Chapter
4
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Disney. Though now that I think about it, this story is rapidly losing all but the most rudimentary character-and-plot basis on the Disney movie. Which is a good thing for me, I guess.
Robert had really begun to wish he not insisted on entering the plantation. In fact, he was tempted to turn directly around and go back to where Billy waited and say that they would tell Littleton they had been unable to find the plantation at all. Lying to a superior officer could be no worse than walking the deserted grounds all alone. Billy had been right: the place had a haunted feel to it, a feeling that grew stronger the closer he went towards the massive, darkened plantation house. At this time, with the evening sun falling directly behind him, there should have been some lights on had anyone been there. Once again Robert was tempted to go back now that he had confirmed to near-certainty that they would get no charity here. But like a man in a trance he kept walking, straight as an arrow towards that house.
The house itself was a handsome affair, with a wide, gracious two-story veranda, the elegantly peaked roof of which supported by Corinthian columns. More suited to a wealthy, happily married couple with twelve children than its current state, Robert thought to himself as he ascended the porch. And certainly far too grand a place for the likes of me, in my dirty wool uniform and scuffed old boots that have seen far too much wear in the past months. Still, orders were orders. He was rapidly growing tired of repeating that phrase to himself over and over.
He knocked on the door; the hollow sound resounded in the stillness far too long for Robert's comfort. He waited. No one came. He thought he saw movement out of the corner of one of the lace curtains in a nearby window, but when he spun to face it all was still.
He waited another few moments more. When there was clearly nothing stirring in the house, he turned away at last, relieved, to descend those stairs again.
And the door behind him opened. On silent hinges it swung out towards him, frightening him so badly that he leapt several feet backwards and nearly lost his footing on the stairs.
When he had recovered a moment he examined the frail old female figure that stood in the doorway, peering at him out of bright, intelligent eyes. The eyes were set in an ebony-dark face set with high cheekbones and extravagantly pointed eyebrows. The woman's grey-streaked hair was pulled sharply back from her face under a dull, dark kerchief, and she wore a shapeless dress of similar material. Despite the winter chill, her feet were bare, he noted.
"Yassah?" she spoke in a hushed, cracked voice.
"Please excuse me," Robert said with a respectful bow, "But do you have anything in the house to spare for the army?" He figured it was worth his while to be polite, even if this woman turned out to be a slave.
The woman studied him; Robert saw that she particularly noted his belt buckle, with its broad "US" emblazoned upon it. Reb belt buckles, he knew, generally had "CS" stamped there for "Confederate States" rather than his own "United States."
"You not wiv' dem Confederates?" she asked, with a mysterious slight smile.
"No, ma'am. I'm with General Sherman's army, and he sent me here to ask if you have anythin' to spare for his soldiers in the house."
"Sent you himsel', did he?" the old woman enquired, her eyes twinkling with crooked humor.
"No. But the orders come from him." Now Robert was beginning to be really puzzled. If this woman was a slave, even a household slave, her manner certainly did not fit with what he'd expected of one. She wasn't acting very servile at all. He'd thought a slave might grovel, or kowtow, or some other such uncomfortable gesture. But this familiar bantering was rapidly becoming far more disconcerting to him.
"Come wiv me, den. We see what we kin find," she said. And she held the door slightly wider for him to enter.
Now to go into that large silent house was more than Robert had bargained for. But he did not wish to be rude, even to a slave. Accordingly, he stepped into the massive foyer, the nails in his boots clicking loudly on the polished wooden floors. The woman led him through a series of gracious rooms, each tidy and well-dusted. Clearly someone still lived in this house, despite its ominous silence. The furnishings were so luxurious that Robert half-wished he had more time to examine the rich silk upholstery and finely worked lace curtains in order to tell Lizzie about it later.
Eventually they came to a vast kitchen. A few other colored men and women were gathered near the massive fireplace there, working at preparing a simple evening meal. They all started when Robert and his guide entered the room.
"Mama!" one of the younger men exclaimed, coming to grasp the old woman by the arm. "What'choo up teh, bringing one o'dem Union soldiers in here? The Massah'll be fit teh be tied if he finds out anyone wuz here!"
"Nonsense," the old woman retorted briskly. "He ain't never need teh know. It's on'y a bit of Christian charity, after all. Listen here now, you lot. Fetch a good basket wiv' some of them pork sausages and can or two of preserves. We kin spare that much. It's not as if it'll be missed, anyhow." Notwithstanding the one man's objections, the others scurried cheerfully into side rooms to fetch the desired goods.
"Have a seat. This won't take but a minute," the old woman said, beckoning Robert to one of the chairs set around a massive old wooden table positioned in the center of the room so as to be convenient to chopping and peeling. Hesitantly, Robert came forward and sat. He waited, tense as a coiled spring, as the things the old woman had requested appeared one by one: the basket, the sausages, a few old glass jars filled with some unidentifiable concoctions. These last were put into the basket, and the basket shoved down the table towards Robert, who sat on the far side away from the fire.
"Well, here ye'are. Good fortune teh you and your Gen'ral Sherman." The woman picked up the basket and handed it to Robert, who stood, took it, and started backing towards the door to the kitchen that led to the rest of the house. His instinct told him to bolt away from that odd house with its odd slaves who willfully and with good conscience disobeyed their master, but politeness in the presence of the slaves themselves kept him at a slow pace. A sad mistake on his part.
"And when was I to be informed of this little charitable endeavor?" a disembodied male voice asked from somewhere nearby. The voice, though clear and cutting, seemed to have no owner. The effect it had upon the slavess in the room, however, was marked: they all fell silent at once and looked at the floor as if trying to melt away.
All except one. "We wuzn't planning teh inform you at all, Massah," the bold old woman said with determined cheerfulness to the voice in the air. Robert, however, could see barely contained tension in her shoulders and wondered exactly how much for his sake her exaggerated bravado was.
"Well, Lilah, we can't have that, can we? What would our guest think of your manners, letting him leave us without at least meeting with the former owner of the food that is about to slip away?" The owner of the voice came striding into the room. Through a solid brick wall.
The figure stopped a few feet from Robert, who nervously pointed his until-then-forgotten Springfield at him while he examined the person before him. The man who had just come striding so casually through a solid wall was younger than Robert by a few years, perhaps Lizzie's age. But he had a commanding air that made him seem much older. He was taller than Robert, with sandy-blond hair that needed a trim and deep, fathomless gray eyes that were the color of a brooding thunderhead. His clothes were simple, just a shirt and slacks, but they were made of far better material than Robert, Lizzie and their mother had ever been able to afford and, if Robert was any judge, were several years removed from the current styles.
The two men studied one another over the muzzle of Robert's gun for several long moments, each sizing the other up. At last, the newcomer shifted slightly. "Put the gun down. Someone might get hurt," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as if at some private joke.
"Massah…" The old woman, Lilah, spoke softly, taking a hesitant step forward.
The man's eyes went stone cold, though they did not leave Robert. "Lilah, don't interfere with this. You've done enough damage already," he snapped. He raised his voice slightly. "Everyone, out of this room. Immediately. I don't want to see any of you for the remainder of the evening." Without a word, all of the servants left the room.
Lilah hesitated at the door. "Young man, be careful not teh…" she began, addressing Robert, but the other man cut her off sharply. "Get out!"
She obeyed without demur, head low.
"Now," the young man continued, taking a step towards Robert, "Why don't you put the gun away now that there's nothing more you can do with it."
"There's plenty I can do!" Robert snapped. Without thinking, he lunged forward. The blond man made no move to dodge the sharp bayonet affixed to the Springfield's end and its tip plunged square through his left arm. And kept going. Robert, caught by surprise at his own unhindered momentum, staggered forward. He, like his bayonet and weapon before him, fell right through the other man and toppled with a clatter to the floor.
The young man had the gall to laugh aloud, which fueled Robert's temper. He staggered to his feet and thrust again, this time directly though his opponent's heart. The young man went on smiling as if nothing in the world were wrong. Dropping his gun, Robert staggered back against the solid brick wall that the man had walked through and flattening himself against it, staring in horror at the man's chest. There was nothing there to show that he had just shoved three inches of steel into the left side.
"Wha-what are you?" he gasped sweat trickling down his face. "A ghost? A demon of some kind?"
For the briefest fraction of a second, the storm-grey eyes of his opponent flickered. "I haven't the slightest notion." He spoke these words as if forgetting for an instant that Robert was there. But in the next moment, amusement was back as if it had never left his face. An ironic smile twisted his mouth, and he deliberately began to walk forward. One small, measured step at a time. Robert looked away, wishing the apparition would vanish. But when he looked back the ghost was standing mere inches from him. He looked down at Robert for a few moments, then smiled outright, displaying straight white teeth. The smile was terrifying, without pity.
"Come with me. I
think I'll enjoy having you as my guest here. For an extended
stay."
Author's Note: I hope you like this new manifestation of the Beast. I have big plans for him! And I sincerely hope I have not offended anyone with the slaves' manner of speech, I am trying experiments with different styles of talking.
SamoaPhoenix9
