Cy in Chains (3 page)

“Travis, that you? It me, Cy.”

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, “Cy? You alone?”

“Yeah.”

“You swear? Daddy ain't with you?”

“I swear. Uncle Daniel saw you hightail it outta the barn, and he come get me, asked me to find you. I got to bring you home 'fore your daddy wake up.”

“I ain't coming home!”

Cy moved forward into the small clearing. Travis stood facing him, Teufel beside him, his reins tied to a tree. In the lantern light, Cy could see the boy had been crying. His face was smeared with dirt, and the hair hanging on his forehead was wet with sweat, even in the cool night air.

“Hey,” Cy said. “You all right? And Teufel?”

Travis nodded. “He's okay.”

“Uncle Daniel claimed he saw you
ridin'
him. That the truth?”

“Uh-huh. I didn't think I could do it. But I did like I've seen you do—talked to him quiet, told him we were going to run away, that Daddy wouldn't touch him ever again. He understood me, Cy! I know he did.”

Cy went to the horse. He held out the piece of pound cake, which Teufel took and swallowed in one bite.

“We got to go home now,” Cy said.

“I told you, I ain't goin' back there.”

Cy stepped toward Travis, who turned his face away.

“Let me see you,” Cy said, and Travis turned back. In the lantern light, a red slash mark stood out clearly on the side of Travis's face. “Yo' daddy do that?”

“He was asleep on the sofa in his study when I went in the house the first time, but after you left, I started upstairs, and he come charging out into the hall like some kind of crazy man! I tried to get away without a fight, but he got hold of me and cut me with that whip.”

“What for?”

“He ain't needed a reason since Mama died. Just because he was so bad drunk. He gets the devil in him when he's drunk. That's when . . . he beats me.”

“Aw, Travis! You never told me about that.”

“Come morning, I'm heading out. You
got
to come with me, Cy. I'd go now, but I'm so tired, and it's so dark. Cy, please! I got to go, but I need you.”

Cy reached for Travis's hand, and the boy crumpled onto the soft sand. Cy sat down beside him. “Go on an' cry some. You feel better after you do. Mama always say so. Then, when you calmed down, we go home.”

“I'm not going back there. You got to believe me.”

“All right. Let's just sit here quiet awhile.” Cy kept his hand on Travis's shoulder. After a few minutes, Travis's muscles began to relax and his breathing got slower. He lay down on his side and was quickly asleep.

Cy stood up and went to Teufel. The horse nuzzled his hand, looking for more pound cake. “Well, boy, what we gon' do now? I got to get him home 'fore morning, but he so wore out, I hates to rouse him.” He stroked the horse's nose. “You had a bad day, too, ain't you? I reckon you don't want to go back any more'n Travis do.”

Cy stood in the glow of the lantern, not sure what to do. Part of him wanted to run away with Travis. There was nothing left at Warren Hall, not with the place lost to strangers. But how could he and Travis get away? All they had was a horse, a horse famous in those parts. Somebody would recognize them the very next day and send word to John Strong.

The night air was growing colder. Cy sat down again beside the sleeping boy. He'd let Travis rest for a while, then rouse him and make him return home. He wouldn't want to, but Cy could persuade him. Travis sighed in his sleep and pulled his arms closer to his chest. Cy was cold now too, but at least he had a coat. Travis was wearing only a shirt. He'd done a bad job of running away.

Cy took off his coat and put it over Travis. The glowing lantern gave off a bit of heat, but the kerosene was more than half gone. They'd need its light to find their way home. He had to wake Travis soon, but he'd let him sleep while he, Cy, kept watch. Right away, his own eyes grew heavy, then closed. That was all he knew until dawn.

A
SHARP PROD TO HIS BACK JOLTED
C
Y FROM
sleep. For an instant, he didn't know where he was. The world was predawn gray, his face wet with dew. Travis lay facing him, his arm draped across Cy's neck. That was the one place on Cy's body that felt warm.

“Wake up, you!” John Strong commanded. His tone was menacing. “Get away from my boy! Jesus God, I never thought . . .”

Cy moved and got to his knees. A second man stood nearby, holding a brown and white hound straining against its rope. Jeff Sconyers, a cracker farmer who messed with a few acres down the road from Warren Hall.

“Get up, Travis!” Strong cried.

Travis stirred, and Cy tried to stand, but Sconyers pushed him back to the ground. Nearby, Teufel, still tied to the tree, snorted in fear.

“You want me to signal Burwell, Mr. Strong?” Sconyers asked.

“Yeah. He'll know to meet us back at the house.”

Sconyers pulled a pistol from his belt and fired into the air.

Travis jumped like he'd been hit. His pants and drawers were lying piled next to him. Except for his shirt and Cy's jacket over his shoulders, he was naked.

“Travis! Cover yourself,” Strong ordered. “My God . . .”

Travis started to pull Cy's coat down over himself.

The cat-o'-nine-tails appeared from nowhere and came down on Cy's shoulders. He cried out as the knotted leather thongs tore his skin.

“Don't, Daddy!” Travis shouted. Then the whip caught him across his back and he crumpled to the earth, face-down.

Teufel pulled against the tree, frantic to get away. Sconyers stood back and watched, his face a blank.

Strong came at Cy again, whip raised. Cy put his arm over his face to shield himself from the next blow. It bit through his shirt, cutting the flesh on his forearm.

“Please, Mist' John, stop! I knows Travis done wrong, runnin' away and all—”

“Shut your goddamn mouth! You ain't got a thing to say that I want to hear.”

From the corner of his eye, Cy noticed Travis moving.
Stay where you is. Don't call attention to yourself
, he thought.

To distract Strong, he kept talking. “We was gon' come home last night. Uncle Daniel saw Travis run off with Teufel and ask me to find him—”

Strong flailed at Cy and missed.

“I was gon' bring Travis back last night, but he was so tuckered out he fell 'sleep, and then I reckon I did, too. I meant to bring him home last night.”

Strong turned on his son. “What kind of white man are you?” he snarled. “Lyin' like that with a
nigger?
”

Suddenly Cy understood. Travis without pants . . . Strong thought he and Travis were—he searched for the word and couldn't come up with it. But such a notion was all wrong, crazy. He and Travis weren't like that. They were friends, sure—brothers, even. But not that other thing.

“What is it, Daddy?”

“What
is
it? I got eyes! Why ain't you wearin' your britches?”

“I took 'em off. I—wet myself in the night and didn't want to sleep in my pants. Cy's tellin' you the truth. I run off. He found me, that's all. I didn't want to come home, but Cy made me promise I would. We didn't mean to fall asleep.”

Strong's answer was to raise the whip yet again. Travis cowered like a cur dog, trying to protect himself, but the whip fell on his back and he cried out.

Cy jumped up. He had to save Travis. But his father's warning leaped into his mind:
The black man don't never dare mess in white folks' business
. He couldn't move. “Leave him alone!” he shouted. “He only run away 'cause he tired o' you beatin' him!”

Strong's arm stopped in midstroke. He fixed his eyes on Cy, then started toward him.

I can take him
, Cy thought. But the look of poisonous hatred in the white man's eyes drained his courage. And there was Jeff Sconyers, pistol in hand. Two white men, one crazy, the other itching to use his gun.

Cy broke and bolted for the river. When he came to the bank, he hesitated, for the water was surging by with terrifying speed. But Strong was right behind him. He jumped. Murky water closed over his head, and for a second, panic threatened, but he pushed back to the surface. The water was bitingly cold, so cold he could hardly catch his breath, and the current was more powerful than any force he'd ever felt. It was pushing him downstream, and he had to swim against it with all his strength just to stay where he was. Even so, with every stroke, he was losing ground.

Behind him, Cy heard Strong cry, “No, Travis!” and then a splash as someone plunged into the water. Cy looked back and saw Travis bob to the surface, terror on his face.

“Go back!” Cy shouted. “Go back!”

Travis clawed against the current.

“Travis!” shouted John Strong from the top of the embankment. “Swim for it, boy! Swim hard!”

“You can make it!” Cy cried, treading water.

“Get him!” Strong shouted at Sconyers.

“I cain't,” the man said. “I ain't never learned how to swim.”

Travis looked frantically at Cy, then at the men on the shore. Every second, the river was pushing him farther and farther away.

Cy went after Travis, but even though he was swimming with the current, its power was draining his strength. Travis's head appeared above the surface, then went under, only to resurface farther downstream. He didn't even seem to be trying to help himself now.

Strong and Sconyers scrambled alongside, crashing through the web of small trees and wild grapevines, Strong shouting to his son to make an effort, try and swim back to the riverbank.

Cy kept swimming. Straight ahead he could see a wall of floating debris that wasn't moving. Travis was swept past it and disappeared. Cy was slammed directly against it, and the force of the current held him there. Slowly, he began making his way back toward the open channel, grabbing on to branches and pulling himself forward. Just beyond where he was about to take his next handhold, a snake dropped into the river.
Let it not be a water moccasin
, Cy thought.
Last thing I needs is for a poison snake to bite me
.

Finally, Cy reached the end of the snarled debris. Only open water lay between him and the riverbank. The current was pulling ferociously toward his left, but maybe he could swim across it and get back to safety.

He took a huge breath and made himself let go of the log he'd been clinging to. Right away, the current seized him, but he swam with all he had. Slowly, he made progress toward the land. He struggled on, forcing himself to take the next breath, the next stroke. When he finally made it to the water's edge, he dragged himself through a mat of slimy leaves and grass and up the muddy bank, then collapsed on top, his chest heaving. He retched and vomited up water as brown and thick as the river itself. His body heaved with sobs. “I tried to save you,” he moaned. “I tried.”

A kick made him cry out. “Get up, nigger,” Strong commanded, his voice hoarse.

“I—I don't know if I can,” he gasped.

Strong stood over him, silent, while Cy labored to catch his breath.

In a moment, Cy pushed himself to his knees and tried to speak. “I do anything you want—Mist' John—but—but please, sir, don't make me—”

“Make you what?”

Cy looked at the mess of mud and vomit where he'd been lying. “Don't make me get back in that water. Please!”

“Who said anything about that? Travis got ashore somewhere downstream. All we got to do is find him. Durned if I ain't gonna tan that boy's hide for playin' me such a mean trick. Now let's go. I'm too old for this kind of nonsense.”

The man done lost his mind for sure
, Cy thought. Did he really think Travis would be playing a game with him? Cy, too, wanted to believe that somewhere they'd come across Travis, wet and all tuckered out, scared half to death, yet safe. But he knew that couldn't be. Travis had drowned. Cy was the better swimmer, and the river had almost beaten him.

Strong brought a coil of rope out from his rucksack and shoved it into Sconyers's hands. “Tie him first,” he said.

The man looked down at Cy with disgust. “On your feet,” he growled. Cy managed to stand, but his legs felt wobbly. “Hands behind your back.”

“Mist' John, why I got to be tied? I ain't gon' try nothin'.”

“You sure as hell ain't. You caused me enough trouble already, and I ain't taking no chances with you.”

Sconyers bound Cy's hands so tightly that his wrists throbbed.

“Let's go,” Strong ordered.

Cy took a few steps downstream. He was afraid now. With his hands tied, there was nothing he could do. If Strong decided to push him back into the water, he was done for. Something hard poked him in the back. The barrel of Sconyers's pistol.

Cy kept moving, watching every step so he wouldn't slip and tumble down the embankment. If he was going to die in the river, he didn't want it to be from his own mistake.

The maze of vines and low-hanging branches made the going slow. Branches snapped Cy in the face because he had no way of pushing them aside. Strong kept shouting for Travis. Nothing. They stopped often and scanned the river. Still nothing. A long time passed, and the fear in Cy's belly grew.

“There!” Sconyers shouted. Travis, his shirt torn away by the force of the water, was caught on a dead cypress tree sticking up like a bony finger from the middle of the river. The boy's face was pressed against the trunk, his left arm pinned, and his right floating free and seeming to point downstream.

Strong cried out, then bit his own knuckles.

Cy felt his legs buckle, and he collapsed onto his knees.

“No time for prayin',” Strong cried. “Get up!”

Cy obeyed. “I's sorry, Mist' John. Oh, God, I's so sorry.”