Ash laughed. “You can’t cook? Does she know that?”
“Yeah,” Kitty said, moving to the stove. “But she said anybody can scramble eggs.”
When she started to dump them into the skillet, Ash stopped her. “Wait a minute!” He reached for the bowl. His body touched hers as he took it from her hands, and he lingered near her a moment longer than necessary. “The pan’s not hot enough yet. See, the butter hasn’t even finished melting. Just wait a little while. And then,” he set the eggs on the counter, “I’ll cook ‘em.”
“But—”
“I don’t mind. I was a Boy Scout. I’ve scrambled eggs over an open camp fire many a time.”
Kitty exhaled, relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Ash.” She walked back to the icebox and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice, then filled three small glasses on a tray. “I better put this juice on the table and start setting out the food. Aunt Izolla’s gonna kill me when she comes back.”
“I doubt that,” Ash smiled, “but she might kill me.” He poured the eggs into the skillet and they began to sizzle. Maneuvering them with a metal spatula, he asked, “Where is Izolla, anyway?”
“She wanted to show Betty Jean a few things around the house. She showed me everything when I first got here, but Betty Jean was late. She was feeling sick and almost didn’t come at all.”
Heavy footsteps plodded down the back stairs, then stopped abruptly at the rear kitchen entry way. Kitty quickly grabbed the tray of juice glasses and headed for the dining room, but before she reached the swinging door, her great aunt’s commanding voice bellowed.
“Hold it right there!” Izolla yelled. Kitty froze but didn’t turn around. Izolla eyed Ash at the stove. “Just what’s going on in here? Mr. Ash, your mama’s payin’ good money for my great nieces to work here this summer. She ain’t payin’ them to watch you cook!”
“Izolla,” Ash smiled, “I’m just helping out. Besides, Kitty said she can’t cook.”
Kitty still hadn’t turned around. But when Ash saw her shoulders hunch and her head drop, he almost laughed.
“ ‘Kitty’?” Izolla frowned.
“She said I could call her that,” Ash explained, scraping scrambled eggs onto the platter with the ham.
“Humph,” Izolla snorted. “Turn around, Miss Cat.” Kitty slowly turned to face her aunt. “Cookin’ ain’t medicine and you don’t need no law degree to scramble eggs!”
“But Aunt Izolla,” a small voice said from behind the large woman’s frame. Ash was caught off guard by this seemingly invisible presence. He looked hard at Izolla, waiting for something to appear. Moments later, a young girl emerged from behind her.
The girl’s skin was fair like Izolla’s, a light honey brown, but she was thin and petite, shorter than Kitty. Her wavy black hair was shoulder length and she wore it tied back in a ponytail with a pink ribbon.
“Cooking’s like chemistry,” the girl said quietly. “And Catherine hates any kind of science.
Ash eyed this girl a little longer than necessary because she wore the thickest glasses he’d ever seen. When she looked down, he realized he’d been staring. Ash averted his eyes, then moved toward her politely. “How do you do, miss?”
“This here’s Mr. Ash,” Izolla said as they shook hands. “This is my other niece, Betty Jean. And she can cook.”
Ash noticed Kitty bristle. “Aunt Izolla,” Kitty said, “Mr. Ash just offered to help, that’s all.”
Ash flashed a charming smile. “That’s right, Izolla. No harm in that, is there?”
“Don’t you need to shower and dress before breakfast?” Izolla snapped.
Ash jumped to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well get on outta here so we can get to work!” Izolla grabbed the wooden spoon from the stovetop. Dried grits were plastered to it. Shaking the utensil in Ash’s direction, the fat on her upper arms jiggled furiously. “And look here, Mr. Ash! You behave yourself around my great nieces.”
“Now, Izolla,” Ash said smoothly, “I’m always a gentleman.”
“Even though you’re grown,” she moved toward him a few paces, still wielding the spoon, “I’ll use force if I have to, to control you, incorrigible as you are!”
Kitty laughed. “Aunt Izolla, Mr. Ash seems perfectly harmless.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Izolla smirked.
“Now I resent that, Izolla, I’m harmless as a fly.”
“Then get on outta here ‘fore I swat you!”
Ash left the kitchen still remembering the slight touch of Kitty’s body next to his.
Chapter 2
Three Weeks Later
As Ash began to climb the back porch steps, Kitty opened the back door. He stopped. Her presence never failed to send a surge of electricity through him. It was still early morning and Ash had just driven home from swimming laps at the country club. He hadn’t seen Kitty at all today. As she descended the stairs, he moved aside to let her pass.
She held a basket in one hand and smiled. “Hey, Ash,” several days ago she’d stopped calling him Mr. Ash when no one else was around. “I’m off to pick peaches for a cobbler Aunt Izolla’s gonna bake later.” She stopped inches from him at the bottom step. “But I think she and Betty Jean just want me out of the kitchen since I can’t cook.”
Ash didn’t say anything. In his mind, he was too busy peeling off her clothes.
Smiling, Kitty cocked her head to the side. “Cat got your tongue?”
“No—course not. I’m never at a loss for words.”
Kitty laughed. “I know.” She turned on the ball of her foot and strode away.
Ash watched her go. He continued watching as he backed up the steps. He dropped his gym bag on the porch, still gazing in Kitty’s direction. She walked slowly as a gentle breeze blew the skirt of her dress gracefully around her legs. It would take Kitty about five minutes to reach the peach orchard. It was behind the mansion, hidden beyond a large cluster of oak trees.
The Kroth’s white clapboard house, freshly painted with shiny black shutters, sat on a low sloping hill. The mansion was surrounded by three acres of land scattered with white magnolias and pink crape myrtle. Ash’s father owned about a thousand more acres up in the northern part of the county worked by sharecroppers.
Ash could still see Kitty off in the distance. He jumped down the six steps by threes and began following her. The air was fragrant with honeysuckle and magnolia, and except for a slight rustling of leaves, all was quiet. When he called to her, she appeared not to hear him. But he wondered if she really could.
Kitty--Cat—both names suited her because she liked to toy with him as a cat plays with a mouse—before killing it. But being near her wouldn’t be dangerous, Ash reflected, if he could keep his feelings out of it. He knew the emotions that stirred inside him weren’t right.
A dalliance with a Negro girl should be kept at that—a dalliance, with no emotional attachment. However, it was already too late for Ash. He told himself he shouldn’t be out here looking at her—following her. But he couldn’t help it.
“Kitty,” he called again. This time, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled, but then looked ahead and kept walking.
Ash gazed at her, thinking how sensual she was. Her walk, her smile, her voice all jarred his senses to oblivion. From behind, he watched the simple blue dress sway alluringly about her hips. She strode with a straight back and head held high. Her strides were queenly, yet seductive.
Ash, wearing khaki pants and a mint green sport shirt, began jogging. When he finally caught up to her, Kitty said, “What are you doing all the way out here?”
He smiled. “I thought you needed help.”
“You certainly like helping me.”
“You got a problem with that?”
They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. “I don’t,” Kitty said, “but what about your daddy? He doesn’t mind you not working five days a week in his law office this summer?”
“No. Two days is go
od enough.”
“But two days isn’t enough to keep you out of trouble.”
“And I’ve got my teaching twice a week.”
“But you’re still around to cause mischief during the day since you teach at night! So just how many adults are in those reading classes?”
“About a dozen, but there should be more. Some folks are too ashamed to admit they can’t read.”
“Well, I think what you’re doing is right admirable.”
“It’s necessary,” Ash said. “In this day and age, there’s no excuse for illiteracy. Now see, when I’m governor, I’m gonna put some reading programs into place. That way, everyone’ll know how to read in this state. Knowledge is power.”
“Especially…”
“Especially what?”
“Nothing.”
Ash knew what she was thinking, “Especially if you’re white.” But he didn’t force the issue. It was true.
They walked silently for a few moments. “Guess you could say I’m taking it easy this summer. Once I’m in law school, then start politicking, I won’t have much time to call my own. So I hope you don’t mind me—helping you out, since I’ve got some free time on my hands.”
“Oh, I appreciate your help; seems like you know everything. From drying dishes to hanging linens on the clothesline, you’re an expert. And no matter what I do, you’ve got a lecture on how to do it better.”
Ash stopped walking, then grabbed Kitty’s arm with a tug. Unable to move, she stiffened. Her eyes widened as though afraid.
“What was I giving you a lecture about a few days ago—that time when you teased me?” Ash asked.
Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Ash released her arm, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Kitty’s stiffness disappeared. She smiled and relaxed.
“So,” he returned her smile, “you know what day I’m talking about, don’t you? Mother off at her Tuesday bridge luncheon, Izolla and Betty Jean gone to market, and you and me—alone—washing dishes.”
Kitty looked down for a moment, then grinned. By the look on her face, Ash assumed she was blushing. But her dark skin prevented him from knowing for sure. When Kitty began walking again, Ash followed.
“You were talking too much. I wanted to shut you up.” She winked.
“Yeah, and when you reached to kiss me, I lost my train of thought. One second you act like you wanna kiss me, then the next you pull away. Why’d you do that?”
Kitty hesitated. “Because you stopped talking, and—and because Aunt Izolla warned me about you.”
“What’d she say?”
“That sometimes you don’t act as gentlemanly as your brother does. So—I was just testing you,” Kitty said coyly. “You passed.” She moved her basket from one hand to the other. “When I pulled away, you didn’t try to make me--change my mind.”
Ash took a breath to speak, but before he could, Kitty changed the subject.
“Well, today I’m just picking peaches. I doubt there’s anything you can teach me about that.”
Her tone almost seemed a challenge. “Are you kidding?” Ash said, as they approached the small orchard. Peaches hung invitingly from the branches and the smell of ripening fruit wafted through the air.
“When I was growing up, we lived out in the country, and Heath and I had to do chores right along with the Negroes that worked our land. My dad made sure we showed them the same respect we would anybody else. Respecting others, no matter what—that’s one of the best lessons Dad ever taught me.”
“So what lesson do you suppose you can teach me about picking peaches?” Kitty asked.
“Well, since I grew up cultivating peaches, and since I have a degree in agriculture—”
“Oh, Ash!” Kitty laughed. “Stop talking! I’ll just pick one—then you can give me a lecture.”
Kitty gazed up into the glossy leaves. Ash watched as her slender arm rose to pluck a peach. Even this innocuous action oozed sensuality to him.
“Think fast!” Kitty tossed the peach to him and laughed. He almost missed, distracted by a hint of lace peeking from the neckline of her dress. “Is that a good one?” she asked.
Ash squeezed the fruit, then smelled it. “Not bad, but not perfect. When you pick peaches, they need to be firm, with a little give to ‘em. And they should have a deep, sweet peachy smell.”
“Well, I figured, since that one had rosy red skin, it’d be just right.”
“But rosy red skin doesn’t mean it’s ripe enough to pick.” Ash took the basket, placed the peach inside, then set it on the ground. “What you want to look for instead is a deep yellow background color.” He looked up and then pointed high above them. “Like that one.”
Kitty tried to reach the peach he indicated to but couldn’t. “It’s too high.”
“Now it’s not,” Ash said, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her up.
Kitty laughed, as she was hoisted into the air. After she pulled on the peach, snapping it free from the branch, Ash slowly lowered her to the ground. Kitty held the peach between them, but Ash didn’t remove his eyes from hers.
Now that one looks perfect,” he said, still not looking at the fruit. “But the best way to test it—is to taste it.” Ash took the peach from her hand, then touched it to her lips.
Kitty held his gaze and took a deep, sensual bite. Juice burst from the peach, trickling to her chin. Ash brushed it away with his thumb, then licked the juice from his finger. “Now it’s my turn,” he said, before she could eat any more. “You don’t mind if we share, do you?”
Kitty smiled, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t dare deprive you of something this good. It’s sweet.”
Before Ash bit into, he said, “And it feels just firm enough—and I can see how juicy it is.”
They ate the peach together, the only sound between them soft laughter. After they finished, Ash threw the pit aside into the soil.
“I reckon we can’t test each one now, can we?” Kitty smiled.
“I reckon not.”
Silently, they picked peaches until the basket was filled. When both reached down to pick it up, their heads collided.
While they laughed, Ash rubbed his head and said, “I’ll carry the basket!”
But when the laughing stopped, neither of them moved. They looked into each other’s eyes. When Ash bent to kiss her, this time Kitty let him. He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him in a firm embrace. When his kiss deepened, Kitty encircled her arms around his neck. But after a few seconds, she gently pushed him away.
“Aunt Izolla’s probably looking for me about now. We need to head back.”
Ash hesitated. He wanted to keep kissing her. And he wanted more than that—and even more than that. Anything he’d say now wouldn’t make sense, so instead he just grabbed the basket. They walked toward the house without a word between them for several moments.
“So, who’s Russell?” he asked.
“Russell?” Kitty laughed. “How’d you hear about him?”
“I heard Betty Jean tell Izolla how much he likes you.”
“Oh.” Kitty smiled slyly.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So—who is he? Are you talking to him?” Ash demanded.
“About what?” She batted her eyes.
“You know what I mean! Are you seeing him?”
“Oh,” she sighed, “kind of.”
“Kind of? You either are or you aren’t!”
“Well, Ash--that’s really none of your business, now, is it?”
As Kitty casually strode ahead, she left Ash behind, smoldering.
Chapter 3
Kitty looked at the round silver platter. It was filled with a new arrangement of stuffed shrimp and scallops wrapped in bacon. She’d rather be at the movies on a Friday night, but since she’d been asked to work this evening, and would receive extra pay, she was in the Kroth’s kitchen.
Russell had asked her out to see Love on the Run with
Joan Crawford and Clark Gable. Since she was stuck here, the least she deserved was one of those tasty looking hors d’oeuvres. She reached for a scallop.
“Don’t eat what’s on there, chile!” Izolla smacked her hand. “I done just made up that tray for the white folks. Don’t you go messin’ it up!”
Kitty rubbed her stinging fingers. “Sorry, Aunt Izolla.”
“You can have one of those.” Izolla pointed to a plate of partially burned rejects. Kitty took the least burned among them. “Now, Cat, you better get back out there! You need to be workin’ like Betty Jean, goin’ ‘round with those hot hors d’oeuvres. Ash’s mama ain’t payin’ you extra to eat tonight, she’s payin’ you to work her cocktail party. There’s near ‘bout forty folks out there.”
While Kitty finished the reject, she gazed longingly at the presentable hors d’oeuvres, pouting. “Daddy said I ought to spit on everything.”
The Robinson sisters, Earline and Nadine, laughed loudly as they assembled finger sandwiches. Hired just for the evening, those Negro girls came from Shantytown, Joy Hope’s poorest colored community, where the dilapidated houses were nothing more than shacks.
“Hush up!” Izolla yelled at them. “Stop laughing all loud and unladylike!” Turning back to Kitty she said, “And Cat, you just better watch your mouth! This party’s important to Miss Joan. She’s givin’ it to honor of Mr. Bedford’s retirement after 40 years of public service.”
Kitty rolled her eyes. “I know, Aunt Izolla, and Daddy was mad as all get out when I told him we’d be working at a party for Governor ‘Torch’ Bedford.”
“Now, I done told you, Mr. Bedford didn’t believe none of that stuff he said when he was the governor.”
“No, you didn’t. All you said was that when Ash’s daddy was ‘The Torch’s’ speech-writer, he didn’t believe all the stuff he wrote for Mr. Bedford to say.”
“Well, both of ‘em felt the same. They don’t have nothing against Negroes.” Izolla wiped her hands on her apron. “But the white folks wanted to hear all that hate talk, so that’s what they gave ‘em. It was all just politics—and it kept gettin’ ‘em elected.”
The Governor’s Sons Page 2