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arrived alone,
an unattached high yellow, and for a time, the single stallions circled her.
They moved on when it became apparent that her mind was otherwise occupied. She
had brought with her nice clothes and campaigned to join the big house staff.
Cassius thought she might have been what she claimed, a big house negro, as she
carried herself in that superior way, with her aristocratic chest and small
upturned breasts, her high hips and swaybacked walk. Cassius saw a second head
peer around the corner and met Pet's eyes. So it was business. Pet had allowed
some trinket to slip into her apron, something Tempie might offer to a
customer. Pet backed up and he knew she would run to the side and come through
the house to answer the front door as if she had been indoors all this time.
        Cassius
stepped onto the porch where only hours before Otis Bornock had stood, and Pet
opened the door.
        Two
winters had passed since Cassius had been inside the big house. The subtle
smell of fish embraced him, a smell he associated with wealth and power; despite
the deprivations of war, they still had whale oil for the lamps. The big house
was alive, children upstairs emitting occasional shrieks of delight or misery,
their footfalls thunderous. The main foyer opened to a majestic greeting room
that extended all the way to the back of the house, where a grand fireplace
dominated and the walls were covered with paintings. In the far corner, a door
led out to the rear gardens. In the wall to his right was the door to Hoke's
study. To his left, the staircase ran halfway up, to a landing at the back
wall, turned, and finished its climb to the second floor. On the far side of
the stairs, a wide breezeway opened into the dining area and other rooms. The
ceilings were high, the rooms large, the floorboards scrubbed clean, the rugs
elegant, the windows huge. The volume of light was staggering, coming from a
multitude of candles and whale oil lanterns that filled this room and leaked
from other rooms, around corners, down the stairs.
        Anything
left in Mam Rosie's kitchen? said Cassius. Or did all them starving planter
children eat up the leftovers?
        Pet
shook her head at him, mouth set, eyes grim.
        Cassius
understood. It was going to be bad for him. But bad news was a constant, bad
news was forever and bad news would keep because right then he was more
interested in his belly.
        Pet
scrutinized the grime that clung to Cassius from the day's work. She shook her
head and rushed out of sight, returning with a damp cloth. She did what she
could to clean his face and arms and hands, saying nothing. She left him alone
with a warning look.
        Cassius
heard Hoke Howard's voice from his study.
        "I'll
not repeat the error of bringing you gifts in the future, if this is how they
are to be received."
        "This
locket appears to be gold. How can we afford it, Mr. Howard?"
        "Perhaps
it is extravagant, but we can still afford special things."
        "That
is a crooked path to an answer, husband."
        "I
had a bit of luck gambling."
        "You
know very well my opinion of gambling," she said.
        "I
never bet more than I can afford to lose," said Hoke pompously.
        Cassius
moved to change the angle of his view of the inside of the study through the
slightly open door. He could make out Ellen with her back to the door, but her
full skirt blocked Hoke at his desk.
        "And
you were not gambling," said Ellen decisively.
        "Was
I not?"
        "You
have taken advantage of that tax business up North."
        "You
refer to the Morrill Tariff Act."
        "Just
so, you and your specificity, the Morrill Tariff Act then."
        "There
are certain benefits to—"
        "You
met with that man Logue."
        "Now,
Ellie."
        "Gabriel
Logue is a—he is a—"
        "Logue
is a businessman, no more, no less, just as I am a businessman, and I will tend
to my