He turned his head slightly but still wouldn’t look at me. “You’ve changed since you’ve been out here.”
I quickly looked out to the dark sea.
He asked, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You used to have a certain warmth, a certain affection in your smile when I called on you in Edenton. Your letters were full of encouragement. After a couple of weeks out here, your demeanor shifted markedly. I could not even attempt to guess why. But this indifference to me was the reason that I decided to sacrifice a month of my summer to stay here in Nags Head. I wanted to try to win your affections, if I could.”
There was nothing to say that wouldn’t ruin me forever.
He stepped over to my side and got down on one knee. His eyes were opaque tide pools in the night. He said quietly, “Tell me, am I succeeding?”
I bit my lower lip hard, trying to think of what to say. “I certainly understand your wanting to be assured of returned affections before offering a proposal of marriage. And I am flattered by your attentions. There are many women more worthy of them than I am. But I can’t give you satisfactory answers at this time, Hector.”
He simply gazed at me, his eyebrows knit together. “What has happened to you out here?”
Unexpectedly, hot tears bled into my throat. “It’s the change from solid earth to shifting sand, I suppose. A lack of solid footing.”
He slowly stood up. “I see. Perhaps you’d do well to return to Edenton as quickly as you can. You’re a bit homesick, in my opinion.”
Edenton seemed far away, a forgotten city buried beneath generations of rubble and water. Going back there seemed almost impossible.
Before he departed for the stable, he said, “Think on Edenton in September, Abigail. And perhaps an autumn wedding. The cooler weather will be a nice change for you, I imagine.”
After watching Hector ride off toward the hotel, I stumbled back into the house. I feared I might get sick before I made it to a basin.
To my surprise, Mama was still downstairs, sitting up straight in a ladder-back chair. And Daddy reclined on the sofa, his boots cockeyed on the floor below him. They were waiting up for me.
“You like teaching Benjamin, don’t you?” Mama asked casually, as I tried to hurry to the kitchen.
I stopped in my tracks and closed my eyes, my belly churning the seafood stew up to the base of my throat. I choked out, “I like teaching.”
She spoke to Daddy when she mused, “She always did care more for the barnyard animals, remember?”
Daddy said, without amusement, “Them and her uncle Jack.”
He looked at me from an upside-down position and said, “And now Ben. Makes sense, at that. He’s a bit of Jack, and a bit of animal, all rolled up into one sandy Banker.” I ground my teeth back and forth, and Daddy said calmly, “He should have known better than to show up here on a Sunday. And he damned well should have known better than to discuss my business with you. After all I’ve done for him, he shows me disrespect like that.”
“What business, Daddy? He didn’t say anything about business.”
Mama cut in. “Benjamin has learned a good deal from you. You’ve done your duty well, Abigail.”
“He’s learned his letters, for sure,” Daddy said thoughtfully.
Mama went on, “And now we must concentrate on what really matters. We mustn’t put off Hector.”
“You will no longer tutor Ben. Is that understood?” Daddy boomed. “Enough is enough.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted blood. I made myself nod as the tiny room spun around me.
Mama smoothed her skirt and folded her hands in her lap. Her blue eyes were smudged under with shadows, but they glittered with excitement. “Now then. Hector spoke with your daddy this afternoon. He has asked for your hand. Tell us, did you receive a proposal this evening?”
I shook my head, no longer able to hold the vomit in. I ran outside and leaned over the porch railing as the hot stew roiled through my mouth and landed thickly in the drifts of sand below. Cries of every emotion, some years and years old now, came out with the mess. Tears fell from my eyes and water poured from my nose. I even felt a warm trickle of urine escape and run down my leg.
I couldn’t hold anything in.
Ben’s skiff was so tiny that I could do nothing more than sit on the small wooden bench and peer over the side into the swishing sound water. But it appeared to be a well-constructed, hardy little boat, and it was so clean and neat that I had a hard time believing it was Ben’s. The reddish-orange skiff had a mast outfitted with a small sail, for breezier weather.
He worked the oars with strong, steady pulls as I sat clumsily on the low seat with my skirts bunched up around my ankles. As we moved rapidly over the Roanoke Sound, I watched his brown arms flexing and stretching from under the secrecy of my parasol.
It was a hot, stagnant morning, and the unmerciful sun reflected off the Roanoke Sound. But the gulls glided, and the fishing boats meandered along, in no particular rush to get anywhere.
I was jealous of their easy summer pace, and wished Ben and I had more time together. With a calmer demeanor than I had imagined myself capable of, I had told Mama that I was going to the island for a day trip with the Edenton folks, and that I would return for supper that evening. Winnie even packed a hamper of food for me. So, with the lie hanging over my head, I felt an intense desire for speed.
And too, I had made up my mind that I wouldn’t tell Ben the bad news until the end of the trip. I didn’t want what could be our last day together to be spoiled. And instead of feeling sad, I was as loopy as a drunk. My head, heavy with lies and secrets, felt unattached to the rest of my sun-warmed body.
Not more than half an hour after we set out, we docked the skiff on the eastern side of the island, and Ben rushed around to help me out of the boat and onto the rickety pier. “Watch your dress, now. That’s fish guts right here,” he warned, and actually pulled the hem of my dress off the ground so that it wouldn’t drag in the filth.
“I can’t feature why I’m not boatsick today,” I said, unfurling my parasol in front of me. My insides felt all of a piece, in spite of the heat and the rowing.
“I reckon you’re growing your sea legs. Getting used to the movement of a boat on the water. It just takes time is all,” said Ben.
“Sea legs,” I said with a grin. I pictured my legs with scales and fins, like a mermaid’s tail.
Near the end of the pier, we borrowed a cart and horse from an old man Ben seemed friendly with. He clambered up to us through the sand, limping severely with every right step. “Well, well, Benny, whatcha doin’ with the likes of this pretty lady? He didn’t grab you ‘gainst your will, did he, missy?” he cackled to me. His scraggly gray beard was stained a reddish brown around his mouth, and his eyes were so blue they glowed white in the light of the day.
“He’s showing me around the island today,” I said, eager to be off. The man bulged with undisguised admiration.
“You couldn’t get a better guide with all the gold in the world. But I ’spect he ain’t chargin’ you money, now, is he? A pretty lady always rides for free! Hee, hee, hee!” He slapped his hand in amusement against the side of the little stable.
Ben said, “Settle down now, Rufus, you’re beside yourself. We’ll be back before the sun goes down.”
Ben helped me onto the small cart while the old man hovered, making little comments on my hat and parasol. None too soon, Ben sat down next to me and gave the reins a little shake, and we pulled away.
The old man hollered after us, “Benny, don’t you give your pap no more to bend my ear over now! I’m plumb tuckered from hearing ’bout your disrespectful ways.”
Ben just snorted and shook his head.
I turned in surprise to Ben and asked, “What on Earth is he talking about?”
He was unnaturally quiet, as if he didn’t want to discuss it. “I got me a new job. At the construction site down yonder at Hatteras, to be exact. I’m go
nna help build the tallest brick lighthouse in the world.”
“That’s wonderful news! Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He smiled, but sadly. “It is, at that. I didn’t want to pull nets for Pap for the rest of my days.”
“And I gather your daddy isn’t pleased with you?”
He shook the horse’s reins extra hard. “You could say that. He’s pretty sore about the whole thing. I told him it was something good for the both of us. Bring in more money, easier days and all. But he don’t care ’bout that.”
“I suppose he wants you both to be together. It’s nice, in a way. To have your daddy want to be with you.”
He huffed. “Shackled to him, is more like it. Well, I say that life’s too short to be the underdog forever. A man’s got to strike out on his own, or he’s nothing but a coward.”
We were silent then. Birds twittered in the bent trees and squirrels scurried underfoot as the small Banker pony trotted along the sandy pathway. Ben’s arm occasionally brushed lightly against the sleeve of my dress, but neither of us acknowledged it.
Soon he was back to his old self, his eyes twinkling with humor. “The table’s turned on you, Abby. It’s my turn to play the teacher.”
“I suppose I can tolerate that, if it’s only for a small while. Do go on,” I said sweetly.
“Up north just a ways we’ll see what remains of the Lost Colony at Fort Raleigh. Three hundred years or so ago, man named Walter Raleigh thought Roanoke Island was a dandy place for his colony of English folks. Only they didn’t account for the Indians and the rough winters and the lacking of food. They disappeared, no trace of them. Likely killed off or starved before anyone could come from England to help ’em.”
“That was nicely put, Benjamin. You’ve done this before, I suppose?”
“Only for the gals in need of the most learning,” he joked.
He stopped the horse in a heavily wooded area near the Roanoke Sound. The water twinkled in white patches through the pine and cypress trees, and the air was ripe with the smell of fresh bark and salt, the smell of promise.
Ben got out of the cart with an easy jump and walked over to my side. Because it was so hot, I had earlier removed my gloves, so I was able to touch for the first time his calloused, slightly damp hand.
His grasp was tender yet secure, and as I stepped down into the sand strewn with pine needles, I found to my surprise that I couldn’t let go of his hand. I held on for a second too long to be considered appropriate, and then I hastily uncurled my fingers. But I could still feel the warmth of his hand in mine when it was gone.
I could feel him gazing at me, could even feel on my cheek the light of the water reflecting from his eyes, so I ducked under my parasol and walked ahead through the trees.
Ben kept a respectable distance between us as he showed me what appeared to be the remains of a moat around the centuries-old fort. He outlined roughly where the original fort had stood. He said he’d been here many times as a young boy, and that he had brought Eliza here once when she wanted to run away from home. They had set up a makeshift camp and stayed for over a week, their own little colony.
The thought of Ben and Eliza sleeping under the stars and sharing meals in this very spot made me unexpectedly jealous. I could feel the arteries in my neck pumping green blood. Eliza and Ben were bound forever by their history together. I was nothing next to all that.
“The Yankee troops pilfered some souvenirs from this area during the war. Even found some old bricks the colony used in their houses and forts. The military had to bring in armed guards to keep folks away. So there’s no telling what’s been taken and what’s been messed with. Seems a shame what folks will do for amusement.”
I walked around and around the perimeter, trying to imagine the colonists’ loneliness and isolation, their fear of the unknown, and their hopes for the future. It soon became too devastating to think of their failure, after such a mighty effort.
At noon the heat was almost unbearable. I fanned myself under my parasol, and Ben periodically wiped his face and neck with a filthy rag as we rode toward the western side of the island.
I saw that the land had to a large extent been cleared of trees and underbrush, and former Confederate and Union army barracks were strewn here and there along the path. Soon I could see the Croatan Sound, shimmering like a mirage on the other side of the island. Far across the water was the mainland of North Carolina.
Ben directed the horse toward a small village with neatly designed streets and avenues. They were lined with crude log cabins, with little gardens in between. Black women were hanging their wash to dry on clotheslines strung precariously between short trees, and children, dogs, and chickens all ran happily around the sunny plots of land.
Ben then told me about the Freedmen’s Colony, which I had heard very little about, for being so close to it geographically. He said that it had held a lot of promise for a few years during the war, but that over the past couple of years most of the freedmen had left for the mainland to find work.
“What happened to it? Why did everyone want to leave, after being given so much?”
“The white folks fighting in the war came home to find the freedmen living on their land, and they wanted them off quick. All they had to do was prove their property ownership, and the government sent the freedmen on their way. And from what I’ve heard, the rations were cut off, and they weren’t getting paid for the work they did for the Union government. They couldn’t survive with no money, no food.”
“Seems to me there are lots of things to do, though.”
“It’s a hard life out here, Abby. There are skills to learn. It ain’t easy to teach a man how to fish or hunt if he’s never done it before.”
“They could farm,” I offered. “Our field hands were hard workers and knew the land right well.”
“There ain’t much farming to do out here. The soil ain’t the greatest, and most of the land down south is covered in swamps.”
“Surely they can learn a trade, though,” I said. I thought of the hundreds of thousands of this country’s former slaves milling around with no education and no opportunity for free labor, and it was terrifying. “If they can’t learn, what’s to become of them?”
“I reckon they just need some good teachers, for a start. Which reminds me, I got something to show you.”
When we found a place to water the horse, we got out to walk farther down the avenue. It seemed more than strange that we had seen two different kinds of settlements in one day. Both focused on new beginnings, but for two different races of people. Unfortunately, it seemed that the Freedmen’s Colony was going the same route as the English one.
Ben beckoned me over to a lopsided wooden barnlike structure with a couple of closed windows on each side. He opened the rickety door and the smell of stale sweat and mold hit me strongly.
“This here is the only Negro schoolhouse left on the island.” The light was dim, and big flies buzzed lazily against the windows. “Used to have missionary teachers in here, but they left a couple years ago.”
The room was mostly comprised of ammunition boxes, which I imagined served as chairs and desks. There was a well-used blackboard and a table with a broken leg in the front of the room, but other than that, it was mostly hot air.
“This is a sad little room,” I said. “I can’t imagine anyone trying to learn in here.”
“Well, it ain’t as fine as the porch of a house on the beach, but …”
His eyes flitted to the door, where a large black man and a handful of black children were crowding closely, staring at us. The man was tall and barrel-chested and wore a suit of well-made, but mighty worn, clothes. The children were thin and barefoot, and their clothes were nothing more than rags sewn together.
“Can I help you?” asked the man in a commandingly deep voice.
“I’m Miss Abigail Sinclair, and this is my friend Benjamin Whimble. He thought I’d like to see your school.”
He
just stared at me, silent and vaguely menacing. I added apologetically, “I hope we’re not intruding.”
A very small girl with bright brown eyes and grains of sand in her springy hair grinned at me. “You’re to be our new teacher?”
I softened slightly, grateful for the childish intrusion. I hated to disappoint her. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not. I’m just visiting today. I’m living over in Nags Head for the summer.”
I pointed east, somehow aware that this group of children wouldn’t know where a resort town was located.
The little girl’s brow folded. “I thought sure you was the lady. You ain’t joking me, are you?”
The man patted her head and said, “Luella’s been on the lookout for a new teacher. She’s got education on her mind all the time these days.”
He put a stack of Bibles and books on the old table. “I am Elijah Africa. I’m the preacher at Sheltering Oaks Baptist Church, but I’ve been teaching the children here every afternoon while their parents are out working.”
Ben looked pale all of a sudden, and didn’t utter a word.
“We’re pleased to meet you, Elijah,” I said for both of us, with a quizzical look at Ben.
Elijah, too, gazed at Ben. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
Ben said defensively, “More than likely. I’m a Banker from birth. I’m out here a good bit, fishing and trading.”
Elijah nodded slowly. “Well, you’re just in time for our lesson, and the students like to show off what they’ve learned. You’re welcome to stay for a while.”
I smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
But Ben blurted, “Sorry to put a damper on, but we should be going. Time’s a-ticking. Ain’t that right, Abby?”
I put my hands on my hips and shook my head at him. “No, we have time yet.”
Ben huffed impatiently and went to stand near the door with his arms crossed and his foot propped up on the thin wall behind him. I took a seat on an ammunition box and pulled up an old barrel. The little boys and girls giggled, ran for their own boxes, and pulled them up to sit near me. Elijah pulled out a handful of Bibles and passed them out to the class. He also handed out a few battered copies of an instructional reading textbook called The Freedmen’s Reader.
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