High Hearts by Rita Mae Brown Page B

somethin’. You brung the Good Book and I brung a pack of cards.” He reached inside his coat and withdrew a deck. “Keep it over my heart. Don’t know why. Just do. You about ready to go?”
    “I just need to saddle up and …” She didn’t know how to excuse herself for her toilette.
    “So, go.” Banjo shrugged. Why didn’t Jimmy get on with it?
    “In front of you?”
    “I haven’t got a ruler on me.”
    Bright red, she spun on her heel and stalked off behind a shelter of bushes and trees, Banjo’s laughter stinging her ears. She was quick about it because she didn’t want to hear anything more on the subject.
    “Shy little bugger, ain’t you?”
    “You want to be my man or not?”
    “Yes, boss.” Good-naturedly he waved his hand and climbed back in the saddle.
    The gods watch over impetuous youth and falling down drunks. Unbeknownst to her, they’d sent Geneva her guardian angel.
    Sin-Sin put her feet toward the fire. She’d worked her fingers to nubs today. Lutie suffered one of her organizing fits. Each spring and fall one of these spasms of inventory seized her like malaria. Sin-Sin was glad to be home with her pots. Another blue pot sat on her table but she thought the glaze not as bright as the one she gave Geneva. She munched on a praline. A Georgian relative of Henley’s sent up hugetins of the candy for Geneva’s wedding. A knock on her door brought Sin-Sin slowly to her feet.
    “I hears you.”
    Sin-Sin opened the door. Braxton, followed by his mother, Ernie June, glowered behind two of the younger slaves, Alafin and Peter. Without a word, Braxton pushed the two men inside. He followed and closed the door.
    “We got troubles,” Braxton said gravely.
    “What kind of troubles?”
    Braxton held out his hand. An emerald brooch glittered against his calloused palm. Sin-Sin grabbed it.
    “Miz Lutie’s bar pin for her scarves! She’s been searching high and low for this.” Sin-Sin turned on the men. “You crazy, boy. What you want to do a thing like this for?”
    Alafin answered. “I never got in the big house.”
    “Shut up!” Peter spat.
    Braxton collared both of them and forced them to the floor. “Sit down, goddammit. You thinkin’ of nobody but yourselves. Lotta people could get hurt over somethin’ like this.”
    Di-Peachy, called to attend this hurried meeting, closed the door and placed the open mouth of a large kettle against the door. It was believed by everyone but Di-Peachy that this kettle would capture the sounds so no whites could hear.
    “Let Di-Peachy enjoy her evening. Older heads be needed here.” Ernie cooed.
    My, Sin-Sin thought to herself, she gets her big foot in the door, and already she’s trying to kick out Di-Peachy.
    Di-Peachy, angry, started to speak, but Sin-Sin cut her off. “Ernie June, Di-Peachy reads. If we can’t settle this amongst ourselves, Di-Peachy will haf to search the books for answers.”
    Ernie accepted this. Under questioning Alafin revealed that he and Peter fought over the favors of Tincia. Sin-Sin was like a hawk, circling around and around, getting closer to her mark. Finally she struck. “This pin got nothin’ to do with poontang. You think we wet behind the ears, Peter!”
    Peter, tired from the incessant questioning, cracked, “I need money. Once outta here, I need money.”
    Braxton cuffed him. “Fool!”
    By midnight they’d reached a solution. Peter would have jeopardized every slave on Chatfield had he run off, but Alafin had hurt only Peter. Yet a servant stealing from a servant soured everyone. It was one thing to take from themaster; it was quite another to fleece another slave. Although Peter’s crime would have immediate physical effect on everyone, Alafin’s would have a corrosive, psychological effect.
    Sin-Sin spoke. “Alafin, you works an hour every evening in Peter’s garden.”
    Alafin nodded his head.
    Sin-Sin continued, “Peter, come harvest time, Braxton and I gonna take half your garden and give