The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 10

Claudia immediately detected a faint similarity between this young man and the slave she had known as Monk, that both father and son had flared nostrils and dark, gleaming eyes. But the likeness stopped there. Monk had been a short, muscular man whereas Lloy was sinewy, his strength wiry rather than brawny.

Lloy's flas.h.i.+ng black eyes showed immediate suspicion about this white woman coming to see him. His face quickly changed from the carefree expression he had worn when allowing the children to go out into the play-yard. It eclipsed into a sombre, almost cloudy expression. This again reminded Claudia of Monk.

'You ain't the spitting image of your pappy, boy,' Claudia said as she stood in the doorway of the small schoolhouse. She surveyed the wooden benches neatly lined facing a table at the front of the room, saying, 'But then your pappy couldn't read nor write. I guess education is bound to make some changes in a... man.'

'You obviously know who I am,' Lloy said in a deep-chested voice. He kept his eyes on Claudia's puffy red face as he asked, 'Have we met before?'

'Claudia Goss is my name. I live nearby at Grouse Hollow. I always meant to stop by this place for a gander around. But I've been feeling poorly. Never got around to it till now.'

'Goss . . .' Lloy repeated. I think I've heard of you. You sell slaves from the back of a wagon.' It was not a question.

Claudia had antic.i.p.ated this knowledge. She answered with the lie which she had already fabricated. 'That was in the old days. Before I seen the. . . light/ 'You've been converted to religion?'

'Not exactly religion,' she answered, lowering her eyes to Lloy's body, imagining what a good time she and her first husband, Chad Tucker, would have had with a finely set-up black buck such as this one. She saw Lloy's hands hanging big and pawlike by the sides of his muscled thighs. She imagined him holding the perforated paddle called 'the hornet' in those hands, the wooden paddle which Monk used to smite Chad Tucker's naked b.u.t.tocks with to induce I26.

him to drive his p.e.n.i.s deeper into Claudia's stretched v.a.g.i.n.a. The memory' of those good times fluttered quickly through Claudia's brain, making her nostalgic for the old days at Dragonard Hill.

Intent to concentrate on the future, she said to Lloy, "The fact is, I used to know your pappy. I knew your ma, too. When she was on Dragonard Hill.'

'My mother's dead now.' Lloy showed neither sentiment nor anger.

I'm sorry to hear that,' Claudia quickly consoled. 'She must of died a young woman.' Shaking her head, she continued, 'But death ain't nothing none of us escape. As you see, I ain't no spring chicken anymore myself and I just wanted to "straighten-out-my-books" as they say before I'm called from this earth.'

'Are you suffering from any particular complaint, Mrs Goss?' Lloy's manner was courteous but not friendly; concerned but yet formal.

'My spells of ague get worse with the pa.s.sing years. I want to be prepared for my final departure but-' She shook her head again, saying, 'There's so many people in this neck of the woods who ain't willing to bury old hatchets. We was talking about Dragonard Hill a second or two ago. Take them folks there for instance. The Abdees. I went over there a few days back to pay my condolences on the death of that Peter Abdee's late wife-'

Pausing, she eyed Lloy, saying, 'You ain't never seen Peter Abdee, I bet. Being a slave-owner and all, he's probably never made himself known to you over here.'

'Dragonard Hill sends us a parcel at Christmas.'

'Christmas? Probably guilt money!' Claudia said. 'You'd think a free-minded man like Peter Abdee sets himself up to be would come over here himself to see his nephew instead of just sending a gift box to ..."

Lloy widened his eyes. 'Nephew?'

'Didn't you know? Your pappy and Peter Abdee come from the same pappy. They was brothers near enough. A Richard Abdee on some island down in the West Indies called St Kitts sired them both. Monk done told me and my first husband, Chad Tucker, all about it. Your black grand-mammy was a lady's maid to Peter Abdee's rna. Your grandmammy shot your pappy when he and Peter Abdee I27.

had them that big fight on Dragonard Hill. That's when your own ma was freed from Dragonard Hill and sent here and then-'

'Mrs Goss. I appreciate you taking the time to come here today. But I don't see any good in telling me all these facts. My mother left Dragonard Hill. She and my father are both dead. I live here. I didn't know that. . . Mister Abdee was my uncle. But..."

Don't go telling him I told you that fact!' Claudia quickly said. 'The words just slipped out of my mouth in conversation here with you. I was just standing here chewing the rag with you and the facts just slipped out!'

Although Lloy nodded his head in agreement, Claudia saw that she had caught his attention. But also guessing that he was a headstrong young man, she said, 'But you're right. There ain't no point of us labouring old facts, if some white folks ain't willing to face-up to the past why should we force them? That's what I told them Abdees when they danged near turned me off their land when I went to pay my respects.'

She moved away from Lloy, reaching to grip onto the door for support, saying, 'I won't be taking-up your time neither. You've probably got the little ones coming back in pretty soon. I got my own work to do, too.'

Lloy stood in the doorway of the school-house and watched Claudia waddle toward her rough-board wagon. He foresaw the difficulty she was going to have climbing up into the seat and he moved quickly to help her.

Claudia mumbled her thanks as she struggled up into the seat. She settled herself behind the mules and, gazing down at Lloy, she said, 'You sure a mighty fine-looking lad.'

'Thank you for coming to see me, Mrs Goss. I don't know exactly why you've done it but a person always likes to learn something about his past. Especially a black person. Black people know so little about where they came from, who our fathers, mothers, grandparents were-'

He reached for her hand and, squeezing it, he said, 'Thank you.'

'Don't you mention it... son,' she said, reaching for the reins of her mules. 'I have a feeling that you and me see things th^ same way. Or, at least we could given the I28.

chance.' The wagon rattled away from the schoolhouse, Lloy watched Claudia Goss's hunched figure departing down the lane which led to the public road. He kept staring at her, oblivious to the shouting of the children behind him in the play-yard. He kept hearing the echo of her voice, the facts which she had told him about his family, the most nagging ones being that his own grandmother had killed his father to save Peter Abdee in a fight, and that Peter Abdee was his own flesh and blood.

d.a.m.n it, he thought. d.a.m.n it. Why wasn't I told these things before? My Mama was a good woman but slavery beat the poor brains right out of her head. She slinked away from Dragonard Hill when they told her to go, coming here with me in her belly as if that would extinguish forever all my ties to the past.

Lloy knew that he had to decide whether he was going to rekindle old flames-perhaps even avenge old wrongs done to his mother and father. He had not even known who his grandmother was up until today. But a stranger came here and told him that his grandmother had shown more loyalty to the son of her mistress than to her own flesh and blood. That his grandmother had shot her son to save the life of the white man who now was the master of Dragonard Hill.

Lloy broke the wooden pen he held in his hand. He tossed the pieces to the dirt.

Chapter Ten.

THE PATROLLERS.

The rains-which were over almost as quickly as they had begun-brought sickness to the neighbourhood. Young David Abdee caught a chill during the inclement weather and word reached Dragonard Hill that the boy was confined to his bed at Greenleaf. Barry Breslin sent a rider to Peter Abdee saying that David's condition was not serious but that Peter should consider extending the boy's stay at that plantation, that David should not be travelling back home this week as originally planned.

Peter consented. He dispatched the rider to Greenleaf with the instructions to call Doctor Witherspoon from Carterville if David's condition should worsen-and Vicky offered to go as an emissary from Dragonard HiSl to see personally that the young boy's complaint was not serious.

The visitation to Greenleaf provided Vicky with the excuse she had been waiting for to take another temporary leave from Dragonard Hill, a brief escape without arousing her father's suspicions. She realized that if she announced she was making a second trip to Troy that she would have to explain every detail of her last visit there to him. As matters now stood between Vicky and her father, he had not mentioned the subject of signing notes for Barry, and Vicky had not pressed him for further explanation. Nor had any further mention been made about her source of information. She had decided to keep secret her private store of knowledge-including the fact that her grandfather, I30.

Richard Abdee, was still alive in Havana. Vicky was trying not to think about her own life in Havana. She had not even decided how long she would stay at Dragonard Hill.Neither Ralph Webster, the clerk at Troy's mercantile store, nor anyone else in town, knew exactly what form of address to use when speaking to Vicky. They knew that she was Peter Abdee's daughter, but they also had hearjj the rumours that she had married a t.i.tled personage in Cuba. The few patrollers sitting behind the window today and Webster discussed this dilemma when they saw Vicky alight from her carriage and come in the direction of the store.

Vicky entered the store more businesslike today than on her previous visit. She moved in a quick rustle of crinolines past the wooden kegs, moving directly to the narrow stairway which led up to Poliguet's office.

Webster called from behind the counter. "He ain't up there today. . . mam. Mister Poliguet ain't arrived yet in town.'

Vicky stopped. She turned toward the counter and stared at the clerk. She did not understand. Today was Wednesday, the day on which Poliguet was always at his midweek practise in Troy.

Shuffling nervously, Webster said, 'He didn't arrive on the New Orleans coach . . . Miss Abdee. He didn't send no message. It's the first time this has happened and ..."

'Thank you,' Vicky said in a brusque manner, turning toward the door.

Til tell him you called,' Webster offered.

Vicky stopped. The last thing she wanted Poliguet to know was that she was dropping in on him, to suspect that she was dependant on his attentions. She ordered, 'Do no such thing-' She softened her voice, adding with a smile, '... kind sir.'

Ralph Webster blushed. He mumbled, 'I won't say nothing.'

Vicky again moved toward the door, calling, 'It was only a bit of unimportant business I had to discuss with him anyway. Nothing that can't wait,'

I3I.

She nodded to the men seated in front of the window, saying, 'Good day, gentlemen.' She opened the door; the bell tinkled, and she moved across the boardwalk to her carriage waiting on the street.

Lawyers! Sick children! Barry Breslin who can't even conduct his own business affairs! Vicky fumed over all these matters on her return to Dragonard Hill. Curlew asked her if she wanted to stop again at Greenleaf Plantation to see young David as she had originally told him she intended to do.

Remembering the lie, the excuse she had given Curlew for taking her to Troy, she quickly answered, 'No! Mister Webster didn't have the rosehip tonic I needed in the store. Forget it now. Just take me home.'

Vicky had seen this morning on her visit to Greenleaf that David was suffering from no more than a cold. She did not want to linger too long in a child's sickroom, anyway. A child only reminded her of her own son miles away from here in Havana. She could not start thinking about Juanito at this moment. She could not think of Juan Carlos. She knew that she was powerless when pitted against her husband. She realized she had to take a stand soon as mother and wife but, for the moment, she knew that she could only enjoy peace-of-mind if she put the thoughts of Havana out of her head. She told herself, forget, forget, forget.

Vicky was trying to eradicate the horrifying thought of Juan Carlos seeking an annulment from her in her absence when she realized that Curlew was slowing the horses. She remembered how she had climbed alongside him on the seat last time. She suspected he was slowing for her to join him again. She called, 'Don't get any ideas, n.i.g.g.e.r! I'll tell you when I want you!'

Curlew called, 'I'm slowing for ... patrollers, Miss Vicky.'

Sitting to the edge of the seat, Vicky saw three men on horseback blocking the public road. She said to Curlew, 'Let me speak to them.'

'We got nothing to fear, Miss Vicky, Mam. They know me and this carriage from Dragonard Hill. I'm just driving you..."

'I said, let me handle this!' Vicky impatiently ordered as she pulled at the shoulders of her dress. d.a.m.n it! she I32.

thought. If I can't get Poliguet now when I need him I'll get somebody else! I don't have to throw myself at n.i.g.g.e.rs. I can have white men, too! I can have anyone I want and Juan Carlos cannot do a d.a.m.ned thing about it!

'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' she called from the back of the carriage, noticing that one of the patrollers was younger than his two companions, a young swarthy farmer whom she could not remember having seen idling at the mercantile store. He was broad-shouldered and had black stubble on his lantern jaw. His ruggedness immediately tantalized her.

'Afternoon, mam,' one of the older patrollers called from his horse. 'We just conducting a check on all pa.s.sing wheel traffic. There's been a runaway just south of here.'

'A runaway?' Vicky exclaimed in mock horror, her eyes quickly surveying the cottonwoods lining both sides of the road. She looked back to the patrollers, her eyes lingering on the swarthy young farmer as she asked, 'Should a lady be alarmed?'

'We'll take care of you,' the young farmer answered and grinned at her.

Vicky momentarily debated whether or not she should acknowledge the saucy innuendo of his words. Her frustrations, her anger at Poliguet for not being in his office today, her feeling of abandonment by her husband-all these things made her decide to forget about the decorum expected of a white lady.

She held the patroller's suggestive gaze and answered, 'I am most certain you could."

The man danced his horse closer toward the carriage; his two companions pulled their hats forward; Curlew remained motionless in his seat. The moment was tense; the feeling of such bravado thrilled Vicky.

She pursued her brash intentions, tilting her head to one side, coyly saying, 'As a matter of fact, I thought that I did see some. . . activity in that cottonwood break just back yonder-' She pointed her parasol at the trees alongside the road.

Curlew spun around on his seat and glared at his young mistress. He reached for her arm as she moved to step from the carriage.

Vicky turned on him, ordering, 'n.i.g.g.e.r! Mind yourself!

I33.

Do you know the punishment for someone who stops the cause of law and order? If there is a runaway n.i.g.g.e.r near here, every respectable, able-bodied person must try their best to locate him and return him to his rightful owner!*

Curlew shrunk back on his seat.

The darkly-featured patroller now trotted his horse alongside the carriage, saying, Them words be mighty dangerous for a fine lady like yourself to be saying. If you'd be so kindly disposed as to tell me exactly where you think... an able-bodied man should look for that runaway n.i.g.g.e.r...'

Staring him straight in the eye, Vicky announced, 'There are times when a female must forget she's a lady, sir. Times when she must be willing to meet. . . situations when they are presented to her.'

'I do believe I take your meaning.'

Holding up her hand to him, Vicky said, 'If you would be so kind as to help me from my carriage, sir, I will show you quite precisely what I do mean and then-if there proves to be no danger-we can both resume going our separate ways.'

'That's a manner of thinking a man like myself always respects.' His dark eyes twinkled.

'Then you are the man I shall show the place where I saw danger lurking.' Vicky now flounced down the road, the patroller quickly dismounting from his horse.

The underbrush alongside the road was thick. The husky patroller proceeded Vicky through the brambles, holding back the branches to prevent them from scratching her skin. They were barely out of view from the carriage and the other two patrollers when Vicky saw that he was of the same mind as herself. She saw that he was already working one hand on his crotch.

She continued with her make-believe game. She said, 'There seems to be no danger here-' She knew she should not talk any more. Her voice was beginning to quaver. She was shaking with excitement at the idea of being alongside the public road with a patroller who was so devastatingly alluring to her. She felt as if she might faint with excitement.

The patroller's voice deepened. He eyed Vicky's voluptuous bosom, saying, 'I think there still might be one or two surprises we'll find here.' He reached forward and I34.grasped one of her hands. He smiled as he appraised the smooth whiteness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and then looked again at her widening eyes.

Vicky held the patroller's gaze long enough to know that he wanted her, too. She did not care about debasing herself. She could not let such a thrilling opportunity pa.s.s. Such a moment was worth all the scandal in the countryside.

The patroller now rested his hand on her thin shoulder. He pulled down one side of her bodice. Then, the other. He stared appreciatively at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his hand now working again on his crotch.

A voice inside Vicky told her that she had to match his aggressive move, to say one thing to give this a.s.signation its final push toward what some people would call total degradation.

She lowered her eyes to his crotch, saying, 'You are a very. . . big man.'

Those words, that signal that she was thinking in purely physical terms and had no respect for her womanhood, eradicated the final barrier of decorum between them. The patroller lowered his trousers. His p.e.n.i.s bounced strong and hard into view. Vicky first gasped at its size, the fullness of its crown, and then she pushed her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the man's rough s.h.i.+rt and grabbed for his manly hardness. And whilst holding onto the phallus, she guided the patroller's hand under her skirts and frilled crinolines. She listened to the words he was now murmuring to her. She spoke in return to him. They talked about size, visual excitement, one another's appet.i.te for various fulfilments.

The patroller soon lay upon Vicky; she held her legs akimbo in the air as he drove his manhood into her furry patch. She made him pull back onto his knees-and then stand in front of her-before he exploded inside her. She told him that she wanted to mouth his masculinity. He reached for her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she knelt on the ground in front of him satisfying this l.u.s.t.

At the moment of feeling her sucking him toward the ultimate excitement, the patroller roughly pushed Vicky back down onto the ground and resumed slicking himself into her v.a.g.i.n.a. He planted his arms on both sides of her, holding her gaze with his black-Sashed eyes, contemp- I35.

tuously calling her 'b.i.t.c.h', 'wh.o.r.e* other abusive names he saw her enjoying being called.

Vicky crested in a thrill of giving herself to this rugged slave patroller at the country roadside, realizing that his two companions sat on horseback nearby and knew that the white lady' was giving herself to their friend, and that Curlew also was aware of her profligacy. And it was with those thoughts that Vicky contracted and squeezed her v.a.g.i.n.a to milk the last drops of seeds from the phallus of the patroller enjoying the insults he hurled at her.

The three patrollers galloped down the public road toward Troy, echoes of laughter trailing behind them with the dust of their horses. Curlew sat rigidly in the front of the carriage, trying not to look at Vicky as she pulled and patted at herself to repair the disorderliness of her clothing which the brief a.s.signation alongside the road with the swarthy patroller had caused. The men's laughter made her fieetingly think about the crude tales they would inevitably tell at the mercantile store but, rea.s.suring herself that she had no reason to go there again, she decided not to trouble herself over the possibility of village gossip.

The sight of a man alighting from a horse in front of the main house at Dragonard Hill reinforced Vicky's thoughts that she no longer had to visit the mercantile in Troy, As her carriage clattered up the driveway toward the house, she recognized the caller as Jerome Poliguet. He had come to see her!

'Monsieur Poliguet!' she called in newly found confidence, a self-composure advanced by her recent physical release with the patroller. 'What a surprise to see you at Dragonard Hill.' She felt in full control of herself.

I arrived in Carterville this morning. Instead of taking the coach on to Troy, I rode on this mount I retain at the Carterville stables.'

Accepting his hand offered to help her from the carriage, Vicky said, 'I've just come from Greenleaf. My young stepbrother caught a chill in the rain over last weekend.'

"It is about Greenleaf I wish to speak to you, Condesa.'

Tm afraid that your last news upset me so much-'