by RITA GERLACH
Lucy touched her shoulder. “Crying is good for da soul, Miss Juleah. And the Lor’ knows you’ve had your share of sufferin’. That storm must’ve been terrible, and to be tossed into da cold sea with da waves crashin’ and lashin’ must’ve made you mighty scared. You cry as much as you want. We slave women know what it means to cry. We got bottles overflowin’ with tears, and the Lor’ he know.”
Three boys raced up the beach toward the campfire. A man, dressed in a buff suit of clothes and an old tricorn hat, brought his horse to a halt and dismounted. Mud and sand were upon his boots, and she imagined he was the overseer of these poor souls.
A corner of his mouth curved and he drew off his hat and bowed. “You must pardon me, ma’am, for not arriving sooner. I’m the overseer, Corben. The slaves have treated you well?”
Juleah nodded. “They saved my life. I am indebted to them, sir.”
He glanced over at Lucy and the other women. “You owe them nothing.”
When Corben drew close, Juleah felt an aversion to him.
“What's your name, miss, and where are you from?” he asked, eyeing her.
“Juleah Braxton, from England, sir,” she said.
“Well, you’re a long way from home.”
“Yes, and I wish to return. My uncle lives in Annapolis and is a prominent lawyer there. I would like to go to him. If you could arrange transport for me, I would be grateful.”
“His name?”
“John Stowefield.”
Corben looked away toward the grove of evergreens. “Mr. Martin owns this land and these slaves. His house is not far, on the other side of those trees. But he's away from home, in Charleston on business, and there are no servants in the house.”
“Then I should stay here,” she said. “At least until your employer returns.”
He lifted his brows and laughed. “Among slaves? That's not done. Not for a white woman.” Corben stood back with his riding crop poised in his hands. “Lucy will go to the house with you. You hear, Lucy? You are to go to the big house with this lady.”
Juba dropped the net he was mending and hurried over when Corben called to him. “Help the lady into the saddle, Juba.” With his great hands, Juba lifted her up and stood back.
Corben walked beside the horse, and when Juleah glanced down, she saw the hilt of his flintlock protruding out of his belt. They turned off the beach to follow a white pebble path that wound through tall grass into a crop of pines. The roar of the waves faded. No longer did she hear the sound of wind over the water. Instead, the land hummed with bees that worked over the wildflowers and with cicadas that twilled. Dusky willows bowed over the sunlit path in the heat.
Juleah looked ahead, hoping to see a clearing or the plantation house. Something moved in the trees. She turned her head, saw Corben pull his pistol from his belt and raise it beside his shoulder.
38
Corben's horse twisted under Juleah. She fought to keep the reins tight in her hands. The towhead of a boy peeked out from behind some bushes. Two more followed. They were handsome lads, each with ruddy cheeks and hair bleached blond and sandy by the sun and sea, yet poorly dressed, shoeless, and thin.
Corben shoved his pistol back inside his belt, stepped forward. “You lads want to be shot, is that it? What’d you mean coming up on us like that? Get back home, each one of you, before I tan your hides.”
The young lads’ eyes widened, and without a word, they sprinted off.
Juleah had no idea who the children were and thought to ask, but when Corben urged his horse on, she assumed he did not want to speak of it. She followed him in silence to a bend in the road, where they came upon a house made of rough-cut timber. Sunshine fell warm upon a front garden, changing the tassels of maize into golden plumes. A child played by the door and paused to look at the lady riding sidesaddle. The girl was holding a doll made of cornhusks, and next to her lay a heap of plucked wildflowers.
Within the doorway, a woman spun, and when the thread snapped in her hand, her humming ceased in her bronzy throat. For a moment, she gazed with troubled eyes at those outside her threshold and then sprang to her feet. The child set her doll upon the bed of blossoms and fled to her mother to cling to her skirts.
A light breeze wrapped the mother's homespun dress against her limbs and lifted her hair around her face. Her hand rested upon the head of her child until a baby's cry from inside the dwelling caused her to turn. Without speaking, she went to her infant. The child was left alone and plopped back down on the porch. Tiny hands gathered up the doll, and she cradled it against her chest. Juleah gazed at the girl sitting cross-legged on the porch and thought how pretty she was, even in a tattered dress too big for her tiny frame.
Corben turned to Juleah. “Those are my boys, and the child on the porch is my girl. The babe's our seventh. We lost two last winter.”
She looked back at the doorway. “The lady is your wife?”
“Aye, that's my Abigail”
Abigail's eyes were upon her husband. Within her gaze sparkled adoration for the man she called husband, but a jealous glow when she looked over at Juleah. She stepped down and walked toward him. He leaned down, spoke into her ear, as her large brown eyes remained steadfast on Juleah. Her baby squirmed in her arms and whined.
Corben took hold of his horse's bridle and moved them on, with Lucy walking alongside. Beyond the poor hovel stood a grand plantation house. A gracious portico with white beveled columns graced the front. A colonnade of poplars swayed in the breeze along the drive.
Juleah craned her neck to view it. Corben helped her down, and she studied the lonely mansion. She hoped with all her heart she would not stay long.
That night, Juleah stepped outside onto the lawn. An opal moon banked high over the shimmering pines, the stars too numerous to count against a black velvet heaven. The breeze rippled through her hair and she gazed heavenward. The constellations were above, and she watched Jupiter rise over the treetops. Her heart longed for Seth, and she prayed that Mr. Martin would return soon. Her mind fixed on the day she’d leave for Annapolis. A slow breath slipped between her coral lips as she thought of it. Her uncle would help her home. He would book passage for her on the first ship headed to England.
She imagined her homecoming. Seth would see her, sweep her up into his arms, kiss her face and throat. They would laugh together and never be parted again. Her family would gather and they’d have a great dinner together, laugh and sing and dance until dawn.
Despite her ordeal, she opened her eyes, smiled, and lightly laughed. What would Seth think of her hair, unbound, hanging below her waist in heavy strands? She had no ribbons to tie it with. Her dress was now the only one she owned, the seams at the waist apart, the laces on her bodice now a dingy yellow, whereas before they were white as cream. She had no shoes, for they were lost in the sea. Her stockings were torn and not worth keeping.
The sound of footfalls over the sandy lane drew her out of her thoughts. She turned and saw Corben walking toward her.
He screwed up his face. “Why are you out here so late, madam? You waiting for someone?”
“I could not sleep,” she told him.
She turned to leave, but he reached out and took hold of her arm. “There's no reason to go back inside.”
Juleah frowned and, frightened as she was, she looked down at the hand that held her arm. “Let go of me.”
The tightness of his fingers lessened. He leaned closer, and his black eyes stared hard into hers. Rum fouled his breath. Repulsed, she turned away.
“If you do not let me go, Mr. Corben, I’ll scream for Juba. He will hear me.”
Corben laughed. “Do it and I’ll shoot him.”
By his tone, and the fact his inhibitions were lowered, he meant it, and she went quiet and still.
“That's better.” He moved her away from the front porch stairs, further into the shadows.
Juleah let out a whimper, as his hand tightened. “I’ll tell Mr. Martin how you have treated
me.”
“I’ll deny it. He fought in the Revolution against your bloody country and he’ll believe me over an English.”
She jerked her arm free and headed toward the house. Corben seized her by the waist. She twisted, flung her arms and smacked his face. He let go and rubbed his bruised cheek. She ran. Corben sprinted after her. He caught her about the shoulders and they fell together. She kicked and clawed. He grabbed her arms and pushed them back. His weight upon her pushed the air from her lungs. She could not find the strength to cry out, nor did she wish to see death that night in the camp.
He ran a dirty finger along the curve of her throat. “How could you not think a man like me would be drawn to a woman like you?”
She squirmed from beneath him. “Let me go!”
Moonlight fell over his face, and the wanton look in his eyes ignited, as if a flame of lust possessed him. Her body shook with fear and strained from him. She lashed out with her fists, turned to get up and run, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her back. She kicked her legs, and when he had drawn her closer, she swung her arm and struck. He let out a groan and reached for her again. She dug her fingers into the earth, gathered a fistful, and flung it into his eyes. He cried out and recoiled.
Seeing her chance, she scrambled forward and snatched his pistol out of his belt. She hurried backward and struggled to her feet. His teeth were clenched and his fists raised against his eyes.
Obscuring the brilliance of the moon, a figure lurched behind Corben. A hand reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, lifted him, and left his feet to dangle in midair. Juba drew back his mighty fist and struck Corben, shook him, and tossed him to the ground.
Juleah saw Juba's face go blank with fear. “I had to help you, Miss Juleah. I saw what he was doin’.”
“Go back, Juba before he comes to.” Fearing it could mean death for Juba for striking an overseer, she shoved him away. He crept back into the darkness and hurried off.
Corben moaned, shook his head, and soon got up on all fours. He struggled to his feet, sand and dirt dusting his clothes. Juleah planted her feet firm and raised Corben's pistol. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breathing. Her hand trembled as she held the hilt of the pistol. The idea of shooting a man sent a chill through her. “Come closer, Mr. Corben, and I will shoot you.”
Corben rubbed his jaw and leered at her. “It couldn’t have been you that laid me out. I know one man strong enough to do it, and that's Juba.”
“There's no one else here but you and me,” she said. “I warn you well, that if you come one step closer… .”
He lifted his hand in compliance. “I believe you. But I want that pistol back. I paid good money for it and carried it with me through the Revolution.”
Did he think her a fool? Juleah narrowed her eyes. “Empty your powder and shot.”
He dismissed her demand with a short laugh, took a step forward. She cocked the hammer and kept her aim steady upon his heart. The slow movement of his eyes shifted with fear from her face to her finger curled around the trigger. Hesitating, he pulled the strap from over his shoulder, yanked the plug free from the horn and emptied the gunpowder into the wind.
“The shot will do me no good without powder, woman.”
Juleah lifted her chin and stood her ground. “Even so, toss it away.”
His mouth twisted and he untied the pouch. With his eyes fixed upon her, Corben obeyed.
He thrust his hand out to her. She waited. Staring back into his eyes, she cocked the hammer, turned the weapon toward the pines, and fired. The blast shook her frame, and the smell of sulfur wafted against her face. At arm's length, she handed the flintlock back to Corben.
She thought she heard him sob, as he shoved the pistol back into his belt, and then rake his fingers through his hair. “If it does any good, I regret that I … if you’d pardon my… .” He broke off, made a quick distressed gesture. “Please say nothing to Mr. Martin. I need my job—got mouths to feed. It was the drink. I need to repent and give it up.” Slowly, he moved off into the darkness, and she knew, back to his poor cabin, to his wife and children.
Juba hurried forth from the shadows. “Are you all right, Miss Juleah?”
Juleah wiped her hands along her dress, as if something mucky clung to her palms. “I think so. I told you to go back, Juba. But you kept watch over me.”
“Yes, miss. Corben might come back when you is sleepin’,” Juba said. “I’ll sleep in front of the door tonight, Miss Juleah.”
“He won’t be back.” She walked up the steps, across the porch, and to the front door. “You are the kindest of knights, Juba. Stay if you wish beside the door. I shall fetch you something for your head.”
“Where is Lucy, miss? Corben, he didn’t hurt her, did he?”
“She is fast asleep. No harm was done.”
She went inside to the gloom and heat of the mansion. Softly she whispered a prayer that the slave would be safe from the vengeance of his overseer.
39
The following day, Juleah opened a pair of French doors that led to an upper balcony. The room she had chosen faced east, toward the ocean, and she could see it clear and bright in the distance. Dunes of white sand and tall shore grass glistened in the sunshine. The surf, lined with milky foam, swept over the coast in time with the wind. The sun warmed her face, but her stomach growled with hunger.
When she heard Lucy clear her throat, Juleah turned to see the old woman carrying a tray of food. She hurried to it.
“I’m starved, Lucy. So good of you.”
Lucy blinked her eyes. “I’m not used to being inside the house, Miss Juleah. I don’t know what I can and cannot do.”
Juleah patted the chair next to her. “Well, you can sit and talk to me.”
Lucy broke into a laugh and proceeded to make up the bed with its tumbled bedclothes. She shuffled over to the window.
“A wagon loaded with goods from the shops in Charleston comin’ down the lane,” she cried. “And there's the master's coach behind it, Miss Juleah.”
Juleah leapt to her feet and looked out to see a hackney rumble down the lane in a cloud of dust. The wagon circled up to the front, and beside the driver sat a slave woman. She appeared middle-aged, refined by the way she sat straight with shoulders back and with her hands clasped over her apron. Her dress looked new, crisp and clean, in calico pink flowers. Upon her head, she wore a white turban.
Mr. Martin dragged off his hat as he exited the coach. “Good day to you, Miss Juleah,” he called up to her in the window. “I hope you are well on this fine day.”
She nodded and smiled. “I am, sir, though anxious to leave for Maryland.”
She hurried down to meet him. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she found him in the foyer giving instructions to the wagon driver. He turned on his heels and bowed low to her. His clothes were fashionable, but simple. His hair was neatly tied in a ribbon, and his face clean-shaven. He appeared no older than her father, but leaner in body and brimming with youthful energy as he hurried over to her and lifted her hand to kiss it.
“Corben explained everything to me, how you were shipwrecked.” He shook his head sympathetically. “A harrowing experience to be sure. I am so honored that you made my home your own.”
Juleah gave him a polite curtsey. “I cannot express my thanks, sir.”
Martin turned his body this way and that, as if he sought what to do next. He finally paused and said, “Your frightful event left you in rags, Miss Juleah. You may have any of my wife's dresses and whatever else you need. You’re about her size I would say.”
Although the offer was a kind one, Juleah could not take his lady's clothes unless Mrs. Martin were home and offered them to her. Even then, she’d feel obligated to repay in some way. But if she hinted of reciprocation, that would be an insult to their generous hospitality.
“It is indeed a kind offer, sir. Excuse my English manners, but I feel strange taking your lady's clothes.”
“Sh
e’d insist. I’ll be in trouble enough with her when she finds out you lived out here in a shanty among my slaves. You must allow me to offer you suitable attire for your journey as a way of making amends.”
“Well, I would not want your lady to be angry with you, sir. I accept your offer.”
Martin's face beamed. “That is fine, Miss Juleah. Now, in addition to proper clothing, my coach shall speed you north to your uncle. However, I hope you might consider staying longer.”
Juleah's heart leapt in her breast. She was one step closer to Seth, and the silver lining to her plight would be to see her dear Uncle John again. She did not wish to seem ungrateful, but had to make her desire known.
She stood aside as the wagoner carried in a wooden box. “I am quite anxious to make my journey, sir.”
“I understand.” Martin moved to the door and motioned for the slave woman to come inside.
Juleah pressed her lips together in thought. She had to speak up. “Mr. Martin, your slave Juba pulled me from the sea. If it had not been for him, I would have perished. Is it wrong to be grateful to the man who saved my life?’
“Indeed, I would say not.”
“And Lucy has cared for me very well,” Juleah told him.
He looked about for Lucy. “Has she?”
Formality aside, Juleah put her hand out to him. “Promise me you will treat them well, Mr. Martin.”
Mr. Martin looked at her bewildered, then grasped her hand. “I’ve no reason to do otherwise, I assure you.”
She wondered, could she leave without telling Mr. Martin what Corben had tried to do to her? Did he not have the right to know what kind of man he had in his employment? It was a risk to tell. She thought of his wife, Abigail, and their children. No, she would stay silent for their sakes and pray that one day Corben would relent and give up drink.
With a graceful glide, Mr. Corben's slave came inside the house and paused in front of Juleah.
