by Renee' Irvin
Jacqueline went back inside and lay down in the bed. She rolled over and looked at Jules. She thought to herself, I have no husband, no baby, and he ain’t never going to marry me.
Jacqueline lay there until dawn and thought about her life. There had been enough tragedy and sadness in it. Things were going to be different; she was going to make it different.
She made a decision; she was going to be a wife and mother. No matter what it took.
Jules awoke, kissed her and rose from the bed. He began to get dressed. “Are you going to play poker again tonight?” Jacqueline asked.
“Yeah, sugar, you know I play poker every Thursday night. Guess what?” Jules said with a smile. “I went for a walk in the park last night.”
Jacqueline’s eyes widened. “You did, when?”
“After you fell asleep. Anyway, I saw someone I hadn’t seen in a while. It was a good thing, too, because I had some business to discuss with him. When we started to leave, he thought somebody was trying to steal his buggy. We walked over to it and, hell, there was that old Gullah conjure woman that’s been around for years. I thought she had died a long time ago.”
“Hmmm, that’s interesting,” Jacqueline said, not really paying attention. She took a deep breath. “Jules, I want to ask you something.”
“Darling, what is it?”
“Are you ever going to marry me?” Jacqueline eyed him carefully, studying his face.
“Honey, why you asking me a thing like that? Aren’t you happy? Don’t I give you everything you want? Hell, Jacqueline, just look around this goddamn place. You live like a queen.” Jules walked over to the bed and leaned into her. He pulled his mistress to him and kissed her on the mouth. She pulled away.
“I’m not finished. You never listen to me.”
“I always listen to you. Go ahead, I’m listening. What else?”
“I want to have a baby.”
“You’re joking?”
“No, I’m not joking.”
“Can’t you just let things be? There ain’t no point in complicating our lives.”
Jacqueline’s eyes were now a deep emerald, filled with tears. “Jules, I want to have a baby and if you love me, then you will let me. Do you love me?”
“Love you? Hell, Jacqueline, do you think I would have spent a damn fortune on you if I didn’t love you? Hell, I could have bought a whole harem of women for a fraction of what I’ve spent on you.”
Jacqueline’s eyes blazed. “Are you telling me no?”
Jules looked confused. “Yes, I’m telling you no. A baby ain’t going to make us any happier.”
“And what about marrying me?” Jacqueline demanded.
Jules looked at her in amazement. “What in the hell’s gotten into you? All of the sudden you’ve turned into a demanding bitch!”
“Do you have any idea what you are doing to us?” Jacqueline shouted.
Jules shook his head. “I know I ain’t going to be forced into doing something that I ain’t sure I want to do.”
Jacqueline took a deep, defiant breath. “Then maybe I ain’t sure I want to be here anymore.”
“Hell, leave then, goddamn you! Go back to where I found you. I’m leaving.” Jacqueline had never seen Jules look so furious as he stomped out of their bedroom.
Jacqueline ran after him. “You will be sorry, you just wait!” Jules walked out and slammed the door. Jacqueline ran out on the verandah and screamed, “I hate you, I hate you, Jules McGinnis!”
Jules turned before getting into his buggy. “It ain’t the first time a woman has felt that way and I doubt it will be the last!” he yelled back.
Jacqueline picked up a clay pot filled with pink geraniums and threw it at Jules. The pot shattered on the front lawn. Crying, Jacqueline hurried back inside.
At just that moment, Annalee Hancock and Lucy Baker were emerging from the front of Lucy’s house. Both women saw Jacqueline throw the clay pot at Jules. “Did you hear what she said?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” Annalee said. “I hate you, Jules McGinnis.”
“And what did he say?” asked Lucy.
“He said, “You are not the not the first woman to feel that way and you will not be the last.”
“Well, Annalee, have you ever?”
Annalee closed the gate. “No Lucy, I have never.”
Both women shook their heads and looked down the street.
Tom Slaughter spent most of his days catching up on the news, doing what his boss told him to do, and writing in his spare time. He walked to and from his job at the newspaper without ever offering much more than a smile and a nod.
Two evenings a week, instead of playing cards as some of his co-workers did, Tom attended underground political meetings, concerning the unfair treatment of the Negroes, and how to stop the violent practices of the Klan. He usually did not return home until the wee hours of the morning and often showed up at work the next day with bloodshot eyes.
Tom came home early and found a surprise waiting for him in his room at the boarding house. The surprise was Catherine Hartwell.
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked, but not pleasantly.
“You had breakfast yet?” Catherine chirped.
“How did you know what time I’d be coming in?”
“I’ve got my ways.”
“I see.” He took off his shirt and was now standing before her in his trousers and undershirt. His face was always neatly shaven, but now he showed a little sign of a beard.
“You look nice in your undershirt,” Catherine teased, noticing Tom’s muscular arms.
“You never did tell me why you’re here. And won’t somebody be looking for you at this hour?”
“I’ve been staying with my cousin Abby.”
“And is she here, too?” Tom looked around and smiled.
“Don’t be silly.”
Tom folded his arms. “Catherine, it’s too late, or maybe I should say too early, for you to be out by yourself. And it ain’t proper for you to be here in my bedroom. How did you get away from your cousin?”
“I snuck out.”
“Well, I suggest that you sneak back in before somebody finds you gone.”
“You don’t want me here.”
He stared at her and scratched his head.
She looked at his hands; they were dirty and greasy. He glanced at her pale, thin face and their eyes met. “I have two jobs, one as a writer and another working on the presses.”
Tom looked around the room and then back at her slender arms and neck. Catherine stared at him. She walked up behind Tom and rubbed her breasts up against him while she massaged his neck. Tom grabbed her hand and brought it down to her waist.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Catherine, go back to your cousin’s. This ain’t no place for you.”
“You don’t want me here, do you?”
“It ain’t that.”
“Then what is it? It’s her, isn’t it? I don’t know why you’re thinking about her cause she ain’t thinking about you. Why she’s probably asleep with some man right now.”
Tom’s face reddened. “Catherine, I ain’t never hit a girl, but if you don’t leave, there may be a first time. Now, please get on out of here.”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Suddenly she started to cry. “You think I’m crazy just like my mama. You know, she isn’t even my mama. I don’t know who my mama is.”
“Look, I don’t think you’re crazy. You want some coffee? I’ll go out in the kitchen and make you some. I’ve got to be at the paper at eight.”
Catherine brushed the tears from her cheeks. She had a heart-shaped, almost pretty face. “My daddy told my mama that she had the devil in her. Sometimes I think I have the devil in me just like she does.”
“You ain’t the devil. You’re far prettier than any devil I’ve seen,” Tom said. “Come on out to the kitchen and I’ll make us some coffee.” They could hear the strong wind outside beating against the h
ouse. “How far is your cousin’s house from here?”
“A few blocks.”
“Okay, I’ll walk you over there on my way to work.” Catherine watched Tom make two cups of strong coffee and then pack his lunch pail with biscuits and a thick slice of ham. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
The rest of the day and following night, Tom worked to the point of exhaustion. It was late when he returned to his room at the boarding house. There was a light on in the kitchen. Tom looked in to see Catherine sitting there.
“What are you doing here again?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Tom exhaled. “Catherine, what do I have to do to get you to quit coming here?”
“You hate me, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t hate you, but I don’t know why you keep showing up here. I want you to leave. Come on, I’ll walk you outside.” Tom grabbed Catherine by the arm and led her to the door. She jerked her arm away and stared boldly at him. Snowflakes were starting to fall outside.
“I don’t want you to walk me anywhere!”
“Okay, fine. I’m not standing out here in the cold. I’m tired and want to go to bed. Good night, Catherine. This better not happen again. Do you understand?”
She slapped Tom across the face. “I don’t know why you’re acting like a priest. Do you think that Isabella cares anything about you? You’re a fool! You think you know everything about her, don’t you? I bet I can tell you something that you don’t know. My own brother has been with her. That’s right; Jacob has had sex with your precious Isabella. And you know what else? There are rumors all over the place that her baby belongs to my brother, but it doesn’t. There’s no way it can. Jacob can’t have any kids. That was proven when that girl over in Forsyth County tried to pin her kid on him. Mama has known that ever since Jacob was little. So you see, your girlfriend ain’t the angel that you thought!” Catherine ran off, crying.
Tom stared into the darkness. After Catherine was out of sight, he walked for several miles. He passed vacant lots and warehouses. The air was cold; he felt nothing but his heart. Tom put his head in his hands and began to cry.
Jacqueline woke up at night thinking about having a baby. She thought about it constantly. It wasn’t that Jules didn’t make love to her. He did and often, but he now kept a close watch of her days on the calendar and when it was within two or three days of her time, he was careful to pull away from her. Things were different now between them. She still cared for him, but it was not the same. It would never be the same.
Jules played poker more often than before, and his nights at the warehouse seemed to get longer. Jacqueline spent her days waiting for him to come home. At times, she hated him. She had finally stopped waiting up for him and often pretended to be asleep when he came in. She imagined a different life with another man. That was when she thought about the man in the park.
The next afternoon she took a stroll through Forsyth and heard a familiar voice shout to her, “You want to run away? I’ll bring you back home. We can just run away for the afternoon,” said Patrick O’Brien.
Jacqueline looked at him, the blue sky closed in around him; her dress was blowing up in the wind. He stared at her with an eager, intense stare. His hair was as black as hers and there was excitement in his smile.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked.
“You. You remind me of a pirate.”
Patrick laughed. “Blackbeard?” He reached for her hand. “I hope you like pirates.”
She took his hand and he pulled her close to him.
“I like pirates,” she said.
“Tell me about it, what kind of man does a mysterious woman like you, like?
Jacqueline was dressed in light gray and pink silk. Her long hair was braided half way down, and then it was tied with a single pink ribbon. She was beautiful, yet her face looked tired and sad.
“What is there to tell?” teased Jacqueline.
“Oh, I don’t know, but I love to hear secrets from a woman’s heart.”
“I’m sure you’ve been privy to many women’s hearts.”
“True, but never have I desired to know what was buried inside a woman’s heart and mind as I do with you.” Patrick lowered his eyes and then raised them to meet hers. “What do you say we go for a ride in my carriage?”
Jacqueline looked over her shoulder and then turned back around and smiled. “Yes, I would like that.”
Patrick and Jacqueline rode past the big mansions, past crowds of poor Negroes and then finally into the country. Jacqueline was silent for moments and then she said, “Have you ever thought about getting married?”
“Not until I saw you,” said Patrick.
Her face glowed and her eyes twinkled. Patrick reached for Jacqueline’s hand.
“I never thought much about getting married,” Jacqueline said. “I guess I thought I’d be an old maid.”
Patrick turned and stared at her inquiringly. “You an old maid?” He said with a wry look on his face.
“What do you think about babies?” she asked.
“You mean do I want any?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“I think that a man should give a woman as many babies as she wants. When a man and woman love each other, isn’t that what it’s all about?” asked Patrick in a serious voice. He stopped the buggy in a field where the ruins of an old plantation had stood.
Jacqueline stared into the depths of his eyes and smiled. A minute later, pulling a quilt out of the back of the carriage, Patrick spread the quilt on the prickly ground. He jerked the quilt impatiently until it was smooth. Patrick looked approvingly at Jacqueline, with her skirts above her knees, he reached for her hand, and she leaped to the ground. Patrick placed two crystal wine glasses on the blanket and a bottle of wine.
The two talked and laughed as they drank. Patrick looked at Jacqueline with his piercing black eyes. Jacqueline dropped her eyes and smiled.
“You’re not saying anything,” he said.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Not a thing.” Patrick leaned over to kiss her.
Several hours later, Jacqueline stepped down from the carriage and started up the steps of the shuttered mansion. She saw her black cat perched in the window. Patrick jumped down and ran around to her side of the carriage.
“You are awful brave,” Jacqueline said, glancing back at the house.
Patrick stepped closer and kissed Jacqueline softly on the lips. “Do you want me to come in?” he said in a low voice. Jacqueline looked up at the house and moved back in the shadows. “I need to explain,” she said. Patrick’s expression did not change.
“I thought you told me that you’re not married?”
“I’m not.”
“Then, there is nothing to explain.”
“But… he could be dangerous.”
“I am a pirate, remember?” Jacqueline looked into his defiant eyes and laughed.
They heard the clip-clopping of horse hooves. Jacqueline turned to see a carriage passing by her. In it were her neighbors, Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Baker with their husbands. The two women snapped their heads around under large, feathered bonnets. Jacqueline stepped away from the light of the carriage lantern. “Do you know them?” Asked Patrick.
Jacqueline narrowed her eyes. “They are two old busybodies that pretend to spend their days working in their rose gardens when they’re really spying on me. We have to be careful.” Jacqueline’s loose braid blew against her face as the breeze blew in from the river.
“You think he’s coming back tonight?” Patrick touched her cheek with his hand.
“No, he went to Beaufort. He said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Are you afraid of him?” asked Patrick.
“Yes.”
“Has he ever hit you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“Because I think he would kill me if he ever thought I betraye
d him. He has that look in his eyes. I would not want to think of what would happen to anyone that crossed him.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because he is the only man who has ever really loved me.”
“Jacqueline, if you are this afraid of him, then he does not love you. Don’t you understand?” Jacqueline ignored the question.
Patrick pushed her hair away from her face. “I’m going to move the carriage to the other side of the park.”
“Good idea,” she whispered.
When Patrick walked into the magnificent house, he could smell the sweet smell of Jules’s cigars, but said nothing to Jacqueline. He entered the library and went over to a massive Empire sideboard. Patrick poured a glass of whiskey and turned it up to his mouth. He poured another, then picked up the crystal decanter and went to look for Jacqueline. Patrick walked into her sitting room, and noticed that the French doors were open that led out onto the balcony. With his drink in one hand and the decanter in the other, Patrick strode onto the balcony. He stood there for a moment and watched Jacqueline as she looked out across the park. Jacqueline pointed. “You see that man over there? He walks every night about this time.” Patrick stretched his neck and looked out into the park. “I know him. He’s Captain Blun. I guess the walk does him good. I heard he never got over the war.” Patrick paused and sipped his whiskey. “Where is your family?” asked Patrick.
“I have no family,” Jacqueline replied, turning away from the view.
“Your father, your mother?” Patrick said as he sat the crystal decanter down on the tiled floor. “Have a drink with me.” He poured Jacqueline a glass of whiskey and handed it to her. Jacqueline closed her eyes and turned up the whiskey.
“I never knew my father. My mother told me stories when I was very young about him being a famous artist. But I never knew him. She probably lied about that like she did everything else.”