I swung my hand back and slapped him across the face with all the strength I could muster. I hit out instinctively, without thinking, and was almost as startled as he was. Hawke let out a shocked cry, dropping the hoe. The side of his face turned a bright, burning pink. My hand stung painfully, and I gasped, horrified at what I had done. He stared at me, stunned, and then his eyes burned with anger and his mouth became a hard, tight line as he balled his fist and delivered a powerful blow that sent me reeling back against the plants. I fell to the ground, green stalks crushing under me, and the sky seemed to turn from blue to black as pain exploded inside my head.
Half-conscious, I stared up at him. He loomed over me, his legs wide apart, both hands balled into fists now, and I knew he would probably kill me. My head seemed to spin; my jaw was on fire, and I was seeing him through a wet, misty veil that wavered and blurred outlines and caused everything to tilt and topple: the tall green plants standing tall all around me, the man, tilting crazily, the sky above him blue now, spinning like my head. I sobbed, forcing myself to rise up on one elbow, and it was then that I heard the hiss and saw the rope uncoiling and saw it fly through the air and attach itself to Hawke’s thigh.
Derek Hawke screamed. Then he took the rope in his hand and hurled it to the ground where it writhed and spat and coiled itself to strike again. I realized with horror that it was not a rope, but a snake, one of the deadly copperheads Mattie had warned me about. Hawke seized the hoe and struck at the snake, and its tail seemed to fly straight up in the air, its head still rooted to the ground by the hoe. It thrashed and flailed, and Hawke jammed the heel of his boot on the hoe, crushing the metal into the ground, and the horrible flailing finally stopped as the snake’s head was severed from its body.
Hawke dropped the hoe, gripping his thigh. I climbed quickly to my feet, my own pain forgotten as I saw the look on his face. My heart was beating rapidly, and my head was still reeling. Hawke sobbed. His cheekbones were the color of chalk. He seemed about to fall face down. I stumbled forward, seizing his arm.
“What can I do! Derek! What can I—”
“God! Oh, God! The knife! Quick, the knife—”
“I—I don’t—”
“It’s folded up in my pocket. The left pocket. Get it! For God’s sake, Marietta, get it quickly!”
I jammed my hand into his pocket and pulled out the long bone-handled knife with its blade folded up. Hawke gasped and almost fell on top of me, throwing his arms around me for support. I staggered under his weight, holding him, more frightened than I had ever been in my life. He clung to me his eyes half-crazed with fear and shock and pain. I think he passed out for a moment, his head falling on my shoulders, his body limp, and then he raised his head and looked into my eyes and tried to speak coherently.
“You—you’ll have to cut—to cut my leg where it bit.—Do you understand? You’ll have to cut and then—the venom—you’ll have to suck the venom out of—”
I nodded, and he let go of me and tried to stand up straight, weaving to and fro. He finally steadied himself, and I dropped to my knees and opened the knife, the blade glittering in the sunlight. Gripping the back of his leg with one hand, I cut away the threadbare tan cloth and exposed the already-swelling flesh of his thigh with the fang marks two tiny dots, the skin around them puffed up, turning yellow and brown and violet. Hawke staggered and almost fell.
“Do it! Quickly!”
“I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. I stared at the discolored flesh and shook my head and knew I could never drive the knife into it! Never! But then he let out such an agonized groan that I bit my lower lip and sliced the swelling flesh and blood spurted, flowing down his leg. He staggered again and grabbed hold of my shoulders to brace himself, and I put my mouth to the wound and sucked and spit out the blood and sucked again and again, knowing his life depended on it. His hands gripped my shoulders tightly, violently, bruising the flesh, and I was showered with the sweat that poured from his body. When finally I was through, he sighed and loosened his grip and I stood up and he wrapped his arms around my neck, holding on to me like an impassioned lover, dazed, almost unconscious.
“You—you’re still bleeding. I should tie up the—”
“Let it bleed. The house. You must get—Mattie has herbs—a poultice. She’ll know what—”
I managed to turn him around so that he was at my side, one arm still crooked around my neck, the forearm pressed against my throat; I held on to his forearm and wrapped my other arm around his waist and we started forward, both of us stumbling. I could never make it. He was much too heavy, and I was supporting almost his full weight. I tripped and fell on one knee, bringing him down with me, and his arm gripped my throat, half-strangling me. I managed to get back up, and somehow we moved down the rows of tall green plants, both of us prespiring heavily, clothing drenched, skin gleaming wetly. He was in a delirium now, had no idea where he was or what had happened. I called upon all my strength and forced myself to move and forced him to move along with me. Blood still streamed from his leg, but that was good, I knew, for it probably contained the deadly venom, but he was growing weaker and weaker by the minute, and if he bled too much he might … I stumbled forward, holding him tightly, dragging him with me, and then we were in sight of the oak trees and I called out.
Adam came rushing along the rows of cotton, several other slaves behind him. “Snake,” I whispered hoarsely. “Copperhead.” That was all I needed to say. Adam snapped orders, commanding one of the slaves to fetch Mattie, commanding another to rush to the cookhouse and start water boiling immediately. Then he gathered Hawke up in his arms, cradling him against his massive chest, and hurried toward the line of oak trees. I staggered along behind him, under the trees, across the yard, through the back door and into the kitchen.
“Upstairs, Adam,” I said. “In his bedroom. Cassie, is—”
“Mattie done got the news. She’s gatherin’ her herbs already, fixin’ to make that poultice. You better sit down, Miz Marietta. You look awful, face all white like a ghost. I’ll—”
“I’ve got to go upstairs with Adam. I have to stay with him. He might die, and—”
“Don’t you worry now,” Cassie said gently. “Mattie knows what to do. Them snakes has bit lotsa folks, an’ Mattie’s herbs always works. She’ll have that poultice ready in no time. Th’ master ain’t gonna die.”
I hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall after Adam, following him up the stairs and into the bedroom. I yanked the counterpane and top sheet down to the foot of the bed, and Adam tenderly placed his master on the bed. Hawke groaned, unconscious now. I told Adam to go fetch some cloths and a bowl of water, and as he left the room I sat down on the side of the bed, took hold of Hawke’s shoulders and, lifting him up into a sitting position, pulled his shirt off him and tossed it on the floor. He gave a loud groan as I eased him back against the pillows and smoothed the damp hair away from his forehead.
He opened his eyes and looked up at me, and I knew he didn’t know who I was, knew that he wasn’t seeing me at all. I stroked his forehead and rested my hand against that lean, smooth cheek I had slapped so viciously such a short time ago. He tried to say something, but no words would come and his eyes filled with panic.
“It’s going to be all right,” I said softly. “Everything is going to be all right—”
Adam returned with the water and cloths, Cassie entering the room behind him, and I told Adam he’d have to help me remove Hawke’s boots and breeches. Adam nodded. Hawke cried out as the tall black man started pulling off his boots. He flung his arm out, hitting me across the side of my neck, almost knocking me off the bed.
“I reckon you’d better hold him down, Miz Marietta,” Adam told me in his husky growl. “It’s gonna hurt him, gettin’ this boot off, and he ain’t gonna like it a bit.”
I leaned over Hawke and placed my hands on his shoulders as Adam tugged at the boot. Hawke fought viciously, trying to throw me off, but he was too weak to do so now,
and he finally passed out as first one boot, then the other dropped to the floor. Removing his breeches was much easier. When he was naked, I dipped a cloth into the water and began to bathe his face. His leg was still swollen and discolored, but not nearly so much as it had been before. Blood seeped out of the wound in tiny trickles. He was still now, unconscious, breathing heavily. I bathed his shoulders and chest, and when I dipped a fresh cloth into the cool water and applied it to his wound, he showed no reaction at all. Adam and Cassie stood silently on the other side of the bed, both looking grave and worried. Cassie rested against her husband, and Adam curled his arm around her shoulders, holding her close.
I had just finished bathing him when Mattie came bustling into the room, moving quite briskly for a woman her size. She carried a platter covered with what looked like mud, still steaming with heat, filling the air with a pungent odor. I moved away from the bed and watched her cake the mixture over his wound. I was in a daze myself now, and I seemed to be seeing everything through a shimmering haze. My body ached painfully. My jaw was sore. I was praying, praying that he would be all right, and I was crying, too, hardly aware of the tears slipping down my cheeks.
“There,” Mattie said, applying a final pat of the muddy goo. “I’ll just bind it up with a clean rag an’ he’ll be right as rain in no time. Lucky you wuz there tuh suck th’ venom out, Miz Marietta. If you hadn’t of, he’d-a died for sure.”
“Is—is he going to be all right?”
“Oh, he’ll have a fever for a day or so. He’ll toss an’ turn and carry on, an’ he’ll sweat like a pig, but when that fever breaks, he’ll be mendin’ licketysplit, be back out workin’ hisself to death in three or four days. You don’t worry none now, yuh hear?”
“I was so—so frightened.”
“Reckon you wuz, gal, reckon you wuz. You lookin’ plumb sickly yoreself. I want you to go wash yourself an’ change them clothes and take a nap ’fore you fall in your tracks.”
“I—I’ll have to stay with him. He might—”
“Me an’ Cassie’ll watch after him for a while an’ you can spell us after you’ve waked up.” She turned to Adam, her expression suddenly fierce. “You, boy!” she snapped. “Get back out in them fields and get them niggers back to work! I reckon that’s what th’ master’s gonna be most concerned with when he comes ’round, and I reckon you’re th’ one who’s gotta take charge-a th’ works while he’s in bed.”
Adam scowled, resenting her tone. “Yes, ma’am,” he retorted.
“Don’t you get uppity with me, boy! You may be a hulkin’ brute of a buck, but I figures I could still take you over my knee if I wuz a mind to! Get on outta here now!”
Adam grinned in spite of himself, and when he was gone, the enormous black woman shook her head and clicked her tongue and told Cassie she was one lucky wench, havin’ a buck like that in her bed every night. Cassie was still too alarmed to respond, and Mattie told her to switch her tail out to her cabin and fetch the tin of snuff she’d left on the porch. Cassie left, but I still stood at the front of the bed, wringing my hands. The old woman pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and settled her great body into it, sighing wearily.
“You go on an’ mind me, Miz Marietta,” she said gently. “Your man’s goin’ be jest fine. Them herbs is already pullin’ th’ rest of th’ poison outta his system. Aint no need sendin’ for a white doctor, either, ’cause it’d take two days to get one here an’ by that time th’ master’d be outta bed an’ mean as ever. Go on, git! I’m tired-a lookin’ at you!”
I went to my room and undressed and washed and changed into a clean petticoat. Even though I knew it would be impossible to sleep, I stretched out on the bed and watched the rays of hot afternoon sun stealing into the room through the open windows. I closed my eyes, frightened, worried, sore all over, my jaw throbbing painfully, and I seemed to sink into a nest of darkness, floating through the shadows. When I opened my eyes, the room was filled with a heavy violet-gray mist. The curtains billowed softly as cool breezes drifted in from outside. Alarmed, I sat up, realizing that I must have slept for hours. The sun had already set, the last vestiges of twilight turning into night. I lit an oil lamp and brushed my hair. Then I slipped on a clean blue cotton dress and, barefooted, hurried down the hall to the master bedroom.
“Here you is,” Mattie said warmly, shifting in her chair, “an’ you look all rested up, too. I goin’ get on back to my cabin now, I reckon. He goin’ sleep th’ rest of th’ night.”
“Is—is he all right?”
“Oh, he’s been tossin’ ’bout some, mumblin’ in his sleep. Sweated somethin’ terrible, too, an’ me an’ Cassie done changed th’ sheets, rollin’ him over to get ’em on. Th’ master didn’t like that none, but it wuz somethin’ had to be done. I fed him some broth a while back—don’t want him starvin’ on us.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done, Mattie. I’ll take over now.”
“Nursin’s ’bout all I’m good for now, that an’ bossin’ them wenches in th’ cookhouse. That Cassie’s still hangin’ around in th’ kitchen, didn’t wanna go join her man till you wuz up. On my way out I’m goin’ have her fix a bowl of that broth an’ bring it up to you. You eat it, hear?”
I nodded, distracted, looking at Hawke. Mattie heaved a sigh, put the tin of snuff in the pocket of her apron and climbed heavily to her feet. She shuffled over to give me a hug, and I found myself dangerously near to tears for the second time that day. Mattie looked into my eyes, her own full of sympathy and understanding, for Mattie had known all along what I was just now beginning to realize.
“It’s goin’ work out, Miz Marietta,” she told me. “He went an’ builded a fence around hisself after that woman done him th’ way she did. He won’t let hisself feel like other men, ’fraid he’ll get hurt again, but one-a these days he’s goin’ open his eyes an’ see what’s right here in front of ’em, an’ that’s th’ day you goin’ be th’ happiest woman alive.”
Mattie hugged me again and left the room. I could hear her moving ponderously down the stairs, heaving and puffing as she went. She knew I was in love with Derek Hawke, and I hadn’t even suspected it, not until this afternoon when he had nearly died. I was attracted to him, strongly attracted from the very first, and I had told myself that was all it was: physical attraction. When had it turned into love, I wondered, for love him I did, deeply, with every fiber of my being. His very presence caused a joyous glow inside, a heady sensation as though I were inebriated from the finest of wine. The physical attraction remained, an aching torment, but it was only part of something even stronger, something that filled me like sweet, silent music.
Hawke moaned in his sleep, flinging out an arm, kicking at the sheet pulled up over his chest. The room was stuffy, and I stepped over to the windows to let in the cool night air. The oak boughs outside the window groaned, leaves rustling crisply, and I could see fireflies in the distance, soft golden lights glowing on and off in the dense shadows around the shrubbery. The long gold brocade draperies swelled in the breeze, flapping gently. I turned as Cassie entered the room with the bowl of soup. I told her to set it down by the bed and then turned back to gaze out of the window, not wanting to talk just now. The girl tiptoed out of the room, and I gazed up at the velvety-black sky frosted with stars like chipped diamonds glittering.
“Marietta,” he said.
I turned. He was looking at me, weak, his beautiful face as pale as ivory, dark gray eyes surrounded by shadow. I stepped over to the bed and sat down beside him and took his hand, and he looked up at me silently. The cold, ruthless Hawke I knew had been replaced by a man who needed my warmth, my love.
“Doan—don’t go,” he pleaded. His voice was a hoarse croak.
“I’ll be here, Derek.”
“You … called … called me … Derek.”
“Yes, love,” I whispered.
“Dis—disrespec—ful wench.”
I placed my fingers over his mouth, gently touching the fi
rm pink flesh. “Hush now,” I said. “Don’t try to talk. I’m going to give you some more of Mattie’s broth.”
“Doan—don’t want it.”
“You’re going to eat it. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to get your strength back.”
I eased him into a sitting position and propped the pillows behind him, and then I fed him the soup Cassie had brought for me. He made a face, trying to look threatening, but he obediently opened his mouth each time I carried the spoon to his lips. Only one lamp burned in the corner of the room, creating a softly diffused yellow glow, and the rest of the room was dim and hazy, blue-gray shadows spreading over the walls. The draperies stirred as the cool breezes drifted in and out. Derek finished the broth and closed his eyes, and he was fast asleep even before I pulled the pillows away from his back. I sat there beside him, gazing down at his face, a luxury I had never been able to indulge in before.
Hours passed, and he slept peacefully, and then, around two in the morning, he began to mumble, frowning in his sleep. He began to sweat profusely, and I took a cloth and wiped his brow. He tossed and turned, grimacing, and I stroked his cheek, murmuring endearments, hoping to calm him. After fifteen minutes or so, he grew still. I sighed with relief and started to get up off the bed. He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide open, crazed. He seized my wrist, clamping his fingers around it so tightly that I winced at the pain.
“Don’t go!” he thundered angrily.
“I—I was just—”
“They all go! All of them! She did—my mother. She left me in that horrible damp brown school and went away and I never saw her again—”
His eyes were full of venomous hatred, and he twisted my wrist viciously, pulling me across his chest. He was in a delirium, had no idea what he was saying or whom he was saying it to. I realized that, but I was frightened nevertheless. If he had been weak before, he now seemed changed with super-human strength. He caught both my wrists and pinioned them to the bed.
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