Her silence answered that she did know.
Selby continued, "And nowadays, any punishment done here is not done with a whip, but with the hornet."
Mama Gomorrah looked quickly up at Selby. There was something that she wanted to tell him about Tucker and the hornet. The hornet was the hand-carved instrument shaped like a long, thick butter pat with a series of small holes drilled into it. Each swat of the hornet felt like the sting of a bee. But Mama Gomorrah kept her mouth silent. It was not her place to tell Selby about his overseer. Tucker was a white man, and she was a black slave. Selby had to find out for himself about Tucker and the whip and the hornet.
The wagon now creaked to a stop in a patch of light spilling from the house to the driveway. The house was three stories high and only a bit more inviting than the entry gates of the plantation. Built of wood, like a square-shaped fortress, it was painted a fresh coat of stark white. The wide wooden porch and the deep dormer windows on the shingle roof gave the house a look of stature. The thick growth of bougainvillea added a necessary softness to its bulky proportions.
Still sitting on the wagon, Selby called down to Mama Gomorrah, "Old woman, I want you to take these two pickaninnies I got back here, and I want you to take them down to the Shed. Give them both a good going over. Scrub and dose them for nits. Pick their hair for lice. Worm them with some of your pine tonic. Burn their clothes and see what clean togs you can find for them."
Mama Gomorrah nodded, rising to the tips of her callused toes to peek over the side of the wagon at the new wench and the boys.
Jumping down from the wagon, Selby called to Ta-Ta, "You, there. Shake the dust- off yourself and 50.come inside the house with me. I want to see what sense the wife can get out of you." Already Selby was dreading the encounter with Rachel Selby, But when Selby called for Ta-Ta, and when Mama Gomorrah reached into the bed of the wagon to wrench the child from her arms, Ta-Ta pulled herself into the far corner of the splintery bed. She would not budge. She would not release the child from her grip.
Tired from his hard journey, and nervous about any complicated scene with his wife, Selby called impatiently to Mama Gomorrah, "Better bring me that whip you got there. Let me see if that will pry the wench out of there."
The threat of a whipping made Ta-Ta speak. But her words were not what Selby had anticipated. Clutching the child tighter in her slim arms, she hissed at Selby in a low voice, "Whips me! Whips me all you wants! Whips me till I bleeds! But you ain't getting this baby!"
Selby stared at her in disbelief. "So you do have a tongue."
Behind them at that moment a woman's stern voice demanded, "What's all this commotion out here? What's all this racket you're causing, Albert Selby? Why you getting home so late? And who's that black wench you got in the wagon? What are those pickaninnies doing here? What is all this? What is all this?"
These questions all came sharp and fast from Rachel Selby as she stood, arms crossed, in the doorway of the house. She was a hard-faced woman who had the drawn cheeks of a spinster. Her hair was salt-and-pepper, pulled severely back from her face and tied into a mean knot at the nape of her neck. The only thing generous about Rachel Selby's face was her eyebrows, which were thick and black as a man's, hanging ragged down over the pale hollows that held her tiny brown eyes. She wore a black knit shawl around the narrow shoulders of her faded cotton dress-also black-which was only decorated by a narrow band of black lace encircling both her slim wrists. The flash of a plain gold wedding band on her bony finger looked inconsistent with the rest of her sober apparel.
51.
Doffing his hat, Selby said respectfully, "Good evening, Mrs. Selby."
"Humph!" Rachel answered, marching briskly across the porch and stiffly descending the six wooden steps to the dirt driveway. She walked directly to the wagon, and peering in at Ta-Ta, she asked, "Where'd you get her? What's she doing here?"
Selby hesitated.
Looking from Ta-Ta down to the child in her arms, and then to Monkey, sitting brazenly on the wagon's edge, Rachel Selby demanded, "And these two dirty pickaninnies? Whose are they? What are you bringing home two dirty little pickaninnies for, Albert Selby?"
The only words that Selby could think to say were, "Where's Melissa?"
"Where do you think? In bed!" Rachel snapped, and looked at Roland, still sitting on the wagon. She asked him, "Why did you let your father do this, boy?"
Roland answered, "This is what we went for, Ma. This is the maid you wanted for little sister."
Hesitating for a moment, Rachel walked around the wagon and said flatly, "I didn't send you for no worthless wench, Albert Selby. I sent you to fetch a companion for your five-year-old daughter." Looking directly at Ta-Ta, Rachel continued, "And this one can't be a child's companion in a coon's age. Unless her years go backwards! She's old enough to be Melissa's grandmother. . . . God rest Bathsheba Fairweather Roland for being compared to a worthless nigger." Rachel continued to glare hatefully at Ta-Ta, who returned the malicious look.
Leaving her piercing eyes on Ta-Ta, Rachel said, "I hope the Lord Almighty forgives you for buying and selling niggers, Albert Selby."
Old Selby sputtered, "Buying and selling? I didn't 'sell' no niggers to get these three. And what did you do if you didn't send me to New Orleans to buy a companion for Melly? You said nothing we had on the Star fitting enough for her."
Rachel turned on her husband. "A companion for an innocent child is one thing. But you know full well what 52.the Book says about slavery. Slavery is the tool of Satan!"
Selby's mind was swimming with confusion now. He and his wife owned five hundred Negro slaves. Rachel had inherited three hundred and fifty Negroes from her family alone, never letting Selby forget that they were her property, passed on to her from her forefathers, the Peregrine Rolands. But now, in her extemporaneous interpretation of Scripture, she was finding something else to blame on him. Slavery.
Young Roland tried to be optimistic. He said brightly, "She can speak Frenchy talk, Ma!"
Rachel glared at her son for speaking out of place, and turning to her husband, she asked, "You want a daughter of yours to talk rubbish like a Frenchman, Mr. Selby? Do you plan to send her up the Ohio with all the whores of Babylon?"
Selby sputtered. "But a lot of fine white ladies are speaking the French language these days. It's getting to be right fashionable."
"Hussies! All of them! Hussies! How dare you spit in the face of the Lord, old man? How dare you spit in the Lord's holy face when he was good enough to give you a fine child so late in your life?"
Selby tried, "Rachel, please. .."
But there was no coaxing or cajoling Rachel out of her black mood. She was determined to go to the extremes now. "I suppose when you were buying up these slaves with my money-money you made from my land, the soil of the Peregrine Rolands-you also forgot what the Scripture said about selling people like cattle. I suppose you forgot, too, about the misuse of hard-earned money. Money from the land you got from my people. Money you came easy to. Money from the Peregrine Rolands."
Selby dared not remind his wife that it was his money that had paid off the mortgages on this place, mortgages put on it by none other than three generations of drinking, gambling, womanizing Rolands.
Rachel continued, "I suppose you forgot, too, about Our Lord Jesus Christ driving the moneylenders from 53.
the temple and then dying on the cross so there would be fair change for all of us!"
Finally Selby had taken as much as he could. He was too tired now to argue with this unreasonable woman who altered Scripture to suit her whims. He did not want to argue. He wanted to get away from her. He wanted to go to sleep. He was tired. Turning to Mama Gomorrah, he said softly, "Take them all down to the Shed. The wench, too. I'll come see them in the morning."
Rachel shrieked from behind him, "Not if you're struck dead in your sleep for sacrileging the Lord's Day, you won't!"
Selby was stunned. "The Lord's Day? But today is Thursday, Rachel, Not Sunday. It ain't the Lord's Day today or tomorrow!"
Rachel turned toward the house, and holding the long skirt of her black dress in her fingers, she rigidly climbed the steps. She called without turning her head, "Every day is the Lord's Day, Mr. Selby. And every day is your day of judgment. So be warned."
Then she disappeared into the house, slamming the tall door with such force that the tinted panes rattled in both doors that formed the double entrance to the Star.
At that same hour of the night, two black men stood hidden in the brush alongside the public road that led from the Star to the small town of Troy. The two black men wore leg irons, and their hands were manacled. One Negro offered his shoulder as support to the shorter man, the second Negro holding his stomach in sickness.
The white farmer who had passed Selby earlier on the Carterville road, Jack Grouse, sat in his wagon talking to a burly man standing on the ground. Their faces were half-lit by the light from a lantern resting on the wagon.
Jack Grouse asked anxiously, "You sure your boss ain't suspicious about this, Tucker?"
"Suspicious about what?" asked the barrel-chested man called Chad Tucker. " Selby's got sb damned many 54.niggers here he don't even know how many there are on the Star."
"But I sees Selby on the way here tonight. I sees him and his kid bringing home more niggers."
Chad Tucker slowly shook his head in bewilderment. His black hair was cropped short, and his square chin was dark with blue stubble. A growth of wiry black hair sprang from the open V of his shirt, and his thick arms were gnarled with muscle. Tucker was the man who actively ran the plantation. He was the overseer of the Star, but even he did not know about Selby buying more slaves. Selby had told him that he was going to New Orleans for three days, but that was all.
Tucker now said to Grouse, "It just shows how plumb crazy that Selby is getting. Buying more niggers, and he don't have no proper count of the ones he already owns."
Nodding at the two Negroes in the dark bushes, Grouse asked, "What if them niggers go shooting off their mouths where they're from?"
"You got yourself a whip at home?"
Grouse nodded.
Tucker gruffed, "Then use it on them."
"Whipping might be too late if they talk."
Tucker asked, "Did the last one cause you trouble with yapping?"
Grouse shook his head. "Not yet. You trained her too good before."
"That's part of the overseer's job. Training niggers to hold their peace." Tucker slapped the rolled coil of the whip in his hand and continued in a harsher voice, "Listen, Grouse. You ain't doing me no favor by buying these two bucks. I thought I was helping you out by selling you a couple more niggers at cheap prices."
"And you're sure Selby don't keep no count of his niggers?"
"Why you getting so fidgety about Selby? He's rich. It don't hurt a rich man like Selby to lose a couple of niggers now and then."
Jack Grouse sat nervously on his wagon. "I sure could use me two good field niggers."
Nodding toward the bushes, Tucker said, "Well, if 55.
you want them, there they are. Provided you brought the money with you tonight."
"I got the money. T got seventy-five dollars right here in my pocket for you."
"And another seventy-five to come in six months."
Jack Grouse moved to step down from the wagon. "I guess I should take me a look at them now."
Blocking him from stepping down from the wagon, Tucker said, "Look at them? What in hell you expecting, Grouse? A bill of sale on top of it, too?"
Grouse began, "You can't expect a man to buy-"
Tucker threw out his chest. "What for you talking about expecting? Here I come in the middle of the night to do you a favor. I get out of bed. Leave my wife. Leave my home. Even risk my job here. And for what? Just to do you a favor."
Grouse shamefully lowered his head.
"The fact is, Grouse, it pains me to see a hardworking man like you with no niggers to help him. And then I sees a rich son-of-a-bitch like Selby who has so many niggers he can't even count them. So what do I do? I stick out my fool neck to help you. And then you want to go inspecting niggers!" Tucker shook his head in distaste.
Grouse mumbled, "I just wanting to be careful."
Tucker said disgustedly, "I can't make sense out of you dirt farmers sometimes. I help you buy niggers on the cheap, and then you expect to go fingering them in the bargain, too. You get a few niggers to your name, and suddenly you think you're a big-shot planter."
Wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, Grouse said, "That Purvina you sold me. She been right ailing lately."
Tucker exploded. "What's that got to do with me? You probably don't let her out of your shack enough. Most likely you ain't giving her enough greens. You got to let a house nigger have a little time outside in the pasture, you know. Just like you lets a cow out of a barn."
"Can't let a big-mouthed nigger go traipsing all over the place, can I? What if somebody sees her?"
"Who's going to see anything over at your place?
56.Not even a goddamned hound dog strays over that far. Now, make up your mind, Grouse. You buying these two quality niggers I brought here tonight, or ain't you?"
Scratching his head under the greasy brim of his hat, Grouse said, "See no reason why not, I guess. Like you say ..." He dug in his pocket for the money.
Grabbing the payment from Grouse's bony hand, Tucker counted the money and stuck it into his pocket. Then, turning to beckon the two blacks waiting in the bushes, he called, "Come on. Get the lead out of your assholes." He unfurled the whip over his head with a crack.
The two Negroes slowly moved from the brush, the chains dragging in the dirt as they clanked toward the wagon. The sick Negro still leaned on the other.
Seeing that the one Negro was not walking correctly, Grouse said, "Hey! Just a minute! What the hell's the matter with that short one? He don't look too good to me."
"Good? What do you mean, good? These here are prime niggers." Tucker quickly snapped his whip at the heels of the lagging Negro. He said, "He just needs a little waking up, that's all. They've been sleeping. It's the middle of the night, ain't it, when most folks are sleeping?"
"You sure you ain't selling me no ailing niggers, Tucker?"
Quickly pushing both Negroes into the bed of the wagon, Tucker said, "For the money you're paying, Grouse, you can use these two for hog food and you'd still come out ahead of the deal."
The two Negroes were now loaded in the back of the wagon, and Tucker did not have to worry about Grouse discovering that one of them was sick. Coming around to the front of the wagon, he said, "You just do likes I says, Grouse. You gives them their greens and lets that Purvina gets some fresh air now and then. You won't have no troubles with none of them. Like I said before, though, these niggers are your responsibility now. I can't be held responsible for how you treats your niggers."
Reaching for the reins, Grouse said, "Just so you 57.
ain't selling me no ailing niggers, Tucker. You selling Selby's niggers out from under his nose is one thing. But selling a man sick niggers . . ." Grouse shook his head.
Tucker assured him, "You got nothing to worry about, Grouse. You just keep your head, and you've got nothing to worry about no more. You got a nigger helping your missus in the house. You got two niggers now to do your work in the field. Why, Mr. Grouse, to my mind, you're sitting on top of the goddamned world. Just be sures you give your niggers a taste of the whip now and then to keep them working. Feed them their greens. Air them. And then there's only one more thing I want to remind you of, Grouse."
"What's that?"
"One more thing besides the extra seventy-five dollars you owes me."
Grouse waited.
"Like I told you, these niggers are yours now. I don't want to hear about them again. I want to forget you have these two niggers, understand? As far as Chad Tucker knows, these two niggers runned away from the Star by themselves." Grinning up at Grouse, Tucker said, "You know what I'm saying."
"I know." Grouse was anxious to leave.
Tucker also was anxious to cut this meeting short. Lightening his tone, he said, "And remember, Mr. Grouse, if you hears of some interested party like yourself, some trustworthy farmers who needs an extra nigger or two, you just lets me know. I ain't in no position to offer much, but every now and then I sees where I can spare a nigger or two from the Star. I just might be persuaded to part with a few more."
"I'll let you know," Grouse said, moving the wagon.
"You just do that, Mr. Grouse. Come time for you to pay me my next seventy-five dollars, you just lets Chad Tucker know about any trusting party like yourself who wants to buy him some cheap niggers."
Jack Grouse nodded, and switching his dappled horse, he hurriedly began to drive the wagon up the dark road.
"Slow! Slow!" Tucker called in the night. "You got 58.to learn how to drive niggers, friend! Niggers ain't used to riding hke white people are. You drive niggers wrong, and they get sick. I don't want you driving them wrong and then cuss me because one of them is sick when you get him home."
Turning then from the road, Tucker disappeared, grinning, into the bushes.
Albert Selby went to his bed that night feeling depressed. Under his gruff facade, he was a self-effacing man. He told himself now that if he had been more careful at the auction, he could have found the kind of servant that his wife had wanted, someone younger and more suitable than Ta-Ta.
Selby always spent the nights alone in his bedroom. The only two times in his life that he had shared a bed with his wife (their wedding night not being one of the occasions) were the two instances when Rachel had announced to him that it was tune to give the Lord a child.
As many Southern ladies felt the same distaste for sex as Rachel Selby did, it was a custom for their husbands to have a Negress to satisfy their sexual urges. But it was even too dangerous for Selby to have a bed wench at the Star. He had to find his satisfaction away from home.
Tonight, however, Selby was prepared to spend another miserable night alone. But he was more sad than usual, because he had not seen bis daughter. Melissa had already gone to bed when Selby arrived home, and his wife had forbidden him even to peek into the young girl's room.