Lucia lay on a mat in the loft above the kitchen. It was Doll’s room, a small space pinched in by the angles of the roof. She lay on her stomach with her arms folded under her head and stared into the dark recesses, her mind drifting slowly from one dreary thought to another. Her back hurt too much to lie on it, but it was not so terribly bad. She had seen worse whippings. Timboe’s had been worse, on that night she buried the poison root. She understood more than ever the change in him after that, why he had become so sullen and quiet. It was not the bruised and torn flesh that kept her lying here in the loft, but the lowness of her spirit.
Downstairs she could hear Doll shuffling about the kitchen. Early that morning, before breakfast, Charity had come to the kitchen wanting to know where Lucia was, why she had not slept in the house or come in to help Charity dress. And Doll, without the least hesitation, had told her everything that had happened. Charity had come up into the loft, bringing a candle with her, holding it close to Lucia’s back, murmuring over what she saw. Lucia had said very little, nothing coming to her to say, and Charity soon left. Not long after, Lucia heard shouting in the house, Charity’s voice and Henry’s going back and forth. Then little Abe started crying and the shouting stopped. Everything was quiet now.
Lucia closed her eyes, wanting sleep, but the noise in her mind grew louder and more disturbing and she opened her eyes again to regain her composure. So long as she could see this room, she knew she was not in Colley’s cabin. Doll was downstairs, and she was safe. Sam Clutterbuck was out there somewhere in the sunshine that filtered in to her in tiny pricks of light through the wooden shingles. This wooden floor was not the earthen floor of Colley’s cabin. The space above her was empty—Henry was not there drawing back his whip, bringing it down on her with all his strength.
But Henry was in the big house, so close she could hear his voice when he raised it. He was still her master. Sam Clutterbuck did not own her. Henry Hawkins did. Sam Clutterbuck could be sent away. Doll could be pushed aside. Henry owned this kitchen, this loft. He could come here any time, do whatever he wanted. She turned her head and looked up. The ceiling was low, no room to stand except in the middle. No room to swing a whip. There was comfort in that. No room in this loft for a whip.
Below she heard Cajoe’s voice as he came into the kitchen from the house.
“What was that hollering?” Doll asked him.
“Miss Charity’s in a fury,” said Cajoe. “I never seen her in such a fury. Told him to go back to Charles Town.”
“Is he going?” asked Doll.
“He said he ain’t going. So she said she be going. She said she be taking the children with her. He said she ain’t taking the children, but she said she is, and they shout about that for a while. Finally he said take ’em then, but she ain’t busting up his household, she ain’t taking no servants away. She said she be taking Lucia, but he said she ain’t, and they holler some more, but he never did give in on that.”
Lucia put her hand to one of the H’s branded on her cheeks. Henry was the one who owned her. Not Charity. Everything that was Charity’s became his when they married. He owned Lucia—her life, her body. He could keep her here. She stared into the darkness and tried to divert her thoughts, but they only went to grim things, to the carnage she had seen in Salvador’s camp, to the starvation at San Augustín, to the slave-catchers in the forest with the rain coming down, to Ana being left behind in the slave pen, to Carlos with his new wife. Her eyes closed, and she drifted into troubled sleep, then awoke in a fright, someone pounding at the door. No, it was footsteps—soft ones coming up the crude stairs into the loft. She turned her head and Charity appeared, her face lit by the candle that she carried. She came over to Lucia and knelt beside her, setting the candle on the floor.
“Are you feeling any better?” Charity asked.
Lucia shrugged. “I am all right.”
“I want to tell you what is happening,” said Charity. “I told Henry I’d not live with him anymore. I’m taking the children and going to the house in Charles Town.” She paused, searching for the right words. “It’s all a bit unsettled now. He says he’ll not let me take any servants from Fairmeadow. It was hard enough to make him let the children go. But in a little time he’ll come around. I’ll send for you. I’ll not leave you here forever.”
At first Lucia made no reply. There was silence, Charity toying nervously with the rings on her fingers. Then Lucia asked quietly, “Will Mr. Bull join you there?”
“No,” said Charity. “I cannot risk seeing him in Charles Town with so many people looking on. Were Henry to hear of it, he’d divorce me and take the children away.” She clasped her hands in her lap and gave a tremulous sigh.
Lucia closed her eyes, wishing her gone.
“I’ve talked to Sam Clutterbuck,” Charity said. “He assured me he’ll do all he can with Henry—concerning you, I mean. And I do believe he can guard you well. Henry is cruel, but he is weak. I’d not go away and leave you did I not think Sam could protect you. And I’ll send for you soon, before summer. I’ll send for Doll as well. It’s my hope to convince Henry to take Venus and Bella in your places.”
Lucia nodded.
“I told Sam that I want you to sleep out here with Doll. I don’t want Henry taking you into the house again.”
Lucia stared past her. What could Sam Clutterbuck do to stop him?
“I’ll be leaving before the day is out,” said Charity. “Sheba and Cajoe are helping me pack a few things. The rest I’ll have sent after me. You’ll hear from me soon. I promise you that, Lucia. I’ll send for you.”
Lucia nodded again, but still said nothing. Charity remained a moment longer and then, reaching for the candle, she rose to her feet. As she went down into the daylit kitchen, the smell of the smoldering wick of the extinguished candle drifted back up into the loft. Lucia looked up at the roof, searching for the specks of sunlight. She wondered whether Charity had allowed herself to consider the fact that Sam Clutterbuck left Fairmeadow every Saturday evening and stayed away for a night and a day. Who would be here to protect her then?
A misty rain was falling as Isaac Bull climbed out of the cypress dugout onto the Fairmeadow wharf. Sam Clutterbuck came out to meet him, his face ducked down against the rain. As they shook hands, Sam said to him in a low voice, “I’m sorry to say we’ve had a reversal in things. It’s Henry who’s alone here now. She’s gone to Charles Town.”
Isaac glanced toward the house. “When did she leave?”
“Not a week ago. It would take more than a word to tell the whole story.”
“Is Henry sober?” asked Isaac.
“I wouldn’t say so.”
“I’d as soon not see him if I can avoid it,” said Isaac. “Can we go to your cabin?”
“Come along.” Sam turned and led the way beneath the dripping trees.
Sam’s cabin had only one room, though it was a large one with a brick fireplace and a window. It was comfortably furnished with a bed, a table, a bench, and two chairs. Sam had a fire burning against the chill of the spring rain, and they drew the two chairs up close to the hearth and settled down.
“So tell me the story,” said Isaac.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know how I get tangled up in these things. There’s no end to the complications of it.” He told Isaac of Henry’s attack on Lucia, his own interference in the matter, and of Charity’s departure in its wake. “I don’t know what he’ll do when he finally sobers up,” said Sam. “Send me away for good and all, I reckon.”
“But then who would manage Fairmeadow for him?” said Isaac. “There are not so many men to choose from, and none of your worth. I’m sure he knows that, drunk or sober. He can’t run the place by himself. It would go to ruin in a fortnight.”
“Might be you’re right,” said Sam. “But it leaves me with another problem.”
“What is that?”
“Well, tomorrow is Saturday, time for me to go home to Bess like I always do. But now I hate to leave the place. I got a feeling Henry’s been lying up there in the house, nursing his rum, waiting for me to shove off up the river so he can get back to Lucia without anyone to get in his way.”
“You can’t stand guard over her forever,” said Isaac. “She’ll not be the first slave wench to be forced by her master. It’s common enough.”
“So I tell myself,” said Sam. He shook his head. “It just seems to me that he forfeited his right to her when he laid into her with that whip. I don’t know that I can explain it.” He reached down and picked up a chip of wood and tossed it into the fire. “God damn it, I’ve come this far in the thing and I just can’t hardly bear to go off now and let him have her.”
Isaac made no reply, and they were silent for a time.
Then Sam said, “Will you be going on to Charles Town after Mrs. Hawkins?”
“No,” said Isaac. “It was not to see her that I came. Not specifically, I mean. It was to bring a bit of news up the river.”
“What news?”
“More rumor than news, but there’s enough to it to cause a stir among the traders. You remember our old friend The Panther?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it seems he was sharing a bottle with Sam Warner one night of late. In Savana Town. The Panther got some rum in him and began to feel sentimental toward old Warner. Thought he ought to share a little secret with him. He told him that the Creeks are more unhappy with the traders than they’ve ever been before, that they’ve taken their complaints to Charles Town with no effect, and that they’ve run out of time. They’re resolved to action. On the first affront from any of the traders, they’ll cut them down one and all. And they’ll not stop there.”
“They will go on to Charles Town, you mean?”
“So Warner supposed. He’s gone to Charles Town to alert the governor.”
“I hope the governor listens. It’s time to get the thing in hand. We need a strict regulation of the trade, nothing less.”
“If it’s not too late for reform,” said Isaac.
Sam looked at him. “Do you think it is?” he asked soberly.
“I don’t know,” said Isaac. “But I do know Sam Warner was in a fright. There are some who are shrugging it off, but I’m not one of them. This storm has been brewing too long.”
Sam leaned forward toward the fire, propping his elbows on his knees, his shoulders bent over while he thought. Then he straightened again.
“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” he said.
“Ask it,” said Isaac.
“I’d be in your debt if you would go on up the river and tell Bess some of what you have told me. Don’t alarm her more than need be, but tell her to be mindful, keep the gun handy, take it with ’em if they go away from the house, and don’t any of ’em go out alone. Bar the door at night. Things of that sort. She’ll know what to do.”
“Then you’re not going home tomorrow?” said Isaac.
“No. Tell her that, too. Tell her there’s business keeping me here, and it might be a few weeks before I get up there. But if there’s any Indian trouble on the river, I’ll be there with her before she even hears about it.”
“Unless it strikes there first.”
Sam shook his head. “You just have to trust the Lord that some things won’t happen. My being there one night a week wouldn’t give her much protection anyway.”
“Do you want me to tell her why you’re staying?”
“No,” said Sam. “Just tell her it’s business. If she heard the other, she’d not think it reason enough.” He stood up and stretched, turning his back to the fire. Then he got his pipe from the mantle and pulled a pouch of tobacco from his pocket. “Share a pipe with me,” he said. “And settle in for the night. This rain should clear off by tomorrow.”
“That’s a fair offer,” said Isaac. He reached down and pulled off his boots and then leaned back in the chair, stretching out his stockinged feet toward the fire.
Lucia stepped back a few paces and leaned on her hoe, looking with satisfaction at the little field of corn she had planted. It was Sunday afternoon and the day had been pleasant, the air still cool from Friday’s rain, the sun shining down with the gentle warmth of spring. Doll had been right to force her out of the kitchen, putting a hoe in her hand and telling her to go plant a patch of corn for the two of them. It was the first time since Henry’s attack that her spirits had lightened, the first time she had cared to feel the warmth of the sun or the coolness of a breeze.
If today was her best day since that night in Colley’s cabin, yesterday had been her worst. It was Saturday, time for Clutterbuck to go home. By noon she had retreated to the loft, pulled so low with dread that she had done nothing for the rest of the day but lie there, waiting for the night when he would be gone and Henry would finally come to find her. But when darkness came, Clutterbuck was still at Fairmeadow. Doll sent Tickey to find out what was happening, and Tickey came back and reported that he had seen Clutterbuck through the open door of his cabin, that he had a fire going in the hearth and was lying on his bed with his boots off. From this they knew that he was not planning to leave at all.
Lucia at first had been too numb to rejoice. That day of fearful waiting had exhausted her, and she fell asleep soon after Tickey left and did not awaken until Sunday dawn. She and Doll ate a quiet breakfast, speculating on why Clutterbuck had remained at Fairmeadow, and then Doll sent her out to plant their corn. As the day progressed, her spirits rose, until now, as she stood looking at her day’s work, she decided she should speak to Sam Clutterbuck and let him know that she was mindful of the protection he was giving her and grateful for it. She had not spoken to him at all since that night in Colley’s cabin.
She went back to the kitchen and found Doll dozing, her kerchiefed head leaning back against the wall where she sat beneath the window. Lucia went quietly to work, taking dried peaches from a cloth sack that hung on the wall, sugar from a small barrel in the corner, flour from a larger barrel. Doll stirred, was still for a moment, and then raised her head and looked at her.
“What are you doing?” Doll asked.
“Making a peach pie.”
“No need for that,” said Doll, rubbing her hands over her face. “We have pudding from yesterday.” She stretched and then got to her feet, staggering a little with the sleep that was still in her. “I’d not waste a pie on him, anyway. He don’t deserve anything as good as that.”
“This is not for Henry,” said Lucia. “It’s for Sam Clutterbuck.”
Doll opened her eyes a little wider and looked at her. “I’m not sure Clutterbuck deserves it, either. You should not be thinking he’s a better man than he is. He still is the overseer of this place.”
“He’s a better man than Dudley Price,” said Lucia.
“And who wouldn’t be?”
Lucia made no reply. She mixed the sugar and peaches together in a pan, added some water and set them over the fire. Doll stood for a moment, scratching her back and watching. Then, with a shake of her head, she went over and got the butter and brought it to the table to begin mixing it with flour for the crust.
Lucia hesitated for a moment in the twilight outside Sam Clutterbuck’s cabin. The pie, covered with a cloth, was warm in her hands, its aroma sweet and spicy. She was a little uneasy now, not sure exactly what she would say. The oncoming darkness was bringing her spirits down, and she no longer had the enthusiasm for this that she had felt when she began. But the pie was made, and she had come this far with it, so she went on ahead toward the open doorway. “Mr. Clutterbuck?” she called softly.
There was a sound of movement inside, and then Clutterbuck was in the doorway, looking out to see who was there. He smiled when he saw her. “What’s that I smell?” he said.
“Peach pie.” She held it out to him. He took it from her, lifting the cloth a little and smelling it more deeply. She smiled at the pleasure he was showing.
“Come in and we’ll both have some,” he said.
“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “It’s all for you. I must go back to the kitchen.”
“What for?” He shifted the pie to one hand and reached out to her with the other, taking her by the shoulder in a friendly manner and drawing her inside. “Doll has none but Mr. Hawkins to cook for. That’s not enough to keep one cook busy, let alone two.” He went over and put the pie on the table while she stood just inside the doorway, uncertain whether to stay or go.
He was paying little attention to her now. Taking out his knife, he carefully cut the pie in half, then gave the pan a quarter turn and halved one of the halves. There was a wooden trencher on the table and he lifted one of the pieces onto it, then got a spoon and pushed it with the trencher across the table toward Lucia. She still stood watching him, tempted by the pie and by his open manner, but wary, trying to think of what the ramifications would be.
He got another spoon and pulled out the bench from beneath the table and sat down. “I’ll eat out of the pan,” he said, digging the spoon in without further ado. He nodded toward the trencher. “That one’s yours.”
Still she stood, uncertain how to accept, but thinking now that maybe she would. She smiled a little. “I’ll have some, then.” She came over and started to pick up the trencher, intending to take it outside.
“No,” he said and patted the bench. “Sit down.”
She looked at him. It was not the way things were done, a slave sitting down to eat with a white man. She turned and glanced out the door. Anyone could be watching.
“I couldn’t do that,” she said. “I would like to taste the pie, though.”
“Close the door if it bothers you.”
“No, I think I’d best go back,” said Lucia, starting to turn away without the pie.
“Wait a minute,” said Clutterbuck, putting down the spoon in exasperation and rising to his feet. “For God’s sake.” He walked by her and pushed the door shut. “All I’m trying to do is get you to sit down and have some pie, here where you’re safe, where you don’t have to worry about nothing. That’s all there is to it. I ain’t Henry Hawkins out to set you a trap. Just sit down here and let’s have some pie.” He took his seat again and looked up at her, waiting. “Sit down,” he said, this time speaking the words in Apalachee.
She smiled, hesitated another moment, and then sat down on the bench, keeping a wide distance between them. “I’ve not heard my language spoken for a very long time,” she said.
“I don’t know much of it,” said Sam. “It’s Muskogee I know best. I lived a great while amongst the Creeks.” He took a bite of the pie and chewed it slowly, savoring it. “This tastes so good it draws your eye down.”
“I’m pleased you like it,” said Lucia. “Doll made the crust. She used butter in it, not lard.”
Clutterbuck took another bite. “And white flour,” he said, shaking his head over the fine flavor. “And white sugar in the peaches. This is a feast for a common fellow like me. I’m used to cornmeal and molasses.”
“I am grateful for what you did for me that night in Colley’s cabin,” Lucia said quietly. She did not look at him as she spoke.
“I’m sure you are,” said Clutterbuck. “I never doubted it.” He went on eating his pie, and she ate hers, neither of them speaking. When finally he had finished, he pushed away the untouched half of the pie and turned on the bench to face her, drawing one leg to the other side and leaning his elbow on the table. She was still eating.
“You like?” he asked in Apalachee.
She smiled. “Yes, it is good.” She said it in her language, and for a moment she closed her eyes with the pleasure of those words in her ears and on her tongue. She looked at him and then self-consciously away, her gaze sweeping to the window beyond him. As her eyes came to rest on a whip hanging coiled on a nail beside the window, her smile left her face. She turned back to the pie, ate another bite and then pushed it away, her appetite gone.
Clutterbuck looked at her for a moment, puzzled, then turned and glanced over his shoulder at the whip hanging behind him.
“That,” he said and fell silent. He looked away, pondering.
“I must go,” she said, making a move to leave. But he reached out and put his hand on her arm to stop her.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
“For what?”
“To sweeten things up again. I don’t want you going out of here with that cloud on your face. It was pleasant to have you bring me the pie and smile at me and sit with me. The whip is mine true enough, and I use it on your people, because that’s what an overseer has to do. But I ain’t Henry Hawkins. I don’t enjoy using it. And I wish right now that it weren’t mine, not the whip nor the job, and that you were just a friend who stopped by to pass a little time with me.”
Lucia made an attempt to smile. “I know you are not Henry Hawkins,” she said quietly. “I will try to forget the whip.” She paused, remembering the fear that only yesterday had paralyzed her until this man had taken it away by not getting into his boat and going up the river. “I do not know why you stayed here last night,” she said softly, “but I was very relieved by it. I had been afraid of what he would do when you were away.”
“It worried me, too,” said Clutterbuck. “That’s why I stayed.”
She glanced at him and then looked down at the table, unable to speak, her finger tracing the grain of the wood, her throat tight with emotion. Tears came into her eyes, blurring her vision, and her finger ceased its tracing motion.
“I’m ashamed I ever had a hand in making you a slave,” he said quietly. “You ought to be home in your own land.”
She turned away from him, rubbing her hands over her face, gathering herself together. “We all of us should,” she said in a steady voice. “Doll, Timboe, Daphne, Juba, all of us should be home in our own countries.”
“God knows it’s true,” said Sam. “But that ain’t the way of the world. I don’t know why everything is set up as it is, but that’s the way things are.” He got up and walked over to the fireplace and stood leaning against the mantle, looking down at the flames. “Sometimes I think of just getting out of the whole mess, going up into the Indian country to live. I don’t mean as a trader, either. There’s a woman I used to live with up there. A good woman. God above, I miss her sometimes. My whole goddamned chest gets to aching for wanting to be back with her. But I got my wife and young ’uns here to think of. Anahki has her brothers to hunt for her and take care of her, but Bess don’t have another soul but me. I rooted her up from England and brought her over here, promising her a better life, and all she got for the trouble was fever and ague and one hardship after another. So I stay here, and I do what I have to do. And yes, goddamn it, I deal in slaves. I buy ’em and sell ’em. I work ’em for other men. I got three on my own farm. I don’t like it, but that’s the way the world is, and I can’t do a thing to change it. So there’s an end to it.” He kicked a chip of wood into the fire and sparks flew up.
Lucia watched him for a moment, and then she rose to her feet. “I have to go now,” she said. He nodded but did not turn around to face her.
“I don’t want you to be unhappy because I came here,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for the kindness you have shown to me.”
“You did thank me,” said Clutterbuck. “The pie was good.” But still he would not turn around.
“You are upset with me,” she said.
He shook his head. “Not with you.”
“Then I will go.”
He nodded.