apologize for. It was awkward, since we were living in the same room, but we didn’t talk for…oh, at least a month. It was very difficult, because I did love him.”
“When did this happen?”
“Just a little bit before Richard died. Charlie finally realized he was in the wrong and came to apologize to me, and we’d only recently made up when Richard got sick. And afterward, Charlie was a very good friend to me, and he understood that he’d never be first in my heart, and he was reconciled to that, so we were able to enjoy each other’s company until auction day.”
Henry thought about this a short time. “It’s not so different from what happened with us. That there were hurt feelings and misunderstandings, I mean.”
Martin shrugged. “Not so different,” he agreed. “But because I’d had this experience with Charlie, I had hope that you and I could resolve our differences—because I’d done it before, see? And you never had that experience.”
He felt a great deal of sympathy for Henry, so ill-equipped to deal with overwhelming, unfamiliar feelings of loss and betrayal. Poor Henry had existed like a fragile specimen in a very sturdy cage until Martin came along and opened the door, exposing him to all the myriad consequences of living, good and bad. His poor, gentle Henry, sheltered and easily hurt. He would do what he could to help Henry grow tougher and wiser, because Henry needed that, but he hoped Henry would never lose his sweetness.
Henry sighed and burrowed closer, his arms tightening around Martin’s back. “I never want to fight with you again. Or Louis. With anyone who matters to me.”
“I don’t want you to, either,” Martin said. “Do you want to sleep a little? I’ll set an alarm.”
When they woke, it was nearly time for the slaves’ dinner. Henry was excited, full of rowdy energy. As Martin retied his necktie, he said, “Do you think anyone will mind I’m there?”
Martin shook his head. “I already told you, it doesn’t matter what they think.” He snugged the knot against Henry’s collar. “But actually, no, I don’t think they’ll mind at all. Most of them appreciate that a master could be so interested in a slave.”
He would not tell Henry, because he would die of embarrassment—and probably refuse to attend Martin’s birthday—but the Blackwell slaves were all aware that he and Henry were more intimate than they ought to be. Martin had suspected this to be the case from early in their affair, but hadn’t known it for certain until they’d been brought home.
At that time, the rest of the Blackwell slaves, Martin’s colleagues and friends, had realized immediately that something was wrong between Henry and himself. Just the fact of his shorn hair bespoke some great upheaval. He’d kept quiet, hoping to go unnoticed, but he was well-liked by the others, and they were concerned about him. Billy and Jerry, who’d always taken a special interest in him and teased him like brothers, were particularly gentle and solicitous. Billy had hugged him and murmured, “You’re broken-hearted, that’s plain, but anyone can see he is, too.” He understood then that everyone knew about Henry and himself, and they always had, but that was the first time anyone had spoken directly about it, and it had made him especially sad to feel it was already over.
About two weeks into his estrangement from Henry, Mr. Tim had taken him aside, asking him to stay behind as the others filed out after dinner. He’d asked Martin if Henry was treating him kindly, and Martin had not known how to answer. Mr. Tim suggested that Henry was making things hard for him, and again Martin had remained tight-lipped; he would not talk about Henry’s business. Mr. Tim reiterated that he and Mr. Blackwell both felt that Henry was perhaps excessively fond of Martin, but this was Henry’s nature, and there was little to be done about Henry’s intrinsic qualities. He noted that Henry would always
“When did this happen?”
“Just a little bit before Richard died. Charlie finally realized he was in the wrong and came to apologize to me, and we’d only recently made up when Richard got sick. And afterward, Charlie was a very good friend to me, and he understood that he’d never be first in my heart, and he was reconciled to that, so we were able to enjoy each other’s company until auction day.”
Henry thought about this a short time. “It’s not so different from what happened with us. That there were hurt feelings and misunderstandings, I mean.”
Martin shrugged. “Not so different,” he agreed. “But because I’d had this experience with Charlie, I had hope that you and I could resolve our differences—because I’d done it before, see? And you never had that experience.”
He felt a great deal of sympathy for Henry, so ill-equipped to deal with overwhelming, unfamiliar feelings of loss and betrayal. Poor Henry had existed like a fragile specimen in a very sturdy cage until Martin came along and opened the door, exposing him to all the myriad consequences of living, good and bad. His poor, gentle Henry, sheltered and easily hurt. He would do what he could to help Henry grow tougher and wiser, because Henry needed that, but he hoped Henry would never lose his sweetness.
Henry sighed and burrowed closer, his arms tightening around Martin’s back. “I never want to fight with you again. Or Louis. With anyone who matters to me.”
“I don’t want you to, either,” Martin said. “Do you want to sleep a little? I’ll set an alarm.”
When they woke, it was nearly time for the slaves’ dinner. Henry was excited, full of rowdy energy. As Martin retied his necktie, he said, “Do you think anyone will mind I’m there?”
Martin shook his head. “I already told you, it doesn’t matter what they think.” He snugged the knot against Henry’s collar. “But actually, no, I don’t think they’ll mind at all. Most of them appreciate that a master could be so interested in a slave.”
He would not tell Henry, because he would die of embarrassment—and probably refuse to attend Martin’s birthday—but the Blackwell slaves were all aware that he and Henry were more intimate than they ought to be. Martin had suspected this to be the case from early in their affair, but hadn’t known it for certain until they’d been brought home.
At that time, the rest of the Blackwell slaves, Martin’s colleagues and friends, had realized immediately that something was wrong between Henry and himself. Just the fact of his shorn hair bespoke some great upheaval. He’d kept quiet, hoping to go unnoticed, but he was well-liked by the others, and they were concerned about him. Billy and Jerry, who’d always taken a special interest in him and teased him like brothers, were particularly gentle and solicitous. Billy had hugged him and murmured, “You’re broken-hearted, that’s plain, but anyone can see he is, too.” He understood then that everyone knew about Henry and himself, and they always had, but that was the first time anyone had spoken directly about it, and it had made him especially sad to feel it was already over.
About two weeks into his estrangement from Henry, Mr. Tim had taken him aside, asking him to stay behind as the others filed out after dinner. He’d asked Martin if Henry was treating him kindly, and Martin had not known how to answer. Mr. Tim suggested that Henry was making things hard for him, and again Martin had remained tight-lipped; he would not talk about Henry’s business. Mr. Tim reiterated that he and Mr. Blackwell both felt that Henry was perhaps excessively fond of Martin, but this was Henry’s nature, and there was little to be done about Henry’s intrinsic qualities. He noted that Henry would always
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