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worst. Now he stared in astonishment at the foals cavorting about in the
paddock, Jupiter leading the pack in their racing, and at the Yankee dust
cloud barely visible down the Greensboro road. I decided then and there not to
tell him what had happened. I didn't quite understand it but I thought I did.
But this could not be classed as silly voodoo or obeah or conjure, which
always dealt with black magic and death and evil things. What Zulei had done
was good. Just as her salves and potions and poultices had been good, helping
people. She had just helped us save the only valuable items left to Majpoor,
our horses. I wasn't about to question this major miracle.
Considering that the Yankees found Sultan too poor to steal from us, it was
gratifying when the colt foal that service produced was one of the best ever
born at Majpoor. He was his sire's spit and image, a deep liver chestnut that
was very like the dull brass of Sultan's hide, with three white socks, a
well-placed white blaze on his forehead, and superb conformation. He was up
and nursing his dam fifteen minutes after his birth, strong and energetic
enough to kick anyone trying to come near and dry off his fuzzy foal coat.
Nimshi called him Wazir and the name was so appropriate that it stuck. It was
a splendid homecoming surprise for Lachlan, though he had a sad surprise for
us: he lacked half an arm and was deeply embittered by all he had seen of
North Carolina as he made his way home. Amazingly enough, Lachlan still had my
own dear Cotton, who was very much indeed a rack of bones, walking short from
a saber slice on his left rear, with hooves split from lack of care and a hole
on his once full neck where a Yankee minié ball had plowed through it. Lachlan
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had only a blanket for a saddle but their return was a minor miracle for me.
I saved my tears until my exhausted brother had been fed and tucked in his
bed. Then I cried my heart out in the stable, while Zulei comforted me and
Nimshi hand-fed old Cotton.
"You've been brave so long, Miss Grace," Zulei said, stroking my hair. "Major
Lachlan needs only rest here at Majpoor."
"He needs good nourishing food, beef broth, meat, butter, cream, and we
haven't so much as a chicken or an egg for him." I wept afresh at my inability
to care for my dearest and only brother now that he had finally come home.
"Rabbit's good eating," Nimshi said, "and there're deer in the woods if you
know where to look. Don't you worry."
I saw the look that passed between mother and son, but they often exchanged
speaking glances and I was too woebegone to pay much heed.
The next day I rode Dido while Lachlan took my Jupiter about the place. He was
amazed that we had saved anything, much less the bales of cotton we had hidden
in the woods.
"That was Zulei's idea. We couldn't sell it, she said, but we could save it.
Wars don't last forever and the English would buy Majpoor cotton."
Lachlan regarded me as if I'd turned green. "Zulei's idea? How could Mr. James
allow a slave to ..."
"Mr. James can't keep two thoughts together in his head, Lachie," I said, for
I'd've thought my brother would have seen how vague the old overseer was.
"Nimshi figured out where to hide Sultan and the others, and he and Big Josie
see to what planting we've done. Majpoor would be a ruin if it hadn't been for
Zulei and Nimshi."
Lachlan didn't reply to my heated defense but I knew it gave him much to think
about, and I lost no opportunity to point out other ruses, contrived by either
Zulei or Nimshi - like the kitchen garden hidden behind used banks of old
manure on one side and thorn thickets on the other. Zulei's idea. I've often
thought that the sight of the three-year-olds in the paddock were all that
saved his sanity. By the time we walked back into the stableyard, Nimshi had
finished gutting a fine stag.
That night, Lachlan made a fine meal of the venison, washing it down with
moonshine, procured by Big Josie from who knew where. After that, Lachlan
seemed to drink rather more than I thought a gentleman should. Every morning
Zulei had to force one of her remedies down his throat.
"He feels the phantom pain," Zulei told me, "of the hand they amputated. That
happens."
"Can't you make it go away, Zulei?" It was wrong of me, I know, to wish for
another miracle from her, but how could I have known then just how much these
years had cost her in strength; how often she had clouded the avenue so that
deserters didn't find their way to our house or cavalry see the true form of
Majpoor's horses, or even see me young, innocent, and vulnerable.
As I clutched at her arm, Zulei gave me a long piercing look; the expression
in her eyes going from anguish, to deep sorrow, to such resolution that I was
ashamed of my momentary weakness.
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"I'm sorry, Zulei," I said. "How could you have a salve to heal a hand that's
not there. And I know we've no laudanum left so that corn liquor will have to
do to cut the pain." We used the last of Mama's supply when one of the field
hands had nearly severed the calf of his leg with a cane knife.
Lachlan tried, though, with white lips and pain-racked eyes, to take up
plantation duties. He told me how brave and resourceful I had been to keep
everything going as well as I had. I repeated that I'd had help from Zulei and
Nimshi and he gave me an odd look. But it was so good to have my brother back
that I scarcely noticed anything other than my joy at having one Langhorn
spared by the terrible conflict. As a mark of that joy, I willingly gave him
Jupiter to ride - until Cotton was restored, I told him with a laugh, though
we both knew Cotton's working days were over. But having a fine horse between
his legs did Lachlan the world of good. Until darkness fell and he had to
wrestle with the phantom pain again.
Often I would see Nimshi supporting my brother up the stairs to his room in
the small hours of the night. I would see Zulei ascending them in the morning
with the tisane to cure his hangover. She looked as worn as Lachlan.
Then those occasions dwindled and, at my tentative inquiry, Lachlan muttered
something about an itch being an improvement over an ache. He began to take a
real hold of the management, consulting with Nimshi and Big Josie. Mr. James
was relegated to sitting on his porch and swinging, seeming not to notice the
passing hours. I assigned one of our older women to tend to his needs and see
he ate.
Many of our people had drifted off once conditions at Majpoor deteriorated,
but, some months, we could barely feed those who remained. Lachlan organized
the loyal ones who had stayed with us, and planted what seed we had. He and
Nimshi took two geldings in to Greensboro to sell, and although there were few
people able to buy anything, he did get some gold, though most of the sale
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