Read Underground Captive Online
Authors: Elisabeth-Cristine Analise
Underground Captive (7 page)
Underground Captive
21
"Open the door,
Monsieur
," Charles demanded, reaching the cabin door.
Gathering himself, Williams stood close to the door to shield his shaking hands from view and removed the padlock. He drew in a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open. Sunlight illuminated the rank smelling little cabin.
"After ye," Jared said to Charles.
Charles gestured for his overseer to lead the way. "
Monsieur
Williams."
A slate-colored sheet, that in its early life could have been white, covered a single bed. Spiderwebs hung in corners. Layers of dust covered the floors and the wooden table.
The crofters's huts of Lismore wasn't this filthy and neglected, Jared thought, his eyes roaming to the back wall.
"Could this be the place ye meant, Williams?" he growled.
Williams glared at him. "Meant what? What place?"
"The place the Negroes stashed their food," Jared answered with staid sarcasm.
Williams glowered with menace at Jared, his only reply.
Undaunted, Jared looked at Charles. "Obviously Nicollette’s suspicions were correct."
Stacked against the wall were sacks of dried beans, flour, corn meal, and slabs of salted pork wrapped in muslin cloth.
"Before I dismiss you,
Monsieur
, I would like to know why?"
"Simple, Mister Duplantier. The money!"
Underground Captive
21
"The money? I pay you an ample wage. My Negroes need food to keep them strong enough to work in the fields. Cane and cotton are my livelihood, and I won't have you selling off the food I give to my Negroes. I want you off Crescent Wood,
Monsieur
Williams, and I want you off immediately!"
"Hold it, Charles. Our friend here appears to be ready to make a sale. How do ye dispose of this stuff, Williams?"
"I don't have to answer to you!"
"Answer the question," Charles demanded, "or I will summon the authorities!"
"All right! All right! I sell it to the captain of the Magnolia Blossom," Williams confessed. "It slips in here about every six weeks."
"What is this captain's name?" Charles asked.
"They call him Captain Blossom."
"Captain Blossom?" Jared mocked, arching an eyebrow. "That's not very original. Ye can come up with something better than that."
"That's what the nigras call him!" Williams huffed.
"What Negroes, Williams?" Charles asked, glaring.
"I don't know," he sneered.
"Blossom? The Magnolia Blossom." Jared tried to recall a steamer by that name on the docks or even mentioned before. "Charles, this must be a new steamer. I've never heard of it before."
"No, this
ain't
a new steamer," Williams snarled. "The Magnolia Blossom has been slippin' in and out of here for almost a year!"
40
Underground Captive
"A year?" Charles asked scathingly. "When is it due to come back?"
"Three nights hence," Williams said, his anger still evident.
"Than we'll set a trap for this bold Captain Blossom."
"How?" Charles asked.
"Ye'll have to restrain Williams somewhere on Crescent Wood's grounds. The night the boat comes, he'll do whatever it is he does when the boat docks. We'll take it from there."
"You can't make me," Williams protested. "They'll kill me if they find out I helped trap them."
Charles drew his small pistol. "Do it,
Monsieur
, or die now!" he barked.
"They'll never know ye helped trap them because ye'll be arrested along with them," Jared assured him. "They'll never know, that is, unless ye tell them."
"Look, Mister Duplantier, I didn't mean no harm," Williams explained, desperation creeping into his voice. "Them nigras is resourceful. They ain't starvin'. They been ketchin' fish and diggin' up them crawfish and ketchin' Cowans. I'd never let them starve."
"If they were allowed to keep the food I issued to them, they wouldn't have to use precious time fishing and digging crawfish and running down turtles. They would be in the fields doing their chores. Come,
Monsieur
Williams. We'll escort you to the manor," Charles declared, looking at Jared. "The only place I can keep him is in a small bedchamber. I have no place else."
Jared shrugged. "Ye don't have to explain to me, Charles. This is yer plantation. Ye know what's best."
4
Nicki insisted on touring Crescent Wood with Charles and Jared. Seeing this as the perfect time to observe Nicki and Jared together, Charles agreed to let her tag along. Mounted and ready to ride, he remembered an appointment with
Monsieur
Montage, his factor.
"
Mon dieu
! I have completely forgotten! How could I have overlooked such an important appointment?"
"What appointment, PaPa?"
"I have a meeting with
Monsieur
Montage in the city in less than two hours to discuss the price of my crops."
"I'll be more than happy to show
Monsieur
Fleming around."
"
Mon ami
, what can I say?" Charles’s lack of memory embarrassed him. "Will you accept Nicki as your guide?"
Jared smiled at Nicki. "'Twould be an honor to have so lovely a guide." Nicki’s eyes locked with Jared’s, disturbing, bewitching. ”PaPa, will you
return to Crescent Wood today?"
"If at all possible,
ma petit
. Now, see to the comfort of our guest."
"Of course, PaPa."
Charles turned to Jared. "Forgive me, Jared. This is unavoidable. I bid you
au revoir
for now. I'd best fetch Odessa while I'm going to the city," he said in a tone that required no answer, steering his horse away.
"Shall we begin our ride,
Monsieur
Fleming?"
Jared nodded and they started off. "How big is Crescent Wood?" he asked as Nicollette pointed out the kitchen house, the icehouse, and the milk house.
"Eight thousand acres. Fields take up three quarters of the land. The cotton fields begin a half mile west and the cane fields begin a half mile east of here."
Jared's glance roamed in every direction. "The manor is directly in between?"
"
Oui
."
He nodded to the pathway they rode on. "Where does this path lead?"
"The cotton fields."
Jared merely grumbled. Reaching the cotton fields, he saw the slaves bent to
their strenuous tasks, baskets at their sides. The driver sat in his saddle under the shade of an oak. With some effort, Jared kept a rush of sudden anger in check. But he couldn't hide the disapproval on his face.
"Why are you frowning? Is anything wrong?"
He gritted his teeth in irritation then swung his gaze back to the fields.
"If ye have to ask, ye obviously can't see the wrong."
Her ebony brows arched. "Why, whatever do you mean,
monsieur
?"
The sight of slaves on a plantation as large as this should always be expected. But he could never temper the indignation that rose to the surface at the sight--or thought--of the Negroes forced to work in the fields. 'Twould do no good to explain what he meant to Nicollette. She seemed oblivious to it all.
Jared laughed without humor. "I mean yer cotton fields are endless, Nicki. Take me to the cane fields now." He wanted the touring of fields behind him.
"
Non
, I'm going to show you the northern and southern grounds first. The cane fields run along River Road near the boat landing. One of our most precious commodities, ice, comes in three times a week."
"Aren't we closer to the cane fields?"
"
Oui
,
monsieur
. But I want you to see our grounds. The land that isn't taken up by crops are really quite magnificent," Nicollette said with pride as they passed the carriage house and the stables. "We have a dozen horses in there."
Beyond the stable eight dozen slave cabins stood in two long rows of closely built, white washed buildings with a dirt road directly in the middle.
The first building in the line was the blacksmith shop, while far in the distance sat the overseer's house. Apparently, it hadn’t been far enough away to stop Floyd Williams’s misdeeds.
The northern grounds of Crescent Wood gave way to grassy slopes. Green meadows stretched like a glorious emerald carpet to a thicket of trees at the river's edge. A clearing led to the steamer landing, where cypress knees, gnarled and regal, rose from the Mississippi.
South of the manor, the front grounds of Crescent Wood held a profusion of flowers; a gazebo graced the path that led to the wide, sprawling steps of the manor. Winter honeysuckles, chrysanthemums, and carnations gave off their own sweet fragrance into the clean, crisp air; the house, observed in all its graceful splendor, did justice to the unsurpassed beauty of its grounds. It stood three stories high with eight massive, fluted Doric columns set twelve feet apart, enclosing three sides. The first and second floor verandas rounded the corners on each side, as did the lacy iron grillwork banisters connected to the columns. On the first and second floor, French doors and windows went along the same path as the huge columns. Four large chimneys loomed out of the gabled roof.
Magnificent, indeed, was this proud land that bred the passionate people of the Southern aristocracy, Jared thought as the horses strolled along the bridle path to the cane fields. His gaze swept over the group of Negroes spread out the length and breadth of the fields, their work hard and laborious.
"This is the grinding season,
monsieur.
A time the Negroes cherish."
Jared's eyes narrowed. "Really? Why would anyone cherish being forced to do back breaking chores?" he asked with an edge.
