by Afton Locke
Mary clapped her hands. “Oh, do.”
* * * * *
That afternoon, Mrs. Carter decided to have tea for the girls on the back porch at the traditional English hour of four.
“Isn’t this amusing?” Mary asked Rose.
Rose nodded, hating to admit it was. After telling Leroy he had to wait a whole month to marry her, she wanted to hate being white. The truth was she did enjoy parts of it. Mary had been so enthralled by her stories about fairies last night they’d been late for this morning’s lesson. Hearing about sirens who lured men to perish over deadly rocks had given the girl nightmares, keeping them both awake.
Mary was rapidly becoming the only friend she’d ever had.
Mrs. Carter lifted the silver teapot only to set it down again. “Oh, dear. We have no sugar. I knew we shouldn’t have hired that shiftless cook.”
Irritation prickled Rose’s spine. Had Mrs. Carter called the cook shiftless because of her color? Deciding to save the cook some trouble and maybe even warn her, she decided to intervene.
“I’ll go request it,” she offered.
“Thank you, dear,” the older woman replied.
Rose walked inside to the kitchen. The cook looked a few years older than Rose and wore a blue kerchief on her head. Her amber eyes matched her loose cotton blouse and reminded Rose of a wise cat. She hummed as she stirred oyster stew for dinner. Its buttery aroma filled the kitchen.
“Excuse me, ma’am, could I trouble you for some sugar? For the tea?”
The woman turned and eyed her without smiling. For less than a second, Rose saw resentment and dislike before her face went blank.
“Of course, miss,” the cook said in cheerful tones Rose knew were false. “I’m so sorry I forgot it. I’ll get it right away, miss.”
Rose frowned in confusion. She was used to being ignored by other colored women, but she’d never experienced subservience. Of course. The woman thought she was white.
Her palms prickled with unease. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to fear her. It made her so uncomfortable she was tempted to confess everything. Instead, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
In her haste to get the sugar, the cook almost upset the pitcher of water at her side.
“There’s no need to rush. My name is Rose. What’s yours?”
The woman turned and raised her brows at the unexpected question. “Cali.”
“That’s an unusual name. Where are you from, Cali?” Rose asked next.
“Louisiana,” Cali replied cautiously as she scooped sugar from a canister into a cut glass bowl. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, Miss Rose.”
Rose squeezed her nails into her palms, realizing she was not acting the way a white person should. She was supposed to remain aloof and just take the sugar instead of treating Cali as an equal. She was already becoming friends with Mary. Wasn’t that enough?
The woman set the full bowl of sugar on the table near Rose. “I named myself after an old cat I had once, in case you was wondering.”
“That’s nice,” Rose said. “I always wanted a cat when I was a child.”
But Father had never allowed it. He thought animals were filthy.
Cali’s face softened by degrees as she put the lid back on the canister. “You been painting all your life?”
“Most of it,” Rose said.
“Some people got the talent for it, I expect,” Cali said. “My talent is here in this kitchen.”
The tight muscles in Rose’s chest relaxed and she took an easier breath. Suddenly, she wanted to while away the rest of the afternoon here in this kitchen talking to Cali instead of going back to the white tea party.
“I agree. The food so far has been wonderful.”
“Thank you,” Cali replied.
“I’d better get back to the porch,” Rose said. “Thank you for the sugar.”
“And thank you for the conversation.” Cali dusted her hands on her apron and stepped closer. “You’re different from the others.”
Dread arrowed through Rose’s stomach. “No, I don’t think so.”
Cali stepped even closer and cocked her head, studying Rose’s face with unbearable intensity. The golden cat eyes didn’t blink once. Instead, they stripped away Rose’s face, layer by layer.
“I-I have to go,” Rose stammered as she grabbed the bowl of sugar.
So why did her feet feel rooted to the floor? If she didn’t learn to stop fearing every little thing, she’d never last a week here, much less an entire month.
“I know what you are,” the other woman whispered.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rose broke the woman’s stare by clutching the sugar bowl against her stomach.
“I’ve seen paintings of women like you in New Orleans. Fancy women.”
Rose frowned, her heart thudding faster and faster. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“You ain’t white, are you?” Cali whispered. “Not all the way.”
“Of course I am.”
They both looked down when the sugar bowl slipped from Rose’s shaking fingers and shattered on the floor. That careless action must have confirmed Cali’s suspicions. Realizing it would be pointless to lie, Rose decided to reveal the truth and find out what this woman planned to do with it.
“How did you know?” she cried softly.
The cook shrugged as if having Rose’s fate in her hands was nothing. “Little things about the way you look and act.”
Rose still couldn’t seem to move, but Cali grabbed a broom and dustbin and swept up the mess on the tile floor. Rapid footsteps approached, freezing Rose even more. Mrs. Carter strode into the kitchen with angry, drawn brows.
“Where on earth is the sugar?” she demanded. She stopped when she saw Cali sweeping the broken glass.
“I see what happened,” she said. “This worthless woman ruined it along with Mr. Rockfield’s bowl.”
Rose coughed, struggling to find her voice. “She didn’t drop it. I did.”
Cali’s gaze caught Rose’s, forging an agreement. They would look out for each other, and she knew without asking that Cali would keep her secret.
“Come along, then, Rose,” Mrs. Carter said after a sigh of impatience. “The tea is growing cold and the girls are already drinking it without sugar.”
If Rose’s true race was so obvious to Cali, how much longer could she manage to hide it from the others?
Chapter Eleven
The next afternoon, Mrs. Carter served tea again. This time, Cali remembered the sugar. Only now did Rose’s pulse return to normal as she listened to the lazy buzz of bumblebees visiting flowers beyond the screen. Ever since Cali had seen through her ruse, Rose had been terrified of the others finding out. She could get expelled from the school or worse.
Her peace didn’t last long when Leroy approached the outside of the porch and clipped the bushes. At least he pretended to. The hedges didn’t look as if they needed much trimming. Rose suspected his real reason for being there was to spy on her.
His pointed gaze drifted to hers as if to ask why she hadn’t come by his shed last night. If he knew the cook had learned her secret, he’d understand. Maybe tonight she would seek him out and explain. If Cali hadn’t spoken out about her by now, she probably wasn’t going to.
“Do fairies drink tea?” Mary asked.
Rose blinked, caught off guard. She pulled her attention from Leroy, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, an impossible feat.
“Of course they do. The fairy queen serves it.”
A couple of other girls overheard them and begged her to explain. They clapped and laughed, acting just as fascinated as Mary had.
Did colored girls believe in fairies? Rose suddenly wondered. For that matter, what color were they? It had never mattered until now. Maybe they were green. She almost wished she were green too so she wouldn’t be mistaken for white or black.
“Jonathan,” Mrs. Carter exclaimed, leaning back in her
wicker chair. “How nice of you to join us.”
The tea curdled in Rose’s stomach. What was he doing here? After the summer dance, she’d hoped to never see him again.
Mary vacated her seat. “You remember Rose?”
To Rose’s dismay, he took the seat, which was next to hers. The mischievous glitter in Mary’s eyes told her she’d done it on purpose.
“Of course I remember.” He lifted Rose’s hand and kissed it.
Rose suppressed a shudder, wanting the tea to be over. How often was this odious man going to drop by? It would be an unbearably long month if he came too often.
“I looked for you in church,” he said.
“My mother was ill.”
As soon as the words tumbled from her mouth, she longed to pull them back. She set her teacup down on the low table in front of her so she wouldn’t drop it.
Jon frowned when he took the full cup of tea his mother poured. “I thought your parents were dead.”
Rose squeezed her hands in her lap. “I said my maid was ill. She couldn’t bring me to town.”
He nodded and sipped. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now where you’re easy to find. I plan to see a lot of you.”
Rose reached for her tea again as an excuse not to have to look at him. Did she have any say in the matter? Father wanted her in this school. Leroy wanted her to elope immediately. Now this man had decided to court her. Why did every man she came across try to run her life for her?
The sound of forceful snipping turned her attention to the front of the porch. Leroy’s brows drew together as he scalped the poor hedges.
Jon leaned close to her. “Rose, you’re even more beautiful in the light of day than you are at night. There’s something indescribably exotic about you.”
Rose stared down at her lap, hoping her hair would shield most of her face. If he looked too closely, he might discover what Cali had. The fact that Father would be thrilled if he saw her right now, sitting on a grand porch being courted by an important white man, didn’t give her any comfort.
“Isn’t this a fine house?” Jon glanced at his mother seated nearby. “It would be a perfect place to hold meetings for the brethren.”
A band encircled Rose’s chest, squeezing tight. The brethren were members of the Klan. Leroy’s warning hung in the air between them. The Klan would not keep quiet as Cali had if they found out about her. How she wished Leroy weren’t here. She didn’t mind facing the danger herself but couldn’t bear for anything to happen to him.
“Absolutely not.” Mrs. Carter’s firm words pulled Rose from her thoughts. “I opened this school to get away from those dreadful meetings.”
Jonathan sniffed with disdain and then, recovering himself, smiled at Rose. “Then it would be a wonderful house for a family. Don’t you think so, Rose? The yard is perfect for children to play in.”
She swallowed, the aftertaste of tea sour in the back of her throat. Children? With him? What would he think if she happened to bear a child darker than herself? Leroy snipped harder, attacking the bush with force. Apparently, he didn’t like this conversation any more than she did.
Mrs. Carter half rose in her chair. “Good heavens. What is he doing to those bushes?”
Jon sprang out of his seat as though he were a tiger about to pounce on its prey. Rose gripped the arms of her chair until the roots of her fingernails ached.
“Look here, boy,” Jon called out. “Stop ruining the hedges or you’ll find yourself out of a job.”
The muscles in Leroy’s arms bunched under the brown homespun fabric of his shirt. It reminded her of lying on that burlap in the shed, its roughness driving her into a frenzy of delight while he took her virginity.
She dragged her thoughts back to the present. Leroy’s eyes flashed, making it all too clear how much he wanted to snip off Jon’s head instead. As subtly as she could, she shook her head to warn him.
If he couldn’t control his temper better, he’d never survive here for an entire month. As if realizing the danger, Leroy nodded and left. Rose took an uneasy yet grateful breath.
Mrs. Carter sat down again and fanned herself. “Such incompetent help we have.”
“All the more reason to have those meetings,” Jon said. “You see, Rose, we have to keep them in their place.”
“Your father is the Grand Titan here, isn’t he?”
She didn’t know why she asked. If only Mary would stop chatting with her classmates and rescue Rose from her brother.
“He is,” Jonathan replied, sitting tall with pride. “And when he can no longer fulfill his duties, that important responsibility will come to me.”
As if noticing her unease, he took her hand, laid it on his thigh and covered it with soothing strokes. Instead of comforting her as he intended, the gesture frayed her nerves even more.
“Don’t worry, Rose. I’ll keep Oyster Island safe.”
Little did he know the biggest danger was he himself. If Mary couldn’t rescue her, maybe Mrs. Carter could, but she just looked at them with doting approval.
“I’m going to have you girls work on portraits next week,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like to paint your future husband.”
Rose’s brows shot up. Thank goodness she’d already finished her tea or she would’ve choked on it. How did the woman know about her plans with Leroy? And why didn’t the idea disgust her?
“That’s an excellent idea,” Jon said. “I can pose in my Klan uniform.”
Rose forced the shock off her numb face. If she didn’t already look pale, she surely did now. How could she bear to paint such a thing? Studying this man’s face for hours and depicting the symbol of hatred was the last thing she wanted to do.
You’re doing wonderfully, Father would say. I’m so proud of you. Don’t give up now.
And she wouldn’t, but at what price? The month stretching before her might as well be a year.
Mary stood and put her empty teacup on the tray. “Rose, you must come spend the weekend with us.”
“I was about to suggest the same thing myself,” Jon said.
Although the porch was only enclosed by a screen and some posts, Rose felt the sensation of walls closing around her.
“Weekend?” she repeated. “I thought we were to live here.”
“You may stay here if you prefer,” Mrs. Carter told her, “but there are no classes during the weekend.”
I can go anywhere I want? Do anything I like? Rose fought the urge to dance across the porch. This school wasn’t a prison at all.
“Some girls will go home to their families,” Mrs. Carter added.
And she’d told them all she didn’t have one. Not that she wanted to return to her prison of a house anyway—except to see if Mother was feeling better. She gnawed her lip, wondering what to do. She wanted to be with Leroy, but how?
“Thank you for the kind invitation,” she said slowly, “but I would prefer to stay here this weekend and rest. I’m afraid the excitement of a new school has left me rather drained.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Carter said.
Rose hated the look of disappointment on Mary’s face. “Perhaps next weekend?”
“Yes, perhaps,” Rose promised.
She remained seated after the others left. It was true. She did feel drained from pretending to be something she wasn’t. At least the weekend would give her some respite.
* * * * *
That night, Rose went to the shed and knocked softly. Leroy pulled her in and squeezed her against him so hard she almost lost her balance.
“Where were you last night?” he demanded. “I waited up for hours.”
She clasped his hands, feeling her strength return by stepping out of her difficult role at the house.
“I had a close call yesterday afternoon.”
His eyes narrowed. “What happened? Did that white man touch you?”
“No, and you must learn to hide your feelings better, Leroy. If you act out of line, they’ll fire you. They’re
already upset by how you hacked up the shrubbery.”
A husky laugh made his chest rumble against her. As if realizing how close he was, her body reacted. Her nipples swelled, needing his lips on them. Wetness pooled between her thighs as the scents of earth and oil merged with male arousal and shot straight to her core.
As if promising to deliver what she needed, his cock hardened against her pelvis.
“You smell more like a rose every day,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
She tipped her head back, moaning softly as his stubble-rough chin shot waves of pleasure into her tender skin.
“I mean it, Leroy. You have to trust me to handle Jonathan my own way.”
The muscles bunched up on his back under her palms. “Well, I didn’t like hearing Klan and marriage in the same sentence. And what was your close call?”
Rose wished she could forget. Cali’s unwavering gaze had haunted her in her sleep last night. Tonight she would probably have nightmares about Jonathan and the Klan.
“The cook knows…about me,” she said.
Leroy gripped her upper arms. “Knows how? Did you tell her?”
“Of course not. She’s lived in Louisiana and I remind her of pictures of women she’d seen.” She decided not to mention they were prostitutes.
He let go of her and slapped his hand against the wall, rattling the tools hanging from it.
“Didn’t I warn you? I don’t like this at all.”
“She’s not going to say anything,” Rose assured him. “If she was, she would’ve done it by now.”
She also decided not to mention Jonathan wanted her to paint him in his Klan uniform.
His eyes flashed with emotion in the dim light when he looked at her again. “Rose, you’ve got to marry me now. This has to stop.”
“Not yet, Leroy. Not yet.”
“Come on,” he said after a few moments of tense silence pooled around them. “Let’s get out of this stuffy shed.”
“But where else can we go?”
“Caleb left an old boat here. I moved it down shore a ways earlier today.” He opened the door and looked out. “Follow me, but at a distance in case anyone is watching.”