soul. Saw them go into that darling wedding cake of a house and do God knows what to Emaline's flowers and chintz sofas and polished furniture, and then, when they could find no one whose head they could slash, they came out, disappointed. But then, to pacify themselves, some were drinking out of whiskey or rum bottles and others were looking ridiculous in Emaline's fancy Sunday go-to-meeting clothes. One had a harmonica and was playing it and they danced a reel, as if at a party. Some were wearing jewels or fancy hats.
Then, at a word from Nat, they stopped. They looked at the house and one handed Nat a torch and then, in a few minutes, a little colored boy of about three came running to them from the barn, his mother running close behind.
One of Nat's helpers slashed him with a sword and left him for dying, and when the mother raised her arms against the man, he slashed her, too. In the same manner that they had slashed Richard. Then they got on their horses and rode off.
"
That was Louise and her Izzy," Emaline said dully. "Lord, but she loved that child. I was there when he was born." And she proceeded to cry.
"
I'd rather he'd burned the house," she said.
On leaving they had to go through the opening of the white picket fence in front of the house over which Emaline had thrown a few handmade quilts.
I woke up to see the rest. They could have slashed those quilts if all they wanted to do was destroy them. But they didn't.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes in time to see them all get off their horses as if someone had given an order, and then they stood in a row and peed on the quilts.
Fitch asked Emaline if she wanted him to get closer and blow their tails off, but she said no, so he lowered his gun. And then the sordid army, which likely would not even be admitted into hell, remounted their horses and rode away.
Eighteen
I don't rightly know if the words I was saying were coming out the way I wanted them to. Sometimes it seemed to me that they were tumbling about on my tongue and pushing each other around and coming out in no order at all.
I will not deny that I was dazed and befuddled. But I do believe that some of what I said made sense.
In short order I knew I heard a church bell. It sounded, through the thick, hellish August air, slowly and deliberately.
"That's the Blunts," Emaline said. "Theirs is a bell upward of sixty pounds and it can be heard for miles. It
usually just rings at mealtimes. But this isn't mealtime, so it must mean that Elisha has gotten there and they are calling for help."
The bell was mournful and steady, and I could have sworn it originated in my heart, but I didn't say anything. We listened to it in near silence for about half an hour, because Emaline said we should wait a while to make sure Turner and his men didn't come back to her place before she headed home.
There was some discussion about me going with her and staying overnight until things settled down.
Did she not know that things would never again be "settled down" for me? Or for anyone touched by today's tragedy?
I said no, I must go home, I had to see what and who I would return to.
By now everyone who had not run, black or white, were likely lying dead. By now even the animals had fled.
Home was the last place in the world I wanted to go. "I must see if anyone is still alive," I said.
"Not yet, child," Emaline told me.
Then, within the next half hour the courier came, a young man on horseback who turned out to be Mr. Blunt's son, John.
He slid from his horse and, without preliminaries, told us of Elisha's arrival and how his father's bell tolling was bringing men from three counties on horseback with guns. "We're ready for Turner," he promised. "Mrs. Jacobs, your husband is anxious for word of you. Do you have a message for him?"
"Tell him I'm going back to the house now," she said. "Tell him Turner has left, most likely on his way to your place. Tell him I love him."
"Yes, ma'am." He mounted his horse and tipped
Then, at a word from Nat, they stopped. They looked at the house and one handed Nat a torch and then, in a few minutes, a little colored boy of about three came running to them from the barn, his mother running close behind.
One of Nat's helpers slashed him with a sword and left him for dying, and when the mother raised her arms against the man, he slashed her, too. In the same manner that they had slashed Richard. Then they got on their horses and rode off.
"
That was Louise and her Izzy," Emaline said dully. "Lord, but she loved that child. I was there when he was born." And she proceeded to cry.
"
I'd rather he'd burned the house," she said.
On leaving they had to go through the opening of the white picket fence in front of the house over which Emaline had thrown a few handmade quilts.
I woke up to see the rest. They could have slashed those quilts if all they wanted to do was destroy them. But they didn't.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes in time to see them all get off their horses as if someone had given an order, and then they stood in a row and peed on the quilts.
Fitch asked Emaline if she wanted him to get closer and blow their tails off, but she said no, so he lowered his gun. And then the sordid army, which likely would not even be admitted into hell, remounted their horses and rode away.
Eighteen
I don't rightly know if the words I was saying were coming out the way I wanted them to. Sometimes it seemed to me that they were tumbling about on my tongue and pushing each other around and coming out in no order at all.
I will not deny that I was dazed and befuddled. But I do believe that some of what I said made sense.
In short order I knew I heard a church bell. It sounded, through the thick, hellish August air, slowly and deliberately.
"That's the Blunts," Emaline said. "Theirs is a bell upward of sixty pounds and it can be heard for miles. It
usually just rings at mealtimes. But this isn't mealtime, so it must mean that Elisha has gotten there and they are calling for help."
The bell was mournful and steady, and I could have sworn it originated in my heart, but I didn't say anything. We listened to it in near silence for about half an hour, because Emaline said we should wait a while to make sure Turner and his men didn't come back to her place before she headed home.
There was some discussion about me going with her and staying overnight until things settled down.
Did she not know that things would never again be "settled down" for me? Or for anyone touched by today's tragedy?
I said no, I must go home, I had to see what and who I would return to.
By now everyone who had not run, black or white, were likely lying dead. By now even the animals had fled.
Home was the last place in the world I wanted to go. "I must see if anyone is still alive," I said.
"Not yet, child," Emaline told me.
Then, within the next half hour the courier came, a young man on horseback who turned out to be Mr. Blunt's son, John.
He slid from his horse and, without preliminaries, told us of Elisha's arrival and how his father's bell tolling was bringing men from three counties on horseback with guns. "We're ready for Turner," he promised. "Mrs. Jacobs, your husband is anxious for word of you. Do you have a message for him?"
"Tell him I'm going back to the house now," she said. "Tell him Turner has left, most likely on his way to your place. Tell him I love him."
"Yes, ma'am." He mounted his horse and tipped
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