Wilde, Jennifer (25 page)

"Elijah
Jones," Derek remarked, noticing my interest. "He's from New England,
an unsuccessful preacher who sometimes holds revival meetings. A lot of people
go in order to boo and hiss. He has a small farm on the other side of Maud
Simmons's place, barely scratches out enough to live on."

"Why
is everyone avoiding him?"

"He
claims slavery is a vile evil, preaches about it, goes around trying to get the
planters to release their slaves. If that was his only offense, they'd consider
him a harmless eccentric, but unfortunately he gives aide to runaway slaves and
helps 'em escape."

"Isn't
that against the law?"

Derek
nodded, his expression grim. "Elijah's very crafty at it. No one has ever
been able to
prove
anything against him, but it's more or less an open
secret that he's an important link in a network of fanatics who help runaway
slaves get up North."

"There
are others?"

"A
small organization," Derek replied. "They work under the cover of
night, on the sly. A couple of slaves will appear on Elijah's doorstep in the
dead of night, say, and he'll hide them until he can transport them to the next
safe haven—another farm perhaps fifty miles from here. They'll hide out there
until the farmer can smuggle them on to yet another place, even farther away.
They pass from place to place until they eventually reach safety."

"It
sounds terribly complex, and dangerous, too."

"It
is, but it frequently works. These men are very sly, very slippery. They're
dedicated to a 'cause' and are willing to risk anything in order to help those
'poor, lost souls,' as they call 'em."

"And
this Mr. Jones is part of that?"

"As
I say, no one's been able to prove anything against him, and naturally he
denies it, but everyone in these parts is convinced he's guilty. None of the
planters'll have anything to do with him. If they had their way, he'd be tarred
and feathered and run out of the country on a rail, but you can't treat a 'Man
of God' that way without proof."

I
studied Elijah Jones, secretly admiring him. Although Derek's voice was harsh
and bitter when he spoke of the man, I couldn't help thinking him unusually
brave. With his blazing red beard and long red locks, his sullen blue eyes and
ravaged face, he did indeed look like a zealot. I could see him behind a pulpit
in that same shiny black suit, shaking his fist, lambasting his audience with
thunderous denunciation for their part in a grievous wrong. Derek and the other
planters considered their slaves mere property, like cattle, but Elijah Jones
considered them men and women with souls and a right to freedom. If he was
indeed a part of the underground network, I wished him well.

"Lot
of folks down here don't believe in keeping slaves," Derek continued.
"I'll tell you one thing, though: My slaves are a helluva lot better off
than most black men who try to find work on their own. At least they get plenty
to eat, decent living accommodations—"

He
cut himself short, scowling angrily. I knew that he was exceedingly sensitive
about the subject of slavery, and I had no desire to discuss it with him,
feeling as I did. I was relieved when he pushed his empty plate away and asked
me if I was finished. I nodded, and we left the table, moving slowly back down
the row of booths. A towheaded lad rushed past, two others in hot pursuit, a
yapping brown and white spotted dog following close on their heels.

Derek
paused in front of one of the stands and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out
some coins.

"Here,"
he said, handing me the money. "I want you to amuse yourself for a couple
of hours. Buy yourself some ribbons or something. I'll meet you by the carousel
around... say, around four. I should be finished by that time."

"I
wish you wouldn't leave me alone, Derek."

"You
worried about running into Barnett again?"

"No,
but—"

"Run
along, Marietta. You can take care of yourself."

Derek
didn't give me a chance to argue. He turned and strolled away briskly. I saw a
group of planters up ahead, all of them elegantly dressed, all of them drinking
port they purchased from one of the booths. As I watched, Derek joined them,
and soon the whole group of them wandered away to inspect the livestock.
Nervous, disoriented, I clutched the coins in my hand and stood in front of the
stand like a lost child. People moved past, talking loudly, laughing, and the
shrill, discordant music was a constant background.

"Lands
sake, honey! I never expected to see
you
here."

Maud
Simmons stopped, hands on hips, a warm smile on her lips.

"Mrs.
Simmons, how nice to see you."

"Maud,
honey. My, you look lovely! Is that a new dress?"

I
nodded. "Der—Mr. Hawke bought the cloth in Charles Town. I made the dress
myself."

"Damned
fine job you did, too. You're a regular seamstress. I could use a few new
clothes myself—never have time to fuss with 'em, though."

Maud
was wearing the same emerald-green riding habit she had worn when she came to
borrow the liniment. It was as deplorably soiled as before, although she had
pinned a gaudy coral brooch to the lapel. Coral earrings dangled from her ears.
Her hair looked as if it had not been touched by comb or brush since the last
time I saw her. The smile still spread on her lips, and she looked genuinely
pleased to see me.

"Enjoyin'
yourself, honey? You looked rather forlorn, standin' there all by yourself.
Your man leave you to your own devices for a while? They do that, no
consideration whatsoever! Tell you what, why don't you come with me? I'm going
to have a look at the quilts, see if there's any of 'em I'd care to buy."

"I'd
enjoy that."

"These
affairs bore the bloody hell out of me. So noisy. So many people, but sometimes
you can pick up some real bargains. All the farmers bring their wares— you name
it, honey, they bring it. Never seen so much junk. Last time one of th' farm
women was sellin' her china. She and her husband'd had a spell of bad luck and
needed some quick money. Would you believe it was genuine Sevres? Came all the
way from France. I bought the whole lot for next to nothing."

Maud
chattered volubly as we strolled past tents and booths, and I was grateful for
her company. Each time we passed someone she knew, Maud insisted on stopping and
introducing me, taking a perverse pleasure in the stiff expressions and tight
smiles of the women she forced to acknowledge my presence. "Pack-a bloody
hypocrites," she called them, bursting into gales of raucous laughter when
one of the prim ladies drew herself up and marched on past us without so much
as a nod.

"Ain't
any of them none too respectable themselves," she declared. "Me, I
know where the bodies are buried! 'Course they got a right to resent you—most
of 'em have been pantin' over Derek Hawke ever since he moved into Shadow Oaks.
One nod from him and half th' married ladies in th' county'd come a-runnin'. If
I was a few years younger I'd give him a merry chase myself! Ah, here are the
quilts. Hmmm, shabby lookin' lot, wouldn't you say? That blue and brown and
yellow one—now, I might be able to live with it if it don't cost an arm and a
leg."

While
Maud examined the quilts, I looked at some beautiful samplers, all of them made
by the worn-looking farm woman who stood behind the booth. At the shooting
gallery nearby, guns were going off in a chain of deafening explosions and men
shouted lustily as ringing pings indicated a hit. Three young men staggered
past, arms locked together, stumbling tipsily and bellowing a bawdy song. Maud
bought her quilt, exclaiming over the quality of the workmanship and the
bargain price. We moved along down the rows of booths, stopping every now and
then so that she could examine the merchandise.

"What
beautiful neckcloths," I remarked, pausing before yet another booth. "This
pearl-gray silk—I wonder if I could afford it? I'd love to buy something
for—"

"How
much have you got, honey? Oh sure, that's enough. Bessie here'll be glad to
sell it to you for that, won't you, Bessie? This here's my neighbor Marietta,
and she wants to surprise her man. Come on now, Bessie— it didn't cost you
nothing to run up that neckcloth."

Bessie
was plump and belligerent and reluctant to part with the cloth for the sum I
had, but Maud persisted. I was shamelessly eager to buy it, for the stock was
beautiful and would be perfect with Derek's navy blue suit, but I let Maud do
the bargaining. Bessie finally heaved a sigh, took my coins, and wrapped the
cloth up in brown paper, tying it with string. I thanked her and smiled,
anticipating Derek's surprise when I presented it to him.

A
few minutes later Maud stopped in front of a booth where a man was selling
beer, declaring she could use a mug and asking me if I would join her. Maud
looked disappointed when I refused.

"You
sure? All right, Jim, give me a mug. This your special home brew? Hope it
tastes better'n it did last year. Thanks." She gripped the pewter mug,
blew the foam off the top and downed the beer thirstily. "Hmmm, I think
you're gettin' better, Jim. Give me another."

"I
saw one of your neighbors a little while ago," I remarked.

"Oh?
Who'd that be?"

"Elijah
Jones. Derek said he had a small farm on the other side of your place."

"If
you want to
call
it a farm. Just a run-down house, really, and a
vegetable garden—a couple of acres of cotton. Works it himself. Won't have any
slaves on his place, not that he could afford 'em."

"Is
what they say about him true?"

"You
mean about him helpin' runaway niggers?" Maud glanced over her shoulder
and, seeing that Jim was eavesdropping, took my elbow and led me around to the
side of the booth.

"Me,
honey, I
like
Elijah," she began. "He's never done
me
no
harm. One time when I had a bad case o' th' grippe, he came over to look after
me, just upped an' came without anyone askin', had my cook make hot soup, fed
it to me himself, brought some medicine over, too. He bored th'
hell
outta
me, prayin' over me, askin' th' Lord to spare my soul an' all that, but he
nursed me till I was up an' able to get about."

"Derek
said he—might be part of an anti-slavery group."

"Everyone
says that, honey, but no one's ever been able to prove anything. A few months
back—" Maud hesitated, as though debating whether or not to confide in me.
"A few months back two of Ben Randolph's bucks ran away. That night I was
takin' a stroll and I
might
have seen Elijah takin' two niggers down to
his storm cellar—it has an outside door on th' side of his house facin' my
place. I reckon he must have some kind of secret room down there, behind all
those shelves."

"You
didn't tell anyone?"

Maud
shook her head. "If you treat your niggers right, they ain't got no cause
to be runnin' away. Randolph, now —he treats 'em mean, real mean. He loves
usin' his whip and don't like to put himself out seein' they have decent food
and sleepin' quarters. They're gonna up and turn on him one of these days, you
mark my word. I never said a word about what I mighta seen, kept my mouth
firmly shut. You're the first person I ever mentioned it to, and I know you
ain't
about
to spill the beans."

"Of
course not."

"I
don't
approve
of what Elijah's doin', make no mistake about that, but neither
do I approve of Ben Randolph and men like him. My niggers are loyal. I spend a fortune
every year seein' they get proper treatment. They eat damn near as well as I
do, and each cabin has a wood stove. I never work 'em too hard, and any time one
of 'em gets sick I fetch a doctor and look after 'em like I would a child. What
Elijah's doing is wrong, but I figure if a slave runs away it's because he
ain't been treated right. I keep rememberin' that damned hot soup and those
bloody prayers—I guess I may be some kinda traitor to my class, but I've no
intention of givin' Elijah away. I shouldn'ta even told you, honey."

"I
can assure you it won't go any further."

"Oh,
I know that or I wouldn'ta opened my mouth in the first place. You know
something? I never
did
replace that liniment I used, been weeks and
weeks since I brought the bottle back. I'm going to buy a new bottle right now.
They're sellin' it at one of the booths. I'll just give Jim his mug back—"

Maud
purchased the bottle of liniment and gave it to me, and then she sighed and
said she'd enjoyed my company mightily but she'd best be getting back to
Magnolia Grove. She gave me a hug and, clutching her new quilt under one arm,
tottered away, her soiled emerald riding skirt trailing in the dirt, her wild
gray bird's nest bouncing. As it was still some time before I was to meet
Derek, I decided to stroll back to the wagon and store the neckcloth and
liniment in back, under the empty seed bags. I would surprise Derek with the
present tonight after we returned to Shadow Oaks.

It
was cool and shady under the trees where the wagons stood. Heavy boughs kept
out the sun and cast thick violet-blue shadows over the ground. There was no
one else around, not even the little boys who were supposed to be watching the
horses, and I lingered there beside the wagon for a while, stroking one of the
chestnuts. Lost in thought, I didn't hear the man and his two pack mules
approaching until they were almost even with the wagon. He was whistling a
jaunty tune, as merry and unconcerned as a boy. One of the mules balked. He
stopped and turned around to scold the animal.