The Cellar (12 page)

“Then the dark times started, Dr. Jasper wasn’t a bad
man at first but he had more ambitions than he wanted to admit.  He mortgaged
his farm to buy more land and more slaves to work it.  He developed a taste for
finer things, brandy, cigars, and fast horses for the boys.  He was in the
process of building a mansion for Missy on the next hill over when the war
started.  She insisted she was happy with the house they had but Jasper aspired
to live the life of a gentleman planter and give her the type of home that she
had grown up in.  His idea of what a home was had become so much about keeping
up with or outdoing the other ‘aristocrats’ that he ceased to be the man that
Missy had fallen in love with.  She still loved him, but he had pulled away
from her, being more concerned about appearances and social status.

I refused to beat the slaves and work them like
animals so he hired a white overseer named MacGregor and relegated me to being
a house servant again.  The new overseer had come from deeper in the South and
was unmerciful to the field hands and their families.  He convinced Jasper that
his ways were best.  The children were looked at as a saleable resource and
breeding more for sale became a source of income. 

I was angry at the treatment of the slaves.  I had
known many of them for years and thought of them as family.  I had treated them
well and they produced crops with as much efficiency without the cruelty that
MacGregor insisted on, but Jasper would not see the folly of turning his
operation over to this beast of a man.  Jasper had began to see things in a
different light himself.

As the boys grew they came to look upon the slaves as
livestock, whose sole purpose was to make money to sustain the life they
sought.  They still treated me with respect in their mother’s presence but I
felt them pull away from me as they grew older.  MacGregor winked at them when
they trifled with the young slave girls.  He was elated when the girls got
pregnant and bore lighter skinned children that could be sold off as house
servants.  Jasper had sunk to the point of selling his own grandchildren.  He
thought he had kept Missy from knowing what was going on, but I think she knew
even though she wouldn’t acknowledge it.

The overseer resented my status in the family.  He
insinuated that a man of my size should be doing more to produce income.  Missy
was called away to visit a cousin who had fallen ill and the man saw the
opportunity to work his wiles.   MacGregor knew he would never be allowed to
turn me into a field hand but saw in me an opportunity for breeding stock.

MacGregor tried to befriend and beguile me to “get
friendly” with the slave women in hopes of producing “bucks” of my stature.  He
coerced me to walk down to the quarters with him one evening, thinking he could
get me drunk and put me out to stud.  I resisted and he had two other men jump
me and chain me up in an old log smokehouse, they poured liquor down me until I
was in a fog.  That chain on your ankle was once on mine.”

Marcus paused again and gazed out the door as he
recalled his confinement.  Johnny couldn’t help but comment.  “Time was, I
woulda wanted that job Ikey.”

“I’m sure the overseer would have loved to have a
bunch of short red headed bucks, who burned and blistered in the sun.”  Ike
replied silently.

Marcus turned back to Ike and resumed his narrative.

“One by one, women were brought to me, stripped naked
and pushed through the door. The first of these women wasn’t terribly attractive
but she seemed amused by the situation and acted as if she were willing and
eager.  She taunted me and aroused my lust and provoked me to do as I had been
bidden.   I was inside her and near the point of no return when she moaned in
satisfaction and whispered in my ear.  “You and me can jus’ make Massa’ another
little nigger to go to the fields…”  I stopped as if cold water had been thrown
on me.  She laughed at me as I lay panting and spilling my seed on the ground.
She kissed my forehead and smiled.  “Dey’ said you was a good man, an’ you
is….jus’ think about what I say nex’ time.”  She pounded on the door and
shouted at the overseer’s lackey “Nigger done his bid’ness, let me outta here
fo’ he wear me out!”

The next woman was the widow of a man who I had been
acquainted with for years.  She was a beautiful and shapely being whose form I
had always found enticing.  I had resolved not to take advantage of the
situation, but I have to admit to having a desire for her.  She stood before me
silently for a few moments as I looked at her with lust and chided myself for
being tempted.  As I was trying to think of something to say to her she did
something I did not expect, she dropped to her knees in an attitude of prayer. 
Her action put out the flames of my lust and instead of taking her carnally I
joined her in prayer.  I put my shirt over her and held her in my arms and
comforted her and we acted out a ruse that would be repeated several times.  I
did considerable moaning and she screamed as if in pain.  The lackey grinned
like a gargoyle as she staggered out melodramatically, crying with relief
instead of the anguish of a raped woman.

I must have repeated my act with all the slave women the
overseer thought capable of bearing a child.  The women had communicated among
themselves that I wasn’t the beast I was intended to be and they seemed to try
to outdo each other with their wailing and complaining.   When they finally let
me out MacGregor seemed pleased with himself and with me.   A few weeks later
he growled that I was even more useless than he thought.

When Missy returned things were back to normal, I had
taken care of the house and garden and no mention was made of my other duties. 
I was as unhappy as I had ever been.  Jasper and the boys had turned from being
people I cared about as family to being shameful loathsome monsters.  Had it
not been for my attachment to Missy, I would have went North with long ago, but
I could not leave her.  She had loved Jasper deeply from the beginning and the
change in him was a great loss to her.  Seeing her sons degenerate was even
worse.  I could tell she was listening for her voices again. 

When the war fever came Jasper stopped work on the big
house and put his energies into helping equip a regiment so that his boys could
go to war with the North as true Southern Gentlemen.  I was glad to see them
leave in spite of the pain it brought their mother.  Within months four of them
were dead, two died of camp fever early on and another two died at Shiloh
charging into something that was referred to as the “hornet’s nest”.  The loss
of his sons took Jasper’s health and finally his life.  It seems to have taken
Missy’s mind.

Ike had seen the aftermath of the “hornet’s nest”. 
Bodies clad in gray and butternut were strewn about in great abundance where
they had fallen in one failed charge after another as they attempted to take
the position so tenaciously occupied by General Prentiss and his men.  He
wondered if he had stepped over or around one of the Pendleton boys as his
regiment pressed the Confederates back on the second day of fighting.

A few days after Jasper died Missy and I went over the
hill to the framework of the manor house.  She sat on the beam that was to have
supported the front porch and looked off into the distance for hours.  I stayed
with her for a while, but I decided that she needed to have some time to
herself so I came back here to see to some chores.  Just as the sun was
beginning to set I saw smoke, Missy had brought matches with her and had set
the
big house ablaze
.  I had a team already hitched to a wagon I had just
unloaded and I beat those poor animals unmercifully as I drove them over the
hill.  Missy stood facing the conflagration that was to have been Jasper’s
monument to himself.  I was thankful that the wind was to her back or she might
have been scorched by the fire.  She didn’t speak for days afterward.  She
finally willed herself to live for the hope that Todd might eventually return
to her.

With Jasper and the boys gone MacGregor tried to
romance Missy in hopes of gaining ownership of the plantation.  She loathed him
and spurned his advances.  She threatened to fire him, but he threatened to go
to the authorities and tell them that she had taught me to read if she did. 
She wasn’t sure what the outcome might be, but she didn’t want to find out
either, so MacGregor stayed on, abusing the slaves and harassing Missy.  He had
an unfortunate accident one night shortly after their last argument and now
resides at the bottom of that old well out by the barn.”  Marcus paused and
looked at Ike to gauge his reaction.  He smiled as he went on.  “The local
authorities spent little time looking for him and it was assumed that he had
left for greener pastures, no one seemed to miss his presence and there was a
war going on.  His horse and worldly goods seemed to be missing as well.  I
believe his horse may have defected to the Union.

A few of the original slave families stayed on and
have been sharecropping.  We make enough to feed ourselves and maintain a fair
standard of living for Missy.  The later acquisitions slipped away and followed
your army I believe.  I hope they are able to make better lives for
themselves.   Were it not for Missy, I would be somewhere to the north by now. 
If your army would have me at my age I might even be carrying a rifle.”

Ike had listened attentively to Marcus’ story.  He
looked down at the chain on his ankle and thought of the irony of a white man
being chained by a black one. 

Marcus had been having the same thought.  “It does
seem backwards doesn’t it?  I have to admit to a perverse pleasure in chaining
up a white person.  Please don’t take it personally, I bear you no ill will and
I intend to free you as soon as I am convinced that doing so will bring no harm
to Missy.  I thought keeping you here in the first place was a bad idea, but
she insisted on it and I did feel that you would be treated brutally by the
home guard or the Confederate army.  I hate to admit it but when I found you it
was as if I was hearing one of Missy’s voices in my head and I was concerned
that I was losing my mind as well, but thankfully the annoying voice went
away.”

 “Annoyin’ voice!  What’s he mean by that, Ike?” 
Johnny chortled.  “I wish I could annoy him into lettin’ you go, but for some
reason I can’t penetrate his ol’ black noggin any more, but it sure was fun
when I did.”

 “You speak well, when you want to.”  Ike opined.

“It’s a habit I have.  When there are strangers around
I use the slave vernacular.  Among our family I speak normally, the way I
learned to talk in my childhood.  It seems that the sound of a black man
speaking better English than most whites makes many southerners very
uncomfortable, so I try to keep them at ease by speaking ‘slave talk’.  I
suppose you have been here so long I am beginning to look on you as family and
have lapsed into my normal manner of speaking.”

 “I think it’s time for me to get your supper.” The
big man said with a grin.  “Do you play Chess Mr. Lowery?”

“Yes, I do.  And please call me Ike.”

“Well ain’t that a wonder!”  Johnny said. 

“Yes it is.  I think you were right, Marcus seems to
be at least sympathetic, even if he isn’t inclined to let me go.”

“He may be, but that woman is smart and sneaky, even
if she is crazy.  She could put one over on the both of you if you don’t watch
her.”

Ike looked at the eye patch and looked at his sunken
socket in the small mirror Marcus had placed on the wall for him and decided to
try it on.  “That there patch makes you look kinda’ dangerous there Ikey.  With
the patch and the black beard you look like one of them pirates in the story
books.  Hope you don’t end up with a wooden leg or a hook fer a hand.”

“Hush Johnny, I don’t want to think about that.”

After supper, Ike and Marcus played chess.  Marcus
brought a well worn chessboard with finely carved pieces and sat it on the
table after he had taken away Ike’s tray.

“You want to be white, I suppose.” Marcus said with
the trace of a grin.

“Well, since you are in the service of the white queen
anyway, I think it would be fitting if you took the white pieces.” Ike said,
training his left eye on Marcus to read his expression.

Marcus looked at Ike for a long moment, trying to
judge if his comment were out of bitterness or playfulness.  He shook his head
and began arranging the white pieces, starting with the queen.

As Ike had guessed, he was outmatched by his
opponent.  Johnny grumbled in his head. “I always liked checkers…..never could
keep track of who could do what in this one.”

Mrs. Pendleton descended the stairs and watched the
game for a while.  She sat on the footstool and studied the two men’s moves. 
Ike ignored her completely and Marcus barely acknowledged her.  She looked
approvingly at the patch over Ike’s empty eye socket for a few minutes and took
her leave when it became obvious that Marcus was going to win.

One morning Ike thought
he heard thunder when he awoke.  Soon after gaining consciousness he realized
the sound was an artillery battle.  Knowing that the sound could carry for
miles in some instances he strained his ears to try to determine where it might
be coming from.   His experience with the sound of artillery told him that the
battle was a small one, the spacing of the shots was such that he suspected no
more than a half dozen pieces were involved.  He also knew that geography and
weather conditions could make a distant battle sound as if it were nearby and
an entire artillery battery could be firing over the next hill and be barely
audible.

He was straining his ears
to hear what was going on when Marcus came down with his breakfast.  “The
battle is way over by Oxford as best as I can tell.  Seems a Yankee regiment
has been pursuing some of Chalmer’s cavalry and they are jousting for a while. 
If the Union men aren’t careful they will be surrounded and cut off.”

“How do you know so much
about it Marcus?”  Ike asked.

News travels fast here. 
We Africans communicate with jungle drums, don’t you know!”

How far are they from
us?”  Ike asked.

A good five miles or
better” Marcus responded, placing Ike’s tray carefully as if nothing of
importance was happening.  The noise diminished within a few minutes and life
returned to normal in the cellar.

The following evening, Marcus
had more news of the engagement.  “It seems that your comrades pursued General
Chalmers’ men to a point within view of a neighboring plantation.  Your artillery
men unlimbered in the front yard and began ranging in on the mounted troops as
two young women watched them from the veranda.  The cannoneers put on a fine
show for the damsels.  Not to be outdone the rebel cavalrymen dodged the solid
shot by quickly sidestepping their horses and bowing as the balls sailed past
them.  Two of the young fools were blown out of their stirrups as your comrades
switched over to canister rounds.  The maidens were appalled at the actual
sight of bloodshed and retreated into their home just as the Union commander
came up and lambasted his men for using up so much powder and shot and pulled
his regiment out before they could be flanked by Chalmers.”

“Marcus, what else do you
know about how the war is going?”  Ike asked.  “Do your jungle drums tell you
if there is any end in sight?”

“I don’t know how far
away the end might be, but your army took Vicksburg back in July and on the
same day out east there was an awful battle in Pennsylvania.”  He paused as if
trying to remember something.  “Gettysburg was the name of the town I believe,
and again the Union forces won it, but at a terrible price.  Unfortunately men
like Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee don’t give up easily.  The South will
likely lose, but they will fight on until they have lost everything they
thought they were fighting for.  Their arrogant pride won’t let them lay down
their arms easily.”

“I should be fighting
with my regiment, instead of waiting here for the war to end or for your
mistress to kill me.”  Ike said, hoping not to anger Marcus but also hoping to
goad him into releasing him.

“Sometimes I think I
should be fighting too.”  Marcus said.  “I know your army has finally allowed
my people to join your army and engage in combat.  We have much more of a stake
in this fight than you do, but I am likely too old and I have an obligation to
my sister.”

“If you let me go, I can
go back to fighting and you can take care of your sister.”  Ike said, thinking
he probably had nothing to lose by asking.

“I am sure you would go
back and win the war single handedly, but I think your comrades are doing quite
well without you…..or me.”  Marcus replied as he headed back up the steps.

The thought of his own
army being so close made Ike restless.  He paced back and forth in his small
abode, praying for deliverance even if it would put him back in the firing
line.  Ike was so engrossed in thinking of returning to his comrades that he
forgot and wrapped his chain around a chair and started dragging his furniture
around the room.  Johnny chortled at Ike’s antics as he nearly tripped over the
footstool as he tried to regain his dignity.

Micheline Pendleton was
also restless.  She had not heard from Todd in weeks.  She seemed to have lost
weight and looked pale to Ike on the few occasions when she ventured down to
check on his well being.  Ike was polite, if distant when they spoke.  Marcus
always barred the door and rolled the grindstone onto it when he left for any
amount of time so that his Sister would not be able to enter the cellar without
him.

Ike could see that the
strain of not knowing about her son was taking a toll on the woman.  He managed
to feel sympathy for her in spite of his situation.

“Mrs. Pendleton, you do
not look well.  I think you should eat something.”  Ike said one evening while
his captor was watching the nightly chess game.

“I am grateful for your concern
young man, but I have no appetite.  I feel that I have been forsaken by God.  I
will fast until I hear from my son, or until I die.”

Marcus looked at the
woman and sighed.  “Missy, God doesn’t make deals.  His ways are not ours and
we can’t bend him to our will.  I don’t believe that you can make him budge by
starving yourself………..or anything else.”  He said, looking sideways at Ike.

“She’s a hurtin’ for sure
Ikey.”  Johnny said.  “You gotta’ pray fer those that persecute you, but try to
get out of their way when you can.”

“I don’t know the chapter
and verse on that one Johnny, but I think you’re right.”

Ike was troubled with
dreams again that night.  The flames that had consumed his home and his wife
tormented him.  Scenes from the war moved through his mind as if to review the
violence he had seen and participated in.  He saw his squad being riddled with
bullets in the nearby yard once more and heard their screams as they died. 

The last dream that he
could remember upon waking found him standing on the bank of another creek like
the one where he had seen his friends and Emma, but this didn’t feel like the
same stream, it seemed colder and wider than the one where those who had loved
him in life had stood and offered their solace.  This time the weather was
cooler, only starlight and a quarter of a waning moon illuminated the lonely
place where he stood.  Somehow he knew that the water was black.  The moon was
briefly obscured by a cloud and Ike could barely see anything when a lone
figure appeared in the distance riding toward the creek on a tall cavalry horse. 
The clopping of the iron shod hooves on the stony ground echoed in his head
like hammer blows on an anvil.  Ike thought of this creek as the river Styx,
where the one he had seen before seemed to him to be the Jordan.  The figure
stood and seemed to be staring directly at him when the cloud drifted away and
bathed the watcher in moonlight.  The horse’s coat shone white as the cold
light illuminated it.  The rider doffed his broad brimmed hat and held it
across his chest as he tilted his head in Ike’s direction.  The rider stared at
Ike with one blue eye.  A familiar looking
patch graced the spot where another had once been. 
 The figure raised his chin, and returned
the hat to his head.  Just before the rider turned the horse Ike noticed a dark
stain across the midsection of the man’s uniform.  Even in the moonlight, Ike
knew it was blood.   The mounted man clopped slowly back away from the water’s
edge as the moon was once again hidden. 

Ike woke early that
morning with the certain knowledge that Todd Pendleton was dead. 

Did you see him last
night?”  Johnny asked.  His voice was solemn for once.

Yes I did, Johnny, he was
riding a pale horse.  My time here is getting short isn’t it?”

Well, I always heard that
death rides a pale horse, but I don’t rightly know who that horseman is a
comin’ for…”

Johnny’s musing was cut
short by a shriek from the house above.  Mrs. Pendleton wailed and shouted. 
“My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

“Sounds like she had the
same dream Ike.” 

She will kill me now if
she can.”  Ike said, looking down at his chain.

“Change is comin’ Ike, I
can’t see what it’s gonna’ be, and I don’t think it’ll be too purty…”  Johnny
trailed off as if lost in thought.  Ike wondered if his old friend was trying
to spare him with his uncharacteristic silence.

Marcus was later than
usual bringing breakfast.  He was as withdrawn as he had been when Ike had
first arrived.  He looked down and wouldn’t look Ike in the face to answer his
unspoken question.  He was placing Ike’s breakfast tray on the table when he
jumped at a sound behind him.  The cellar had been bathed in morning sunlight
until a slender shadow partially blocked the stairway. 

Marcus stood in front of
Ike, presenting him with a view of his expansive back. “Missy, please go back,
this is wrong and you know it.”  He said.  Ike’s blood seemed to freeze in his
veins as he stood behind the wall of the big man’s body and tried to peer
around it.

“Ikey, stay calm and be
ready to move.  She’s comin’ for you.”  Johnny said in what sounded like a
stage whisper.

“I know Johnny, I know. 
I’ve been expecting this from the beginning.  No matter what happens, I’m glad
you’re here with me, whether you’re real or just my imagination.  Who knows,
maybe I get to cross that creek today.”

“Cain’t see even a short
way into the future, but I just don’t think it’s your time yet.  Just keep yer’
eyes…..yer’ eye open.”

Ike still couldn’t see
anything but the backside of Marcus as he stood fully erect and faced his
Sister.  There was silence for a few moments as the two faced off Ike heard the
clock upstairs chime eight times and mentally calculated that he would not be
here to hear it strike once for the half hour.

“Step away, Marcus, I
don’t want to hurt you.”  The woman’s voice came from the foot of the stairs.

“Why do you want to do
this Missy, you haven’t heard from Todd yet.”  Marcus said.  The big man’s tone
was that of an adult talking to a misbehaving child.

“Oh yes I have Marcus,
Todd is dead and you know it.  You intercepted the letter from General
Forrest.  You wanted to protect me……or him…..from the truth.”  The woman said.

“What makes you think
that Missy.  You don’t know that.”  Marcus said.  Ike thought he heard a trace
of panic in the man’s voice.

“You know it’s true
Marcus.  Todd told me that ‘Uncle Marcus’ kept the letter.”

“Missy, you’re imagining
things.  You haven’t eaten in days and you are sick.  Let me take care of you. 
Things will look different when you’ve rested and something to eat.  Please
Missy.”

“Todd came to me last
night and told me all about it.  He was shot off his horse by a Yankee private
just like our Mr. Lowery here.  He suffered terribly.  He was shot in the
stomach and lingered for hours in pain and now he’s dead.  My beautiful son’s
soul is wandering the earth looking for justice, I have to give it to him.  My
last son is dead Marcus.  I have nothing to live for, except to even the
score.  I am going to see to it that Mr. Lowery suffers the same end as Todd. 
I probably should have just killed him quickly in the beginning to spare Todd
the suffering, but you talked me out of it.  Now step aside Marcus so I can
finish this now!”

“No Missy, don’t!” 
Marcus boomed.  “Give that to me before you hurt someone!”

“Marcus Aurelius Broussard……move
aside now!”  The woman screamed, making Ike’s ears ring even more than usual.

Marcus lunged forward in
an attempt to disarm his sister.  Ike saw his body shudder as what sounded like
a clap of thunder reverberated throughout Ike’s small abode.  The too familiar
smell of burnt gunpowder and blood filled the small space.

The shot made Ike’s ears
ring worse.   In the close quarters of the cellar, the sound was like standing
next to an artillery piece.  Marcus’ stumbled sideways and knocked over the
table, scattering crockery and silverware all over the cellar.  Micheline Pendleton
stood looking down at the body of her half brother, who had loved her from the
time she drew her first breath.   She watched as he drew his last.  She knelt
and put her hand on his forehead and spoke softly.  “Marcus, I am so sorry, I
didn’t want to do that.  You were the last person on this earth that loved me. 
Now I am truly alone.”

One tear slid out of the
corner of her eye as she gazed at Marcus.  She took a deep breath and turned
toward Ike. 

The sympathy that had
been on the woman’s face a second ago was gone.  He pupils were fully dilated
showing black pools that made Ike think of the water in the river where he had
been saluted by Todd Pendleton.

Micheline Pendleton was
holding a pistol, possibly the largest pistol Ike had ever seen.  The French
made LeMat was massive, Ike had heard of the LeMat, but had never seen one, and
would like not to have seen this one.  The gun had a nine round cylinder that
rotated around a second barrel which was that of a 16 gauge shotgun.  The black
maw of the shotgun barrel was smoking, having discharged its load of buckshot
into Marcus.  Mrs. Pendleton manipulated a lever on the hammer so that the gun
would fire again from one of its other chambers and pointed it at Ike’s
midsection.  She held the gun in both hands.