Midwife of the Blue Ridge (44 page)

“Hush, Aurelia,” Justice warned. “Let Aunt Tempie fi nish her

tale.”

“Don’t you worry, Justice,” Castor asserted. “Brer Rabbit is

th’ cleverest.”

“Mm-hmm,” Pollux added. “He’ll get away from that ol’ wolf.”

Tempie went on. “Now, Brer Rabbit thought to hisself as he

dangled there in Brer Wolf’s grip, ‘I must gather my wits and

contrive a way to stay out ol’ Brer Wolf’s stew pot.’”

Maggie leaned forward, as caught up in the tale as the rest

of them. “Th’ rabbit has no chance. Th’ wolf is bigger and

stronger . . .”

“Shhhh!”

“The first thing Brer Rabbit thought to do was quit his strug-

glin’. Instead o’ strugglin’, he set his clever mind to
thinkin’
.”

Tempie tapped her index finger to her temple. “Just then, Brer

Rabbit spied a buckthorn bush filled with berries ripe for the

pickin’ and that’s when he hatched himself a scheme.”

“A buckthorn bush,” Simon snorted. “That’s trouble.”

“Brer Rabbit said to Brer Wolf, ‘Why, would you look at those

purty berries? So ripe an’ juicy—mmmmMMMM—don’t every-

one know nothin’ goes better with rabbit stew than a great big

bowl of juicy, delicious buckthorn berries.’”

“Buckthorn berries!” Castor and Pollux fell into a fit of giggles.

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“What?” Maggie whispered to Simon. “What’s wrong with

buckthorn berries?”

Tempie ignored the interruptions. “Now, most folk know,

eatin’ buckthorn berries will have you squitterin’ from your hind

end with a bad case of the trots in no time. But Brer Wolf is a

natural-born meat-eater, dim to the ways of things that grow.

Those berries tempted him, hangin’ on that bush, a-gleamin’ red

like jewels in the sunshine. He held on to Brer Rabbit’s long

fl oppy ears and set him to pickin’.” Tempie began picking imagi-

nary berries from an imaginary bush.

“As fast as Brer Rabbit picked those berries, greedy ol’ Brer

Wolf ate ’em. He took to those berries like a mule to millet. Soon

there warn’t a single berry left on that bush. With Brer Rabbit by

the ears, Brer Wolf set back onto the path to his cabin. They

walked quite a ways, and Brer Rabbit got to worryin’ that maybe

all his schemin’ went for naught, when he heard a deep rumblin’,

grumblin’ sound. ‘Sounds like they’s a storm a-brewin’,’ Brer

Rabbit said, ‘But they ain’t a cloud in the sky.’”

“Brer Rabbit.” Justice laughed, slapping his knee. “He
is
a cau-

tion!”

“Then a mighty queer look come over Brer Wolf. He let loose

Brer Rabbit and grabbed himself ’round the belly. ‘Oooohhh,

lawsy . . .’ says he, fi ddling with the buttons on his britches.

“Brer Rabbit got to snickering with delight, ‘Is you feelin’

poorly, Brer Wolf?’

“And Brer Wolf took off like a blue streak, into the bresh. And

Brer Rabbit laughed and laughed, then he lit out, hippity-hoppity,

back to his briar patch.”

Everyone clapped, happy Brer Rabbit had succeeded. Using his

wits and cunning, he beat Brer Wolf once again.

“That was a good trick he played,” Simon said. “Getting the

wolf to eat those berries.”

Tempie nodded. “Brer Rabbit, he never ever gives up.” With

Midwife of the Blue Ridge
313

that, she sent the twins to their beds. Achilles got back to pluck-

ing his
banjar
and the adults sat quiet for a moment, savoring a

tale well told.

“Tha’s the way . . .” Maggie murmured, sitting upright. “We

can do it, too.” She turned to Aurelia. “
We
can stay out o’ th’

wolf’s pot as well.”

“What are you talkin’ ’bout, Maggie?” Aurelia leaned back

against Justice. “There ain’t no wolves ’round here.”

“I mean him.” Maggie waved her hand toward the block-

house. “Cavendish. We can do like Brer Rabbit did to th’ wolf—

fix him so he doesna want either of us in his bed.”

“Feed Marse Cavendish buckthorn berries?” Aurelia gig-

gled.

“Aye. Or rub his smallclothes with stinging nettle leaves.”

Maggie laughed. “Between us cookin’ his food and tendin’ to his

linen, we can keep him awful busy—him in a quandary as to

whether he should scratch, spew, shite, or fart!”

“And in such a predicament, havin’ his puny cock polished will

be the last thing on his mind!” Aurelia clapped her hands with

glee.

Justice’s whisper was harsh. “Hush this foolishness, Aurelia.

Pay no mind to this white woman and her crazy talk.”

“Ye wouldna think it crazy, Justice,” Maggie spat back, “if ye

had to answer his call—bend t’ tha’ devil’s will as we must.”

“I been bending to the will of men like him my life long, and

I’ve stripes on my back to show when I didn’t.”

“I’d rather be whipped than go t’ his bed willing,” Maggie

hissed.

“Hmmph. That what you two are talkin’ ’bout don’t lead t’

the whippin’ post,” Justice countered. “Slaves caught poisoning

their master be burned alive at the stake.”

“We ain’t fixin’ to poison Massa so’s he die,” Aurelia whis-

pered. “We’ll just make him a little uncomfortable, is all. Just so

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he keep to himself long enough for Maggie t’ heal up an’ run off

to her ol’ massa.”

Simon added, “It’d serve us all to have that bastard laid low

for a few days. He’s been drivin’ everybody hard.”

Justice turned to Tempie, his voice dropping to an exasperated

rumbling rasp. “You may be no bigger than a skeeter wing, Miz

Tempie, but you are the mother of this mischief. Make these

fools come to they senses. This kind o’ talk is bound to get some-

body killed, or worse.”

“Justice is right—this kind o’ talk is best left for the light o’

day.” Tempie stood, linked her fingers behind her head, and

stretched catlike. “Th’ day has eyes, but the night has ears. Ev-

eryone ought just button up now and find their bed.”

21

A Deadly Web

It was very dark when Maggie startled awake. Barely able to see

her hand before her face, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes,

pressed up to a stand, and tiptoed around two blanketed gray

mounds lying on their darker gray pallets. Aurelia rustled in her

bed and moaned, “It daybreak already?”

Maggie whispered, “Shhha . . . back t’ yer dreams, lass . . . I’m

just off t’ pee.”

Fingers skimming over the rough timber wall, she felt her way

to the corner where they kept the night bucket. Maggie fumbled

gathering her shift and positioning the bucket—urinating being

one among many things made more difficult with her arm en-

slinged.

At last squatting over the bucket, she released her water to

shush into the pisspot. Maggie scrinched her nose at the strong

smell, like that of stewed celery root. Regretting having added to

the funk of their close quarters, she picked up the bucket with

her good left hand and headed out to discard its noxious content.

The door latch pushed up with a loud thunk. Wincing at the

noise, Maggie eased the door open.

The bucket’s bale handle cut into the fleshy mounds on her

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fingers. She padded on bare feet past the long row of cabins,

down to the far end, where several large collecting barrels sat at

the base of the stockade wall. Aurelia used the stale urine as a

detergent to launder woolens. Tempie used it to set bright dyes in

her fabric. The hunters used it as well when tanning hides.

Maggie spilled her bucket into the barrel. The fortyard was

ghostly still—no cricket’s chirp or owl’s eerie trill interrupted the

silence—that brief pure moment in time when it seemed all living

things waited with bated breath for daylight to arrive.

The damp hem of her shift tickled her ankles as she ambled

back to her cabin. Against the blueing eastern sky, Maggie could

make out the lone silhouette of a sentryman posted atop the

blockhouse. The blinking orange glow as he tugged on his pipe

almost illuminated his face. She quickened her pace.

Back inside, she found Tempie awake and fully dressed, feed-

ing wood to the fire she’d coaxed from the banked coals. Still in

her thin shift, Aurelia hopped from one foot to the other.

“Where you been with that pisspot?” She snatched the bucket

from Maggie and scurried into the dark corner.

Maggie sat on the stool and slipped her arm out of the sling.

With elbow bent, she tested her injured shoulder joint, raising

her arm up and down like a bird flapping one wing. Tempie

turned from tending the fire. The ruffled mobcap she wore

glowed like a golden halo in the firelight as she laid hands on

Maggie’s shoulder. “Swelling’s gone down. How’s it feel?”

“A bit tender, but I can do without the sling, I think.”

“Just mind you don’t

overdo—heavy liftin’ and suchlike.”

Tempie fi lled the kettle at the water barrel by the door and hung

it from the lugpole over the fi re. “Get dressed. I’ll fi x tea and we

can have us a talk.” She tossed several chunks of red sassafras

root into the kettle.

Maggie retrieved her clothes, stepping into her skirt and lac-

ing up her bodice lickety-split. She settled with legs folded in

Midwife of the Blue Ridge
317

front of the fire and tied a kerchief around her head to hide sleep-

mussed braids.

“Aurelia honey,” Tempie called, her voice almost childlike.

“Come an’ have yo’ tea afore the overseer rings the call.”

Aurelia stumbled into the light cast by the fi re, properly

dressed save for the massive explosion of curls haloing her head.

“I hate my hair!” she moaned.

“Sit here.” Maggie patted the floor beside her. “I can fi x it.”

Maggie smoothed and tugged Aurelia’s wild locks into a thick,

fuzzy braid trailing down her neck.

Sassafras tea brewing in the kettle filled the cabin with its

clean, spicy scent. Tempie poured them each a noggin of hot tea

sweetened with dogwood honey and sat on her stool with cup in

lap, steam-dampened skin glistening in the fi relight.

Aurelia ventured to begin. “Justice was sho’ agitated last

night . . .”

“Justice ain’t nobody’s fool. When contemplatin’ dangerous

doin’s, wise folk plan it out careful, an’ that’s what we’s about t’

do. Agreed?” Both of the young women nodded, and Tempie

continued: “The twins tol’ me Marse Cavendish drank himself

beyond useless—pecker-wavin’ drunk he was last night. He is

bound t’ be sick as a dog when he wake today—”

Maggie interrupted, deep ridges furrowed in her brow. “Was

Justice tellin’ true? That what he said about slaves poisoning

their masters an’ burnin’ at the stake?”

“What? You think you is th’ onliest slave ever wished her

massa ill?” Tempie shrugged. “Those burned were stupid enough

to get caught. But I’ve lived this long, and I ain’t been caught

yet.” She winked. “Now, when Marse Cavendish wakes poorly

and calls for me today—”

Maggie interrupted once again. “Are ye certain he’ll call?”

“Oh, Massa always call for Tempie the day after he dead

drunk,” Aurelia affi rmed.

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Blevins

Tempie continued, “When I go to him—”

“No, Tempie.” Maggie placed a hand on the woman’s knee.

“When th’ devil calls, I will be the one who goes to him. Seeing as

how I’m th’ one who benefits, it is only fitting and fair that I shoul-

der the risk. I willna have ye put in any danger on my account. If

we’re caught out, ’twill be me who’s burned at the stake.”

Tempie sat quiet for a moment. She slipped her hand over

Maggie’s and grasped it tight. “All right, chile. When Marse

Cavendish call for me, I’ll send you in my stead.”

“They won’t burn you.” Aurelia wound an arm around Mag-

gie’s shoulders. “They’ll most likely only hang you—you bein’

white an’ all.”

“Aye . . . well . . .” Maggie smiled. “I suppose that’s a comfort

of sorts.”

“We haven’t much time.” Tempie demanded their full atten-

tion. “When Marse Cavendish calls for aid, you’ll go to

him . . .”

“He might send me away. I did draw a knife to him . . .”

Tempie shook her head. “Naw . . . white man desperate

enough t’ call for the nigger doctor don’t rightly care who doses

him. He just want relief. After rapin’ you, he figures you is tame.

If’n he seem suspicious, set him at ease by actin’ contrite, all

meek and mild.”

“Aye, then I’ll dose him.” Maggie relished the thought. “I’ll

put a purge through him that will leave him green-faced and

squirtin’ fire from a red- hot arsehole for days on end.”

Aurelia burst out laughing.

Irritated, Tempie stood and stirred the fire with the poker.

Sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, she tossed the poker

in a clatter, turned to stand before them with hands on hips.

“You are either a fool, Maggie Duncan, or you is lookin’ t’ swing

from the gibbet. Set aside yo’ pride. Set aside yo’ vengeful

thoughts. You got to use yo’ wits.” She drilled her sharp fi ngertip

into Maggie’s temple. “When you answer Massa’s call, you
will