Sweetsmoke (22 page)

    During
this time, Tempie Easter had been held by the two large men standing on either
side of her. Mr. Plume turned to her, leaning on his cane.

    "Remove
the shackles, if you would, Mr. Force," said Mr. Plume.

    Lucas
Force rushed to Hoke, who handed him the keys, and then hurried to Tempie,
smoothly unshackling her hands, which she let fall to her sides.

    Mr.
Plume stepped in front of Tempie. Using the gentlest touch of his cane, he
compelled her right hand up in the air, shifting his cane just so in order to
adjust Tempie's hands, first exhibiting her palm, then the back of her hand and
her nails. He did the same with her left hand. He raised the tip of his cane to
touch her cheek and she opened her mouth. He examined her teeth, again giving
the slightest pressure to the cane so that she turned to the left, then the
right, then tilted her head forward and back so he could see her molars, her
tongue, and the roof of her mouth.

    He
nodded and lowered the cane, took a step back and said, "All right."
The two men reached for the shoulders of her dress with fingers the color and
thickness of bread dough, but she brought her own hands to the buttons at her
throat and undid them one at a time. The two men stepped back and Mr. Plume
inclined his head, his sleepy eyes looking that much more lethargic as he
watched the slow reveal of her flesh. She finished unbuttoning and with her
eyes looking straight ahead she shrugged her shoulders out of the fabric and
let the dress fall to the floor, so that she stood naked before him. Cassius
knew better than to look away as that would incite Hoke's anger. The two men
backed up a step further and Mr. Plume walked around her, carefully inspecting
her legs and buttocks, her back and thighs.

    "No
stripes," he said approvingly. "Very good."

    He
came back to her front. She continued staring directly ahead. He ran the back
of his hand around the underside of her breast and watched her nipple respond.
He nodded, wedged his cane under his left armpit, and placed his free right
hand between her thighs, guiding his finger up into her vagina. He held it
there a moment, then removed his hand and brought his finger to his nose. He
stood still for a moment as he smelled her, then turned to Lucas Force.

    "Very
well, Mr. Force, I will take her." He indicated Tempie's dress that lay on
the floor surrounding her feet. "That dress will not do, get rid of it. I
believe we have something of sackcloth in the wagon." He addressed her
directly for the first time. "You are a Plume now, so remember your
name."

    As
the white men completed their transaction, one of the two large men brought a
sackcloth dress for Tempie. Tempie looked at Cassius with flat emotionless
eyes, and she held his gaze for a long time. Cassius realized that the sale of
Tempie was more real to him than his own life, as he had come to expect misery
and degradation and horror. A moment later the man took her arm and forced her
out the back of the tent to the wagon.

    Cassius
followed Hoke through the dark livery to the carriage which waited for them in
front. Cassius saw that the gunnysack with Tempie's fancy clothes remained in
back. Just before climbing aboard, Hoke turned and Cassius saw his stone-cold
face, and Cassius knew that Hoke blamed him for what he had been forced to do
to Tempie Easter. As Hoke pulled himself up, Cassius heard the clink of coins
in the money purse in Hoke Howard's waistcoat pocket, coins he had not had on
the trip into town.

    Cassius
spoke to no one in the quarters, collecting gear as if he was intent on
visiting his traps. He was aware of some sort of uproar, but he paid no
attention to it, as he was imprisoned by the uproar in his mind. He took the
three loose pages that had been hidden within the leaves of
The Iliad.
He left quickly, avoiding contact with the hands as he assumed the uproar
concerned Tempie. In his rush, he left behind the pass he had forged for the
occasion. It was the night of the full moon.

    He
hid his hunting gear in deep woods and changed direction, finding his way
through heavy brush, helped by the climbing moon, reaching the main road and
walking quickly. He watched the sky as a weather front moved in rapidly, stars
consumed by the unnaturally straight line of approaching clouds. When the
clouds covered the moon, he lit his lantern and baffled the light down to a
narrow shaft, to pick out the road before him. He was just beyond the halfway
point, near the little bridge, when the rain came and he pulled his hat down
low and continued to trudge as the bottom of the ruts grew slick and muddy.

    The
rain was his ally, driving idlers indoors, and when he reached Emoline's house
he did not think he had been seen. He stopped at the fence that surrounded her
yard and looked to see the hole in her garden where he had hidden the money.
Richard Justice had not bothered to refill the hole, so it collected rain, but
not enough to keep the nearby remedy herbs from being swamped. He noticed the
other obvious hole in her garden, where an entire area of herbs had been pulled
out. He wondered who else other than Richard Justice had come to scavenge, then
remembered that he had seen that hole the night he met Maryanne. Seeing
Emoline's garden untended brought a wrench of sadness to his chest, a
sentimental wounding so profound that he was taken by surprise. He now
projected his own anxieties about abandonment onto the rows of growing herbs.
She would not be there to harvest them, she would not grind them in a mortar or
mix them in a broth or consume them or share them, they would be gradually
overrun with weeds and left to shrivel and fade in the fall. He had spent his
life resisting such contemptible sentimentality, but tonight his loss struck
primal emotions remembered from childhood and he stood bereft under a pitiless
rain knowing that Emoline was gone. She had taken his hand and acted as guide
through his grief and she was gone. And then he remembered silent Tempie, and
knew it was his part in her fate that had brought him to this moment of pain.

    He
went indoors tracking mud. He had rushed to town fearing he would arrive too
late to meet Emoline's contact and now he was relieved, because he was certain
that he had either missed him or that her contact had never intended to be
here. Cassius would utilize this time to mourn her and quit this pointless,
foolish impulse to expose her killer and exact justice. The broken household
items were gone, along with the pots and bottles and remedies; the floor swept,
the house tidied. Richard Justice had done more than Cassius had expected.
Cassius opened drawers for something dry and found a tablecloth. He used it on
the floor, and then on himself. He was soaked and uncomfortable, but the room
was warm and close and he did not shiver. After a while, he blew out the lantern
and sat quietly in the dark, reflecting.

    He
considered the events of the past few days. He acknowledged a change in
himself: He had experienced fear again, as unwelcome as it was unexpected.
After Marriah, fear had abandoned him and he had grown stubborn and bold, at
peace with the prospect of his own death. He considered the risks he had run in
the five years past and compared them to the last few days. Choosing to hunt
for Emoline's killer had given him purpose. He had protected Quashee, Joseph,
and Beauregard, but he was uncomfortable in the role of avenging angel, despite
his dislike of Big Gus and the tyranny of white planters and patrollers. He
drifted off the subject, relieved that Quashee was now in the big house, away
from Big Gus. He liked the idea that he would rarely see her. He had helped
her, and now that it was done, he could bury his righteous urge, eradicate his
fear, and return to the cold heart that provided him comfort.

    He
heard a noise outside. At first he thought it a trick of the rain, but it came
again and he identified it as the sound of heavy fabric being shaken out. Any
number of visitors might approach Emoline's empty house; her son, or the
sheriff. Cassius kept still in the darkness and watched as the door came open a
crack, remaining that way for such a long time that Cassius began to wonder if
the door had been that way all along and he simply had not realized it. When it
finally swung fully open, a man was revealed. He stepped into the room, reached
about the wall and floor until he found Emoline's lantern, and lit it. Cassius
knew the man immediately.

    "Emoline,
where the hell are you?" said the man, holding up the lantern. It was a
moment before the man realized he was not alone.

    Gabriel
Logue was patient. He stood in the doorway, lantern held high, looking directly
at Cassius sitting on the stool. His expression did not change and he did not
appear to breathe. Cassius would have thought him a statue but for the fact
that his eyes occasionally blinked behind his dripping hat. His long tarpaulin
coat created a circle of water on the floorboards. Eventually Logue set down
the lantern. Cassius stood, keeping his hands visible and open. Logue had not
produced a weapon, but he would have one close at hand. Logue was an outsized
man, taller and broader than Cassius, appearing more massive in his long coat.
Cassius had only once before seen the man, from a distance. Logue stood over
six feet tall. His expressive hands were large with a span that brought to Cassius's
mind eagle wings. He had a strong nose, a dense mustache, a pronounced chin
with a deep cleft that was enough off-center that Cassius intuited it to be a
scar. As Logue removed his hat and coat, the lantern below suddenly illuminated
one of his eyes, revealing a surprisingly pale blue, and in that moment he
appeared unreal. Angel of Death indeed, thought Cassius, and wondered how many
men Logue had killed. Then he remembered the man's occupation and thought it
odd that he had become a smuggler when he was surely unmistakable in every
crowd.

    "You
here by accident?" said Logue, hanging his coat on a peg, then placing his
hat on the same peg. His voice was gravel rolling along milled oak planks.

    No
accident, said Cassius.

    "Looking
to get your arse out of the rain, then."

    Smart
man gets out of the rain.

    "Ah,
so you think you're smart, but if you think I'm likely to infer dryness and
warmth as your primary goal, you got another think coming," said Logue.

    Then
you're smart, said Cassius.

    "I
was looking to get out of the goddamned miserable rain," said Logue.

    Not
your primary goal, said Cassius.

    Logue
smiled coldly. "No," he said, "it was not."

    You
called her name, said Cassius.

    "But
I find you. Maybe you got a message for me."

    From
her?

    Logue
began to pace. Cassius supposed that Gabriel Logue was wondering if he had
walked into a trap. Logue took a long time to respond. "Where is
she?"

    Dead,
said Cassius.

    Logue
stopped pacing. Cassius admired the man's ability to control his emotions.
"Appears to be time for me to be gone from here."

    Not
before you get what you came for, said Cassius.

    Logue
glanced toward the false wall by the hearth. Cassius brightened inside. Logue
knew about the hidden place.

    "All
right, smart mouth, what makes you say so?"

    Full
moon says you show up here.

    "Who
do you think you are, talking to me like that? Maybe you think I won't take it
out of your hide."

    You
know who I am.

    "The
hell you say."

    Called
Cassius. From Sweetsmoke.

    "Your
name goes unrecognized."

    Then
she didn't trust you.

    "I
am away." Cassius watched Logue's winglike hands remove his sodden coat
from the hook on the wall. Cassius stayed in the chair.

    Now I
wonder what I'll do with it.

    "Do
what you please."

    Think
Old Captain Whitacre'd want it back?

    "Don't
know what you're talking about."

    But
you know where it is. Your eyes said so.

    Logue's
expression went flat. He replaced his coat on the hook, came around, and sat in
Emoline's favorite chair, the same chair she had slept in those three weeks
when Cassius was recuperating. The chair expelled a small groan.

    "Are
you named for Cassius Marcellus Clay?"

    I
think not.

    "The
abolitionist from Kentucky."