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  Johnny made the quiet, chucking sound that urged Arrow on. Cissy, with nothing beyond a small, barbed smile as greeting for Mattie, kneed the chestnut in beside him. Patsy – knowing her place, Mattie thought wryly – fell in behind the other two animals, bringing up the rear as they skirted the hedge and walked at steady but unadventurous pace downhill towards the distant house.

  ‘When are y’all going to Silver Oaks?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  The light voice took on a note of excitement. ‘I wish I was a man! I wish I could come too!’

  Johnny laughed in affection and amusement. ‘You?’

  The small, fair head came round, pale eyes blazing. ‘An’ why not? I can ride as well as any of you – an’ shoot too, you know it!’

  ‘An’ you’d sure enough look pretty as a picture in uniform!’ Johnny conceded, grinning.

  Cissy pulled a face, not unflattered. ‘I don’t see why y’all should get all the fun! I’d show them Yankees a thing or two!’

  ‘I’m sure you would.’ Johnny turned a little in the saddle to look back at Mattie. ‘You all right, Mattie?’

  With every plodding step Mattie felt as if her back were being torn apart. Her hands were sore and her leg painfully cramped. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Your Pa says the Yanks won’t last two weeks against our boys. He says most of them don’t know one end of a gun from the other. He says that’s easy proved by lookin’ at the generals in the US Army. All the best come from the South – Lee’s a Virginian, Beauregard comes from New Orleans. If the South secedes, the North won’t have a general worth his salt to fight for them.’

  Mattie, wondering if she could summon the courage to suggest that she walk the rest of the way on her own two feet, tried to close her ears to this interminable talk of secession and war. The clouds had lifted a little, the air was remarkably warm. The red and fertile land lay tranquil about them. From the ridge upon which they rode she could look down not only upon the roofs and chimneys of Pleasant Hill, but across the river to the Brightwell plantation, partly hidden amongst a grove of trees. In distant fields she could see small figures moving; much of the cotton in the fields furthest from the house had not yet been picked. Along the red line of the road that led down to the river tall-sided carts piled high with the precious crop were moving slowly, the mules’ feet plodding patiently along the rutted way. Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney and she could see the white dots that were the ducks and geese grazing the grass and weeds of the orchard at the back of the house. In the paddock behind the barns two young horses trotted, tossing their heads in high-spirited play. It was an idyllic picture. Could it possibly be that war could come to this peaceful land? Would these hot-headed Southerners truly put all this at risk in order to wrench themselves from a Union of which they no longer felt a part? She found herself thinking of Robert’s words to her that morning: ‘We’re a nation; a civilized nation. No-one could be that stupid.’

  ‘– The best men and the best horseflesh in the world,’ Johnny was saying to Cissy, ‘that’s what’ll tell. Them Yankees’ll run like rabbits at the first sign of trouble, you’ll see.’

  A flock of birds rose, cawing and screeching, from the trees. In the distance a dog barked.

  Cissy was laughing, that unstable thread of excitement back in her voice. ‘Rabbits is just about all that fat ol’ Arrow couldat the moment, I reckon,’ she challenged, dancing her own bright mount forward, glancing back at Johnny in clear, goading invitation.

  Johnny grinned, accepting; they were off then with no word, no thought and no caution, thundering shoulder to shoulder across the field towards a wide, five-bar gate. Mattie drew rein and sat watching them, her heart in her mouth whilst, as reckless as a pair of daring children, they set the horses at the barrier. Cissy reached it first, lifting her mount clean and clear above it, the great animal appearing for a moment to defy gravity. Seconds behind her, Arrow too gathered for the jump. Mattie, despite herself, shut her eyes. When next she looked, hearing Johnny’s shout, she saw that the mare had landed awkwardly, stumbling a little and losing her stride. She watched as her husband with expert grace retained his seat, regained control of the animal and, leaning across her neck, urged her on after the fleet figure of his young sister-in-law. They thundered with no diminution of speed straight into the shadows of the woods, ducking beneath low branches that could, given a moment’s inattention or a misjudged movement, have swept them from their saddles; and Mattie was left, alone in the silence, sitting with aching back on the quiet horse and knowing in certainty and something close to despair the answer to the question she had just asked herself. Yes, these people would fight. With the same thoughtlessness, the same pride, the same reckless, feckless dash with which they lived. They believed themselves God’s children; invincible. Their arrogance, like their dauntless courage, was bred into them; they believed themselves right and they believed themselves betrayed. Suddenly, in the serenity of this most peaceful of moments, Mattie looked ahead and was shaken to the soul by what she saw.

  It was long minutes later before, grateful at least that Cissy’s derisive, and Johnny’s amused, eyes were not upon her, she slid very much less than gracefully and showing more leg than could ever be called ladylike to the ground and, taking Patsy’s reins in her hand set off – to the relief she felt of both of them – on limping foot for the house.

  Chapter Six

  Joshua, Mattie very quickly came to understand, did indeed occupy a place of trust and privilege in the Sherwood household – a position exemplified by the fact that he had his own private quarters in the half-basement beneath the house beside the pantry and the well-stocked cellar, to which only he and Logan held a key. The relationship between these two baffled her. Logan rarely used with Joshua the easy, paternalistic tone that he employed with the other slaves – a sometimes deceptive gentleness upon which they trespassed, she noticed very quickly, at their dire peril. Neither was Joshua’s attitude to the man who was both owner and father to him in any way akin to the other slaves’, although he was never anything but flawlessly and courteously attentive to Logan and to the rest of the family. There was a distance between Joshua and the rest of the world, with the single obvious exception of his affection for Robert, that took no great effort to understand; yet there was more than simple obedience in the excellence of his service, and more than simple patronage in Logan’s dependence upon him to run the house in a pleasant and civilized manner. Joshua neither fawned nor fussed. He ran his domain with the same singlemindedness and pride as Logan Sherwood ran his; Mattie understood readily, but with misgiving, that no-one would be allowed to usurp that position, not even young Mister Johnny’s new wife. Perhaps, given the unfortunate circumstances of that first meeting, especially young Mister Johnny’s new wife – faced with Joshua’s unfailing and austere civility, she could not be sure. The only certainty was that Joshua knew a great deal more about running the complicated household of Pleasant Hill, or indeed anywhere else, than she did; and most assuredly he needed no assistance when it came to planning a party. The matter of the wedding celebration was clearly well in hand, and her tentative interest in the arrangements was discouraged with intransigent politeness. Perfectly obviously the young mistress was expected to keep her meddling fingers occupied elsewhere. The date was already set – the twenty-second of December, since by then the cotton harvest would be finished and Christmas almost upon them, giving everyone more reasons than one to celebrate – the guest list had been drawn up, approved, and the invitations sent – and with regard to food, drink, hospitality and entertainment, the well-oiled wheels of household management were already turning. The whole county knew, and Mattie was speedily assured, that a party organized by the Sherwoods’ Joshua would be an event to remember; to attempt to interfere would be as unnecessary as it would be graceless. She was therefore in that first month left with little or nothing to do but to accompany her difficult young sister-in-law on the occasional call, attempt – in
vain, as they both privately accepted – to improve her relationship with Patsy, and to practise upon the piano that Joshua, solicitously, had had brought up to scratch if nowhere near perfection by a piano tuner from Macon. The piano, Mattie noted with a certain degree of dry satisfaction, was the one thing in the house for which she was in no competition; no-one else could play it. The instrument, which had been Johnny’s mother’s, was hers alone.

  The situation in which she found herself was an odd one by any standards. She very soon came to realize that at Pleasant Hill, which had been without the hand of a free woman since Johnny’s mother had died twenty-five years before, little had survived of the traditional role of mistress that had not been taken over first by Joshua’s grandmother – a formidable old slave woman called Bella, who had died the winter before at the venerable age of ninety, and about whom many of the plantation slaves still talked in awe-stricken tones – and later, with the active approval of Logan Sherwood, by Joshua. Will’s marriage to Cissy the previous year had created not the slightest ripple upon the smooth surface of the house’s waters; Cissy was no more interested in running Pleasant Hill than she was in hoeing the fields or picking the cotton, and that suited everyone. This was the precedent that Mattie was clearly expected to follow. The house ran like clockwork, as it always had. The furniture and floors gleamed with polish, the food was well-cooked and varied, and the house servants were well-mannered and less careless than most. Preserves and pickles lined the shelves of the pantry, candles and soap were made and stored on a regular and efficient basis, the linen well-sewn and kept crisply laundered. Joshua himself overlooked the kitchen gardens and the orchards, as he did the household accounts and the small infirmary that saw to the needs of the slaves. Prudence, the cook, reigned supreme in the kitchen, the only two people of whom she took the slightest account being Logan Sherwood and Joshua himself. Mattie’s presence, or absence, made no impact whatsoever upon the routines of the house. As the cooler weather set in, the hogs were slaughtered, the hams salted and smoked, the sausages made. And in the same competent way the party to celebrate the youngest Sherwood son’s interesting and hasty marriage was planned.

  Cissy, as Johnny had predicted, took the first opportunity to mention that Mr and Mrs Bram Taylor were back from a prolonged wedding trip to Paris and would be at the party. The two young women were in the open carriage on the way to visit the Brightwells across the river. Forewarned, Mattie was able to express unruffled and quite genuine curiosity, not about Mrs Taylor but about her husband, who must surely be a most extraordinary young man for anyone to prefer him to Johnny? Her sting thus pulled, Cissy subsided into a sulky silence for the rest of the journey; a circumstance, Mattie thought just a little wearily, that could only be welcomed. She was finding the younger girl’s unnecessary and unrelenting hostility tiresome, but could think of nothing to do about it. As she got to know Cissy better, she had come to understand a little of her attitude – much akin, she often thought, to that of a spoiled only child’s antagonism towards a new and unwelcome sibling – but the understanding got her nowhere. Cissy was treated by the Sherwood men, including her husband, as a pretty child to be petted, fussed and indulged; it was, Mattie thought, therefore hardly Cissy’s fault if she reacted as just such a child would.

  Such charity, however, did not preclude the occasional unnerving desire to scream, or better still to box Cissy’s pretty ears when she was behaving particularly pettily. It was a relief at least, since neither of them particularly enjoyed the other’s company, that Cissy did not often choose to seek her out. Mattie did not in the least mind that this meant, with much of Johnny’s time taken up either with the plantation or by playing soldiers with the troop over at Silver Oaks, she spent many hours of each day alone. Or at least as alone as she could ever hope to be in a house full of people whose only duty was to serve her and where her wishes, it seemed, were anticipated with the most infuriating prescience, almost as soon as they were formed. She had her books and her piano. She wrung from Joshua the indulgence of embroidering sheets, pillowslips and tablecloths. She walked, or occasionally nervously braved Patsy’s broad but still unaccommodating back, to explore the plantation. And above all, she spent hour upon hour in attempting to train Johnny’s homecoming present to her: an ungainly, golden, four-legged fiend with paws the size of a grown man’s hand and a compulsion to gnaw anything that did not move, a dog called Jacob.

  These hours, at any rate, were wasted, she was convinced. Told to sit, Jake would stand, watching her eagerly, pink tongue lolling, huge flagged tail waving like a banner. Ordered to stay, he would take off after one of Joshua’s geese, barking in demented delight until the thing turned on him, upon which he would skid to a startled halt and scamper back to the shelter of Mattie’s skirts. Tied up as a punishment for too boisterous behaviour – an all too common occurrence – he would lie reproachfully motionless, nose on paws, aggrieved and mournful eyes turned towards wherever he expected her to appear; and her every appearance was greeted with a bouncing, wet-tongued ardour that was entirely unacceptable in a well-trained dog, and as entirely endearing. Within a very few days and against all good sense, Mattie discovered that she loved the silly, perverse animal to a quite alarming degree, a situation made considerably less uncomfortable by the fact that, despite firm effort and much good-natured derision, almost everyone else did too.

  Banned from the house after a regrettable incident with a prized silk cushion, he would lie on the back porch awaiting Mattie’s coming, being petted and fed by every hand, black or white, that came near him. Logan Sherwood’s two aristocratic and disciplined hounds treated him with flawless disdain, despite his every friendly advance; with the other dogs on the place he quickly became firm and excitable friends. If Jacob had been her only wedding gift Mattie would have been both well occupied and well content.

  Unfortunately he was not. Logan – with, she suspected, perhaps oversensitively, clear malicious intent – gave her Lucy.

  * * *

  Mattie was appalled, Johnny furious at her reaction, Logan apparently unperturbed and Lucy, demoralizingly, openly hurt. ‘Lord, Miss Mattie – doan’ you want for me to be your own girl? I’se tried real hard –’

  ‘Oh, Lucy, now stop it! I know you have! And I don’t want anyone but you looking after me! But –’ Mattie spread her hands in despair. ‘I can’t! I can’t!’

  ‘What cain’ you do, Miss Mattie?’ The girl’s soft, questioning eyes held hers too steadily for comfort.

  Mattie folded her hands in her lap, turned her gaze sightlessly to the gloves and riding crop that Johnny had thrown down in anger before storming from the room. ‘I can’t – Lucy, I can’t own you.’

  ‘But, Ma’am – I cain’ understand why?’

  Mattie, battling a predicament she had foreseen, dreaded, and for some time cravenly managed to persuade herself she would not be called on to face, did her best to lose her temper. ‘I simply can’t! I don’t have to explain myself to you.’

  ‘No, Ma’am. That you doan’.’ Calmly Lucy picked up the gloves and crop, laid them upon the table, busied herself with a dress that lay upon the bed. The silence lengthened.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mattie said, at last. ‘Lucy – I’m sorry.’

  ‘No call for that, Miss Mattie.’

  ‘Please try to understand. I’m not – not used to – to the way things are here –’ She stumbled into silence.

  The girl finished her business with the dress, hung it tidily in the wardrobe. Straightened up the bottles and jars on the dressing table. Adjusted the mirror to the exact best angle. Turned. ‘Iffen you is talkin’ ’bout the bondage of slavery, Ma’am – an’ I jus’ reckon you mus’ be – then you sure not makin’ much sense.’ She hesitated, lifted her head. ‘An’ I knows you could have the hide off me for sayin’ such a thing.’

  Mute, Mattie shook her head, sharply.

  ‘Seems ter me that iffen I serves you, in this house, I serves you as a slave. Same as Josh
ua, Prudence, Sol, Dandy –’

  Mattie looked down at her own long, pale hands, clasped upon her lap.

  ‘You goin’ ter stop eatin’, Miss Mattie? You goin’ ter live out there in the yard, under them there trees? You goin’ ter pick your own cotton, weave your own cloth, make your own pretty frocks?’

  ‘Lucy!’

  The soft voice continued, emotionless and inexorable, putting into simple words the dilemma with which Mattie had been struggling for weeks. ‘What diff ’rence it make who owns me, Miss Mattie? I’se your girl. I serves you. An’ I serves you as a slave.’

  Mattie lifted her head at last, to meet the girl’s eyes. And was silenced utterly by the clear plea in them.

  ‘Miss Mattie, iffen you won’t take me for your own self, take me for my sake!’

  ‘But – why, Mattie? Why must I? Mr Sherwood – the others – they aren’t unkind to you?’

  The black head shook. ‘No.’

  There was a long, quiet moment. ‘You think I’ll free you?’ Mattie asked at last.

  Lucy made a small shrugging movement. ‘I doan’ know, Miss Mattie. I doan’ know. But one thing’s fer certain; Mr Sherwood sure ’nough never will!’

  * * *

  Logan Sherwood was in the library, sitting at the massive desk, pen in hand poised above a huge ledger that lay open before him. Sol stood by the window, the two hounds at his feet, all three watching their master, and waiting.

  Mattie summoned every ounce of courage she possessed – at that moment it seemed to her to be a cloak that covered her trepidation all too thinly – and knocked upon the open door.

  ‘Come in.’ Logan lifted his massive head. ‘Ah. Mattie, my dear.’ His handsome, clear-boned face was politely enquiring, for all the world as if every soul in the house did not know what had passed between them just a couple of hours before. Courteously he stood as she walked into the room.