Jess Mowry

Knight's Crossing

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Knight's Crossing is scheduled for publication in early 2008 by Windstorm Creative. The image above is not the book cover (it's a slave ship and its cargo). I will post the actual cover and more information when it becomes available.

The novel as presented here may be regarded as uncorrected galleys. If you are interested in reviewing this book when review copies become available, please contact Windstorm Creative.

DESCRIPTION:

It is 1860, a year before the start of the American Civil War. The industrial revolution has brought railroads for fast transportation. Steamships and riverboats sail the seas and ply the nation's waterways. Telegraph provides instant communication. Machines are beginning to replace much dreary human labor... though mostly in the Northern states.

But, fourteen-year-old Ashley Knight returns from a year at a New Orleans school to the tiny Louisiana bayou town of Knight's Crossing -- named after his family -- to find that nothing seems to have changed. This is mostly a relief: there were too many modern ideas in New Orleans; too much change happening too fast. For the first time in his life Ashley had to deal with free black people... blacks who behaved as if they were equal to whites! Ashley, raised on his family's huge plantation of Diligence, was brought up to believe that black people were simply animals. Intelligent animals, of course, but certainly not equal to human beings.

Yet, Ashley is beginning to wonder about that, to at least subconsciously question the morality of slavery. These are dangerous notions for a boy who will inherit a hundred slaves.

Still, it's good to be home where things never change and disturbing ideas are never discussed. Ashley is looking forward to losing his sissified city clothes and reverting to old buckskin trousers; to riding his horse and fishing, to hunting with his big Smith rifle, and swimming with the slave kids again.

But, something new has come to Knight's Crossing. After getting off the train, Ashley encounters two black boys of around his own age. One is Cartwright, a rather handsome and muscular buck who was purchased to be a companion for some wealthy plantation-owner's son. The other is an enormously fat boy named Loki -- called Lucky -- who belongs to Seth Franklin, a little-known and reclusive man who owns the small plantation of Content deep in the bayou. There are rumors that Franklin is far too kind to his slaves; that he's allowed them to get "fat and lazy." ...And worse, "uppity." Lucky seems to confirm all these rumors. Besides being barely able to waddle, he sasses Ashley to distraction, until Ashley wants to whip him, though he's never whipped a slave before.

Ashley's buggy finally arrives, driven by Jupiter, a wise old slave who has probably had more to do with raising and educating Ashley than Ashley's own parents. A storm is brewing, and despite Lucky's dammable sass, Ashley and Jupiter take him to Content. As if Lucky himself hasn't been enough proof that there's something strange about the place, spending a stormy night at Content only adds to the mystery. But Ashley's curiosity about Franklin's "system" -- how Franklin can be so kind to his slaves and still make a profit -- is sidetracked when Ashley meets Lucky's fraternal twin, Lucinda, who seems to run the Big House.

Lucinda arouses feelings in Ashley that are totally improper for a young white southern gentleman to feel... at least toward a slave girl. If Ashley wasn't confused enough, he is flabbergasted when Lucky asks Ashley to buy him, as well as his sister, Lucinda! Although amazed by this request, Ashley is also puzzled... why would Lucky want to leave a place where he seems to do nothing but eat and sleep? And, what use could he possibly be to Ashley, disregarding the fact that he seems very smart... and he can READ! Lucky replies that, "I could be your squire, Sir Knight."

With a head full of confusion, as well as thoughts of Lucinda, Ashley finally comes home the next day to find that his father has a gift for him... the young buck, Cartwright. Although Cartwright is probably as smart as Lucky, he's never been "housebroken" ... working all his life in his former owner's blacksmith shop. Unlike Lucky, Cartwright is eager to please his new master, though Ashley will have to polish him up and teach him to be gentleman's servant. Ashley quickly finds that owning another human being is a lot more complicated than owning a horse or a dog.

Although at fourteen Ashley has supposedly learned all he will ever need to know in life, it is during the next year that his real education begins. Not only does he discover the secret of Seth Franklin's "system," he learns what all human beings should know.

A FEW COMMENTS:

Like many novels -- not just mine -- Knight's Crossing began as a short story. In this case it was a story I wrote for kids at a youth center... black kids. It seemed funny that while all the kids knew that slavery had existed, they didn't actually know much about it... except that slaves had picked cotton and had usually been whipped. They couldn't seem to grasp the concept that human beings could be owned by other human beings as if they were only animals like cats or dogs; and most seemed to equate slavery with being in prison. A few described slavery as if it was serving a sentence on a southern chain-gang... probably from seeing such things in movies.

Speaking of movies, one has only to watch films such as The Undefeated (starring John Wayne), as well as many other classics from the 1930s up into the late 1950s to find that the general feeling toward the Old South in the U.S.A. was sympathy that the South had lost the Civil War because so much "greatness and nobility" had passed away. If actual slavery was portrayed (or even mentioned) in these films, it was usually in the light that all great and noble plantation owners had treated their black people as trusted servants with honor, dignity and kindness. The unspoken message seemed to be that black people had really been better off as slaves, and the fact that they had been freed was a rather unfortunate consequence of the North winning the Civil War.

I won't even mention Birth Of A Nation.

These feelings were also made felt, if not always blatantly expressed, in much U.S. literature dating from the Reconstruction period up into the late 1950s. The works of O. Henry, for example -- hundreds of short stories -- are filled with references to the noble Old South, while "darkies" (as well as most other non-white people) were invariably treated as jokes. ...At best.

Even Upton Sinclair, a noted crusader for human rights, seemed to despise black people in his book The Jungle.

The legacy of freeing the slaves in the U.S. basically seemed to be resentment that they hadn't all just gone home to Africa... and been grateful for being allowed to.

Of course, thousands of books have been written about slavery in the United States, and hundreds of films have been made with varying degrees of accuracy and honesty. I'm only someone who writes for kids, and my simplistic portrayal of slavery in Knight's Crossing is only a story for kids.

In trying to write for young people about complex and/or serious subjects, an author is sometimes criticized in the same way adults criticize Disneyland or The Barney Show -- for being "childish" -- forgetting these things were made for kids. If one is looking for depth and complexity, don't go to Disneyland... or expect to find them in children's books.

What were the kids' reactions to the story? They laughed in the right places and looked thoughtful or angry in the other right places. That's enough praise for me.

As far as the "plantation language," most notably the words "sho'" and "massa," I have no doubt that the usual people will be offended: those who seem to feel that they're the spokespersons for everyone of color... and whether or not they have any color themselves. But I learned a long time ago that anything one does in life -- and sometimes simply being alive -- is going to offend someone, so I make no apologies. It would be a rare person who visited the South, or had southern friends, and hadn't heard "sure" pronounced as "sho'." Likewise, if you can get someone to say "master," it will probably sound like "massa."

Jess Mowry

To reduce loading time the novel is posted on several pages. Click the link at the bottom of each page to go on to the next.

Knight's Crossing
©2006 Jess Mowry

Chapter One:

"All aboard!"

The conductor's voice sounded muffled and flat, as if he was calling through cotton bales instead of the hot steamy air. The engine hooted its whistle twice, then started chugging slowly away as if weary of working so hard in this heat but not knowing how to escape.

Ashley stood on the station platform, his new carpet-bag at his feet. He watched the train as it gathered speed and went puffing away through the vine-tangled trees, leaving only its smoke and the sweltering silence in memory of its three-minute stop. Ashley had almost forgotten this heat after spending a year in New Orleans, where he'd celebrated his fourteenth birthday only a few weeks ago. His white linen shirt clung uncomfortably tight to the rolly-round shapes of his chest, while sweat trickled down the sides of his face from under his curly blond shoulder-length hair. Nothing moved in this sun-haunted place, where even the trees seemed to droop in exhaustion beneath their long streamers of gray Spanish moss.

In fact, the land seemed eerily still: it was like the feeling in hurricane season before the strike of a storm.

Ashley sucked air as thick as molasses and wiped his face as he looked around. An old man dozed on a rough wooden bench, a battered slouch hat over his face... the same old man who'd been slumbering there when Ashley had left a year before. An equally ancient and dusty brown dog lay asleep at one end of the platform -- probably also the very same dog -- and a pair of black boys were sprawled in the shade beneath the leaky water tank. A telegraph chattered inside the office, making a drowsy insect sound. It was really about the only reminder that a world existed beyond Knight's Crossing.

Ashley struggled to pull out his watch, which wasn't the easiest thing to do because his stomach had prospered this year and hung way over his brown canvas trousers. It was mostly imprisoned within his shirt, though trying its best to escape; and the cave of his navel was deeply peeking where once a button had been. Ashley had always been chubby, but his aunt in 'Orleans owned an excellent cook, and the city was filled with cafes.

Ashley finally extracted his watch, silver, heavy, made for a boy, designed for rough-and-tumble use; a parting gift from his father last year so Ashley "wouldn't be late for school." Flipping open its sturdy cover, he saw it was 12:46. The train had arrived only ten minutes late, yet there was no one but the dozing old man, the slumbering dog, and the lazy black boys. No buggy stood waiting to meet him.

"Well, damn," Ashley muttered, mopping more sweat from a chipmunk-cheeked face that boasted the hint of a small second chin. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; it was just like lazy old Jupiter to fall asleep at the reins. Nothing at all had changed around here, and probably never would.

The little town of Knight's Crossing -- a dozen buildings surrounded by trees -- was only a few minutes walk from the station. But, Ashley didn't feel like walking, especially toting his heavy bag through the dust and this dammable heat. He supposed he could sit by the man on the bench, or go inside the waiting room, where at least it was shady if not any cooler, but he wanted something to eat. He'd had a big breakfast in New Orleans, and bought a beef sandwich aboard the train, but he'd grown accustomed to ample meals and now he was hungry for lunch.

He stuffed the watch back into his pocket and glanced at a rusty bucket and dipper that hung on a nail by the waiting room door. A sign above it said WHITE ONLY -- as if any nigger could read -- but the overflow from the water tank would probably taste a lot better. What would really taste good was a big mug of beer, nice and cool from the cellar at home. ...Where the devil was Jupiter?

The two black boys had noticed Ashley. They seemed to be around his own age, but both were shirtless, barefoot and dusty. One wore only the shreds of trousers, though the other boy's were in better condition. The boy in rags was beautifully muscled and rather handsomely dark chocolate-brown. His chest jutted out like cobblestones, while his biceps bulged like river rocks. The other boy was as black as coal and almost impossibly fat. His canvas trousers -- similar to Ashley's but three times the size -- were strained to the point of bursting their seams on legs that resembled oak tree trunks, while his belly both filled and spilled over his lap. The spherical shapes of his chest were enormous, and his huge body boasted as many rolls as one might find in a French bakery. He was surely an astonishing sight, and Ashley found himself wondering how a slave could have had gotten so fat.

The muscular youth rose to his feet and trotted up to Ashley, bringing the smells of boy-sweat and dust. He certainly should have been working somewhere instead of just lazing around.

"Carry your bag, suh?" he asked.

Ashley considered the offer: there was no way of knowing how long it would take for Jupiter to finally arrive. The town had a reasonably decent tavern that featured an ample free lunch; and even foolish old Jupiter would guess where Ashley had gone. But, Ashley shook his head.

"No thanks," he said, though not sure why. He dug in a pocket -- again with a struggle -- and handed the black boy a penny. Then, he picked up his bag and walked down the platform, feeling new sweat soaking into his shirt from the effort it took to move in this heat. He unfastened a few of the buttons, then stopped in front of the mammoth boy, who looked up from under his thick bush of hair with bright onyx eyes and the hint of a smile. His behind was so big and his trousers so small that he really sat on them instead of in them.

"Boy," said Ashley. "Y'all want to carry my bag into town?"

The enormous boy only widened his smile, a lazy, slow, and foxy expression... maybe how a fox would look if he had free run of a henhouse. "I'd really rather not, young suh."

Ashley felt his cheeks flush. He couldn't believe he'd heard the boy right! There were many freed slaves in New Orleans, and mulatto children were always free no matter how dark they were. Ashley had learned to be tolerant when blacks addressed him as if they were equal. But, that had been in a civilized city, not in his own home town!

Ashley fought down a flash of anger, which made him sweat all the more. "That really wasn't a question, boy," he said in a warning tone.

The gargantuan youth only heaved a huge sigh. "I s'pose not." He then took a minute to yawn and stretch, which made his vast body wobble all over like riverbank mud when a steamboat chugged past. "How much you pay me, young massa?"

"I might give you a penny," said Ashley. "If you don't give me any more sass."

The boy raised a soot-colored eyebrow. "Sorry, young suh. I just couldn't do it for less than a nickel." Then he grinned with startling teeth, like the oversize chompers of some mighty beast. "Why, other niggers would talk!"

Ashley's cheeks flashed like a railroad warning. "Who you belong to, boy?" he demanded.

The fat boy looked a little amused. "Ol' Massa Franklin out in the swamp."

"Then why aren't you out there working?" snapped Ashley.

"Massa Franklin give me this day, an' a nickel to buy me some candy. ...Suh."

Ashley glanced toward the tree-shrouded town, hoping to see the dust of a buggy, but nothing stirred in the devilish heat. The muscular boy had come back down the platform.

"I carries your bag for that penny, suh." He patted his paving stone chest. "I's fairly strong."

"Then why aren't you working?" growled Ashley.

"I's been sold to a white boy, suh. I's gonna be his companion. I was waitin' on someone to come for me, but seem like they sent me a whole day early, an' I don't have the slightest of money."

Ashley frowned. "Who you say you been sold to, boy?"

"...I means a young massa, suh."

"That's better," said Ashley. "I assume you have a letter to prove the truth of what you say?"

"Sho' does, young massa. Gots it right here in my pocket, suh, along with my bill of sale."

"I don't need to see it," said Ashley. "Y'all don't look like a fool to me, so I know you wouldn't be lyin'." He studied the chocolate-brown boy for a moment: a very handsome muscular buck with somewhat unusual bright amber eyes and a cheerful intelligent face. He didn't have a lot of mass, but every young muscle was starkly defined like an artist's anatomy model. He was also rather smelly, though Ashley wasn't bothered by that, having been around his father's slaves for thirteen years of his life. He probably smelled a little himself from sweating for hours on the train. The young buck's trousers were slightly too large --what remained of them, anyhow -- clinging comically low on his narrow hips and revealing a few sooty curls. Ashley had never had a companion, at least not a boy of his very own, but someone was going to be very lucky to get such a sturdy young buck as a gift.

"I don't want your help," said Ashley. "...But, thanks just the same. I hope y'all like your new master." That wasn't a proper thing to say, but it came out before he could think.

He dug in his pocket again. "Here's a dime for something to eat." He glanced at the featureless sky overhead, as empty and blue as a porcelain bowl, though slightly dark to the south. "Y'all best find you a dry place to sleep 'cause it look like to storm in a while." Ashley considered, then added: "Y'all go see the blacksmith in town, Darby O'Gill. Tell him Ashley Knight sent you. I 'spect he'll let you sleep in his shop."

"Thank you, suh!" said the boy with a smile. "But, don't y'all want me to carry your bag?"

"No," said Ashley, though still not sure why. The boy could have probably carried him along with his cumbersome luggage. "Y'all best be goin'," he added. "Folks 'round here don't like seein' niggers with nothing constructive to do. ...An' I wouldn't advise bein' out after dark."

"Thank you, suh," the boy said again, then trotted obediently off to town.

"That was very kind of you, suh," the huge fat boy remarked.

"I just didn't want him gettin' in trouble. ...Or swingin' from a tree tonight." Ashley dropped his bag on the ground. "All right. I'll pay you a nickel. But, you're tryin' my patience, boy."

"Y'all just give him a dime for nothin'."

"Shut up an' get up!" roared Ashley. "Or I give you somethin' you won't soon forget!"

The fat boy only smiled again and struggled to get to his feet. After several ridiculous tries he collapsed in a quivering heap. "Can y'all gimmie a hand, young suh?"

"Well, damn!" Ashley knelt down and shoved a shoulder beneath an enormous arm. After several minutes of sweaty struggle, he got the huge boy on his feet.

The fat boy's trousers almost fell off, but he gave them a half-hearted tug with a hand and they managed to clung to his mostly bare bottom, which looked like two ebony planets colliding. He wasn't any taller than Ashley, but was easily four times as wide. His trouser cuffs puddled over his feet, and his wobbly mass of belly blubber hung all the way down to his knees. His navel resembled a railroad tunnel.

"Let's go," said Ashley, whose white linen shirt was now stained with dust and even more sodden with muddy buck sweat. "What's your name?"

"Loki, suh. But they call me Lucky."

"Well, hurry up, Lucky, I don't have all day!"

But, Lucky didn't hurry. It seemed to take every ounce of his strength to lift Ashley's bag off the ground, and he waddled along at the pace of a snail, dragging the bag behind him. His thighs seemed to get in each other's way, making each step a major event, and he dropped Ashley's bag about every ten feet to tug up his trousers again. Ashley had to wait when this happened, and was getting hotter and angrier with every passing minute.

Lucky was puffing like a steam locomotive by the time they were halfway to town. He dropped the bag in the dirt once more as his trousers slid down to his ankles, then wiped the sweat from his triple-chinned face. "I's sorry, young massa," he wheezed. "I's just too fat for this kind of work."

"Damn you, boy!" bellowed Ashley. "Pick up that bag and come on, you hear!"

"I can't, suh," Lucky panted.

Ashley muttered another curse and snatched the bag from the dirt. He turned to stalk away, but then hesitated and turned back around. "Pull up those trousers and come on, boy! At least you can watch my bag for me. You can do that, can't you?"

Lucky smiled and recovered his trousers. "Sho', young massa. But I wants me another nickel."

"What!" cried Ashley. "You didn't earn your first nickel yet! I wouldn't give you a tin picayune for all you've done so far!"

"But I tried to please you, young massa."

"What do you do out at Franklin's?"

"I thinks a lot, suh. An' I tell my thinkin's to massa."

"Don't mess with me!" Ashley yelled. "Nobody owns a thinkin' nigger!"

"I helps my mammy in the cook house, some. She be the best cook in the world."

"As if you knew anything about the world!" Ashley poked Lucky's gigantic belly, his finger sinking out of sight. "It's obvious you work around food. Likely as not you steal it, too."

"Oh no, suh! I whistle all the way up the walk."

"Don't lie to me, boy! Ain't no way in hell an honest nigger could get as fat as you!" Ashley's own trousers slipped low on his hips as his roll of tummy spilled out of his shirt.

Lucky had the gall to poke it. "But honest white folks can?"

"I'm a human being," snapped Ashley. "You're not. Now, c'mon, dammit!"

"What about my nickel?"

"Here!" yelled Ashley, hurling a coin at the smiling boy, who caught it in one chubby hand. "Now, COME ON!"

Ashley was puffing and panting himself by the time they reached the tavern, with Lucky waddling slowly behind. Lucky hadn't had the strength to tote Ashley's bag, yet he seemed to have plenty of breath to whistle a cheerful tune as he walked.

The tavern was brick with a wide veranda, and shaded by massive oak trees. The scents of food and foamy beer drifted out through the open front doors. Ashley paused to study the sky.

"I feels it, too," said Lucky. "There be a big storm comin' on."

"Animals can always sense trouble," Ashley muttered sarcastically. He mounted the steps and dropped his bag. There were tables and chairs on the shady pouch, but it would be cooler inside. "Here, boy," said Ashley. "Sit yourself down and watch my bag. At least that's something you're capable of. ...Not in a chair! Y'all taken leave of your senses?"

Lucky smiled. "You're perfectly right, I'd likely bust it." He then plopped down on the boards of porch, and the whole building seemed to shake. "I guards your bag with my life, young suh."

"You damn well better! It's worth a lot more!" Ashley tucked in his shirt, hoisted his trousers, and started to enter the doorway, but Lucky gave him a wistful look.

"I sho' is hungry, young massa. An' awful thirsty, too."

Ashley sighed. "I'll bring you something."

The tavern's interior was fairly cool. A gallery encircled its second floor, where rooms could be rented for the night... also by the hour. The windows were thickly coated with dust, so most of the light came in through the doorway. A long oak bar with a tarnished brass rail filled one side of the room, with a mirror, and bottles on shelves behind it. Tables and chairs were scattered around, including a big one that held the free lunch. A couple of loungers stood at the bar, their tattered clothes and battered hats revealing them as sharecroppers. One of the men had a small bullwhip coiled and tied to his belt -- proof that he was wealthy enough to afford at least one slave. Some better-dressed men occupied a few tables; and there was a card game in progress. The air was thick with cigar smoke, which blended well with the scents of food and the malty aroma of beer. Ashley adjusted his trousers again. He supposed he should have bought new clothes, but most of his money had gone for food and the many sweet treats to be had in 'Orleans.

The tavern-keeper was a brown-bearded, beer-bellied, ruddy-faced man who smiled as Ashley strode up to the bar. "Afternoon, suh. ...Why, you're Ashley Knight."

"Afternoon, Tom," replied Ashley.

"Ain't seen you around in seem like a year. Where y'all been keepin' yourself?"

Ashley briefly told the man about his stay in New Orleans, then ordered himself a beer. He laid a nickel on the bar, but the tavern-keeper smiled again. "It's on me, suh. Welcome home."

"Thank you, Tom," said Ashley. He raised the foaming mug in salute. "Your health, suh." He went to the table to build a sandwich, but noticed Lucky peeping in. Damn the uppity boy! The tavern-keeper had noticed him, too, and the poor white men were scowling.

"That your boy?" asked Tom. "If he ain't, I'll run him off."

"He's watching my bag," said Ashley, picturing Lucky trying to run, which made a funny sight. "Another beer, Tom, if you please."

"Y'all buy him down in New Orleans?" asked the tattered man with the whip.

Ashley almost said no. Many boys his age had companions, who also acted as personal servants. In England they were called squires; and he'd read a lot about knights and such in the ancient days of chivalry. "He's watching my bag," Ashley repeated, speaking the truth while implying a lie.

"He'll have to go around back," said Tom.

"Of course," agreed Ashley. He paid his nickel, then carried the second mug out to Lucky. The other poor white regarded his beer and muttered something about "sanitation," but the tavern-keeper told him to hush.

Lucky gulped down half the beer as soon as Ashley gave it to him. "Mmmm!" he panted, finally coming up for air. "That sho' is good, young massa! ...But, y'all ain't forgot my lunch, has you?"

"No I hasn't... haven't," said Ashley. "But, you have to go around back."

"Thank you, suh," said Lucky. "I 'spect it be cooler back there." He got to his feet with surprising ease. "Y'all bring your bag so's I can keep watchin'." He waddled away with the mug in hand, while Ashley followed, toting the bag. The rear of the tavern was shaded by trees and cooler than the veranda. Lucky sprawled out with his back to the bricks and gulped down the rest of his beer. "I could use me another one, suh. An' I sho' is powerful hungry."

"All right!" cried Ashley, flinging his bag beside the huge boy and raising a billow of dust. "I haven't tasted my own, thanks to you!"

"But, I's guardin' your property, suh."

"Well, damn!" muttered Ashley. He reentered the tavern through the back door, took a big gulp from his own beer mug, then went to the table and grabbed a plate. There was roast beef, ham, and slices of bread, pickles, onions, salted potatoes and hard-boiled eggs, among many other tempting things. Ashley constructed a big beef sandwich. Then a new thought came to mind. He knew that Lucky was teasing him -- the boy seemed surprisingly smart -- but Ashley wasn't a fool. He wasn't sure why he'd chosen Lucky instead of the handsome, muscular buck, who would have carried his bag for a penny. Maybe he'd only been curious because Lucky was something different? No one knew much about Franklin's plantation. A few slave owners raised "oddities," and Lucky was odd as mule in pajamas. Or, maybe he was only a pet, kept to amuse his master like the jesters in days or yore? That would account for his sassiness and dammable lack of respect. Ashley began to pile the plate with everything in sight. He added so much that the tavern-keeper raised an astonished eyebrow.

"Beggin' your pardon, Master Knight, but y'all could put me out of business."

"I'll pay for this, Tom," said Ashley. "Another beer, please."

One of the gamblers looked up from his cards. "If I may be allowed an observation, you can't possibly eat all that, suh."

"It's not for me," said Ashley. "That boy... of mine... is uppity, an' I'm 'bout to teach him a lesson."

The man cocked his head. "An' what might that be, if I may inquire?"

"He's been pesterin' me like the devil, an' now he cryin' he's hungry. Well, if he can't eat what I give him, I believe I'll borrow that gentleman's whip and teach him a lesson in manners, suh."

The poor white at the bar raised his mug. "I'll sho' nuff drink to that, suh!"

Everyone watched with interest as Ashley heaped more food on the plate. "Lord, Master Knight." said Tom. "Y'all gonna bust me!"

Ashley laughed. "I'm gonna bust somethin'!"

"It's on me, Tom," said the gambler. Then he turned to Ashley. "Y'all be a bettin' man, suh?"

"I just spent a year in 'Orleans, suh. Ever hear of The House of the Rising Sun?"

The man seemed impressed -- though Ashley didn't bother to add that he'd never been inside the place. "Y'all cuttin' a prosperous figure, suh. An' no denying your boy is, too, so I guess y'all don't lose much. But I'll make you a proposition, suh. I got me a shiny new dollar right here says that boy of yours can't eat all that food."

"I'm in," said the man with the whip, and another gambler joined the bet.

"All right," agreed Ashley, finished at last, and admiring the mountain of vittles he'd built. "Y'all want Tom to hold the bets?"

"I trust you, suh," said the gambler. "But, that boy of yours is gonna be thirsty after all that beef an' ham, an' salty boiled potatoes. I ought to buy him a couple more beers."

Ashley nodded. "All right." He studied the heaping plate for a moment, knowing he'd lose the bet... Lucky couldn't possibly eat all that. But, sending Lucky waddling home with a couple of stripes across his bottom was more than worth a few dollars. Ashley enjoyed the look of dismay on Lucky's chubby ebony face when he carried the brimming plate out back, followed by Tom with three mugs of beer, the pair of gentleman gamblers, and the ragged white man with the whip.

"Here, boy," said Ashley, shoving the plate into Lucky's hands. "Exactly what you asked for! You can't eat all that after deviling me, I'll take it as a personal insult, an' I'll be in my rights to give you a thrashin'."

The poor white eagerly offered his whip. Ashley had never held one before -- his father's slaves never needed a lash-- but the supple leather felt good in his hands and gave him a feeling of power.

Lucky stared down at the hugely-heaped plate. "Oh lord, young massa! I can't eat all this!"

Ashley curled the whip. "Eat it or else!"

"That's tellin' him, suh!" laughed the poor white man.

Lucky looked trapped for a moment, but then began to eat. Tom set down the trio of mugs.

"You said you were thirsty, too," Ashley added. "I hope for the sake of your bottom you are!"

Everyone watched in expectant silence as Lucky ate and drank. For a while there were only the sounds of chomping, accompanied by gulps of beer. Somehow the food was vanishing! But, then he began to slow down, forcing himself to chew and swallow. Still, he kept stuffing himself. The poor white man looked uncertain. The gambler cocked his head with interest. Lucky was panting and pouring sweat, but had eaten two-thirds of the plateful of food, and only one mug of beer remained.

Ashley began to feel guilty: this now seemed a bit cruel. "That's enough," he finally said. "I think you've learned your lesson, boy."

The gamblers chuckled, and Tom looked relieved -- folks always said he had a good heart -- but the poor white muttered, "A bet's a bet, boy!"

"Mind who you're calling 'boy'," warned Ashley.

Lucky massaged his massive middle. "But I can't stop now, young massa. You lose all that money on me."

"It's not important," said Ashley.

The gambler slapped Ashley's shoulder. "Your boy's got spirit, I'll give him that."

Ashley dropped the whip on the ground and knelt beside the panting Lucky. "I said it's all right, you can stop now."

"No, young massa," gasped Lucky. "Y'all put your trust in me."

There were only two potatoes left, some slices of beef, and the last mug of beer. Lucky managed to finish it all, then let out a thunderous burp that scared a sleeping crow in a tree.

The gambler whistled. "I'd of never believed it if I hadn't seen it!" He broke out laughing "That's the best dammed bet I've lost in years!"

The poor white grumbled under his breath, but pulled out a dollar and snatched up his whip. The men went back in the tavern, and Lucky collapsed against the wall.

"Are you all right?" asked Ashley, worried for Lucky... and not about having to pay for him in case he was damaged somehow.

Lucky smiled, his eyes almost shut, his fingers clasped over his titanic tummy as if to prevent an explosion. "I never hurt so good in my life!"

"You sure you gonna be all right?"

"'Spect I just sleep for a while, suh. I generally does after lunch."

The tavern-keeper returned. "Your buggy's out front, Master Knight."

"Thank you, Tom," said Ashley. He turned back to Lucky. "I'll give you a ride out to Franklin's." He smiled a little. "No denying' you earned it." He glanced at the dollars he'd won. "Here, boy, you take 'em."

"Huh?" asked Lucky, nearly asleep.

Ashley shook the huge boy's shoulders. "C'mon now, wake up! I said I'll give you a ride home."

"But I's too full to move, young massa."

"I'll help you. Come on."

That wasn't easy. Lucky's vast body was slippery with sweat and there was nothing to grab. It took several minutes of strain and struggle to finally get him on his feet. Ashley was panting and gasping himself as he pulled Lucky's arm across his shoulders and helped him waddle away.

Chapter Two:

Like the sleepy little town, Jupiter hadn't changed a bit... a wrinkled old raisin with snowy white hair, who moved at the speed of an arthritic turtle. He'd seen a lot in his seventy years, but his eyebrows threatened to topple his hat when Ashley staggered around the building supporting the gigantic Lucky.

"I's sorry I's late, Massa Knight," said Jupiter. "But I can't move as fast as I used to."

Ashley gave the old man a smile. "Meanin' you fell asleep on the road an' the horse just stopped in the shade somewhere. Good to see you, Juppy. Y'all know this boy?"

"Just by reputation. He belong to Franklin' out at Content. ...But what in creation you doin' with him?"

Ashley laughed. "I invited him to lunch."

"'S'cue my ignorance, Massa Knight, but do 'Orleans whitefolks take blackfolks to lunch?"

"You never been ignorant, Juppy. Lucky kind of amused me, I guess. We'll take him to Franklin's before goin' home."

"Your folks might get worried," said Jupiter. He pushed back his hat to study the sky. "With a storm comin' on, an' we's already late. Be 'least a hour to Franklin's."

"I'll have Tom send someone home with a message. Let's get Lucky aboard."

That was easier said than done. It was four feet up to the back of the buggy, and Lucky was just about helpless. Jupiter was fairly strong, but Ashley had done very little but eat and leisurely stroll in the city all year, so his muscles had softened a lot. After what seemed like hours of slippery struggle they'd managed to get Lucky halfway in; but try as they might, grunting and gasping, they couldn't lift him the rest of the way. Ashley was ready to yell for Tom when the muscular buck from the station appeared.

"Y'all needin' some help, suh?" he asked.

"God bless you, boy," panted Ashley.

The young buck's muscles completed the task, and Lucky was finally wrestled aboard, where he instantly went to sleep.

"Thanks," said Ashley, mopping more sweat from his face. The buttons had burst on his sodden shirt, and he peeled it off his glistening body as pale as a catfish's underside. "Y'all find the blacksmith?"

"Yes suh." The boy looked off toward the southern sky. "It gonna be stormin' fit to bust before the sun go down, but I gots me a roof an' a blanket tonight."

"Go around back of the tavern," said Ashley. "I'll have Tom bring you something to eat. An' here's a dollar for all your help."

"Lord!" exclaimed the boy. "I never had so much money before! Now I see why they calls him Lucky!"

Ashley patted the boy's bushy head. "Your new master's gonna be lucky, too... but don't you tell him that."

Ashley accompanied the happy young buck to get his bag from behind the tavern, then went inside to buy him a meal and have a message sent home. Finally, he returned to the buggy and climbed on the seat beside Jupiter. They rattled slowly out of town and onto a road that led through the swamp, tunneling under massive trees bearded with streamers of dangling moss. Ashley tossed his shirt in the back and stretched his sweaty body.

"That feels a lot better! I hated all them fancy-ass clothes I had to wear in the city."

"Welcome home, massa," said Jupiter. He grinned and poked Ashley's stomach. "Y'all be cuttin' a prosperous figure."

Ashley glanced down at himself. "'Spect I gained about thirty pounds, an' I thoroughly enjoyed every one. You just wouldn't believe the food down there!"

Jupiter chuckled. "Ain't hard to believe, lookin' at you."

"...But, dammit, I didn't have any lunch. An' I'm thirsty as hellfire, too!"

"Water jug's 'neath the seat, suh. ...An' here, I brung your hat."

"Thanks," said Ashley. The hat was a boyish and savage adornment, boasting a rattlesnake skin for a band, along with a jaunty hawk feather. "S'pose it be the only thing that fit me anymore." He clamped the old hat on his head. "I surely missed my buckskin trousers."

Jupiter smiled. "I 'spect we can entice my missus into makin' y'all a new pair. 'Course, you be all growed up now. Can't be goin' around half naked an' lookin' like a injun-boy."

"Next you'll be trying to trim my beard!" Ashley pulled out the crockery jug and took several gulps of hot, flat water. "I really wanted a beer." He reached in his bag for a box of cigars. "I brought these for you." Then he sighed. "Reckon they had a fine big lunch all waitin' for me at home."

Jupiter ducked some feathery moss as they passed underneath a low tree branch. "Well, yes an' no, Massa Knight."

"My name is Ashley, as you well know. ...And what do you mean?"

"Your father had to sell Lizzie last month, an' the meals just ain't been the same. Your lunch be waitin' big all right, but I wouldn't be callin' it fine."

Ashley's mouth dropped open. "Why would he ever sell Lizzie?"

"'Cause he had to sell off Lizzie's daughter, an' you know how he feel about bustin' up families."

"You mean Suzie?"

"Sho' nuff, Ash."

"But, Suzie was only about my age. ...I liked her a lot."

Jupiter shrugged. "Damn little fool! Got herself in a family way with some field-buck over at Benson's place."

"...Oh," said Ashley. He'd been looking forward to seeing Suzie.

"So," continued Jupiter, flicking the slow horse's rump with the whip. "Your father seem to think it best if Suzie be sold to Benson. An' natcherly Lizzie go with her."

"Well, damn!" said Ashley. "Benson got the best of that deal! Lizzie was a wonderful cook. ...So, who's cookin' now?"

"One of the field girls, Betty her name.. An' lord she could burn a potful of water!"

"Well, damn!" muttered Ashley again. He glanced back at the slumbering Lucky, watching what had to be 500 pounds wobble and jiggle like night-colored pudding as the buggy bounced over the rutted road. "He told me his mammy's a real good cook. Ain't hard to believe that much of his tales."

"I's heard similar talk myself."

"Hmmm," said Ashley, glancing at Lucky again.

Chapter Three:

Seth Franklin's plantation was not very large. Nor was it noted around Knight's Crossing for being especially prosperous. Ashley had never met the man and didn't know much about him. Jupiter probably knew a lot more, but like all wise slaves never let on.

The drive to the Big House was neatly raked and lined with rounded river rocks, though it wasn't graveled to keep down the dust like the much grander entrance to Ashley's home. The welcoming archway out on the road was simply built of cedar logs with the name, CONTENT, carved above. The land was nearly surrounded by swamp, making it almost an island, so Franklin grew rice on his wetter grounds and sugar cane on the driest.

Lucky was still sleeping peacefully as they rolled up the drive between the fields, where stalks of cane grew green and tall. The afternoon air was brutally hot, and the stormy feeling had doubled. Ashley studied the sky to the south: its haze had taken a coppery tone. He hoped he'd be home and eating supper before the fury broke.

There were only about twenty slaves at work -- men, women, and older youths -- out chopping cane in the steamy fields. Ashley noted that, unlike some masters, Franklin didn't lock masks on his slaves to keep them from eating the cane. He also noticed that all the slaves looked very well-fed and smiled a lot. He saw three boys of about his own age, two in trousers similar to Lucky's, the third wearing only a loincloth. All of them were chubby. One boy almost looked like himself... except for being black, of course. The men were rather handsomely built, and none of the women and girls were thin. Their pace as they worked was a lot more unhurried than Ashley's father would have allowed.

The Big House looked impressive enough, though only half the size of Ashley's. The Quarters were out in plain sight behind it, and seemed to be in a lot better shape than the dwellings of many poor whites. Flowers were growing around the cabins, and young children played on the Big House's lawn, though some were old enough to be working.

"Ain't no wonder Franklin's not rich," Ashley remarked while buttoning his shirt. "He's let his slaves get fat an' lazy. ...An' look at those kids doin' nothin'!"

"Shameful, ain't it?" said Jupiter.

The children all ran to the buggy as it came to a stop in front of the house... another thing that Ashley's father would never have allowed. Like the older kids out in the fields, all were chubby, at least well-fed; and one boy who might have been about twelve was so enormous that Ashley stared. He wasn't as fat as Lucky if measured in actual pounds, but he seemed to be nothing but wobbly rolls. He waddled out from the shade of the house, leaning way back to balance a belly than hung nearly down to his knees. He must have been the stable boy, as evidenced by a battered blue cap atop his woolly bush of hair. He was eating a piece of cornbread and honey, and really needed three hands... one to hold the horse's reins, another to keep his trousers on, and a third to feed his double-chinned face. The other kids spied Lucky asleep and started to giggle and laugh.

"Y'all figure out what to do with him," Ashley said to Jupiter. He adjusted his hat and climbed down from the buggy, automatically searching his pockets and passing out pennies to all the kids. "Mind that horse," he said to the mammoth stable boy, while handing him a nickel. "She spooks like crazy whenever it thunders."

A wet breeze stirred the sultry air as Ashley approached the house. There came a distant thunder crash. The slaves in the fields all stopped their work and began walking back to the Quarters. The house's front door swung gently open as Ashley mounted the steps to the porch. He almost tripped and fell in surprise... instead of a proper butler or maid, a chubby young black girl appeared.

She was wearing only a simple slave dress, its blue cotton clinging so wonderfully tight that it clearly revealed every curve of her body. Her silky skin was as dark as jet, and her face was a female version of Lucky's, roundly-cheeked and button-nosed. Her hair was a halo of ringlets, while her eyes were large, very long-lashed, and sparkled like polished obsidian.

Ashley instantly pulled off his hat before realizing how silly that was. He tried not to stare at the beautiful girl in her tight-clinging thin cotton dress. Then, he felt himself blushing.

His voice sounded husky and froggish, and he clutched his hat in nervous hands like a sharecropper begging a favor. "Um... is your mass..." He cleared his throat and began again. "Is your master in?"

The girl smiled sweetly, dimpling her cheeks. Ashley fought to control his eyes, wanting to look at this beautiful girl, knowing he had every right to look, but feeling absurdly shy. He realized she had spoken to him. "Huh?" he asked.

"Who should I say is callin', please?" the girl repeated with the hint of a giggle.

"...Oh. ...Um... My name's Ashley. ...Ashley Knight."

"Won't you step in, Master Knight?"

Still clutching his hat, Ashley came in as the girl moved aside. He didn't want her to curtsey for him, and thankfully she didn't. Her scent was somehow like water-lilies. She closed the door behind him, after taking a look at the threatening sky.

"This way, please, Master Knight." She led him up a hallway, her bare feet soundless on polished oak. Ashley couldn't keep his eyes from scanning her wonderfully rounded figure. He got the impression that many fine paintings were hung along the wainscotted walls, but he hardly even noticed the art, being entranced by the girl. She ushered him into a library and dimpled her chubby cheeks again.

"The Master is havin' his afternoon nap, but I'm sure he won't mind receiving you. I'll just be a minute, suh. Please have a seat."

"Um," said Ashley, almost crushing his hat in his hands. It certainly wasn't proper, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "My name is Ashley. ...Um, what's yours?"

The girl's eyes seemed to linger on him. "Lucinda."

Ashley swallowed. "That's a real pretty name."

"Thank you." Lucinda smiled again, then added, "Ashley."

Ashley just stood with hat in hands after Lucinda had left. "Well, damn!" he murmured. Several of the children outside resembled African cupids, and he wondered if he'd been shot in the back with one of those fabled arrows.

He tried to shake off what felt like a spell, and glanced around the room. The furniture seemed to be rather old, but looked cared-for and cherished. The air was pleasantly cool, the sunlight tamed by wine-colored drapes; but Ashley's shirt was thoroughly soaked, as well as begrimed from his struggles with Lucky. He probably smelled as sweaty and male as the muscled young buck he'd met at the station. His boots were appallingly dusty, and his canvas trousers were really quite common. He hoped that Franklin would not be displeased, though he worried more about the impression he might have made on Lucinda. ...That was really absurd!

He considered the chubby children, and wondered if Franklin bred speciality slaves to supplement his crops. Maybe he raised young slaves for the house, with polished manners and eye-pleasing looks... though he seemed to have polished Lucky too well. He became aware of more paintings around him, and though he knew very little of art, they all appeared to be skillfully done. Most were landscapes and bayou scenes, but others were slave children, usually chubby. There were many old leather-bound books on the shelves, and Ashley began to study their titles. It seemed as if Franklin was very well-read: there were Shakespeare, Dante, Cervantes, Poe, Dickens, DeFoe and Hawthorne, plus volumes of Philosophy as well as many religious tomes. There were also books about Africa; and Ashley was scanning their well-worn spines when Lucinda's soft voice surprised him. He turned around, feeling stupidly shy, like a sharecropper waiting to ask for a loan, ill at ease in a gentleman's house. That, of course, was completely absurd! His own house was ten-times grander than Franklin's, and much more lavishly furnished. Even though lacking original art.

He fought to control his eyes once more, to make them politely meet the girl's instead of scanning her plump round figure as if she was only another possession on display like the paintings.

"Master will be down directly," she said, smiling at Ashley again. "He asks if you'll have some refreshment?" She indicated a sideboard with several crystal decanters. "May I make y'all a julep, suh?"

Ashley was still very thirsty... Lucky had managed to guzzle four beers while he'd only gotten a swallow of one. And now his throat was drier than ever. "Um," he said, still holding his hat like a beggar boy. "Would a beer be possible...?" He caught himself before adding, "Miss." What in hell was wrong with him? Then, he heard his voice again, as if it was speaking without his permission. "It's Ashley... please."

Were the girl's eyes amused, he wondered? Or, was that a sparkle of interest?

"Why certainly... Ashley. I'll be right back."

"Um?" he asked, as she turned to leave. "'Scuse my ignorance... I mean, pardon me... but are you related to Lucky?"

Lucinda giggled. "He's my brother. We're fraternal twins."

"Oh," said Ashley, abusing his hat. "I... um, just wondered."

"That's only natural... Ashley."

"Well, damn!" murmured Ashley again, after Lucinda departed. He caught sight of himself in a mirror, and actually searched his back for an arrow! Or, had he been caught in a Voodu spell like the colored folk cast down in New Orleans?

There came another rumble of thunder, still far away though closer now, and the glass decanters rattled their stoppers in sympathetic vibration. He went to the windows and parted their drapes, which, unlike those in his own home, didn't spill onto the floor in "wastes." He was scanning the rapidly darkening sky when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. He turned to see what might have been the fattest man on the planet.

In a white linen suit, and with snowy white hair, Seth Franklin made Ashley think of a ship under full and majestic sail. In contrast to a spotless shirt, the man's face and hands were deeply tanned... dramatically darker than Ashley's skin.

Conscious of his sweaty clothes, and also his hat with its crude decorations, Ashley went to meet the huge man. Shaking his hand was a little awkward because of the man's incredible size. Franklin's brown eyes studied Ashley with interest.

"I'm honored, Master Knight," said Franklin. "I've heard of your travels. A year in 'Orleans has agreed with you."

"There's surely no shortage of good things to eat. And I believe I devoured my share." Ashley added his reason for coming, and Seth Franklin boomed out a laugh.

"Lucky's a little rascal all right! I really don't know why I keep him. I swear he eats his own weight every day. He's slower than molasses in winter, and as useful as a three-legged mule."

Ashley felt a little embarrassed as Lucinda returned with two mugs on a tray... Lucky was her brother. "Well..." he said. "He seems like a very intelligent boy." He glanced at the girl as she offered the tray. Did her eyes seem amused again?

"Will there be anything else, Master Franklin?" she asked.

"I 'spect we'll be wanting more beer in a bit. And, Master Knight will be staying over, so please prepare a room."

"Of course," said Lucinda.

"Oh," said Ashley. "Pardon me, suh, but I got... must be getting home."

Thunder rumbled again as he spoke, and lightning blazed the sky outside.

"I wouldn't hear of it, suh," said Franklin. He moved to the window in his slow and majestic sailing-ship way. "It will be raining like Noah's flood before you even reach the road."

Ashley could hear the wind rising, moaning around the house's walls, bending the stalks of cane in the fields, and whipping the tree branches to and fro with their ragged streamers of moss. The slaves had all disappeared by now, probably sung in their cabins.

"But, my folks will be worried," said Ashley.

"My stable boy can take them a message." Franklin turned to Lucinda. "Please tell little Danny to saddle a horse."

The sky had darkened to gunmetal gray, and raindrops exploded against the glass with a sound like pistol shots. There was another flash of lightning, followed by a roar of thunder that rattled the row of decanters again.

"I'll go tell Danny, suh," said Ashley, setting down his beer untasted. "No need for Lu... your girl to get wet."

"This way, Master Knight," said Lucinda, showing Ashley into the hall.

"Um, my name is..."

Lucinda laughed as she led the way through the now dimlit and shadowy house. "I couldn't call you Ashley in front of my master, could I?"

"You're right," agreed Ashley, as they crossed a darkened dining hall and entered the kitchen in back of the house. A gust of wet wind burst into the room as Lucinda opened an outside door. It was already raining buckets, big fat drops that flattened the lawn and splattered the bricks of the whistling walk that led to the little cook house. Steam was swirling up from the ground, though the air was still heavy with heat.

"There's the stable," said Lucinda, pointing toward some tossing trees. "But you'll be soaked to the skin!"

"It's only water," said Ashley. He clamped on his hat and ran for the stable across the slippery, rain-soaked grass where puddles were deeply forming. This was the first time in nearly a year that Ashley had tried to run anywhere, and he found his body bobbing about in rather awkward ways. A button popped on his trousers, and he had to hold them up with a hand. Still, it felt good to be out in the rain, somehow wild and savagely free with the wind whipping at him and tousling his hair. A razor of lighting slashed the sky, and thunder crashed like a cannon blast. In seconds he was thoroughly soaked. He stumbled, panting, into the stable. There were good smells of horses and hay; and Jupiter had the buggy inside. Their own nervous horse was safe in a stall, and Jupiter was soothing her. The stable boy had lighted a lantern, and was comfortably sprawled on a pile of straw.

Ashley stripped out of his sodden shirt as rain rattled down on the cedar shake roof. "Juppy, we'll be stayin' the night. I’m sure they'll make you comfortable." He glanced at the empty buggy. "What happened to Lucky?"

"We unload him back at the Quarters," said Jupiter.

Ashley turned to the stable boy. "Sorry, Danny, but y'all gotta ride out to my place an' tell my folks I'll be here overnight. You know the way to Diligence? It's three miles north of town."

"Reckon I can find it," said Danny. "Y'all 'spect they feed me?" He got to his feet, almost losing his trousers.

"'Course they will," said Ashley. "We treat our nig... servants right."

Lightning flashed outside again, glaring bright through gaps in the walls. Thunder shook the building, and rain pounded down even harder. Danny saddled a huge plow horse that didn't seem disturbed by the storm. The beast, Ashley noted, was also quite fat, the fattest horse he'd ever seen, and the saddle's cinch could hardly be fastened beneath its tremendous barrel of belly. Danny's own belly was just so big that he couldn't raise a leg high enough to get a foot in the stirrup. Ashley tried to boost him up, but couldn't lift Danny's enormous weight.

"Deja vu!" he panted. "I been here before!"

Danny giggled, more or less in Ashley's arms but spilling over everywhere. "Y'all mean tryin' to lift my brother?"

"I should have guessed he'd be your brother." Ashley dropped to his hands and knees so Danny could stand on his back. Finally, with Jupiter helping, they got the blubbery boy on the horse.

"Y'all sure they feed me?" asked Danny again.

"You tell Jacob the butler I said to. They had a big lunch all ready for me, so there ought to be plenty leftover." Ashley adjusted the stirrups to better fit Danny's chubby bare feet, then opened his bag in the back of the buggy and pulled out an oilskin cloak." Wrap this around you, Danny. An' here's fifty cents for your trouble."

Danny clamped his cap on tight. "Ain't no trouble as long as they feed me."

"Y'all be careful now." Ashley opened the stable doors, struggling against the gusts of wind until Jupiter came to his aid. The hissing rain pelted his chest and face as the hugely fat horse ambled out in the storm and splashed away through the puddles. Ashley remained in the doorway, letting the wind and rain lash his body.

"Y'all lost your senses?" said Jupiter. "Get out that rain a'fore you take cold!" He draped a horse blanket across Ashley's shoulders and started to rub Ashley down like a pony. "I's sorry about your homecomin', Ash. Y'all was right 'bout me fallin' asleep. If I hadn't been so lazy, then none of this would've happened."

Ashley peered out through the curtains of rain that were sweeping in waves across the lawn. The house's back door was still open, and Lucinda stood waiting inside. "God bless you, Juppy. I'm glad it happened!"

Chapter Four:

"What do you think of slavery, suh?"

Ashley was thinking about Lucinda. It took him a moment to realize what Franklin had actually asked. Ashley's slowness wasn't surprising: he had never been so stuffed in his life. He was sprawled in a comfortable armchair, his bootless feet on a hassock. One hand held a snifter of brandy, the other a fine cigar. A lamp shone warmly on a table, filling the room with a soft golden glow. The wind howled outside like a tormented beast, and raindrops pounded the window glass, which made the room a pleasant refuge from the savage storm lashing the land.

Ashley glanced at a clock on the mantle: it was almost 10:30. He hoped little Danny had reached his house and was also warm and dry.

Supper had been like a gourmet's dream. Franklin lived alone with his slaves: his wife had passed-on some years before, and his sons were lawyers in New Orleans. The table had only been set for two, but there had been enough food for ten, and the courses seemed to be endless. Ashley couldn't remember them all, only that each was superb. There had been ham with a thick honey glaze, along with fried chicken deliciously battered. There was a massive slab of beef, mashed potatoes, and rich brown gravy, corn-on-the-cob slathered with butter, greens and other vegetables, along with so many specialty dishes that Ashley couldn't keep track. He couldn't have refused anything; that would have been impolite. Besides, it was next to impossible with Lucinda seemingly always beside him, refilling his beer mug and bringing more food.

He'd caught a glimpse of Lucky in the kitchen, still wearing nothing but canvas trousers, glistening wet from his trips to the cook-house to bring in yet more succulent wonders. He had also been busily sampling them.

Dessert was a massive pecan pie smothered with mountains of sweet whipped cream; and Ashley had hardly been able to move after he'd managed to finish his slice. He could hardly get out of his chair when Franklin suggested cigars and brandy.

A grinning Lucky had then appeared, rainwater dripping from every loose roll, and held Ashley's chair as he'd struggled to rise. Lucky had waddled along behind as Ashley accompanied Franklin, who proceeded him into the libraray where Lucinda was pouring drinks. Lucky had knelt to remove Ashley's boots and take them away to be polished. That was a normal task for a slave, but Lucky had looked amused.

Now, thoroughly stuffed and a little bit drunk from several glasses of excellent brandy, Ashley pondered Franklin's question. "What do I think of slavery, suh? I'm not sure what you mean. It's not a question of morals because they're not human beings like us."

Franklin filled a massive chair that must have been specially built, and raised a snowy eyebrow. "Is that what they're teaching in school nowadays? That certainly makes it easy to justify the concept." He chuckled softly and added, "Or perhaps to sleep at night."

Ashley took another sip of brandy. "Well, even if they were human beings... for the sake of argument, suh... they are surely living a better life here than wild in Africa eating each other."

"Actually, suh," said Franklin. "The practice of cannibalism is rare." He gestured toward the walls of books. "There are more documented cases of white cannibalism... shipwrecked sailors and so forth... than have ever been conclusively proven among the peoples of Africa. The practice, suh, is much more common to certain tribes in the Dutch East Indies."

"...Oh," said Ashley. "But, what about head-hunters, suh?"

"They do not eat their victims, suh. The heads are merely trophies of war, as a few of our Indian tribes take scalps. ...Incidentally, suh, many of those tribes learned that practice from the early French and English invaders."

"...Oh," said Ashley again, wishing that Franklin would change the subject. "But we need slaves, suh," he finally said. "How else could we get things done in this country? There's crops to grow and roads to build. And land to be cleared and planted."

Franklin sipped from his own glass of brandy and flicked cigar ashes into a tray. "I beg to differ, Master Knight. If I may say so, and with all due respect, I have studied the matter while you, suh, have not. I pray you will forgive me, suh. But, setting aside the question of morals, slavery is an obscenity. An insult to our Creator. And, even if it wasn't, suh, it simply does not work... as all great civilizations have found."

"Huh?" said Ashley, then... "Pardon me, suh, but I cannot fathom your reasoning." He paused to wave his cigar around. "We are sitting here now in a very fine room in a very fine house. After enjoying a very fine supper... for all of which I thank you, suh. But, slavery made it possible."

Franklin shrugged an enormous shoulder. "At it's very best, suh... if one may say there is a 'best' thing about slavery... it only works for a very short time. Often just in the first generations when slaves still hope to escape. In other words, suh, when they still have dreams of regaining their freedom. Then it is in their own best interests to serve their temporary masters... 'buying time,' so to speak... but all the while searching for ways to escape. But, when children are born into slavery, suh, the system begins to break down. Though it may take several generations before the whole system collapses."

He laughed and patted his mammoth belly, which strained its yards of spotless linen. "Beneath its own weight, if I say so myself. There are many reasons for this collapse. But in the long term, suh, any system of slavery is always doomed to failure. As are any societies that depend upon slaves to maintain them. Again, I cite the lessons of History: all truly great societies eventually outgrow slavery. And those that do not invariably fall."

Franklin sipped from his glass again. "In the simplest of terms, suh... not that I think you the slightest bit simple... having captive and unwilling workers who are forced to labor without any personal gain or reward, nor any chance to better themselves, goes entirely against human nature; from the Hottentot to the Esqumoix, from the Russian serf to the British tenant. The task... whatever it may be, from cutting cane to building a railroad... is never done well or efficiently. All human beings... I will not discuss the 'animal question' because frankly, suh, and with all due respect, I believe it to be beneath contempt... share the same basic needs and desires. These are food, shelter, a family life, and... absurd as it may sound to some with a limited grasp of humanity... a certain degree of happiness. Along with free will and choice. The 'choice' may be only to work or to starve, but even that is still a choice. Disregarding humanity, and taking a capitalistic view, it makes far more economic sense to pay a man in exchange for his labor and then have done with him, so to speak. In other words, suh, it is much more profitable to let him worry about where he will sleep, what he will wear, and how he will feed his wife and children, then to have to provide him with food and shelter, clothing, and some degree of care to assure his continued labors."

Franklin smiled and sipped more brandy. "And far better, suh, to treat that man with dignity, and I daresay even kindness. A man who is respected for doing his job, a man who may even like what does, will always do his job well. More so, he will usually invent better and more efficient ways of doing it, which is beneficial to both himself and to his employer. Slavery, suh, is not only barbaric and a lasting shame to any nation, but, as I have already said, it simply does not work for any length of time. ...As the South may hopefully realize before it is too late."

"What about the Egyptians, suh?" asked Ashley. "They had generations of slaves to build their pyramids and their many other great works."

"Their system evolved," replied Franklin. "Their slaves were offered incentives to work; and they could often buy their freedom... or freedom, at least, for their children." Franklin smiled again. "Surely you must have noticed that we are evolving a similar system while you were down in New Orleans? To me, suh, this is ample proof that our system is now on the brink of collapse."

Ashley felt his cheeks growing warm: he'd heard similar theories in New Orleans... his father had warned him he would. His unfocused anger was strangely at odds with the pleasant surroundings and comfortable fullness. Again, he waved his cigar around. "With all due respect, suh, it seems to be working here at Content. You are obviously prospering, and I can only assume that you do not prosper more simply because you are content."

Ashley wasn't sure that had come out right, but added: "And, may I say, suh, that never in my entire life have I seen such happy and... well, prosperous slaves."

He might have left it at that, but the brandy and fullness made him bold. "Although I must add that they seem a bit casual in doing their tasks. And there are some... my father, perhaps... who might say their children are rather familiar and not over-cautious in speaking their minds."

Franklin only smiled. "So you admit they have minds?"

"...Well... of course, suh," said Ashley, wishing again for another subject. "To a limited extent. But so do horses and mules. ...Still, it is obvious to me that whatever system of slavery you have devised here at Content is working, suh. And working quite well." He raised his glass. "I commend you, suh. But may I take the liberty of saying that you have toppled your own argument against the practice of slavery by proving that it does indeed work. I would take it as an honor, suh, if you would share your knowledge with me. I will, as you know, inherit my father's plantation some day."

Franklin studied Ashley for a moment. His smile was warm though slightly amused... maybe a bit like Lucky's. Then he suddenly burst into laughter, his vast body actually shaking the floor while tears came into his eyes. He finally subsided to hearty chuckles and took a last sip from his glass. "Perhaps we will discuss my system." He glanced at the clock. "But it's getting late, don't you agree?"

"Certainly, suh." Ashley drained his glass and snubbed out his cigar. Then he looked up as Lucinda came in with a candle and a pair of slippers. He hoped she hadn't been listening. though the sounds of the storm should have covered their words. Lucinda's smile seemed as friendly as ever, her ebony eyes meeting his for a moment. Nevertheless, he regretted saying that slaves weren't human beings.

Lucinda gave Ashley a dimpled smile, then set down the candle and knelt on the carpet to put the slippers on Ashley's feet. He didn't want her to do that, but couldn't think of a way to refuse.

"May I show you to your room, suh?" she asked.

"Yes, please." Ashley got up with some struggle, bid goodnight to a smiling Franklin, and followed Lucinda into the hall. He searched for something to say as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. "Um... that was a very fine supper, Lucinda."

For a moment the girl looked amused... another "Lucky" expression. But, after all, they were twins. "I'll tell my mammy y'all approved."

The hall was brightly lit for an instant as lighting flashed outside a window. Thunder boomed again. Lucinda led Ashley into a room and lighted a lamp with her candle. The room was large, and the lamp's soft glow left much of it in shadow. There was a gigantic four-poster bed, and a nightshirt lay on the frilly spread. Ashley's bag had been placed on a chair. The window curtains swayed restlessly, stirred by the gusting wind outside.

"Will there be anything else... Ashley?" Lucinda asked.

Ashley dropped his eyes to the floor. There were many thoughts in his mind about "else," and he wasn't sure how to deal with them. He'd heard a few tales of plantation owners providing "companionship" to their guests, but he somehow couldn't imagine Franklin making such an offer. Nor, he thought, would he have approved. ...Not with Lucinda. His voice came out husky again, as when he'd first seen this beautiful girl on the house's front porch that afternoon. "Um, no. Thank you. Um... goodnight, Lucinda."

She smiled once more. "Goodnight, Ashley. If you need anything, just ring." She padded softly into the hall and gently closed the door.

"Well, damn," Ashley murmured. There was a flash of lightning ouside, flaring through the window curtains, but the thunder's crash seemed farther away. Sheets of rain still rattled the glass and sizzled across the roof overhead, but the storm was slowly passing. He stripped off his shirt, then studied himself in a large, framed mirror that hung on a wall. He wasn't bad-looking, he supposed, though his body was somewhat rolly and soft from his idle year in New Orleans. But, he'd never been envious of muscles... only slaves needed animal brawn.

He glanced with disgust at the nightshirt... he hated those things, like wearing a dress! He paused to study an excellent painting of chubby slave kids above the bed. The children were naked and happily swimming. Had Franklin done it, he wondered? Maybe his departed wife? In a way it seemed like a waste, devoting such talent and skill painting slaves. He plopped on the bed to pull off his slippers, then kicked his trousers away, glad to be free of their tight confines. He glanced at the painting again, recalling his own days of swimming bare. He thought of Lucinda once more, recalling every lush curve of her body. Had Franklin offered her, he wondered? If so, should he have accepted?

He tossed the nightshirt onto a chair, then stretched out atop the fluffy covers, sinking into their feather-filled softness while rain made shivery sounds outside. Lucinda seemed to be haunti