Secret Tides Page 4

  The bidding started at nine hundred dollars. Within a few minutes a man with a curly mustache ended it all at the price of eleven hundred.

  Ruby listened hard to see if anybody mentioned the man’s name or where he lived, but nobody did. She ached to follow Markus as they took him away but knew she couldn’t. A man in the back would take the dollars from his buyer and write up the papers that sent her man to his new master. She wondered how far away from Markus she would end up. If they lived close enough, maybe he could get a pass every now and again and come see her on Sundays when they rested from their labors.

  Only one more Negro stood between her and the blousy-shirted man. She wiped her face, then brushed down her hair, straighter than most of her people and not nearly as coarse. The auctioneer finished quickly with the last Negro man, moved him off the platform, and turned to her. She kept her eyes on her bare feet.

  “Now look at this one,” said the man, pointing to the spot where he wanted Ruby to stand. “She’s straight from the house of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Rushton outside of Richmond, Virginia. She’s named Ruby, and she was raised for the house: for cookin’, cleanin’, sewin’, and tendin’ children.”

  Ruby moved to the spot where he pointed. She felt the crowd studying her, felt the men’s eyes moving up and down her body. Her skin seemed alive, like ants crawling on her arms and legs. She hated the way the men looked at her. It didn’t seem right somehow. Why should a man get to study a woman this way? Look her over as if she was a prize cow he might want to purchase?

  At least five men had come by her stall that morning, walking one at a time into the small space where she’d slept last night. The men had made her stand up, had made her open her mouth so they could see her teeth, had made her pull up her skirt so they could see her feet and legs.

  Ruby had glared at each man and wished she had a pistol to shoot them.

  “She’s twenty,” said the auctioneer. “Took care of the Rushton’s babies since they first drew breath.”

  “Why’d they get shed of her?” yelled a man from the middle of the crowd. “Mr. Rushton set his eyes for her and his missus take offense?”

  The crowd laughed, and Ruby wanted to shrink up and disappear. Although Master Rushton had always acted the gentleman, a few other white men had tried to make advances on her since she first got her womanhood nearly seven summers ago. Donetta had warned her about such things; had told her that her light skin and curvy figure might prove a strong enticement to menfolk of all colors.

  “Best marry up fast,” Donetta had advised when Ruby was near her fourteenth birthday. “That won’t guarantee a white man won’t come for you, but it’ll give you some protection. Least on our place it will.”

  Her marriage to Markus had followed soon after, and so far she’d escaped any white man’s advancements. But now, with Donetta out of her life forever, who knew what might happen?

  The crowd’s laughter died away. “She’s a clean woman,” said the blousy-shirted man, making sure to get the selling points stated early. “No diseases, no scars of any kind. I got the papers to prove it. She got sold when her master died. The family needed money.”

  The men nodded with understanding.

  “Who’ll start the biddin’?” asked the auctioneer. “Openin’ price is eleven hundred.”

  “I’ll go twelve,” said a man Ruby recognized from her stall earlier in the day.

  “Make it thirteen,” said a second man, this one to her right.

  “Fourteen,” shouted a third.

  A stir ran through the crowd. “Fifteen,” came the bid.

  Ruby bit her lip in anger. A trickle of blood showed. People with a last name never got bid on.

  “Sixteen hundred.”

  “You’re not wantin’ her for cookin’!” somebody yelled to the last bidder.

  The men roared. Ruby’s eyes blurred. She hoped the man who had bought Markus would make a bid, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

  “Eighteen hundred.”

  Ruby glanced up and saw that a new bidder had made an offer. This tall, broad-shouldered man wore a gray hat that appeared almost new. The bidding stopped. The tall man strolled toward the platform with an easy gait, like a racehorse sliding over the ground. When people stepped back to let him pass, Ruby saw a mixture of fear and grudging respect in their eyes. A well-trimmed black beard covered the man’s face. Another man walked beside him, this one a couple of inches shorter but equally thick in the shoulders. The second man wore a hat too, but his was a floppy thing that the sun had baked on for at least a thousand days.

  “Any other bids?” shouted the taller man, now facing the crowd as he reached the platform. The crowd took a breath. He faced the milling group, his posture daring the others to bid against him. He spat tobacco juice to the ground, like he was a lion marking his territory.

  “It’s Captain Hampton York!” somebody called. “From The Oak.”

  Ruby studied the mans back. His black hair fell over the collar of his tan shirt. He looked late thirties, maybe forty. He hadn’t come to her stall. For that she was grateful.

  The auctioneer tried to up the bid one more time. “Are we goin’ to give her so cheaply to Captain York? Just let him walk in here and claim her away from us?”

  “He works for Marshall Tessier!” shouted a voice from the back. “Tessier has more money than all of us put together! York wants her, he gets her; we all know that.”

  Ruby held her breath.

  “Then I reckon she’s sold!” yelled the auctioneer. “To Captain Hampton York for Marshall Tessier, master of The Oak!”

  The auctioneer pointed to his left, and Ruby moved off the platform and down the steps. Hampton York and his companion moved to her side, and she stopped. York’s eyes roamed up and down her body. She wanted to scream and tell him to stop looking at her, but she knew she didn’t dare.

  “You likin’ what you see?” she finally asked, her eyes bolder than proper for a darky.

  “You truly healthy?” York asked, his voice as deep as tree roots.

  She glared at him for another second, but when he didn’t blink she averted her eyes. York took her chin and jerked her face up. His companion tightened his lips and looked away.

  “You’ve had a man, I reckon,” York said. “Nobody I know keeps a purty one like you around without some babies.”

  “I took a man named Markus,” she replied.

  “I saw him earlier. Robertson bought him.”

  “His place close?”

  York spat on the ground. “Not your place to ask no questions.”

  She pulled her chin away, and he dropped his hand.

  “You had babies?” asked York.

  “It don’t matter if I do,” she said flatly. “Don’t got them now.”

  “The Oak is a good place,” York said. “Surely finer than the one you come from.”

  “I reckon I’ll be the one to judge that.”

  York grabbed her chin again, his hand rougher this time, his eyes daring her to pull away again. “You’re accustomed to good treatment, is that it? Never sold before, I’ll wager on that.”

  She ground her teeth.

  “You belong to Marshall Tessier now,” he growled. “I run The Oak for him. You do what we tell you, and you’ll fare well. If not, I promise it’ll go hard on you.”

  Ruby glared back at him, but inside her stomach she felt quivery. York’s tone left no doubt that he wouldn’t take easy to anybody crossing him.

  “I’ll see to her,” York’s companion said, stepping closer to touch York’s shoulder. “You go settle up in back.”

  York glanced at the shorter man, then dropped his hand and walked away. Ruby stared at the man beside her.

  “I’m Josh Cain,” he said quietly. “Sorry about your man, your babies, if you have any.”

  Ruby shook her head, her lips tense with anger.

  “Look,” Cain continued. “I know you’re agitated. But you’re going to a good place, and that’s the t
ruth. Don’t mind Mr. York. He gets upset when somebody challenges him.”

  Ruby shrugged. “It don’t really matter. I got no last name.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “A white man can’t understand it. But I got no name. I belong to somebody else. Whether it’s a good place or a poor one, I got no say over it. That’s all.”

  Cain took a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. “It’s clean, and I have water in the wagon.” He pointed down the street. “You can wash up there.”

  Ruby took the handkerchief and scrutinized Cain. Blond hair poked out from under his wide-brimmed brown hat. His blue eyes looked kindly, as if he saw the good in people more than the bad. He had white teeth, no sign of tobacco of any kind on them. His speech sounded a little more educated than York’s—not as coarse.

  Deciding Josh Cain might treat her fair, Ruby softened a little. “Can I ask somethin’?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mr. York said a fella named Robertson took Markus.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where this Robertson live?”

  “Too far for a pass, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Ruby dropped her head. “Even so, I still want to know.”

  Cain sighed. “Okay. Robertson grows cotton between here and a town called Columbia. It’s inland a good ways, maybe ninety to a hundred miles.”

  Ruby looked up. “Markus be my man. We pledged love forever.”

  “You have to forget that,” Cain said. “No good thing can come of it.”

  Ruby’s eyes brimmed as the hopelessness of her situation fully hit her. “I got a boy named Theo, back with my mammy in Virginia. I lost two other babies before they ever saw light. Theo’s the only one left.”

  Cain’s face clouded, and Ruby thought she saw mercy in his eyes. She spoke before she could stop herself. “I plan to see them again someday. Theo and Markus. Theo said he seen it.”

  “Saw it?”

  “Yep, he got the vision.”

  Cain’s jaw firmed. “Don’t think crazy,” he advised. “Woman or not, York won’t stand anybody running. That’ll get you whipped—or worse.”

  Ruby nodded. “I know my place. But who knows what time will bring?”

  “Let’s get you ready to travel,” said Cain, ending the talk and pointing toward the wagon. “We leave for The Oak in a little while. Have close to forty miles to travel between today and tomorrow.”

  Headed to the wagon, Ruby wiped her face and made a vow. One of these days she would see Markus and Theo again. No matter what it took, no matter what it cost her, she would not let go of that hope. To do so meant she might as well go on and die. Yes, she belonged to The Oak now, to a man named Marshall Tessier. Maybe he would treat her right, maybe not. No way to tell about a white man, she knew that. But either way, it didn’t matter. She would do what she had to do to keep her pledge to her baby. That pledge was the only thing that gave her enough strength to go on living.

  Chapter Three

  The sun came up steamy the next morning and baked Josh Cain from overhead, causing sweat to roll into the collar of his brown shirt as they made their way toward The Oak. A wagonload of supplies—flour, cloth, nails, whiskey, salt, and a whole lot of other provisions—made the four mules that pulled his wagon strain against their traces. Ruby, the newly purchased house servant, sat on the back of the wagon, her long legs swinging with each jolt down the rutted dirt road. Hampton York rode nearby, on a dappled gray horse. Except for York, Josh, and Ruby, the trail was deserted. The three had spent the night in a field about fifteen miles out of Charleston and hoped to make the rest of the trip before nightfall.

  Josh wiped his brow, then pulled a book from under the wagon seat, opened it about a third of the way, set the traces in one hand and the book in the other, and started reading.

  York edged his horse closer. “You readin’ again, I see. Takin’ up more new words.”

  “So what?” Josh asked, not looking up. “A man can try to improve, can’t he?”

  “I won’t argue that with you,” York said. “But this is me you’re jabberin’ at, remember? Your brother—at least half. Managin’ to read a little won’t raise nobody’s station in this world, and we both know it. So you might as well stop try in’ to speak so fine, like a boardin’ school boy.”

  “I try to educate myself. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “It’ll do you no good, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

  Josh clicked at the mules, but they ignored him. “I expect we’re talking about two different things,” he suggested to York. “You say learning will do me no good. If you’re thinking about making more money or raising my ‘station’ as you put it, then you’re probably right. But that’s not my meaning.”

  York shook his head as if to dismiss a child. “You don’t want to better yourself?”

  “Well, sure I do, but I don’t stay awake at night figuring how to become a rich man. I see other matters as more worthy than that.”

  “Yes, you jawed this nonsense to me more than once.”

  Josh wiped his brow again. York was right. They had plowed this ground lots of times. But Josh wanted different things than York. He wanted a strong family; wanted folks to know him as a man of integrity and faith in the Lord. Things like that didn’t show up in any account ledger anywhere, but he didn’t care. With his wife, Anna, and his children, Beth, Butler, and Lucy, he felt like he had just about as much as any man could want.

  York adjusted his hat. “A man’s got to have dreams. Some desire to pull up from his origins. But it ain’t a matter of knowin’ a few fancy words. If a man’s goin’ to better his prospects, he’s got to make it happen, that’s all. Take a chance when the opportunity comes.”

  “What kind of opportunity?”

  “Hard to say. But you’ll know it when you see it.”

  “Sounds like you’re talking about pure luck.”

  “Thought you put your faith in the Lord; didn’t believe in luck.”

  “I don’t. But you do,” Josh shot back.

  York grinned. “Well, call it what you want. But if good fortune comes, you got to do somethin’ with it. It’s one thing to get dealt a good hand; it’s another altogether whether you take advantage of it. That part depends on the man. When the luck shows up, will he take it by the throat … or let it pass?”

  “Guess it depends on whether the man sees it as something that’ll lead to good or not.”

  York wiped his face. “You make it too hard. Do too much figurin’ before you act. Maybe it’s ’cause you were the baby, not forced to take care of yourself.”

  Josh grunted. “I’ve done my share of taking care of myself. Remember a time or two I took care of you as well.”

  York pulled off his hat and fanned his face with it. His horse pranced, as if it wanted to rush off, but he held the reins tightly. “Yep, well, that was over eleven years ago, war and all. Shot up like I was, I couldn’t do much to help myself.”

  Josh remembered the episode, during their adventures in the army near the end of the Mexican War. He’d been eighteen at the time, York just thirty. Josh hung his head and pushed away the memories. He’d learned a lot in that war, a lot of it too painful to recall.

  York put his hat back on. “It’s truly surprisin’ that two men with the same sire can turn out as different as you and me.”

  “Yes, me handsome and you ugly,” Josh threw in. “I got it from my mama.”

  York shoved his hat low over his eyes and spurred his horse, leaving the wagon behind.

  “Didn’t mean any offense,” Josh yelled, realizing he’d upset York by unintentionally reminding him that their pa had never married York’s mama but had married his, thereby giving them different childhoods, as well as last names.

  York waved him off.

  Josh clicked at the mules, then glanced back at his book, a tattered copy of Pilgrim’s Progress. The wagon bounced along. The sun burned hotter. Josh flicked the r
eins at the mules every now and again, but they didn’t speed up any. He didn’t blame them. Nothing moved too fast under the weight of such sticky conditions. As the mules gradually covered the miles along the dusty road, the sun rose higher. Josh squinted up from his book from time to time. York rode a good thirty feet ahead, his body low in the saddle, almost as if dead. Josh knew better, though. Hampton York possessed more fire in his body than most any man Josh knew. But sometimes that fire got York in trouble. Josh shook his head as he remembered the times he’d paid to get York out of jail when he got in fights after drinking too much.

  The mules sped up a little when they reached a slight downhill stretch. Josh glanced back at Ruby; she hadn’t moved. He felt bad for her, the way the Rushtons had split her from her husband and son. A lot of times an owner refused to sell a servant family unless they all went together. Josh hoped her pouty ways would end soon. York didn’t like a darky with an angry temperament.

  The mules slowed as the downhill ended, and he peered at his book again. But for once he didn’t feel like reading anymore. Every time York bought a new servant, Josh felt bleak. The whole slave business made Josh squeamish—like he knew he’d swallowed poison but didn’t have any medicine to make it better. It didn’t quite square with what he knew of the Lord that any human should claim another as his own. He stared at York’s back and wished he could talk to him about it. But Josh knew it wouldn’t do any good. York had no such qualms about owning darkies; saw it as absolutely necessary for a place like The Oak to operate. And Josh knew that, no matter what it took, York would do that very thing to make The Oak prosperous.

  Josh thought of Marshall Tessier and frowned. Truth was, he didn’t like the man—didn’t trust him and didn’t like the way he treated his servants either. Yet Tessier paid good wages and left Josh alone to do his work. What more could a man ask from his boss?

  Josh turned his attention back to his book. Slowly the morning ended, and the mules turned left at a fork in the road. A few minutes later Josh steered them off the dirt path into the shade of an oak grove. Heavy moss draped the trees like loose gray sweaters. The mules moved more quickly as they neared Mossy Bank Creek, about fifty yards away.