Race Traitor: BWWM Romance Novel for Adults

by Jamila Jasper

  For as much as Emmett believed in the power of educating children, he really didn’t care for them. All they needed was someone to teach them how to sit still, behave, and learn. If Curtis wasn’t inside the house when he got back, there would be hell to pay.

  In truth, Curtis was not inside the house. As it turned out, as Emmett was making his visit to Betty, Curtis had sallied forth on an adventure of his own.

  The boy was a smart little thing, a fact he was very well aware of. He liked learning, but he didn’t much care for Mr. Freeman, or the man’s fondness for the willow strap. Curtis escaped his studies as often as he could. Very rarely did he get lost on his wanderings around Rickshaw.

  This was one of those rare times.

  “Wanderin’ too far, eh boy?” said the white man. The man had brown-stained teeth. A loose pouch for a belly. He walked with a limp. He dragged himself towards Curtis.

  “I ain’t lost,” Curtis assured him. “Just gettin’ home.”

  “Gettin’ late,” said the man. “Thar’s a curfew, on the negroes.”

  “I know,” said Curtis. “Just gettin’ home,” he repeated.

  The man lunged for him; Curtis was too quick. He sprinted off, away from the man’s cries.

  Several white folks came out of the bar to see the commotion. Curtis loped away. He ran straight into the skirts of Janie Ross.

  “Curtis!” She exclaimed, grabbing his arm. Her eyes were wide. “What’s the matter, honey? Why you out so late?”

  “Gettin’ home,” he grunted, trying to wriggle from her grasp. The woman was surprisingly strong.

  “Where’s Emmett?”

  “He’s home,” Curtis said. He threw a glance over his shoulder. The white people were staring at the two of them, talking among themselves.

  Janie had a basket of peaches looped over her elbow. She looked back at the white people, too.

  “Damn it. I was tutorin’ Esther’s son and I just forgot the time.”

  “Me, too,” said Curtis. “I lost Mr. Freeman’s watch.”

  “We gotta get you home,” she said firmly.

  “There ain’t no time,” Curtis said. “It’s dark.”

  “Hey!”

  Two white men came out of the bar. They started towards Janie and Curtis, swaying with that arrogant, elastic gait of violent drunkards.

  Janie inhaled sharply. Gripping Curtis’s shoulder tight, she began to walk speedily in the other direction.

  “Ow,” Curtis yelped. “Miss Ross, don’t run. It’s like dogs. You run, they run.”

  “I ain’t stayin’ to talk,” Janie said through her teeth.

  “Nigger girl! Where you walkin’ to?” One of them cried. A couple people poked their heads out of their doors.

  Janie turned abruptly into an alleyway, off the road. “Now we run.”

  They fled down the other street. For a woman, Miss Ross sure ran fast. She held his hand tightly as he strained to keep up with her.

  “Miss Ross!” He panted.

  “Oh no, oh no,” Janie gasped. Two men stood at the end of the road they’d turned onto. She could see them in the dim twilight, their heads bowed over some piece of paper. One of them was Francis Croup. His horse, a magnificent piebald Gelding, stood

  Luck was not in their favor that night. Francis raised his head, just as the two men from before burst onto the street. They were cornered.

  Miss Ross ground to a halt. No point in running now. Curtis heard the teacher’s breath whistling in her throat. She was scared.

  Francis and his companion began to shuffle towards them.

  “Why you runnin’, girl?” Laughed the men from the bar.

  Janie’s hands curled into fists. Francis reached them first.

  “Well, well, well,” he sneered.

  “Good evenin’, sir,” said Janie, her voice rigid and polite.

  “You’re that bitch that Burke’s been whipped for,” Francis spat. “Out past curfew. Is this your son?” He jutted a chin at Curtis.

  Janie licked her lips. “I- no. My nephew,” she lied.

  “You got some friends,” smirked Francis. The two men from the bar were hanging back. They recognized Francis, of course. They were waiting to see what he would do.

  “No friends of mine,” said Janie. “I’m just tryin’ to get home.”

  “Home to Burke? To his bed?”

  Her eyes glinted. “No. Home.”

  Francis moved like a striking snake, wrapping a hand around her throat and cuffing her in the side of the head. Janie stumbled forward to her knees. Francis grabbed her hair and yanked her head back to look at him. Curtis took a step back, looking around for help. A couple black folks lived over the hill. They could run there, seek shelter...

  “Look at me, bitch!” Francis roared. The look on his face was unhinged. Janie had a hand to her eyes. Already the vessels had burst like grapes and were swelling, swelling.

  “Leave her alone!” Curtis shouted.

  Francis paid him no mind, but his companion grabbed hold of Curtis’s shirt and lifted him off the ground.

  Francis began dragging Janie away by the hair. She kicked and screamed. Curtis twisted and kicked at the shin of his assailant.

  “Little bastard!”

  He burst free and ran. He ran towards the wooden fence and jumped it. And he kept running until he reached Miss Mabel’s house.

  They let him go; the girl was more entertaining. Francis’s hands were a mess of claw marks as Janie scrabbled at his grip in her hair. He slammed her against the wall of a house and brought his nose an inch from hers. Her left eye was purple, her lip split. His hands shot clumsily up her skirt, groping at her bottom. His mouth fastened on her throat, but it was rough and savage, as if he wanted to rip it out. All around them the white people laughed.

  “He’ll kill you,” she told Francis, soft enough that only he could hear. “You know he will.”

  The effect was immediate. Francis shoved away from her. The wall fetched up sharply against the back of Janie’s head. She gasped and slid to her knees again, trying not to scream.

  “He’s been with Evelyn,” Francis nearly sobbed. “I know he has. The pig. The bastard! After I kept his secret- all that I’ve done for him-”

  Janie whistled through her teeth at the pain. She dared not say anything.

  “You bitch,” he ranted. “I’ll see you raped and dumped on his doorstep. I’ll see you hanged. He can’t threaten me.”

  Don’t pass out, Janie told herself. A long moment passed between them. Then, to her eternal surprise, Francis gripped her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet. The look in his eyes- almost beastlike. Hunger and fury and self-pity. He raised a hand and slapped her. Janie cowered.

  “Your ‘nephew’ is gone. Go home. Go back to Burke.”

  She drew a shaky breath. Rusty spots were spreading on her dress. Janie had never liked the sight of blood.

  “Go!” Bellowed Francis. He pulled the riding crop from his belt and came at her.

  Janie ran.

  ***

  For the next week Janie avoided seeing Burke. When he came by she pretended not to be at the schoolhouse. She didn’t take any more walks into the woods. Mostly she stayed at home and nursed her eye. Throbbing headaches still seized her from time to time, but she was getting better.

  She asked around about Curtis and learned that he’d made it to safety that night. To Janie’s surprise, Curtis hadn’t told anyone that she’d been with him that night.

  On Saturday, a week from the incident, she realized she could avoid Burke no longer. At seven o’ clock in the morning he’d planted himself firmly on the doorstep of the schoolhouse to wait for her to come out. She puttered about, brewing coffee for them both. Then sighing, she slipped outside.

  “I’m sorry, Burke,” were the first words out of her mouth.

  The tall man stood and turned to look at her. Not caring who saw, he examined the contusions on her face, the flowering purple, red and yellow of her eye, and
the weary expression painted all over her face.

  “You got nothin’ to say sorry for,” he said. Janie caught a tremor of anger lurking beneath his composed tone.

  “You heard?” she said weakly.

  “Yeah. They got you pretty bad. You know who did it?”

  She stared at him. Perhaps he hadn’t heard the whole story.

  Janie wondered if she should tell him about Francis, and what Francis had said. Perhaps she ought to demand to know what the other man had meant about “keeping Burke’s secret”. She opened her mouth to do just that, but changed her mind.

  “No. I don’t know for sure.”

  “They didn’t- they didn’t hurt you anywhere else?” His hands were gentle as they stroked and arranged her hair. They trembled with suppressed fury.

  “No. They let me go- before. I told them what you would do to them.”

  “When I heard I wanted to wring their necks. Then I wanted to wring yours. Damn it, Janie! You shoulda known better than to be stayin’ out late over on that side of town.”

  “Well, a sure good thing I was there, ain’t it?” She snapped. “Otherwise that baby mightn’t have made it to the mornin’. I made a good distraction, and he got away.” Janie meant to drop in on Curtis soon and see how he was doing.

  Burke shook his head at her. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  Janie shrugged her crochet shawl closer. She sat down on the steps, and Burke sat next to her.

  “I need to get out of this place,” she muttered. “I feel scared senseless just walkin’ out my door now. Even to see you.”

  Burke peered up at the schoolhouse. “I only got a couple things to take care of in there,” he remarked.

  “What you mean?”

  “It shouldn’t be ready for a little while. The kids don’t go to school in summer, do they?”

  “Naw- not really. Most hardly even show up for lessons now.” It was a sad fact, Janie reflected, that the children of Rickshaw County were simply not used to school. Many parents valued education, but there were many more who just didn’t see the use for it, and kept their children home to work. They didn’t see much hope for little black children in Mississippi.

  Truthfully, Janie wondered if she would ever get a chance to teach the way she wanted.

  Burke nodded, thinking. “What say you an’ me head down to New Orleans for a spin. A week or two. Leave tomorrow, forget all about this mess.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  Janie studied his face to see if he was joking. A wide, brilliant smile broke out on hers. He smirked to see it.

  “Aw Burke, that’s the best idea you’ve ever had!”

  “C’mon. I’ll get the tickets.”

  “But-” She fiddled with the hem of her dress guiltily. Threads poked out all over the thing; Janie had always been hard on her clothes, despite owning very few of them. “I don’t got much to wear.”

  “I’ll buy it for you.”

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “Naw, the hell you will. I aim to spoil you. I won’t let you ruin it.”

  She flung her arms about his neck and bussed a kiss against his cheek. A little smile of pleasure touched Burke’s lips. He returned her embrace.

  ***

  The train to New Orleans ran through Jackson. Janie left town early in the morning, Burke carrying their luggage. They brought very little.

  Of course, Burke could not sit in the same train car as Janie. He got up twice and strode to her section to see her. They received nasty glares from the occupants of the “Colored” and “White” cars alike. The white people whispered in indignation- such a tall, fine figure of a man lowering himself to talk to a negro girl. The black people said they hoped this high-stepping white man didn’t get them all into trouble trying to make a point.

  Janie’s face burned with embarrassment when the harried conductor finally confronted Burke, informing him that he’d better stay put or get kicked off the train before they reached Jackson. Burke, who had secretly been longing for such an altercation, proceeded to give the smaller man a piece of his mind in that calm, irritating tone he was so good at. They exchanged words for a good five minutes, the conductor getting louder and louder, Burke still quiet but ever more vicious. But he still returned to the White Car and stayed there until the next rest stop. As he passed on through to the car, a small, shriveled old black woman climbed up into the carriage. Burke’s eyebrows furrowed in some faint recognition. The woman smiled nicely at him, but said nothing.

  The Colored car was hot, stuffy, and dirty. Janie would wager the thing had never once been cleaned. As they puffed and chugged their way West to Louisiana, more and more people jumped on. The car soon became crowded, and even hotter. Janie got up a couple times to poke her head out the door and take air. She could clearly see the spaciousness of the white car in front of them.

  When she sat back down, the wrinkled old woman had materialized on the seat next to her. She was small, very dark, like Janie, and pruney as a raisin. Sugar-white hair clung tightly to her scalp.

  “Hello, doll-baby,” said the woman with a smile.

  “Hello Ma’am,” Janie responded.

  “Is that your man? The tall ‘un with the big hair who keeps comin’ in here?”

  Janie smiled. “Yeah.”

  The woman nodded. “I see somethin’ in him. He’s hidin’ somethin’ from you, oh, he is, he is.”

  Janie blinked. “What you mean?”

  The woman turned to Janie. One of her eyes laughed a merry brown. The other eye was clouded white- blind. “Takes a good eye to see these things. Who was his Mama?”

  “Oh- I dunno.”

  “His Granny? Great-granny?”

  The questions made Janie uncomfortable, but she was always polite to old black folks if she could help it. “I dunno that, neither. What’s your meanin’, Ma’am? I don’t follow.”

  “When you get as old as me, you see things. You just ask him these same questions, when you feel it’s time. Y’hear?”

  Completely bewildered, Janie nodded.

  The woman grinned. It made her mismatched eyes jump up into her forehead. “Good. You’s the listenin’ type, I can tell. Careful you do too much listenin’ and not enough doin’.”

  “I- Yes, Ma’am.”

  “What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Janie.”

  “I’m Fleur,” said the woman. “We may not see each other again, but just you remember what I told you.”

  “Well, alright,” said Janie.

  The woman settled back in the seat comfortably. “Oh, to be young and foolish,” she murmured. Her head rocked forward and she fell asleep.

  ***

  New Orleans. Life. That was what Janie saw when she stepped off the train. She took a long, full breath of the air. Her heart soared at the familiar sounds. When Burke stepped off with her, his hands full of their luggage, she threw her arms around his neck again and kissed him right there on the platform. He’d brought her home!

  They set up in a scrap of hotel somewhere in Treme. The Madame of the place, Madame Choc, was a fat, surly old woman who counted their money with jewel-encrusted fingers and assured them they wouldn’t be bothered. She gave Janie a look.

  “Don’t worry, Sir,” she drawled to Burke. “I see this kinda thang all the time.”

  They went shopping. Burke produced money like his pockets were made of gold. Any time Janie opened her mouth to protest, he gave her such a look that she immediately fell silent or burst into laughter.

  During the day, when the sun was fiercest, they either slept, dined at small restaurants, or toured the city. At night, when the city came alive, Janie found her Eden.

  They trawled the small, dive bars and speakeasies, where anyone with a heartbeat and some lungs could get up and sing if they wanted to. Burke watched in astonishment as Janie’s country shyness evaporated. She knew all the popular songs. She sang everything she knew. She improvised on old tunes, so
me extremely perverse. The nicer the establishment, the bawdier she made them.

  This happened for six nights. On the seventh night they went to a dumpy bar called Old Bellows. Janie wore a plain lavender dress. Burke wore his usual overalls and sat in the back. He liked to look out over everyone and get a good view of Janie.

  A middle-aged black man walked in the bar right before she jumped on. He walked right up to Janie and tapped her on the shoulder.