She was mad — no, "mad" was the wrong word.
Humiliated.
That, she thought, was more like it. And someone would have to pay.
Heeding Abraham's instruction, she'd risen in the dead of night and climbed out of bed, only her nightgown keeping her from the chill of the cold. She'd crept downstairs, and the pained creaking of the wood panels could have been born from her own body, her muscles still sore from her time with Abraham the day before, a moment she knew had changed her life forever.
What little worry she had, perhaps, was more for Mae than for Mr. Banks. It almost humored her to recall him during the war's final days, bands of horses left roaming free in search of their dead owners, stomping and neighing, and men crying out on from the corners of the battlefield only miles away, and never could the old man be risen from his sleep. Yet Mae — Mae might hear her. It was a risk she was willing to take. . .
Outside the moon was a crescent of piercing brightness, and as she approached the barn where she'd so often watched Abraham bathe, so often — if only in the back of her mind — wished to be with him, it seemed as if the moon's illumination was centered upon it, as if nature had emphasized the desire which took root in her mind.
The horses were either asleep or nibbling hesitantly on hay, and no other person was in sight. A sack left by the new man, Jebediah, lay beside the wall of a stable, near Abraham's own. A wind picked up her gown and she held it down with her hands, shivering like a child, and she realized how idiotic she looked here, alone, amongst the horses; she'd been a made a fool of. In a moment she turned to go home, and she did not look back, for the moment for her had been lost; the embarrassment was simply too great.
She would be fast asleep when the two men reappeared later that night after a long walk in the fields. Even when the night patrol had been active rounding up fugitive slaves, they never ventured into the fields (for why would a slave on the run take himself to that place which he sought to escape?), and certainly now that those days were over, the fields themselves were excellent as a place to get away, if only for a private conversation.
"A few weeks," Jebediah was saying as they reentered the barn. "And then it's on to the next one. That stands for both of us."
Abraham was tired; he'd heard his brother speaking all night on the matter, that he was somehow caught up with Caroline, taken by her — that if he'd already planted his seed in her womb, there was no more need for their being on the plantation. He had other thoughts.
"We can't be certain I got the job done, Jeb. "Besides — she doesn't realize she's owned yet. Doesn't realize she's mine. That's half the job, you taught me that yourself."
Jebediah, with an odd show of grace and strength, grabbed the rear of a horse in a stable, pulled it backward and planted himself in the stack of hay it had been chewing from. "This horse here," he said, pointing to the displaced animal. "It feeds, and feeds, and feeds. It don't realize when it's had enough. Too greedy for its own good. But it don't take nothin' but a nigger like me to show it right."
"You've always been full of lessons, haven't you?" Abraham said. Jebediah had grown up in the fields, whereas Abraham had been taken in early, taught letters — yet the older brother still often thought himself to hold wisdom over his younger sibling.
"And for a smart nigger you always been full of stupid. I won't be here in three months when she's got a black baby in her belly and you bein' hanged in the town square. Best you wise up, boy, or you might just end up like your daddy."
Abraham laid down on his pallet. His mind was clouded, his eyes still level with Caroline's, as if he was still in that carriage, her body on his, her heat overloading his senses, sending him over the edge. He was not caught up, he told himself. He could leave whenever he wanted. He just needed her again. He needed to make her his once and forever.
It was only then he realized he'd requested her presence hours earlier. So caught up was he with the arrival of his brother, with the news he'd brought from farther south, that he'd forgotten the meeting entirely. Weeks of trust might have been gone in one instant. He slept peacefully, still. He knew he would get her back. She'd had a taste of him — no matter how hard she fought against her urges, she'd come back for another.
A tapping took to the side of the barn, so insistent and dully annoying that Abraham felt it pierce his sleep like a fly buzzing at his ears. It was Mr. Banks — up earlier than usual, finding Abraham in a state of vulnerability. He rose at once, Jebediah at his side, equally confused; both knowing what had transpired the day before, they each endured the moment breathless and with great worry.
But any concern was quickly shown to be unfounded.
"Morning, boys!" Mr. Banks said.
"Sir," they both said, hearing the friendliness of his tone and settling back into calm.
"We've got Oliver Cambridge coming in tonight. I doubt either of you have heard of him, which is nonessential to the matter as it stands."
Mr. Banks took Abraham for stupid. Of course Abraham had heard of the man — he owned enough cotton and tobacco in the South to fund the Confederates for another go around in the war.
"He's expressed interest in buying my land," Mr. Banks went on. "He'll be coming in for dinner tonight. If I'm going to receive the offer I wish to have, it's of great importance he not get the smell of . . . desperation." He looked off now, as if lost in reverie. "I once had a swarm of butlers, but those days are gone. You two will have to assist Mae. Abraham, I trust you, of course —" he looked at Jebediah with uncertainty — "The brutish one is clearly not one for the dining room, exactly."
"Might be, but I'm up for the job, sir," Jebediah said. "You can trust me."
Mr. Banks sighed. "I do hope as much. I have hired out those loud-mouthed seamstresses in town my wife is always visiting and they swear up and down they can have garments made up by the end of the day. I do pray that is the case. Told them, everything must be large — quite large. Without measurements it'll have to do."
"Just the two of you dining, then?" Abraham asked. "Important to know how many we'll be serving."
"And my wife, of course," Mr. Banks said.
"Good, sir," Abraham responded. "We will be ready."
Mr. Banks nodded his head, looked over the barn with great uncertainty. "See to it, boys." At that he was gone.
***
The dress Caroline had picked up at the seamstresses seemed to casual for dinner, so she opted for an orange assemblage that's low dip at the neck was concealed by the circling, bright rows of jewelry which she wore there — as Mae put each piece on she felt as if her neck might begin to crane from the weight.
"Sure is pretty," Mae said. "Sure it's worth the trouble?"
"No beauty was gained without pain, Mae," Caroline said.
"Yes, m'am, suppose that's the truth."
It was nearing supper time and Caroline was prepared, excited even, by the opportunity to have Abraham serving her alongside that other behemoth. He thought he could get away with what he'd done — she'd show him. By the end of the night, he'd be on his knees, begging for her to quit being on him. She grinned at the thought.
"In a good mood then, m'am?" Mae asked, catching her mistresses smile in the mirror.
"Oh, it should just be a splendid night is all," she replied. "I'm simply looking forward to it."
Mr. Banks knocked and Mae opened the door, already in his frock coat, the white shirt underneath frilled, the image, to Caroline, reminding her of the times she'd seen the white bushels of hair on his chest, enough of a thought to make her recoil.
