Promise Bridge (25 page)

“I am fine and in awe of your dedication. Had I known you were leaving, I would have prepared to go with you.”

“I intend to return alone with what medical supplies I have left. Until the risk of fever subsides, I think it’s best that no one comes into town unless warranted by necessity. Perhaps you can tend to those in need here,” he said, nodding in the direction of Aunt Augusta.

“They is comin’ home!” Livie’s voice squealed from the front hallway. “A wagon with James and t’others is rollin’ up the lane!”

We followed Livie out onto the front porch, and sure enough, Twitch was riding in with a wagonload of slaves lent by both plantations to help in town. James’s tired expression broke into laughter as the wagon circled into our yard and he saw Livie running toward him.

Twitch stepped down off the wagon. “All you darkies from the Run, get on your way. I gotta get mine back to West Gate.” He shoved a few Runians who shuffled too slowly for his liking. Then he locked a menacing eye on James and Livie. They walked away arm in arm, unaware of his scrutiny as they disappeared over the knoll toward the cabins below. With one motion, Twitch spun around and unleashed a crack of his whip across the side of his buckboard, snapping the slaves of West Gate to attention. Then with an oracle meant for our witness, he grumbled.

“When we step foot on West Gate, I better not see one of you wastin’ a minute jawin’ with your wenches or pickaninnies. Get straight to the fields, and don’t make me come a-lookin’ for you.”

Twitch walked toward the porch steps, twirling his whip back into loops with crisp expertise. He hung it on his belt and propped one foot on the bottom step. Tucking some snuff under his lip, he angled his eye at Colt.

“That’s the way you gotta drive them whilst I am away. Losin’ some head to help in town has put us behind in our plantin’. Understand, Purebred? If we wanna get them tobacco shoots in the ground, you gotta do more than ride along the rows, lookin’ pretty. You are too soft to fill my shoes, but you are all we have. Willy Jack knows what’s gotta be done, so watch him and learn.”

“What do you mean,
whilst I am away
?” Colt stepped forward to challenge him. “I will be doctoring in town, then down in Lows Hollow. I’ll not be overseeing the fields.”

“That ain’t what your pa says, Purebred. Damn flood is givin’ me a late start, but I have a slave hunt to begin.”

“The bridge will take several weeks, if not a month to restore. You will not get across the Red Hawk this spring. And as you say, we are delayed in getting the tobacco plants in the ground.”

“Your pa suggested I head west into Kentucky so the spring fetchin’ season ain’t lost. Too profitable to let pass. I would rather go south where the flocks start this time of year, but west will have to do. Usually do better there in late summer, when all them who run off from Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana is closin’ on the borderland river. Can’t throw a stone without hittin’ one of ’em. Nothin’ but Kentucky runaways this time o’ year, but they pay a mighty good reward all the same. I am fixin’ to ride out in two days.”

“See here,” Colt countered as he marched down the steps to confront Twitch. “All is not measured in gold coins. These flood victims are a priority. I am needed in town, and I will not turn my back on them.”

“Hell, the only thing you have a head for is doctorin’, and you can’t even get that right. Nobody wants you touchin’ their kin after you dipped your hands in darky guts. You ain’t good for nothin’ but horses and pigs now.”

Colt clenched his fist and stepped toward him; however, Aunt Augusta was quick to intervene. “Do not be drawn in, Colt,” she interjected coolly. “Twitchell, be on your way. I am certain you have business elsewhere.”

“That’s right,” Twitch continued, using a defiant grin to bait Colt. “And my business is packin’ the wagon and wranglin’ runaways for a few weeks. Guess you’re gonna have to pull your weight for a change, Purebred.”

“Stop calling me Purebred!” Colt burst out, grabbing Twitch by his collar and pushing him up against the porch rail. “From now on, you shall show me proper respect. Refer to me by name, and remember
your
business never takes precedence over
mine
. You are the overseer. I am the son!”

Twitch’s face bulged crimson, but his grin grew wider. “Better check with your pa about that,” he said, oozing perverse pleasure.

“Twitchell!” Aunt Augusta’s urgency startled me, but Twitch simply waved her off with his hand.

“No, Augusta. I have been waitin’ for this day to come,” he mused while still in Colt’s grip. “You see, Purebred, it turns out I am the overseer
and
a son. Not pure like you, but a son just the same. You want me to call you by name? How does
brother
suit you?”

“What are you saying?” Colt eased off of him to look squarely at his face.

“Ain’t it a rip?” Twitch’s nostrils flared wildly like a cougar sniffing its kill. “Why do you think my daddy shot my ma? It was because he found out she was layin’ down with your daddy. You see, your daddy is my daddy too. We is the same, me and you. And it’s time you start respectin’ me.” Twitch shoved Colt’s stunned frame aside. He turned his venomous tongue toward Aunt Augusta and me. “It’s time you all start respectin’ me.”

“You are a liar,” Colt said, gulping for breath. “You are not my brother.”

“Half brother, Purebred,” Twitch said snidely. “Go on, tell him, Augusta. Tell him what we’ve known for years: an indiscretion hidden to spare you all the scandal. But then again, what’s wrong with a little secret shared between kin?”

Colt swayed with uncertainty. His eyes flashed to mine, as if asking if I was part of the ruse. Speechless, I shook my head to assure him I was as shocked as he. He then turned his eyes to Aunt Augusta, who leaned against the pillar, her hand pressed to her breast. She did not deny the words, her silence confirming the truth.

Colt bolted toward his horse. With one leap, he was up in the saddle. I cried out his name, not wanting him to leave. I ached to comfort the despair that twisted his face. He spurred his stallion into an instant gallop.

“Colt!” I cried out again, but he charged down the road toward town, his stallion kicking up clods of mud in its wake. Twitch walked a few steps across the yard, enjoying the view. When he turned back in the direction of the porch, he stared at us with the gleam of a man holding four aces in a poker game. He tongued a pinch of snuff beneath his lower lip, then spit it out. “What’s a little secret between kin? Ain’t that right, Augusta?”

Aunt Augusta took me by the arm and abruptly steered me to the door. It was as though there was a threat veiled in his words, but in all the confusion, I had no time to make sense of it. His taunting gaze glimmered at me and stayed in my mind’s eye long after the door closed behind me.

Chapter 26

O
h, dear Colt . . . my treasured friend, my devoted family. What state of mind must you be in?
How I longed to have Winston drive me into town so I could be by his side and ease the pain cast upon him. Although she shared my concern, Aunt Augusta forbade me from going after him. My intention was to disregard her decree until she stressed the danger posed to Livie and her child if the fever was to follow me home.

As shocked as I was with the revelation, the fact that Uncle Mooney shared improprieties with a married woman did not surprise me. The memory of him on top of Fatima was all I needed to accept the possibility. Deep down inside, I knew Colt could come to terms with the indiscretion; however, learning Twitch was his half brother brought with it more than emotional upheaval. The reality also meant that he faced a lifetime at odds with Twitch over decisions, both personal and business-related, with regard to the plantation. I cannot imagine the distress of being joined at the hip with my lifelong nemesis.

“Shoot,” Livie declared upon my confiding the secret. “It’s like lookin’ over yo’ shoulder and seein’ a worm crawl out yo’ ass. You see’d it come from the same body, but it be so vile and wicked, you can’t believe you and he is made o’ the same blood.”

As distressed as I was, Livie’s vivid portrayal of the situation made me smile. She had a way of interjecting humor into any situation, which kept my troubles from overwhelming me. She often told me it was easy to cry tears of pain, or drop to your knees when under heavy burden, but a good laugh now and again not only soothed the soul, but was a sure sign of unyielding inner strength. She was right.

“Mista Colt will be fine,” Livie said nonchalantly as she buttoned the back of my blouse as I dressed. “He ain’t the first to learn of a bastard brother, ’specially on a plantation. Some find out the slave chilluns they played with when they was pint-sized was really their own flesh and blood. Lies and secrets can be hard to reconcile, but sometimes ’tain’t the lie itself that brings on the grief. It’s the knowin’ you been lied to that delivers you the most hurtin’.”

A pang of guilt rose inside of me. “Lord knows I am not defending Uncle Mooney, but perhaps concealing the truth was meant to protect Colt.”

“Protect him from what?” Livie said, arching her eyebrow.

“Well, perhaps shame. Or worry. Maybe even insecurity.”

Livie chuckled and shook her head. “White people sho’ is scared of the strangest things. Them ain’t nothin’ but feelings. Try facin’ a whip ’cuz yo’ cotton basket is an ounce or two short o’ pickin’s. Don’t matter if you is sick with fever or round with child; it be no protection from twenty lashes. Ever been surrounded by a passel of paddy rollers jes’ because you dared to stroll in the evenin’ air? Now, them’s a sight to stand yo’ hair on end. So is the sight of a screamin’ slave child as his mama and daddy is dragged off to auction. Now, them is souls that need protection. Not feelings. Slave folk ain’t scared o’ feelings. We embrace ’em, good and bad, ’cuz our feelings is the only rightful things we have that is all our own.”

“Sorry, Liv,” I said with some deserved humility. “I sometimes forget how insulated I am from harsh struggle.”

“Guess when you is born a slave, you learn mighty quick there is no protection from what life means to bring yo’ way,” she said earnestly. “You jes’ learn to face it as best you can. Mista Colt is a better man than Marse. Nothin’ is gonna change that fact. What white folks think is protectin’ is jes’ a cowardly way of bidin’ fo’ time. Only makes the truth harder to swallow when it’s served up to you. Keepin’ him in the dark left him unprepared. Shouldn’t do such a thing to someone you care about.”

I took Livie’s hand tenderly in mine. “What about between friends?”

“Shouldn’t be no truth hidden between friends neither.”

I hugged Livie tightly, afraid of what was to follow. “Will you forgive me for being white?”

“What?” Livie was thoroughly confused and flabbergasted.

“What I mean is, please forgive me for trying to protect you from your feelings. They are yours and no one else’s. I have no right to keep them from you, even though Marcus asked me not to tell you.”

“Marcus!”

“Marcus is alive.” I smiled through tender eyes. “He was here.”

Livie sprang from my arms and darted around the room, not knowing where to point her excitement.

“My brother is alive!” she sang out. “Where is he? Did he make it to freedom? I tol’ you he would come back to deliver me North, jes’ like he promised.”

After a minute of pure ecstasy, Livie realized I was not dancing with her. I shook with utter joy, knowing my news was a dream come true for her, but she had yet to know the whole story. She could see it in my eyes. In midtwirl, she wobbled to a halt.

“What do you mean, he
was
here?”

She sank down on the chair next to my bed as I crossed the room and knelt beside her. She did not offer me her hand, but I clasped it anyway. I told her how I stumbled upon Marcus in the cave and shared his chronicle of making safe passage to the North. She was not surprised at his determination to trek south and lead the way for others to follow, but she was distraught with me abiding by Marcus’s wish of not telling her of his presence until he returned.

“He is alive,” she said with emotion cresting along her dark lashes. “My brother is alive. My heart is filled with so much joy, it’s gonna spill out on the floor.”

I was overcome with such relief at finally sharing my secret that I let my head fall in her lap. Her trembling hand tucked under my chin and lifted my eyes to hers. “You never should have kept the truth from me, Hannah. No matter what Marcus made you promise.”

“His journey becomes more dangerous with each step he takes south,” I said in explanation. “Even if you did not follow him, at the very least, you would be sick with worry.”

“I would rather suffer the pangs o’ worry than live in the grip o’ heartache, thinkin’ Marcus must be dead after all this time.” Livie’s touch softened as she cradled my head back into her lap.

“Marcus is a courageous and loving man. He did not want to raise your hopes,” I revealed beneath her forgiving fingertips as they stroked my hair. “In the event he does not make it back, he did not want you suffering his loss for a second time.”

“He’s gonna make it back,” she said in a comforting tone. “You’ll see. He knows the way now.”

“Thank you for not being angry with me, Liv.”

“Anger can’t take root fo’ long when I know yo’ heart meant well.” Livie’s voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and basked in the happiness my confession brought her. “But don’t you never keep nothin’ from me again. The truth ain’t always easy, but it’s all we got that’s real. You and me is real, ain’t we? Real friends, I mean.”

My heart cranked tighter as a greater secret nudged my conscience. It was the only remaining untruth between us, but it was not one softened by a happy revelation. “Of course we are real, Livie, but I pray your belief in me is strong enough to weather my imperfection.”

Livie stiffened in her chair when she saw me struggling with another confession. “There’s more?”

I answered her by squeezing her hands in mine. I lifted off my knees and sat on the bed to face her. “You are right: The truth is not always easy, but because we are friends, I must confess one last concealment. My only intention was to bring you happiness. At the time, I believed the method was meaningless, but afterward my instincts told me otherwise.”

Livie sat motionless as I explained the deal I struck with Uncle Mooney so he would grant permission for James and her to be married. I stressed the agreement had no merit because I did not truly own her, and therefore any paperwork I signed would be null and void. Livie stroked her belly with increasing anxiety; all the while her eyes glimmered hot tears.

“Don’t you see, Livie,” I said as desperate nausea swirled in my gut. “It was a trick. He thinks he has rights to your child, so he gave blessing to your marriage. Uncle Mooney would have never agreed for James to join with a Runian. He is greedy and needed to believe he would gain from the union. Otherwise, he would have coupled James within his own stock.”

Livie stared at me without speaking. The more I explained how clever my plan had been, the weaker it seemed even to me. I was gambling with Livie’s unborn child. What had I done? Her silence crushed against me. Livie’s thoughts were masked behind glazed eyes that refused to look in my direction. She stood and walked toward the door.

“Please don’t be upset, Liv,” I said, as a shell hardened around her. “We both know he has no right to your child.”

Livie paused in the doorway. “
You
have no right to my child either,” she said without turning around. “But tossin’ my child’s fate to the wind is the same as snatchin’ it from my arms like any coldhearted massa would do.”

“Livie, don’t say that,” I pleaded. “I have never treated you like my slave.”

“You jes’ did,
Miz
Hannah.” Livie delivered her point with a mocking curtsy, then slammed the door behind her. Its echo left us divided and alone with our separate heartaches.

I never knew how lonely alone could feel until Livie walked out my door. I had made a grave mistake. The fact that my action was well-meaning did not soften the blow it delivered to our intimate connection. Livie felt betrayed. The more I apologized and explained my intention was meant to help her, the farther away she pulled. Her distance was emotional, not physical. Each morning she came to me, as was her routine, then returned to Mud Run in the evening. Livie moved through her chores and tended to my needs quietly and methodically. She was not punishing me with silence or wearing her disappointment for all to see. It would not have been her character to do so. However, it pained me when she spoke with careful respect and trepidation in the same manner that Esther Mae spoke to Aunt Augusta.

I was crushed, and had no one to blame but myself. Livie and her child were at risk because of me. What I mistook for cleverness was nothing more than naïveté. Did I really believe Uncle Mooney would allow me to outsmart him? Authenticity of documents would be of little challenge to a man of his disrepute. At the time, I remember thinking that as the seasons of life passed, eventually all of West Gate would be in Colt’s hands, making it a nonissue in my mind. However, the emergence of Twitch as Colt’s brother, and a potential heir to Uncle Mooney’s wealth and property, sent a terrifying tremor through me. My salvation from panic was in the hope of Marcus returning to lead Livie north. I had long harbored the secret hope of Livie choosing not to go with him. Perhaps she would be happy and content to stay with me and her new family. Now her exodus was inevitable. Until then, I would do everything in my power to heal the deep wound lacerating our relationship.

“Pokin’ a sore only makes it hurt all the more,” Livie finally stated one afternoon. She was weary of my tears and relentless remorse. “Leave it be. Talkin’ at me jes’ keeps it swirlin’ around inside o’ me.”

“Please believe I never meant to betray or disrespect you,” I said, sitting across from her in the sewing room. “All I can do is beg for your forgiveness.”

Without looking up, Livie continued to rock in her chair. “Even the deepest cuts can heal if washed clean and given air to breathe. Barely leave a scar at all. Yo’ words of sorrow and pure intention washed the wound; now you gots’ta let it breathe, Hannah. Pickin’ a scab is only gonna make it leave a bigger scar.”

Her rocking chair slowly creaked to a halt. She lifted her eyes from her sewing and looked over at me to gauge my understanding. I nodded contritely, knowing it was all I could hope for, and more than I deserved.

The distant tobacco fields grew greener, marking spring’s surrender to summer. Colt had traveled downriver with Dr. Waverly when word was sent of a fever outbreak in the town of Lows Hollow. He did not return to the plantation; therefore, I wrote letters of encouragement and support that were delivered by Winston when he shuttled slaves back and forth to aid in the repair of Echo Ridge.

Dearest Colt. Can you feel me embracing you across the hills and valleys stretched between us? My heart aches to comfort you in your time of need. I long to see your tender smile to assure me you are well and without torment. Please come home. Until then, you are in my heart always.

More than three weeks passed before Colt’s first response came to me. Relief eased through me when in his words I sensed an acceptance of what had transpired, and a focus on searching for a positive outcome. He wrote:

Remember our conversation about boots, dear Hannah? You told me a man cannot dance if he is wearing boots that do not fit him. I confide to you that I can no longer walk, run, or even sleep in the ill- fitting boots procured for me by my father. Therefore, I need some time away to discover the man I am meant to be. So the next time you see me, which hopefully will be before the autumn harvest, I will be walking comfortably in a self-chosen pair of soles that will carry me onward. Until my return, I will seek inspiration and comfort from the portrait of your sweet face resonating in my memory.

Melancholia became my companion. The two people in this world I was closest to were building lives separate from mine. Livie would soon have a child with James, and Colt was seeking a life far removed from what bound us together here in the small confines of our plantations. Would he still look at me with the same eyes when he returned? Or would I be a painful reminder of the stilted life he needed to shed?

One afternoon in mid-August, the serenity of the day was assaulted by the howl of Twitch lashing his team of horses. The misshapen wooden frame affixed atop his wagon wobbled back and forth as it bounced up the dirt road from town. I shaded my eyes with my fan as the wagon tilted around the corner near our fence, then leveled as he plowed on toward West Gate.

“Never thought I’d be glad to see that ol’ snake again,” Livie said as she brought a pitcher of lemonade to the table where I sat on the porch. “Crazy Willy Jack is ten times worse when Marse is away. Guess in his mind it keeps him in Marse’s good graces to whup twice as many and feed ’em half as much. Willy Jack is a fool to think it makes him better than a slave. Marse would grind him into the dirt if the mood strikes him. Willy Jack jes’ don’t know it yet.”