Beverly Jenkins (12 page)

“Surely your grandmother didn’t approve of her daughter being sold?”

“According to Asa, it had been her idea.”

Cara gasped.

“It’s not so surprising. My grandmother belonged to that small percentage of slave women who felt that being the master’s mistress gave her importance and some little bit of power over her life. A mistress might get her own little house away from the quarters; she’d eat better, dress better. When the master got her with child, she might not have to see her son or daughter put on the block. Instead, if female, she often became the companion of a planter or was given to one of the legitimate white children as a birthday or wedding gift. If male, he might be given his freedom when his father, the master, died.”

“So your grandmother thought she was securing her daughter’s future.”

“I’m sure she did. After all, the women in her line had lived that way for generations. She probably did go mad when she discovered her beautiful mulatto daughter had lain with a trouble-making field slave. His name was Branch.”

“Branch?”

“Yes, for the size of his arms. Asa described him as being as tall as an oak and able to do the work of two men. The master had him on the books as Toby, but he would only answer to Branch.”

“How’d your parents meet?”

“Long story. My daddy was not a model captive. The overseer was mad at a slave woman he said wasn’t pulling her weight in the field. She’d been sick for a time, but the overseer didn’t believe that and accused her of slacking. To teach her a lesson and to discourage others from trying it, he took her to the barn, tied her hands, then hung her up by her bound hands to a hook in the ceiling. When he raised the whip to give her the first cut, my father, who like the other slaves had been brought in to watch, stepped between her and the lash. The overseer obliged my daddy, who offered to take the woman’s place. It took four men to raise Branch to the hook in the ceiling, and they didn’t cut him down until the blood ran down his heels.”

Cara tasted bile on her tongue.

“They rubbed salt into the welts on his back, flung him into a four-by-four pit, and left him there. At the end of three days, they hauled him out barely alive, and the master sent Pretty Sally, my mother, down from the big house to see about him. She was a root woman and the healer for the quarters.”

“She was able to help him?”

“Quite a bit, it seems.” He guffawed. “She found out she was breeding his child just a couple months after she first started treating his wounds.”

“And her mother didn’t approve.”

“I heard no one but Branch and Pretty Sally approved. The master was so furious he sent her to the quarters until she gave birth. Before then she’d lived with the servants in a small wing of the main house. She worked a loom.”

“So what happened to you? Who raised you?”

“Everyone and no one. How much do you know about a slave’s childhood?”

“Not very much.”

“Well, every baby started out in the nurse house. Usually there was an older woman looking after anywhere from twenty to a hundred babies, depending upon the size of the place. Then when you got to be about five or six, you went to work, either in the house doing something like fanning flies away from the table while the master and family ate, or out in the fields where you got to pick weevils off cotton or worms off tobacco. At eight or nine you pulled your weight like any other adult.”

“Did you live with a family?”

“At first, but they were sold when I was about ten. The master kept me because of the good price he’d be able to get for me once I was full-grown.”

Cara could give no name to the emotions rising within her. They’d both had great tragedy in their lives, but while she’d been rescued and nurtured by Rosetta and Harriet not long after she’d lost her grandfather, he’d gone most of his childhood with no one. She knew with certainty
that it must have been terrible to be a child under slavery, but also to be a child alone, without family . . . What a testament to his strength of character that he’d gone beyond mere survival to make so much of his life!

“You’re a very brave woman, Cara Lee Henson. Sophie told me about your grandfather.”

Grief, sadness, acceptance for herself mingled with all the emotions Chase’s story had evoked. “We’re both survivors, you and I.”

“Does it bother you, me wearing the uniform of the Union Army?”

“I tell myself no, but deep down inside I’m sure it does. I—I have nightmares sometimes about Bluecoats.”

“Then I won’t wear it when we’re together.”

The sincerity in his offer touched her deeply. “No, please. It’s my problem, not yours.” Silence resettled and then Cara added, “Silly, isn’t it? A grown woman still scared of something from her childhood?”

“No,” he answered. “We can’t always control the things that haunt us.”

“Since I left the orphanage, I’ve never told anyone about my nightmares.”

“Then I’ll hold the confidence close to my heart,” he pledged softly.

The water had cooled, and Cara wanted to get out of the tub.

Chase had turned to her to ask about her years at Oberlin, but forgot the question as he watched her rise, moonlight and water streaming off her scantily clothed body. The wet chemise and slip, molded against her curves, were so provocative he couldn’t catch his breath. She lifted her leg to step out of the tub, and he cried out a warning for her not to put weight on the ankle. He didn’t trust
himself to get any nearer, but knew she needed his help. “Hold on. Let me lift you.”

“No. I can manage on my own. If you’d just hand me my skirt and blouse, then bring the screen, I’ll get out of this wet slip. Sophie will shoot me if I drip water all over the floor.”

He did, then returned to his spot by the window.

Behind the screen, Cara balanced on her good leg, carefully rid herself of her dripping garments, and dried herself with the towel he’d hung atop the screen. After cautiously getting out of the tub she put on her skirt and blouse before wringing water from the wet things into the tub.

“Sergeant, I—I thank you. You’ve been so kind. My ankle is still sore, but not so tender as it was, and my hip feels less stiff.”

“Good.” He looked up then as she hopped out from behind the screen. “You shouldn’t be on that ankle, schoolmarm.” He hurried to her side and picked her up.

She smiled. “This carrying business is not too bad.”

“Glad you like it. Want to go back to your room now, Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” she said in a royal manner.

He carried her to her room and carefully set her down on the bed.

“Are you going to be all right now?”

“I think so.”

Cara couldn’t bear the thought of Chase parting from her yet. She learned a lot about him and been moved by his disclosures. She felt a closeness she wasn’t certain he returned, but he’d been so tender with her tonight . . . “Were you busy—before you heard me fall?” She asked. “I mean, I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important.”

“Nope. I was just looking over some reports I’ll be filing next week. Why’d you ask?”

“Just curious.”

He nodded his understanding. Chase didn’t want to leave, especially after the confidences they’d shared. He found Cara fascinating and didn’t want their time together to end. He wanted to kiss her, very badly, but he’d promised her and himself he’d behave. “How long does choir rehearsal usually last?”

“Sometimes two hours, sometimes three. If the spirit gets going they could be down there until sunup. It’s happened before. If you’re not busy, I’d be pleased if you’d stay and talk a little more with me.”

Those were the sweetest words Chase had heard all day. “I’d like that.”

They talked for hours about army life, politics, and the state of the race. He regaled her with tales of his journeys throughout the West and the places he’d seen and the people he’d met, and listened to her stories of life in the orphanage. Her interests surprised him, though knowing her as he did now, they shouldn’t have. Out of the blue he asked, “You like to fish?”

“Sure,” she replied. “I’m a country girl. We always did our own hunting and fishing.”

He laughed and she enjoyed the sound. “What did you do after you left Oberlin?”

“Tried to find a school board I could work for longer than a month.”

She looked at his confused expression and smiled. “This is my third teaching position.”

“What happened with the other two?”

“My first one lasted almost two weeks. The president of the school board wanted to ‘teach’ me some things I didn’t want to learn . . . at least from
him.” Cara couldn’t believe she’d said that! She hastily took up the story again, trying to ignore the amusement Chase made no effort to hide. “The last job was in a place called Blessed, Ohio. Stayed there just long enough to get thrown in jail.”

“What?”

“I went to jail.”

“Why?”

“The school board told me that educating girls was a waste of the town’s money. Girls were banned from the schoolroom. I thought otherwise.”

“So they put you in jail?”

“Actually, I chose jail. They called it a choice: teach only boys or go to jail.”

“And of course, you chose jail. In other words you went to Blessed, Ohio, and caused a ruckus.”

“Not intentionally, no, but I suppose I did.”

“How long were you there?”

“A day and a half.”

Chase’s laughter exploded. Cara, unable to contain herself, joined in. Placing a finger to her lips to caution him to be more quiet lest someone hear, she thought how wondrous it was to make Chase laugh. They both had tears in their eyes when the laughter subsided.

“Less than forty-eight hours. You are gifted, aren’t you?” Chase rose stiffly. His back complained from the prolonged sitting, and he stretched to get the circulation going in his limbs. He looked out the window and saw the first red fingers of dawn on the horizon. Was it really that late? “Sun’s coming up.”

“That’s not possible,” Cara said in surprise.

He walked over and pulled back her curtains so she could get a better view from her spot on
the bed. “Good Lord, I have to teach school today.”

At that moment, a knock on the door made them freeze in shock. “Cara?” called Sophie’s voice in a loud whisper. Cara shot Chase a look of panic, then had an idea. She placed her finger to her lips, signaling him to silence, then called back in a sleepy voice, “Sophie, is that you? Is something wrong?”

“No, dear. Sybil canceled school today because of your eye. So go on back to sleep. Dulcie says she’ll bring you some breakfast later on.”

“Thank you . . .” she replied as if in the throes of sleep.

Chase and Cara waited until they heard Sophie’s steps fade away down the hall before releasing their pent-up laughter.

“You are good, schoolmarm, damn good,” Chase said, grinning. “I can’t remember ever having this much fun with a woman sitting down and fully dressed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Chase was still chuckling, and Cara kept smiling in response.

“Thanks for a memorable night,” he told her.

“Thank you.”

He walked over to his door and Cara remembered something, “I left those wet clothes wrapped in the towel on the side of the tub. Can you bring them, please?”

He nodded, disappeared, and returned with the bundle. She had him set it on the seat of an old chair whose finish wouldn’t be marred by the moisture. “Thank you.” She watched him walk to the door again. “Good night, Sergeant. . . .”

He looked back and said just as softly, “Good morning, Cara Lee. . . .”

He stood there then, unmoving, looking at her, and she could feel his “talents” calling. He walked slowly back to her side. “I can’t leave without this. . . .”

He bent and kissed her slowly, very slowly until her breathing was ragged and her body burned. And then he was gone.

“Sophie, when did you first know you were in love with Asa?” Cara asked.

Sophie and Dulcie both looked up from the peas they were shelling and studied her face.

“Is that so improper a thing to ask?”

“No, you just took me by surprise is all.” Sophie said. “I guess I first knew when I was in love when I couldn’t go a day without wanting to see him. And when I did see him, all I could do was grin. Scariest experience of my life.”

Dulcie piped in, “You should have seen her, Cara. Asa hadn’t been in the house two days before she started throwing herself at him.”

“I did not!” Sophie gasped. “Well, maybe a little. He was so handsome, just looking at him made my teeth ache. Still does.”

Cara noted the satisfied smile on Sophie’s face. “Is that the grin, you meant, Dulcie?”

Dulcie looked at her friend and nodded. “Yep. Finish the peas, Sophie, we’ll never get done if you don’t quit daydreaming about that man of yours.” She winked at Cara. “You’d think she’d act her age, old as she is.”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” Sophie retorted. “The wood may be aged, but it still kindles.”

Dulcie howled gleefully.

“And besides Dulce,” Sophie continued, “you are the last female fit to be discussing age and
men. How old is the new apprentice over at the livery I saw you sitting with in church yesterday? He can’t be a year over thirty-five.”

Dulcie grinned but didn’t respond.

“You’re awfully quiet now, Miss Dulcie Fontaine,”

Dulcie chuckled. “Pax, Soph.” She whispered, “He’s thirty-six.”

Cara shook her head at their play.

“So, Cara,” Sophie said, “why the questions about me and Asa? You grinning more than usual lately?”

She dropped her head but couldn’t stifle the grin. “Not really.”

“Liar,” Dulcie chirped. “It’s all over town. The Black Widow’s going to be real ornery when she hears about him dancing with you on her porch, in the dark.”

“That’s another symptom you know, Cara,” Sophie pointed out.

“What?”

“Losing your mind and doing things you wouldn’t have two weeks before.”

“Listen to her, Cara, she’s an expert.”

“Will you stop, Dulcie. I’m trying to be serious here.” But they all saw her smile.

“So you’re telling me this is normal?” Cara asked.

“No, dear. We’re telling you you’re in love.”