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Keegan stood there, fuming. “I shot at ‘im and that yella wench he got up there ‘cause I thought they was nigga thieves.”
Ignoring him, Jeb turned to Kip and said, “We’ll just tell Massa it was Keegan shootin’ at some wild pig.”
“What?” Kip protested. “I ain’t gon’ tell’ dat lie and get beat.”
Jeb gave Kip a hard look. “You gon’ say whatever I tell you to say. As for you,” Jeb said to Keegan, “Massa White ain’t gon’ wanna hear you shot at his only son even if it was a mistake.”
Keegan squinted his eyes at Jeb. “Careful, boy, or you gon’ be joinin’ your friend Willie.” He started for Jeb but I stood between them and raised Keegan’s rifle.
“No, there won’t be any of that,” I said firmly. “Not here. What there will be is an admission. You will tell my father you shot at me, not at thieves, and that I was here in the barn.Alone.”
Keegan brushed the dirt off his overalls and spit at the ground. “I ain’t lyin’ for you,” he told me.
“Oh, you will,” I said. “Or I will tell my father that you’ve been stealing all the whiskey you can find and selling it to your friends. And if that doesn’t suffice, I’ll personally see to it that your big, fat, ugly throat is slit before the summer is over. As for your gun, it’s mine now.”
I could almost hear Keegan weighing the options in his mind. In the end, he mumbled a few choice obscenities before stumbling out the barn.
Jeb turned to me. “We best get to your daddy and tell your side before Keegan do,” he said.
I went to the hayloft to get Jeyne and she was shaking uncontrollably. “Oh, Thomas, what’s going to happen now?”
“Don’t worry about Keegan. He’s not going to do anything stupid. He wants to live.”
When we descended down the ladder, Jeb whispered something to Kip who quickly took Jeyne by the arm and led her away. She looked back over her shoulder at me and I gave her a nod of reassurance. As I walked with Jeb up to the house in silence, I was aware that a serious tipping point had been reached.
A cold chill passed through my body as I lay in bed later that night. There was a distant voice echoing in my mind, calling out to me repeatedly. I looked out my window but there was nothing but darkness. All I could think about was Jeyne and the conversation she must be having with Lizzie. With Jeb present, I managed to tell my father my version of events as they happened with no mention of Jeyne.
“What the hell was he thinking, the drunk idiot!” he said with indignation. “Woke up our guests and everything! I’ll deal with him.”
“It’s all right, Father,” I assured him. “It jolted me but only for a minute. I’m fine now.”
“What were you doing up so late anyway?”
“I couldn’t sleep. So, I went to see Beauty.”
“Where’s Keegan now?”
“He’s probably in his cabin sleeping it off.”
He turned to Jeb. “Go get him,” he said. “Wake his wretched ass up. I’ve put up with his drunkenness for far too long. There’ll be another Irishmen to take his place. There as easy as French whores, that lot.”
“He probably won’t even remember it,” I said as casually as I could.
There was a moment’s pause as my father stood in the window looking out. “Go get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sometime during the night I managed to fall into a restless sleep, my dreams a mix of abstract scenes. All of this left me feeling disoriented and groggy in the morning as the sun glared through my window. I was uncomfortably aware of the memory of the gunshot that had punctured my life in a million different ways. Something in me had been awakened. I felt alive and weak at the same time. A burning flame was now raging and my body was sensitive to the touch. I could feel an erection forming as I relived the moment with Jeyne in the barn. Intense feelings of desire took hold of me and I wanted her more than ever.
Hearing footsteps outside my door, I was reminded of the important work I had to do. What had happened with Keegan in the barn reinforced more than ever that remaining on at Bellevue was no longer an option. There was no time to wait. Jeyne and I had to leave soon, even if it meant arriving at my uncle’s home in Boston unannounced, and for all I knew, unwelcomed.
Running down the long staircase, I encountered Patrick, one of my father’s favorite slaves and asked if he had seen Jeyne.
Patrick's smile disappeared. “Naw, suh,” he said, averting my eyes. “I ain’t seen her or Lizzie both. It was Sallie and dem dat made breakfast dis mornin.’
My heart began to race. Patrick wasn’t telling all that he knew. I was certain of it. I could have pressed him for more information but that would have been pointless. Experience had taught me that slaves were often protective of things they didn’t want known, and because of that I was anxious as I made my way into the dining room where my mother was staring off into the distance, lost in thought.
“Mother?”
