Surrender the Wind (36 page)

No. Darden will see to it no one knows.

Twelve slave women sat together on the beach sorting out the morning's catch. They talked of this and that, put their children on their knees. Each was dressed in calico with her hair hidden beneath a bright kerchief—some red, others a fanciful orange.

Lucy stood and waved to Juleah. “You hungry, chil’? You come here and I’ll give you something.” She pushed breakfast around in a skillet over the fire. “I thought the good Lor’ were gonna take you, but you is better now, but not strong yet.”

Juleah shoved aside her hair when the wind blew it across her eyes. “You took care of me?”

“I take care of all the sick folk round here.”

“Thank you. I wish to thank the men who rescued me as well.”

“Slave folk ain’t used to being thanked.”

Juleah took hold of Lucy's hands. They were rough against her soft ones. “I owe you and them my life.”

Lucy's eyes glistened, and she snatched her hands away. “You's a good woman, I can tell. But you ain’t from here, and you don’t know the ways of white folks and slaves.”

“Indeed not, but I know the ways of God,” Juleah said. “And that is all I need.”

Lucy set her head side to side. “Some folk have their reward in dis life. Ours comes later when we go to heaven. What's your name, chil’?”

“Juleah Braxton. I’ve come from England.”

“Why’d you leave England for this place?”

“It is a long story.”

“I got time.” Lucy handed a wooden bowl piled with roasted fish to Juleah. “If you be wanting to tell me.”

Juleah unfolded to Lucy the events that led her to the fishing camp. When she was finished speaking, Lucy pinched her brows and puckered her lips. “Folks treated you bad, Miss Juleah.”

For a moment, Juleah looked at the old woman's wrinkled face and kind brown eyes. Touched by the slave woman's kindness, and her patience to listen to such a tale, Juleah laid her head in her arms and cried.

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.

C
orben'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.