He had a high fever and might have drowned if he had slipped a little farther.
Meek returned Cuffey to Mont Royal in irons. He grew angry when Madeline refused to sanction additional punishment. Recapture and his sickness during flight were enough, she said.
It bothered her that Cuffey had not attempted a second escape. He was attracted to Jane, but Jane couldn't tolerate him, and that was evident. Did Cuffey stay on because he had some labyrinthine plan to harm the plantation after she departed?
Near the office, she glanced back. Cuffey was gone. She immediately changed direction, found Andy and spoke to him. Ten minutes later she knocked at the office door and walked in. Philemon Meek laid his Bible aside — he studied it for short periods every day — and removed his half glasses. How lucky they had been to find him, Madeline thought. Meek was safely past the upper limit of the second conscription act passed in September and should be able to remain at Mont Royal indefinitely — unless, of course, Jeff Davis got desperate enough to draft grandfathers.
'Are you ready, Miss Madeline? I'll call Aristotle to load the luggage.'
'Thank you, Philemon. I wanted to say one thing before I go. Should any emergency arise, don't hesitate to telegraph. If that isn't possible, write. I'll come home at once.'
'Hope that won't be necessary — least not until you've had an hour or so with your husband.'
She laughed. 'I hope so, too. The truth is, I'm fairly aching to see him.'
'Shouldn't wonder. It's been a hard year for you, what with tending poor old Mrs. Main. Things should run smoothly if the bluebellies don't push any closer. I did hear yesterday that some tax collector read Lincoln's proclamation down near Beaufort.
Big crowd of nigras gathered around a tree they've already named the Emancipation Oak.'
She described her encounter with Cuffey. Meek bristled. 'Nothing to do, eh? I'll set that to rights.'
'No need. Andy will take care of it, at my request.'
'Bad one, that Cuffey,' Meek declared.
'Orry says it wasn't always so. Cuffey and Cousin Charles were very close as youngsters.'
'Don't know a thing about that. I sometimes regret we caught him in the marsh. He bears watching.'
'I know you can handle him. You've done a magnificent job, Philemon — with the people and with planting and harvesting the crops. Do write or telegraph if there's anything you want.'
He started to speak, held back, then said it. 'I'd be pleased if you told Jane she can't teach any more. Learning's bad for nigras, particularly in these times.' He cleared his throat. 'I strongly disapprove.'
'I'm aware of that. You also know my position. I made a promise to Jane. And I think Mont Royal's calmer for having her here, teaching, than it would be if she went north.'
'One thing sure — if she left, we'd lose Andy.' The overseer peeked from under a scraggly brow. 'Still don't like nigras learning to read. 'Gainst the law, for one thing.'
'Times are changing, Philemon. The laws must change, too. If we don't help the people improve themselves, they'll go straight to the Yankees at Beaufort. I accept full responsibility for Jane's activity and any consequences.'
Meek tried one last sally. 'If Mr. Orry knew about Jane, he might not —'
Sharply: 'He knows. I wrote him last year.'
No sense saying the rest. No sense telling him she believed the Confederacy would lose the war, and the people on the plantation would face freedom in the white man's world without even minimal preparation. That was the strongest reason she wanted Jane here teaching.
Meek gave up. 'I wish you a safe journey. I hear the railroads are in mighty bad shape.'
'Thank you for your concern.' She overcame a hesitation, ran to him, and hugged him, making him cough and blush. 'You take care of yourself.'
'Surely will. Give my regards to the colonel.'
Still scarlet, he left to summon Aristotle for the trip to the little railroad flag stop not many miles distant. Through slanting bars of sunshine and shadow, Madeline drove away, waving to some forty slaves gathered in the drive to see her off.
Standing apart, arms folded over his chest, Cuffey watched, too.
That night, Jane held class in the sick house.
Thirty-two black people crowded the whitewashed room lit by short pieces of candle. Andy sat cross-legged in the first row. Cuffey lounged in a corner, arms crossed, eyes seldom leaving Jane's face. She was uncomfortable with the attention but did her best to ignore it.
'Try, Ned,' she pleaded with a lanky field hand. She tapped her writing instrument, a lump of charcoal, on her board, a slat from a crate. 'Three letters.' She tapped each in turn.
Ned shook his head. 'I don' know.'
She stamped her bare foot. 'You knew them two days ago.'
'I forgot! I work hard all day, I get tired. I ain't smart 'nuf to 'member such things.'
'Yes, you are, Ned. I know you are, and you've got to believe it yourself. Try once more.' She curbed her impatience; this was like pushing stones up a mountain. She tapped the board. 'Three letters:
'No.' Angrily. 'No, I don't.'
Jane exhaled loudly, wearily. Madeline's departure had affected her more than she realized. It upset the balance at Mont Royal by removing a strong, moderating hand. Meek was fair but stern, and very much opposed to these classes. Others scorned them — like Cuffey, silently standing in the corner. Why didn't he just stay away, as the rest of them did?
'Let's stop for tonight,' she said. The announcement brought reactions of dismay. Her eldest pupil, Cicero, protested the most. Recently a widower, Cicero — too old for field work any longer — was a year shy of seventy but swore he would learn to read and write before his next birthday. He said he would die an educated man if he didn't live long enough to die as a free one.
Cuffey, who stood in the same place night after night, finally spoke up. 'Ought to stop for good, 'pears to me.'
Andy scrambled up. 'If you don't want to learn anything, stay away.' An older woman mumbled an amen. Cuffey searched the group with murderous eyes, hunting the culprit. The woman was careful to conceal herself behind Cicero.
Jane always took pains to hide her feelings about Andy. He was her outstanding pupil, and no wonder. They met almost every night, late, so she could give him extra work, and the last time Madeline sent him to Charleston, he had managed to secure a book of his own — an 1841 reader in the series prepared by William McGuffey for the white academies.
Proudly, he showed her the book when he returned. He produced it from under his shirt, handling it as if it were a treasure instead of tattered sections held to moldy binding by a few threads and dabs of glue. How he had gotten McGuffey's
Andy was making fine progress in his studies, which was one reason Jane's feelings about him were changing. One, but not the only one. Twice, shyly, he had kissed her. The first time on the forehead, the second on the cheek. This earnest, determined young man was changing her life in ways she didn't altogether understand.
In response to Andy, Cuffey growled, 'I jus' may. None of us got to stay on this place. We go down to Beaufort, we be free.' Word of Lincoln's proclamation had spread through the district like invisible fire. People at Mont Royal who had never seen a picture of the Union President spoke his name with a reverence usually reserved for divinities.
'Sure enough,' Cicero said, shaking a finger at Cuffey. 'You go down to Beaufort — you'll starve 'cause you're an ignorant nigger who can't read or write your name.'
'Mind your tongue, old man.'
Cicero didn't step back or lower his gaze. Cuffey glared and addressed the group. 'Won't starve in Beaufort. They gonna give land to the freedmen. Piece of land and a mule.'
