Monk still did not answer.

She now put her other hand on Monk's shoulder and began to rub her breasts against his bare arm. She repeated, "Where is the money?"

He sifted his palmful of dirt to the ground, saying, "Down here. Down in my pants."

Quickly pushing Monk onto the ground, Lilly lifted her leg over him. Then, straddling Monk, she looked down at him and smirked. "You talking shit to me about money?"

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Monk answered Lilly by shoving his groin up between her spread legs. Lilly excited him like no other girl on the Star.

Smiling down at him, she said, "You ain't going to do no good with those pants on."

"Screw you through them."

Lilly crossed her arms to lift the shift from her body.

As she was pulling it over her head, Monk quickly moved and toppled her off him. Pinning her down to the ground, he said, "What you going to do next? Take off my clothes like you do to that white man?" Monk was not teasing now. His almond-shaped eyes were fierce.

Lilly looked up in terror at Monk's face. She knew what he could become when he got angry. She pleaded, "Monk, you promised me we ain't going to talk no more about him pestering me."

Monk coldly surveyed her lying on the ground beneath him. He looked at how her arms lay stretched above her head. He saw her breasts spread like two firm mounds. He realized then that he could never get enough of Lilly, no matter what she had done with Peter.

Shifting his weight to one knee, he pulled down his baggy pants and then freed his other leg. Tossing the pants behind him on the ground, he lay down on Lilly's warm body, and grabbing her in his arms, he began to kiss her neck, kneading her breasts, pressing the thickness of his groin against her slimness.

Accepting Monk with equal passion, Lilly tore at his hard-muscled shoulders and scraped her fingers down his strong back. When he continued to drive his groin against her, she opened her legs and scissored him between them.v_ Monk now was accepting the kissing from Lilly. He let her suck at his lips, chew his cleft chin, run her tongue around the inside of his mouth. He held her tightly to his chest as he slowly inched his erect penis in between her legs.

Lilly's kisses became more passionate as Monk came closer to easing himself fully inside her.

It was not until he began to pull himself out, and 225.

push himself back inside her with a definite rhythm, that Lilly threw back her head and began to moan.

Keeping Ms tempo, but deepening the plunges, Monk reached toward her breasts and began to fondle them, to prod them, working them into full excitement, too.

No time could register the passage of sensations; only emotions could. Monk felt power and love and closeness. Lilly sensed thrills, and when she began to feel herself giving away inside, she thought that she was achieving something powerful.

Lilly and Monk reached their orgasm together, Monk arched above her clinging body, and they did not fall back down to the ground until a few moments after their final jerk of completion.

Then, lying curled together on the mossy earth, Monk rested his head on Lilly's arm as she traced her finger around his ears again and petted his shaved head.

She was waiting for a few more seconds to pass before asking Monk to explain about the money that he had mentioned earlier.

Monk knew it, too.

But he was not ready to tell Lilly the full details about the money that he had seen the Tuckers bury in the ground. He wanted to make certain that Lilly would run with him from the Star.

14.Wedding Plans

Melissa and Peter both agreed that they wanted to keep their wedding and the reception as small as possible. They did not want to turn it into a real Southern "crush."

It was not until they were discussing the plans for a minister, trying to decide who should marry them, that Storky solved the problem of the whole ceremony.

Abandoning her usual panache, the personal code that Storky had perfected when butting into other people's affairs, she blurted straightforwardly, "Why be married here at the Star at all? Why have a reception? Why not ride over to Carterville? Sure, it's a long trek, but now that the preacher from Troy is gone, somebody's got to come from Carterville to marry you any-hows! So why not go to him?"

Albert Selby, Melissa, and Peter all looked up in astonishment at Storky. They had been sitting in their usual cluster of three chairs in front of the fireplace in the downstairs parlor, talking among themselves, not aware that Storky was lurking behind them in the evening shadows.

As Storky now lit a green-glass lamp with a taper, setting the hand-painted dome back down onto its brass-mounted base, she continued, "White folks will see reasoning in that plan. White folks ain't as greedy for wedding cake as you might think. It's planting tune soon, and they're going to have plenty of work keeping them busy at home."

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Peter looked in astonishment at Melissa sitting in the chair next to him. Together they turned to look at Selby.

Still staring at Storky's rustling, starched-white figure moving in the darkness behind the bright burst of light from the table lamp, Selby asked, "You mean * * tell me that you would forsake cooking and cleaning and making fancy cakes all that easily, Storky? Just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

Busying herself with closing the plum-colored draperies, Storky answered, "Work! Pshaw, Master Selby, you knows niggers likes to get out of work when they can!"

"Storky!" Selby reprimanded.

Stopping, keeping her bent head to them, Storky said, "Going to Carterville would solve problems for all you. Admit it, Master Selby, sir."

Selby, Melissa, and Peter all looked again at one another. They knew that Storky was indeed right. But they still could not understand why she of all people- the high priestess of proper conduct on the Star-should suggest such a breach of tradition.

Melissa and Selby both began to speak at the same moment. Shaking her head, Melissa politely demurred from what she was going to say, motioning for her father to continue.

Selby proceeded. "Convenient or not, Storky, just going to Carterville is not fair to Melly. It's cheating her out of big doings!"

Laughing, Melissa said, "I was just going to say the same thing about you, Papa! I don't want you to feel cheated."

"Me? Why would / want a party?"

"For the Star, Papa," Melissa explained. "For you."

Selby blurted, "For the Star? For me! The doings here would be for you and Sonny. The place is going to be yours."

Peter interrupted, saying, "No, Father. What I think Melly is trying to say is that this house, your home, the house of your children, should see a great big wedding, with everybody invited from miles around."

Taking a deep breath, a sigh of dread about such a 228.

festivity and everything that it entailed, Melissa nodded. "Yes, Papa. Peter is right."

Storky came out of the shadows now. "I just can't understand it. No, I just can't understand it one bit. The fact is as plain as the noses on each of your faces that none of you want folks all piling hi here. I heard you dreading the fact myself. All of you. Each by yourself to me. But now none of you will admit it to each other, and I just can't understand it. No, I just can't make heads or tails out of it."

"Storky!" Selby called from his Dorset chair. "Storky, why are you being so firm about Melly and Sonny going to Carterville? Why don't you want the wedding to be here?"

"Who said I didn't?" she flared; then, remembering, she added, "Master Selby, sir."

Selby persisted. "You don't want a big party here, or you wouldn't be speaking out like this. I know you, too! So, come on, finish!"

Standing behind Peter's chair, Storky planted her hands on her hips, saying, "Fine, Master Selby, sir, you asked me to talk, so I will. You asked me why I don't think no big party should be here, and I tells you. No big party should be in this house, no fancy wedding ceremony and dancing and music for Miss Melly and Master Peter, because it might makes them feel funny. That's what I thinks. Folks hereabouts are being mighty happy and sending wishes and good luck, but I know Miss Melly and Master Peter about as well as anybody know thems, Master Selby, sir, excepting yourself, of course, and I knows when they don't want to make something big out of themselves. And that's what this wedding here would be doing. Getting people to look at them when they don't wants it. And one more thing, too, Master Selby, sir, I don't wants you thinking that I'm going to likes not iking no party, because fixing a party for me is like being there myself, it is. I love party fixing. But I have been fixing parties for Miss Melly and Master Peter ever since they both little sprouts. Everyday cooking for them is like party fixing for me. I plan on fixing for them all the time. But fixing a wedding here means nothing to me. Nothing. I gets just as much party 229.

for myself fay frying up a pan of old fritters for Master Peter when he comes in hungry from the field. Or making Miss Melly her little white-and-gold pot of tea in the noontime. That's my party, Master Selby, sir. And I don't know if your Good Lord God says so in Ms book, but my gods sees them married from a long time ago, and no party is going to make any difference up there! A buggy trip to Carterville is one good way to keep those big-eyed Rolands from grabbing this land, but a lot bigger man than Preacher Grogan in the Peace of Mind Chapel in Carterville has brought Miss Melly and Master Peter together a long, long time ago, Master Selby, sir. That's what I think. You asks me for what I think, Master Selby, sir, and that's what I think." She threw up her nose, turned, and strode from the room.

Melissa and Peter exchanged glances, then looked at Selby.

They all knew that Storky was right yet again.

There would be no wedding at the Star.

Storky's primitive interpretation of Melissa and Peter's relationship, an everyday pattern of life being their true celebration, was beyond rebuke. And so, the future events at the Star-as well as the past-proved that no public acknowledgment of the nuptials, beyond a simple ceremony in Carterville, was necessary for then- union. Continuing in the work schedule to which they had been accustomed, Melissa and Peter proceeded with their normal activities in the big house, the stables, the fields, until the morning came when they climbed into the wagon with Selby and traveled twenty miles to Carterville. Melissa wore the white-cotton dress with lace bib and cuffs that Storky had made for her as a present.

Back again at home by early evening, Selby departed yet again, saying that he wanted to visit Judge Antrobus, leaving Melissa and Peter to have supper alone. Storky had prepared them roast chicken, butter-fried yams, fresh greens, and two kinds of desserts-vanilla cake, being Melissa's favorite sweet, and chocolate blancmange, always the first choice for Peter. And then, saying that she had to take a basketful of kitchen knives 230.

down to Samson to be sharpened, Storky left by the back door.

Finding themselves alone in a totally quiet house, Peter took the lamp from the sideboard and led Melissa slowly up the circular staircase. Silently they entered what used to be the guestroom, now converted into their marriage chamber. Peter set the lamp on a bird's-eye-maple bureau covered by a long lace shawl that Melissa had made when she was fifteen.

The burning wick flickered in the clear-glass chimney of the lamp, throwing a moving light on the green-and-red-leafed wallpaper in the newly decorated bedroom. The evening grew dimmer on the other side of the lace curtains, while, inside the room, Melissa and Peter sat fully clothed on the tall-backed bed, talking in hushed voices. The conversation sounded like the exchange between an old married couple at the end of another long day.

Later, long after the evening turned into night outside the window, and the voices had faded in the bedroom, the light continued to flicker on top of the bird's-eye-maple bureau. But now on the large bed Peter and Melissa lay together, unclothed, under the snowy-white counterpane. Melissa's head rested on Peter's shoulder, her long sandy-colored hair spreading across the brown skin of his chest. Peter's arms held Melissa as if she were a sleeping child, his head comfortably propped by two pillows. They were now, in all respects, happily husband and wife.

Ta-Ta waited in the dark outside the door of Peter and Melissa's room until they were asleep. She then slowly rose from the floor, and gathering the long skirt of her Mother Hubbard with one hand, and lifting her tankard of rum from the floor with the other, she tiptoed back upstairs^ to her attic room.

Gently closing, the door to her room, Ta-Ta set the tankard down on a chair.

The attic room was dark, and Ta-Ta stood now facing the spot on the wall illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. She whispered to the spot on the wall, "They's asleep 231.now, Mistress Honore. Master Peter and his wife is gone to sleep married,"

Moving across the dark room, trying not to hit the furniture in her drunken state, Ta-Ta said, "Miss Melissa is a good girl, Mistress Honore. She ain't got much culture, but her heart's good. You don't have to worry about her hurting your baby, Mistress Honore."

Ta-Ta picked up a hairbrush from her bureau, and she weaved toward the picture of Honore that she had chalked long ago on the wall-the image of Honore sitting at her vanity table.

Beginning to brush Honore's imaginary hair, Ta-Ta continued to speak to her, describing the wedding and the dancing and the rich clothes of the guests. Ta-Ta was telling her mistress what she thought she would like to hear about her son's wedding.

15.Masterdom

Chad Tucker's hatred of Peter reached a pitch when word spread around the Star that Melissa-Mis. Abdee -was expecting a baby, an heir to the Star.

"An heir!" Chad Tucker roared at his wife and Monk as he sat at the table waiting for his supper of clabber and hog's belly. "How can a bastard, an illegitimate bastard, have an heir?"

Tucker looked at Claudia for support. But she continued to work busily at the stove. Monk sat quietly at the table. Although Monk was in disfavor with the Tuckers, he was still allowed to sit at their table.

Continuing, Tucker said, "That's what your 'Master Peter Abdee' is, too. A bastard. I remember when he first came here. Selby found him in a ditch, he did. Found him at the side of the road in a ditch. But when they couldn't find a man stupid enough to marry that girl of his, they give that bastard kid a name and makes up a fancy background for him. 'Master Peter Abdee.' Master Peter Abdee from the West Indies! Now, what kind of name is that? Abdee? Who but a bastard would let himself be called that? Abdee? Back in England, where my pappy's from, Abdee is like a nigger's name."

Looking at Monk now, Tucker said, "Hell, Abdee is so common that Monk here even remembers a whole tribe of Abdees from where he's from those long days back. You said those Abdees were running all over the place like gophers, didn't you, boy?"

Monk did not remember what he had told Tucker 232.

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when he was younger. He could remember nothing about his childhood He just nodded to everything that Tucker said now. He was planning to get out of the Tuckers' cabin-and take their money from the ground.

Coming to the table to dish the clabber onto the plates, Claudia wiggled her rotund hips and said in an imitation of Melissa-or an imitation of how she thought a grand lady would speak-"Mrs. Peter Abdee. From the West Indies. La-dee-da!"

Chad Tucker ranted, "The West Indies, yeah! That's where they should send him back to. Him and his stuck-up wife. The West Indies. Send him there and let me run this place."

Seated at the table now, Claudia calmly poured coffee into Chad's earthen cup, then her own, and handed the pot to Monk to serve himself. She said, "He's got a big pecker, I hears."

Tucker asked, "Abdee? Peter Abdee? He's got a big pecker? How in the hell you know that?"

Spooning the first mouthful of food toward her open lips, Claudia answered nonchalantly, "That's what the wenches been saying. Pecker as big as a fence post." Her moist lips surrounded the wooden spoon.

"You talking to niggers?" Tucker demanded. "You talking to nigger wenches about white men's peckers?"

Chewing, Claudia nodded toward Monk and said with her mouth half-full, "You talk to him, don't you? He's a nigger." She took a drink of coffee.

Tucker protested, "We don't talk about peckers."

Sinking her spoon again into the plate, she answered coolly, "Oh, yes, you do. You used to when I had my woman's ague. You used to sit out here side-by-side talking about peckers. Both of you had yours out comparing them and saying what you'd have your slaves do. Oh, yes, I heard it all when I had my ague. You might not think I did, but I heard it all lying on my sickbed."

Tucker said, "That was our peckers we were talking about. What were you looking at another white man's pecker for? You're my wife."

"I ain't looking at another man's pecker. I just been hearing stories about it." 16 234.

Tucker pounded the table with his fist. "Here's a white bastai d threatening to take over the Star, and you sit there gabbing about his prick. Repeating stories you heard from wenches. Well, if you're so goddamned interested in his pecker, do you want me to bring it down here for you to pester with?"

"You know I ain't interested in pestering," Claudia said, sniffing. "Not since my woman's ague."

"Well, you're talking about peckers, ain't you?"

"I was just repeating facts."

"Facts about peckers," Tucker shouted.

Losing her own temper now, Claudia shouted back at him, "I don't want to hear no more pecker talk now, understand? I don't want to hear no more pestering talk, neither, or talk about mastering and slaving. I'm just eating my supper. I'm eating my supper and trying to make some supper talk about what I hears today. Master Peter Abdee has got him a big pecker, and . . ." She paused to give her husband a cool look of disdain.