In the kitchen Clovis saw that Turnip was now there with Puddy, but she did not make any sign that she saw either of them. She went to a cabinet and opened a drawer and took a long knife out of it. Puddy and Turnip froze where they stood, and Clovis went back into the sitting room.

Holding the knife high with her arm raised straight and stiff, she advanced toward the fireplace where Roscoe stood, but stopped a few feet before she reached him. “You get out.”

“Be careful. You could hurt yourself with that.”

“Are you going?”

Roscoe sighed. “What do you and him talk about?”

She lowered the hand that held the knife, but kept it still pointed toward him. Controlling her voice so that she spoke as evenly as he did, she said, “We talk about this and that. How you burnt down the warehouses and tried to burn down the cotton gin after killing that fool watchman. Then we talk about how if you ever make a funny sound to me or to him, your ass will rot in jail the rest of your life—if he decides not to kill you instead. That’s what we talk about.”

In the kitchen Turnip and Puddy hovered together, listening at the door. They heard Clovis’s voice rise as she spoke, and then they heard her scream. There was a scuffle and a sound of falling, a light, whining noise like a dog makes, and then nothing. They stood as if petrified during the silence that followed. When Turnip could move, he took Puddy by the arm and drew her as far toward the back door as they could go. They were standing together, eyes big and mouths open, when Roscoe came in from the dining room.

He looked at them, and they did not breathe. He went to a nail on the wall and took down a dish rag and wiped his hands clean of blood. They stared at him. “Your mistress has cut her throat in a drunk fit,” he said. “She was saying she was going to, and that’s why you come to town to get me. Remember that, Turnip.” The slave managed one nod of his head. “I come out and tried to calm her, but it wasn’t any use. You saw her run in here and get a butcher knife, didn’t you, Puddy?” Puddy gave a cry at being directly addressed, then clapped a hand over her mouth and nodded dumbly. Roscoe looked back at Turnip. “You go to town and tell Junior that’s what happened. Tell him to get the sheriff and come out. You got it clear, what to say?”

“Yassah.”

“Then go. I’ll stay with the missus.”