Promise Bridge (22 page)

Aunt Augusta and Uncle Mooney remained seated in an enclosed carriage, protected from the brisk wind. Twitch, his collar pulled high and his hat tugged low, leaned against a rain barrel half- filled with the frozen remnants of a shower dropped back in early December, around the time of the shucking. So much had happened in the month and a half since rain collected in the barrel.
Gracious be, it seems like a lifetime ago
.

As Colt and I neared, Twitch jerked his head toward Willy Jack, who rushed over and opened the door to Uncle Mooney’s carriage. Until then, I had not noticed the other carriage winched a short distance down the road. After Aunt Augusta and Uncle Mooney disembarked, Colonel Richards appeared from the other carriage. He quickened his pace to catch up with and join them at the barn entrance, all the while looking perplexed at why his cousin was not present.

I braced to be scolded, but to my surprise, Aunt Augusta looked beyond me and leveled her stern eyes on Colt. Before words could be spoken or questions asked, I quickly offered an apology.

“Pardon our tardiness. We were waiting for Lamond, who has declined our invitation.”

“Indeed,” Colt said. “He seems to be in sour and disgruntled spirits today. We attempted to encourage him to join us.”

“He instructed us to leave him alone,” I jumped in. “Quite rudely, I might add.”

The colonel removed his hat and held it to his chest in a display of embarrassment and displeasure. “If this is so, I cannot imagine what has gotten into him. I shall run up to the house and remind him of his gentlemanly manners. I promise you, he will return with me.”

“Nonsense,” Uncle Mooney barked. I never thought a time would come when I would welcome his gruff impatience. “We have already wasted the better part of an hour, and too much of a day lost with my stock standing here idle. Let him be. Truth be told, if not for my vested interest, I would not be here either. Now let us get on with it, so we can tend to more important matters.”

The colonel conceded to Uncle Mooney’s wishes. Relief tugged the corners of my mouth, making it hard to harness the smile, but the moment I saw Livie step from the shadows of the barn, my elation could not be contained. Her face was serene and womanly, her chestnut skin accentuated by the cranberry chenille wrapped tight around her head. The dress she wore was made uniquely her own with the addition of a cranberry sash, altered from part of the chenille, draped across her waist, and tied at her hip so the length could tumble down her thigh. Her shawl, dyed in a root mixture close in color to her headdress, hung delicately around her shoulders. All my fears were forgotten in Livie’s regal presence.

After we took our seats on the platform, James stepped from the crowd, followed by Granny Morgan, who carried a broom decorated with tattered ribbon and bows. I never paid much attention to the broom ceremonies in the past. Aunt Augusta always required me to be present, but they were usually over soon after we arrived. We never stayed to observe any celebration. There would be music and a brief festivity afterward, but certainly nothing like the extravagant weddings of our social circle. As the ceremony began, I glanced at the slave force adjacent to us. Uncle Mooney’s slaves stood apart from ours, herded together in loosely organized rows. Twitch stood with his back to us and one hand on the whip hanging from his belt, detached from the ceremony and keeping close watch on the stock. Willy Jack walked amid the rows, nudging unaligned children back to their mothers’ sides.

My heart ached at seeing their faces, so painfully clear to me now. No lips smiling or eyes glimmering. They stared blankly, not really seeing. Bodies stripped of spirit. Not allowed to live; only permitted to survive. I turned, seeking comfort in our Runians, but they bore no seeds of contentment either. Yes, they were warmed by newer clothes and perhaps meatier from larger rations, but their faces wore the same tired strain, and their shoulders were rounded by the same unending burdens. My eyes stung with sadness and shame.

I turned my head toward the peak and thought of Marcus. I reflected on his journey to and from the North, understanding his passion in a more profound way. He is a selfless savior of souls. His courage and commitment endeared him deeper in my heart. I felt his presence in and around me. How I wished he was up there among the trees, watching his sister be married. Would his eyes find me and stir with emotion, as Colt’s had earlier? I struggled to make sense of my preoccupation with Marcus and the feelings of disloyalty it brought upon me. The swell of my conflicting desires overflowed my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

“My dear Hannah,” Colt whispered softly, misinterpreting my emotion. “You are so sentimental.”

His words tugged me from my daydream. Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed the entire ceremony. Granny signaled Livie and James to jump over the broomstick. Livie smiled at me with excitement, and James stood tall and proud, holding her hand. Just as they crouched to jump, a bellowing cry echoed down over the knoll.

“Stop this nonsense! Stop it, I say. That wench belongs to me!”

The sight of Lamond staggering down the hillside brought me to my feet in agonizing terror. Livie’s face went ashen and she turned to run, but James held tightly to her hand, keeping her in place, where he could calm her.

“What in dag blazes,” the colonel muttered.

“Colonel,” Uncle Mooney said with a smirk, “your cousin looks to be inebriated.”

The elixir Colt prepared had not been strong enough to keep Lamond unconscious for an extended period, but its impact could still be seen as he stumbled to the ground, then dragged himself upright and continued zigzagging down toward the stunned gathering.

“She is mine, I tell you,” he shouted in garbled anger. “No one shall have her but me!” He pushed through the crowd and fell at our feet.

“What a disgrace,” Aunt Augusta huffed toward the colonel. The smell of brandy filled the air as he reached down and pulled Lamond to his feet. The colonel’s cheeks flushed with fury.

“You no-good ingrate,” Colonel Richards snarled as he shook Lamond by his lapels. “Is this the thanks I get for giving you the opportunity for redemption?”

In his grogginess, Lamond was unaware of the colonel’s attack. He continued to twist his head and point to Livie. “You know damn well you are mine, woman. Tell them you belong to me!”

The colonel shook him harder, then leaned in to his ear to deliver a hushed warning: “Laying down with a wench in the shadow of night does not make her yours.”

“I did not lay down with—” Lamond held his head as if struck by a hammer. Even in his incoherent condition, he was startled by the colonel’s grip on him. He began to whimper with confusion. “I tell you, she is mine.”

The colonel stared coldly at him, then pulled him toward his carriage. As they passed us, the colonel hesitated and bowed slightly. “Augusta, please accept my apologies for this disruptive display and for the flaw in character indulged by my cousin. I shall take him to the house and gather his belongings. He will be gone by the time you return.”

Aunt Augusta responded with one curt nod, acknowledging both his apology and his plan to excise his cousin from our property. Still protesting, Lamond was heaved into the colonel’s carriage and taken away. As dust tossed in their wake, I glanced over at Livie, who had unburied her face from James’ shoulder to watch the exodus. She looked at me in amazement. I raised my eyebrows and gave her a subtle shrug of my shoulders, which made her bite her lip to keep from smiling too broadly.

“Come now, you two,” Granny Morgan’s voice boomed, successfully drawing everyone’s attention back to Livie and James. “Stop dawdlin’ and jump on over dis here broom.”

They grinned at each other, clenched hands, and jumped, raising a cheer from the crowd. As the Runians surrounded the newly united pair, they hollered and laughed, slapping James on the back and kissing Livie’s cheeks. The slaves of West Gate were not given a moment longer to watch. Willy Jack herded them together and directed them back into the cold wind howling down the mountain. Uncle Mooney and Aunt Augusta walked toward their carriage, satisfied with the conclusion of a solid business deal.

“Come, Hannah. It is much too cold to observe the festivities,” she commanded me. “With Esther Mae and Granny granted the afternoon here, your uncle has invited us to supper at West Gate. We shall mark the occasion privately.”

“We shall be along in a moment,” I called to her. The Runians parted as Colt and I went to give our blessing to Livie and James. Livie reached her hands to me. I held them tightly in mine as we beamed at one another. “You look beautiful, Livie.”

Without thought of who would be watching or disapproving, we embraced each other. Livie squeezed me extra tight and whispered, “I don’t know how you saved me from him, but thank you.”

“Colt deserves your praise,” I whispered back. “I believe his first patient was a bit dissatisfied.” We giggled until tears moistened our cheeks. Colt shook James’s hand and tipped his hat toward Livie.

“Thank you, Mista Colt,” she said with discreet sincerity.

“Many blessings and good health to you both.” He smiled. He turned to take my arm, but Twitch stepped between us, cutting a plug of tobacco and shoving it into his mouth. He gave no indication he overheard our secret exchanges, but his dead eye seemed to spark of the devil. Colt shifted in front of me, in time to hide the look of panic rising hot on my cheeks. I took Colt’s arm and let him escort me to our carriage. When I glimpsed over my shoulder, Twitch’s lips uncoiled from beneath his mangy whiskers into a speculating grin. He was a tracker, and the flare of his nostrils told me that just like Lamond, he too sensed something amiss in the air.

Chapter 24

A
great freeze overtook Echo Ridge, and some say the whole of western Virginia. With it came an increased loss of livestock and the death of countless slaves weakened by age or malady, who succumbed to the brutal elements. The Red Hawk River froze over as far as the eye could see, and all forms standing apart from the earth—house, rocks, trees, and fences—were layered with a coating of ice so thick it looked like all the world was dipped in hot wax and set to dry.

“Seen a lifetime o’ winters come and go, but ’tain’t never see’d nothin’ like this ’un,” Granny muttered over the cook pot each morning. “So cold that when the dog makes water out back, he is likely to freeze hisself solid to the tree.” Elijah chuckled as he threw another log on the fire in the kitchen.

The harsh weather meant Marcus was never far from my thoughts. There was no way of knowing where he was, or if he was safe from the bleak conditions, killing all exposed to its frigid touch. No man could survive such a battle with nature, no matter how strong or determined. I could not share my worries with Livie. She knew nothing of Marcus’s travels, and telling her now would be cruel and pointless. Besides, she had not been well of late, appearing drained of spirit and vigor.

Livie’s fatigue worsened, causing me great concern. Most days I would send her to my bed for periods of time, but it did not seem to help. Her appetite waned, and I was certain that if she ate more her spark would return. “Don’t you fret none, Miz Hannah,” Granny would say when I begged her to force Livie to eat. “Sure as chickens lay eggs, Livetta be fine and growin’ plump once the grass ’neath the snow shows itself again.”

Granny was right. By the time the great freeze loosened its grip, Livie was back to her old self, with a thickening waist that confirmed what Granny had suspected all along. Livie was with child.

After holding us hostage for more than two months, the hard shell of winter finally cracked under the assault of the mild April sun. Wagon tracks and footprints multiplied in the receding snow, marking the return of life on the mountain. The once-abundant shelves and baskets in the pantry and root cellar held more dust than preserves. Flour and sugar were used sparingly, to make them last until we could send Winston and Esther Mae into town to replenish our supplies. Once they deemed the roads safe and passable, subsequent trips would include Aunt Augusta, and eventually me. Like bears waking from hibernation, we shook off winter’s sluggishness and excitedly reconnected with the world.

The return of Winston and Esther Mae from their first trip into town was inevitably bittersweet. The thrill of seeing a well-supplied wagon rolling over the horizon was tempered with news of friends and neighbors who did not survive the rigors of the season. The postmaster sent along a modest bundle of letters tied together with a string. Most of the correspondence was business related and pleased Aunt Augusta. The remaining letters came bearing word, good and bad, from acquaintances afar. When the wagon was unloaded and the supplies organized, Winston and Esther Mae were summoned to the dining room to report on their trip in detail.

Winston stood inside the doorway, rubbing the warmth back into his hands. “Road is a mite ruddy, Miz ’Gusta, but soft enough to give de horses good footin’. Ol’ Massa Harvey from the livery got killed a few weeks back when de ice got too heavy on de roof of his rear stable and gave way. Crushed seven horses wit’ him. Two of de Yancy chilluns died o’ de fever, and over at de mercantile Massa Watkins’s wife, Miz Sara, was overtook by de death cough. Died jes’ four days ago.”

“Po’ Mabelle is doin’ what she can fo’ Massa Watkins,” Esther Mae said, her throat tight with distress. “But dere is no consolin’ him.”

Aunt Augusta took account of all that was reported. She did not inquire about the condition of the neighboring slave families, but it was evident by Esther Mae’s strained expression that many did not fare well. “Lots o’ other folk was lost too,” Esther Mae said softly as she left Winston’s side and disappeared into the kitchen. Her low, heart-wrenching sobs soon followed. Winston shuffled nervously, feeling the need to explain Esther Mae’s abrupt and unauthorized departure.

“Esther Mae’s sister Sophie froze solid in de snow after rations was cut off over at de Patterson place across de river. Wit’ three chilluns to feed, she went diggin’ fo’ roots and perished. Dey found two of her chilluns starved dead in dere beds. Her little girl, Sugar, was t’only one to make it through.”

The image of a woman and children I had never seen flashed in my mind. It painted a harsh portrait of Esther Mae’s simple words,
“lots o’ other folk was lost too
.
”
I understood the need to stretch rations, but cut them off altogether? It was a brutal portrait indeed.

“Is the river passable?” Aunt Augusta asked, without as much as a considerate pause of acknowledgment.

“Each mild day softens de ice up some, but no boat nor barge is ready to challenge de river. The timber truss bridge is mighty unsteady with all de shiftin’ ice. Dey say dere is a powerful ice jam in a narrow pass upriver. Folks is frettin’ it might give way, suddenlike, and flood de lowlands.”

The threat got Aunt Augusta’s attention. “Are you certain, Winston? Such an event would be disastrous for the town of Echo Ridge and the plantations along the river’s edge.”

“Dey say planters south o’ town is sendin’ groups o’ dere best field men upriver to try and break up de ice slow and careful so de normal flow of de river can get goin’ again.”

Aunt Augusta shook her head in dismay. “A desperate plan, sure to end as nothing more than a death march.”

“Thank goodness we are on high ground,” I muttered, understanding the fury of an unleashed river.

Aunt Augusta patted my back with uncharacteristic gentleness. “We are sure to stay dry. But the impact of high water brings consequence to lives far beyond the river’s path. Let us pray the transition from winter to spring is gentle.” Then, with apprehension clouding her eyes, Aunt Augusta excused herself and exited the room.

The warm spring breezes carried the melody of songbirds happy to be home. The Runians began the task of readying the fields and planting the young tobacco shoots that had been protected and germinating in seedbeds fertilized with ash and manure. There was a modest rise in the river, but far less than what a normal spring thaw would bring to these parts. With the abundance of ice and snow accumulated during winter, the town folk feared the magnitude of water held by the ice jam reported upstream. Some nearest the river purchased baled hay from surrounding plantations. They stacked them near their doorsteps to absorb any runoff if the river breached its banks.

The exodus of Twitch at the first sign of warm weather was as predictable as the apple blossoms on the trees. After enduring confinement brought by the long winter months, he was biting at his bit like a restless horse seeking the open fields. The business of slave catching began with the first signs of spring, because the turn of the season made for favorable conditions if a slave had it in his mind to run.

“I gotta pick ’em when they’re ripe,” Twitch would declare once the chilly March winds were a distant memory. Uncle Mooney allowed Twitch to head out for three weeks in spring and four weeks near summer’s end, so he would be back before the harvest season. Occasionally, Twitch was hired out on a special hunt, but the handsome profit he made was well worth giving him leave of the plantation. So with the town’s compromised bridge keeping him from crossing his wagon to the road leading south, he was in an especially cantankerous mood.

“I fail to see the issue, Twitchell,” Uncle Mooney snorted in between bites of a smoked- ham dinner shared one Sunday afternoon at West Gate. “Just ride out to the west. You have always had great fortune in Kentucky.”

“More to be had south this early on,” Twitch stated confidently, as a man who knew his business from every angle. “The borderland of Kentucky ain’t ripe until summer. Gotta give ’em time to work their way north. Now is the time to go south, see who is postin’ rewards, and snatch up the ones new to the trail. They start off so unsure, I am like a swamp gator snappin’ up fresh-hatched tadpoles.”

“Umm, no wasted effort,” Uncle Mooney mused with an admiring nod. “That’s good business sense, plain and simple. Not like this one.” He pointed his fork at Colt, who had been unusually quiet all day. “Look at him sulking because I forbid him to run off to Lows Hollow while Twitch is on the road, earning his keep. The boy wastes time
learning
instead of
earning
.” Uncle Mooney and Twitch howled at the joke played at Colt’s expense. “Besides,” Uncle Mooney said, clearing his throat, “I need him here on the plantation, where he can be of some use.”

Colt threw down his napkin and turned to Aunt Augusta. “Excuse my abrupt departure; however, I have lost my appetite.”

“Colt, wait,” I said as he left.

“Oh, let him go,” Uncle Mooney said with the wave of his hand. “He is just like his mother, God rest her delicate soul. He has no sense when it comes to the importance of money.”

Twitch was quick to chime in. “I was only knee-high when my mama passed, but can still hear her tellin’ Pa that the only man worth holdin’ is a man wit’ a jingle in his pocket.”

“Fine woman, your mama.” Uncle Mooney leaned back in his chair and grinned wickedly. “And a damn good cook.”

“One of the last things my mama said before my daddy put a bullet through her heart was, ‘Boy, don’t sit around waitin’ for fortune to find you. It belongs to the first man ready to snatch it.’ And no truer words was ever spoken. Them good- for-nothin’ bucks workin’ on the weakened bridge are costin’ me more money than I care to speak of in mixed company. I say let’s take James into town and hire him out for the job. We make some cash, and he’ll get the job done faster and better than all of ’em put together.”

“Excellent idea,” Uncle Mooney said, and hoisted a glass of sherry in the air. “We’ll ride down tomorrow. You see, Augusta: good business, plain and simple.”

And so it was: James was hired out for the repair of the truss bridge. It was difficult and dangerous work. Access to the damaged bridge required a team of slaves to wade, chest high at times, into the cold, swollen river. More than once, portions of the bridge collapsed and were swept downriver, causing a slave or two to be plucked from the water by outstretched branches or boat oars. Livie was worried about James and missed him terribly by week’s end. When Aunt Augusta suggested she and I ride into town the following Saturday, I surprised Livie with the invitation to accompany us. She sat between Winston and Elijah up on the driver’s bench, and even though I could see only the back of her bonnet from where I sat in the carriage, I could tell she was smiling the entire ride.

When we arrived in town, Winston dropped our group in front of the mercantile, then took the wagon to the livery to secure the horses. Elijah followed Aunt Augusta to the entrance of the mercantile, where Mabelle sat singing a familiar song about wading in the water. He rushed to hug her and deliver a package of sweet-potato biscuits prepared by Granny Morgan. “Is dat dere Miz ’Gusta come with word o’ my blessed sister?”

“Yes, Mabelle,” Aunt Augusta said, touching the blind woman’s hand so she could grab a hold. “Your sister is well and sends her greetings with some of her delicious biscuits.”

“Bless you, Miz ’Gusta.”

Elijah remained with Mabelle, who gladly shared her biscuits with him as he delivered her news and gossip from the plantation. Livie’s eyes followed the road down to the river, where the sound of hammer and saw accompanied the grunts of the slave gang at work. From among the laboring figures, James’s large frame stood upright, as if sensing his woman. His broad smile could be seen from where we stood. When he raised his hand, Livie smiled and raised both of hers in return.

“Go visit with James,” I nudged. “I shall send for you when we are ready to return home.”

She lifted her skirt and ran down the street to James’ open arms. How exhilarating it must be to rejoin with a love denied you. The thought pinched within me, and left me all the more restless and wanton.

“Where you at, Miz Hannah? Elijah boy says you is here too.”

I went to take the hand Mabelle held out to find me. “I am here, Mabelle. Granny says to give you a big ol’ hug from her.” I put my arms around Mabelle’s shoulders and squeezed, making her laugh with joy. Elijah scampered off to help his father at the livery, giving me the opportunity to sit next to Mabelle and talk awhile. Her wrinkled hands took stock of my fingers and wrist before clasping tight.

“You is all growed up and ladylike, Miz Hannah. You got yo’ papa’s long fingers, but I bet you is de picture of beauty like yo’ mama.”

“I have no portraits of her, but Granny says I favor her. Although my dark hair is a trait left to me by my father.”

“He was a fine and handsome man, inside and out.”

“What were they like, Mabelle? No one ever speaks of them. You mentioned them to me at the corn shucking, and they have been on my mind ever since. Aunt Augusta says I remind her of Mama, but she says it in a way that could be intended as good or bad.”

Mabelle’s hand tightened and fiddled nervously across my palm. “Better leave well enough alone, chile. Better leave well enough alone.”

“Hannah.” Aunt Augusta’s voice made Mabelle and me jump as one. “Stop pestering the old woman. You are disorienting her with your questions. Leave Mabelle to her routine.”

“I’s sorry, Miz ’Gusta,” Mabelle said, turning her head to the sky. “I didn’t say a word ’bout nothin’.”

Aunt Augusta cut her short as she prodded me to my feet. “Have you any message for me to carry home to Granny?”

“Tell her a sister’s love don’t never die. It’s in the heart fo’ever. You knowed dat, Miz ’Gusta.”

“Time to go, Hannah,” Aunt Augusta said, signaling across the street where Winston and Elijah talked with Mac Prentiss’s hired man, Toby. “Where is Livetta?”

“I allowed her time with James down near the bridge.”