Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) by Monique Martin Page B

detail. They lacked one essential right — freedom.
    “Excuse me for a moment,” James said. “Dr. Walker!” He steered his horse over to the front of the tent.
    A large man came out of the tent wiping his hands on a dirty towel that he casually tossed, without even looking, toward one of the slaves that stood nearby. His hair and beard were streaked with grey and Simon guessed his age at late-forties, perhaps fifty. His crisp white shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow. He carried himself with an assurance that crossed well over the border into cocksure. A single glance over his shoulder at the slaves waiting their turn had them nervously and quickly averting their eyes. It was abundantly clear that they feared him. If it was possible to dislike a man before meeting him, this was the one.
    “James,” he said, in a deep melodious voice, as he reached up to shake Harper's hand.
    “I hope you'll be staying for dinner,” James said.
    “You know I can't turn down Missy's crackling bread. Or your good bourbon.” He patted a hand over his stomach.
    “Good. We'll see you back at the house then,” James said and with a tip of his hat rejoined them on the dirt road.
    The doctor called out sharply for the next slave who shuffled reluctantly into the tent.
    They left the road and cut across the property. Although cotton was River Run's cash crop, there were hundreds of acres set aside for fodder crops for the livestock - hay, barley, corn and wheat. Other fields were earmarked for cultivating vegetables such as sweet potatoes, pumpkins, peas and collard greens. Other than the farm equipment, items for the big house and the slaves' clothing, about which James made a point of detailing the great effort and cost he took to import from Boston, the entire plantation was self-sufficient.
    “All of this and the fields back behind that copse of trees,” James said as they stopped alongside an enormous field with row after row of upturned soil, “will be cotton in the fall. All except that swamp over there. Nothing grows in the swamp.”
    Simon could see it in his mind's eye. The tall brown stalks with tufts of white as far as the eye could see. Dozens of field hands doing the backbreaking work of hand-picking each boll.
    “Our land is perfectly suited to its aim,” James said, shifting in his saddle. “We are out-producing most of our neighbors by ten percent. There's a tract of land just up river that would allow us to expand our operation and increase that divide. With more slaves and some hard work, we could be a 2000 bale plantation by next year. Of course, ready capital is always in short supply.”
    So that was it, Simon thought. At first, he'd simply thought James was proud to show him around their plantation, but Simon knew a pitch when he heard one. He glanced over to Elizabeth who was being distracted and entertained by Elijah. Perhaps that had been part of the plan all along. Eli would occupy Elizabeth leaving James free to woo Simon and his money.
    “Two thousand,” Simon mused aloud, baiting his own hook, “and the price per pound?”
    “14 cents. That'll rise this year, I'm sure. And with an average of 500 pounds per bale…”
    Simon did some quick math. “At 15 cents for 2000 bales, that's…$150,000.”
    James looked off at the distance. “Mm-hmm. All there for the taking.” He turned his horse around. “Should we start back?”
    This was a fortuitous change of events, Simon thought. In an instant, he'd gone from burdensome guest to potential investor. Now, James' rush of hospitality made more sense and it gave Simon leverage in the relationship he'd sorely needed. One could only push their host so far, but a wealthy, would-be partner could demand much more. Invitations, access, and information suddenly became much easier to acquire. Simon allowed himself a small smile.
    They stopped to water their horses at a small, clear stream that fed a shady pond hidden back in the woods off the main road. It