Wilde, Jennifer (24 page)

It
seemed an eternity before we finally reached Shadow Oaks. Derek halted the
horses under one of the oaks in back and leaped from the seat, racing towards
the fields. I sat there for a moment, stunned, and then I climbed down and,
somehow, managed to unharness the horses and lead them through the driving rain
to the stables. Where were the slaves? Why wasn't there someone to help? As I
turned to leave the stables I saw Cassie dash down the back steps and rash
through the rain toward me. By the time she reached the stables her pink dress
was plastered against her thickening body, her hair a sleek wet cap. The girl
was terrified, trembling as I led her away from the door.

"It's
goin' all be lost!" she cried. "Adam hustled everyone out to th'
fields soon as th' sky started turnin' dark— everyone, th' wenches an' th'
chillen an' even fat Mattie— I wanted to help, too, but he wouldn't let
me—"

"Have
they—"

"They
ain't been able to pick hardly nuthin', Miz Marietta! It'd take three days o'
hard work to pick it all, an' they've just been out there since lunch time—"

The
girl was crying, her voice a hoarse rasp. She was shivering violently. I
reached for an old horse blanket and wrapped it around her, brushing the wet
black tendrils of hair away from her face. Lightning streaked, exploded in
bursts of silver-gold-blue, and the rain was worse than ever, driven into the
stable in sheets by the raging wind. There came a sudden loud pelting on the
roof as though the place were being besieged by artillery fire, and as Cassie
and I watched, the rain turned to hail and the hail hurled down like millions
of glittering pellets. It lasted for perhaps five minutes, and then it ceased
abruptly. There was silence, a terrible silence all the more intense after the
barrage of noise.

"It's
over," Cassie whispered. "Th' crop is done ruined for sure."

We
stood there for several minutes, silent. Cassie was crying. I felt a terrible
despair, knowing what this meant, knowing what Derek must be feeling. Rain
dripped slowly from the eaves. The yard was littered with hail that glittered
and gleamed like crystal. In the distance I saw the negroes returning from the
fields, wet, dejected, dragging limp cloth bags. Adam saw us standing in the
doorway of the stables and joined us. There was no need for words. He gathered
Cassie in his arms and held her tightly, folding the blanket more closely
around her.

"Is—is
he still out there?" I asked.

Adam
nodded gravely. "He jest stands there, lookin' at th' fields."

I
left the two of them and moved quickly across the yard, hail crunching beneath
my feet. I passed through the oaks and entered the fields. The ground was
muddy, the plants all beaten down and broken, the cotton like soggy snow. The
purple sky had faded to a pale violet, and thin silvery rays of sunlight
streamed down, weak, wavering. I saw Derek up ahead. He stood with his hands
thrust into his pockets, and he stared at the desolation as though unable to
comprehend it, as though it were a mirage. His hair was plastered against his
head. As I drew nearer, I saw his expression, and it gave my heart a wrench.
His eyes were filled with anguish. His mouth drooped. He looked lost,
defenseless.

I
hurried toward him. He looked at me and shook his head, and then a strange,
pathetic smile played on his lips. I reached up to smooth the wet locks from
his brow. Derek wrapped his arms around me, holding me against him, holding me
tightly, tightly, as though he feared he might lose me, too. Neither of us
spoke. I had never loved him so strongly, my whole being filled with tremulous
emotion. He looked at the fields and shook his head again, and then he looked
down into my eyes.

"I
still have you," he said. "Thank God for that."

Derek
returned to Charles Town two weeks later, traveling on horseback, leaving long
before dawn and arriving back at Shadow Oaks late at night. Although he didn't
discuss the trip with me, I knew that he had gone to see about getting a loan,
and I could tell by his manner the next morning that the trip had been
unsuccessful. Later, after breakfast, I was in the kitchen, working at the
drainboard, when he entered with a parcel clumsily done up in brown paper and
string. He set it on the battered wooden table and tersely informed me that it
was for me.

"A
present?" I asked, surprised.

"We're
going to the county fair two weeks from now. You'll need something to wear. The
gown you bought in Charles Town is hardly suitable."

"Fair?
You haven't mentioned—"

"Open
the package, Marietta," he interrupted. His voice was edged with
irritation.

I
cut
the string and removed the paper and held up the generous length of cloth. It
was cotton, a deep, rich red printed with tiny black flowers, more than enough
to make a dress. I was moved, not just because the cloth was exceedingly
beautiful but because he had thought to buy it for me. He watched me examine
it, his eyes guarded, his lips curling in a surly line. I wanted to thank him,
but I could tell that it would be unwise.

"You'll
have plenty of time to make a dress," he said. "I assume you know
how?"

"Of
course. Thank you, Derek."

"I
want you to look presentable when we go to the fair."

He
left the kitchen then, abruptly, going out the back door. Through the window I
could see him striding briskly across the lawn. The cotton crop had been
destroyed, he was near bankruptcy, and he was driving the slaves and driving
himself harder than ever, coming in each afternoon just as the sun was
beginning to set, worn, exhausted, so weary it took an effort for him to even
eat the meals I prepared. Now he was planning to go to the county fair. Why? It
was so unlike him. Derek Hawke avoided his neighbors whenever possible.
Ordinarily he would have welcomed an event like the fair as he would welcome
the plague. I felt sure something was afoot.

I
was still mystified when, two weeks later, we were on our way to the fair, the
horses moving down the road at a brisk, energetic pace, the wagon rocking and
creaking. This road was unfamiliar to me, more narrow than the one we had taken
to Charles Town. Lined on either side by tall, leafy trees that kept out most
of the sunlight, the road was cool and shady. It was late in the morning, for
Derek didn't care to arrive until noon, and it was only an hour's drive from
Shadow Oaks.

I
was wearing the new dress I had made from the material he purchased in Charles
Town. It had puffed sleeves, a modest neckline, and a snugly fitting bodice,
the skirt full-gathered and rustling in rich red folds over my petticoats.
Cassie had exclaimed over the dress, declaring that it made me look like a
queen, but Derek had made no comment. Silent and withdrawn, a worried,
preoccupied look in his eyes, he gave no indication that he even noticed. I was
too sensible to be hurt, but it would have been nice had he mentioned the
dress.

Derek
wore polished brown knee boots that had seen better days, as had his brown
broadcloth suit. His vest was a dull gold satin striped with thin bronze
stripes, his neckcloth of mustard-colored silk. The clothes weren't nearly as
elegant as those he had worn in Charles Town, were, in fact, just short of
seedy. He had lost weight during the past four weeks and looked drawn and
tense, with fatigue shadows beneath his eyes, slight hollows beneath his
cheekbones. He had suffered a great set-back, and I wondered if I even had an
inkling how enormous it was.

When
he purchased me, Derek had intended to rely upon the money the crop would bring
in to restore his finances. But the crop had been totally destroyed. I knew
that he kept a supply of ready cash in a cigar box in the bottom drawer of his
desk in the study. I had seen him take money from it this very morning. Was
that all he had? If so, his situation was desperate. I longed to ask him about
it, but I knew that would be a mistake. Derek was not one to share his
problems.

"Is
it much farther?" I asked quietly.

"We're
almost there," he replied.

"I—I'm
rather nervous."

"There's
no need to be."

"Facing
all those people—it won't be particularly pleasant. From the first they've
assumed that—"

"What
they think doesn't matter in the least," he said sternly.

"I
still don't know why you decided to go. It—it's not like you."

"I
have business to conduct. You'll be on your own part of the time. I'm sure
you'll be able to amuse yourself."

"You're
going to leave me on my own? After what happened in Charles Town? What if I run
into Jason Barnett? What if—"

"That
doesn't worry me, Marietta. Not now," he told me.

I
was strangely affected by his words, for they proved that he trusted me.
Although he would never acknowledge it to me, I felt sure he believed all I had
told him about my past, believed I had been framed for a crime I hadn't
committed. During the past four weeks there had been a subtle alteration in his
manner toward me. I was still his housekeeper, still waited on him, serving him
as before, serving him in a new capacity at night. Although he certainly didn't
treat me as an equal, there was a new courtesy and consideration that hadn't
been there before, so subtle it wouldn't even be apparent to anyone else.

A
short while later Derek turned off the road. I could hear loud, brassy music in
the distance, and as we rounded a bend I could see tents and booths set up in a
clearing surrounded by oaks. Derek pulled the wagon under the shade of a large
tree, near where dozens of others were lined up. Two small boys rushed over,
and Derek gave each a coin. They assured him they would look after the horses.
He helped me down from the wagon, and we strolled toward the tents and booths.

"It's
really not unlike the county fairs back in England," I remarked.
"Back home there would be gypsy dancers and fortune tellers, but this is
much the same."

"Really
merely an excuse for the smaller farmers to sell their goods," Derek told
me. "There are pigs and chickens and cattle for sale, and pies, cakes,
preserves. There'll be a shooting gallery and probably a boxing match, and
stands where you can buy beer and refreshments—as you say, much like the fairs
in England. A lot of bartering is done, a lot of trading, buying, selling.
Mostly it's an opportunity for people to get out and get together and raise a
little hell."

There
were dozens of gaily striped tents, dozens of wooden booths. A raucous, festive
atmosphere prevailed. The noise was incredible. Children raced about, shouting,
laughing, scuffling. Dogs barked. Chickens clucked noisily. Pigs squealed.
Rifles blasted at the shooting gallery. A carousel of brightly painted horses
went round and round, a calliope playing as the horses dipped up and down. A
wooden dance floor had been constructed near the edge of the clearing, and a
decidedly amateur band played with considerable brio as young people stomped
lustily about the floor, faces flushed with excitement. On every side there was
color and movement, with almost two hundred people thronging the small area.

Tables
and benches had been set up near the refreshment stands under a huge canvas
canopy that provided shade. Derek bought two plates of beans and ham hocks,
bought buttered cornbread and two glasses of cold apple cider, then led me over
to one of the tables. People stared openly. Everyone knew I was Derek Hawke's
wench, an indentured servant, and everyone assumed, rightly now, that I was his
mistress as well. Several of the women looked offended. Three of them at a
table nearby moved to one farther away, muttering shrill complaints at his
audacity in bringing "that hussy in red" around decent women. It
didn't bother me in the least. I was proud to be with him, proud to be his
woman. Derek paid no attention to the stares, the hostility. He gave no sign
that he even noticed it.

"It's
all rather exciting," I said. "It's so—merry."

"That
won't last," Derek replied. "As the afternoon progresses, the
merriment will vanish. People will be tired, and most of the men will be drunk
by the time the sun goes down. Tonight there'll be colored lanterns. Youngsters
will steal off in pairs for quick romance in the shrubbery, and there'll be
fist fights and arguments. We'll be gone by then."

"How
long are we going to stay?"

"As
long as it takes me to get my business accomplished," he replied,
deliberately cryptic.

Derek
had no intention of telling me why we were here. My curiosity was strongly
aroused, but I had better sense than to ask him straight out what his business
was. He would undoubtedly tell me to remember my place. If he wanted me to
know, I would know in time. I had a strange feeling that whatever he was
planning was something I wasn't going to be at all happy about.

As
we ate, I noticed a man sitting across the way who seemed to be even more of a
pariah than we were. He sat at a table, alone, all the tables around him empty.
People stepping under the canopy with plates of food refused to sit near him,
frequently sharing tables with other people rather than take one close to the
man. Middle-aged, robust, he had moody blue eyes and blazing red hair and
beard. He wore a severe black suit shiny with age, the cloth seeming to strain
across his enormous shoulders. A battered-looking Bible was on the table in
front of him, and he turned its pages as he ate his beans and cornbread.