The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 3

Pausing, Veronica shook her head and said, 'He keeps repeating that he brings bad luck to women. Did you notice how he said it again this afternoon in the cemetery?'

Imogen showed no concern. She answered, "Talk like that just means he ain't planning to get himself hitched again.'

Veronica looked at her.

'Married,' Imogen explained.

Veronica considered this fact. She began, 'I can understand why Papa wouldn't be thinking about marriage. Look how Song he waited to remarry after our Mama died-'

Imogen said, 'I don't see him ever marrying again. Ill give you odds that he's just going to plant a few. . . wild oats!'

Veronica stopped on the path. She looked at her older sister.

Imogen's voice had become more gravelly, more mas- 39.culine over the years. She now sounded like a mimic of a man when she said, 'The guy's still got some fire in his blood, girl. You can't deny a man that!'

I wouldn't deny Papa anything!' Veronica blurted. 'But if he's got "fire" in his blood then who is the object of his... affections?'

Laughing, Imogen said, 'I don't think "affections" are involved. I was talking about wild oats. I suspect he's about ready to start hunting for some black poontang.'

Imogen! Please!'

'Please what? Please don't say our Papa's a healthy, robust man and needs his-' She groped at the crotch of her riding breeches.

Veronica dropped the black shawl from her shoulders. She walked rigidly down the path, saying in a cool voice, 'You were always too blunt for rny liking, Imogen.'

'Bluntness saves a lot of time, little sister. But if you're so d.a.m.ned worried about Papa, why don't you have this talk with him?"

'I have never interfered with Papa's private life. But that does not deny me the right to have concern for him. Papa always struggled to understand my problems. To understand all our problems. Papa was always there, standing nearby to help us when we needed him.'

'He stood by you all right,' Imogen said, swatting her riding crop at rose bushes again.

Veronica flared, 'Papa granted you a few wishes, too, Imogen Abdee!'

Shrugging, she said, 'True. But it's one thing letting me work this land for him. And it's another thing for him to let you-'

Veronica quickly finished the sentence for her sister. And using the vernacular which she suspected Imogen intended to say. '-to let me marry a... n.i.g.g.e.r!' Imogen nodded. 'Call it what you want.' 'What else would I call it? Knowing who it's coming from!' Veronica felt her face suddenly tighten with anger. She said, 'I love Royal. He is a true, considerate husband to me. We have three children. They are no geniuses but they are healthy, Imogen. Royal and I have three very healthy children. Lindy and Peter Mark are both in school now. Little Max will be starting before I know it. They all 40.have friends. They have food. Clothing. We have a nice house to live in . . ,'

'Then you're d.a.m.ned lucky, ain't you.' 'Lucky? Why am I lucky, Imogen? Because my black husband-a Negro who used to be a slave on Dragonard Hill-managed to escape to the North and live like a... white person? Well, I don't believe that black people should have to escape, Imogen. I do not think that it is fair of us white people to lay down those rules!'

'Now, now, girl. Don't go getting het up about slavery," Imogen said as they emerged in the clearing where the old clapboard house stood like a vine-covered spectre in the fading daylight of early summer.

'I get "het up", Imogen, when I see you misunderstanding a situation. And when I hear you constantly taking. . . jabs at me. Hurtful, snide verbal jabs. Oh, yes, you've been doing it ever since I've got home. You've made sarcastic remarks about Royal. You've said cruel things about little David meeting his "Northern cousins". And I don't like your att.i.tude, Imogen. I do not like it one bit.'

A smile formed on Imogen's thin lips. She turned to appraise Veronica's neat black clothing and said, 'Maybe you're the one who has changed, Veronica.'

Veronica held herself upright. She said icily, 'Maybe I have. And if I have changed since I've been away from here it is only because I have to defend what I believe in. I cannot stand by and.listen to you-my very own sister- making malicious remarks about my family.'

Arching one eyebrow, Imogen mocked, 'So little Veronica still doesn't approve of her red-neck sister!'

"There you go jumping to conclusions again, Imogen! Approval has nothing to do with it. The word you mean to say is "support", That is what Papa gave you by allowing you to be the overseer on this Sand, letting you take a job which rightfully should have gone to a ... man!'

Imogen shrugged. 'I guess I'm the closest thing Papa . ever got to having a son.'

Veronica reached to rest her hand on Imogen's shoulder. She said in a softer voice, 'I don't want us to argue and fight, Imogen. I don't know how long I'll stay here. Please let us not spend these days saying hurtful words to one 4I.

another. Let us promise each other that. And let us promise not to argue with Vicky when she comes.'

'You still think she's coming?'

'Of course I do.'

'Let's just hope you're wrong,' Imogen said and turned toward the rickety steps which led up to the porch slanted with age. She called over her shoulder, 'Do you want to come inside or do you have to rush home? It gets dark fast here.'

Veronica was touched by Imogen's small gesture of politeness. She recognized that the invitation to come inside the house was insincere but she eagerly answered, 'Oh, I would love to come in for a minute or two. I haven't been in the old house for years. Also, I haven't had a chance yet to talk to Belladonna."

Imogen turned on the top of the weathered steps and said to her younger sister, 'Let's you and me get another thing straight, Veronica. If you want me to s...o...b..r and make some kind of fuss over your brood, that's fine. I ain't promising I can do it but I'll try my d.a.m.nedest to be civil if I ever do see them. But I don't want you going c.o.c.k-a-hoop over me and Belladonna just because we eat at .the same table and sleep in the same bed. Can you understand that?'

Veronica stared dumb-foundedly at her Imogen. She gasped, 'How can you say cruel things like that? I can understand that you might want to be protective about yourself but don't you think that Belladonna has feelings?'

'You worry about your feelings and I'll take care of ours.'

But Veronica was not looking at Imogen now. She stared at the slim figure of a black girl standing on the other side of a rusted screen door which faced onto the porch. She immediately recognized the girl as Belladonna, a pretty but shabbily dressed young black woman whose hair fell in a gnarled tumble to her shoulders.

Veronica moved toward the steps to speak to Belladonna. Imogen saw where she was going, though, and stepped in her way. And behind them Belladonna disappeared from the screen door, vanishing into the darkness of the old house.

Realizing that she was not wanted here, Veronica turned from the steps and murmured to Imogen, 'I'm sorry if I've 42.made a nuisance of myself. I'll try never to bother you again.' She hurried toward the path which wound through the woods.

Imogen sat in the shadowy kitchen of the old house later that night, the yellow glow from the gas-lamp illuminating the furrowed expression on her hard face as she held a jug of corn whisky on the knee of her doeskin breeches and a half-filled gla.s.s of whisky set in front of her on the table. Imogen and Belladonna had finished their supper of pork-side stew and fritters. Belladonna now busied herself washing the tin plates and black iron stew pot whilst Imogen remained seated at the table like the husband of the household. They had lived together here for the last seven years.

Recalling Veronica's castigation about the manner in which she callously referred to Royal and their half-caste children, Imogen first bristled about her younger sister's impudence. But, next, Imogen began to consider another fact, wondering if she might be ignoring a certain situation which could possibly arise here on Dragonard Hill.

The Abdee family was changing. Imogen realized this. She also suspected that Kate's death might make further changes. But momentarily forgetting about Veronica's plea for moral support, she remembered her sister's question about their father, the concern she had shown for his new restlessness.

'You ready for some coffee?' Belladonna called from behind her.

Imogen stiffened. Whenever Belladonna mentioned coffee after supper it meant that she thought Imogen was drinking too much. She waited for Belladonna to start complaining again about the jug of corn whisky.

But no criticism followed. And Imogen returned to her thoughts about her father, remembering how she had specifically answered Veronica's question about his loneliness.

Imogen considered the statement that she had impulsively made about her father becoming promiscuous, that he would probably take to wenching. She next thought about her step-brother, David Abdee, the one male heir to Dragonard Hill. She wondered if her father would indeed 43.resign himself to a life of self-indulgence knowing that he had a son to inherit this land.

Reconsidering the fact that her father might indeed seek companionship amongst the black wenches living in the slave quarter, Imogen's whisky-fuelled mind reviewed the implications of the rest of the conversation she had had with Veronica-the subject of Peter Abdee's att.i.tude toward Negroes' rights as people.

What if Papa does start chasing darkies? Imogen asked herself. And what if he knocks up a wench? And what if that child is a boy? What will happen then? Papa allowed Veronica-his own precious daughter-to marry a n.i.g.g.e.r. He even allowed Royal to take our own Mama's name as his own. Royal Selby!

Pushing back her chair from the table with sudden anger about this plantation being divided between step-brothers and slaves, Imogen wondered what would happen to her? How would she fare in the future? Would old age see her at the mercy of charity from Goody Two-Shoes and . . . n.i.g.g.e.rs? People talked about slavery coming to an end in the South someday, of black people being treated like whites, of n.i.g.g.e.rs even being allowed to inherit and own land!

'You restless?' Belladonna called as Imogen began to pace the kitchen's bare board floor. She lifted the wash basin from a table covered with oilskin and said, 'I've got coffee on the stove.'

Imogen ignored Belladonna, thinking about how she could deal with a father who gave equal rights to black people, a philosophy which maddened her as well as threatened her hold on this rich land.

Whilst Imogen paced the board floor, Belladonna scuffed toward the kitchen door with the basin of dirty dish water in her hands. She tossed out the water into the back yard with a loud splash. She gave the basin a few wipes with a rag and hung it on a nail by the door.

Next, Belladonna moved toward the table and began wiping off the crumbs and grease stains with the dish rag. The gas lamp lit her high cheekbones, her generously formed lips, and almond-shaped eyes which gave her an almost Oriental appearance.

Imogen stood in a far corner of the shadowy kitchen and 44.surveyed Belladonna's pendulous b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she leaned over the table. Imogen tried to see Belladonna through objective eyes, to study her as a white man would see this black girl. A plan was quickly forming in her brain.

Belladonna was a woman but, like many black females, she wore her age well: Belladonna looked scarcely older than a girl. Imogen enjoyed Belladonna's slim body in bed at night; she acted as the aggressor to the Negress's pa.s.sive femininity, using her mouth, fingers, often even home-crafted tools to exert the dominant role of a husband in their unnatural relationship.

Surveying Belladonna with new eyes, though, Imogen tried to imagine how a man-a born male-would respond to Belladonna's s.e.xual attractiveness. The black woman- or girl-was sullen. That was good. Men liked sullenness in females. It made them feel victorious when they conquered them. Also, Belladonna had large b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She knew from field talk that men loved to chew on ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s, bury their faces between them, nibble taut nipples like babies nursing mothers. Belladonna could supply all that for a man.

Imogen suddenly held out her arm to stop Belladonna as she moved from the kitchen table. She had decided to prepare the groundwork for her plan.

Momentarily studying the instant fright flickering in Belladonna's eyes, Imogen realized how devoted the black girl was to her. The slightest harsh word, only a hint of a physical reprimand made the black girl quiver.

But Imogen was not interested in punishing Belladonna now She wanted the girl to help her. And leaning forward, she brushed her lips against Belladonna's mouth and said, Tve been neglecting you, Honey. I'm going to change that. I'm going to start by getting you a few yards of pretty cloth to make yourself some new dresses. How does that sound?'

Belladonna stared quizzically at Imogen. She had not owned a new dress in years. She could not remember the last time that Imogen had given her goods to make a new dress.

'What's the matter?' Imogen asked. 'You don't look too happy with the news?'

Lowering her head and resting it on Imogen's shoulder, 45.Belladonna said, 'Whatever makes you happy, that's what I wants.'

Imogen stood stroking Belladonna's thin back, her hand soon lowering to her full b.u.t.tocks. She smiled to herself. Yes, it was a good plan.

Belladonna asked, 'You work hard today?' She kept her head resting devotedly on Imogen's shoulder.

'I always work hard,' Imogen answered, moving her hand around to Belladonna's midsection and, reaching under her skirt, she probed one finger into the wiry v.a.g.i.n.al slit between the girl's thighs.

Removing the finger from under the flimsy skirt, Imogen held it to Belladonna's nose and asked, 'What's that?'

Belladonna coyly pushed away the finger, whispering, 'Don't. . .'

Imogen asked louder, 'What's that smell?'

'You know what it is... it's my ..."

'Your what?'

Belladonna softly uttered the word which she knew Imogen liked her to say. 'My . . . p.u.s.s.y.'

'Your what?'

'My. . . p.u.s.s.y.'

'That's right,' Imogen said, pulling the girl closer to her as a reward for saying the word. 'Your little black sheep of a p.u.s.s.y. And what do you like done to it?'

I likes you to make love to me.'

'Love? Just love? Don't you like to feel some. . . hurt, too?'

Belladonna dipped her head. She said, 'When you makes love to me I feel no hurt. Not when I know you really. . . love me.'

'How do you know. . . p.u.s.s.y? Because you adore me?'

Belladonna nodded.

'You like to kneel between my legs and push your tongue into me?'

Again, Belladonna nodded.

'Or do you like to feel me push into you? Push into you with my tongue? My fingers? Push that leather. . . p.e.c.k.e.r into you? You like the p.e.c.k.e.r I made for you? Do you like when I plays the man.'

'I likes that,' Belladonna confessed.

46.Imogen asked, 'You like it when I play the man, do you? You like . . . p.e.c.k.e.r?'

I likes the p.e.c.k.e.r.'

'Your p.u.s.s.y likes it.'

'My p.u.s.s.y likes it.'

'Deep? Your p.u.s.s.y likes it deep?"

'My p.u.s.s.y likes it deep.'

'What does your p.u.s.s.y like deep?' Imogen pursued, wanting to hear Belladonna repeat her words.

The . . . p.e.c.k.e.r.'

'That's right,' Imogen said. 'You like the p.e.c.k.e.r. That's good. You keep on liking the p.e.c.k.e.r. You get to love it even more will you, my little black sheep of a... p.u.s.s.y?'

Belladonna nodded.

Imogen stood holding Belladonna against her, thinking how she was going to use her and that wiry black femininity, use her as a sacrificial lamb to achieve what she herself wanted here on Dragonard Hill. Yes, it's a d.a.m.ned good idea to get this p.u.s.s.y to want a man. But I must pursue it slowly, carefully, step-by-step like some military general plotting against an enemy's camp. And I'll start by dressing up this n.i.g.g.e.r wench like a real pretty little p.u.s.s.y, too.

Veronica retired with her father to the library after supper; young David joined them dressed in a nightshirt and flannel robe. He kissed them both good night and, after he slid shut the walnut doors behind him, Peter was left alone with Veronica. He poured them both a crystal balloon of French brandy and settled himself in a b.u.t.toned brown leather chair by the Carrara marble mantelpiece. A fire crackled on the hearth; the atmosphere was homey, a gentle extension from the relaxed mood of the conversation at tonight's supper table-a light-hearted discussion about Posey's cooking, a quandary about the future success of the small cafe called The FireFly Tea Rooms which had recently opened in the nearby town of Troy, and harmless gossip about a handsome young Creole lawyer travelling from New Orleans two days a week to practise law in the small country town.

47.Veronica sat across the fire from her father and sniffed appreciatively at the fragrance of the imported spirits. She felt relaxed, even pampered in the luxury of Dragonard Hill. She thought about the future of the home and asked, "Papa, will you feel alone here?'

Peter was also enjoying this restful hour. He answered matter-of-factly, 'No, not really. Not after I become adjusted. I have a lot of friends in the neighbourhood. There's Kate's nephew, Barry. The Daniels. The Popoffs. The Schneiders. We have-I have my friends.'

I mean will you be lonely in this big house? Living here only with David?'

Peter rested one tall black boot on the other in front of his chair and stared at the crystal brandy balloon catching the glint of the fire. He said, I'm thinking of sending David away to school.'

Momentarily pausing, Veronica asked, 'Papa? Would you like me to post you a prospectus from one or two schools when I get back to Boston?' She wanted to help in any way she could. She knew her father now had no one close to depend upon.