North and South

by John Jakes

  Immediately after she called for the carriage, Orry appeared from around the corner of the house. His right sleeve was rolled up, and there was a hammer in his hand.

  “My, aren’t you pretty today,” he said, tucking the hammer in his belt.

  “I declare, Orry—you must think I’m some old chore woman who never fixes herself up. That’s Brett, not me.”

  He fingered his long beard and let the remark pass. “Going calling?”

  “Yes, sir, over to Resolute. It’s been way too long since I paid my respects to Madeline.”

  A wrinkled black footman opened the door. “Mistress Madeline? In the music room. If you’ll please wait here, I’ll announce you, Miss Ashton.”

  He marched away with a stately stride. Another door opened. Justin poked his head out.

  “Who’s that? Oh, Ashton. Good morning. Haven’t seen you over this way in an age.”

  “Yes, indeed, it’s been too long.” Ashton smiled. “You look wrought up, Justin.”

  “Why not?” He strolled toward her, holding up a copy of the Mercury. “More of those infernal Republican groups are forming up North, and they all want the same damn thing—repeal of the fugitive-slave laws and the Kansas-Nebraska bill.”

  Ashton sighed. “Isn’t that just terrible? Orry said there was one better piece of news, though. He told me that out in Kansas they elected a pro-slavery delegate to the Congress.” She was never completely sure of such things: “Didn’t they?”

  “’Deed they did. But a lot of good men had to ride over the border from Missouri to ensure that the election would come out the right way. I hope to heaven this new party withers on the vine. It’s clearly nothing more than a combination of Yankee fanatics out to do us dirt.”

  Slapping the paper against his palm, he left. Ashton was grateful. She was nervous. She fished a bit of crisp lace from her reticule and dabbed her upper lip dry. The footman returned to conduct her to the music room.

  Madeline rose to greet her, smoothing her skirts and smiling. It was a polite smile, but that was all; the two women had never been more than acquaintances. Ashton’s eyes flicked to the little book Madeline had laid on the table: Walden, or Life in the Woods. She’d never heard of it. People said Madeline read a lot of trashy Northern books.

  “This is an unexpected pleasure, Ashton. You’re looking fit.”

  “So—so are you.” After that hesitation, she gained control of herself, resolving to do the best job of acting she had ever done.

  “May I ring for some refreshments?”

  “No, thank you. I came here to talk very seriously to you. No one else can help me.” With an exaggerated glance over her shoulder, she added, “Is it all right if I shut the door to keep our conversation private?”

  Madeline’s dark brows lifted. “Of course. Is someone in your family sick? Is it Orry?”

  Ashton rushed to the door and closed it. She might have noticed the way Madeline mentioned her brother with a catch in her voice, but she was too preoccupied with her own performance.

  “No, they’re all fine. I’m the one in need of assistance. I won’t mince words, Madeline. I don’t know of another soul I can trust to advise me. I certainly can’t go to my family. You see, a few months ago, I—” This time the pause was deliberate, designed for a poignant effect. “I committed an indiscretion. And now I’m, as they say, in trouble.”

  “I see.”

  Mercifully, Madeline’s tone held no condemnation. She gestured to a chair with a pale hand. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thank you. It’s such a strain bearing the secret all by myself. I’m just about out of my wits—” Tears sprang to her eyes almost the second she willed it. Why not? She was desperate. Everything had to work perfectly, or she was finished. There would be no second chance here.

  “I can understand,” Madeline murmured.

  “You know so many people in the neighborhood—they all think so well of you—that’s why I knew I could speak. Beg your help—”

  “I gather you don’t want to have the child?”

  “I can’t! I’m to marry James in the spring. The date’s already set. I love him, Madeline—”

  Did the lie sound believable? Under her skirts her knees were shaking. She pressed them together.

  “But God forgive me—” She sighed a little too much on that, she thought. She cast her eyes down to her lap. “The child is not his.”

  “I won’t ask whose it is. But I’d be less than honest if I didn’t say this about the solution you’re seeking: morally, I disapprove of it.”

  Now, Ashton thought in a panic. Now! Don’t hold back. She leaned forward from the waist, her sobs so artful they almost felt real to her.

  “Oh, I was afraid you might. So many women do. I appreciate that you have your convictions. I freely admit I’ve been sinful. But must I lose James and see my entire life destroyed because of one stupid mistake? Can’t you at least give me a name? I know there are people in the low country who help girls in trouble. I’ll never reveal the source of the information. Just tell me where to turn.” She laced her hands together, as if in prayer. “Please, Madeline.”

  Madeline studied her guest. Gradually, the sight of Ashton’s reddened eyes overcame her suspicions. She glided to the younger woman with a rustle of skirts, slipped her arm around Ashton’s shoulder, and said as Ashton clasped her hand:

  “Calm yourself. I’ll help you. I can’t pretend to believe it’s right. But then, as you say, neither is it right for your life to be wrecked because of a few moments of uncontrollable emotion. We all have those,” she added. Then, thoughtfully: “I know of a woman who lives back in the marshes. She said I could call on her if I ever needed help. It wouldn’t be safe for you to go to her alone. You’d need a companion.”

  Ashton’s upturned face had grown bright with hope. Madeline took a long breath, as if she were about to dive into a deep pool—which was almost the way she felt, not really wanting to involve herself in the problems of this shallow, prideful girl who turned to her only because she was desperate. Yet Ashton was a human being and in need of help. It was Madeline’s misfortune always to be swayed by those considerations.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said suddenly. “It will take me a few days to make arrangements and obtain directions. I’ve never visited Aunt Belle before.”

  “Oh, thank you. Oh, Madeline, you’re the most wonderful, compassionate—”

  “Not so loud, please,” Madeline cut in, though not harshly. “I’ll have to confide in my servant, Nancy, but beyond that only you and I must know. We don’t want anything to hurt your reputation or cause trouble for you.”

  Nor do I want any trouble out of this, she said to herself in the wake of some nervous thoughts of Justin.

  The preparations were intricate. First, contact had to be made with the midwife. Nancy handled that. Then a date had to be chosen, and Ashton informed by means of a sealed note smuggled to Mont Royal by the one man Nancy could trust, a big tea-colored slave named Pete with whom she had been living for over a year.

  Several days before the appointed date, Madeline told Justin that she wanted to travel to Charleston to do some shopping. He muttered his consent, scarcely paying attention when she said she’d be gone overnight. He did insist that she take a male slave with her, and Nancy, too. She had expected that stipulation.

  The night before the fictitious Charleston trip, she slept very little. Justin lurched into her room around eleven; he and Francis had been sitting downstairs for the last two hours, drinking and cursing the anti-slavery agitators in Kansas. He approached her bed without a word. He flung her nightdress above her waist, put his hands around her ankles and pulled her legs apart. Ten minutes later, still having said nothing, he left.

  She hated his crude lovemaking. But at least when he visited her this way, he returned to his own room afterward and left her in peace the rest of the night. Now there was no chance of his detecting her nervousness.

  In the morni
ng—a sunny, pleasant day, exactly two weeks before Christmas—Nancy packed Madeline’s valise. At noon Pete brought the chaise around, its hood in place to protect them from the elements. During the past hour the sun had disappeared, and the weather looked threatening. Madeline didn’t want to travel the back roads in a storm, but it was too late to make other arrangements.

  Once out of sight of Resolute, she took the reins from Nancy. Pete trotted along at the left side of the chaise. In this fashion they proceeded to a deserted crossroads where Ashton was waiting in her buggy. She looked pale and anxious.

  Pete took Ashton’s buggy and drove away into the pines. He had a friend nearby, a freedman, and would stay with the man’s family overnight, meeting the women at the crossroads about the same time tomorrow. Ashton spent a few moments chattering about her excuse for being away from Mont Royal; it also involved staying with a friend, a nonexistent one. Madeline heard Ashton’s voice, but few of the words registered.

  The three women crowded into the chaise, Ashton in the middle. It was evident to Madeline that Orry’s sister didn’t like squeezing against a Negress, but she’d just have to put up with it.

  Madeline tugged the reins and the chaise got under way. She glanced apprehensively at the swift-moving slate clouds. She was feeling more and more nervous about this expedition. One thing was in their favor, however—the remote location of Aunt Belle Nin’s cabin. It lay far back in the marshes above Resolute, accessible only by dirt roads that seldom saw any traffic. Madeline believed they had an excellent chance of reaching Aunt Belle’s without encountering another soul and certainly no one who would recognize them.

  When they were about halfway to their destination, the sky grew black and the rain came, along with a high wind and pellets of hail. The road, here running beside a murky marsh, quickly turned to gumbo. Madeline stopped the chaise.

  The hail and rain let up after ten minutes, and the wind moderated. Madeline flicked the reins over the back of the horse and they started on, only to founder within fifty yards when the left wheel sank into a muddy rut.

  “Everyone out,” Madeline ordered.

  She and Nancy put their shoulders against the wheel. They freed it while Ashton stood by and watched. Just as the wheel pulled out of the mud, Madeline heard a sound that made her heart freeze. A horseman was approaching from up the road.

  “Get down. Hide over there!” she said to Ashton, who was confused by the order. Surely Madeline wasn’t telling her to ruin her fine dress by squatting in the wet, dirty weeds?

  “Blast you, girl, hurry!” Madeline pushed her. None too soon, either. The rider galloped into sight, slowing when he spied the carriage.

  There was something familiar about the man’s sturdy form and wide-brimmed black hat. Madeline’s stomach spasmed. She recognized him. Would he know her?

  “Miz Madeline, what on earth are you doing this far from Resolute on such a bad day?” said Watt Smith, a middle-aged man who frequently raced his horses against those of her husband.

  “Just an errand, Mr. Smith.”

  “Out here? Don’t nobody live out here but a few ignorant niggers. Sure you ain’t lost?”

  Madeline shook her head. Smith looked unconvinced. He glanced at Nancy in an unfriendly way. “Ain’t safe for white women to be on the roads, what with half the nigger population always mutterin’ about revolt. Would you like me to ride along with you?”

  “No, thank you, we’ll be perfectly all right. Good day.”

  Rebuffed and mightily puzzled, Smith scowled, touched his hat brim, and cantered off.

  Madeline waited about five minutes, then called Ashton from her hiding place. Her heart was racing. She feared the whole plot would now come to light somehow.

  Well, the damage was done. They might as well go ahead.

  Inside the ramshackle cabin, Ashton was moaning, though as yet nothing had happened. Madeline sat on the small porch in Aunt Belle’s rocker, exhausted by the strain of the afternoon.

  The stringy old octoroon woman listened to the outcries of her patient and puffed her clay pipe. “Soon as it’s over and she’s resting, we’ll fix pallets for you and Nancy inside.”

  “That’ll be fine, Aunt Belle. Thank you.”

  “I want you to know”—she pointed at Madeline with the stem of her pipe—“I’m helping her strictly because it was you who asked. That girl mistreats her people.”

  “I know she does. She and I have never been close, but I felt I had to help her. She didn’t know where to turn.”

  “Don’t make a habit of riskin’ your skin over her kind. She’s a mean, spoiled crybaby, not fit to kiss your hem.”

  Madeline smiled in a weary way. Aunt Belle went inside. The door closed.

  The sight of the midwife sent Ashton into another fit of fearful moaning. The old woman exclaimed, “Nancy, grab that bottle of corn and pour some down her throat. And you, missy—you shut your mouth and lie still, or I’ll send you back up the road to have your bastard whether you want it or not.”

  Ashton’s complaints subsided. Madeline slumped in the chair, trying to relax. She couldn’t. She kept remembering the suspicious eyes of Watt Smith.

  As they drove back to the crossroads next day, Ashton swooned several times. Madeline felt the girl was putting on because she thought she should. Pete met them with the other buggy. They saw Ashton into it, then started home. Ashton had barely remembered to offer a feeble smile and a halfhearted word of thanks.

  Yesterday’s storm had strewn the roads with branches and palmetto fronds. Madeline found the grounds of Resolute equally littered. She must get a crew to work to clean up the debris. But not today. Tomorrow would be plenty of—

  “Miz Madeline!” Nancy’s urgent whisper jerked her out of her tired reverie. She looked up and saw Justin stride from the house. His face looked thunderous.

  “I heard you were searching for Charleston upriver,” he said. “Did you forget where it was?”

  Panic and confusion churned in her. Watt Smith must have ridden by to say he had seen her on a remote road where no respectable white woman belonged. Any conscientious man would have done the same thing. She had almost expected it of Smith and yet had hidden the fact from herself.

  “Justin—”

  The word trailed off. She was too stunned and weary to think up a lie.

  Nancy and Pete shot terrified glances at each other. Justin strode to the chaise, grabbed Madeline’s arm, and dragged her out. She quailed, unable to believe he could smile at a time like this. He was enjoying her entrapment.

  “Where have you been?” He jerked her wrist, hurting her. “Fitting me with a set of horns?”

  “Justin, for God’s sake, you mustn’t say such things in front of—oh!”

  Tears sprang to her eyes; he had pulled her arm again, hard. He thrust his face close to hers.

  “Have you been whoring behind my back? We’ll soon find out.” He hauled her into the house.

  “I’ll ask you once again. Where were you?”

  “Don’t do this, Justin. I wasn’t betraying you, as you call it. I’d never do such a thing. I gave you my pledge the day we married.”

  She retreated in front of him as she spoke. He followed her across the bedroom, his manure-flecked boots thumping softly, steadily. A small tripod stand bearing a vase stood in his path. He picked up the tripod and threw it over his shoulder. The stand clattered. The vase broke.

  “Then where were you?”

  “On a—a private errand. Woman’s business.” Desperately frightened, she didn’t know what else to say.

  “I must have a better answer than that.” His hand shot out, clamping on her wrist again. “A truthful answer.”

  “Let go of me. Stop hurting me or I’ll scream the house down.”

  Unexpectedly, he was amused. He released her and stepped back. “Go ahead. No one will pay any attention, except maybe that nigger slut you’re so thick with. I’m going to take care of her, too, don’t you worry.”


  A new, sharper fear drove through Madeline then. Though she was frightened, she knew she could hold out against his questions almost indefinitely. But if poor Nancy were dragged into it—

  “You needn’t look so alarmed, my dear.” His tone was pleasant, conversational. “I won’t injure you physically. I’d never leave so much as the smallest mark on you. It would be bad for appearances. Besides, you’re a lady, or you’re supposed to be. Whippings and similar methods of persuasion are for niggers. I’ll try them on your wench tonight. On the buck, too. Meantime, I shall continue to ask you politely for an answer.”

  In spite of herself, she began to cry. She hated the weakness that brought on the tears. That weakness sprang from tension, exhaustion, and fear. Somehow she couldn’t control it.

  “I gave you an answer, Justin. I didn’t betray you. I never would.”

  A long, aggrieved sigh. “My dear, that isn’t acceptable. I shall have to leave you in this room until you come to your senses.”

  “Leave me—?”

  Belatedly, understanding widened her eyes. Like an animal fleeing for its life, she ran past him toward the door. She almost reached it. Her fingers stretched to within inches of the polished brass knob. Then his hand swooped in. He seized her wrist and flung her back across the room. She cried out, struck the bed, and sprawled.

  “You have deeply offended me with your lies and disobedience. This time I shall not limit your confinement to a day and a night. Good-bye, my dear.”

  “Justin!”

  She wrenched the knob back and forth and managed to open the door half an inch. But he was stronger; he pulled it shut from the other side. She sank down in a heap at the sound of the lock shooting home.

  Once outside, Justin stopped smiling and allowed his true emotion, rage, to show itself. What he had just decreed as punishment—imprisonment for at least a week—was a mere palliative. Madeline had defied him for years with her books and her unfeminine opinions. This latest escapade was merely the culmination of her revolt. A revolt fostered by his tolerance—

  His weakness.

  That situation would change, he vowed to himself as he stormed downstairs. He began screaming at the house men to fetch Nancy and Pete. They couldn’t be found.