The Tinsmith (12 page)

But when John stood before the master, or when he walked slowly among the visiting farmers with a serving tray in his hands and listened to them argue that a war fought over slavery would be a foolish waste of money and lives, a desire for peace and stability rose up in him even as his circumstances remained largely unchanged.

But even with life going on much as always, the outbreak of war had seemed closer every day. As the newspapers heated up with opinions (Jabeth always relayed what he read) and gossip among whites and blacks reached a fever pitch, the master about lost his senses. He became convinced that the blacks were plotting to rise up and take over. For the first time, he let the new overseer, Orlett, take full charge of discipline on the farm. Food was held back: meat was rarely given and each black received only a peck of corn a week and had to grind it into meal by hand. But Caleb was skilled at trapping animals in the woods and good at teaching those skills too. So the families didn't suffer overmuch from want. John knew they felt the change, though. Mostly they feared what could happen and not what was happening. Even though Daney never doubted that freedom was coming, she knew how right Caleb was about white folks. And the master's behaviour troubled her. She said, just lie low and don't give any cause for trouble, our time's coming and all we has to do is bide it and wait.

So John worked harder in the house and especially in the fields on those rare occasions when the master sent him there. Because he did not like the way the new overseer studied him. His eyes had a hawk's hunger and patience and he licked his thick, red lips as if waiting for a chance to uncoil the black snake whip from around his shoulders. So John never let up, never talked back. Besides, he knew he was strong and growing stronger and he loved to drive the oxen and cut wood and gather in the harvest and help with the corn shucking. And he enjoyed being with the field hands, for he rarely spent time in the slave quarters, preferring to stay around the big house and listen and watch.

One night the master had several guests over and they got to talking about their favourite subject: what to do with the niggers now that war seemed sure to come. Enoch Brand from over near Hagerstown laughed out of his ruddy face with its lips flapping like a horse's and told the master that if he wanted to get anything at all for his property he'd better sell it quick while he still had a chance; otherwise, his property would just walk off on him, it had happened already, he'd heard tell of a plantation in Calvert County where the niggers set fire to all the buildings before they left. Oliver Kendrick, who farmed up near the north woods, scoffed and said, just let them try, they know they won't get very far here. And the master trembled like a soaked hound and said he wasn't so sure about that, hadn't his slaves been getting more difficult, every month, one woman he'd owned for years seemed to laugh at him all the time even though her face showed nothing. That's how it starts, Enoch Brand said, they get to thinking they have a right to be free and they might just as well be free, you might just as well count your losses right then and there.

After the guests had gone, the master called him into the dining room. The room always impressed John, no matter how often he entered it. The gleaming warmth of the long walnut table and scrollwork-backed chairs and of the tall liquor cabinet calmed him even as the fancy oak and glass chandelier took his breath away.

The master sat at the table, his left hand holding a tall wineglass, one finger of his right hand tracing the glass's rim.

“John, I want you to tell me everything that's being said in the slave quarters.”

To John's surprise, the master's voice shook more than usual, like his right hand, and his pale face seemed as fragile as the china plates stacked on the sideboard just beyond him.

“Especially what Daney and Caleb say. They're up to something, I know it.”

Upset, John looked away, up to the chandelier. But all the little hanging glass lights trembled as if they were tears that belonged on the master's face, and so John felt no protection from the sudden surge of anger that he tried in vain to hide. The thought of spying on Daney and Caleb was as unthinkable as it was unnecessary.

The master tightened his grip on the wineglass. His trembling jaw suddenly set, his blue eyes lost their watery blue and narrowed.

“If I do not get the truth, I'll let Mr. Orlett do what he will. Do you understand?”

John nodded, swallowed dryly, and retreated slowly at a wave from the master's right hand.

In the hallway, he stood a moment before the full-length wall mirror, studying his own face as if he could read what he should do there. But, as always, he found only his own confusion, his pale skin like the master's, and the slight bulge to his eyes and the thickness of his bottom lip that he understood made him a servant. Daney and Caleb, he knew, were plotting nothing, and, as it turned out, after weeks spent around their shack and others, John discovered no news to report. The master grew increasingly agitated, he took more and more to drinking wine until his cheeks wore a constant stain, like the bruises in a windfall apple. Something was bound to happen. John knew it. Everybody seemed to know it.

The week before Christmas, cold but no snow. The hog-killing time. One morning the master called all the blacks together in the barnyard—Caleb and Daney and their six children and the five other families, about thirty folks in all, little children to the very old. John watched the breath flow from every mouth. The blacks shivered and wrapped their bare arms around their shoulders. Letta's small child cried and she hushed it fast. Nobody else said a word. The smell of hogs' blood thickened the air.

The master came out with the overseer, a short, stocky man with a large cleft in his chin and always a red ruff of whiskers framing his face like a half-circle of caked blood and a sparse clutch of hairs at his Adam's apple. His cheeks showed white and patchy-red in the cold, like slices of bloody ham. He tapped a rawhide whip lightly against his thigh and kept grinning the way a dog does when it's running. At every word the master spoke, the overseer twitched like a giant muscle.

The reason for the gathering was made plain enough. The master stood with one gloved hand on his hip, the other gloved hand holding a cane, and scanned the crowd of blacks slowly. But when he spoke, his eyes were raised, as if seeking an answer from the pink-streaked sky.

“A hog's been stolen. And if it's not returned by sundown, if the thief doesn't confess to the crime, you'll all be punished.” The master lowered his eyes. He dabbed at the corners of them with a white handkerchief before continuing. “I know I've always been too easy on you, too fair. It was your late mistress's desire, and I've honoured it. But when you take advantage . . .” He paused to catch his breath, leaning on his tall cane with the bronze knob shaped like a horse's head. His breathing was still audible, but he managed to control it. “Even so, if the thief confesses, I'll see to it that you don't all suffer for the crime.” He turned to the overseer and nodded.

The overseer pointed with his bullwhip in the direction of the shacks, and the downcast blacks, almost as one, turned to leave.

“John,” the master said after the other blacks had gone, “I want you to find out.” His old face was sickly, the cheeks sagging and bright red, his nose and eyes running. “I'm warning you too, if I don't have that thief by sundown, I will recover my loss.” He paused, his gloved right hand trembled as he slowly raised it. Beside him, the overseer's breath flowed like a panting dog's. “If I have to, I'll sell Jancey. I'll have Orlett take her into the city tomorrow.”

John's heart constricted. Then a rush of hot anger almost made him shout. But he swallowed the sound and stared at the overseer without blinking. Now it had come as Caleb predicted, and he knew there was no other choice. He hung his head and confessed that he'd taken the hog.

The overseer kept right on grinning and tapping his thigh with the whip. But the master spoke kindly.

“That's not true, John. I know it isn't. I didn't realize that she meant anything to you. But it can't be helped. I admit, she's a handsome girl, but that's why she'll bring a good price at auction. I don't wish to sell her, you understand. I have always looked after my people. But I will not be made a fool of in my own home, I will not be laughed at.”

John insisted it was true, that he had been hungry and wanted meat. He tried to describe the theft but it was no use; he had no wiles for lying.

“Sundown,” the master said. “Come, Jacob, we have matters to discuss.”

The master walked away. The overseer spat on the frozen ground and followed.

•  •  •

Caleb was in the barn, cleaning up after the killing. His faded, one-strap overalls were bloodstained, and even his hovering breath had a bloody smell. For a while they didn't speak. Then John swallowed hard and in a rush told Caleb everything. After a long pause, during which the old man rubbed his grizzled chin and slowly opened and closed his eyes like an owl, Caleb said, “I didn't think we'd get all de way to free without they'd be trouble.”

He laid the shovel by.

“Dey ain't no hogs missing either. He jes need something to be missing. You go on and tell him I took it. Don't argue now. You go on and tell him, you hear. Isn't anyone should take a whipping to protect her but me. Isn't she my child? You go on and tell him.”

“But, Daney,” John started to say.

Caleb rested a thick hand on John's shoulder and smiled. But the smile was weak, the skin under the old man's eyes bunched and flaccid. He spoke, however, with a fierce resolve.

“You jes leave that to me. You go on and tell him I took dat hog. Dat way, he won't spect I'm jes trying to protect her. He trusts you. Sometimes I think he even believes you'se his own blood kin. It ain't no fault of yours, it's like he forgets, and why wouldn't he, being a widow man all these years and lonesome. You go on and tell him I took it. He'll believe it 'cause he wants to. He wants to believe you're not like dis black nigger and all de others. He trusts you. Go on now. Don't fret. It had to come and maybe dis will be de end of it.”

John didn't believe Caleb about the ending, but he went back to the house and told. And just as Caleb said, the master believed him. Fumbling to undo a button at his collar, his tusk-white hands trembling, he gave up, sighed, and said, “I thought it might be him. Well, now. Thank you, John. Go into the kitchen and have Charlotte fry you some bacon, you've earned it.”

He didn't want the bacon. He went outside instead and took several long, gasping breaths of the cold air and prayed that whatever was coming to Caleb wouldn't be so terrible. Caleb had been whipped before; most of the blacks had known at least a few lashes from the new overseer. But this was bound to be the worst punishment yet, and Caleb wasn't young anymore even if he was still strong and a good worker.

A hog's fast, frightened screech split the air. The day moon over the barn was the mottled colour of the overseer's cheeks. Beyond in the field a hawk dropped like a stone and rose up with a vole in its grasp. He walked on to the shacks.

The news was already out. From Charlotte probably. It didn't matter. Daney's face was all tears, she shook the whole length of her body.

“John, you know it isn't true. How could you lie like that? You must have done it.” Her wide face broke. She yelled, “You did and you're trying to protect yourself.”

Caleb held her against his chest and hushed her but she would not listen. She turned her head away from Caleb and continued. “You've never had to face this before and you're afraid. Well, we'se all afraid, but that don't turn us into liars.” She stared at him, her eyes widening. “You jes trying to prove you as white as he wants you to be.” She dashed her face against Caleb's breast. Caleb motioned him to leave.

Outside, moments later, Caleb said, “It's hard, I know, but it's better if she believes it, if everyone does 'cept us. It's our only chance. You wanted to take de punishment and you're taking it. Dis is harder dan what I'll get, but when it's over and done with, I'll tell her, jes her. If dey all know, den de master will know. And what happen den? We jes got to wait it out.”

When John hesitated, water coming to his eyes, Caleb stepped closer and placed a small, worn leather pouch in his hand.

“Whatever happens,” he said, “don't you forget one thing. Dat woman nursed you, she's as much of a mother as you've ever had. Right now she's jes scared. Dat's all.”

John stared at the leather pouch; it was feather-light but seemed to pull his eyes down and hold them. When he managed to look at Caleb again, the old man smiled.

“Dose are your milk teeth, son. At least de ones you brought to Daney when dey fell out. She figured she had a right to keep them because of all de sharp nips you give her when you was nursin'.”

John opened the pouch and emptied three tiny teeth into his palm. They were grey-white; two were square and cracked, another pointed and smooth. He could not believe they belonged to him, that anything remained of his boyhood self that he could touch. All of a sudden, he was overwhelmed with fear that he would drop them in the dirt and lose them. Carefully, he returned the teeth to the pouch, then slipped it into his trouser pocket. His eyes blurred with tears.

“You go on now,” Caleb said. “It'll be all right. We jes got to wait it out.”

Then the old man walked into the shack, leaving John alone, the leather pouch strangely warm against his thigh.

•  •  •

He felt a hand on his brow and opened his eyes. A heavily bearded face, with deep grooves extending from each side of the broad nose to form a triangle with the upper lip, hovered over him. The lips were full and pale pink. When they formed into a smile, a thin gap showed between the man's front teeth. He spoke softly but directly and held out a canteen.