnestness in her voice, and thought how very young she was, despite the moments when she was all woman. “You must go, dear,” he said. “I’ve been the mawthering fool ye called me earlier to let you stay so long. Suppose someone saw you! And besides, Jenny,” he added with violence, “if you sit beside me like this, and keep looking at me like that, I shall have to kiss you again. And I fear I’ll not stop wi’ kisses, lass, for I want ye very badly. I’ve even forgot that I’m a slave!”

“I don’t wish to go,” she said. “So it’s best I should. I’ll bring your money tomorrow, after I’ve talked with Evelyn. We must have her help. It -- it won’t be an easy matter, Rob.”

“I know.” The light died out of his eyes. “I know.”

Jenny stumbled over Eugene curled up in the cornfield, where he was snoring peacefully. They went back to Westover. Evelyn was waiting in the hall. “Heaven, Jenny, what a time you’ve been! I was worried.” She held her candle high and examined the girl’s face. “I see matters’ve taken an upturn. You’ve seen him, and there’re no more doubts?”

“None,” said Jenny. “Come well or ill, Rob is my own true love and I am his, and he knows it at last.”

“Ah -- ” said Evelyn softly. “I’m glad of that.” She kissed Jenny, a rare gesture from Evelyn. “But, my dear --”

Jenny interrupted her with a sigh and a motion of her hand. “You needn’t say it. And I can’t think tonight. Tomorrow, Evie -- you will help me think, won’t you?”

By breakfast time next morning, Evelyn was in possession of all the facts of Jenny’s interview with Rob the night before, and she saw the obstacles ahead even more clearly than Jenny did. “The faster we move the better,” she said. “Not only for poor Rob’s sake but before Father gets home, we should at least get an agreement from Ben Harrison.”

“What difference would Mr. Byrd make?” asked Jenny, frowning.

“Father knows the law. Ben doesn’t. And I don’t believe a convict
can
buy his freedom, or own money. Everything he has belongs to his master. No, the more I think of it, we’ll have to tell Ben the truth -- that it’s
your
money, you wish to buy Rob yourself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Jenny cried, aghast. “You don’t know Rob’s pride. And what man could stand being bought by his wife! Besides, now he has self-respect again. You should have seen his face when I told him he’d earned the money by the London house he’d worked so hard on.”

After a moment Evelyn nodded. “Yes, he’s had enough humiliation, poor man.” She thought hard, rather enjoying the pitting of her wits against all these problems. “You’ll have to lie again to Rob,” she said at last. “It’s the only way. Tell him that he and you must pretend it’s
your
money, until he’s freed. I’m sure he’ll see the sense of that, for otherwise he’ll neither be free nor able to wed you.”

Jenny considered this for some time, then she agreed. “I believe you’re right. I’ll go now to Berkeley Quarters and tell him.”

“He won’t be there, my dear,” said Evelyn ruefully. “At this hour Corby’ll have him at work somewhere. Come, we’d better go to Berkeley and try our luck!”

The girls set off along the river path between the two plantations, having told Mrs. Byrd that they were going to call on the Harrisons and with difficulty discouraged little Mina from accompanying them. The morning was still fresh, a western breeze made ripples on the James as it flowed below the bluff. Mockingbirds trilled and fluted from the woods on either side of them, the copses were spangled with blooming dogwood, white and shell-pink. As they neared the church, Jenny saw a drift of bluebells underneath some birches. She stopped and stood gazing at them. “It’s May Day, Evie,” she said. “I’ve just remembered that it’s May Day.” She ran to the bluebells and knelt down.

“What
are
you doing, Jenny!” Evelyn cried with some impatience, as she watched Jenny bury her face in the flowers.

“There’s still a bit of dew on them,” said Jenny. “So maybe I’ll get my wish. ‘Tis lucky to find blue flowers on a May morn. At home I never found them. I had to make do with buttercups.”

“At home?” asked Evelyn, smiling a little.

“In Northumberland.”

“Strange you still call that home,” said Evelyn beginning to walk.

“It is, perhaps,” said Jenny discomfited. “But where else have I? As yet.”

They fell silent. They passed the church and its attendant burying ground. They both glanced at the church, Jenny with a yearning hope; but Evelyn turned from it and stared somberly at her grandparents’ tombs.

A scarlet streak flew over the tombs -- a nesting cardinal. Evelyn shivered suddenly. “I hate those birds,” she said. “They’re like blood, and I hate graves!”

Jenny was astonished at her friend’s vehemence, and dismayed by a flash of fear in the great dark eyes. Such reasonless fear was upsetting at this particular moment when she so needed Evelyn’s coolness and self-command. However, Evelyn recovered at once. “You and your superstitions, Jenny!” she said in her ironic tone. “You’ve infected
me!”

They continued walking along the river path, past the boundary tree and into Berkeley. There was the usual bustle at the landing. Captain Randolph’s ship had gone upriver to Turkey Island, since he had discharged his cargo for Westover, but the new sloop was being launched amid a turmoil of shouts and scurryings. They saw by the wharf the stout gesticulating figure of the overseer.

“He’ll know where Rob is, won’t he?” Jenny asked anxiously.

Evelyn nodded. “Best let me do the talking.”

Matt Corby was busy cursing at his men for having tangled the lines, and he scowled harder as he saw the girls approach. Women had no business on the wharf; but Evelyn had drawn herself up to her full height, and used a tone which could not be ignored as she said, “Mr. Corby, I wish to see Robert Wilson, the convict, for a moment.”

“Whatever for?” demanded the overseer. “The blackguard’s behind enough wi’ his work as it is -- them months he run off.”

“That’s just it,” said Evelyn smoothly. “I’ve a curiosity to see the man, I’ve heard so much about him.”

“Ha! He’s naught to look at, miss, an’ ‘Id be less so if I’d had
my
way! Branded with
R
on the cheek he’d be, same as all runaways. I’ll talk Mr. Harrison inter it yet.”

Evelyn heard Jenny’s quick breath, and squeezed her arm to stop her from speaking. “Well, Mr. Corby,” she said lightly, “now I’m more than ever curious. Where
is
Wilson?”