by Kyle Onstott
At the head of the stairs he threw open a door and bowed. ‘For the younger gentleman,’ he said. ‘I think you will find all you need, suh; but I shall return.’ Farther down the hall, he showed Hammond into a corner room, lighted by six candles in two candelabra.
Hammond looked around at the elegance, the didoed paper and the tester bed curtained with silk damask, before he saw Ellen, risen from her chair. No fire burned in the fireplace, which was small and looked as if it had never been used.
The butler apologized for the musty smell. ‘I had wished you to sleep in another room, freshly aired, but the Master designated this larger apartment too late, and I did not wish to admit the night air, suh,’ he said. ‘Here is a fresh nightcap, if you care for one, and there are additional covers on this chair if the weather turns cold. It feels like rain coming on.’
Hammond sat upon the bed. ‘You’ll got to he’p me off with my boot,’ he said to Ellen. ‘I’m cripped, you knows.’
‘Yes, suh; I know, Masta,’ Ellen said, advancing and kneeling before Hammond and reaching forward for his foot.
‘Don’t be afeared, Ellen. I ain’t a-goin’ to eat you up.’
‘I’m not afraid, Masta,’ but Ellen was afraid. She succeeded in drawing off his boots before she burst into tears.
‘Everythin’ all right, nigger. Don’t cry. You not want a crip to pester you, you don’ have to. You kin go, time you gits my clothes off. I not very horny, noways.’
‘It’s not that, Masta. I just don’t know how. Don’t know how you wants me, suh. I want to please you, suh.’
‘Of course you pleases me. You pleases me right good, firs’ rate.’ Hammond rose to his stockinged feet and lifted and embraced the girl.
They were standing so when Ben returned with a pan of coals to warm the bed. ‘Wench won’t strip, suh?’ he asked, and before Hammond could reply he placed the warming pan on the hearth, yanked the buttons from the dress of the unresistant girl and her frock dropped to the floor. ‘Get them into the big house and they grow coy, act as if they thought a gentleman never saw a naked wench.’ Ben gave the girl’s buttock a smart slap with his palm. ‘Fat,’ he said; ‘we’ll have to work it off.’
Ellen shrank from the old man, as she raised her dropped eyes in a hasty glance at Hammond’s face.
‘She just right. I likes ’em plump like.’ Hammond came to the girl’s defence. ‘Nice limbs, too, not stringy like,’ he added, stooping to run his hand in appraisal over Ellen’s calf. Ben’s disparagement of the wench dissipated Hammond’s indifference and aroused his interest.
‘Perhaps you will find her comfortable, suh. May have to be firm. Use her like your own, suh.’ Ben had taken up the warming pan and was passing it slowly backward and forward between the sheets. He released the curtains and drew them along the sides of the bed, leaving a space between them through which to enter it. ‘If you need me,’ he added, ‘I sleep on the floor outside the Masta’s chamber, which is next to this one.’
‘I ain’t a-goin’ to need you. The wench is all right.’
‘Shall I relieve you of your clothes?’
‘Ellen will help me,’ replied Hammond, irritated by the preciseness of the slave’s speech; it made him conscious of the shortcomings of his own. He was relieved when the butler said good-night and left the room.
Hammond sat in a low chair and submitted to Ellen as she stripped his clothes from him, careful not to touch his flesh. Her head was down and Hammond was unaware that she was weeping until she stifled a sob.
‘Whut the matter, Ellen?’ he asked. ‘You ac’ like a white lady, cryin’ an’ all. Don’t you know you ain’t nothin’ but a nigger? You don’ like me, you doesn’t have to stay.’ Hammond sought awkwardly to console the girl.
‘I like you, Masta, I like you. Please let me stay, just tonight, just one night. I know I’m not pretty enough for your bed. I’m fat and I’m ugly, but I’ll try.’
Ellen’s misgivings about her beauty were not justified. Her breasts were immature but firm. Her large brown eyes were shaded by long lashes and stood well apart in her oval face with its low cheek-bones. There was a shallow cleft in her chin, and only the slight fullness of her lips hinted her Negro origin, for she was lighter than many white women, lighter, Ham reflected with growing interest, by two shades than his Cousin Beatrix.
Ellen was on her knees before him, and, chary as she had been of contact with his person while she removed his clothes, she lunged impetuously forward, embraced his body and planted her cheek firmly against his belly.
Her gesture aroused Hammond and he lifted her into his arms and kissed her with pity. Quickly pity turned to passion so that he was taken aback to realize what he had done. In his code, a wench was for fornication, not for dalliance. Only the previous night, he had been shocked at the display of Charles’ affection for Katy. Perhaps his code needed revision. At the kiss, his blood quickened, his flesh tingled, and his indifference vanished.
He turned down the covers. ‘You crawl in,’ he said, ‘while I kneels down.’
‘But the candles?’
‘Reckons I cain’t snuff ’em?’
Next morning Hammond took his place at the table and helped himself to ham and eggs.
‘Sleep well, Mr. Maxwell? Your wench happy?’ Wilson inquired perfunctorily.
The latter question opened a subject which Hammond was reluctant to broach. ‘That wench, Mista Wilson,’ he began. ‘Well, would you sell Ellen?’
‘Sell Ellen?’ the host chuckled. ‘I suppose then you were pleased with her. Remember, she’ll never be the same again. Maidenheads don’t grow back again.’
‘I never took Ellen’s.’
‘No? She was difficult? You were strange to her. I regret——’
‘Wasn’t no fault of Ellen. She begged me, but I wants her mine—all of her—before I rapes her. Won’t you sell her to me?’
‘I suppose Ellen is as safe with you as with anybody, my boy, safer. She’s too pretty. It’s her misfortune. She’s a fancy girl, and will go to some sporting gentleman who will use her awhile and sell her again. I’d like you to have her. Did you consult Ellen?’
‘She say she like me a kinda lot. She want to go with me. Will you sell her to me, suh? Ellen willin’.’
‘What will you give? What offer?’
‘Whut you say, suh, Mista Wilson. However much you asts. But I wants to take her right along with me, if you please. I kin leave that Mandingo buck and come back fer him and bring you the money. But I wants to take Ellen. How much you wants?’ Hammond in his urgency left himself vulnerable.
Ellen’s owner was fortunately less interested in the price than in the buyer. He closed his eyes and the boy thought that he had dropped off to sleep. His lids fluttered and opened. ‘Um, fifteen hundred, I suppose. I know she would bring more after I’m gone, but fifteen hundred will do nicely.’
‘Thank you, suh. That ain’t enough hardly.’
‘It’s enough. If Warren doesn’t like her, you can pass her on at a profit.’
‘Papa, he goin’ t’ like her. He got to like her. He got to,’ Hammond reiterated.
‘If you don’t take that cherry before you get Ellen home, Warren will. His rheumatism isn’t that bad, I warrant.’
‘Then Ellen mine, and I kin take her along?’
‘Yes, and I want to send her brother as a present to Warren.’
‘I’ll buy him offen you, an’ Ellen wants him,’ Hammond offered.
‘No, I want to give him to Warren Maxwell, want to know that he will not be sold. Warren wouldn’t sell a present.’
‘Mighty kin’ of you, suh. But—niggers are worth money, suh. You could sell——’
‘I know, but this young buck is different—sound and healthy, but frail, thin-skinned. Not built right for heavy work.’
‘But Papa don’t——’
‘I know it’s an imposition, but Warren will take him to accommodate an old friend. Broken to the house, Jason will make Warr
en a good servant. No mortgage on him. The Jew wouldn’t lend on him at the time. I can dispose of him as I please.’
‘Reckon it won’t git you in no trouble with the Jew fer me to take along Ellen and the big buck without payin’?’
‘No trouble at all. You can send me the money—enough to discharge the mortgages on them, that is. For the rest there’s no hurry, no hurry at all. I’ll live a few months yet, and if I don’t——’ Wilson raised his hands from the arms of his chair in completion of his sentence.
The entry of Charles diverted the host from his morbid speculation.
‘You goin’ to have to take a nigger on the crupper,’ Hammond explained to him.
‘An’ he cain’t run, better you and me straddle your horse and let him have mine. That buck big as you and me together.’
‘Not him. Not the Mandingo. He kin keep up alongside. I—I bought me a wench and Mista Wilson here done give me a nice saplin’ buck fer Papa.’
‘Cain’t that saplin’ run?’ Charles asked. ‘You’ll want the wench behind you I reckon. Whyn’t the little buck ride the big one?’
‘Better take along my old buckboard,’ Wilson suggested. ‘You can return it at your convenience.’
‘We make out all right, Mista Wilson, suh; Mede on foot, the young buck behin’ Charles, Ellen behin’ me. We go fine. Ellen ride astraddle, cain’t she?’
‘If you tell her to. It’s the best way to ride double for a long distance.’
Mede had the temerity to seat himself upon the portico, knowing that amid the adieux he would not be reprimanded. He held his shoes on his lap lest he should leave them behind, and pensively played with his bare toes.
Ellen’s brother, Jason, slight and girlish-looking, rounded the house and joined Mede, but did not sit down. Ellen, when she came, was red-eyed from weeping, and she twice returned to the quarters but both times emerged again without carrying anything. She stood apart from the others.
Some twenty hands, old and of middle age, accumulated at the side of the mansion, but none ventured beyond its façade. Edna and Letitia ran furtively forward to give final kisses to Ellen, who clung to them, and to Jason, who assumed indifference. Mede watched them and knew that if those kisses had been for him he would have wept.
The occasion was a solemn one for the three, none of whom had ever passed the boundaries of The Coign. To go had been their own determination. Their old master would not have disposed of them without their assent.
The front door opened and Charles came out, followed by Wilson, guided by Ben. Hammond came last. The host shook the hands of his two guests, and amid expressions of mutual pleasure, Charles and Hammond mounted their horses. Charles was restive and annoyed at Wilson’s prolonged farewell to the slaves. Hammond sat his horse patiently and waited.
Mede stood diffidently apart while the master kissed and blessed the boy and girl, adjured them to obedience. He went bashfully with hanging head when he was summoned, and when his master reached for his gross head a tear stood in his eye. Mede could not remember being kissed before and it suddenly came over him that he would never again see the man to whose kindness he had owed ample food, shelter, protection, the absence of positive abuse, what between master and slave is justice, mercy even.
The stallion, unused to being ridden double, shied and reared in protest when Ellen, with a boost from the groom, sought to mount behind Hammond. With the second try, she seated herself sidewise behind the saddle but her long skirt impeded her from getting her leg across the horse.
‘Cain’t ride that a-way,’ Hammond complained. ‘You’ll slide off an’ pull me with you. Have to straddle.’
Ellen tucked her dress upwards until it reached her knees, slid backward over the horse’s croup and manœuvred her leg across in front of her. She then edged herself forward into as comfortable a seat as she could attain. She was uneasy about the display of her legs and tried to pull down her skirt.
‘Nev’ mind showin’ your limbs. We ain’t goin’ to meet no ladies on the road nohow, day like this. Hold on to me tight till Eclipse here gits usen to you. Don’ be afeared; I ain’t pizen. Put your arms around my belly. That’s right.’
Jason, with the aid of the groom, swung himself handily behind Charles and encircled his body, the boy’s legs dangling loosely over the gelding’s loins.
‘Ready, Mede? Then come along,’ said Hammond, putting his horse into motion and setting the pace at a slow walk as the riders rounded the lawn and turned into the avenue of walnuts. Mede followed the horses at a slow jog, carrying his shoes.
9
Approaching Falconhurst, Hammond’s heart beat faster. He had been away less than a week, but homing aroused in him emotions which he did not understand. Here he belonged. From this soil he had been fashioned and he acknowledged his kinship with it. They reached the road that turned from the main highway toward the Widow Johnson’s place, now probably Doc Redfield’s. The way was straight ahead; Charles on his slower horse, which had gone lame a few miles back, would be unable to lose his way. Hammond loosed his reins and Eclipse, who knew as surely as his rider that he was nearing the end of his journey, broke first into a canter and then into a gallop. Ellen clung firmly to Hammond’s body. Mede was unable to keep up with Eclipse, but lost ground gradually, and Charles made no effort to press his mount.
Before he reached the lane, Eclipse began to neigh at intervals and as he turned toward the house he nickered again and received a nicker in reply from the stables. Half down the lane Old Beller the hound came bounding and barking his greeting, not so much for Hammond as for Eclipse. Hammond had reached the house before the Mandingo had turned into the lane.
Three or four Negroes had appeared from behind the house to vie silently for the honour of taking charge of the horse, which Hammond, after Ellen had slid to the ground and he had dismounted, turned over to Napoleon.
‘How you all are? How’s everybody? Whure your masta?’
‘We’s well, thank’ee, suh, Masta. Right glad you back.’
‘Why? Anythin’ wrong?’
‘No, suh, we all jest glad. That all.’
Meg was on the gallery, bouncing up and down in ecstasy, his face one broad smile. Unable to speak, he could only gurgle. Lucretia Borgia stormed out the door and gathered Hammond to her broad bosom.
‘Whure Papa? Whure Papa?’ Hammond demanded.
‘He comin’,’ answered Lucretia Borgia.
And he came, half leaning on Mem’s arm. The son kissed him, patted his shoulder, asked about his health.
‘I right well; I better, sure better. Ol’ rheumatiz most dreened away,’ he assured Hammond. ‘That Alph gittin’ it good, dreenin’ right into him, but I’m a-doctorin’ him pourin’ toddy into him.’
‘I stirred ’em, Masta, I stirred ’em, an’ toted ’em, jest like how you say, Masta, suh. I took keer of ’em jest like you tol’ me. I your nigger, Masta. Ain’t I your nigger?’ Meg pleaded for recognition.
‘Sure is,’ with a clap on the shoulder, was all that Hammond had time to answer him.
‘Whut this?’ demanded the old man, turning to Ellen.
Before Hammond had time to answer him, the Mandingo, Jason atop his shoulders, loped down the lane. ‘A Mandingo, a young Mandingo! Whure you git him? Ol’ Mista Wilson? A purty Mandingo! Jest whut I been a-cravin’.’
‘My fightin’ nigger,’ Hammond explained.
‘That a wench around his neck?’ Maxwell indicated Jason, whose features seemed more feminine than ever by contrast with Mede.
‘Not a wench. A buck, Mista Wilson sent him to you—a present.’
‘Whut Mista Wilson reckon I wants with a wench-buck like that? Is it a cod? I reckon I got to keep it—a present you say? Cain’t ever sell no present. Git down! Put down an’ let me see!’
‘Charles is comin’,’ Hammond declared. ‘His hoss is lame.’
‘Who Charles?’
‘Charles Woodford, Cousin Charles, Cousin Blanche’s brother.’
‘Cousin Blanche? Oh, yes. You sparkin’ her? She purty? Whut Major Woodford say?’ Maxwell piled question upon question.
‘Cousin Blanche an’ me goin’ to marry. That is, and you loan some money to Major Woodford.’ Ham qualified his assertion. ‘I promise him twenty-five hundred dollar.’
‘You ain’t never goin’ to git it back. You know that. That ol’ leech, sellin’ his own white daughter, an’ her a Hammond.’
‘Shu-shu,’ Ham silenced his father. ‘Here comes Charles.’
‘We talk about it after.’
Charles, when he had turned into the lane, had tried to put his horse to a gallop, which had turned into only a rapid hop. The flourish of arrival he had planned failed to come off, but his welcome was none the less warm. Vulcan grabbed his horse and started to lead it away.
‘Hold on, leave me see that laig. Wait,’ ordered the old man before he turned to his guest and grasped his hand. ‘Well, I declare, Major Woodford’s boy, I declare. Come in, come in. A Hammond, too, every foot a Hammond, ’ceptin’, of course, the eyes.’
‘My eyes—my eyes ain’t straight,’ Charles shrugged apologetically.
‘That ain’t nuthin’,’ said Maxwell. ‘Worse than the eyes, you skinny—growed too rapid, I warrant, an’ fornicated too much, knowin’ the Major. Not enough corn whisky, knowin’ Cousin Beatrix.’
‘Mamma temp’ance,’ explained the boy.
‘We fix that at Falconhurst. Lucretia Borgia’s side meat an’ plenty of good corn, we send you home lookin’ like they won’t know you. Go in, go in the house. I want to look at this hoss’s laig.’ Maxwell bent with effort to examine the horse.
‘Be all right, an’ he not used fer few days. Turn him out, pasture him day times. Hear, Vulc; bait him good an’ turn him out.’
As the three white men entered the sitting-room, Meg rushed from the dining-room with three steaming toddies on his tray.
When Mem appeared with the dinner bell, Meg sprang to the door of the dining-room and held it open. He was there to withdraw Hammond’s chair, to open his napkin, to serve his food, to wave the peacock brush. Whatever he did for another, it was solely to please Hammond.
