I shake my head, as Katherine ain’t really looking for a conversation.
“I hate this. I hate pretending to be white, to be like most of the folks in this town. I hate the way they think. And I hate knowing that my face is worth more than all the rest of me.”
“Well, maybe not all of the rest of you,” I mutter, but Katherine doesn’t hear me.
“Do you know what Miss Anderson told me before we got in the train car to come here? ‘I wish you weren’t so pretty, Katherine. Maybe then someone would’ve taken you on and you would’ve had a chance at a future.’ I had a chance, Jane, but because of my damned face, no one would take me on as an Attendant. I was first in our class.”
“Well, only because I’m terrible with a rifle. Besides, we still had final evaluations to go through, and my rifle work has greatly improved—”
“Jane, please, shut up. Don’t you get it? No white woman would have taken me on as Attendant because of my stupid face, and colored girls don’t like me because I’m too light by half. My future, if we ever get out of this miserable patch of dirt, is to belong to some man, just like my momma did. I left Virginia to escape that fate, yet it seems to have found me anyway.”
I laugh softly, and shake my head. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” She looks at me and I smile. “You’re passing fair, Kate. No one in this town doubts that you’re white. That’s your future. Your manners are pretty enough that everyone believes you’re from a fine family, without a moment’s hesitation. You could make your way to a nice place, marry some fine man and become respectable, set up housekeeping and have fancy dinner parties that would put the mayor’s to shame.”
Katherine sniffs. “But don’t you see, Jane? That’s exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want to live the rest of my life as a liar. To turn my back on my own people. And I definitely don’t want to be someone’s wife. I don’t want a man.”
I shift uncomfortably next to her. “Is this your way of telling me you fancy women?” Not that I mind that. I’ve been distracted by a pretty face every now and again myself. But trying to imagine Katherine pledging herself to a life as a spinster doesn’t quite fit.
Katherine jumps to her feet and begins to pace. “No! I don’t fancy anyone. I’ve seen the way you look at Mr. Gideon and I’ve seen the way you look at Jackson. I’ve even seen the way you used to look at Merry Alfred when she was at Miss Preston’s.”
My face heats. “Well, Merry was very pretty and she had that amazing right hook.” Merry was also a very good kisser, taught me everything I know, but Katherine doesn’t need to hear about that.
She keeps talking like I haven’t said a word. “But I don’t feel that way about anyone, Jane. I never have and I’m not sure I ever will.”
“Oh, well, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But that’s what makes it so hard. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to chase after some man or set up housekeeping with another woman. I’m just not interested. I want to see the world! I want to write my own future, like Hattie McCrea.”
I laugh. “Well, everyone wants to be Hattie.” Hattie McCrea’s story is the dream of every Attendant-in-training. She was the first real Attendant, assigned to Martha Johnson, President Johnson’s daughter. They say she single-handedly killed a horde that tried to swarm the White House back in ’69. Whether the story is true or not, it made Hattie famous. She traveled the world after that, her name made, teaching girls how to defend themselves against shamblers, and finally marrying a handsome French duke. Well, at least that’s how the story goes. She could’ve just as easily been killed by some random shambler in a swamp down south in the Lost States, for all we really know.
Either way, Hattie was the example we all strove for—Hattie and her selflessness, or Hattie and her fame, or even Hattie and her ability to make her own decisions about her life, free from the restraints the rest of us labor under. All of us Negro girls wanted to be like Hattie, respected and admired.
Even Katherine, who could’ve passed as a fine white lady if she wanted.
“If you want to see the world like Hattie, you can. I ain’t never met someone half as determined as you are.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “We just need to get out of here, first. I am truly sorry I’ve put you through this, but you do understand that your pretty face is just as much a weapon as your rifle, right?”
Katherine wipes her eyes and gives me a strange look, like I just sprouted an extra nose. I lean back a little. “What? What did I say?”
“Jane, I’ve never thought of it that way, that beauty could be a weapon.”
I laugh. “That’s because you’ve never met my momma. She used to say the only thing more lethal than a bullet was a woman with a pretty face.”
“Strangely enough, that actually makes me feel better.”
“Good. But let’s not forget that isn’t the only weapon in your arsenal now. You’ve still got the promise of your virtue.” I give Katherine a wry smile. “The thing is, what are we going to do with all of this admiration you’re getting? More important, what are
