'Oh, I'm fine.' He smiled. 'Perfect. Here, let me help you —'
He grasped her hand so she wouldn't fall as she sat on the edge of the dock. A fish leaped, scattering liquid moonlight When it struck him that he had been forward when he touched her, a look of mortification appeared on his face. That made her think all the more of him.
Truthfully, Jane was as nervous as he was. She had never had much contact with boys in Rock Hill. Too independent, for one thing. Too scared, for another. She was a virgin and had been sternly advised by Widow Milsom to keep herself in that state until she found a man she loved, trusted, and wanted to marry. She knew she was attractive, or anyway not ugly. But none of the gentlemen around Rock Hill had marriage in mind when they attempted to court her.
'Terrible about that fire in Charleston.'
'Terrible,' she agreed, though she felt no sympathy for the white property owners. She had no desire to see lives lost, but if every plantation in the state burned down, she wouldn't mind.
'Reckon you'll be starting north soon.'
'Yes, I suppose. Now that Aunt Belle's buried, I'm —' She checked, not wanting to say free, in case it would hurt him. It was a potent word,
He examined his fingers, searched the bright river, finally exploded. 'Hope you don't mind me saying something else.'
'I won't know till you say it, will I?'
He laughed, more at ease. 'Wish you'd stay, Miss Jane.'
'You don't have to call me miss all the time.'
'Seems proper. You're a fine, pretty woman — smarter than I'll ever be.'
'You're smart, Andy. I can tell. You'll do even better when you learn to read and write.'
'That's part of what I mean, Mi — Jane. Once you leave, won't be anyone here who could teach me. Nobody to teach any of us.' He leaned closer. 'Jubilo's coming. The soldiers of Lincoln are coming. But I can't get along in a white man's world the way I am now. White people write letters, do sums, carry on business. I'm no better fixed for that, I'm no better fixed for freedom than some old hound who lies in the sun all day.'
It was not a plea so much as a summation of the plight of a majority in the South: the black people. With Andy, she believed the day of freedom was rapidly approaching. How could slaves meet and deal with the change? They weren't prepared.
She felt a prick of anger then. 'You're trying to make me feel ashamed because I won't stay and teach. It isn't my task. It isn't my duty.'
'Please don't be angry. That isn't all.'
'What do you mean, it isn't all? I don't understand you.'
He gulped. 'Well — Miss Madeline, she'll be leaving soon to join Mr. Orry. Meek isn't a mean overseer, but he's a hard one. The people need another steadying hand, another friend like Miss Madeline.'
'And you think I could replace her?'
'You ain't — aren't a white woman, but you're free. It's the next best thing.'
Why the rush of disappointment, then? She didn't know. 'I'm sorry I misunderstood, and I thank you for your faith in me, but —' She uttered a little cry as he snatched her hand.
'I don't want you to go, because I like you.'
He spoke so fast, it sounded like one long word. The instant he finished, he shut his mouth and looked ready to die of shame. She could barely hear him when he added, 'I apologize.'
'No, don't. What you said is —' how tongue-tied she felt — 'sweet.' Inclining her head, she brushed his cheek with her lips. She had never been so bold. She was as embarrassed as Andy; churning. She pushed against the dock. 'It's chilly. We ought to go.'
'May I walk along?'
'I'd like it if you did.'
The three-quarters of a mile to the cabins was traversed in silence, a silence so strained it hurt. They reached the slave street, the far end washed by lemon lamplight from the overseer's house Meek had repainted inside and out. Andy said, 'G'night, Miss Jane,' in a strangled voice. He veered away toward his own cabin without breaking stride. A last sentence floated behind. 'Hope I didn't make you too mad.'
No, but he had unsettled her. Mightily. She had developed a strong romantic interest in Andy; it had crept over her with stealth. Tonight, while drops of light fell from the jumping fish, she had come square up against it. It was a powerful pull against the magnet of the North.
Lord. After crying at the burial, she had been certain of her next step. Now she was all topsy-turvy and unsure —
'Boss nigger's the only one good enough for you, huh?'
'What's that?'
Alarmed by the voice from the dark, she searched and saw a form break from an unlit porch to the left. Cuffey ambled to her, took that admire-me stance of his, and said, 'Guess you know who.' With his tongue pressed against the back of his upper teeth, he made a scary little hissing sound. 'I was head driver once. That make me good enough to walk you in the moonlight? I know all the ways to pleasure a gal. Been learnin' since I was nine or ten.'
She started around him. He grabbed her forearm with a hand that hurt. 'I asked you somethin', nigger. Am I good enough for you to go walkin' with or not?'
Jane struggled to hide her fright. 'Nothing on earth would make you good enough. You let go of me or I'll go after your eyes with my fingernails, and while I'm at it, I'll yell for Mr. Meek.'
'Meek's gonna die.' Cuffey pushed his face near hers, his mouth spewing a fetid odor. 'Him an' all the white folks who kicked and beat and bossed us all our lives. Their nigger pets gonna die, too. So, bitch, you better figure out which side —'
'Let go, you ignorant, foul-mouthed savage. A man like you doesn't deserve freedom. You're worthless for anything but spitting on.'
She had listeners on various dark porches. A woman hee-heed, a man laughed outright. Cuffey spun left, then right, the whites of his eyes catching moonlight through the trees. His search for his unseen mockers left Jane free to tear loose and run. She dashed into her cabin and stood with her back against the door, panting.
She pulled her pallet against the door and on top of it laid the one Aunt Belle had used. She decided to leave the lamp burning as a further defense. The cabin was uncomfortable; oiled paper in the window frames didn't bar the cold. She pulled two thin blankets over herself and pressed her back against the door. She would feel it move if an intruder tried to open it.
She watched the lamp wick burning, saw the faces of two men in the flame. She would go as soon as she could.
Tomorrow.
During the night she dreamed of country roads choked with thousands of black people, wandering aimlessly. She dreamed of great malformed doors opening to reveal a room she had seen before. The room radiated blinding light; from its white heart, calling voices summoned her —
She woke to the crow of roosters and memories of Cuffey flooding her mind. She pushed these aside and seized on the swiftly fading dream images. Aunt Belle had always put stock in the importance of dreams, though she always said a person had to work hard to figure out the meanings. Jane did this and in an hour reached a decision.
It would be harder to stay than to leave. Despite Cuffey, there would be compensations. One was the help she could give her own people to prepare them a little for the jubilo she believed to be certain.
Another compensation might be Andy. But even without him, there was the call of conscience. She wasn't a Harriet Tubman or a Sojourner Truth; not a great woman; but if she did what she could, she could live with herself. She dressed, fixed her hair, and hurried to the great house to find Madeline.
Orry's wife was at breakfast. 'Sit down, Jane. Will you have a biscuit and jam? Some tea?'
She was stunned by the invitation to share the table with the white mistress. She thanked Madeline, sitting opposite her but taking no food. She caught the scandalized look of a house girl returning to the kitchen.
'I came to discuss my leaving, Miss Madeline.'
