Excerpted
The Highest Price for Passion by Laurinda D. Brown
Copyright (c) 2007

In their old age, Silas and Massa Gray did little to conceal their relationship, and after a while, Silas just moved right on in. At sunrise, they could be found riding through the plantation on their horses, occasionally stopping along the river to sit on the banks and talk. Afterwards, they would return home for breakfast and then retreat to the front porch where they would sit and chew tobacco. Neither of them held any regard for the slaves as they made it a point to be nasty and make life difficult for them. No spit ever made it to the spittoon, nor did they lift a finger to do anything else.

Their stately home was two high levels over a twelve-foot basement. The upper stories were of beautiful pink brick that had taken several months to plaster. There was no cohesion or conformity in its wings, except in color and massive bulk. Two overpowering sets of four Corinthian columns rose upward to and enlarged entablature of horizontal lines and large dentils. One set of columns was pedimental, and the other was not. Intricately carved capitals made from solid blocks of cypress were themselves six feet tall. The main portions of the house were tied together by the large entablature with its dentils, which were simulated on the rounded turrets. The wings had Roman arched window openings, while regular framed windows of various widths were used elsewhere. Most of the rooms had narrow balconies, and sometimes on warm gentle nights, Silas and Massa Gray would sit out there in their underwear drinking wine and could be seen locked in fervent kisses. Inside and out there was a profusion of pilasters and columns. Internal frieze work and decorations were abundant. All of the doorknobs and keyhole covers were silver in color with every aspect of the building and furnishing elaborate beyond compare.

During the summer of 1820, Silas went to Charleston to meet a cargo ship that had come in from the West Indies. His purpose there was to buy four or five more slaves to work around the house. At the auction, he, along with other planters, realized most of the chattel seemed sickly, but he managed to find four that would fit in nicely with the rest. Over the years, they had amassed several hundred slaves and remained one of the largest plantations in Savannah. Before he could return home, two of the slaves died, and he dumped their bodies on the side of the road. Shortly after he got back to the plantation, the other two died as well. Just as they had done to others, their bodies were burned.

A week later, Silas took sick. Massa Gray, at first, had their house servants bringing him cool water and bowls of ice to bring his fever down. Silas was dripping wet with sweat every minute of the day and could barely muster enough strength to get in and out of his clothes. Then the vomiting started, and it was black in color. His eyes, ears, pores and nose began to run blood almost constantly. At that point, Massa Gray sent for the doctor. When the doctor arrived, he observed Silas's symptoms, placed his stethoscope back in his bag, and asked, "Has he been anywhere near Charleston lately?"

Massa Gray replied, "Well, yes, he went there several days ago for an auction."
"I see. Did he bring anything back with him?"
"Why, yes, he did, but two of them died before he could get them back here."
"Where are the others?"
"They died about a week ago."
"I see. What did you do with the bodies?"

There was no way Massa Gray was going to admit what they had done with the bodies. "I had couple of the field hands to bury them in the cemetery down by the slave quarters. What is it, doctor?"

The doctor walked over to the ceramic basin and washed his hands feverishly. "In many port cities, there has been an outbreak of yellow fever, and I believe that's what Silas has. It's highly contagious, and, well, I can't do any more for him, Theron."

In all his life, Massa Gray had only experienced one love, and it had been Silas. It was like lightning had ripped through him. "You mean you're going to just let him die?"

"Theron," he said drying his hands against his trousers, "I am not letting him die. The disease moves fast and seems to have been eating away at him for quite some time. I hate to say it, but it's likely everyone one on this plantation is going to succumb to it."
"What?"

Picking up his bag, the doctor, who was only a few years older than Silas, said, "I suggest you do what you can to keep him comfortable because he doesn't have much time." With that, he grabbed his hat and left the house.

For several hours, Massa Gray sat in a chair next to the bed watching the man he'd grown to love with all his heart give in to death. Taking whatever risk necessary, he moved to the bed. Facing his best friend, he rested his head on Silas's chest and began sobbing. "Don't do that," Silas whispered. "Don't let them see you do that."

Wiping the water from his face, Massa Gray whimpered softly, "I don't care what they see anymore. I can't lose you."
As a small cough turned into brutal sign of his weakness by the excreting of blood, Silas said, "You don't have any control over that." A servant took a wet cloth and cleaned the blood from the corners of his mouth. "My time here is done."

"You damn niggers! This is all your fault! Get out! Get the hell out and don't come back!" he yelled.

The servants stood there looking at one another as if they were confused about the orders. Accustomed to Massa Gray's temper, they remained in place.

"Are you too fucking stupid to understand? Get out!"
"Yessuh," they replied as the backed out the door.

Finally alone, Massa Gray crawled into the bed with Silas and lifted his frail body to where it rested upon his own. He put his arms around Silas and cradled him like an infant. "I can't do this without you," he cried.

Staring down the hall and out the window, Silas's life flashed before him, and it ended with Massa Gray right by his side. "Then don't," he sighed falling limp in Massa Gray's arms as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Theron Allen Gray sat that evening and wept louder and harder than any man could over the loss of the love of his life. He got up from the bed and walked toward the window noticing the peacefulness that had come over the plantation. Kissing Silas's forehead, he said his good-bye and went downstairs to the basement where they kept barrels of imported whale oil. He poured gallons of it into buckets, loaded them into a one-horse cart, and, as quietly as he could, rode down to the slave quarters. Surrounded by trees and cotton fields at every turn, there were twenty cabins on the female side, and twenty cabins on the male side. He went to every trough and drained the water and next dumped out pails of any standing water he could find. Then Massa Gray took those buckets of whale oil and poured the liquid over everything he could find - porches, laundry, hay, anything. After all of the buckets were emptied, he struck a match and lit clothes that were hanging on a clothes line attached to adjoining cabins and turned to walk away.
Upon returning to the house, Massa Gray could hear the screams and cries in the night and listened as one life after another vanished. Consumed in his own anguish, Massa Gray went through the house and snatched down every piece of fabric he could find and took it with him to the basement where he struck another match, igniting everything in sight. He ran for the stairs to make his way back to where he had left Silas and climbed into the bed with him. "I love you," he said solemnly. "We will rot in hell together."