A silence greeted his call. The planters here today did not want sober-faced dams with their own children. No offers came from the floor.

The auctioneer called for five hundred dollars again.

Selby lifted his straw hat from his head, and waving it in the air, he called, "Two hundred and fifty dollars!"

Chuckles greeted Selby's offer. Some voices told him that he had bid too high.

The auctioneer was of a different opinion. He called to Selby from his podium under a fan-shaped window, "I can't let this wench go for less than five hundred dollars, Mr. Selby. She's been trained by a noble lady as a boudoir maid. She's fluent in both English and French. And look," the auctioneer said, reaching to take the smaller child from the Negress's hand, "look, this is only one of the two suckers you get!"

But the Negress called Ta-Ta would not release the child from her arms. The auctioneer grabbed harder for the child, but Ta-Ta pulled away from him. The child hugged tighter to her neck, clinging to her like a frightened animal, burying his face into her neck.

The auctioneer reached next to the older boy and said, "Look! This sapling here is old enough to be sold by himself. But I'm offering you all three of these fine West Indian blacks for five hundred dollars! Make it four-fifty, gentleman, and all three are yours!"

"Three hundred," Selby called.

"Make it another hundred, Mr. Selby, and you take them back to the Star today."

Having entered into the spirit of the auction, Selby stayed at three hundred dollars. He knew that there were more expensive Negroes to come in the sale and that the auctioneer was anxious to move on to them.

With a loud bang, the auctioneer's gavel closed the sale, agreeing that Albert Selby of the Star Plantation had purchased one Negress from St. Kitts called Ta-Ta, along with two half-caste boys, also from that island in the Caribbean.

39.

Selby moved forward to sign the papers.

Roland Selby was like his father. He also found New Orleans damp and sticky, the air not being cool and light to breathe like it was back home. Although it was not raining, a wetness permeated Roland's clothes. There was even a dampness to the colorful walls of the houses he passed now as he hurried along the narrow streets. Roland thought that New Orleans was like a city made out of boiled sweets and licorice, and it was all getting too sticky in this humidity.

But more concerned about where he was going than about the climate of this city, Roland congratulated himself for getting away from his father. Roland liked Ms father. He had more respect for him than he had for Ms mother. She was always so impatient with everybody. Roland could not understand how Ms father could have lived all these years with her.

The whole idea of families-how families acted, thought, and treated one another-confused Roland Selby anyway. That was why he had had to lie to his father to get away from the auction sale. Slaves and cotton and planting had little interest for him-not since he had met Sarah Witcherley. But as Sarah was a Witcherley, Roland had no one to tell but her about his plans for a new life. Their new life.

The feud between the Selbys and the Witcherleys bewildered Roland. He did not know why the two neighboring families were fighting. He had no idea how long that war had been waged. But he knew that the Selbys were not the only ones to bear a grudge. If Sarah's father discovered that Ms daughter was secretly meeting a member of the Selby family, the Lord only knew what he would do to poor Sarah. Fearing what would happen to Mmself, too, Roland had made certain that he conducted tMs whole affair with Sarah Witcherly in secret.

Stopping now in front of a low doorway, Roland saw a shiny brass plaque announcing: DR. EUSTACE CREED. This was where Sarah had told him to meet her today. Eh-. Creed was a cousin on her mother's side of the family. He had no way of knowing that Roland was not welcomed by Sarah's parents.

40.Roland clanked the iron knocker and waited until a fat Negress opened the apple-green door. She was short and plump, with skin the reddish-brown color of cinnamon. She held the door open with one arm and blocked Roland's entry with the other.

Roland said politely, "I want to see Miss Sarah Witcherley."

Studying his clothes, the pug-faced Negress asked, "She expecting you ... master, sir?"

Roland knew that his good suit had made an impression on this grizzled servant, for her to ask him even that much. He knew that a Negress like this guarded her masters-and mistresses-from all outsiders.

"Yes," Roland answered, taking his grandfather's gold watch from the pocket of his white waistcoat. And, in a fleeting moment, he imagined how his grandfather must be turning in the family cemetery, knowing that a timepiece of his was marking the hour for a Selby to keep an appointment with a Witcherley.

The black woman left and briefly returned to the door. Gruffly telling Roland to follow her, she led him down a dark hallway and into a small parlor. Roland had not time to study the effects in this small reception room, because there, just inside the door, stood Sarah.

It seemed hours to him before the black maid shut the door, but as soon as the lock clicked, Roland pulled Sarah into his arms.

Sarah Witcherley was only six months younger than Roland Selby. She had the same yellow-red hair as his, and the same delicate complexion, but without the freckles. As she buried her face into the shoulder of Roland's suit, she did not say a word, just holding her arms around his waist.

Roland stood tall and calm, slowly petting the back of Sarah's soft hah-, feeling her thin frame trembling against his body. There was no doubt in his mind now. He was going to marry her. The Selbys be damned! The Witch-erleys be damned, too! Roland knew now for a fact that he would elope with Sarah as soon as possible. In fact, if he did not marry Sarah soon, he might not be able to restrain himself any longer. If his passion for her continued like this, he would certainly make more trouble 41.

for her-and himself-than he would if he left her unmarried. He did not want his natural urges to lead him to being lynched and leave Sarah alone to become an object of scorn for the rest of her life.

Since meeting Sarah, Roland had grown tired of getting his physical satisfaction from the black wenches on the Star. His pa had given him his first girl to sample when he was fourteen. But Roland now wanted more than that. He liked the sensation that the black girls gave him, but since he had first seen Sarah at a garden fair one year ago, he found that his mind was always on her. When he went to take her soft breasts in his hands and found instead the full bosoms of a black wench, he lost interest in any sexual acts. Even the musky smell of a black girl irritated him lately. Roland was willing to risk even his life to have the real thing. He knew he loved Sarah.

Reaching down to her, he pulled up her dimpled chin and said, "Sarah, for the one hundredth time, let's get married."

Her green eyes showed fear.

"Don't you want to?" he asked.

Roland knew the answer by the pounding he felt from her heart. But he had to step back from her to hide the reaction she had caused in his pants.

"The last thing I want is to hurt you, Ro," Sarah said, dipping her head.

"You'll never hurt me."

"I could be the cause."

Roland knew that she meant her family. He said, "We're going to run away from all that."

"But my daddy. He's coming back to fetch me tonight."

Laughing, Roland hugged her tightly to him, saying, "Oh, my Sarah! My Sarah! As much as I want to run away with you now, we have to wait. But not for long, honey. See, I've got a plan."

"What plan?" Sarah asked cautiously.

"You just go back home with your daddy tonight, Sarah. And I'll go home with Pa. But don't worry. I'll get word to you."

"You can't come to Witcherley!" she said.

42.Roland assured her, "No, I won't come to Witcherley. I have a plan that will take us far, far away. We'll leave Witcherley and the Star and all their foolish old problems forever!"

Then, hugging her tightly, Roland longed for the time when they truly could be together. He had always heard that a man was not supposed to feel this way about a white lady. That a man was supposed to respect white ladies. He was only supposed to want to lie with white ladies to have heirs But the idea of being with Sarah to have children excited him like nothing else in the world. Even the idea of going to bed with Sarah and not having a family filled him with passion, too. But Roland told himself that Sarah was a lady-a fine white lady-and he must not use her like he used the wenches back home at the Star.

He left, assuring her that his plan would be a success.

2.A New Home

The experience of staying in a hotel filled with planters on a spree had been a grueling ordeal for Albert Selby. It was with great relief on the following morning that he sat beside Roland in the wagon, bumping along homeward with the parties and noise of New Orleans already six hours behind them.

Selby's thoughts were now on his wife as the rough board wagon rattled over the rutty road. He and Roland were well into the deep country of Louisiana, away from the smooth roads that led south to the bayou regions. Selby was wondering if he had made a mistake at the auction sale.

The Negress called Ta-Ta was sitting quietly behind Selby, huddled hi one corner of the wagon bed. She had not struggled when he had taken her from Lynn and Craddock's. She had climbed peacefully into the wagon, still holding the smaller of the two boys in her arms, and let the older child fend for himself.

Selby had not yet examined the small child. But the bigger one, the boy with the yellow skin, had stepped forward and announced with his shoulders proudly thrown back that his name was Monkey. He would have probably said more if Ta-Ta had not grabbed him by one of his ears and then slapped him with the flat of her hand. The boy made no further references to anything, not even about Selby fingering his mother.

Selby wondered if Monkey really was Ta-Ta's child. Slave wenches usually had no particular maternal bonds to their children, but Ta-Ta acted as if she hated the 43.44.yellow boy. He was like an unwanted puppy to her.

There was TLO doubt to Selby about a connection between Ta-Ta and the younger child. He had seen enough cross-bred suckers to know that the younger boy had a strong dose of white blood in his veins. His hair was not coarse like Monkey's head of black wool. The younger pickaninny had straight black hair. Selby doubted if he had Indian blood in him, though. His hair was fine and silky like human hair. But Selby had seen little more of the child than his hair, because Ta-Ta still held him tightly in her arms.

As Selby bumped along in the wagon now, he scratched nervously at his red Vandyke beard and realized that he had not heard as much as a word from Ta-Ta. Breaking the monotony of the creaking wagon wheels, he nodded at the three blacks huddled behind him and asked Roland, "You get a word out of her yet?"

Roland held the reins from the team of white mules and stared blankly ahead of him at the road. His mind was on Sarah Witcherley.

"Ro! I asked you a question!"

Roland suddenly snapped out of his trance. "Sorry, Pa. I was just thinking . . . just thinking about. . . about getting home."

Selby grunted. "Pretty bad sleep last night myself. Be glad to be back in my own bed, too. Never did like hotels. Too much noise."

Roland agreed quickly that neither had he enjoyed last night's sleep, adding, for conviction, "And that ham we had for breakfast this morning, Pa! Did you see how the rind was burned? Storky would throw out ham like that. Throw it right out the back door before serving it up to us."

Selby went further to defend their black cook. "Storky wouldn't burn bacon in the first place. Storky never blacked up a piece of ham since we had her. But it was those salt-rising biscuits this morning that gagged me."

Then, quickly looking over his shoulder at the three slaves in the bed of the wagon, Selby lowered his voice to ask again, "Did you get any word out of her, Ro?"

45.

Still consumed with Sarah Witcherley, thinking that any reference to a female had to do with her, Roland looked at Ms father with shock. What did he mean? Her? Was he talking about Sarah Witcherley?

Selby saw that his son still had not understood him. He shouted impatiently, "That Frenchy nigger I bought? Did you talk to her yet?"

Roland's face suddenly relaxed. "Why, no, Pa! Ain't you?"

Selby shook his head and muttered, "Might as well try now."

Turning around on the high seat of the moving wagon, Selby called to Ta-Ta, crouched on the splintery boards of the bed, "You, there! You know about raising young ladies?"

Ta-Ta looked up at him with round eyes. She did not answer. She stared back at Selby like a brown owl.

Selby barked louder, "You supposed to talk two different languages, you! Let's hear one of them!"

Holding Selby's stare, Ta-Ta slowly opened her wide lips to speak. The child still clung to her neck.

Selby asked impatiently, "What you call that runt you're gripping to your titties there? He looks big enough to shift for himself."

The reference to the child obliterated any sign of speaking from Ta-Ta's face. She lowered her head again, clenching the child.

Filled with disgust, more disgusted with himself for buying a wench that he had not even questioned rather than with her for not answering him, Selby turned around in his seat. He said to Roland, "Your ma is really going to hit the roof over this one. If I was half a man, I'd leave right now and head west. Fighting redskins would be a tea party compared to what's waiting for me when I get home."

Again Roland did not hear his father. His mind had returned to the girl he loved and to his plan on how he was going to escape with her. But unlike his father's words about fleeing west, Roland's plan was real.

With only the rattle of the board wagon and the steady pace of the white mules, the small party continued north from New Orleans. Eating as they traveled, 46.swallowing what they could from the luncheon hamper that the hotel had packed for them, and throwing the rest over their shoulders for the yellow boy to scramble for, Albert and Rx>land Selby passed under spreading oaks, tunneled through the thickly growing acacias, and left behind the last meadows of the coastal country.

The orange sun was hovering over a line of distant cypress pines when a second wagon rattled up the road behind them. The wagon thundered closer, and as if recklessly passed them in a cloud of dust, the driver pulled his hat over his face. Selby thought that he recognized the driver as a red-neck farmer called Jack Grouse. He mentioned to Roland that it was queer for Grouse to be in such a hurry for a change. Roland did not answer. Selby also wondered why Grouse had tried to hide his face. Roland still showed no interest in the incident. They continued at their own trodding pace.

Finally they reached the first familiar-looking fork in the road, the trace leading left to CarterviHe. Two hours would see them back at the Star.

The sun was setting now, and Albert Selby finally saw the double row of leafy oaks that lined the long approach to the house. It was the most welcoming sight in the world for him, the old trees looking like enormous dark bolJs of cotton silhouetted against the purple sky of this late hour, and the windows of the three-storied house twinkling at the end of the drive.

Before traveling down the tree-lined avenue, the wagon passed under the weather-worn gates to the right of the main road. Like Selby himself, this entrance to the Star was crude, weather-worn, unpresuming at its first impression. Two tall wooden poles rose on each side of the road with a crossbeam running between them. From the beam hung a rickety wooden star. It had been constructed many years ago by five slats of wood, each slat being three feet long and joined by wooden pegs, because there had been no nails with which the carpenter could build in those early days. Now, decades later, the wooden star was slightly askew, having hung from the crossbeam through torrential rains, destructive winds, blistering heat waves, and two 47.

freak snow blizzards. Despite its age and condition, though, this ensignia of the Star Plantation was Albert Selby's most cherished treasure. As always when he passed under his hanging star, he doffed his hat in thanksgiving-thankful to be home. It was the closest that he ever came to a prayer.

When Selby put his straw hat back on his head, he began to look around the driveway to see what had changed during his absence.

Roland drove the mules down the darkening avenue of oaks, and Selby sat drinking in the familiar aroma that wafted through the evening light.

Selby suddenly sat upright. Looking around him in the leafy shadows, he asked Roland, "Hear that? Hear that screech?"

Quickly pulling the reins, Roland called the mule team to a halt. Listening, he also heard a disturbance, a screaming followed by a cracking noise. It sounded like the crack of a whip.

Frowning, Selby said, "Tucker? Is that Tucker lashing my niggers again? Damn it, if I catch that Tucker using his whip on my niggers I'll give it to him myself!"

Roland said, "Tucker don't whip no more, Pa. Not since you gave him strict orders only to punish with the hornet."

Selby was not convinced about what his overseer would do. He said, "I never did trust that white trash." He listened again to hear the noise.

A loud crashing came from the bushes at the right side of the road. It was followed now by the high-pitched voice of a woman.

Roland gasped, "That's Mama Gomorrah!"

Selby listened to the falsetto sound of the angry voice, and also recognizing it as an old woman's tantrum, he said, "Blast it, Ro. I think you're right. But what in tarnation is that old biddy doing out here in the bushes at night?"

At that moment a Negress jumped from the bushes and ran in front of the mules. She was small and skinny. Her white hair frizzed around her face like a storm-swept cloud. The mules balked at the sudden appearance of the black crone, and as Roland tried to hold 48.them to rein, the Negress froze, staring up at Selby in the wagon.

Selby shouted down at her, "What you doing, old nigger woman, hopping out of the brush like that and scaring my mules?"

Spryly coming toward the wagon, trailing a twelve-foot-long leather whip in the dirt, Mama Gomorrah said excitedly, "I finds them sinners, master, sir. I finds them sinning right here on your land, and I sneaks up on them in the dark and I lets them have it once"-she snapped the whip in the dirt-"I lets them have it two times"-she snapped the whip again, raising a larger cloud of dust-"and I lets them have it three times! Four times! Five times! I was just getting to making it five when they jumps up and tries to runs away from me. But I chases them, Master Selby, sir. I chases them, and I lets them have the whip for doing the sin."

Selby sighed a breath of reb'ef that this was the only trouble. Mama Gomorrah was in charge of the black children born on the Star. She lived with them in a long building called the Shed. According to Mama Gomorrah, an angel had appeared to her when she was only a young wench, and the angel had commanded her to whip whomever she found committing the sin of Gomorrah.

Selby knew about Gomorrah, the wicked city in the Bible. Sodom was another city. Selby knew what sin had been named after the Sodomites. But nowhere in his scant knowledge of the Good Book did he know what sin was attributed to the people of Gomorrah. According to Mama Gomorrah, it was a completely different sin from sodomy. But she never talked about it in detail. She only patrolled the Star at night with her whip to find the people committing it. The one person Selby knew who could offer him an explanation was his wife. She read the Bible daily. But he would rather remain in ignorance about the sin of Gomorrah than to ask Rachel Selby the specifics of a sexual deviation.

Through the years, Selby had learned to humor Mama Gomorrah for what he considered to be her eccentricities, and he appreciated her for her good qualities. He told her now, "Old wench, you leave those sinners to the 49.

Lord for a spell and follow us up to the house. I've got a chore for you to do."

Obediently Mama Gomorrah coiled her whip and walked alongside the wagon as it moved toward the lights flickering at the end of the avenue of oaks. As he rode, Selby reminded her, "Any punishing done is done by Tucker. You know that."