by Dickie Erman
They stopped their horses as they approached one of the main streets.
“Let’s grab some food and sit a spell” Tolivar said. “I don’t suspect he’s even here yet. Walkin’ like he is, it’ll probably take him at least til’ tomorrow to arrive. And when he does, I don’t suspect he’ll just be strollin’ down any main street. He’ll probably hunker down in some livery stable or somethin’”.
The men chowed down, and drank a few beers.
“Well get a room and a good night’s sleep. Early mornin’, we’ll split up, and check every stable, blacksmith shop and outhouse we can find. The Colonel ain’t gonna want us to come back empty-handed” he cautioned.
* * *
TABARI was smelly, dirty, hungry, and thirsty but, most of all, exhausted. His spirits lifted considerably as he crested a hill and viewed the city lights, still quite a ways off. Daybreak would arrive soon, and he needed to secure a safe spot to rest during the day.
His plan was to arrive in the city shortly after dusk, stealthily snake his way through darkened side streets, until he could find a neighborhood where he could approach one of the well-dressed free black men.
He felt some confidence having seen, firsthand, well-to-do blacks mingling with upper class whites as they shared the same cobblestone sidewalks. If he could approach one of his own race and explain his situation, maybe they’d direct him to one of the underground conductors. Maybe they’d even know of Greta Fitzgerald, and where she lived.
Regardless, caution above all else. This was no leisurely sojourn away from his village. Approaching the wrong person, saying the wrong thing, and he might be snitched out. Any one of them might side with his slave owner, might be looking for one of them Fug I Tive rewards.
He could trust no one. But he must trust someone. He laid down in a thick patch of tall grass, waiting patiently for the beginning day to eventually turn to night.
31
T OLIVAR WOKE THE OTHERS just before daybreak.
“Let’s get movin. It’s possible that ol’ Tabari will be comin’ into town right now. We’ll grab some breakfast later”.
It was still dark as the men saddled up. “Let’s split up. Cooter, head straight ahead, then switchback on the side streets. Hank, do the same” pointing diagonally to the left.
“Talk with every blacksmith, livery stable man, the sheriff if ya’ see ‘em. We’ll meet back here in two hours”.
Tolivar didn’t know that Tabari would be hiding all day, outside the city. Two hours later, the three meet back in front of the hotel.
“Nothin” they all acknowledged.
“I asked around. The blacksmith said he’d keep an eye out. So did the bartender” Cooter said.
“Bartender? You think he’s just gonna stroll into a saloon?” Tolivar asked, suspecting Cooter may have drank some of his breakfast.
“I talked with one of the livery stable men” Hank said, pointing down the street. “He’ll keep an eye out, too. But I gotta’ say, I ain’t getting’ such a good feelin’ that these folks are too keen on helpin’ us”. He surveyed the street and watched as whites and blacks mingled together, some engaged in lighthearted conversation. Some shaking hands.
“Seems the white folks here are kinda’ friendly with ‘em”.
Tolivar nodded. “Yea. But they’s still the minority. Most whites can’t stomach ‘em. This neighborhood’s obviously one that can. But if Tabari’s in N’awlins, this is most likely where he’d come. Let’s get some food, and then spread out agin’”.
* * *
WHEN they resumed, Tolivar steered his horse right, and began a slow walk down the dirt street.
Folks had been up for a while now, brewing coffee, sweeping their porches, and preparing for the day.
He rode some distance, but never caught a glimpse of Tabari. He’d checked under tarps thrown across hay bales, the backs of wagons, even laid on the ground to look under old deserted buildings.
“Where would I go if I was a runaway nigger” he asked himself.
Probably the same places he’d been looking at. He thought Tabari might expose himself during dark, perhaps seeking help from one of the free blacks who walked the sidewalks, unfettered.
Then he remembered the Doctor, and decided to mosey on by to check up on the rebuilding of the house. The Colonel would appreciate the update when Tolivar returned to the plantation.
As he approached, he could see the wood framing of a two story home, much more impressive than the one story shack the Doctor owned. Two men were sawing and hammering away, sweating in the blistering heat. He spied the Doctor, leaning against a wooden saw horse under the shade of a neighbor’s tree.
“Well, if it ain’t my friend, Mr. Tolivar” the Doctor greeted, sipping from his tin flask.
“Doctor” Tolivar replied, admiring the fancy new suit and black polished boots he was sporting. “My, my. Don’t you look the gentleman?”
“Oh, you mean these?” looking down and smiling at his new clothes. “This is nothin’. You should see the rest of my wardrobe. Yes, the Colonel’s been quite kind in replacin’ my lost possessions”.
“I can see that” Tolivar said, slowly looking upward at the wood framing. “As I recall, your old house was only one story” he said with a note of sarcasm.
“Was it now?” the Doctor replied with a devilish smile.
“Are you sure you remember correctly? I mean, I seem to recall you bein’ pretty shitfaced when you burned my house down”.
Tolivar knew the Doctor had him dead to rights. No sense challenging him for taking a little advantage of the Colonel’s generosity, and money.
“No, Doctor. I ain’t got no problem with it. I seem to recall you had a fine house. A pretty large house at that. ‘Course, it was real dark that night, and I was half passed out with pain” he said in a conspiratorial tone, gently reaching to comfort his left arm.
“I’m thinkin’ you’re here to inspect the progress?”
“Well, that’s part of it” Tolivar answered. “But I’m here on a bigger problem. You remember Tabari?”
“Of course. Kinda felt sorry for him. I mean, he’s just a nigger, but he sure got the short end of the stick”.
Tolivar didn’t really want to relive this with the Doctor, but he’d already opened up the past wounds. “Well, if ‘ya remember, I told Tabari that I wouldn’t whip him, sorta like a promise in exchange for him not trying to tell the truth about … well … how the fire happened and all”.
“I remember”.
“Turned out, the Colonel was mad. Real mad. Much more than I thought he’d be. And he insisted I whip him, and I mean good”.
“Damn!”
“Yea. Anyways, I started to whip him but, with my arm being busted and all, I couldn’t really lay into him, ya know what I mean? So the Colonel, he jumped in and laid into ‘em real bad. I mean real bad. Hell, I didn’t know if Tabari would make it or not”.
“Well, that’s a shame, that is. So, why does that bring you all the way out here?”
“Because, Tabari escaped yesterday mornin’. Actually, probably the previous night. The Colonel figured he’d high tail it to N’awlins because he’d been here before. Well, you know all about that. Anyways, that’s why I’m here. Me and two others. We’re looking for Tabari”.
“I see. Well, he certainly hasn’t been around here. Can’t imagine he would. He knows I can’t help him. Wouldn’t even try. Where’d you think he’d be?”
“Don’t really know. All I know is he’s on foot. He might not even arrive in the city until dark, tonight. I guess I’m just askin’ ya’ to keep an eye out for him. I know the Colonel would be mighty grateful to ya’ if you spotted him and let me know.
I’m stayin’ at the Horseshoe hotel, five or six blocks up. Not far from the saloon we’d met at”.
The Horseshoe you say? I know where it’s at. I’m stayin’ at the Cloverdale Hotel, a few blocks from here”.
“The Cloverdale? Well, well Doctor. Th
at’s probably the finest digs in all the city. Not too shabby, considerin’ all you’ve had to put up with”.
“Well, you’re right” he sheepishly replied. “I’ve been through hell and high water. But I must admit, the Colonel’s done alright by me” he stated, looking at his new house starting to take shape.
“Yes sir. The eatin’s are good, the bed’s nice and soft, and there’s a hot bath every day. I want you to thank the Colonel for me, when you return. Perhaps I’ll drive out after all the works finished here, just to thank him, personally”.
“Well, I’m sure that’ll be fine” Tolivar replied, not knowing if the Colonel would actually welcome such a visit.
“I’ll be sure to pass it on. And if ya’ do see that runaway, let me know, pronto. The Colonel’s expectin’ him to be returned, and I’m set to see that it’s done”.
“Will do. If I see or hear anything, you’ll be the first to know”.
With that, Tolivar turned his horse and slowly trotted off.
“Tabari escaped, huh?” the Doctor thought to himself.
“Wonder what the Colonel would pay if I found him and brought him back, myself?”
32
B REAKFAST WAS READY as Trent entered the kitchen.
“My my, it all smells so delicious”. His face beamed as he took time to enjoy one of the many sensations that wealth brought: pride over his mansion, the land, his servants, his loving wife. It all pleased him immensely. He anxiously awaited the taste of hot scrambled eggs and bacon that Sadie was scooping onto his plate.
Collette had already poured Trent’s coffee and was about to place it in front of him, when she saw Amana standing by his side, a coffee cup in one hand and carafe in the other. Amana sensed Collette staring at her, the jealous tension almost palpable.
“I’s sorry ma’am” she muttered, as she spun around to return the carafe to the stove. She could feel the pressure of Collette’s glare piercing her back.
“Here you are my dear” Collette said, as she placed the cup in front of Trent. “One cream, one sugar”.
“Thank you so much my love” as he gently took her hand and kissed it. Collette stared again at Amana, a type of showdown to prove that Trent could only have feelings for her.
“What am I doing?” Collette chided herself. “The poor girl was just trying to pour Trent a harmless cup of coffee. But was it harmless?” she thought to herself. “I saw the way she bent forward, exposing herself to him”.
She walked to the counter and began rearranging the flowers in a vase.
“My God, woman. Get a grip!” she thought. “Why on earth am I having these thoughts?”
Collette knew why, but wouldn’t let it come to the forefront.
But underlying the myriad of reasons, was guilt. Not only her affair with Caroline, but her lack of desire to be physically intimate with Trent. The loss of her infant son. Her miscarriage. It wasn’t one thing. It was all these, and more.
Unable, or unwilling to think introspectively, it was easier to simply project. It wasn’t her, it was Amana. Amana was to blame. Amana was the new Jezebel.
Jealousy’s a wicked master. Distrust, deception, possessiveness. It robs one of rational thought and replaces it with destructive passions. Collette knew all this, but guilt can be just as powerful a master. For Collette, jealousy and guilt were an overwhelming cocktail.
“I’ve got to put a stop to this” she thought. “I won’t let her ruin my marriage. Poor Trent. Dear, dear Trent. He’s so susceptible. As his wife, it’s my job to see to it that this woman doesn’t destroy our household”.
“Where is she now?” Collette wondered, surveying the kitchen.
Amana was hard at work, furiously scrubbing pots and pans so she could finish and leave the kitchen as quickly as possible.
Collette just stared. Stared at her backside, her body bent forward over the sink. Her servant’s dress cinched tight around her petite waist, her voluptuous breasts almost touching the top of the tub’s water.
Like a surreal dream, she turned her head to Trent. To see if he was watching.
He was.
He was more than just watching. He was ogling. His mouth half open, the fork in his right hand suspended half way to his mouth.
She stared incredulously at him.
Like a lurid nightmare, Trent’s eyes slowly moved left until he met Collette’s, her mouth also half open, but out of disbelief, not sexual attraction.
He nearly spat out his food. He reflexively stammered, no way out of having just been caught in the act.
“My dear, these are delicious. Please have a bite” knowing she’d refuse not only the eggs, but his half-baked attempt to hide his lecherousness.
“They’re cold” she muttered, as she took Trent’s coffee cup and poured it into the sink where Amana was washing dishes.
“Damn” he thought, almost out loud, furious for being so careless. He saw this as the perfect example of how his sloppiness could ruin his relationship with Collette. Now, guilt weighed him down.
“I’ve got to be more careful” he chastised himself. “If she’s jealous, she can ruin this”. Trent was confident he could dissipate this one indiscretion, but no more.
“If this happens again, she’ll demand that I get rid of Amana. Can’t let that happen. Careful, Trent. Be careful”.
Collette had stormed out of the kitchen, an almost visible wisp of scorn following behind her.
33
“B
WANA” TABARI MUTTERED as his parched throat forced him to wake, coughing from the dryness.
He instantly sensed that darkness was setting in. He scanned all around him, searching for any sign of intruders. There were none. Now, he set his sights on the city, the first lights flickering maybe three miles away.
“Water. I needs water” he said to himself. He dry swallowed repeatedly until enough saliva allowed him to wet his throat. He noticed that he hadn’t pooped or peed all day, and there was no urge now.
“No wonder” he thought. “I haven’t eatin’ or drank all day”. He felt relief that his throat now felt normal.
He stretched, then stood, again searching for signs of any potential captors. Each step toward the lights forced him to focus on how he’d approach the city, and each planned scenario changed as the outline of the entrance became clearer. It was almost completely dark as he stepped into a vacant field, adjacent to the first row of houses. The quarter moon provided just enough light to avoid accidentally stumbling into some obstacle.
“Water. I needs water”.
He figured there’d be a horse trough somewhere along the dirt street, most likely in front of one of the buildings where folks conducted business. He knew he shouldn’t walk through backyards, unexpectantly encountering a dog or gun toting resident.
Walking on the sidewalk carried its own problems. His dirty tattered clothing would mark him as a runaway, akin to wearing a bright sign reading: “Fugitive Slave”.
He’d take his chances. His thirst overcame all logic.
He walked on the edge of the street, head down, as inconspicuously as possible. After three blocks, finally, a horse trough, on the other side of the street, next to a saloon. The glow from kerosene lamps illuminated the entrance, but left the trough camouflaged.
He crossed the street a half block away, then approached slowly in a crouched position. He dropped to his knees, swished the top scum away, scooped his hands deep down and then quenched his thirst.
“Thank you, Bwana” he said to himself.
As he reached in for another drink, a side door of the saloon opened. The light from inside partially illuminated the trough. A teenage boy emerged, carrying a trashcan, and heading in Tabari’s direction.
The kid stopped, and set the heavy can down with a thud, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked to his right, and saw Tabari, on his knees with his hands still in the water.
Tabari’s face froze with terror, expecting the boy to yell for help. But th
e kid’s reaction was calm, almost compassionate. He wasn’t yet hardened by racial hatred of blacks. He knew how passionate both sides were, the slave owners and the abolitionists. But he had no land, no need for slaves. He was just a kid trying to make some money as a saloon hand.
He sensed Tabari was half starved.
“I have to empty this can over thar’” the kid said. “I’ll dump it, then you can pick through for some scraps. ‘Course, they’s leftovers, but the foods good here”.
Tabari replied with a grateful smile.
“Psst. Can I axe ya’ something?” Tabari pleaded.
The boy stood still, not knowing if Tabari threatened his safety, or wanted him to become involved in something he shouldn’t.
“I’s lookin’ fer someone. Her name’s Greta Fitzgerald.
“Have ya’ heard a’ her?” he asked.
“Miss Greta? Why sure. Everybody knows her”.
Tabari’s face lit up. Destiny was about to unfold in his favor. He could sense his freedom was close at hand.
“But she’s dead. Passed away ‘bout two years ago, I reckon”.
Tabari’s heart almost stopped. His spirits sank.
The boy thought for a moment. He’d known Miss Greta. He knew she’d been a wealthy spinster from Ireland, and well respected by most folks. But there were also folks that despised her. She was a dyed in the wool abolitionist, and had helped finance a newspaper that decried slavery.
“Say” the boy thought to himself. “I wonder if you’re a runaway slave?”
Tabari read his mind.
“I needs yer help” he pleaded. I come a long ways to meet her, ta’ see if she could hep’ me. Do ya’ know where any of her friends might live?”
The boy tensed up, looking all around to see if anyone was watching or listening.
“I don’t want no trouble” he stammered, wanting to help this desperate man but not willing to risk any repercussions.
“No no. No trouble” Tabari whispered, trying his best to reassure him.
“You already been more ‘den kind ta’ me. “Please! Tells me wheres just one ‘a Miss Fitzgerald’s friends lives”.
