Apalachee

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

wounds, from shock and rage. He was weak, his legs unsteady, and the two men had to hold him up as he walked. Daphne stayed with him, silent and stricken, reaching out again and again to touch him. Henry turned to follow them. ‘‘Someone bring my horse,’’ he ordered. ‘‘Master Henry,’’ said Doll and grabbed his ankles. She was weeping now. ‘‘Don’t do this, please.’’ She pressed her face against his legs, crying. Henry leaned down and pushed her roughly away. ‘‘Leave me alone, woman!’’ He kicked at her to keep her back. ‘‘Touch me again and I’ll have you whipped.’’ As he moved away, she stayed where she was, sinking down until her face was against the earth. Lucia went back with the others along the sandy road through the pines. She walked beside Doll, who clung to her arm, leaning heavily. Morning was coming in the eastern sky, a faint light through the trees. The cold seemed sharper than ever. Lucia’s bruised shoulder was stiff. ‘‘Witchcraft.’’ Chany’s voice rose above the silence. There was no other sound but the trudging of their feet on the road. No one made any response to her. ‘‘Witch,’’ said Chany. ‘‘Kill bad. Kill good. No heart.’’ ‘‘Dudley Price did it,’’ said Doll. ‘‘He killed them all. Lucia saw it.’’ ‘‘Lucia see it,’’ Chany said. ‘‘Night. Woods. Cold-cold. Lucia go out. Lucia see it. Strange.’’ No one said anything. Lucia looked straight ahead,toowearyandstricken to say anything. ‘‘Colley know,’’ said Chany. ‘‘He tell me. Lucia take dirt from his door. Now he dead. Dudley Price dead. Moon dead. Basey dead. Timboe . . .’’ ‘‘Shut your mouth,’’ Doll said sharply. She leaned against Lucia. ‘‘Never mind,’’ Doll said softly. ‘‘Never mind what she says.’’ Lucia said nothing, her heart heavy, knowing the truth. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that everyone had fallen back, leaving her to walk alone with no one but Doll beside her. 290 chapter thirty-five Lucia walked out from the big house to the landing, seeking the warmth of the afternoon sun. Peter and the blacksmith Will and his son, Little Will, were fishing from the riverbank near the wharf. In addition to Sundays the slaves now had Saturday afternoons to themselves, more time for getting their own food, for hunting and fishing and tending their gardens. Sam Clutterbuck had given them that, one of the first changes he made when he became the new overseer of the place. This new freedom was not yet approved by Henry, who had been gone to Charles Town these last few weeks, but it seemed likely that it would be, for Henry would not want to undermine Sam’s authority by crossing him on so large a matter. Lucia walked out onto the landing and sat down, turning her back to catch the full heat of the sun. It was late winter, the air still cold, but in the sunshine she could feel the coming spring. She looked across the Combahee at the treeline that marked the beginning of the Yamasee country. She had never seen a living soul on that side, except people from Fairmeadow , who hunted and fished it as if it belonged as much to Henry as this side did. Peter and Will drew in their lines and moved further down the bank, away from her. Though she tried not to notice, it pained her that everyone continued to keep clear of her, punishing her for what they believed she had done to Moon and Basey and Timboe. Only Cajoe and Doll did not shun her. Cajoe because he seldom associated with people from the quarters and felt little for them. Doll because she laid the blame elsewhere—on Dudley Price for blowing up the kiln, and on Henry Hawkins for sending Timboe away to Jamaica. But the friendship of Doll and Cajoe was not enough to make up for the ostracism by the others. It was one thing for her to choose solitude, but another to have it forced upon her. Pulling her knees up against her chest, Lucia rested her chin on her folded arms and watched the trees across the river. Carlos. King Carlos of the Creek country. How long since Elizabeth Birdfeather’s message might have reached him? A moon? Two moons? Some hopeful part of her had been waiting for an answer, for word from him delivered by a traveler on the river or by Elizabeth Birdfeather herself. But the...