Property (Vintage Contemporaries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

boys rushed him, and in the ensuing struggle one of them got a deep gash in his leg, which so enraged Mr. Sutter that he beat Bam near to death. It was six weeks before he was recovered enough to be transported to the city, where he was sold.
    Sarah’s baby, a boy, was taken from her as soon as it was born and sent out to nurse at my brother-in-law’s plantation upriver, with the understanding that when he was old enough to work, he would be sold, and the profit, after his board was deducted, divided between the brothers. Sarah wept, pleaded, then grew silent and secretive. My husband was pleased with himself, though he’d been forced to sell a valuable negro at a loss. When the dealers saw Bam’s scars, they took him for a troublesome fellow and lowered their offers accordingly. By the end of that year, Sarah was pregnant with Walter.

    JOEL BORDEN STOPPED here on his way to the town, with a bag of doves he’d shot himself and a fresh ham, not something we need, as we’ve pigs to spare. My husband asked him to stay for dinner and he agreed. Though the men all talk behind his back, Joel is such an easy fellow they treat him like a friend to his face. And, of course, when they go to town, they are quick to look him up, as he knows where all the parties and dances are and is welcome in the best houses for his charm and wit. Once a year he gives a party at his plantation, Rivière, and there is a line of carriages up the river road for a solid day. I attended once, the first year I came here.
    Now, as I came into the dining room, I found Joel sprawled over a chair facing the windows, a glass of bourbon on the table next to him. My husband was not in the room. Sarah came in with a stack of plates to lay the table. Joel looked round, and, seeing me, leaped to his feet, holding out his hands to take my own. “Manon,” he said, looking me up and down, “you haven’t changed. No, wait, I think you are a little more beautiful.”
    But I have changed, so much that I hardly remember how to carry on trivial banter, though once I was proficient. “You look well, Joel,” was all I said. He’s a handsome man in an indolent, good-natured way. He has only enough energy to seek his own pleasure continually; everything else is too much for him.
    “I saw your mother last week,” he said, “and I promised I would look in on you before my return.”
    He has a bevy of old ladies who adore him; my mother is one. She wanted Joel to marry me, though we all knew it was impossible because Joel needs money and I have none. He played at courting me briefly, then moved on to another available beauty. When he decides to marry, he will choose someone rich, possibly older than he is, but for now poor girls always come with doting mothers, who ply him with dinner and sherry or port. I wonder how much longer he can hold out without selling something.
    “Please tell her I am well,” I said. He released my hands, puzzled by my unresponsiveness. Then the reason for it came banging in the door, brandishing a bottle and addressing a barking order to Sarah. He pounced on Joel with fake geniality, on the subject of a dog he must see before he left. I followed Sarah to the door and whispered to her, “Tell Delphine to serve a blancmange for dessert.” She nodded, and went out. My husband was opening the wine bottle, a particularly fine claret which he highly recommended to our guest. Though I don’t usually drink in the afternoon, something in his excitement at having company made me decide to join them. I took three glasses from the sideboard and brought them to the table. My husband gave me a quick glance, skepticism combined with surprise. He thought Joel had stopped because he was grateful that his negroes weren’t all dead, but I knew he had come, as he said, because he promised my mother he would. She had sent a letter the day after the patrol, full of the idiotic rumors circulating in town: Joel’s three negroes had become ten, armed with