The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 13

Ham looked in surprise at Maybelle who, in turn, glanced at Veronica. They were all remembering Ham's earlier question. But n.o.body dared mention a thing about what now more than ever seemed to be a well-organized, far-reaching organization, a club which still had no name.I6I.

Chapter Thirteen.

THE WHITE SLAVE'S STORY.

The young black man, Lloy, reported to the main house at Dragonard Hil! on the morning following the day on which Peter Abdee sent a message to Treetop House stating that he had a proposal to put to him. Peter was impressed with Lloy's physical presence but, detecting a defiance in the young man's att.i.tude, he decided to tell him what facts he knew about his background before they pursued any discussion in detail about him being the overseer here. He waited until they had left the main house and were cantering toward the front fields where green cotton first grew on this plantation until he began speaking to Lloy about his parentage.

Peter said, 'I trust you know that your mother had been a slave on this land. That she was freed and sent to live at Treetop House before you were born."

Lloy also had premeditated tactics. He had foreseen the advantages of not being too forthcoming with the small sc.r.a.ps of knowledge he possessed about Dragonard Hill, the Abdee family, and himself. Also, he still was confused as to why an invitation to Dragonard Hill should arrive so soon after Claudia Goss's visit to Treetop House.

He answered, 'I was still young when my mother died. She told me very little. But, yes, sir, I know that she was a slave here.' He forced himself to keep his words as polite as possible.

'Your mother did not tell you why she was freed?'

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'No, sir, she did not.'

'Your mother was pregnant with you at the time-' Peter paused, He had rehea.r.s.ed this speech the night before but, in the company of Lloy, words failed him.

The horses now barely moved at a trot. Peter looked at the field slaves divided into groups working the dips and rises of brown earth. He said, 'Many people would say that I am doing a dangerous thing by inviting you here. I do not even know if you will consider being the overseer for me-'

Lloy interrupted, 'As I told you in the house, sir, I might not be qualified for such a position. I have done field work like any other man at Treetop House. We rotate responsibilities there. Everyone man and woman is given an opportunity to understand authority but also to toil under supervision. But to oversee a plantation as large as-' He extended his hand toward the fields, the hills, the forests of Dragonard Hill.

'Please let rne continue,' Peter politely but firmly insisted. 'You will learn in time why I have asked you to come here. If you stay here, you will learn about the black man, Nero, who was once overseer here. You will also undoubtedly hear stories about my daughter, Imogen, who held the position up to now.'

Pus.h.i.+ng the wide-brimmed straw hat back on his head, Peter said, 'But these details are all secondary to the fact why you are a free man and not enslaved yourself on this land. Yes, that was a very likely possibility. You could be living in the slave quarter here called Town. You could be one of those workers there tending the cotton plants. A drastic series of events changed those possibilities, though, Lloy, and I would like to make them known to you as quickly as possible. I would like to prevent the likelihood of any bad blood existing between us in the future. We have had enough in the past.'

Lloy did not question Peter for details. He knew that they would now all be forthcoming.

Peter began, 'I won't delve too intricately into the details about how I came to Louisiana myself. I wasn't born here. My father was English. He fled England for personal reasons I do not know and he settled on the island of St Kitts.

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My mother left my father as your mother left here-with a child inside her body. I was born when my mother, a Frenchwoman, was fleeing from a husband who had mistreated and cheated her, returning to her homeland to try to start a new life for her and her unborn child. That was in the days of the French Revolution. The convoy in which she was travelling anch.o.r.ed on the Florida peninsula before even taking to the open sea. Also, I should add that my mother was not travelling alone. She was with a black servant, a devoted woman called Ta-Ta, and a young half-caste child whom my... father had sired with Ta-Ta. The child was a boy.

'A sequence of events, which I can tell you later if you are interested, led up to the sad fact that my mother died shortly after my birth in the Florida swamps. Ta-Ta guarded me as closely-even closer-than her own son. She was alone in the wilds of Florida and, after being physically abused by a band of white brigands, Ta-Ta, her son, and myself were sold in a slavehouse in New Orleans to an upcountry planter called Albert Selby.

I came to this land as a piccaninny slave, Lloy. This land was then called The Star. Albert Selby had a wife named Rachel, a devoutly religious woman who had sent her husband to New Orleans to buy a tutor for her small daughter, Melissa. Instead, he brought home a Negress and two. . . piccaninny boys. To her horror, Rachel Selby discovered that one of the piccaninnies was white. Albert Selby insisted that I be kept in their home-the place we now call the 'old house'-and that Ta-Ta be allowed to live there, too, and serve as my nurse. Her own son was sent to be a fetch-and-carry boy for the white man who then acted as overseer on The Star, a man named Chad Tucker.

'In retrospect, Lloy, I suspect that that action proved to be the most fatal for Monk. . . that was what Ta-Ta's son came to be known-Monk. But that also could be seen as the reason which ultimately lay the path for your mother's and your own manumission. Chad Tucker is now dead. I won't malign the dead. But he and his wife, a woman who still lives in the neighbourhood under a new name, were- in my opinion, a very bad influence on Monk.'

Peter paused, then asked, 'Bad? That's how the Selbys saw it. And badness was certainly the Tuckers' intention I64.

in my opinion, too. But the facts they filled Monk's head with-that he had the same rights as myself-whether they are bad, I cannot truly say. I keep slaves because that was the world I was born into. That was the work force which toiled the land I inherited from Albert Selby after I married Melissa his daughter. Monk thought that he should at least be overseer here. That he should have as much say in running this Sand as myself. He presented his case in a violent way, burnings and destructions, all ideas planted in his head by the Tuckers. His ultimate recourse was to challenge me to a duel. The weapons were whips. I will not lie, Lloy. Your father was a strong man. Much stronger than myself and quicker with a whip. He would be alive today and myself dead if it had not been for Ta-Ta shooting her. . . own son ... to save . . . me.'

Lowering his head, Peter said, 'A black girl named Lilly was pregnant at that time with Monk's child. Monk's body was buried by an old slave woman here called Mama Gomorrah. Lilly was sent away from this land. You are her son. Her and Monk's son.'

Resting his hands on the saddle horn, Peter now sat silently on his motionless horse. He looked across a valley as he said, 'If our world was not turned upside down, Lloy, by the colour of people's skin, you and I would be nephew and uncle.'

Lloy stared soberly ahead of him. He realized that the story which Peter Abdee had just told him coincided with the story he had only recently heard from Claudia Goss. He also realized that it would not be prudent to tell Peter Abdee about Claudia's recent visit to Treetop House. He wanted time to think. He had other ambitions than being an overseer.

He asked, 'But why have you sent for me to come to Dragonard Hill now?'

Peter replied, 'One reason, Lloy, is that I need a man who is not directly involved with the plantation to serve as my overseer. For another reason-'

Turning to look at Lloy, he said, 'The only way I can really answer that, Lloy, is to say that we have to find out the answer together.'

'That seems fair enough.'

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'A man learns that he must at least try to be fair in his dealings with people regardless of their colour.'

'You consider black people to be human then.'

Peter answered, 'Many people would argue with me on that matter but, yes, of course I do.'

Lloy said, 'But still you keep slaves.'

'I inherited this land as I said. I also inherited this work force. Slaves are the muscle of this land. Of the entire South. Do you expect one man to fight an entire system?'

'Then, sir, you are a slave to your inheritance.'

'Many white men might strike you for what you've just said to me. But you are right. Very astute, I came to this land as a slave. My skin is white. But, yes, Lloy, I am still a slave in many respects. A white slave.'

'Why, sir, did you change the name of the land from The Star to Dragonard Hill?'

'That was Albert Selby's suggestion. He felt I needed some link to my past. He saw that black people are cut-off from their heritage. He feared the same thing might happen to me. One of the few facts known about the background from which I was taken was that my father had once been a public whipmaster on the island of St Kitts. The English called such a man the "Dragonard". My father eventually used it for the name of his sugar plantation there. When Albert Selby heired me this land he suggested I call it Dragonard Hill. Perhaps it was a wrong choice, considering its cruel connotations but-' Peter laughed an empty laugh '-it certainly evokes the background from which I came into this world.'

'Now you are offering me a place in this. . . Dragonard world,' Lloy said soberly. He turned to Peter, continuing, 'I will accept the position as overseer but only on a temporary basis. We can see if I'm qualified for one thing.'

'Good. I accept your condition.' He extended his hand toward Lloy.

The offer of a handshake momentarily stunned Lloy. A white man had never offered him his hand to shake before. He had never heard of it happening in the South. But slowly reaching forward, he gripped Peter Abdee's hand and began to shake what he immediately felt as a firm, honest grip.

The two men rode down the gra.s.sy slope whilst Peter called, 'There's a lot to show you, Lloy. Let's go to Town I66.

first. I want you to see where the workers live. Then I'll show you a small house behind the main house where I thought you might be comfortable.'

'I'd rather live alongside the workers.'

'As you wish, Lloy. As you wish.'

Jerome Poliguet's first rule for success was to look for a man's secret longing, to try to fathom a man's hidden ambition. He sat in the parlour at Greenleaf Plantation on the afternoon following his visit to Dragonard Hill and intuitively recognized that Barry Breslin had no interest in running a plantation, that he was miserable here and probably wished that he could be living far away from this Louisiana backwoods. Poliguet also believed that it was often prudent to say exactly the opposite to what he believed.

He praised, 'You have a comfortable home here at Greenleaf, Mister Breslin. Very comfortable indeed.'

'It's exactly as my aunt left it.' , 'Before she moved to Dragonard Hill?'

Barry slowly nodded, one long leg dangling over the arm of a chair. He added, 'Aunt Kate liked coming back to check on things.'

'You must miss her. I offer my condolences. But you are lucky to have such an interested guardian as Mister Abdee.'

'Guardian? He ain't my guardian!'

'A bad choice of words. A bad choice. Should I have said . . . protector?'

'He ain't that neither.'

'He certainly has your best interests at heart. I know that for a fact.'

'Mister Poliguet, when you came here today you said that you could help me out. Now I know it ain't no secret that I'm in a little money trouble. h.e.l.l, even if my crop is b.u.mper this year I'll still be in debt. So I guess that it is because of money that you came here today about my best interests.'

'While we're being perfectly honest with one another, Mister Breslin, let me first tell you that I have already been to see your uncle.'

'For what?'

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'You spoke about public knowledge of your precarious position. That is true. I have not been practising in Troy for a year yet and even I know of it. I also was approached by a party . . . someone who showed great interest in buying your place, buying the bank notes. Putting more money in their place.'

'Who'd do that?'

'At this point I am not at liberty to disclose the interested party's ident.i.ty. But knowing your uncle's concern-through marriage-in Greenleaf, I first approached him."

'I don't like you going to him but I guess you did right. He endorsed those loans with Aunt Katie,"

Poliguet nodded. He had planned to acknowledge the fact to Barry Breslin that he knew about Abdee's endors.e.m.e.nt of money loaned to Greenleaf. He was pleased, though, that Breslin had admitted it.

'So what did Peter Abdee say to you?' Barry asked.

'He totally disapproved of you selling this land to any outsider. He said that he would buy Greenleaf himself before he'd allow it to go outside the family.'

It ain't his business to say that.'

'True. Perhaps. But. . .' Poliguet did not like to appear the antagonist. He wanted to keep appearances that he was defending Peter Abdee's integrity.

Again studying, the floral-papered room, Poliguet said, 'Yes, you have a very nice home here. Tell me this. Have you ever-in your wildest dreams-thought about leaving it?'

'Plenty of times lately.'

'Where would you go? Mexico?'

'Why Mexico?'

'Oh, no reason in particular. I just said Mexico because I was talking to a friend of mine in New Orleans who'd moved there. A totally different situation from yours. This fellow came back to New Orleans with his wife on a short visit. They moved to Mexico-what?-three years ago. Now he brings her home. They move in the best circles. No problems at all.'

'What did Mexico solve? What problems did he have before.'

'As I said, it is a totally different situation from your own but this friend of mine-his wife is a lady of... colour.'

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Barry's eyes opened, He blurted. 'White men can marry black women in Mexico? And lead normal lives?'

'Most of the women there have tawny skin! Intermarriage is quite the accepted thing,'

'I never knew that.'

'But that's beside the point, Mister Breslin. I was just complimenting you on your home. I must say I don't disagree with your opinion to stay here. To fight for what you believe in. You're happy in Louisiana. This is your home so why should you give up all this happiness?' He held his hands out to a room which he knew was no more than a shrine to a woman now dead, a female who in no way- could provide Barry Breslin with the needs he now required. He asked, 'Why give up all this?'

On leaving, Poliguet said, 'I visit Troy two days in every week. But here is a card for my offices in New Orleans. If you're ever down in the city you must drop in.' Jerome Poliguet departed from Greenleaf, knowing that he had enjoyed more success there than at Dragonard Hill, and more impressed than ever witirCIaudia Goss's network of backwoods gossip. She had told him that Barry Breslin was partial to black girls. And, again, she had been right. Poliguet had seen that for himself.

Barry Breslin rested the brown girl's naked leg on his bare shoulder, tongueing the soft skin on the inside of her calf, first kissing then licking a path along her skin toward the dimpled knee as he rubbed the heel of her other foot on the semi-hardness of his p.e.n.i.s. The girl's name was Gigi, a quadroon slave girl who had been Barry Breslin's mistress at Greenleaf for more than two years now. Because of young David Abdee's sickness which still made his presence necessary in the main house at Greenleaf, Barry made love this afternoon to Gigi in a haybarn.

His darting tongue moving like a cat's tongue on Gigi's creamy-brown skin, Barry's mind wandered back to the meeting he had had earlier this afternoon with Jerome Poliguet. As he reflected on the thought of leaving Greenleaf and perhaps moving to Mexico, he licked his way back up I69.

Gigi's leg and began kissing her toes, ffe soon moved her foot toward his mouth, his lips enveloping all of her toes.

These must be the most beautiful little feet of any gal I've seen, Barry thought as he tightened his wet lips around the clutch of small toes. He next lifted her dainty foot above his head and pressed it against his face, rubbing its sali-vamoist warmth against his cheek. He reached to his phallus to work it with his hand as he pursued this obsession of kissing and rubbing his face against Gigi's feet.

'You sure loves me to be kissing my feet,' Gigi whispered as she studied Barry's smooth-skinned body kneeling between her spread legs.

Barry murmured his consent. He reached for her other foot. He held them together-sole to sole-and stretched his mouth to encircle all of her toes with his lips.

Gigi squealed pleasurably; the warmth of Barry's mouth was both satisfying and ticklish to her, she squirmed on her makes.h.i.+ft bed of straw.

Barry lowered her feet to his chest, pressing them against his heart, below the V on his skin tanned by sun along the line of a s.h.i.+rt. He held Gigi's feet to his heart and lowered his head.

Gigi asked, 'Barry honey? What's the matter? Why you suddenly stop? You feel sad about something?'

Shaking his head, Barry said, 'I just thinking. Just thinking about. . .' He stopped. He did not want to tell Gigi about Mexico. How a white man could marry a quadroon girl and live there happily as man-and-wife. He decided that he definitely would talk again to that Creole lawyer, Jerome Poliguet.

The prospect of Mexico was suddenly driven from Barry's mind when he felt Gigi playfully jerk her feet away from his grip. She turned around on the straw and, extending her naked legs out in front of Barry on the barn floor, she lay her head between his legs and lifted her mouth to chew the sac hanging between his legs. She reached with one hand, too, to hold his p.e.n.i.s as she sucked the one t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e inside his s.c.r.o.t.u.m.

It was Gigi's acceptance that he only possessed one t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e which had made Barry first become seriously attracted to her. She did not treat him as if he were improperly developed- Now, as she devotedly worked to give pleasure I70.

to his masculinity, Barry fell forward over her outstretched legs and began to tongue the patch between her thighs. He stretched his mouth so wide, trying to work his tongue so deeply, to stir the farthest reaches he could with the tip of his tongue that his jaws began to ache. The only perfection would be if this act could be performed in their own house-not here at Greenleaf but in some place where they could live happily together as husband-and-wife.

'So then what do you like to do in bed?'