The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 7

'Posey, I do declare you've been in the peach brandy!' Vicky accused, turning to mount the steps of the house. She had not yet been home for a fortnight and she was already bored with rural life.

'Don't!' Posey shrieked, breaking away from Veronica to keep Vicky from moving one step closer toward the front doors, 'Don't go inside that house! Not while that mean awful old Tucker woman's in there!'

'Tucker?' Peter asked.

'Goss!' a voice called from behind them. 'Claudia Goss!'

Peter, Veronica, Vicky, and Posey turned at the sound of the firm announcement. Claudia Goss emerged from around the side of the house, saying, 'I stopped by today to pay my condolences for the late . . . Mrs Abdee. I ain't been feeling up to snuff lately myself and took to keeping indoors. I just received word at my place about the sad news here. I was planning to come calling on you yesterday but business kept me... in Troy longer that I expected.'

Surveying the surprised expression on Peter's, Veronica's and Vicky's faces as they still gaped at her, Claudia continued, 'I came today to pay neighbourly respects but that silly n.i.g.g.e.r woman there took such a fright when she seen me that Posey held his head in sudden triumph. He was pleased that not only had Claudia Goss not recognized him but had mistaken his gender.

Peter said from the buggy, 'You can go now, Posey. It's very nice of Mrs . . . Goss to come here and-'

'Posey?' Claudia repeated, staring at Posey attired in his white dress, stiffly starched white ap.r.o.n, and a kerchief knotted at the nape of his neck. 'You mean to tell me that this n.i.g.g.e.r is... Posey? That little n.i.g.g.e.r pansy who used to pick all them field flowers on this place? h.e.l.l's bells! I remember you, Posey! But I remember you as a... boy! My memory also seems to tell me that my late husband, Mister Chad Tucker, had some sport with you, n.i.g.g.e.r priss.

85.Yes, I do seem to recall that the Good Lord didn't bless you with much between your legs. In fact, the Good Lord hardly blessed you at alii'

Appraising his feminine attire, Claudia clucked, 'My, my, my. So now you've taken to getting yourself up like some . . . woman. Ain't that rich! If that ain't just the richest one I've heard yet!'

Peter intervened on Posey's behalf, again saying, 'Posey, why don't you go quietly to the kitchen.' He saw Posey glaring hatred at the white woman, that Posey's Song black fingers were curling with rage at the sides of his skirts as if he were about to fly at Claudia Goss and rip her apart with his talon-like hands.

I said, go now, Posey!' Peter commanded in a more authoritative tone.

Glancing from Claudia Goss to his master, Posey threw up his head and loftily said, 'I've got more important business to do anyway, Master, Sir. I've got a letter to give to Miss Veronica here. A letter dones arrives this morning from Carterville for Miss Veronica whilst you were all visiting at Greenleaf.'

Posey glanced hatefully back at Claudia Goss, adding, It's Sunday today but some gentleman in this district are willing to ride all this distance from Carterville to bring a letter to fine white ladies. The rider tolds me personally that he would've gots here much sooner but seems some big old white trash woman was blocking the road with her. . . mules! Mules! No white woman I never sees in this world lets herself be pulled around the countryside by... mules!'

He turned and swept majestically away from Claudia Goss while Veronica hurried after him. She asked, 'A letter came for me, Posey? A letter from the steamboat landing in Carterville?'

Claudia Goss said after they disappeared around the corner of the main house, 'Excuse me for saying so, Mister Abdee, but you always did allow your n.i.g.g.e.rs to carry on around here too much. No good will come from that. No good at all.'

Peter quietly smouldered when his mind quickly flooded with the troubles which Claudia and her husband, Chad Tucker, had caused amongst the black people on this land 86.years ago when Tucker had been the overseer here. He did not want to dig-out old animosities but neither did he want to extend hospitality to a woman who had brought nothing but trouble and grief.

He said, I thank you for dropping by today to pay your respects, Mrs Goss. It was doubly considerate of you to do so considering how poorly you felt. The girls and I have just come back from Greenleaf and, so, I hope you won't think us too rude if we don't invite you into the house. You will understand-'

'Greenleaf?' Claudia said, tilting her head to one side. She had not really expected to be given hospitality at Dra-gonard Hill. But a snub was a snub in her eyes just the same and she slyly asked, 'Greenleaf? I hears that Breslin boy ain't too well with that property.'

'Barry's doing just fine,' Peter said but wondering if word was out amongst the farmers and businessmen about Green-leaf's precarious financial position. 'Barry was close to his aunt and you can imagine what he's going through.'

That I can imagine!' she sniffed. 'Especially without her signing all his notes.'

Peter strained not to order Claudia Goss immediately from his land. He said, 'You will understand, Mrs Goss, that it would be both disrespectful and unethical to discuss my nephew's affairs.'

'And what about your daughter here?' Claudia said, turning her attention now toward Vicky. 'This must be the one who went off to New Orleans or someplace and then comes home now a countess. You bring your family with you, honey?'

Claudia's direct question caught Vicky uncharacteristically off guard. She faltered, 'Why ... no ... my husband and son . . . stayed ... in Cuba.'

'Better for you that way, ain't it, honey? Much better for a pretty thing like you to be travelling alone." Studying Vicky's slim figure dressed in a smartly cut gown of black chintz, she said, "Yes, you're a pretty little gad-a-bout even in your mourning clothes.'

Gathering the skirt of her rusty black dress in one pudgy hand, Claudia said. 'I won't be troubling you no longer.

87.Not today. I just wanted to pay my condolences like I said.

Pay my condolences and-'

Claudia Goss paused to gaze over the sloping vista of Dragonard Hill. She said,'-and have myself a look at this place. Have myself a real good look.' She remembered Poliguet's words about them being richer at the end of this planting season, of their plan to seize, first, Greenleaf. and, then, Dragonard Hill.

Veronica sat alone in the library and reread the letter which Royal had written to her from Boston. She had hoped to learn the date when the mysterious man was going to contact her at Dragonard Hill and, thus, when she would finally be able to go home to Royal and the children. But Royal did not mention the man in the letter. He did not say when she could leave the plantation. Royal's letter contained nothing except what appeared to be idle facts. He had written about the welfare of their three children, that Lindy had won the spelling bee at school by correctly spelling the word 'picturesque' when her ancient rival in the Chadwick Elementary School, Bethesda CoSlins, had inserted a Y instead of a 'q'. Royal proceeded to explain how he was spending his evenings at home but he urged Veronica to use her free time in Louisiana by socializing with neighbours.

Then came the most puzzling part of the letter. Royal mentioned the names of families and clerics who meant nothing to Veronica, and he mentioned the towns they lived in or the farms which they tilled-places which were not even close to Dragonard Hill.

Jake and Miranda Dupres. Celia Breakwater. . . Reverend and Mrs Reginald Lewis in Haddleytown . . . The Sell family who lived even farther north. . . .

Who are these people? Veronica wondered. Why is Royal mentioning them? Has he taken leave of his senses?

Veronica then reread the conclusion of the letter, the lines which totally baffled her. I always find it is best to keep the names of my friends written on my heart, better than scribbled on paper like this for any stranger to see . . .'

'Written on his heart'? 'Strangers'? What was he doing?

88.raiding net I0 rememoer trie names and then destroy this- Veronica slowly lowered the letter to her lap and realized that Royal might possibly be asking her to destroy this letter. Yes, perhaps he did want her to visit the homes of these people he mentioned but leave no hint as to whom she had gone visiting.

Royal furthermore urged her to begin immediately, to take advantages of time to 'reestablish old friends.h.i.+ps."

Knowing that she must get to the bottom of this mystery, Veronica folded the letter and put it into the pocket of her dress. She would destroy it in due time but not until she consulted a map to see exactly where she must visit. She also realized that she must invent some credible story for her father as to why she had to visit. . . old friends? Would he ever believe it?

Although Veronica desperately wanted to return to Boston, she realized that she must stay here. That Royal-for some curious reason-wanted her here. She also told herself that for once in her life she had to be artful in inventing an excuse to go visiting the people whose names Royal had sent to her. She intuitively knew that her future with Royal depended upon it.

That Sunday evening on Dragonard Hill was the first time in years that a service was held in the chapel in Town. The meeting in no way resembled the services which the late overseer, Nero, had once conducted here in the full brightness of a sabbath's morning. Dark night now enshrouded the sky but the jalousies were kept closed to allow not even moonlight to enter the chapel. The only light came from a wick immersed in a cup of bear fat. The flame sputtered. Maybelle and Ham sat crouched near the makes.h.i.+ft candle on the dirt floor. They crouched near Croney, the Negress from the chicken coop who had persuaded them to come to the chapel tonight and hear the Cuban slave woman, Malou, speak to them about the divine spirits, the souls of black people, and how slaves in America had a right to believe in their own G.o.ds as the white people had a right to believe in the G.o.ds they brought to this new world from Europe. Maybelle had originally protested about the meeting, adamantly refusing to join the few black 89.people from Town invited here to hear Malou speak. But when Croney had insisted that there was nothing different between the religion which Malou preached compared to the religion preached by the white reverend in Troy, Maybelle finally relented to come. She now sat listening to Malou speaking about a woman whom the Christians called St Barbara. St Barbara? Maybelle knew that some white people believed in certain holy women and men they called saints but she had never before heard of that one, Saint Barbara. She listened avidly about the holy St Barbara's attributes and how she was like the African spirit, Man-o-the-River's-Wife. Neither had Maybelle heard before that name. She leaned forward and whispered to Ham, 'Maybe there is no difference between black G.o.ds and white because none of them mean nothing to me." Ham answered, 'There's enough difference for us to learn which ones are ours. This woman is a good talker. You let her talk. I bet next meeting to be held here we see a lot more black faces inside this old church.' Maybelle secretly hoped that Ham's words would not prove to be true, fearing that there might be trouble if word spread in the neighbourhood that the blacks had their own special church services on Dragonard Hill. She knew it was against White Law for black people to hold secret meetings. She listened now as Malou was speaking about the old chapel itself, saying that its position here on the crossroads of two streets in Town was a good sign for black people here. Some divine force had guided the dead black man, Nero, to claim this site for building the chapel. Malou explained that a crossroads was a place of good luck in the belief of some African people, that an African spirit already was looking after the black people on this land. She asked the small convocation of slaves to pray to their G.o.ds. She said that some would learn the names of their G.o.ds. That some would only feel a spirit. That no one should feel abandoned, though, because every African-even slaves on Dragonard Hill-had a special spirit looking after them.

Like Veronica, Vicky also was troubled about the duration of her stay at home. She had not been here for two weeks but Dragonard Hill's isolated location-a full day's ride north from New Orleans-was already beginning to depress her.

90.She spent little time with her father; she did not seek out Imogen for companions.h.i.+p and, whenever she and Veronica met they seemed to quarrel about something.

There was no reason to remain here with her family but she did not know where to go. She felt that it was too soon to return to Cuba, dreading the prospect of being confined again to Pa-lacio Veradaga by her demanding husband. The thought of going to New Orleans tempted her but she did not want to be alone in that city. She day-dreamed about using Jerome Po-liguet to introduce her into a fas.h.i.+onable circle of friends there.

Realizing that all her hopes were dependent upon Poli-guet, though, Vicky became more s.e.xually frustrated whilst she waited for his visit to Dragonard Hill. She knew that there were many young black men on the plantation, even remembering how she had bedded with some of them seven years ago. Considering black males to be no more than s.e.xual objects for a white woman to use, Vicky debated whether she should seek out a slave to enjoy as a temporary lover. Preferring the idea of making love to das.h.i.+ng Jerome Poliguet, though, she procrastinated her search for some one to satisfy her.

Finally, she could wait no longer. She decided that she at least had to discover for herself what young black men were available on Dragonard Hill. She decided that the best place to look was the men's dormitory which her father had built. She waited until nightfall, after the day's field work was done, to pay her visit to the dormitory which lay to the west of the main house. She dressed herself in a dark cloak, planning only an exploratory visit to study the dormitory from the woodland which surrounded it, to catch a glimpse of its masculine inhabitants.

The unmarried, and the romantically unattached, male fieldslaves on Dragonard Hill spent their evenings in front of the dormitory. Their talk included stories about the day's work, comparisons of opinions about the budding young 9I.

wenches in the women's dormitories, even gossip of what married black woman cheated on her husband.

The subject of s.e.x dominated most of these robust young men's conversation. They worked hard each day; they received little reward except for the solid, rock-hard muscles produced on their bodies by manual labour. They were proud of their rippling bodies. They brimmed with youthful maleness like young bulls. They also respected a code long since followed on this land that a young slave must not sew his wild seeds-not to produce offspring-before he had chosen the one female with whom he would settle.

Vicky stood in the trees near the front of the dormitory, the woollen cape wrapped around her slim body as she watched the group of young men sitting around the fire in front of the dormitory. She caught a few of their words, knowing that they were talking about their s.e.xual prowess; she stepped closer when she saw two young men rise from the logs and drop their tow trousers to the ground.

Vicky's throat went dry as she realized that the two field slaves were comparing the size of their p.e.n.i.ses. The firelight glowed against their muscled ebony skin as they protruded their midsections toward one another. One black man produced a stick to use as a measuring rod. Vicky listened to their laughing words.

'Do it soft first,' called one onlooker.

Another agreed, 'Measure soft, then measure hard.'

One of the two men standing with his pants lowered to his feet said, 'Me gets hard? How I'm going to shoot my load if I gets hard? What's the use of getting worked up hard?'

Vicky imagined herself calling from the woodland, of offering herself as an object for their pleasure. She envisioned both young men satisfying themselves with her. She had gone so long without s.e.x that she even imagined allowing all the black slaves to have her-if they wanted.

Telling herself that she must not be rash, that she must not risk the slaves talking about her in Town, she struggled to keep her pa.s.sions in control. She watched the second man lay his p.e.n.i.s on the stick. She saw by its limpness that the p.e.n.i.s was not even half erect but, even from her distance away from the fire she could see that the organ was 92.long and bulky, a sight which made her move a few steps forward.

It was then that Vicky-as well as the young black slaves gathered around the fire-looked toward the woodland on the other side of the dormitory. A young black boy was emerging from the shadows. He held a parasol over his head.

Immediately recognizing the child as being the kitchen helper called Fat Boy, Vicky cursed to herself, 'd.a.m.n that brat! What's he doing here? And look! Where did he get that? It's my. . . parasol! The parasol I gave to Posey!'

The two young men standing near the fire quickly pulled their pants up to their waists as Fat Boy walked closer toward the dormitory. The men teased Fat Boy as he approached them, asking him where he got the pretty sun shade.

'I runs away from the kitchen!' Fat Boy smugly announced. 'I runs away from Miss Posey and I'm never going back there again because-' He threw the sunshade onto the ground, saying, I'm going to stay herel'

Vicky backed farther into the shadows as the men tried to convince Fat Boy that he was too young to live in the dormitory, that he must to The Shed if he did not want to live in the kitchen with Posey anymore. That he was still a young boy.

'd.a.m.n n.i.g.g.e.r brat!' Vicky muttered to herself, wondering how she was ever going to find someone to pleasure her. She walked angrily back to the main house deciding that she must do something very soon. That if she did not find some other lover she would definitely come back to the dormitory-would probably let all the young black men use her for their voracious s.e.xual appet.i.tes.

Chapter Six.

ACCOUNTS AND OLD DEBTS.

Peter Abdee refused to allow Veronica to travel alone through the Louisiana countryside. She had informed him over a light Sunday night supper of cold beef, horseradish, and potato salad that she wished to seize the advantage of her visit here to revitalize old friends.h.i.+ps with girlhood chums whom she had not seen for years and that she was also curious about seeing how planters differed here from the farmers who tilled the lands in the North.

An inquisitive mind pleased Peter and he did not discourage Veronica from wanting to satisfy her curiosity about differences between agricultural ways in the two sections of this country. He also believed in maintaining ties with old friends. His only objection about Veronica's trip involved her physical safety. But when she suggested that she take a black couple from Town with her on the travels, Peter finally relented to her brief foray into the surrounding countryside.

After presenting her father with maps of the houses and towns which she planned to visit, Veronica then named the slaves she wanted to accompany her. She suggested May-belie, the Negress who had nursed David as a child, and the black man who lived with Maybelle in Town, the Negro named Ham.

Again, Peter was in agreement. Ham was both trustworthy, and strong of build. He could provide physical protection. Maybelle's presence would prevent any malicious 94.gossip about a young white lady travelling alone and sleeping nights away from home with a black man in her company.

Peter promptly wrote the necessary papers which would serve as pa.s.ses for the two slaves from Dragonard Hill- Maybelle and Ham-to present to patrollers in their absence from the plantation with Veronica. The public roads and riverways of this district were now rife with the volunteer patrollers who served as a constabulary force against runaway slaves and the white people who helped the black people escape to freedom in the North.

Veronica departed with one valise, a food hamper, and Maybelle and Ham on the Wednesday following the Sunday on which Royal's letter had arrived. Vicky at first feared being left alone in the plantation's main house with her father, that her increasing s.e.xual frustrations might drive her into making an approach toward him, to consummate a girlhood fantasy about making love with her father. But looking for the new traits in him which Veronica had mentioned to her, Vicky saw that his mind did indeed seem to be aloof and that he took very little notice of her presence.

Consequently, Vicky remained virtually alone in the main house during the first days of her sister's absence. She made few demands on Malou, the house-servants, or Posey. She met her father only on those evenings when she chose to eat a meal in the dining-room. On ail other occasions she remained in her bedroom, debating whether she should return to the dormitory or wait for Jerome Po-liguet to arrive.

Vicky soon became obsessed with thoughts about Jerome Poliguet. She could not rid her mind of his image, nor the idea that he might soon visit her here on Dragonard Hill.

Remembering how Poliguet came upcountry from New Orleans only two days a week, and considering how work must keep him occupied in Troy regardless of how much he might want to visit her at Dragonard Hill, Vicky decided at the beginning of the following week to pay a call on him in Troy.

95.Vicky used the same excuse as her sister, that she desired to reacquamt herself with the background in which she had been born. Rather than visit old schoolday friends, though, Vicky pleaded that she wanted to see the physical changes in plantations and towns. Her main excuse for travelling to Troy was to visit the newly opened FireFly Tea Rooms. She took care to laugh appropriately about a tea shop opening in Troy, to scoff at local pretensions so as not to make her father suspicious that she was, in fact, visiting the nearby town for reasons other than to scorn the local attempts at gentility. That she had a l.u.s.ty image of a young lawyer from New Orleans at the forefront of her devious mind.

The town of Troy immediately impressed Vicky as being decrepit, filthy, run-down-unchanged since she had last seen it twelve years ago. She immediately ordered Curlew, the black driver of her open carriage, to take her directly to the FireFly Tea Rooms. Curlew slowed the team of white horses in front of a small building with yellow gingham curtains criss-crossing the inside of its window. Vicky's heart sank as she thought how this small building-no bigger than a cabin-was the latest object of gossip in the countryside, that acceptance into the FireFly Tea Room meant social approval.

Curlew pulled the reins for the carriage to stop by the hitching post in front of the tea room. Vicky protested, 'No, I think I want to go there first-' She pointed her parasol at a larger building located a few doors down the boardwalk.

'But, Miss Vicky, mam. That be the mercantile store. They ain't got nothing in there, . .' Curlew followed the instructions which Peter Abdee had given all the house and stable slaves at Dragonard Hill who would be coming into contact with his daughter-to eschew her Spanish t.i.tle 'Condesa' and address her only as they would address Veronica and Imogen.

I want to go into that store,' Vicky persisted but, drawing her skirts around her, she said, 'There's no reason I can't walk these few yards, you argumentative n.i.g.g.e.r!'

Curlew soon stood alongside the carriage, holding his 96.hand to help Vicky step down to the boardwalk. She daintily held onto his forearm for a.s.sistance with one hand and held the voluminous-skirt of her black gown with the other. She had carefully chosen today's outfit, a black dress to mourn her stepmother, but a dazzlingly full-skilled black dress with both its neck and trumpet sleeves bordered with white organza. Vicky also had chosen a low-crowned, wide-brimmed straw hat for this outing, a hat worn by many ladies here in the Louisiana countryside. But she had draped a finely worked black lace Cuban mantilla over the hat, transforming it into an exotic headpiece which accentuated her period-of-mourning.

Vicky stood on the boardwalk and, opening her small black parasol, she exclaimed, 'Why look there! Look on that little window upstairs in the mercantile. I see-what does that gold lettering say?'

Curlew could not read but he had heard the story about a lawyer opening offices here in Troy. He answered, 'That done must be the place of that lawyer man who comes here from New Orleans.'

'A lawyer? Here in Troy?' Vicky clapped her hands in mirth at the idea. She pursued her charade even in front of Curlew. She knew that the faithful slave would undoubtedly repeat all about her activities in town to her father.

Reaching for her skirts, she called, 'You just wait in the carriage for me, Curlew, while I just. . . snoop around.' She ignored the FireFly Tea Rooms, moving directly toward the mercantile store.

The bell tinkled over the door as Vicky entered the establishment. The men collected in front of the windows had watched her arrival in town, had seen her descent from the carriage and her approach toward them down the boardwalk. They stared in amazement now that such a dazzling creature should be coining into this humble country store.

Their chairs quickly grated on the plank flooring. The men who wore hats doffed them from their heads. The men smoking pipes pulled them from their mouths. They all gaped at Victoria.

Nodding politely to the men, Vicky said, 'Good day, gentlemen.' Her eyes skimmed over them as she directed her attention toward the merchandise for sale in the store.

'Condesa!' a man's voice boomed from the foot of a nar- 97.row stairway at the back of the store, 'Condesa Veradaga! What brings you to town today?'

Vicky was prepared for this salutation. She had indeed preened herself, loitered and twirled on the front boardwalk long enough for everyone in town to see her.

She now moved graciously past the wooden kegs of nails and withered apples, holding out one black-mitted hand in front of her, saying, 'Monsieur Poliguet! What a surprise to see you here!'

'But these are my offices, Condesa. I told you on the public stage that I practise two days a week in this town.'

'So you did, Monsieur, So you did. I haven't been here for years. I heard that a new little tea-room had recently opened here which I greatly wanted to visit. But when I pa.s.sed this store which I remember so warmly from my childhood, why I. . .'

'Of course! Of course! Regardless of how high one rises in the world one never forgets the charming places in one's past. Of course, Condesa. I understand very well. But why go to the tea rooms for refreshment? If you do not consider my proposal to be too impudent, why don't you accept my humble offer to take tea with me upstairs? I am certain that Mister Webster can help us ..."

Jerome Poliguet turned to the store clerk who stood gaping at their encounter. He called, 'Mister Webster, do you think we could have some boiling water? And perhaps a pinch or two of your. . . better India tea?'

'Oh, no!' Vicky protested. 'I could not put you to such an inconvenience. You must have so much work to do, Monsieur Poliguet. I could not allow you to make s.p.a.ce amongst your papers and ledgers for a... tea party! Not when there is a perfectly charming little place only a few doors down the street!'

'But I insist, Condesa Veradaga!' Poliguet said, standing to one side and extending his arm to a.s.sist Vicky in mounting the steps to his upstairs office.

The store clerk, Ralph Webster, soon brought hot water, tea, plus a selection of cakes and biscuits upstairs. He had arranged a white towel on a small table and set out two Blue Willow cups-and-saucers which he had taken from stock, dusted with his ap.r.o.n, and arranged on the makes.h.i.+ft tea-tray, feeling pleased-even proud-that such quality 98.people were now stepping foot into his establishment.

Jerome Poliguet was more bold than Vicky had imagined. The store clerk had barely shut the office door when Poliguet grabbed her in his arms and, pulling her toward him, he whispered, 'You voluptuous little tart! I know what you want!'

His breath tickled her ear. He began kissing her neck, running his mouth toward her shoulder, placing one hand on her b.u.t.tocks to bring her closer toward him to feel the phallus hardening inside his breeches.