Comanche Moon

It seemed to Jake that the Captain, for whatever reason, had simply handed him over to Madame Scull. He was supposed to be her equerry--t was now his job. If he didn't do his equerrying well, the Captain might even dismiss him from the rangers when the troop returned.

By the time the troop had been gone half a day, Jake Spoon had persuaded himself that it was his duty to present himself at the Scull mansion.

He had taken to going to the mansion regularly in order to intercept Felice at the well, where she was frequently sent. Madame Scull was reckless in her use of water--trips to fetch it took Felice back and forth to the well for much of the day.

This time, though, when Felice came out the back door with her bucket, she was limping. Felice was a quick girl, who normally walked with a springy step. Jake hurried over, anxious to see why she was lame, and was surprised to see that she had a black eye and a big bruise on one cheek.

"Why, what done that? Did the Captain strike you?" Jake asked.

"No, not the Captain ... the Missus," Felice said. "She beat me with the handle of that black bullwhip. I got marks all over, from where that woman beat me." "Well, but why?" he asked. "Did you sass her, or drop a plate?" Felice shook her head. "Didn't sass her and didn't drop no plate," she said.

"But you must have done something to bring on a licking," Jake said. Felice's dress had slipped off one shoulder as she struggled with the heavy water bucket--Jake saw a swollen black bruise there, too.

Felice shook her head. Jake didn't understand. She had come from Cuba with Madame Scull, had been a servant to her since she was a girl of six. When she was younger the Missus might slap her once in a while, for some slip, but it was only later, once Felice had begun to fill out as a woman, that the Missus had begun to beat her hard. Lately, the beatings had become more and more frequent. If Captain Scull even glanced at Felice as she was serving breakfast, or requested a biscuit or a second cup of coffee, the Missus would often corner her later in the day and quirt her severely. Sometimes she punched her, or grabbed Felice's hair and tried to yank it out.

There was no knowing when the Missus might beat her, but yesterday had been the worst. The Missus caught her in the hall and beat her with the handle of the bullwhip--beat her till her arm got tired of beating. One of Felice's teeth was loose--the Missus had even hit her in the mouth.

Jake understood that Felice was a slave, and that the Sculls could do whatever they wanted to with her; still, he was shocked at the bruises on Felice's face. In Kansas, few people still owned slaves; his own family had been much too poor to afford one.

Jake offered to carry the water bucket, which was heavy. As they were nearing the house he happened to glance up and see Madame Scull, watching them from a little balcony off her bedroom. Jake immediately lowered his eyes, because Madame Scull had no clothes on. She just stood on the balcony, her heavy bosom exposed, brushing her long, black hair.

Jake glanced over at Felice and was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"Why, Felice, what is it?" he asked.

"Are you hurt that bad?" Felice didn't answer. She didn't want to try and put ^ws to her sorrow. She had come to like Jake. He was polite and let her know that he liked her; besides, he was young and his breath was sweet when he tried to kiss her--not foul with tobacco smells like the Captain, who lost no opportunity to be familiar with her. Felice had been thinking of meeting Jake behind the smokehouse, one night--he had been pleading with her to do just that. Felice wanted to slip out with Jake--but she knew now that she couldn't, not unless she wanted to be beaten within an inch of her life.

The Missus wanted Jake, that was plain. There she stood on the balcony, showing Jake her titties. The Missus would take him, too.

Felice knew that she would have to give up on him and do it immediately, or else risk bad trouble. The Captain was gone--despite his stinking breath the Captain would sometimes take up for Felice, just to be contrary. But she belonged to the Missus, not the Captain. If the Missus got too jealous, she might even sell her.

Several old, ugly men had cast glances at her when they came to visit the Sculls. They looked like rich men, too--one of them might buy her and use her harder than the Missus did. In Cuba, she had seen bad things happen to slaves: brandings and horsewhippings and even hangings. The Missus had never done anything that bad to her, but if she got sold to some old ugly man, he might chain her and hurt her bad.

Jake wasn't worth such a risk--nothing was worth such a risk. But it still made her fill with sorrow, that the Missus would take the one person who was sweet to her.

Once they got inside the house Jake didn't know what to do, other than set the water bucket on the stove. Felice had gone silent; she wouldn't speak at all. She wiped away her tears on her apron and went about her tasks, looking down. She wouldn't turn to him again--not a ^w, and not a look. It was a big disappointment. He thought he had about persuaded her to slip out some night and meet him behind the smokehouse--then they could kiss all they wanted.

But that plan seemed to be spoiled, and he didn't know why.

He was about to leave in dejection and go back to the ranger stables, when old Ben Mickelson, the ski

"Madame would like to see you upstairs," old Ben told him, in his dry voice. "You're late as it is--I wouldn't be later." Old Ben had an ugly way of pushing out his lips, when he was spoken to by anyone but the Master or the Mistress. He pushed them out at Jake until Jake wanted to give him a hard punch.

"What am I late for? I ain't been told," he said. The thought of going upstairs made him more and more nervous.

"I ain't the Madame--if she says you're late, I guess you are," old Ben said.

In fact, Ben Mickelson hated young men indiscriminately, for no better reason than that they were young and he wasn't. Sometimes he hated young men so hard that he got violent notions about them, notions that affected him like a fever. Right at the moment, he was having a violent imagining in which young Jake was being chewed on by seven or eight thin hungry pigs. There were plenty of thin hungry pigs ru