After days spent tuned to the habits of those around them - the other prisoners, the African slaves, the overseers, the half a dozen deliveries coming and going from the plantation, the master of the house and his infrequent guests, the family's two children who are learning to ride up and down the lanes between the fields -, the insulation of the downpour feels like a respite from more than just the labor expected of them. It's not quiet, but it is restful (even with Benjamin, the poor bastard) and he can't help but be lulled by it. The air is dense, the damp smell thick, and as he runs his hand over the short bristle of hair across the top of his skull it occurs to him that this may be the first time they will be left to themselves for more than a moment. They'll be here for more than just the time it takes to fit a horse into harness or for the minutes they might be allowed to linger in the yard after nightfall before someone comes to see them tucked safely away. Excepting their friend on the cot of course, they're alone. God forbid he ever wish to have everything.
How closely do they count those razors after they've been allowed to use them?, a piece of him wonders. Who long would it take for someone to notice a pair of shears gone missing? What would he even need them for? Wouldn't it be better to slip away in the darkness or on a day like this one where the rain would mask their route? The rest of him shifts from the doorway, turning his attention from the weather making lakes and rivers of the garden and its paths to Thomas.
They should take advantage of the opportunity to speak where no one will hear them. If leaving here is the easy part (and he believes it will be), then plotting their course beyond the gate deserves more thought than figuring out how to slip away. They'll need horses or a wagon. They'll need supply and the coin to come by them legitimately unless they want to add horse thieves to runaway slave on their inevitable warrant. They must secure someone outside this place to supply them or, better, they must figure out a way to take whatever they need from this place before they leave it. Speak to no one. Trust no one but themselves. Put no man or woman in danger and leave no witness when they disappear.
It's a long list. It should be broached. Instead James drifts to Thomas. scuffing his fingers through his own beard as he goes. He'd neglected to use he razor either to shave his cheek or the prickle of hair on his head - the former seems like a lost cause and the latter will need to be grown out to avoid easy recognition from a distance - and now he's regretting it. He's sweat in these clothes. If he'd done more than wash and scrub his face, there might be less of him to smell like stale heat and work.
"How far is the doctor? When the weather clears - do you know how long it will take to send for him?"
no subject
How closely do they count those razors after they've been allowed to use them?, a piece of him wonders. Who long would it take for someone to notice a pair of shears gone missing? What would he even need them for? Wouldn't it be better to slip away in the darkness or on a day like this one where the rain would mask their route? The rest of him shifts from the doorway, turning his attention from the weather making lakes and rivers of the garden and its paths to Thomas.
They should take advantage of the opportunity to speak where no one will hear them. If leaving here is the easy part (and he believes it will be), then plotting their course beyond the gate deserves more thought than figuring out how to slip away. They'll need horses or a wagon. They'll need supply and the coin to come by them legitimately unless they want to add horse thieves to runaway slave on their inevitable warrant. They must secure someone outside this place to supply them or, better, they must figure out a way to take whatever they need from this place before they leave it. Speak to no one. Trust no one but themselves. Put no man or woman in danger and leave no witness when they disappear.
It's a long list. It should be broached. Instead James drifts to Thomas. scuffing his fingers through his own beard as he goes. He'd neglected to use he razor either to shave his cheek or the prickle of hair on his head - the former seems like a lost cause and the latter will need to be grown out to avoid easy recognition from a distance - and now he's regretting it. He's sweat in these clothes. If he'd done more than wash and scrub his face, there might be less of him to smell like stale heat and work.
"How far is the doctor? When the weather clears - do you know how long it will take to send for him?"