Damita stared at him. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s a common thing, but it’s going to stop. He’s also too free with that whip of his. That’s going to stop too. Come along. You want to change clothes, or go as you are?”
“These will be all right.”
The two walked past the main house, past the line of cabins where the slaves lived, and to the shack where Napier lived alone. He was sitting outside and stood as the pair arrived.
“Need to talk with you, Napier.”
Claude stared at him without expression. “What is it?” he growled.
“Things are going to be different around here from now on,” Yancy said. “We need to get it straight. I want you to hear it from Miss Madariaga.”
“Hear what?”
“That I’m in complete charge of this plantation.”
Napier glared at him. “I’ve been the overseer a long time!”
“You still are, but I’m the overseer of the overseer. Isn’t that right, Miss Madariaga?”
“That’s right, Napier. You must obey any orders that Mr. Devereaux gives you.”
“The first order I’ll give you is this, Napier: You will not take advantage any longer of the female slaves. The first time I hear of it, you are off the place.”
Napier shot a glance at Damita but then said truculently, “Who’s been telling you tales?”
“You haven’t been too careful to hide your tracks. I’m not arguing about this. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Any more orders?” he asked, sneering.
“Lots of them, and here’s another. You’ve beaten some of the slaves. That’s all over.”
“You can’t work field slaves without discipline.”
“I’ll do the disciplining, but if I catch you whipping anyone, we’ll have more than words. Now, what are you doing here? You don’t have enough work to do?”
Damita was standing slightly behind Yancy. She saw the huge muscles in Napier’s arms and shoulders tense, and for a moment she was afraid he would attack his new boss. He was a brute of a man, and she had heard about how he had beaten men senseless.
“If you’ve got anything to say, say it now,” Yancy said coolly. He was facing Napier, standing loosely with his feet slightly spread and his arms at his sides.
“You’ll see quick enough that babying these slaves won’t do,” he answered. “But now I’ve got work to do out in the east field.” He turned and walked toward the stable, and rebellion showed in the set of his straight back and the way he held his head.
“I don’t know why Papa kept him on so long. He’s a cruel man.”
“He’ll have to toe the line or get out. As a matter of fact, I’ve got half a mind to run him off now. It’ll come sooner or later, I think. But there’s something else that we’ve got to talk about.”
“All right, Yancy. What is it?”
“We’ve got to get rid of about half of the slaves. My plan is to keep the best ones, treat them well, and encourage them so that they’ll work hard. When I took a look, I saw a lot of field hands just loafing. Some of them were too old to be in the fields. Slavery’s a bad system, and I see the worst of it here.”
“If that’s what you think, then I’m sure it must be done.”
“I’m going to be busy, so I’m giving you the chore of deciding which ones to sell.”
“Me? Why, I can’t do that! Some of these have been with us for years.”
“I’m sure they have, and you’ve always been interested in their welfare!” Yancy said sharply.
Damita’s eyes flew open at his statement. It was true. She had never given any thought to the welfare of the slaves, and she knew he was thinking about the beating that she arranged for Charissa. “I can’t do it.”
“You’ll have to. I can’t do everything. First, decide which ones we really need. Then go to your rich friends, people you know who will treat them decently. They’ll be glad to do you a favor, won’t they?”
“I’d be like a beggar.”
Yancy grinned. “That’s what you are, Damita. We all are, in one way or another. I don’t think you’ve understood yet how hard this is going to be. It’ll be a miracle if we make it through the next two years, so let’s settle it right now. You’ve agreed to do what I’ve said, and now I’m saying to help me get rid of half of these slaves. Yes or no?”
Damita’s face flushed. She hated to take orders, but as she looked at his face, she understood that he expected her to refuse. Stubbornness rose in her, and she said, “All right, I’ll do it then.”
Yancy was somewhat surprised but nodded with approval. “Try to keep the families together,” he said. “I’ve seen babies taken from women, and men and women who lived as husband and wife torn apart, without a thought. Do your best for them.”
“All right,” Damita said, suddenly resolved to do this thing well. “I will.”
Damita returned home exhausted. The entire month had been trying. She had struggled over her task of thinning out the slaves, and it had been more difficult than she could believe. She had discovered that she knew almost nothing about them or their personal lives, and now that she did, letting some go had been grim business. She had visited all of her friends, asking them to buy the slaves, and the task had been humiliating.
The rigors of the first month at the plantation weighed heavily on Damita. She herself had worked as she had never thought possible. When she wasn’t out trying to get someone to buy the slaves, she was helping Yancy, because he always had something more for her to do. She once had had no idea of the enormity of work necessary to keep a plantation running, but she knew it now!
As she entered, she heard her mother’s voice and called, “Mama, where are you?”
Elena stepped quickly into the foyer, her face anxious. “Damita, I’m so glad you’re home. Yancy’s been looking for you.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“He’s at the blacksmith’s shop,” Elena answered. She looked at her daughter. “I’m worried about you. Are you getting enough rest?”
Damita smiled and said, “Of course I am.” She left the house and walked to where the blacksmith worked. From a distance, she saw Yancy shoeing a horse. She stopped and watched. He was stripped to the waist and sweat glistened all over his body. She had never seen him like this. He was a strong man, and the years he had spent doing hard physical labor showed.
She walked into the shop. “Hello, Yancy.”
Yancy looked up and grinned. “You come to help me shoe horses?” He put the horse’s hoof down, patted him, then picked up his shirt and put it on. “How did it go?”
“I managed to sell them all at last.”
“You’ve done a good job.”
“I’ve hated every minute of it.”
“I can imagine. You’ve got a good heart. Hard-hearted people wouldn’t have thought a minute about it.”
Damita suddenly smiled. “You’re paying me compliments. You must want something.”
“Just a drink of water. Come along, and tell me all about what you’ve been doing.”
The two walked over to the well, and he drew water from the bucket. Both drank from the dipper, and he listened as she described, with some pride, how she had placed the last four slaves that morning.
“Who bought them?”
“I went to Lewis. His family has a very large plantation. He was glad to take them off my hands, and for a good price, too.” She laughed. “I raised the figures you gave me.”
“You’re getting to be a steely businesswoman.”
It was pleasant standing in the sun, and now that the job of selling off the slaves was over, Damita felt relieved. She looked at Yancy and said suddenly, “I hate slavery. I found that out.”
“So do I. You know, Damita, it does something to a person to own a slave. Once you own one, you’re saying that a man or a woman is no more than a horse or a dog. When you ‘own’ another person, you put yourself in that position.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“I’ve always thought slavery was a horrible mistake. We’ll pay for it someday.”
“Some say that the South will pull away someday and become a separate nation.”
“The North will never let that happen. If you listen to—”
A young black woman suddenly interrupted: “Mr. Yancy, come quick!”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mr. Napier—he’s whippin’ my daddy!”
Yancy’s face darkened, and without a word, he ran toward the barn. Damita followed with the young girl. When they reached the far side, she saw a slave stretched out on the ground and Napier whipping him savagely. She saw the blood and the lash marks on his back, and it sickened her.
As Napier drew back to strike again, Yancy grabbed the whip and ripped it from Napier’s hand. Then he grasped the man’s arm and whirled him around, his voice brittle with anger: “I told you, Napier, never to whip a slave on this place!”
“You keep out of this! This boy was uppity.”
“Get up, Jake,” Yancy said, not taking his eyes off Napier’s face. “You can go now.”
Napier’s fury boiled. “Give me back that whip!”
“Here’s your whip. Now take it, and get off this place.”
Napier took the whip, and his hazel eyes glittered with hatred. “You think you’re somebody, don’t you?”
“I know who you are—you’re nobody. Now get off this place!”
Napier suddenly threw a clumsy blow that caught Yancy in the chest and drove him backward. He cursed and threw the whip back to strike Yancy with it. Damita cried out, “Look out, Yancy!”
But the blow was never delivered. Yancy threw himself forward and struck the big man squarely in the mouth. The big man roared and countered with a punch, and the two men began to exchange blows. Damita could not move. She had never seen such a thing. It was a brutal display; both men were strong and able, and both had obviously been in brawls before. One blow caught Yancy low on the jaw and drove him to the ground, and Napier ran forward, aiming a kick, but Yancy grabbed his foot and twisted it. Napier fell to the ground, and Yancy jumped to his feet. Blood dripped from the faces of both men.
Napier took a direct blow to his temple and started to collapse. Yancy rained blow after blow on the man’s face and body, and finally Napier fell, crying out, “Enough—I’ve had enough!”
Yancy’s shirt was ripped to shreds, and blood poured from a cut over his eye and from his lips. “Get off this place now!” he said.
Napier got to his feet, groaning, and staggered away.
“You’ve got thirty minutes to disappear. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”
Damita ran to Yancy and looked up into his face. “You’ve got to get something cold on those cuts.” She quickly led him to the big house and into the kitchen. Fortunately, her mother was not there at the moment, and Damita nervously dipped cloths in cool water and wiped Yancy’s face.
He murmured, “I thought I’d given up all this, but he didn’t leave me any choice.”
Damita was sponging away the blood. “You’ve got a cut over your eyebrow. I don’t know if it should be stitched or not.”
Yancy ran his fingers over it. “No. Just get some plaster and pull it together.”
Damita’s hands were trembling as she worked over his wounds. He had taken some hard blows. His right eye was almost closed already, and his lips were puffy.
“Nothing like a good, rousing beating to make a man realize how small he is.”
“He was a beast! I wish you had shot him.”
“I should have gotten rid of him before this.” He reached up and caught her hand, the one that held the cloth. “You make a pretty good nurse.”
“I . . . I haven’t had much practice.”
Damita stood, his hand holding hers, looking into his battered face. “I wish things like this didn’t have to happen.”
“We’ve all got to eat our peck of dirt, as someone said. You know, if you married Whitman, you wouldn’t have to go through such adventures.”
Damita didn’t answer but pulled her arm loose and dipped the cloth again in water. “Hold this over your eye for a while. Maybe it’ll help.” She gently touched his cheek. Her eyes were tender. “I know you’re not doing this for money, but for us. I didn’t mean for you to get in a fight.”
Yancy grinned, then winced. “I’m too old to cry, and it hurts too much to laugh. We’ve got a long way to go, Damita, but I think we’ll make it.”
“Yes,” Damita answered, studying his battered features, “we’ll make it, but I wish you didn’t have to bleed in the process.”
Chapter twenty
Charissa leaned back in the carriage, listening as Matthew Denton spoke of the sermon that they’d just heard. From time to time, she glanced at him, noting the strong jawline and the healthy glow of his face. He was not handsome but roughly attractive, and as he spoke, she thought of how strange it was that she should be riding along in a carriage—she who had not been a Christian only a year ago—with such a devout man.
“So, I agree with the pastor that there is such a thing as election. I’m not certain that it’s quite as prominent as he seems to make it.”
“What’s your opinion of election and predestination?”
“Well,” Matthew said slowly, “I think God is sovereign. He can do anything He pleases, but I think He chooses certain people such as Paul, for example. The Scripture says that he was a chosen vessel, but the pastor seems to think that Paul had no choice at all, that God simply made him become an apostle. I can’t quite believe that.” He turned to her and smiled warmly. “I think we’ve all got wills of our own.”
Charissa agreed and sat contentedly as the horses clopped along the cobblestone streets. She enjoyed Matthew Denton’s company. He was the son of a prominent businessman, who owned a large hardware store and a plantation just north of the city. Charissa and Matthew had met after church services, and he had driven her home several times.
He was a straightforward young man; he always said what was on the top of his mind. Charissa could tell that he was contemplating something, and she asked, “What are you thinking about, Matthew?”
“I’m thinking about you.”
“That’s flattering.”
“I’m wondering if you’ve ever thought about me as a man you might marry.”
Charissa was stunned. She could see in his large blue eyes that he was serious. “Why, I never thought of it, Matthew.”
“I’m asking you now to think of it. I’ve grown very fond of you, Charissa.”
“But you don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re a fine Christian young woman. I know you’re smart, because you’re a nurse. I know we get along real well.”
“But that’s not enough to make a marriage.”
“I’m just asking you to think about it.” He smiled and looked very boyish. “I’d make a good husband. You’d never know meanness from me.”
Charissa took a deep breath and said, “Matthew, I need to tell you something. You may know it already, but if you don’t, you should.”
“Know what, Charissa?”
“I’m a quadroon, Matthew.”
Denton looked at her, lifting his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”
“You need to know also that I was born a slave. For a while, I was the property of New Orleans people. Their name is Madariaga.”
“Alfredo Madariaga?”
“Yes, I was his daughter’s maid for a few years.”
“No, I didn’t know anything about that.” Denton held the lines loosely in his hands as the horses pulled the carriage along at a fast clip. “You don’t look like it. Why, your skin is whiter than mine.”
“I am, though. My mother was a slave. So, you see, that makes a difference.”
“Not to me.”
His guilelessness was both amusing and sad to Charissa. “It would make a di
fference to your family,” she said.
Denton shook his head. “I don’t think it would, but it doesn’t matter to me.”
Charissa felt affection for the young man, but nothing more. “In any case, I don’t intend to marry for a long time—if ever. I may give my whole life to medicine.”
“That wouldn’t be good. You need to have a husband and a family.”
“I’m not sure that will ever happen to me. Matthew, please, I wish you wouldn’t speak of this again.”
Denton was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t promise that, Charissa. I’ve grown mighty fond of you.”
“I had an offer of marriage yesterday, Jefferson.”
Charissa was sipping her coffee after breakfast. Debakky had left early, and she and Jeff had lingered over the meal, talking about the work at the hospital. They had spoken for some time about the yellow fever that was relentlessly attacking the city. Charissa had not really intended to tell Jeff of Denton’s words, and now she saw that her news affected him strongly. He sat up straighter, and alarm showed in his eyes.
“An offer of marriage? Who was it from?”
“Matthew Denton.”
“Is he the one whose people own the hardware store?”
“Yes, and a very large plantation somewhere.”
Jeff began to fidget. He picked up the saltshaker and rolled it around in his hand, staring at it. He was clearly troubled.
Charissa was mildly amused. She had not cared for any of the young men who had called on her, yet Jeff put them all through a strict grilling process. Many of them never bothered to call a second time.
“I’ll make it a point to talk to him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll meet all your standards.”
“My standards?”
“Yes. You interrogate all my suitors, wanting to know if they’re worthy of me or not.”
“I’m going to continue to do it!” Jeff said almost stridently. “I have to look out for you, Charissa.”
“I’m sure you’ll find Matthew qualified. He’s going to be one of the deacons in the church. He’s already been chosen. Did you know that?”
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