His fists clenched at the memory. Being sold to Sam Gates to be a prostitute couldn’t be a more fitting end for Emma. He wished he had been there to see her face when Luke handed her over to Hank Toole and she was told why. He laughed out loud at the thought of it.
“What are you laughin’ about?” Deek asked, adjusting a weathered leather hat over his shaggy blond hair.
“Just thinkin’ about Emma bein’ at that place called the Tennessee Belle. Can’t you just picture her dressed in a fancy red dress with half her tits hangin’ out?”
They both laughed.
“I reckon she’ll learn to like it,” Deek answered. “Maybe she’ll be right glad to see a couple of boys from home—give us a free turn.”
They laughed more. Tommy slowed his horse then, pointing to smoke. “Looks like a campfire.”
“Looks like.”
“Let’s go see. If they’re friendly, maybe we can use their fire for the night and not have to build one of our own. Maybe we’ll even get a free meal.”
“Well, be careful. We’re gettin’ far from familiar places, and we got money and supplies on us.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Tommy pulled out his musket and laid it across his lap. Deek followed suit and they rode slowly through a sycamore grove, watching the shadows. They heard voices, smelled something cooking. Tommy put out his hand then, grabbing Deek’s arm and making him stop. “Look there!” he said in a hoarse whisper.
Deek squinted to see through the trees, then saw a Negro man, his wrists in manacles and stretched over his head, chained to a tree limb. One of two white men near the campfire rose and walked over to the Negro man, a tin plate in his hand.
“Here you go, Jim,” the white man said, dipping a spoon into the dish and holding something up for the Negro man to eat. “Chew fast. I ain’t gonna stand here long. I’m tired.”
The man shoveled food into the Negro man’s mouth while he chewed and swallowed as fast as he could. Tommy stared at the Negro man a moment longer, then looked at Deek. “That looks like Hank Toole’s slave!”
Deek watched a moment longer. “Kind of does, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s go.”
Deek started to object, but Tommy rode forward, hailing the white men near the campfire.
“Hello there! Friends comin’ in.” He held up his musket and the man feeding Jim dropped his plate and ran for his own musket, while the second white man rose from where he sat still eating, watching Tommy warily.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Tommy Decker, from up at the MacBain settlement. Headin’ for Knoxville. Saw your campfire.” He turned and nodded to Deek, who rode in cautiously behind him. “This here is my friend, Deek Malone.”
The two men nodded to Tommy and Deek. “I’m Herman Bates,” the man who had been feeding Jim answered. He was pudgy and soiled with a stubble of beard. “My friend here is John Williams. We’re from Summerville.” He noticed Tommy look over at Jim. “We found the slave there in the woods near where we live—figure he’s runnin’ from his master. We was takin’ him to the first big plantation we come across, see what we can find out about him, what to do with him.”
Tommy dismounted, glaring at Jim. He walked closer to the man and prodded him painfully in the ribs with the end of his musket barrel. “Well, well. How’d you get off the Jasmine, Jim? You run away from Hank?”
“No, suh! No! The Jasmine, she broke up in the flood! I got throwed in the river, and Mastuh Hank, he must have drowned.”
“Hey, you know this man?” Bates asked Tommy.
Tommy turned, walking back to the fire, glancing again at Jim. “He’s Jim Jackson—works for Hank Toole. Hank owned the Jasmine, a steamboat that run up and down the Hiwassee bringin’ supplies to the settlements there.”
Bates looked at Williams, who was a tall man dressed in baggy cotton pants and a blue shirt. He wore a weathered buckskin jacket and his hair needed cutting. Tommy guessed both men to be about the age of his own father. Their eyes were wary but friendly, and he lowered his musket.
“Sounds like this man’s story might be true then,” Bates said to Williams. He looked at Tommy, while Deek dismounted and tied both their horses. “He told us the same thing—said he worked for a man who owned a steamboat and that the boat had broke up in a big flood. You two know about the flood?”
Tommy nodded. “Real bad. I lost my pa. Our whole settlement was just about wiped out.”
“Sorry to hear that. You two like some sassafras tea? A couple biscuits? We ain’t got much left.”
Tommy grinned, setting aside his musket. “Much obliged.” He signaled Deek to join him and they both sat down on a log across the fire from Bates. Bates handed out a tin with biscuits on it, and Tommy took one and handed another to Deek.
“Me and John are farmers,” Bates told them, pouring some sassafras tea into tin cups and handing them out. “The big rain ruined us. Then we come across this slave here and figured maybe we’d make more money findin’ his master and returnin’ him than we would farmin’. Neither one of us has a woman—both dead. I ain’t got nobody to run my farm, but there ain’t nothin’ left to run. John here has a couple of sons who can try to make somethin’ out of what’s left before the season is over. How bad is it then, along the Hiwassee?”
“Real bad,” Deek answered. He finished swallowing a biscuit. “Lots of people dead, and lots of animals and crops lost. Whole settlements were washed away. Don’t travel too close to the river. Everything stinks.”
Bates nodded. “I expect so, with all that death.”
Williams stood off to the side, saying little.
“So, you found Jim Jackson in the woods—pretty far from the river, I’ll bet,” Tommy said.
Bates nodded again. “He was sleepin’. Didn’t have nothin’ on him—no extra clothes or anything, I mean. Looked to me like he took a last-minute chance and started runnin’.”
Tommy turned and looked at Jim again. “Where is she, Jim?”
Bates and Williams both frowned at the question, while Jim’s eyes widened.
“Who…who you talkin’ about, Mastuh Deckuh?”
Tommy laughed and shook his head. “You know god-damned well who I’m talkin’ about. The white girl.”
Jim swallowed. “I dunno who you mean, suh.”
“What’s goin’ on here?” Bates broke in.
Tommy took a drink of the tea, then held out his cup. “Ain’t you got somethin’ a little stronger to flavor this with, Bates? If you have some whiskey, I have some information that might be valuable to you.”
Bates nodded at Williams, and he pulled a small bottle of whiskey out of a saddlebag while Jim watched in terror. Williams poured some into Tommy’s cup, then into Deek’s. Tommy took a swallow, then let out a long sigh.
“That’s better,” he said, glancing at Jim again, then back to Bates. “The man Jim worked for—he ran a river-boat up and down the Hiwassee deliverin’ supplies, like I said,” he told the man. “But sometimes he picked up mountain girls, some willin’, some unwillin’, but sold by their fathers or whoever owned them. Took them back to Knoxville with him to be turned over to a man called Sam Gates, who runs a saloon there called the Tennessee Belle. My pa told me all about it.”
Bates leaned closer. “You mean, you think this Hank Toole had a girl along with him?”
“I don’t think. I know. A real pretty thing—blond hair, blue eyes, big tits, and untouched, you know? I mean, this girl would make a man like Jim go wild with desire. You know how they are about white girls.”
“It ain’t true!” Jim protested, his eyes tearing. “There wasn’t no girl along. If…if there was, I wouldn’t be crazy enough to go near her, suh!”
Williams walked over to Jim, backhanding him hard across the side of the face. “You shut up till you’re asked to speak!”
Jim shook with fear while Williams turned his attention back to Tommy.
“Her name was Emma Simms,” Tommy said. “I knew her—a ne
ighbor. My pa knew her steppa, Luke Simms. Her ma died and Luke wanted to get rid of her. Made a deal with Hank. The day before the big flood, Hank stopped at the MacBain settlement to do his tradin’. The Simms place is down from there. My pa told me that night that Hank was supposed to pick up Emma Simms when he went back up there and take her on to Knoxville with him.”
He drank a little more of the spiked tea. “She’s the kind of girl that makes a man crazy, you know? I been wantin’ her a long time. When I found out, I decided to go to Knoxville myself. The girl was always too uppity before, always shunnin’ me. I figured once this Sam Gates broke her in, I’d go have my turn at her. That’s where me and Deek was headin’ when we come across your camp.” He looked at Jim again. “And now here’s Jim Jackson, sayin’ the Jasmine was wrecked and Hank was drowned.” He rose, walking closer to Jim. “What happened to the girl, Jim? She drown, too?”
Jim shook his head. “I don’t know ’bout no girl,” he squeaked.
Tommy laughed, drinking a little more tea. “Sure you do, Jim. Why don’t you just tell us the truth?” He suddenly kicked out, landing a booted foot into Jim’s privates. The man cried out in pain. “You got all big down there for her, didn’t you!” Tommy screamed at him. “You saw that pretty blond hair and you wanted to see if all her hair was blond!”
“No! No!” Jim screamed, tears stinging his eyes, nausea flooding him.
“You wanted her so bad I’ll bet you killed Hank Toole yourself! You knew the Jasmine was in trouble! You grabbed that poor white girl and pulled her off the boat and raped her, you big, black buck! Then you held her in the water and drowned her so’s everybody would think the flood did it! And you figured the flood would give you time to run off!”
Tommy landed a hard punch to Jim’s ribs. The man groaned, hanging his head, in so much pain he couldn’t find his voice. He struggled with his conscience. He had seen River Joe, knew the man from the times Hank had traded with him. Even though what he had seen the night of the killing had made Jim run, he was really only running from something he wished he had never witnessed. He wasn’t genuinely afraid of River Joe. He would have turned and talked to him after all if he hadn’t slipped into the water. He knew deep inside that River Joe was a good man, that he had probably only been trying to help the white girl.
And that poor girl surely never wanted to be with Hank. Surely River Joe had helped her. If he told these men the truth, they would chase after them and drag that poor girl back to Sam Gates. Jim had no doubts about what happened to the girls who went there. He had seen Emma Simms many times, practically watched her grow up. She wasn’t that kind of girl. If he could just protect her a little longer, maybe she and the white Indian would get away.
“They wasn’t…no girl along,” he sobbed, finding his voice again.
“You’re a liar, Jim!” Tommy yelled. “We got ways of makin’ men talk, and you’re gonna talk!” He walked over to the fire, taking out a stick that was red-hot on the end.
“Wait!” Bates jumped up, grabbing the stick away. “We found this man! You got no right comin’ here and takin’ over, Decker! Now you just wait up a minute! This man might be tellin’ the truth!”
“I’m tellin’ you there was a white girl with them!” Tommy answered.
“And I’m tellin’ you this man is ours to do what we want with. We ain’t gonna get near as much for him if we drag him back all beat up and injured!”
Tommy guzzled the rest of the tea and threw aside the cup. “And what do you suggest, mister?”
“I suggest first of all that if you want to share this camp and eat our food, you leave this man alone. And the other thing I suggest is that we wait and take him to Knoxville—to this Sam Gates you mentioned. If Hank Toole did business with him, maybe he’ll know what to do. And maybe Hank Toole and the girl—if she was with him at all—survived. Maybe it’s the way Jim told it. If it is, he don’t know for sure if this Hank Toole drowned at all. And maybe he’s just too scared to tell the truth about the girl bein’ along! Now I say we go to Knoxville and see if Hank Toole and this girl ever showed up! If they did, Toole might pay good money for us bringin’ back his slave! I don’t expect he’d be too happy about us bringin’ the man back half-dead, now, would he?”
Their eyes held challengingly, then Tommy sighed. He shook his head and turned away. “You’re gonna feel like a fool when we get to Knoxville and find out Hank ain’t there,” he told Bates. “I’m tellin’ you that girl was along. And if Jim is denyin’ it, it only means there’s some foul play goin’ on. And considerin’ it involves that big black and a pretty, blond-haired white girl, there ain’t too many conclusions a man can come to!”
“Maybe not. But I ain’t gonna maim this man when he might be worth a lot of money! And if the girl belonged to this Sam Gates, I say it’s his business what to do about all this. We’ll take this man to Knoxville and you two are welcome to come along, as long as you don’t beat on him anymore and you promise to pull your own load. Otherwise, get out of this camp!”
Tommy stood there panting with rage, looking from Bates to Williams to Jim, then to Deek. “What do you say, Deek?”
Deek pushed back his floppy hat and scratched his head. “I think Bates there has a point, Tommy. Why not get some money out of this if we can? A healthy slave is worth a lot more than one who’s all broken up inside. If this Sam Gates wants to set the whip to him to get the truth, let him do it. We ain’t got the right. And if Hank is still alive, he’d be awful angry if we broke up his man’s bones.”
Jim closed his eyes and breathed deeply with relief, praying that Tommy would listen. Most of all he prayed that Hank would be presumed drowned when he was found, would be buried and his death reported as another flood casualty. If the girl got away with River Joe, no one would ever know whether she really was on the boat. She, too, would be presumed drowned in the flood. After all, her step-father’s farm had surely been swept away, as well as Luke Simms himself. Jim himself would be sold off to another master, and that would be that.
“I say it all stinks of a slave rapin’ a white girl and gettin’ away with it,” Tommy sneered. “But if you want to take him to Knoxville first, then that’s what we’ll do.” He glared at Bates. “And don’t accuse me of not pullin’ my own load! Me and Deek will fend for ourselves. Only reason we’ll stay on at all is because I intend to be there when you deliver this slave and see what kind of story he has for Sam Gates! And you can bet Hank Toole won’t be in Knoxville waitin’ for us!”
“Maybe he won’t. But I ain’t takin’ that risk,” Bates answered. He put out his hand. “Come on now, Decker. We got a lot of miles ahead of us yet. There could be money in this for all of us. No sense makin’ the rest of this trip miserable. If you’re right, I’ll buy you a steak dinner and a round of drinks when we get to Knoxville. You ever been there?”
Tommy softened a little, deciding to shake the man’s hand. But his eyes and hand were cold. “No.”
They shook hands limply. “Hey, you’ll like it,” Bates said. “Two young men like yourselves will have a real good time there. Sit down now. I’ll get you some more whiskey and we’ll talk this all over, try to figure what could have happened. You’re just all wound up from that flood and losin’ your pa.”
Tommy looked over at Jim again. “Maybe.” He walked closer to the Negro, his eyes full of hatred. “We’ll get the truth out of you, Jim Jackson! You only got till we get to Knoxville, and then you’re gonna wish you was dead!”
Jim just stared at him, swallowing back his fear. He had not asked for any of this. If only Hank had not picked up that girl. And if only he had not seen River Joe standing over Hank’s body, a knife in his hand. Right now he wished he himself had drowned that night in the river.
Chapter Twelve
Emma lay staring at the stars, which seemed to dance as the branches of trees swayed gently with a night breeze.
“How much farther, River?” She snuggled against him, and he kept a stron
g arm around her from behind.
“Another week, maybe. Depends if they’re still where I left them.”
“I sure never dreamed I’d ever live among Cherokoee Indians. Tell me again so I remember—the names of your family.”
He grinned, kissing her hair. “My sister Mary is sixteen and Grace is twenty and married to Red Wolf. My brother, Peter, is eighteen. They are all Christian, like my Cherokee mother, who gave all of them their Christian names.”
“Are you Christian, too?”
He sighed deeply, rubbing absently at her shoulder. “I am pretty much like my father, Gray Bear. I believe there is one God who rules the universe. Christians call Him the Christ. I call him Esaugetuk Emissee, Maker of Breath. The teachings of the missionaries who came to us were not so different from what we already believed, and the way the Unega conducts his life, I see very little Christianity sometimes in those who say they are Christian. At least the Cherokee practice what they believe. There are times when I wish I were not white at all.”
“What is Unega?”
“White man.”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t know much about God and Christianity and all those things. Mrs. Breckenridge taught me some, and sometimes I close my eyes and I pray real hard to God. Since being with you I think of Him as the Maker of Breath, like you call Him. I think you’re right. I think everybody has the same God. They just call Him by different names.” She turned slightly, kissing his shoulder. “You really think of Mary and Grace and the others as your family, don’t you?”
“They are all I remember. I have just a faint memory of my white parents, and I only remember my mother’s voice when she was screaming, when those river pirates raped her.”
She felt his grip tighten around her.
“Is that why you got so angry at Hank when he attacked me?”
He was quiet for several seconds. “Partly. And partly just because I wanted you myself. I knew you were a good person and he had no right hurting you.”
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