Sunset

by Christopher Nicole

  She crouched, still shivering, trying to hide her pubes behind the swell of her thigh, closing her hands over her breasts.

  Jack smiled at her. 'You got for go. Them white people going be looking.'

  He had discarded his red robe and his red turban, wore only his shirt and pants; his bare feet were dusty. In his hand he carried her shift and her riding habit. But perhaps she had dreamed the red robe and the turban. Perhaps she had dreamed everything that had happened, since the river. Perhaps what he had given her to drink had not been pure rum, but some secret potion which had sent her into a fairyland.

  Yet she was here, kneeling naked on the ground. And the still-seething nerve ends convinced her that could have been no dream.

  Jack stood in front of her. 'Your head hurting?'

  She shook it, and discovered that it did possess a faint buzz.

  'Well, then, you got for get dress.'

  He dropped the shift at her feet. She hesitated, then picked it up. She knew he watched her breasts as she put it on; she dared not look at him. The habit lay in front of her. She stepped into it, buttoned it up.

  'Now you look like you should,' Jack said. 'You want bread? I got cassava bread.'

  She shook her head. She did not suppose she could digest anything.

  'Why you ain' speaking?'

  Meg licked her lips. 'Last night...'

  'You come, and you stay with us, because it did be dark,' Jack said.

  'But... the kid ..

  'We did have kid for dinner.' Jack smiled at her. 'So I did steal it. You goin' tell your daddy that?'

  She shook her head. 'No. No, I won't tell him. But, that dance ...'

  'We got for dance, after we eat,' Jack explained. 'When we got white girl for guest ?'

  'Yes, but... afterwards ... Jack ...'

  'I ain' knowing about afterwards, chil’,' Jack said. 'I ain' knowing why you coming out here for to sleep. Oh, yes, it must be too hot in that hut. Too hot. But it ain' good, sleeping out here. They got big rat and thing.' Again the quick smile. 'You going tell your daddy about sleeping out here?'

  She shook her head some more. 'No. No, I won't tell a soul.'

  'Well, come then. Your horse waiting.'

  He turned away, and she stumbled behind him. She reached out to grasp his arm, and found she dared not. Yet he stopped, and turned, as if she had touched him.

  'Why?' she asked. 'I will not tell. I promise. But why did you bring me here, Jack? Why did you let me see the ceremony? Why?'

  Jack smiled at her. 'How I going let you stay by that river, in the dark? How I knowing jumbi ain' going jump out and get you ?'

  But of all people in the world, she knew instinctively that Jack would not be afraid of jumbis. Jumbis would be his friends. 'That was not the reason,' she said.

  Jack's face seemed to close, for just a moment, then he smiled again. 'We watch you,' he said. 'Riding the plantation, walking with that whitey whitey woman. We know you, Mistress Hilton. One day you must be going to own Hilltop.'

  Even the blacks, she thought. Even the blacks. But she waited.

  'So, we got for look out for you too, Mistress Hilton. Times is hard. We got for look out for you.'

  Did she understand? She supposed she did. 'And can I come back, if I wish ?'

  Once again the shadow seemed to pass across his face, to be relieved by the smile. 'You can come back, Mistress Hilton. But not until you is ready. When you come back, you walk up in these hills by yourself, and we going find you.'

  'How will I know?’

  'You got for know, Mistress Hilton. You got for know.'

  She chewed her lip, followed him across the clearing to where Candy waited, her bridle held by Cleave. Cleave. Her heart gave a little leap. 'And when I know, Jack, when I come back, will I be able to take part in the dance?'

  Jack gave his quiet smile. 'Oh, yes, mistress. When you come back, you got for take part in the dance. When you come back, you got for be one of us.'

  She sighed with pleasure, faced Cleave.

  'She rested good, mistress,' he said. His gaze flickered over her face, for just a moment, then drifted down her body.

  'He going lead you out,' Jack said.

  Meg grasped the bridle, swung herself into the saddle, once again sitting astride. Her heart was pounding so she supposed the two men must be able to hear it. It was the strangest of sensations, because her skin was still chilled by the dawn mist and the dawn breeze, and yet heat was surging outwards. But Cleave was going to lead her out.

  He held the bridle, turned Candy's head. She twisted in the saddle, to look back at the village, at the clearing, at the burned-out fire. She had to imprint it on her mind, or who could say that tomorrow it would not be only a dream. But how could it be a dream if Cleave was leading her out. And already the houses were disappearing in the mist curtain, and the trees were clinging close to either side, the mist seeming to droop from their branches.

  Now it was daylight and she was sober, she looked around her with more interest, and yet could discern no obvious landmarks. Cleave walked, picking his way through the underbrush, and the mare walked behind him, until they came to the stony ravine, where the cliffs rose on either side like walls.

  'Is here a Hilton woman did flog a black man to death one time,' Cleave said, without turning his head. 'I don't believe you.'

  'Fact,' he said. 'Me daddy tell me, and he daddy tell he, and he daddy did tell he.' 'That is going back a long time,' Meg said. 'Not so long.'

  They reached the end of the ravine, and forded the stream and came once again to the fern grove. Here all was absolutely quiet; the sun had risen and the dawn breeze had died. The mist was beginning to dissipate as the first heat struck at it. And there were no drums. Only the thud of Candy's hooves on the soft earth; Cleave walked without a sound.

  'Cleave,' she said.

  He stopped, and turned to look at her.

  She bit her lip, and sucked air into her lungs. How to tell a black boy, whose ancestors had been slaves, one of whom had been flogged to death by one of her ancestors, that she wanted him to ... she did not know how to put it into words, even in her own mind. 'Will ... will you help me down?'

  He released the bridle, held up his hands for her. She swung her leg over, felt his fingers settle on her ribs, and place her gently on the earth. Then they released her.

  I can't do it, she thought. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot. But her fingers were releasing the buttons of her riding habit. 'Cleave ...'

  His head jerked, it seemed moments before she heard the sound, the distant crack of a rifle, seeping through the trees, reverberating from cliff face to cliff face.

  'They is your people, mistress,' he said. 'You got for go.'

  Oh, confound them, she thought. 'Will I see you again?'

  Did he smile? She couldn't be sure. 'When you come back, mistress.'

  'Not before that? You come down from the hills, often enough.'

  'But how I going see you, mistress ? Them people down there, if they catch a hold of me, they going shoot me like they did shoot Henry.'

  Amazingly, she realized, there was no anger in his voice. To be shot, by a white man, for stealing, was one of life's hazards, like malaria fever or bellyache.

  'No,' she said. ‘I would not let them.'

  Now he did smile. 'When you owning Hilltop, mistress, then maybe. But now is your daddy, and he going be too angry with what happen.'

  'Oh, Lord,' she muttered. She hadn't really thought of that. Or if indeed she had thought of it, it had not seemed important in the heat and excitement of last night. Now those things were fading in the cold light of the morning, and the knowledge that her pursuers were close. 'Then I will come back to the mountains. Soon.'

  'We going be happy about that,' Cleave said.

  She chewed her lip again. 'But... before I go, will you not touch me once more?'

  His turn to hesitate; almost a frown passed across his forehead. Then he reached out his hand, unfastened two
more buttons of her habit, slipped his hand inside. It lay on her shift, but the cotton was thin, and he could cup her breast, slowly elongate the nipple between thumb and forefinger, as he had done last night. And now, as then, she wanted to scream for pleasure.

  'Cleave...'

  'You got for go, mistress,' he said. 'You just ride down this hillside, and you going come to the big river. That is the boundary of Hilltop. By then you going find your people. Make haste, mistress.'

  The hand was gone, and so was he. When she opened her eyes he was no longer in front of her. She turned, and saw his back disappearing into the trees.

  Slowly she climbed back into the saddle, started at the noise of another shot. Her people, coming to look for her, with rifles.

  She turned her horse's head towards the sound.

  She walked Candy through the fern grove, came out on the far side, reined, and waited; the next explosion was that much closer. She could see the hideous bald-headed John Crows circling, disturbed from their usual perches high in the trees, waiting for death. And then she saw a dozen mounted men, following a black man on foot, who was obviously the tracker. For some minutes they did not notice her, gazing as they were at the ground and at the cliffs rising to either side. But as they came closer she could identify them, and recognized both her father and Harry McAvoy.

  She nudged Candy with her bare heels, and the mare obediently moved forward. 'There,' someone shouted.

  They stared at her as if she were a ghost, as she slowly approached. Her heart seemed to have slowed, her entire body seemed to be suspended, waiting, uncertain as to their reaction.

  'Meg?' Anthony Hilton's voice was quiet. He left the group and came forward. 'Meg? Is it really you?'

  'No jumbi, Papa,' she said, attempting a smile.

  He dismounted; he rode a stallion and Candy did not always take kindly to males. Meg also dismounted.

  'Meg.' He took her in his arms, held her close. 'Are you all right?'

  'I'm all right, Papa.’

  'But... we found your boots and stockings, and your... well, we knew where you'd been. And Washington found other tracks as well, of two men.' He stepped back, looking at the blood which splattered her habit, still stained her hands. 'Meg, what did they do to you?' 'Nothing, Papa. Truly.'

  'But ...' He looked past her, at the mist-shrouded mountains. 'Where are they ?'

  'Going about their business, I should think.'

  'Meg.' He seized her arms. 'Where did you spend the night?'

  'Up there.'

  'With black men?'

  'Well... yes, Papa. They were afraid for me, in the dark.'

  'Afraid for you. My God. Meg, you'll lead us there.' He frowned. 'How many of them are there?'

  'I have no idea, Papa. And I can't lead you there. I don't know the way.' The lie had been selected almost without consideration. But she could not face explanations at this moment. They could come later, when she and Papa were alone.

  'Meg,' he said, squeezing her arm. 'There is nothing to be afraid of now. We are here. There are twelve of us, and we are all armed. No one is going to harm you now. And those men must be punished.'

  'Punished? Whatever for?'

  'For ... well, no doubt we shall explain it to you later. Right now, we must get hold of them.' 'I don't know the way, Papa.'

  He stared at her for some moments, then released her again. 'John,' he called, without turning his head.

  Another man rode forward. Meg recognized him as Dr Phillips. Hilltop could no longer afford to employ its own doctor, but John Phillips came out every week to visit the dispensary. Now he dismounted. He only ever attended her for the occasional cold, and in fact she had not required a doctor for the past five years. But he had always been friendly enough, a big jolly man, whose face this morning was quite unnaturally serious. 'Are you all right, Meg?'

  'I'm fine, doctor. Really.'

  'Whose blood is that?'

  'Blood from the animal they killed for supper.'

  Phillips glanced at Anthony Hilton, and received a nod.

  'May I ?' he asked, and took her wrist, at the same time producing a watch from his fob pocket. 'Hm. Just a shade high. I must say, Tony, she looks all right. I would have to give her a proper examination to be sure.'

  'When we get home. She won't say anything. Do you think she can be suffering from shock, or something like that?'

  'Of course I'm not suffering from shock, Papa. But I'm very hungry. Do you think we could go home and have something to eat?'

  'We must catch those men,' he said.

  'I don't know the way, Papa.'

  His turn to glance at the doctor.

  'I'll take her back, Tony,' Phillips decided. 'Presumably your man Washington can follow the tracks for some distance farther.'

  'I'd imagine so.' Anthony Hilton looked at his daughter, but Meg was not concerned; there would be no tracks at all when they came to the stony valley. 'You are to return home with Dr Phillips, Meg. Do you understand?'

  'Of course, Papa.' Meg kissed him on the cheek. 'I could do with a hot bath.' She remounted Candy, waited while the doctor also got up. He rode beside her as they passed the waiting group of white men, mostly Hilltop overseers. They stared at her, and she felt her cheeks burning. But what did they matter? She was Margaret Hilton. She must remember this, now and always. Only that mattered.

  The two horses picked their way down the slope, towards the now visible river.

  'Your father was very upset,' Dr Phillips remarked. 'Well, he would be, don't you think? These mountains are no place for a white woman, alone, at night'

  'I'm sorry,' she said.

  They rode in silence for a while longer, forded the stream and were on Hilltop.

  'If the men who abducted you made any threats,' Dr Phillips said, 'you are free of them now, you know, Meg. And the best way to make sure you stay free of them would be to tell your father where they can be found, and have them sent to gaol.'

  'Would they not send a jumbi to see to me ?'

  He shot her a glance. 'You don't believe in that nonsense, do you?'

  'I don't really know what I believe in, Dr Phillips.'

  They rode their horses down the slope and entered the canefields. Soon they came upon a gang of East Indians, busily weeding. They all stopped to stare at them. But surely they mattered even less than the overseers.

  'You know, Meg,' Dr Phillips said conversationally, 'it is very possible that these men who abducted you may have done you some injury, of which you are quite unaware. Black people, well... white people too, of course ... they sometimes, ah, carry illness, carry diseases, you know, which can ah, be communicated from one person to the other without either one being aware of what is happening. Now, it is terribly important that I should know if there is a possibility of this at the earliest possible moment.' He was flushing scarlet. 'So it really would be best if you were to tell me ... in general terms, of course ... exactly what happened, both when you were first abducted and afterwards.' He paused, and found a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

  'But I was not abducted,' Meg explained.

  'You ... my dear Meg, I have just explained that there is no necessity for you any longer to be afraid of these people.'

  'I was not abducted,' she insisted. 'They invited me to go with them, and I went.' He drew rein, to stare at her. 'But why?' 'I was curious.'

  'Curious? My God.' He realized that the mare was walking away from him and hastily kicked his mount forward again. 'You said "they". Who were "they"?'

  'Some men,' Meg said.

  Dr Phillips caught up with her, drew alongside. 'They must have threatened you, or something like that.' 'No, they didn't.'

  'Meg, your ... ah ... underclothes were lying on the ground.' 'Of course. I took them off’

  'Took them off? My God.' Once again the handkerchief was busy. 'You mean, they made you undress.'

  'No, no,' she said. 'I was already undressed. Oh, you may as well know, I was bathing in the river, an
d these men came along and asked me to go with them, and I went.'

  'Undressed ?'

  'I put my habit on.'

  'Great Scott,' Dr Phillips remarked, apparently to himself, and fell silent.

  And a few minutes later they came out of the canefields and were riding down the slope towards the village, with the sheep and the goats hastily getting out of their way. Meg's heart started to pound again. Would she ever be able to look at a goat without remembering the sacrificial kid?

  'Meg.' Oriole came running down the front stairs of the bungalow. 'Oh, you poor child. Whatever did they do to you?'

  Meg dismounted. Every front porch on every house on the street was full, of the white women and their maids and their children.

  'Meg.' Oriole held her shoulders, rather as Tony Hilton had done. 'Are you all right? Can you speak?'

  'Of course I can speak, Oriole,' Meg said. Today she was not even afraid of Oriole.

  Oriole looked at Dr Phillips, who shrugged. 'She seems to have undergone a very odd experience.' He opened the gate for her. 'About which she does not seem prepared to talk.'

  'Not talk of it?' Oriole demanded. 'Have they caught the scoundrels ?'

  'No, they have not,' Phillips said. 'But they are still looking.'

  Meg was halfway up the stairs. She paused to look down. 'They were not scoundrels. They looked after me for the night'

  Oriole looked at her, then at Phillips.

  Who shrugged again. 'It is what she keeps saying. Presumably it could just be true. Although I must say ...'

  'True?' Oriole shouted. 'Of all the rubbish. True? How can it be true? She's clearly suffering from some sort of shock. Or perhaps she's been bewitched. Yes indeed, that wouldn't surprise me. These people are all heathens, however much they pretend to be Christians. The poor child is bewitched. Yes, indeed, that must be it.' She started up the stairs. 'She must be put to bed, and she must be examined, doctor. Not only for ... well, you know what I mean. But she might have contracted some terrible disease.'