Copyright

Copyright © Jamila Jasper Romance

All Rights Reserved.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to P. N, a loving soul.

Prologue

Rickshaw, Mississippi

1925

Janie Ruth Ross held the hymnal tightly in her hand. She longed to send the little book skipping across the surface of the water. She’d like to see it sink in the blue depths of the river and be lost forever. She wondered if it was sinful to think so. Probably.

The thing was, it was a hot day in the longest summer of Janie’s life, and she was just about tired of sitting around with her pious Aunt Sarah waiting to catch the spirit. The only thing she’d be catching in that church was heatstroke.

Her cheek still stung from Aunt Sarah’s slap, administered during a particularly lively part of the sermon. No one had heard the slap over the rolling thunder of the preacher’s voice, but Janie sure felt it. It took all her willpower not to pull the wide-brimmed hat off her aunt’s head and send it sailing over the pews. The old woman was a shrew. A harpy. She hated Janie and Janie hated her right back. To hear Aunt Sarah tell it, Janie’s mother was the whore of Babylon, and Janie her apprentice. The argument from yesterday morning still echoed in Janie’s head.

The old woman had had a bee in her bonnet about something- Janie still didn’t know what. She’d been glaring at the girl all  morning. Now she fixed her mouth to talk.

“I don’t know what they teach you out there in Sin City,” Aunt Sarah said, surveying her grand-niece with a piercing eye. Sarah was a squat, light-skinned woman of an indiscernible age. She bulged everywhere she aesthetically shouldn’t, and had green eyes so small they seemed to shrink into her head.

Janie hadn’t said anything. The old woman’s lips clenched tight. She hated when Janie didn’t rise to her bait.

“I suppose they gave you all kinds of ideas about what a girl like you is worth,” she continued. “Only sixteen, and they got you out there cuttin’ it for every Man Jack, singing for yo’ supper. You must think you the cat’s meow, just like yo’ mama did. We country folks wasn’t good enough for her, I guess. And she done filled you wit’ the same ideas.”

Don’t you talk about my mama, Janie thought. Her fingers clenched around the handle of the pot. She kept stirring the grits.

“But what do you expect,” Sarah droned on. “Dark as you is, I suppose ain’t much else you could look forward to but to be some man’s good-time gal. You sho’ ain’t pretty like yo’ mama was, and you dumb as a sack of- put them grits down and listen to me, girl!” She snapped.

Janie looked Aunt Sarah directly in her beady eyes. The old woman swelled like a bullfrog.

“I hates to even look at you. Full of sand, that’s what. Eatin’ my food and shelterin’ under my roof ought to have taught you a thing ‘bout gratitude. But you full of sand. Good for nothin’ little bitch.”

Still, the girl said nothing. Her Aunt just kept going. “Yo’ mama wasn’t nothin’ but a slut. Too good for gutter trash. Ask anyone here. Couldn’t keep that heifer from nobody’s man. I says it serves her right, what happened to her. Know why you ain’t met yo’ daddy? Cus he was my own husband! Yes ma’am. And after she done stole him from me, she had the bare nerve to say he forced her.”

Sarah shook her head, the picture of pious suffering. “Bad blood. That’s all it is. But I’m a Christian woman, y’hear me? I wanted to stamp that stain from yo’ bloodline. Wanted to make you more like me. But I can tell an effort wasted when I see it.”

She observed Janie with some satisfaction- she’d finally pierced the girl’s defenses. The girl’s deep brown eyes were sparking. That was Aunt Sarah’s method. She only let the brat alone once she got a response. But Janie Ruth Ross always had the last word.

“You right, Aunt Sarah,” said Janie pleasantly, turning back to the stove. She began to serve the grits into two bowls. Her hands were steady. “I ought to be grateful you don’t want me to be like my Mama. ‘Cus it seems bein’ a old and ugly brood-sow, wit’ all yo’ gut hanging down to yo’ heels, done worked out for you just fine. ”

The woman lunged at Janie, but the girl was out the door in a flash. Janie could run like a deer when she had to.

Well, that had been yesterday. Today in church the old bitch had put her hands on Janie again. Once the Holy Spirit got the preacher moving, he expected everyone else get moving too. Janie had just sat there, buffeted by the heat. She thought she might pass out. Instead she fell asleep. Then Aunt Sarah, full of righteous anger, slapped her awake- hard. So Janie had gotten right up and walked out of the church, past a sea of disapproving stares, with no intention of returning. She walked straight into the Blue Woods, trembling all over. Only the forest could really calm her down. She’d discovered a spot there just a few days ago. It wasn’t much- just a quiet place on the river, hidden by the trees. A tiny little beach with black and white stones. Maybe if someone had a boat out there they could spy her on the riverbank- but she’d be able to dip into the foliage and hide pretty quick.

Janie liked exploring. She was generally a nosy, curious sort of person. And she could handle herself just fine.

Janie sighed, looking out at the rippling water. She thought about her Mama. She thought about being back New Orleans. She hated it here in Rickshaw. It was old and backward, and the white people were mean as the devil. What did Mama mean, sending her to live here anyway?

New Orleans was all of life in a single drop. She reconstructed the memory of music winding up from the street, that old slow jazz, the crooning Creole women on the street corners. The city was dirty and smelly, but she loved it all the same. The art! The food! She wanted to be in the middle of it all. Janie imagined herself in a dazzling red dress that molded to her figure. She pictured her hair cut short in a flapper’s bob. Oh yes, red would be her color. She’d paint her nails. Wear lipstick. And then she’d use that voice of hers and bring the house down, just like Mama always said she would.

Almost unconsciously, Janie began to sing. It was an old, sad lullaby. A Creole woman had taught it to her, and the words were in French. She brought the music from deep inside of her, in the secret place, and let it hang in the air like a kiss. Her voice grew stronger and sadder, rolling out like sweet thunder over the river. She called feelings up from the well of her soul. She sang about love and life, and she sang about her dreams.

“Well, I’ll be,” said a soft voice from her left.

She dropped the hymnal and shot to her feet, heart slamming in her chest. Three white boys had stepped out of the forest line, quiet as mice. But their expressions were feline, predatory. They stared at her.

She recognized only one- the blonde. She’d seen him promenading around Rickshaw many times. He was none other than Francis Croup, the Sugar Baron’s son. Francis was smaller than average, his clothes exquisitely tailored to his small frame. The neatness of his dress contrasted against his two companions’.

She quickly sized up the other two. One was fat. Sweat had soaked through his shirt and overalls. He carried a riding crop in his right hand. The third boy was the tallest. He had loose, curly black hair, a strong nose, and gray eyes which stared down at her from half-closed lids. He was arrestingly handsome. Janie’s gaze was drawn not to those eyes, but to the long hunting rifle slung across his back.

They were all her age. Perhaps older. But that didn’t mean anything.

“Hello,” said the Croup boy. “What’s goin’ on here?”

Janie swallowed. Her eyes darted around for an escape. She couldn’t swim. The boys had her cornered against the riverbank. But she’d jump in and drown herself before they could-

“I’m talkin’ to you, nigger,” snapped Croup impatiently. “Ain’t got a tongue?”

Janie licked her lips. Her voice was a squeak. “G-good mornin’.” She had to be careful- any sign of disrespect would set them on her. Hatred flared in her breast. Her fists clenched. The boys were smiling- except for the tall one. Janie became painfully aware of herself. She

Was wearing a cheap church dress, dirty from walking through the woods. Cheap shoes. One sock had rolled down to her ankle. Her heart was thumping like a rabbit’s.

“What were you doin’ down here, girl? This is private property,” said the boy with the riding crop.

“You heard her,” sneered Francis Croup. “She was singin’ them negro tunes. Sounded purty good. Say, nigger-gal,” he said, smiling mockingly. “You wanna sing for us? Do a dance?”

“Naw, I don’t, thank you sir,” said Janie, sounding far braver than she felt. Just play dumb. “Let me go.”

“Be nice,” said the fat boy. He tapped her bottom with the riding crop. Janie jumped, which made the fat boy and Francis laugh.

“Dance,” he commanded.  She began to back away towards the water.

Francis rolled his eyes. “Don’t waste your time, she ain’t gonna do it.”

The fat boys eyes softened. “We can make her do other things.” His gaze fell to her breasts.

Janie bolted. She didn’t get very far.

Quick as lightning, the tallest boy tackled her in his iron grip. For someone so skinny he had a grip like a gator’s jaw. She kicked and struggled and screamed as he dragged her to the ground and straddled her from behind. He shrugged off his rifle. Choking on a mouthful of dirt, her cries echoed over the river uselessly. No one was coming.

“She’s mine. Y’all go on,” said the boy quietly. It was the first time he had spoken. The cold authority in his voice shocked and frightened her.

“You ain’t serious,” said the fat boy angrily.

“What you get so selfish for?” whined Francis. “You got nothin’ to prove to me.”

“I said what I said. Now git.”

“Nigger-lover,” spat the fat boy.

“You better go on before I lose my temper,” said the tall boy placidly. He pinned Janie’s arms to her sides and looked up at the boys, waiting.

Janie stopped struggling. She thought fast. If this boy wanted to make the others leave- let him. She had better odds against one anyway; even if he had a gun.

Her bravado weakened when she heard the crash of receding footsteps. All the stories of what happened to young black girls at the hands of these no-good country white boys became horribly real. And now she was about to be one of those stories. She imagined what would happen if she told anyone. Aunt Sarah would put her out of the house. They’d all say it was her fault. She might have a baby. And she’d be down in the world, fallen from grace just like her Mama, with some white baby that no one would want. If the boy even left her alive. After all, killing negroes and killing flies brought the same consequences.

Which was to say, none at all.

Fear paralyzed her. She expected him to get right to business. It would be fast and brutal. But the boy simply sat on her, perfectly still. He was listening, waiting to see if the other two had really left.

A minute passed, then three. Janie thought he might relax his hold on her, but he didn’t. She kept still. He was very heavy.

Then suddenly, the boy rocked back on his heels and got up. Janie got up quickly too, preparing to run, but he grabbed her arm. He bent over and gathered up the rifle.

“Hey, hey,” he said. “I ain’t plannin’ to hurt you.” Sleepy eyes bored into hers. They looked tired. Or amused. She really couldn’t tell.

“Let go of me,” she begged.

“Easy, girl,” the boy told her, his tone calm. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t gonna hurt you?”

She tried to jerk away from him. “I don’t believe you,” she spat.

“Cain’t say I blame you.” He was close enough that she could count every freckle. She realized that his eyes were hazel, not gray. His eyelashes were impossibly long, like a girl’s. Janie had never been this close to a white person before.

“I’ll let you go, but you gotta promise not to run,” said the boy. “Or you’ll do something dumb and git smack-blam in the middle of the other two. You’re too scairt to think.”

She hadn’t promised, but he let her go anyway. He then dusted her off. Astonished, Janie found herself rooted to the spot. His expression was placid; impossible to read. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and licked his lips.

“I liked your song,” the boy said finally. “It reminded me of somethin’ I heard once. Do you like to sing?”

She found herself answering, weakly: “Yeah. Uh...I like to sing.”

“You’re good,” the boy told her honestly. “I used to know french when I was little. But Ma didn’t stick around to speak much when I got old. Kinda lost most of it.”

“Oh,” said Janie.

“She liked to sing too, but she didn’t sound half as sweet as you. Can you uh, sing a lil’ piece again? The last part about the moon.”

The Moon? Janie stared at him blankly. She didn’t know a lick of French.

He recited the lines back to her. “Go on,” he urged. “It’s my favorite part.”

Completely bewildered, Janie sang it back to him. He smiled.

“You got a purty voice,” he told her. “Just b’tween you and me. What’s your name?”

“Uh, J- Marie.” She gave her mother’s name instead.

“Well c’mon, Marie.”

They walked. The boy tread carefully through the woods, his footsteps light as a deer’s.

“What’s that for?” Janie asked cautiously, pointing at the rifle.

“This? Aw, I was just practicin’. Aimin’ to be the next best sharpshooter in Mississippi, after my Pa. No pun intended.”

“Oh.”

He helped her over a small brook. They were going a different way; a shortcut, the boy told her.

“I guess you’re wonderin’ why I’m doin’ this,” said the white boy. His voice was so relaxed and easy, it was hard to imagine a minute ago she’d been frightened of his cold expression. “I bet you think most white folks wouldn’t cross the street to spit on you if you was on fire.”

“They wouldn’t,” Janie said flatly.

The boy shrugged. “We ain’t all bad.”

Janie didn’t dare contradict him.

He shrugged again. “Reckon it’s easy for me to say. But I seen what we do to negroes. Makes me sick, to tell you true. I’d rather be shot wid’ tacks than have to bow down to some folks just ‘cause they’s white. Just the other week they got a negro feller for whistlin’ at Old Tootsie. Strung him up that very afternoon. And Tootsie’s done had half of Tulsa in her bed ‘fore she came over to Rickshaw. Ain’t like her innocence needed defendin’.”

Janie felt sick. He was talking about Shad Jones. She had gone to the man’s funeral. The whole affair had shocked her to the core, though of course even in New Orleans she’d seen what a wrong word to the wrong white person could do. It was hard to imagine peaceful old Shad whistling at his own shadow, let alone some tartish white woman. Aunt Sarah had spared no detail in recounting what the white men did to Shad before he died.

“He didn’t do it,” she blurted.

The white boy looked at her thoughtfully. “Naw, I don’t think he did neither.”

Janie almost pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She had never heard a white boy speak this way.

“You a sharp little thing, ain’t you?” he said suddenly. “You don’t talk much, but you don’t miss much, neither.”

They were near the edge of the woods. Janie squinted at him, unsure how to take the compliment. “Well, thank ya.”

The white boy brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. Then he turned to face her, his expression serious.

“You better watch it when you’re comin’ through these woods next time. My Pa owns the land, but he don’t take kindly to negroes. But you’re kinda sweet. Next time I might not be there- and then it’d be your ass in the fire.”

Janie nodded dumbly. She wished she could find her tongue!  

“I got another request from you, Marie.”  He cleared his throat, shrugging the rifle higher on his shoulder.

Janie blinked. “Um, alright.”

He turned to face her, stepping close. Janie could see the freckles on his nose. The whorls of hair at his temples and the back of his neck looked soft. He smelled very nice indeed. She felt rooted to the spot, even as his hand came up and tugged on a stray kink of her hair. He rolled it between his fingers, examining its curl.  Then, his eyes never leaving hers, he undid the pins that held the rest of it together. Her thick hair sprang loosely out to hang over her shoulders. He pulled at it gently, spreading it out around her head. Aunt Sarah’s voice echoed distantly in her ears. I don’t know why you bother fussin’ wit’ that picky-knot hair. She drowned Aunt Sarah out. A breeze ruffled over her scalp, cool and sweet.

“Don’t touch my hair,” she whispered.

His hands fell to his sides, then floated up and grabbed both her wrists. He massaged her pulse with his thumbs.

“You know,” said the white boy quietly. “You’re mighty purty.”

She shuddered; from fear or pleasure. She was tall enough to almost look him in the eye.

He leaned forward and kissed her.

His lips seared against cheek, burning every thought from her head. She clung to his back as he molded his mouth over hers, wrenching the fire up from her loins to curl in her chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her breast. One large, calloused hand curled gently at the base of her neck, the other at her waist, holding her whole length against the hard muscles of his body. Janie kissed him as she had never been kissed before, and he responded, pressing against her soft body as if they had been long-parted lovers, now with nothing separating them but their clothes.

Then, as suddenly as it had began, it was over. He wrenched his lips from hers and stepped back. Two spots of red burned in his cheeks. She saw him as if through a haze.

“Go along, now,” he said quietly.

Janie picked up her skirts, and ran.

Chapter 1

The Return

Rickshaw, Mississippi

1932

7 Years Later

They knew this would not be an ordinary summer. The signs were there. Old Ben, who knew about such things, called it first. He’d eyed  the chicken guts on his doorstep, left there by a wild dog and frozen by a late frost, and shuddered. It would be a long and ugly summer.

Old Ben had been right, as he usually was. A strange heat came on the heels of the frost, coaxing all the buds out from their slumber. The trees bloomed at once in a sickening array of color, only to be strangled by another deep cold that arrived out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly. The birds couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to stay or leave Rickshaw. Moods turned ugly, and tempers flared. Fish deserted the river, the yams they pulled up were twisted and blood-red. Oh, yes. The signs were there.

*

It was at this time that Janie Ruth Ross came back into town, toting a little carpet bag that held everything she owned. People turned to stare.  What they saw was a tall, shapely black woman who held her shoulders like a queen. Her face was soft and her eyes bright and curious- always curious. College had sharpened her drawl; now she sounded educated. But more immediately striking were her features. The childish roundness had given way to high cheekbones. Her snub nose had widened, her lips were soft and full. She was tall, with high legs and a large bottom that swung like a bell when she walked.  The black people drew back cautiously. The white people curled their lips. They saw her passing by and remembered her face. They wanted to see what kind of woman she was.

Janie would let them figure that out for themselves. Her Aunt Sarah had been dead and buried a year past- leaving not a penny for Janie, of course. It had all gone to the church. But Janie had made her own way. She’d gone to school. She’d gotten some culture. A lot had happened to cover up her spark, but she’d pulled through.

It just hurt to be back in Rickshaw again.

Of course, the little town was just the same as when she’d left it. The job they’d offered her did not pay well, and she hadn’t expected it to. Teaching was never something Janie had considered. In fact, she maintained that she would vehemently dislike it. But in these times, one took whatever job one could get.

Janie’s cousin Betty Young- more of a second cousin, really- came to fetch her from the station. Janie remembered Betty as a short, plump, cheery woman. She’d always looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed. It gave her a thrill of pleasure to see her cousin hadn’t changed much, either.

“Janie-girl!” Betty cried, waving madly from the platform. Janie barely had time to breathe before Betty barreled into her, squealing with delight. The two cousins laughed, Janie squeezing the other woman so tight she nearly lifted her off the ground.

“Hey gal,” Janie laughed. “How you been?”

Betty adjusted her dress and lifted Janie’s carpetbag. Her smile was wide- too wide, Janie thought. She detected a glint of something behind it. But Betty’s tone was light. “Oh, you know me. Don’t ax for much, don’t git much, praise Gawd.”

The two chattered endlessly on their way to town, all the way to Janie’s place at the schoolhouse. She’d been told that she could sleep in a little apartment on the second floor.

It was a walk of a couple miles. The building stood just on the fringe of the Blue Forest. From a distance it appeared rather charming. But up close it was a frightening piece of work. Janie’s heart sank.

The building needed painting. The windows were hanging precariously on their hinges. Half the steps were rotten, and the interior looked dark and forbidding, like a witch’s cave.

Betty sensed Janie’s dismay, and winced. “We had a flood come through here a month ago. It ain’t so bad inside.”

In fact, it was much worse. Half the benches were toppled over and mite-eaten. The other half were stacked haphazardly in a corner. Janie heard the distinct scurry of rats beneath the floorboards, agitated by their steps. Someone had smashed the chalkboard in. Upstairs promised no better. Everything was choked with dust except Janie’s bed, which, Betty informed her, some kind soul had donated prior to her coming. A heavy, masculine stink hung in the room- Janie’s room. She pressed the back of her hand to her nose.

“It ain’t much,” Betty offered. “But we can fix it up real good.”

“Uh- Thank you. I’ll get by,” said Janie. Her cousin’s guilty expression shamed her. She put back her shoulders and took her hand from her nose. She had decided to come here. The people- and especially the children- of Rickshaw needed her. She could handle whatever they threw at her.

“I’m so glad t’ see you, gal,” sighed Betty. “Let’s rest a minute then I’ll help you clean up.”

Alerted of her arrival, it wasn’t long before two more women came by, armed with brooms and rags and buckets. Grimly they tied the rags around their noses and got to work. The ladies swept and scrubbed. They flung open the windows- some deserted their moorings and fell clear out of the frames- and they evicted the rotten furniture. As they worked, Janie kept a mental tally of the endless list of repairs.

But she threw herself right in to help them. It took all morning. Sometimes they worked in silence. But the women were a talkative bunch, and took to Janie right away.

“Now, I ain’t mean to scare yuh, Miss Janie,” said Esther Brown. Esther was a strong, capable woman, the self-appointed director of the cleaning operation.

“Cus I knows you prolly got some delicate leanings, bein’ in Naw’Leans fuh so long. But things work a lil’ differently around heah. First lesson: you gotta take care wid’ these white folks.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Janie agreed.

“Second lesson. Anythin’ you need, you ask one of us, alright? You doin’ us a mighty big favor, comin’ all the way out heah in the muck. The children ain’t so excited,” Esther smiled, “But they’ll take to ya, and if they don’t, you just come straight to us, and we’ll set ‘em straight. We’re on yo’ side.”

“Thank you Ma’am,” said Janie appreciatively. The woman’s encouraging tone warmed her heart.

“I like her,” Esther said to Nora, a young, walnut-colored woman. “She’s real polite. I was ‘fraid she’d be like that Aunt of hers.”

“Just keep ya head down,” Nora advised Janie. “Don’t make no waves ‘cross the river. Don’t ruffle no feathers.”

“You gonna tell her?” said Betty suddenly. She’d been quiet for most of the morning, once Esther and Nora had arrived. Something was weighing on her heart.

Esther shook her head. “I guess I should.”

“Tell me what?” Pressed Janie. She longed for the scraps of gossip they threw her way, anything she could file away and use later.

Nora sighed. “I s’pose you wondered why they sounded so urgent, callin’ you back heah to teach.”

“Well,” said Janie truthfully, “I did say I’d be kinda interested, once I got outta school. I jus’ didn’t expect them to call on me. I figgered they’d hire one of the church fellows.”

“Naw,” said Nora lightly. “We got new people on the church board. They say they’s too busy to teach- now I ain’t one to mind people’s affairs, but I doubt that highly- plus they wanted someone college-educated. You was the only option, after Samuel-”

Esther cleared her throat. Nora stopped.

“Samuel?” Janie said curiously. There was only one Samuel in Rickshaw. “Samuel Good?” She remembered him from her early summers in Rickshaw. He’d been a tall, handsome boy. Always had his nose in a book. Sometimes he preached on Sundays- Janie had once giggled at his thin, reedy voice, so unsuited for his striking figure.

There was no giggling now. The women looked serious. Betty played with the fibers of her rag. Janie was startled to see her cousin’s eyes brimming with tears.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“He died,” said Esther flatly. “Ain’t no point relivin’ it. Betty, why don’t you go fetch us some water?”

Betty put the rag down and walked outside without a word.

“They was engaged,” Nora whispered sadly.

“White folks,” Esther gritted. Her tone said everything. “Just you stay away from them, Miss Ross, if you kin’ help it.”

*

The women left. There was still much work to be done, but late afternoon was approaching and they had dinner to tend to. Their men would be home soon from work, they told her apologetically. If she couldn’t stand to stay in the schoolhouse alone, she could stay with one of them. But Janie said she didn’t mind at all- she’d prefer some time alone anyway, to pay respects to Aunt Sarah’s grave.

The women seemed to accept that answer, and bid her goodbye, imploring her to come ‘round by five for some dinner.

Janie watched Esther, Betty and Nora leave. She had no intention of seeing Aunt Sarah’s grave. And she wasn’t hungry. Her heart felt heavy and sad. It bled for her cousin, and for poor Samuel Good. Suddenly she was sick of the decrepit old schoolhouse. She slipped out the door, making a straight path into the woods.

Janie knew the Blue Woods like the palm of her hand.  The path was narrow, parts of it covered over by brambles. She headed west, skirting the line of the river. The babbling of the water sounded like a second language. In college Janie had learned Latin and Greek, old languages spoken by white people thousands and thousands of miles away. She wondered what the language of the water would be called. Did anyone know how to speak it?

Suddenly, the laughter of the  river morphed into actual, distant laughter. Human laughter; the high, round, raucous laughter of black people. Janie’s sensitive ears picked it up on the wind. It came from somewhere not far away.

It was at this point that Janie’s irrepressible curiosity shifted every other thought from her head. She stepped quietly towards the sound, off the path. The woods began thinning out; she kept low. For a city girl she really didn’t mind the outdoors. Thorns pulled at her skirt; she hiked it around her thighs. Birds fluttered anxiously in their roosts. The sounds of the woods concealed her as well as the trees.  

The noises grew bolder and louder- and the air got hotter. The smell of old eggs hit Janie in a wave. She clapped a hand over her nose in disgust. Sulfur.

Her heart beat faster as the pitch of the voices increased. She gave a private exclamation; she could finally see the source.

The tree line fell away to the view of a small clearing. Its inhabitants were all black men, young and old. About seven of them in total. She recognized mostly all, though knew only two by name. Four of them worked at the bricklayer factory, if she remembered correctly- though of course, the way things were, they might have been laid off since she had last been in Rickshaw. Their bodies were hard and strong, but they had hunched backs, their shoulders pinched together from spending most of their lives bending down. Naked as babes, they cavorted in a series of hot springs which descended from a rolling hillside, carved eons ago by some celestial hand. And, to Janie’s eternal astonishment, there was even a white man right there in the springs with them!

Her mouth hung open. The longer she looked, the stranger the scene before her became. Over the warm smell of sulfur came the unmistakable smell of cooking meat: pork. Her eyes, which had always been quite sharp, determined the source. The men had a whole roast pig turning on a spit.

Janie knew that she was witnessing something completely forbidden. Something that needed to be hidden so deep in the woods, away from all civilization. These men had managed to carve this place out for themselves, but once they left the forest they would be back under the heel of the world, and all the laws that governed it. This was a stolen moment.  

Their conversation sounded heated but friendly. The men began to climb out of the springs and migrate towards their clothes, which they all pulled on over their soaking wet bodies. Janie could hear their excuses already; a swim in the river after work surely wasn’t unusual. Their wives, who were no doubt wondering about their whereabouts, wouldn’t question it.

It seemed almost unfair to Janie that these women should work so hard in the home while their men splashed about in hot springs in total secrecy. Janie herself wouldn’t have minded stripping naked and taking a dip. In private, of course.

As the men set their knives into the roasting pig, Janie’s eyes fell once more on the white man who had defied all custom.

It was hard to see him in the growing darkness, so she moved closer. He was tall. Very tall. His body was wiry but strong; the body of a working man. She couldn’t determine his features.

“Oh my,” she gasped.

She had never seen a naked white man before- she gawked. He was strongly built, wiry, with long legs, broad shoulders and a torso that narrowed into a V. Janie observed, blushing, that he was well-endowed. The white man toweled himself off and pulled on his clothes. Even his dress revealed nothing about his status, or his profession. It was no different from the simple overalls the other working men wore.

Janie became aware that she was spying, and the blood rushed to her face. She should be ashamed of herself! She was no different from a Peeping Tom. Besides, if she was seen...

She stood up suddenly and began to pick her way back from where she’d came. Her heart hammered in her ribcage. She couldn’t be seen.

Darkness closed in all around her, but it was a waxing moon that night, and the light it provided was plenty.

*

The next morning, Janie got an unpleasant surprise.

She’d had a fitful sleep on the rough corn-husk mattress. Her mind was reeling with what she’d witnessed, and with the thought of poor Samuel Good, who had once taught in the very building and lived in the same room she was now inhabiting.

She woke around six in the morning. Hunger cramped in her stomach. Perhaps Betty would have something for her to eat.

When she stepped outside, dressed in her second-best dress, she had a pretty fair idea of how the day was going to go. She’d head over the Betty’s and get a bite. Then the general store, for some groceries and sewing material. Then a meeting with the church board about expectations for their teachers. It was all planned out.

She hardly expected to see a white man sitting on the steps of the schoolhouse.

“I- Good Morning,” She said cautiously, every nerve in her body alert. Her eyes darted around. Maybe he had brought friends.

But he seemed to be alone. He’d walked here; she could see neither horse nor automobile.

The man twisted around. He wore a hat pulled over his eyes, but when he stood up he took it off, inclining his head slightly. That action alone made Janie blink. White men didn’t take off their hats for negro women.

“Well, hi,” he said easily.

“Can I help you?” Her tone was unintentionally cold.

“You sure can, Miss Janie,” he said, putting strange emphasis on her name. He had a smile that could cut butter. “But I’m more thinkin’ how I can help you.”

He looked horribly familiar.

“And how’s that- sir?”

“The name’s Burke Giraud, Miss, but I like ‘Burke’ just fine. I’m the carpenter.”

Ah. The carpenter. Janie squinted at him skeptically. He had rough hands; capable hands. He was well built- tall. Very tall. He had black, thick hair. Unlike most white men, he wore it loose around his shoulders instead of cropped short. His eyes were an indiscernible color, possibly gray, hidden behind two heavy lids that gave him a sleepy, feline appearance. His nose was rather big, but it didn’t take away from his good looks. She stared harder. Could this be the same white man from the hot springs?

It had to be. But that raised more questions for Janie than it answered.

“That won’t be necessary, uh, Mr. Burke, ” said Janie, forcing a smile. She had to get rid of him as soon as possible. “I’m sure one of my people can work on the schoolhouse. There are plenty of negro carpenters in Rickshaw. Why, I’m sure even a woman like me could figure out how to drive a nail and set a board. Please don’t go to the trouble.”

She caught that her tone bordered on insolent. Another white man might have taken offense. But this white man-Burke- didn’t react at all.  He was actually smiling.

“Well no, Miss Janie. I’m ‘fraid it is necessary. Y’see, I offered to do it free of charge. And there’s a hell of a lotta work to do b’fore Summer’s over.”  He kicked at a rotting piece of the step, proving his point.  

“I’m the only one with enough spare time.”

Janie looked at him as if he was mad. Free of charge, the devil be damned. There was no such thing with white people.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” She said flatly.

Burke Giraud took a step towards her. Janie shrank back, eyes flashing. If he dared touch her-

“Miss Janie,” he said impatiently, “Pardon me, but if y’all want those kids to be learnin’ in a nest of rats an’ bugs, then it really ain’t my business. But put aside your pride for ten seconds, and tell me what y’all need fixed in here so I can get right to fixin’ and leave you be.”

Janie sighed helplessly. She had followed all the rules that governed interactions with white people. But this man seemed intent on breaking every one. What was she to do?

“You sure the committee sent you?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes widening at her, as if she were a halfwit.

“Well- alright. You can- you can go in and see what needs to be done.”

A smile was curling on the edges of his lips. Giraud seemed to think this whole thing was endlessly amusing. His eyes, so sleepy-looking and strange, roved shamelessly over her figure, lingering too long on her face. Janie felt heat rise to her cheeks. She had seen this man, Burke, naked at the hot springs. She was sure now that it was him.

Worst of all, he looked quite pleased with himself, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Sounds good to me,” he drawled.  “I’ll stay out of your way.”

“I- well. Alright. Sorry. Good day. ” Flushing, she clamped her hat on her head and stalked away.

*

“I hear you’re working on the nigger school,” said Francis Croup. Cigar smoke hung in a halo around his head. He sounded bored. He usually was.

“I am,” said Burke. They were sitting on the Croups’ porch, looking out over the vast expanse of the Croup estate. Burke found something unsettling about this view. The birds were too cheerful; the babbling of the marble fountain too airy. It was manicured, cultivated, pruned. Luxury built with sweat and blood. The house itself was an obese construction fit to rival a castle. Burke had been permitted inside only once.

“What for?” probed Francis, his green eyes cool. The look might have made another man tense. But it had been a very long time since Burke Giraud had feared his cousin.

“I got my reasons,” said Burke. He watched the ember crawl down the length of his cigar. Truthfully he hated the stuff- he preferred his cherrywood pipe. He ashed it in the tray, because he knew it would annoy Francis, and Burke took pleasure in doing so.

“You always did like somethin’ about these niggers,” Francis remarked. “I guess you feel sorry for ‘em. You never grew up ‘round ‘em, that’s why. Lazy animals, every one.”

“Lazy?” said Burke calmly. “They built this house. That fountain. They raised you, if I recall. They still cook your meals, wash your clothes-”

Francis fumed, “You might as well be one, for all you love ‘em so much. God Almighty, Burke. I’m plumb tired of defendin’ you. When are you going to act right?”

Burke felt a flicker of annoyance. His cousin’s hypocrisy had always worn on his nerves. “If anyone’s got a problem with the way I live my life-.”

“I’ve got a problem,” said Francis testily. “Things are changin’. Used to be that the white man had all the power. Used to be that we ran things- it’s the natural order, Burke. Now all this talk about Negro voting. There’s Negro lawyers. Negro judges. Negro officers. Soon we’ll have a Negro president!” Francis took a deep, aggrieved breath.

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with me,” said Burke flatly. He sensed  another one of Francis’s lectures brewing, and desired to cut it short.

“There has to be a line, Burke. We need to guard tradition.”

“What tradition? Enslaving human beings?” snapped Burke.

Francis stopped. His gaze was heated. “You sound like one of them bleedin’-heart northerners.”

Burke met his cousin’s gaze with a coldness of his own. Francis was always looking for ways to push him. Like a wolf testing a much larger prey; always circling.

“So what if I do?” he said. “I can say what I damn well please.”

“Not in my house,” Francis snapped.

Burke stood up. He was suddenly sick of the argument, of his spoiled cousin, and of the sickening opulence of the plantation before him. “Alright.”

Francis stood up too. He was much smaller than Burke; and Burke knew it aggravated him.

“You can tell your friends to back out of my affairs,” Burke said, gathering his hat. His voice was like a bullwhip. Francis actually flinched.

Suddenly the porch door banged open. A beautiful woman sashayed out of it in a whirl of blue silk, chirping with laughter. Burke’s urge to leave grew stronger.

“Oh, hello Burke,” said Evelyn Bricassart, soon to be Evelyn Croup. “Hello, dear Francis.”

“Darling,” oozed Francis; typically, she ignored him.

“Is everything alright?” Her giant blue eyes glistened up at Burke, as if she expected him to drop into a bow.

“Burke was just fixin’ to leave’, sugar,” said Francis tightly. He smiled a winning smile, but her eyes were on his cousin.

“Oh, were you, Burke?” She beamed. “Walk with me, then.”

“So sorry,” said Burke immediately. “I’m goin’ in the opposite direction.”

Evelyn blinked. “But I haven’t told you where I’m going.”

“Good afternoon, to both of you.”

Burke left quickly. The more time he spent around his cousin, the more he felt that he should cut Francis off forever. They’d grown up together, Francis ever the bully, with his headstrong ways, until Burke got his height and started licking Francis back. They’d tumbled over hill and glen; Rickshaw was their playground and their kingdom. But now their relationship was a fragment of what it had been. And as more time went on, Burke realized that it suited him just fine.

Francis had never held a great love for black people, it was true. His great-grandfather, who was also Burke’s great-grandfather, had been one of the wealthiest planters in the Confederacy. The war had torn all but the land and a little piece of money from under their feet; even so, Francis was set to inherit a tidy fortune from the moment he was born. Yet Burke’s cousin still felt cheated of something greater; exactly what that was, Burke wasn’t sure. Whatever it was had been lost many years ago, in the war. Francis blamed black people for stealing that “something” from him.

And now, Burke’s cousin had been roped into the white-power mania that was sweeping the South, which had taken hold in Rickshaw, which many, many white men were members of. Oh yes, Burke knew about their secret little meetings, their long white robes, the burning crosses they left to awe and terrify. He knew what they had done to Samuel Good. Even if he hadn’t heard what happened from the black folks themselves, he might have guessed- correctly- the identity of the perpetrators.

Samuel’s death was the second lynching they’d had in Rickshaw- the second most obvious one, anyway. Burke remembered the first with a shudder.

He’d never forget that summer, for as long as he lived. His Pa had taken him down to the forest- where they’d tied the black man up.  Burke couldn’t remember the man’s name anymore, but he remembered the screams. The smell of burning hair. His Pa didn’t participate, but he’d made Burke watch.

Burke had looked at the faces of the white men who did it. They were men he’d grown up around. Men he’d laughed with and trusted. But that night they looked like demons. He saw what they were, and he hated them for what they did to that man,  a deep and burning hatred that he carried inside him like a venom. Burke had torn from his father’s grasp and fled into the trees, the mangled cries following him like a pack of hounds. But it wasn’t enough- and running away hadn’t saved the man. It took him- Shad, Burke remembered the name now- hours to die.

Burke pushed the memory away as he strode into town. It did no good to reflect on these things.

***

“Hello, Miss Ross.”

The voice was clipped; a Yankee voice, with a hint of education. Janie raised her head to greet its source.

He was a tall, rather handsome man. He had peanut-colored skin, loosely curling brown hair, and a mobile, sarcastic mouth. Green eyes flashed mischievously into hers. A mixed-race fellow- but not a local, or she would have recognized him, surely. His dress was sharp. Northern.

“Er-Hello.”

To her surprise, he took a seat next to her under the oak tree. They were in the “colored” section of Plume Park. Janie had been nodding off, a lesson book in her hand.

“May I see?”

She handed him the book. He turned it over gingerly, as if examining a rotten leaf.

“This is old. The textbooks they use in the white school are fifteen years newer.”

“I’m aware,” said Janie.

The man handed the book back to her, and held out his hand. “The name’s Emmett Freeman. I’m the head of the school board here.”

“We have a school board?” Janie wondered aloud. She shook his hand nonetheless.  “I thought- the church-”

“Indeed, we do,” Emmett interrupted, smiling patronizingly at her ignorance. “It’s new.”

Janie suddenly remembered- this was the man who had written to her as she was finishing up college, requesting she come teach.

“Well, it’s sure nice to meet you, Mister Freeman. You ain’t- you’re not- from Rickshaw?” she observed.

“No Ma’am. Pennsylvania. But my Mama was from here, and I thought I’d head down South to build up this town. She always wanted the people here to make something of themselves. Colored people can’t be stuck in the past forever. There’s a lot of work to be done, and it starts with a child’s education.” He swelled with pride; Janie got the sense that he’d rehearsed that speech beforehand.

“Well, this place sure is different from Pennsylvania,” said Janie diplomatically. She was disliking his self-important tone, but he had a naivete about him that she found refreshing. Most black folks in Rickshaw spoke pessimistically about the way things were or were going to be. Emmett Freeman reminded her of those ambitious boys back at Xavier, full of pride and hope for black people of the future.

“The race relations are...uncomfortable,” admitted Emmett. “But we can’t be scared of white folks anymore, Janie. We’ve got to build ourselves up. Fight back. Education is the first step.”

“I agree,” began Janie. “But-”

“Oh look, it’s the carpenter,” said Emmett suddenly, breaking into a grin. Janie’s head shot up. Sure enough, the tall, wiry frame of Burke Giraud came stalking into view. For some strange reason Janie’s heart began to thump.

“Dont-” she began, but Emmett was already waving his arm genially, beckoning the white man over. Burke looked for all the world like he wanted to be somewhere else, but Emmett was insistent. The big man crossed into the colored section of the park to where they were seated.

“Hello, Emmett,” he said warily.

“Burke,” said Emmett, grinning. “Have you met Miss Ross? She’s the new teacher for the negro school.”

“Yes, we’ve met,” said Janie tersely. “Mr. Burke and I, were, er, introduced this morning. He came to ask about repairs.”

“Oh,” said Emmett. Janie wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

“Well? How’s it looking?”

Burke shuffled on his feet. “Not good. The flood banged it up pretty bad.”

“Oh yes, the flood. It was also vandalized,” Emmett confided to Janie. Her eyebrows shot up; she looked at Burke quickly.

“Vandalized?”

“Yep,” said Burke. “They almost burned it down.” No one needed clarification on who they were.

“Why?”

Burke opened his mouth, but Emmett was faster. “Because they know the next worst thing to a poor and angry negro, is an educated and angry negro,” he said bitterly. “Which is why you are so important, Miss Ross. We need to get the children of Rickshaw some confidence. Our children need to learn that they can stand up to oppression.”

Janie’s eyes flew to Burke again; would he be offended at such talk? Would he be angry? She wished Emmett would shut up.

But the big man only nodded in agreement.

“Anyway,” said Emmett, rising. He examined his watch. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just realized I’ve got a meeting with the church board. I’ll see you around, Miss Ross. Burke.” He tipped his hat and strode away in long, elastic strides.

There was a momentary silence after Emmett left. Burke was the first to break it.

“Well, here I am all tickled to see you, Miss Janie, and you look like you’re havin’ a duck fit.”

The woman’s dark skin glowed in the sunlight. As always, her kinky hair was straining from its barrettes. She didn’t have it chemically straightened, like most black women were doing these days. Burke liked the way it curled around her temples and the soft skin at the back of her neck.

“I don’t want to keep you here,” Janie said. “I’m sure you’re a busy man.” I wish you would leave me be.

Instead he took a seat next to her, grinning. Janie found herself taken aback by his smile. It seemed to turn his whole face into a sunbeam. Even his sleepy, hooded eyes lit up dimly. His teeth were white and straight.

“You sure about that?”

“You know what people would say if they saw you- us- talkin’?” She whispered fiercely. She was angry at him for putting her at risk like this. But a small, secret part of her rebelled. She would have liked to keep looking at this good-looking man. Janie did not trust men- and white men even less so- but in his company she felt a strange sense of comfort. Somehow she knew she could talk to him as she would any man of her race, without inciting his anger or giving him offense.  

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” said Burke. He leaned his long body against the tree, taking off his hat to rest in his lap. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. He looked perfectly relaxed, and irresistibly handsome.

“This side ain’t for white folks,” said Janie, smoothing her skirts nervously. She looked around the park. It was empty, but for a group of white children playing in their section. “You got plenty of space over there.”

“We’re jes’ talkin’. Ain’t nothin’ in the law about talkin’.  Be easy, now. I’m tryin’ to  get to know you.”

“Why? Ain’t you got some other woman doggin’ at yo’ heels? What you doin’ gettin’ all friendly with a colored gal?”  Despite her joking tone, she felt a little twinge of annoyance.

Burke cracked open his eyes and rolled them in her direction. “You sure do think highly of yourself, Miss Janie.”

She began to get up, but he fastened a hand around her wrist.

“Let me go,” she said.

“Naw, you ain’t leavin’ yet.  I got some questions for you.” His tone brooked no argument.

Janie sat down, her heart pounding. Burke looked perfectly calm, damn him, though people had begun to stare.

“Go on, then.”

“Alright,” he said. “You gonna tell anybody about the hot springs?”

The bottom fell out of Janie’s stomach.

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse who? I know you was snoopin’. I ain’t mad. I’d just like t’ know what your aim is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Oh? So this ain’t yours?”

He fished an engraved cigarette case from his pocket, dangling it in front of her face. Janie recognized it immediately. It read Marie Renard Ross, 1924.

Her eyes widened.

“How’d you get that?”

“Seems you dropped it. And I’m the one askin’ the questions.”

Janie tried to snatch the case from him, but he held it high. “Answer me. What did you see?”

“I didn’t see nothin’,” Janie snapped. “Alright? Absolutely nothin’. Now give it here!”

“That’s right,” he said. He handed the case back to her, his eyes sharp. “You didn’t see nothin’. And it’s gonna stay that way, y’hear?”

“Or what?” Janie shot back. She held the cigarette case to her chest, trembling in rage. “I ain’t afraid of you!”

Burke looked down at her, his expression changing. The arousal had come out of nowhere. A long-buried memory stirred within him. By God, she was a spunky little thing. He could so easily draw her over his lap and nibble on those pillowy lips. Kiss her until her rage had melted into sobbing, quiet breaths, until she was wrapped in his arms, her legs around his waist…

“Or nothing,” he said softly. Janie saw his body tense. He drew away from her a fraction.

“I’d like to ask you about it,” she said.

“No one else knows. It’s my property. I’m a private man.”

“I wouldn’t be fool enough to tell what y’all was up to. Or that I’d seen you naked.”

Janie wanted to smack herself as soon as the words left her mouth. Burke’s eyebrows shot up his forehead; he broke into a sudden grin.

“Did you now?”

“Goodbye.” She got to her feet, embarrassment stamped across her face.  “I’m sorry I was spying. Thank you for returnin’ this to me. It was my mama’s.”

Burke stood up too. She was tall for a woman, but he loomed over her still. He didn’t want her to leave. It would be so easy for him to pull her close, press her back against the tall oak tree and crush his lips over hers, sating his lust and drawing her own desire out of her.

“Miss Janie-”

As if sensing his thoughts, Janie stepped back. She bid him good day and walked away quickly. Just like that her moods could change. What a frustrating woman. Burke remained in place, his hooded eyes  drifting over  her receding figure.

Chapter 2

Unwelcome visitors

Janie found the schoolhouse teeming with visitors in the next few weeks. She’d sit inside, listening to Burke bang away at the roof, the staircase, the windows- whatever needed fixing. Some men passed by to watch the white man work. Many in Rickshaw didn’t believe a white man would lower himself to fix up a negro school. A few offered to help, and some did.

It was hard to keep away the children. Ever curious about their new teacher, they came tumbling over the hill to see her. They stayed with her until sundown, some content to just play in the schoolyard.

One evening Burke stayed behind late to fix up the latrine. Janie left him about his business. They were cordial with each other; Janie tried to keep her distance, since whenever they got to talking it turned into an argument, which usually ended with her wanting to slap him, or kiss him.

The forest was swallowing the sun, and a dim red haze covered everything. Janie began closing  up from the mosquitoes. Burke was still out back.

A knocking sounded on the door. Janie opened it, ready to ask Burke if he wanted some bread and cheese before he left. .

It was not Burke. It was a white woman Janie had never seen before.

Her clothes were impeccably pressed and tailored, the fabric finer than anything Janie could hope to own. A string of pearls wept over the front of her dress. Honey blonde hair was done up in a coil at the top of her head, with strands curling down attractively to frame her luminous cheekbones.

Her lips pressed together as if Janie had already said something she didn’t approve of.

“Hello,” said the woman coldly.

“Hello, Miss,” said Janie carefully.

“Miss Bricassart to you, girl.”

“Hello Miss Bricassart,” said Janie. Don’t give her no attitude, Janie thought. Watch your mouth. As Janie, and indeed all black people, knew very well, white women could be just as dangerous as their men, and twice as sensitive.

“Don’t bother introduce yourself. I know who you are.”

“Alright,” said Janie, keeping her voice even. “Can I help you?”

The woman pushed past Janie in a cloud of perfume. She eyed the shabby interior of the schoolhouse. She examined the window frames Burke had just completed. She tested the weight of the desks and chairs. Two fingers trailed in the dust under the blackboard.

“So this is what he’s been tinkering with. His little charity case.” She turned contemptuously to Janie.

“You mean Burke?” said Janie.

“ ‘Burke’ ?” Evelyn laughed. “Getting familiar, are you? Has he made a little conquest out of you yet? His little schoolmarm concubine. He’d be the type.”

Janie braced herself on one of the desks. Anger steamed up inside her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Evelyn. Her blue eyes drilled into Janie’s. Spite infected her voice. “But don’t think we don’t know what he’s up to. It doesn’t take much from you whores to send a white man chasing your skirts. I’ve seen it myself.”

“If I can’t help you, Miss Bricassart-”

“I didn’t come for me,” said the white woman. She kept up her inspection around the little room. She flung open cupboard doors. She rattled the windows. She even examined the pitcher of peonies Janie had sitting at her desk- a gift from Burke, just this morning. Janie watched her in a helpless fury.

“I didn’t come for myself,” repeated Evelyn. “I’m from Maryland, you know. I’ve seen enough of Negro foolery to last me a lifetime. I don’t need more of yours, girl, I’m sure you aren’t so special. But if this is to be my future home-” she flashed a large and expensive-looking diamond ring at Janie- “I want to be sure my future is protected.”

“We are just a school, Miss Bricassart,” Janie said, slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “We educate little children.”

“Oh?” said the other woman. “You think it was for teaching that they strung up the other man before you? Then you’re a stupid thing indeed. No, no, my dear.” Evelyn chuckled nastily.

“Use the little brains you have. I heard you’re from New Orleans, is that true?”

Janie swallowed. The more the woman spoke, the more Janie realized that she was not just a pretty fool. It would be a grave mistake to take her as on. She clenched her fists.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Janie.

“That’s so,” said Evelyn. “I’ve been there heaps of times. A lively place. Very diverse, though I’m sure we mingled with different crowds. The laws are looser there, aren’t they? Negroes and whites and Irish and Indians. One big happy family.”

Janie wondered what side of New Orleans that woman had seen. Was it like that among the petit-bougeoirs? “I suppose so,” she told Evelyn.

“The problem, girl, is we are not a family. The human race is clearly divided. Some men are men, and some men no more than beasts. There is no equality. Scientific proof shows that negroes are weaker, dumber, and inferior to whites. It’s indisputable; the evidence is there!” She watched Janie for a reaction. But Janie, trained long to the ways of women like Aunt Sarah, gave her nothing.

Evelyn continued, “For the advancement of the human race, your people need to be kept separate. Stay in their natural place, be our workers, as God ordained. You don’t put the rotten apples in with the whole bunch, do you dear?”

Rotten bitch, Janie thought.

Evelyn waved her hand. “Anyway, my point is this: New Orleans, and such similar places, are offensive. Aberrations. And this town is the fastest growing town in Mississippi- I won’t see it go down that path.” She fingered the pearls at her throat. “There are some things worth preserving.”

“You have the wrong idea,” Janie said quietly. “Burke offered to help the school.”

“I just came to watch,” said Evelyn. “I don’t give a damn what Burke does in his free time. If he wants to help the niggers, then for God’s sake let him help the niggers. I just want you to know your place.”

“And where would that be, Ma’am?” Janie said through her teeth.

“With the rest of your kind. Raising dumb little pickaninnies to work for smarter men. That’s your place, Miss Janie Ruth Ross. And if I’m to live in this backwoods country, I don’t want to see the rules of God and Man flaunted by uppity colored wenches.”

Be calm, Janie thought. She could bear insults from white men easier than their women.

“I see,” said Janie.

“That’s right,” Evelyn said. “I’ve said my piece now. Consider it a warning, Janie.”

“You seem to have gone through a lot of trouble, to tell me all this. Ma’am,” Janie replied. She spat out the honorific like a curse.

Evelyn stepped close, her nose almost touching Janie’s. Her voice was serpentine.

“I’m keeping my eye on you, little bitch. We all are. If I find out you’ve so much as lifted your skirts around him, you’ll be the next one dropping from the tree. And they’ll all have a turn with you before you swing.”

“Pardon,” said Burke from the doorway.

The change over Evelyn was nightmarishly sudden. Her expression could melt butter.

“Burke. I was just dropping in to see you.”

“Why?” he said flatly. “Where is Francis?”

Evelyn fluttered. “He’s home. Are you leaving soon?”

“No,” said Burke. “But you should. The sun’s going down.”

“I- oh. Very well.” Irritation flicked across Evelyn’s face. She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself.  “But you shouldn’t be alone with a nigger woman. It’s not proper. If anyone found out-”

“Why don’t you mind your business, Evelyn?” His tone was a warning. One Evelyn ignored.

“My business?”  She laughed cruelly, her eyes flicking to Janie. Burke would not humble her in front of some negro wench!

“Where the rules of right society are concerned, it is my business. I don’t need to tell you what they do to race traitors around here, Burke.”

Burke moved so fast Janie hardly saw it. He had Evelyn by the wrists, and marched her to the doorway. She gasped in shock. “Burke! What on earth-”

He dragged her down the steps, his grip strong enough to bruise. Janie raced to the doorway to watch. Burke flung Evelyn from him; she tottered for balance.

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” he hissed.

“Brute!” Evelyn panted. Her eyes sparked with furious tears. “Francis was right about you!”

“But he’s got it all wrong about you,” Burke growled. He gripped her shoulder; she winced in pain.  “I know everythin’ that goes on in these woods. I know where you go. I know what you’ve been doin’. Try makin’ noise ‘round here again, and I’ll tell Francis exactly what you’ve been up to.”

Color drained from Evelyn’s face.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I sure would.”

What made Burke Giraud so frightening wasn’t his height or incredible strength. It was his eyes. Cold, empty caves. Evelyn Bricassart spun on her heels and fled.

***

“You shouldn’t be around me,” Janie said. “It’s trouble for us both.”

Burke didn’t turn around. Even from the back he cut an impressive figure for a man. But no; she couldn’t think of him that way. He was as forbidden to her as the moon.

“I’m just about tired of hearin’ what I should and shouldn’t do,” said Burke. He’d calmed down; his voice fell evenly on the warm night air. Janie’s moods could change in a fragment of a second; Burke was different. His temper, she could see now, was slow to light but long-burning.

She drew a deep breath, but he spoke again. “I can only help y’all so much, Janie.”

Somewhere along the line he’d started using her first name. And she, his. She couldn’t recall why; it had just happened.

“I don’t need a savior,” Janie said. She found her eyes filling with tears. Exhaustion, frustration? She brushed them away anyway. It did no good to cry over nothing. And that’s what it was: nothing. Such was the world. She just had to live in it, and teach the children, making a brighter day for tomorrow. That was her duty. But Burke Giraud came around and knocked it all around, trying to play the hero.

“Black folks been gettin’ by just fine. We don’t need a white man to come ‘round and- and try to fix us. We fill our own bowls. We teach our own children. Never bother nobody if we kin’ help it. All we want is for y’all to leave us the hell alone.”

Burke raised his eyebrows; Janie never swore. He turned to her. She was gripping one of the desks so hard her knuckles turned pale. Her gaze fixed somewhere above his head.

“I know,” said Burke. “I’m sorry.”

“To hell with your sorry,” Janie said. She lowered her eyes to his. They swam with unspoken torment. “You come ‘round here actin’ sweet as pie. You play with the children. Laugh with the men. But ain’t none of us trust you- I don’t trust you an inch! You mix me up inside, so I don’t know up from down, wit’ all yo’ pretty words and niceness. I can hardly act right around you, so I keep my distance. I mind my business. Then some white woman comes knockin’ on my door tellin’ me I’m gonna get strung up just like Samuel if I don’t squeak and bow and ‘yes massa’ in yo’ presence. But all I see, sunup to sundown, is you. I’m tired of it. I sacrificed a whole dream to come here, and you come along throwin’ thorns in my path.”

Burke took a step towards her. She was shaking. Her eyes were the real thorns, piercing his heart and soul. He took another.

“Janie.”

“Please,” she whispered. Nothing could stop the tears now. She wanted to back away; scream, hit him.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

“No.” Her voice choked.  

He came to her instead. He was around her, he was everywhere. His arms came up over her back, pulling her to his breast. She shuddered; still he held her, smoothing the wrinkles of her dress, stroking the rough texture of her hair. Her nose found the middle of his chest. She inhaled once to calm herself, then again because he smelled so good, a familiar smell- one she couldn’t place…

“What do you want me to do, Janie?” Burke said. He’d planted his face in her neck. Her hair muffled the words. “Tell me what to do, damn you. I’ll do it.”

“Leave,” she sobbed, even as her arms tightened around him, pulling him closer. “Don’t come back.”

“No,” he said. “No, not that.”

Suddenly her face was before him, dark and beautiful and streaked with tears, which caught the vanishing light like crystals. He tasted them on her mouth, then on her throat. He was lost, and so was she. She wound against him, her face buried tight in his shoulder, as if to hide from her building desire. Burke lifted her against him.  His hands clutched at her bottom. He stepped forward and trapped her against the wall, his thigh between her legs, drawing her chin up so he could ease his lips over hers. Her tongue fluttered in the soft heat of her mouth. He claimed it and deepened the kiss.

Janie could hardly think against his kisses, which grew urgent and insistent. She should tell him to stop. But she didn’t want to stop. He was fumbling at the buttons of her dress, she was letting him, and he slid the bodice down over her shoulders and pulled her breasts free. She was thankful for the darkness as his mouth latched onto her nipple, hot and wet, suckling her until she whimpered with a forbidden need. Her breasts were larger than he’d expected; damn that modest schoolmarm dress. Janie, tall as she was, was all softness and curves. A real woman. Her breasts filled his mouth completely, his hands hiked up her skirt to grope her round behind, daring to circle lower where the wetness gathered in a sweet syrup between her thighs…

“Burke,” Janie whimpered.

He was afraid she would tell him to stop. God nor hellfire couldn’t stop him now, for he had slid two fingers inside her and felt how tight she was- and Christ, the barrier of her virginity still intact. Janie had never been with a man.

He stared down at her through the darkness, hips lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“I could turn you ‘round. I could take you right here.”

“I-I’ve never….”

“I know, sweet.” His fingers were still inside her; he withdrew them, but not very far. They danced around the button of her clitoris. She gasped, jerking away from the new sensation, but he held her fast.

“You never had a man before,” he said, more statement than question.

“No,” Janie shuddered. His fingers sent electricity over her body. Her mind slid around in a puddle of feeling; all she knew was Burke, his mouth against her throat, his hands playing in her most secret place, where no man had ever touched.

Burke took one of her hands and placed it at the fork of his legs. She felt up his hard length, concealed by his clothes. He was a man of size.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Smart girl,” he whispered. Janie gasped. His hand was building her towards an explosion of pleasure, the other kept her left hand planted in his crotch, stroking him through his trousers. Burke’s voice was gentle. “You know what I’d do to you with it?”

“I know- I know a little.”

He spun her around suddenly, her breasts pressing against the wall, her bottom pressing against the hard length of his manhood. He had her breasts again in one palm, the other insistent, gentle, cupped in her moistness.

“I’d be gentle with you,” he said in her ear. “You’re purty as a bird- I wouldn’t want you to fly away. You hear? Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of with me, Janie. I swear it.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“But not yet,” Burke groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control. He couldn’t ravage Janie here, up against a wall like a common whore. She deserved better- he could take care of her, woo her, thrill her in the softness of a bed- his bed. He could wait, for every agonizing, wrenching moment it took.

He pressed into her; Janie imagined what it would be like to take all of him inside her, Burke yearning for that very thing with all his might, but holding back. Janie didn’t imagine long. With a cry she came, arousal exploding within her in a shower of light and pleasure; she would have fallen to her knees if Burke hadn’t held her, working her softness until her climax swept them both away in ecstasy.

***

Burke gave her a whistle. It was a small, white thing, made of bone. He took it from his pocket and handed it to her, as an afterthought. Perhaps he felt guilty for what had happened.

“My first instrument,” Janie said, curious. “What should I play with it?”  

“For protection,” he said lazily. “I found it one day. Darn thing don’t work, really.”

They were in the darkness of her room. She’d lit a candle. Burke stretched out on her bed; he was so long his feet dangled off the end. His head cushioned in her lap. Janie stroked his dark curls lightly. She couldn’t help the nervousness. If they were discovered they’d both catch hell. The thought should have made her stand up and see him out the door.

But the room was a haven. No one would bother her here. She could pretend that it could last.

“Why don’t you mind black people?” Janie wondered aloud. “How come you’re different from the rest? You don’t hate. You don’t kill.”

Burke shrugged. “I’m only what God made.”

As he drifted along the edge of consciousness, Janie began humming to herself. An old, old lullaby. She knew the meaning of the words now. She had learned French formally at Xavier- and colloquially, on the streets of New Orleans. Her mother’s tongue.

Then she began to sing, very, very softly. Gooseflesh rose on Burke’s arms. He stared at her, until she finished. Her voice seemed to make him weaker. His hurts and aches grew heavy under her spell.

“You sing like an angel,” he grunted.  

“I know,” said Janie, smiling.

“Take out your hair for me.”

Surprised at the request, she did so, spreading the kinky cloud over her shoulders. She looked at him questioningly. As usual, his eyes revealed nothing. He only stared at her.

“You don’t remember,” he said softly.

“Remember what?”

“Nothin’.”

He rose up and pulled her down with him. “You’re so damned beautiful I can’t stand it. Makes me want to hit somethin’, I get so mad.”

Janie didn’t know what to say to that. Burke had a strange mind and a strange way of saying things. He yawned and stretched out, drawing her arms around him and her head against his chest.

“You can’t stay here,” Janie told him firmly. “Betty’s comin’ for me in the mornin’. We’re gonna meet some of the children, all around Rickshaw. Convince the parents to send ‘em to learn.”

“Busy woman,” he grinned.

“Education is a full time job,” said Janie primly. Burke chuckled.

“I’m sure. It’s really somethin’, what you’re doin’ for them kids. Wish I’d stuck with schoolin’. I was too dumb to learn.”

“What you mean?”

“Only stayed long enough to write my name- not much else. Was a lazy little bastard.”

“You mean,” Janie said delicately, “You can’t read?”

“Nope. Not really.”

He said it without a shred of self-pity or remorse. He didn’t sound bothered by it at all.

Times really have changed, thought Janie. Forty years ago, might have been the other way ‘round.

Burke patted her rump, pulling her from her thoughts. “Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be gone by mornin’.”

*

Janie started lessons for the Rickshaw children. The schoolhouse was far from finished, but some could call it inhabitable, and at least the roof was fixed so the monsoon-like rains that drove through Mississippi wouldn’t crash over the children’s heads. During summer, parents usually liked the young kids to stay close and help with the harvests and chores. But Janie, with Betty and Esther Brown’s assistance, rallied to get as many children as possible under the roof of the schoolhouse.  

Janie had also started going to church again. She took pleasure in going, and even more in throwing her voice into the round, swelling songs that so joyfully lifted up to God. To her surprise, Emmett Freeman had started leading the sermons.

One day after church, he stopped Janie.

“Miss Janie, a word,” he said, beckoning her over. People were filing out of small wooden building in a sea of color. A few children greeted her shyly, clutching the hands of smiling parents.  

Emmett wore a crisp gray suit. He was leading a small, dark young boy by the shoulder.

“My nephew,” he explained.

“Hi,” Janie smiled. She didn’t recognize the child; he wasn’t among her tiny lessons group. “What’s your name, sugar?”

“Curtis,” the boy said, so quietly she had to strain to hear it. “Curtis Jones.” He looked maybe about eight or nine. Giant eyes blinked up at her.

“Nice to meet you, Curtis. Mr. Freeman- what did you wanna talk about?”

Emmett led his nephew along with Janie on a small walk away from the buzzing crowd. “A couple things, Miss Janie. For starters- your voice. It’s ethereal.”

Janie blushed. From her few interactions with Emmett she discerned that he was prone to giving compliments, but they never came flirtatiously. But she still didn’t know if she liked him.

“Thank you, Mr. Freeman. I enjoyed your sermon. You quoted DuBois?”

“I did,” Emmett nodded, pleased that she’d recognized it. He hooded his green eyes against the sun until they took shade near a magnolia tree. “I also want to ask you about the schoolhouse. I hear you’re giving lessons.”

Janie nodded. “Will Curtis be attending?” she asked, smiling at the little boy.  

Emmett waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “The boy is staying with me. I prefer to school him myself. No offense.”

“None taken,” Janie said easily. “The lessons are going well. Mostly getting the young ones comfortable with reading again. Doing sums with the older ones.”

She hesitated. “It doesn’t look promising, Mr. Freeman. They’re miles behind.”

The idea didn’t seem to bother the mixed-race man; he shrugged. “I figured.”

“You have a lot of dreams for this place,” Janie continued, choosing her words carefully. “But we’ve got a long way to go. You don’t think it’s too late?”

Emmett had told Janie of his goal: get at least half the older children to college within three years. Janie wondered if it were possible.

“Never too late,” Emmett said firmly. “Look at little Curtis.” He gestured to the child, who flushed and stared at his feet. “Economically, he’s no better off than any of these children. But he’s got brains. More than you or me, I’d wager. They all do. They just need someone to bring it out of them.”

Janie had never heard anyone talk about education the way Emmett did. He never ceased to surprise her. They looked out at the churchyard, teeming with the chatter of adults and the barely-restrained shrieks of playing children. Janie could envision her younger self among them, many years ago, her hair straining from its braids, playing tag and flip-bucket and double dutch. She’d never had anyone give much of a damn about her education. The few years she’d spent in New Orleans, and then the following years in Rickshaw, she’d gotten educated in spite of those so-called teachers, who thought knowledge could only be imprinted through force.

Emmett patted Curtis’s shoulder gently, pulling her from her thoughts. “Show Miss Janie what we learned this morning.”

The little boy inhaled nervously. But finding some strength from within, he threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin, clasping both hands in front of him. In a low, strong voice he recited:

The bones they took and placed in a golden urn,

covering them over with soft purple robes,

and quickly laid the urn in a hollow grave,

and covered it over with great close-set stones.

Then with speed heaped they the mound,

and round about were watchers set on every side,

lest the well-greaved Achaeans should set upon them before the time.

And when they had piled the barrow they went back,

and gathering together duly feasted a glorious feast in the palace of Priam,

the king fostered of Zeus.

And so it was the Trojans buried Hector, Breaker of Horses.

A silence hung on the end of the  verse. “That was very nice, Curtis,” Janie said, stunned. She turned to Emmett. “Was that Homer?”

Emmett nodded proudly. He patted the boy’s shoulder. “It was. He’s memorized the entire Iliad. We just finished up this morning.”

Janie looked again at the little boy, so small in his church clothes. Something nagged at her. It was one thing to educate a child for the world. Training one to parrot off ancient verse for entertainment, was quite another. What were Emmett’s intentions?

As if reading her thoughts, Emmett said, “He’s been doing geometry and algebra. He plays two instruments, working on a third. The boy is now almost fluent in French and German, and he’s a star in Latin. With only a year of schooling. He’s a prodigy, Miss Janie. Do you know where I found him, when I first came here?”

“No,” admitted Janie.

“Sleeping on a straw pallet in the Croups’ kitchen,” said Emmett. “His mother died of pneumonia last year. She was the cook.”

“Jesus God.”

“You see, Janie, the importance of our mission?”

“I do,” Janie said quietly. Little Curtis’ gaze fixed on something in the distance; he shuffled in his shoes. He appeared no different from an ordinary child.

“Well, we better get going,” said Emmett. “Places to be. Things to do.”

“Hope to see you soon, Mr. Freeman,” Janie said, meaning it.

Emmett nodded. Then he frowned at something behind her. “Is that Burke, waiting on that hill?”

Janie’s face flamed.

“Er- yes. He asked to wait for me after church.”

Emmett glanced at Janie from the tail of his eye. “I hope you’re not doing anything improper, Miss Janie.”

She cleared her throat, surprised at the sudden coldness in his voice. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean. It’s too dangerous- think what would happen to the children if something happened to you?”

“You’re right,” Janie murmured, ashamed.

“Besides, I won’t have a teacher of ours playing whore for a white man. Burke’s a fine man, make no mistake, but he’s not one of us.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Emmett’s look silenced her. “Do you follow? We hired you to raise this town up, not drag it back fifty years.”

Janie flushed with irritation- and guilt. “Yes, Mr. Freeman.”

“Good. As long as we understand each other.”

“Message received, Sir,” Janie said tightly.

“Wonderful,” he fizzed, suddenly all smiles. “Have a good day, Janie.” With a flourish Emmett Freeman strode away, his little prodigy trailing behind him.

***

“You got a bee in your bonnet,” Burke observed.

“I don’t,” Janie lied. She was, in fact, furious. It would be a long time before she let another pompous windbag like Emmett Freeman lecture her about betraying the Negro Race! The hypocrisy of it all! Wasn’t his mother a black woman? Hadn’t his money come from the patronage of white relatives?

Think realistically, she admonished herself. He’s right. Whatever you have between you and Burke is dangerous.

“Why did you want to meet anyway?” she asked Burke. They were walking a cautious distance apart, down Carey Street. The shops were closed for the Sunday, and the street mostly deserted, but for a few white folks drifting here and there, on their way to better places.

“Wanted to show you somethin’,” Burke grunted.

He led them past Carey Street into a pasture, and then over the pasture fence- Janie’s skirt catching, then tearing- and into a copse of forest. The Blue Forest.

It was a sunny day, the air swollen with heat, one of these days where sound seemed to erupt from every nook and corner. The chatter of the river made an endless chorus, though they as yet could not see it.

“Burke,” Janie said in exasperation. They’d been walking nearly half an hour. Her church dress was sticky with sweat. “Where the hell are we goin’?”

“You’ll see,” Burke said. He held up branches for her to duck under, and helped her over fallen logs. They walked on no path Janie could see, but tumbled through thorn and thicket wherever Burke directed.

As they walked Janie’s apprehension grew. The trees thinned out. They stopped finally at a break in the riverbank, where the water kissed gently on the shore and pulled up smooth white stones from the deep. Here the river seemed to breathe, and all else but the wind in the trees, and the sonorous waves, was quiet.

Burke let Janie look around. Recognition flashed in her eyes, but it came from a distant place.

“You know it?” He said softly. “You remember?”

“I don’t-” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I used to come here, when I was a girl, I think.” She picked up one of the white stones. An old instinct made her whip it over the surface of the water.

“We met,” Burke told her. “One day, when you came here. It- it was me, with the two other boys. Francis, my cousin, and Jacob. You were singing, and we surprised you.”

Janie stared at him. “What?”

Burke took a deep breath. “I asked your name- remember? Afterwards I kept askin’ ‘round for a Marie, but no one could tell me. Looked for you everywhere after that.”

Burke’s expression was flat, his deceivingly-sleepy eyes faraway. Janie didn’t know how to feel. It had been him. The boy who had set her free. Who had kissed her so passionately and suddenly, and sent her off with a warning. Oh, she had remembered everything but his face. And the faces of the two other boys. It was the kiss that she’d wanted to keep. The memory of another man- the memory of her own passions. But even then over time it became unpleasant- a reminder of Rickshaw, and of her own powerlessness. She’d pushed it away for good. She hadn’t told a soul. And then, as memory covered it over with cobwebs and dust, she wondered if she’d dreamed up the whole thing.

“I lied,” she said finally. “Marie is- was- my mother’s name.”

“I know. I figured,” Burke said, “When I saw your cigarette case.”

“What would you have done?” Janie asked. It was important she know, for some reason. “What would you have done, if you’d found me?”

Burke shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He stood there like a tree, unmoving. She wanted him to react. She wanted to demand why he had led her here and dug up that kind of memory. What did he want from her? Was he trying to lay some claim on her body, based on a forbidden moment they’d shared years ago?

With a sinking feeling, Janie came to grips with what she’d been pushing away. They came from different worlds. So what if he’d found her again, all those years ago, looking for another kiss? It wouldn’t have worked out then. Just like it wouldn’t work out now.

“Come here, Janie,” he said.

She stayed where she was.

“Janie.”

“No, Burke,” she said. She looked sad. “For whatever you’re tryin’ to do, it’s useless. I can’t be your wife, and I won’t be your whore. It only ends one way, can’t you see? And the past is past. I wish it would stay that way.”

“I’m not tryin’ to make you do a thing more than you want to do,” Burke replied, his voice controlled. His arms folded across his chest defensively. She could tell this wasn’t going how he’d intended.

“I want to go home,” she said. “I wish...I almost wish you hadn’t showed me this. It’s better to forget.”

“I thought you should know,” he said. Something was brewing inside him, she could tell. He wanted to say more. Did he think she was being unreasonable? “Otherwise I’d be dishonest with you. I didn’t want that.”

He hadn’t expected anything from her, truly. Whether she believed him or not was up to her. Maybe he had wanted to show her, to confirm that that brief moment in his young life, one he had instigated out of sheer impulse and bravado, had meant something to her as well.

But Janie’s eyes were troubled. “Well, now I know,” she told him. Emmett was right. This could never be.  “So take me home, Burke.”

They trekked back in stony silence. Burke was cool when he dropped her off on the schoolhouse steps.

“I understand,” he said. There wasn’t a note of aggression in his voice. Only, perhaps- disappointment?

“You’re right, Janie. I’ve been selfish with you. You don’t owe anythin’ to me.”

“I’m sorry, Burke.”

“We can forget about it. It’s alright.”

“Alright.”

He nodded. Then he jammed his hat on and strode away.

***

“We can’t see each other anymore,” said Evelyn Bricassart. Her voice, usually so light and airy, always faltered around him. Perhaps she could tell that despite his carnal desire for her he held her in the highest contempt. A contempt that was not undeserved. Beneath the frills and elegance she was a sadistic, brutish sort of person. Subtlety and prudence were not her strengths. Empathy eluded her completely. She was not stupid, merely careless, self-centered, cruel- as all women of her ilk were. But even if she could read his thoughts, his hatred seemed only to spur her desire for him. As it did his, for her.

The man stared at Evelyn now, absorbing this new revelation with only a small flicker of annoyance. This was not the first time Evelyn had made such a proclamation. “Why not?”

“If my husband finds out…”

“He won’t. You won’t tell him.”

“Burke knows.”

The man rolled his eyes to the sky, as if praying for patience. “Mary and goddamned Joseph.”

“It’s not my fault!” She screeched, forgetting herself. His furious gaze cowed her. They were in their usual spot, away from the town, away from people. In the Blue Forest the rules were bent and twisted. But even here the fear remained, and voices tended to carry.

“I know you wouldn’t be so stupid,” the man said. “But for God’s sake, woman.”

She slithered up against him; his fingers glided naturally up her skirt. In the dark she could have been any woman, or any creature. She moaned against his throat.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to stop.”

“What if they find out?”

“Don’t let them, darling,” she gasped. His fingers worked harder inside her; arousal shooting through him like molten fire in his veins. She was wetter than he would have believed.

“Hypocrite,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’ll kill me, one of these days.”

Chapter 3

The Message

“Burke! Burke!”

The knock on the door came loud and insistent. It jerked Burke from his dreams like a fishhook.

Burke’s house was little more than a cabin, nestled at the base of a small mountain which fed the hot sulfur springs. The knocking practically shook the house; Burke was up and out the door in seconds.

The moon cast a shadow on the dark, drawn face of Jeremiah Green. It was a pale and weak moon, for dawn was coming.

“What’s happened? What’s all the commotion?”

“Woah, woah!” Jeremiah said. At the sight of Burke’s tense expression he seemed to calm himself down. “Sorry to wake ya. But some of us is scared. We’re callin’ an emergency meetin’. Look what showed up on our doors.”

He pulled a flyer out of his pocket and handed it to Burke. Burke handed it right back. “I can’t read that. What’s it say?”

The drawing at the bottom was clear enough, though the words were not. Someone had painted a Sambo child under the writing. Exaggerated red lips stretched in a grotesque smile. The rest of the caricature vanished in the mouth of a crudely-drawn alligator labeled KKK.

Slowly, pressing his finger under each word, Jeremiah read aloud:

NEGROES BEWARE!

Rickshaw will NOT SUBMIT to integration. Whites and Negroes will be kept separate in accordance with Jim Crow Laws. Race Traitors will leave Rickshaw. A curfew for all Negroes, Indians, Jews and Catholics, begins immediately. Walk around after dark at your peril.

Report all discussions of Communism, Social Equality and Negro Advancement to Post Office Box 81, Rickshaw MS.

THE KU KLUX KLAN IS WATCHING.

Jeremiah crumpled the paper in disgust. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it wit’ my own two eyes.”

Burke shook his head, as if clearing his hearing.

“They ain’t serious,” he told Jeremiah. “They wouldn’t dare. A curfew?”

“You think they don’t mean it?” the black man exhaled sharply. “You ain’t got sense to fill a thimble if you think these sons of bitches won’t do it. You saw it comin’, Burke, don’t tell me you didn’t.”

Burke couldn’t deny it. He shook his head. “This is real bad, Jeremiah.”

The other man lowered his voice, though he and Burke had to be the only souls around. “You ain’t heard nothin’ about this?”

“Aw, come in you bastard. You givin’ me goosebumps standin’ there.”

The black man ducked inside; the door banged to.

“Can’t stay long. There’s a little meetin’ early-early, and the  wife’s scared to pieces with me goin’ out to tell you. You should come. We’re holdin’ it in the church. Just four of us.”

“Naw, it ain’t my place. Handle your business, I’ll hold up my end of it.”

“So you really  heard nothin’?”

“Nope. They don’t let me in on stuff no more. Not even Francis. They don’t trust me, not since I started workin’ on the school.”

Jeremiah’s eyes slid curiously over the spare apartment. “I heard rumors ‘bout you and Miss Janie.”

“False,” Burke said quickly. Memories of their last interaction surfaced. He pushed them away. “We keep it respectful. I like the gal, don’t get me wrong.  But I ain’t stupid. ”

“Just be careful, now,” said Jeremiah. He squeezed his hat so tightly Burke feared it might rip in half. His mouth twisted wryly. “Guess that means we can’t come ‘round no more for the springs, huh?”

“We’ll see about that,” said Burke.

“I don’t mean to say we ain’t gonna fight back,” said Jeremiah. “We’re about tired of livin’ with this bullshit.”

“I know,” Burke agreed. “You’ve got a friend in me. All of you. Whatever y’all need.”

“Some still won’t trust you,” Jeremiah said. “You can’t blame ‘em. But I know who you are, Burke. I know you got your reasons. I trust you.”

“Don’t go out yet,” Burke urged. “I can put some coffee on.”

“Naw, I gotta scramble like eggs and get home. The meetin’ is soon.”

“Then I’ll walk you there.”

Burke shouldered his father’s rifle, and the two men set out together.

***

Janie had received not one, but three of the posters at the schoolhouse. One slid under her door. The other nailed to the frame. And the third crumpled up and tossed through a window. In fact, it was the smashing of the new glass pane that Burke himself had installed that woke Janie up. Grating laughter followed the sound. She lay in bed, terrified. At any moment the men, whoever they were, could break through the door and she couldn’t do a thing to stop them.

But they left.

Two black men came by later that morning to check on her. Janie nearly sobbed in relief to see a friendly face.  She untied her hair and threw on an old shawl, insisting on accompanying them back home. Being left alone after her fright was intolerable. Yet the men were adamant.

“Dark times, Miss Janie,” said Wendel Brown. He was Esther’s husband, a portly, genial man in his fifties. “You better just set right here until it’s day. One of the womenfolk will come for you.”

Then they left her. Alone. She sat miserably upstairs, watching the dawn roll churlishly into a gray and gloomy sky. The clouds choked the first rays of sunlight. And it began to rain.

Burke came a couple hours later. He was soaking wet. He thumped hard on the door until Janie cracked it open.

“It's me,” he grunted.

“ Jesus! Burke?” She fought the urge to fling herself into his arms.

“Let me in, let me in,” He stamped inside and shook out his shaggy hair, droplets flying all over the blackboard. In the dim light he filled the room like a dripping wet bear. He stacked the old rifle in the corner and sat on one of the benches to pull off his shoes.

Janie hurried to put on some coffee.

“You must be outta your mind.” She fluttered back to help him with his boots. “They sent out these papers-”

“I know,” Burke sighed. “I saw ‘em.”  He eyed her wide, slightly frantic expression. She’d wrapped the shawl tightly around her shoulders. Dark crescents dug pockets under her eyes, and the lines on her face were pronounced. She had barely slept.

“I owe you an apology,” he said at once.

“What?”

“Puttin’ you in danger. It was wrong of me.”

She sat on a bench across from him. The rain was driving outside, pouring in through the smashed window.

God damn it. That thing was eight damn dollars.

“It’s alright.” said Janie.

“Are you alright?”

Janie laughed bitterly. “Well, I ain’t hurt and I’m breathin’.”

Burke nodded. “You read the poster.”

“Yeah. They left me three of ‘em. Burke- I think they know about what happened. They seen us together, somehow…”

“Impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“All they got is suspicions, Janie.”

“Suspicions was enough to hang Samuel.”

He couldn’t dispute that.

“I just wonder, Janie- why now , of all times. What’s makin’ ‘em so jumpy?”

She shook her head. “You tell me.”

Janie spooned out the coffee. She took hers with a lot of sugar, Burke with none. Betty had loaned her two chipped China mugs, which she served between the two of them now.

“Someone- something, is  upsettin’ ‘em,” Burke pronounced.

“I don’t doubt it,” she replied, blowing on her coffee. “And it can’t be a thing so small as what’s goin’ on with us.”

“I don't doubt that.”

“It’s gotta be somethin’ bigger.”

Burke shrugged. “I ain’t in a place to find out anymore. I wish I knew.”

They sat in silence for a minute, drinking the coffee. The rain picked up. In the distance thunder rumbled.

“By God,” said Burke, looking up at the ceiling. He’d fixed the roof just days before. “This might be a big one.”

“Oh, please don’t say it,” she sighed. The last time it had rained like that in Rickshaw, the schoolhouse flooded.

“I meant to dig you a drain,” said Burke. “Whatever fool built this place has it right in the creek’s path. The darn thing cuts right through here, practically.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Janie said. “And you’ll catch your death in that. Better you stay here and wait it out.”

Burke downed the rest of his coffee. A mischievous glint flickered behind his eyes. Janie caught it, and was immediately suspicious.

“What?”

“You don’t have a slicker, do you?”

“Of course not. Don’t even think about it, Burke. You can’t pay me to go out there.”

“My house is ‘bout a half mile from here.”

“Naw! It’s a dead mile. You can’t fool me. And I ain’t walkin’ through them woods, with the Creek ready to bust any minute.”

Burke grinned. “Alright, alright. I guess we’ll just have to keep entertained in here.”

Janie glanced out the window. It really was coming in fast! She smiled.

“Alright. What you got in mind?”

His eyes roved over the corners of the schoolhouse. It had come a long way since Janie first arrived. He dropped his gaze to her. The anxiety in her brown eyes had softened. Maybe it was the coffee, but she looked brighter- happier. And of course, very beautiful.

“I got a few things in mind,” he said softly.

She got up and took the mug away from him, setting his on the windowsill next to hers. She stared out at the sky thoughtfully.

“When Mama used to bring me here, when I was real little, and the rain came down like this, we’d strip buck-naked and go dancin’ right through it. Nearly drove my Aunt Sarah to fits, when she found out.”

“I used to do the same,” said Burke. The memory made him smile. “You ever wish you coulda maybe stayed a child?”

“Naw,” said Janie, shaking her head. “I like bein’ grown, you know? I like knowin’ things like I do now. But I guess…” The rain made pools in the grass outside. The trees of the Blue Forest were wet and shiny, shivering from the force of the water. Lightning broke in the distance, and thunder chased it away.

She turned back to Burke. “Sometimes I guess I miss the freedom, is all.”

He stood up and went to her, trapping her body between his chest and the windowsill. She leaned back in his arms. He felt the unspoken words between them. At any moment she would pull away, say they shouldn’t touch, that he should leave…

But Janie only leaned back against him and closed her eyes. Tall as she was, the top of her head still tucked perfectly under his chin. She smelled a lot like sweetgrass.

“What d’you wanna to do with your life, Burke?” She murmured. “You’re a big old mystery.”

“I dunno. Stay in Rickshaw, I reckon. I’ve got land here- good land. It’s worth a pretty penny if I feel to sell it.”

“Would you sell it?”

“Don’t have a reason to. I kinda like it here. It ain’t so bad.  I wouldn’t do so well in the cities.”

“Well, it’s different for you, I guess,” sighed Janie. Black people in this town didn’t have the privilege of liking it. Rickshaw was no better than a prison for them. It definitely was, for her.

“I told you my Ma had the french in her,” he said. “I used to go down to New Orleans a couple summers. Then deep into Cajun country. It warn’t so bad. But I missed it here.”

“Mmm,” said Janie. “I was the opposite. When I came to live with my aunt, all I wanted was to be back in the city. ”

“Well, what do you want now?” he asked.

“With my life? Aw, I don’t know. I wanted to be a singer, when I was younger. Like Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith. Gettin’ it good in New Orleans. Tourin’ everywhere...”

“Really?” Burke pulled back a little to look down at her.

“Don’t look so surprised!” laughed Janie. “I only look shy. I used to do some singin’, now and then, when I stayed with Mama. And then at Xavier, on weekends-” She stopped, blushing.

“On weekends what?” Burke laughed.

“On weekends I’d go to the blues houses and sing outside for pennies.”

He stared at her, fighting back more laughter. He couldn’t imagine Janie, so prim and proper, doing anything of the sort.  “Well. You sure are a passel of surprises.”

She shrugged, grinning. “Hey Burke, there’s a lot you don’t know ‘bout me.”

The rain eased up. Janie turned around suddenly in his arms and kissed his lips. Burke grinned against her mouth and seized her suddenly, squatting down and throwing her over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Janie squeaked.

He patted her on the rump. “Let’s go outside.”

“You crazy?!” She thumped his back. “Put me down!”

The rain had lessened only slightly, but it soaked the both of them in seconds. Burke dumped Janie in the grass; she was on him like a vengeful cat. He danced away from her, roaring with laughter. Janie hiked up her nightdress and chased after him.

“You- child!” She sputtered. She had started laughing too, somehow, and it made her chest hurt. She caught up with him and jumped on his back, grabbing handfuls of his hair. They tumbled down together, two balls of mud and grass and water.

Someone might see you! That irritatingly-rational voice screamed. Janie pushed it away. Just let me be happy. I’m happy!

Burke pinned Janie under him. There was grass in her hair and her mouth. Water soaked through her nightdress, fresh warm rainwater. Her nipples thrust up through the cheap cotton. He could see the outline of her areolas, dark as blackberries and, he knew, twice as delicious.

Rivulets of water ran over her round nose and full lips. They gathered on her eyelashes like dewdrops.

“Miss prim and proper,” Burke murmured, kissing her lips. “Getting tumbled in the grass. What would Emmett Freeman think?”

Janie snorted with laughter and tried to playfully slap him; he caught her wrist.

“Let’s go inside,” he said against the soft skin of her palm.

“We better. We’ll probably be sick.”

He lifted her under her hips and carried her back indoors.

“Jesus it's freezing,” said Janie. Her hair fell in black slick ringlets, and the dress made a puddle on the floor. She hugged herself.

“We can’t light the stove in August,” laughed Burke. The coals from Janie’s pot of coffee still glowed; he moved her to stand in front of it.

“Ain’t you cold?” she chattered. “That’s twice now you been soaked.”

He began to strip off his clothes. Janie jumped. “Burke!”

“Can’t pick and choose when to flaunt the rules of polite society,” he retorted. “Besides, it’s faster to warm up this way. Nothin’ you ain’t seen already.”

Defiantly, she peeled off the nightdress and stacked her soaking wet shoes near the coals. She left only her drawers on.

“I want to bathe in them springs one day,” she sighed, rubbing her arms.

“You can,” said Burke. “You know I’d let you.”

He would, too. He could think of several ways they’d be entertained in the steaming baths- and in his bed, afterwards.

“So you really just let the bricklayers come through the springs  like that? And you ain’t catch hell for it?”

“Aw, I keep it real private.”

He put his hands on his waist and threw his head back. Water raced down his naked body. She fought an urge to giggle.

“Only been doin’ it a few months, anyway. And no one comes through my land without my knowledge. I’d shoot ‘em.”

Janie blinked. He looked very serious.

“Er- really?”

“Yep.”

They dried off that way, laying out their clothes in front of the fire that Janie brought to life again. Then they sat and talked. She learned more about his childhood- following the footsteps of Renoir Giraud, his bull of a father. He learned more about her early days in New Orleans. Burke left an hour later, when the rain abated.

“Janie,” he said, before he did. “I want to see you again. Like this. I know it’s dangerous. But I don’t care.”

“Burke-”

“Just say yes.”

His eyes shone with currents of silver and blue. They were gentle. She rarely saw him express anything, unless in laughter.

“Yes. Yes.”

He took her face in both his hands and kissed her. Her lips were soft and willing; her almost naked body pliant against his.

“Be careful.”

“I know,” she whispered.

She watched him leave, his head ducked against the rain. Janie found herself smiling. She already missed him. Her skin burned where his hands had touched her. She’d been naked but it hadn’t been like before; it was innocent.  He touched her as if she might dissolve to nothing in his hands, as if he wanted to hold her there- but not too tightly.

Janie felt the stirrings of something deep in her breast. Resolve crept into her heart. She wasn’t hurting anybody by seeing Burke. Emmett Freeman be hanged. Love was love, wasn’t it?  No one could know. No one would find out- and if they did, Burke wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

“Be smart, Janie,” she muttered to herself.

She’d never been with a man. She’d never been in love. Truthfully she’d never thought it possible. But now Janie knew maybe, just maybe, she could. Something great was entering her life. She didn’t want to let it go. Not yet. Not yet.

The KKK poster was still crumpled on the floor. She stamped over to it and pushed it in the heart of the coals. It yellowed and crumpled and burned.

Good, she thought viciously. I live by my own rules.

***

The meeting was called to order. A fire burned at the center of the circle, sending sparks whizzing into the warm air. A quaint touch, thought Francis Croup. Certainly showy. The older members made a lot of noise about the symbolism of fire, and its cleansing power. These men were invested in the mystical aspect of the Klan, and liked to spout platitudes about their Orders from God and their Sacred Duty. Francis found this talk entertaining, but he preferred to think along scientific lines.

Most of the men in the Rickshaw Klan were his intellectual inferiors, but that didn’t bother Francis. A wise man knew that stupidity in others was not a thing to be feared. Stupidity was pliable.

This was precisely why he’d grown to dislike his cousin so much, Francis reflected. Burke couldn’t read, of course. But he had a brain like a thirsty sponge, and a sharp tongue to match it. If not for his maddening attachment to negroes, he might have proved useful to Francis in other ways. It really was a shame.

“All rise,” said Ernest Masters, Grand Dragon of their order. The flame made his red hood glow like a coal.

They rose in the circle. Masters said a prayer- the usual ritual. Then they sat down to discuss.

“Our mission was successful,” Masters began. He was originally from Maryland, his accent with a touch of the Yankee.

“But the fight is far from over, gentlemen. I’ve received three letters already in the post box, reporting suspicious activity. They help us with our next steps.”

“Hear, hear,” someone grunted.

“The chapter in Jackson is also pleased with our progress, Grand Dragon Stephenson tells me, and look forward to seeing the results. ”

He looked around.  “Rickshaw is but a drop in the bucket, you understand. But our mission is ever important. We’ve seen a fearsome increase in the Negro population- in Rickshaw alone they outnumber us. And with that communist Emmett Freeman in town, I expect another insurgence. Getting rid of the teacher wasn’t enough. We need to nip this in the bud.”

Masters gestured to Cooper, his right-hand man. Joel began handing out small packages to each member. They contained a pamphlet, and a small description of each individual’s assignment.

“We won’t get rid of those creatures by sittin’ on our laurels,” Masters declared. He thumped his thighs in emphasis. “Each one of you men has a part to play. Direct enforcement. Direct action. Violence. It’s the only way.”

The company, and Francis, agreed.

***

Janie sank into the hot springs, her muscles easing as the warmth enveloped her whole body. Up this close she found the old-eggs smell didn’t bother her at all. And the heat soothed her chest, which had been hurting ever since she and Burke’s little dalliance in the rain. It was for that reason precisely that Burke had recommended the springs; they had healing properties, he said.

Sunlight shimmered over the color-struck surface, running in bright rivulets down Janie’s limbs when she raised them up for inspection. Her hair hung in a loose cloud around the nape of her neck. She longed to put it up, with all the heat.

Night was gathering in the tops of the trees. As Janie could tell, night didn’t fall, it rose; the blue and mauve shadows creeping ever-upward to the roof of the sky. She’d be staying with Burke tonight. The path between Burke’s house and the schoolhouse where Janie stayed was private and quiet. But Janie didn’t feel like walking back. She’d rather stay in the forest, in the privacy of Burke’s cabin, where they forgot the world and only had each other.

The fear never truly left Janie, because as long as she kept seeing Burke she was at risk.

But Janie soon realized that, with the school out for the summer, and outside of her weekly lessons with whatever children did show up, she had plenty free time to do what she wanted. The summer proceeded undisturbed.

They hadn’t slept together, though Janie had spent more than one night wrapped in his arms. He kissed her, he made love to her generous breasts; sometimes he even reached a hand up her nightdress and plied her warm softness until she was wet and begging for release. But Burke always seemed to want to stop before they could commit the final act. He’d kiss her and love on her all night if she let him, but her virginity remained stubbornly intact.

More than once Janie had been tempted to put both hands on his trousers, to take his hard length out and guide it to the place she knew he very desperately wanted but was unwilling-yet- to claim. He worked her up to such levels that she thought she might die if she couldn’t feel him inside her, to consummate their relationship with the most intimate act in the world.

But she hadn’t. Around Burke, and especially in his wide four-poster bed she felt shy and bold in turns.

Right now the man in question was somewhere on the property. His dog Kojack reclined by a fountain of water coming from the rock face. Janie was surprised to learn Burke had a dog. She generally was not fond of them. But Kojack, a grizzled little mutt, was so calm she’d grown to like him.

Dusky shadows veiled the forest. Kojack began to bark. Janie looked up and around the property. It would be dark soon; she wondered what Burke was up to.

A sudden chill crawled up the back of her neck. The dog eyed the forest line, a low growl churning in his throat. Janie didn’t need another sign. Following her intuition, she raised herself quietly out of the spring and reached for Burke’s towel.

They were white men. She recognized only one: Francis Croup.

Get to your clothes, Janie thought. She cursed her stupidity. That’s what happens when you get careless!

She’d really thought that no one would come through Burke’s property unwelcomed or unannounced. And until now, no one had! After all, apart from his steady friendships with bricklayers like Jeremiah, and his association with Emmett Freeman, Burke hardly spoke to anyone in Rickshaw but her. She never saw him with any of the white men in the town.

Janie shrugged into a basic shift dress- one Burke had actually bought for her- and crept round the side of the house. She was barefoot. Kojack followed her quietly. She prayed he wouldn’t bark or growl.

Janie wasn’t fast enough. One man turned his head and saw her. He looked her right in the eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, he looked away. Her heart slamming, Janie fled into the shadows.

The four men rapped smartly on Burke’s door. Burke opened it. He’d been inside cleaning his guns; he still held his father’s rifle.

At the sight of his cousin and the three companions, Burke started. His eyes flung swiftly around the property, looking for Janie. Had they seen her?

“Burke,” said his cousin, misinterpreting his expression. “We’re just payin’ a visit.”

“Huh,” grunted Burke. Janie, tell me they didn’t see.

“Who are you?” He asked the three other men. They looked like just the type Francis liked to keep around: dumb, simian-like. Thugs.

They introduced themselves as Jeb, Tuck and Joseph; by the time they got to “Joseph” Burke had already forgotten who was who.

“What d’you want, Francis?”

“Just to see my cousin.” Francis’s smile was oily. “You saw our work the other day?”

“Those posters? The curfew? Yeah. I saw it.” In the past Burke’s icy gray glare would have made his cousin balk. But Francis had gotten bolder.

“I suppose it didn’t fit with your ideas about the world,” he said.

Burke saw the bait. “You can think what you want, Francis. If you came here to set and talk about that, you better save your breath and leave.”

“Oh, we warn’t staying long,” said Jeb, or maybe Tuck, with a toothy grin. He spat a knot of tobacco over the side of Burke’s porch. “We’re on patrol.”

“Patrol?”

“Yes,” Francis said.  “We got a report of some things happenin’ in here. Negroes runnin’ through, treatin’ the forest like their highway. Extramarital affairs. Black men takin’ white women here to fornicate. And even,” He said, his bright eyes boring into Burke’s, “The other way around.”

Burke drew himself up to his full height. He fingered the barrel of the old rifle. “I don’t know nothin’ but what goes down on my own property, Francis Croup.”

“And what would that be?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Careful, cousin,” said Francis softly.

“Leave. Now.”

“Tell your nigger gal to watch herself,” spat Joseph.

“I’m gonna give you all two minutes to get the hell off my land before I start shootin’,” Burke said. “Startin’ now.”

“I’m tryin’ to protect you, Burke,” Francis hissed.

“Why don’t you mind what your wife is up to before you come pokin’ that nose into what don’t concern you. Got a snout like a damn fuckin’ raccoon, you delinquent bastard.”

“Evelyn? What the hell d’you mean?” Francis moved threateningly toward the bigger man; one of the thugs put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“One,” said Burke.

“You’re a marked man.”

“Two,” said Burke. He lifted his rifle.

The men departed. Burke watched them scurry away. Only one had been armed, but it would be different next time. He felt it.

Like it or not, Rickshaw was changing. The strained peace that had existed between the white and black citizens- if you could ever call it peace, really- had finally shattered. It began with the rise of that cult, the Ku Klux Klan. Nutcases, every one of them. Dangerous nutcases.

Burke had seen his cousin get sucked into the white-power mania. It hadn’t taken much. White folks in this town already hated black people, Francis no exception, and now they had a perfect channel for it. What really got Burke was that many of the members were ministers and preachers. In addition to their racist propaganda they demanded a return to “traditional” family values. A corrupt version of Christianity used to justify the lynchings, rapes and floggings.

Burke had even heard stories of couples- white couples!- being dragged from their cars and flogged in Jackson. They’d beaten an old alcoholic man to death in Georgia. They strung up a Catholic teacher in Arkansas. And Burke watched the seeds of this poison spread to Rickshaw. A town whose black population was already preparing to take flight to those northern cities- Detroit, Chicago, Syracuse, Cleveland. The white men and women were all too happy to give them some more incentive.

As Francis and his goons left to continue their patrol, Burke looked around for Janie again. He called her name softly.

She slid out of the shadows quiet as an owl. Janie could make anything look good, he’d discovered. She once told him that growing up she’d been teased for being so tall and leggy. Well, as a woman it definitely worked in her favor. Burke liked a woman that could look him in the eye- and Janie’s height only added to her beauty.

“I’m here,” she said.

“You alright? Did they see you?”

“Naw- I got out before they did.”

The dress was wet, clinging to her body. She hadn’t dried off; she’d probably pulled the damn thing on and bolted from the spring.

“Come inside, woman.”

She pulled off the wet dress and dried off with the towel. Burk handed her one of his shirts.

“What did they want? I couldn’t hear all of it.”

“Dunno,” said Burke. “I think just the usual. They want to make threats. Make sure I’m not gonna disrupt their plans.”

“Oh.”

He eyed her. “They know about you. Or, they suspect, anyway.”

Janie looked at him nervously. She remembered the man who had seen her leaving the spring. “No one’s seen me comin’ or goin’, Burke. I make sure of that. And we haven’t even been ‘round each other in public much.”

“I know,” he sighed. He had an urge to pull her into his arms, so he did. She nestled the top of her head in the groove of his neck. Janie smelled faintly like the spring, but her hair had a scent of its own, too. Sweet and heavy.

“Listen, Janie,” he said. “If you wanna back out of this-?”

She breathed deeply. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Don’t,” she said fiercely. “Don’t even say it. Don’t speak it into bein’.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he said softly.

She sat down on his bed, the dress riding tantalizingly high on her hips. He did the same and pulled her over his lap so she straddled him.

“I’m sure, Burke. We ain’t hurtin’ nobody. And anyway, I don’t plan to stay long in Rickshaw.”

“What d’you mean? I thought you liked teachin’.” He circled his hands lower, cupping her generous backside through the dress.

“Oh, I don’t mind it. I went to school for it, after all. But you know...I ain’t got much time to set around in the backwoods. I got a dream, Burke. Right now I’m just gettin’ my money right. I took this job ‘cause it was the only one I could get where the livin’ was cheap and easy. This ain’t no permanent thing.”

He drew back from her a little. The thought of Janie leaving Rickshaw, just when he’d found her again, felt like a stab to the gut. But she was right- she had a dream. She had to go after it, and he couldn’t hold her back.

“You shoulda stayed in New Orleans,” he told her. “Money or no. You’da found a way to make it work.”

“I know that...I know that now. Comin’ back here was a mistake.”

“So what are you gonna do about it, Miss Janie?” Burke asked.

She shrugged. “Emmett’s right. The children need me here. But I got myself to think about too. I guess I’m just gonna wait it out and see what comes.”

Burk nodded. “You know what I think?”

“Naw, what?”

“I think I’m gonna take you to New Orleans.”

She scanned his face; was he joking?

“You ain’t serious. What you mean?”

“Look, Janie. I ain’t got much brains or schoolin’, but I got a little money. I make it out off yearly rents. Me and Francis are kin; our grandpa owned about thirty acres of land ‘round the county. Our fathers both got a portion, and the land came to us when they died. I sold some of it to buy this piece in the Blue Woods. The rest I rent out to white farmers.”

“I don’t follow,” said Janie. “What’s that gotta do with you, me, and New Orleans?”

“I mean,” said Burke, squeezing her bottom, “I got enough cash to set us up good in New Orleans for a spell. It’s still Summer, right? You got some time b’fore you gotta teach. Why don’t we head on over there and see what you and your singin’ can do?”

Her mouth hung open. “Burke…”

“You gonna ask me if I’m serious. Well, I’m tellin’ you yes. Serious as the dead.”

“I can’t just leave…”

“Why not? You got some attachment to this old town?”

“The children…”

“If Emmett can hire you, he can hire someone else.”

Janie saw that he was serious, behind the cocky smile. She felt his heart beating hard against her breast; despite his bravado, he feared that she’d say no. She thought about it quickly. Burke was right; she had a while before school started. But New Orleans...well. Things might be looser there, where the rules governing white men and negro women were concerned, but that didn’t mean they could shack up in a hotel for a whole month without drawing attention. And what were they gonna do, anyway? Was she going to stand outside clubs, like she’d done in college, singing for her supper?

She voiced as much to Burke, who shook his head. “You don’t understand, Janie. My mama was from New Orleans, too. She’s got family there- I know people, is what I’m sayin’. Maybe we can swing somethin’.”

Janie doubted that a posh New Orleans family would welcome some Mississippi country boy into their midst with open arms. No matter how handsome Burke was. She doubted even more that they’d receive him when he came bearing a young black girl on his arm.

Janie’s resolve hardened at the thought. She could stand to take Burke’s charity, but no one else’s.  “We don’t need your family, Burke. We can make it just fine.”

“So you’re sayin’ yes?”

“I- I guess so,” Janie laughed. “Though I think I’m crazy for it.”

Burke bent his head and kissed her. His mouth was warm, melting against hers. She felt her muscles, so relaxed from her bath in the springs, turn to putty in his arms. Her tongue fluttered against his; he sucked on it, breaking the kiss to touch his lips to the slim plane of her throat. Janie sighed as he lifted her, carrying her through to the wide four-poster bed. She already felt desire budding inside her. She wanted him tonight. She wanted the feeling of his weight on her, of his hands, his lips, his tongue…

He surprised her by lifting the hem of the shirt and moving down the bed to plant kisses on her thigh. When his tongue lapped at her inner moistness, she gasped. He kissed the button of her clitoris, spreading apart her pussy lips to see the gorgeous pink of her inner folds. Janie arched her back under him. His tongue pushed inside her; with rhythmic strokes he began fucking her with it. One hand played with her most sensitive spot, sending pleasure shooting through every nerve and vein in her body. She cried his name; he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Then he was over her, his shoulders blocking out the dim light from the oil lantern. He pulled her on top of him.

Chapter 4

My Fears and Desires

Janie yielded her body to Burke. In the low light the contrast of their skin showed sharply; hers a deep chocolate brown, his a golden tan. His gray eyes shone like lanterns as he swept a palm over her body, touching her smooth skin everywhere. She felt limp and heavy. He kissed her. His lips felt soft, melting against hers, tracing a path down to her throat and breast.

Burke caught a brown nipple in his mouth and suckled. Janie’s breasts were full and glossy, riding high on her chest. He liked a big-breasted woman. She arched her back under him. Her nipples changed their shape, pushing out and swelling against his tongue. His teeth worried at them until she cried out; he brought his lips over hers again, tasting her, silencing her whimpers. Burke took a hand and cupped the fork of her legs. Janie was slick and ready. His fingers slid into her easily, feeling for the barrier of her virginity.

At the same time her hand came to his legs, cupping the length of him. He was struck with a wicked idea.

“Janie,” he said. “Can you do for me- what I did for you? With your mouth?”

Those luxuriant brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and unassuming. “You mean…”

“Yes. I’ll show you.”

She sat up and he peeled off his trousers. His manhood sprung out, hard and thick between them. She touched it gently first, then wound her fingers around it. Burke shuddered. Her lips came down over him, then her mouth, hot, hot, and drenching. He nearly cried out when she took him past her tongue all the way to the back of her throat.

“Janie!” he moaned. Where on earth had she learned that?! But it felt too good; and she kept going anyway, bringing him to the edge of everything. He thought his heart might burst. His hands fisted in her fluffy dark hair, driving his cock deep into her mouth. Her tongue laved at the base of it.

“Your hands,” he choked. “Try- it with your hands.”

Janie obeyed him, wrapping her hands around it to stroke with fingers and tongue. The feeling built inside Burke like an earthquake, shaking the foundations of his self-control. God damn it, the woman was a natural.

He erupted in the sweet heat of her mouth, coating the back of her throat with his seed. Janie gagged, but swallowed every drop of it, releasing his throbbing hardness with a gasp and a sharp intake of breath.

Some of his semen was still on her soft lips; he wiped it away with a finger and fed her the rest.

Janie looked up at Burke, hardly believing she had just done such an act with a man. Arousal surged in her groin. Her eyes met Burke’s.

He pushed her gently on her back then rolled her over. The twin globes of her ass jutted out from the flute of her waist in perfect proportion. Almost instinctively Burke brought the palm of his hand down over it, the other hand holding her to the bed. Janie shrieked and jumped but didn’t move away. The inner muscles of her thighs trembled. Burke slapped her buttocks again, then again, moving up to bite the soft skin of her throat gently. He alternated the harsh spanks with insistent, soft bites at her throat, her ears, laying claim on her with pleasure and pain until her body went soft and flexible under him. The more he did so the wetter she became.

Janie sobbed with pleasure as his hands stopped their assault on her posterior to plump the inner depths of her pussy. Her wetness was the color and texture of smooth cream on Burke’s fingers. He imagine what it would be like to slide his cock in there, take her from behind, feel her hot creaminess on the length of his cock and bring her pleasure that way…

As if reading his mind, Janie cried out for him to take her. “Please, Burke,” she said into the softness of his bed. He laid his whole length over her, his cock nestled in the crevice of her ass-cheeks, a thrust away from claiming her virginity.

“You want me to?” he whispered huskily. “Tell me what you want.”

“Do it to me,” she whispered back. “I can’t stand it anymore. I want to feel you- I wanna feel all of you…”

He placed himself at her entrance. He would enter her from behind. He drew the tip of his cock around the entrance of her, gathering some of her creamy wetness to ease his passage. It would be so easy to thrust into her all at once, feel her shriek of pain turn to pleasure in a moment, to watch her bottom jiggle and push back along the length of his cock. But that would come later. With agonizing slowness he began to enter her, feeling the tight walls of her pussy clench along him, guiding him to a conclusion. Janie gasped and shuddered at his largeness. She was tight- impossibly tight. He was not a small man. He filled her halfway, then stopped.

“Go on,” she moaned.

“Don’t rush,” he told her softly. “This might hurt…”

She urged him on; he made one powerful thrust and broke into her, Janie crying out for a moment in pain, then quickly feeling pleasure overwhelm her at the sensation of Burke so completely wedged inside her. Burke started with slow, powerful strokes. Janie responded with a deep, long cry of contentment. He moved inside her and she felt every inch of his cock pummel at a deep, sensitive spot inside her that ushered her to the edge of everything. Burke’s body was large, warm, slick with his perspiration and hers. The sharp, herbal smell of him mingled with their shuddering breaths to create a perfume in the air that filled Janie’s lungs as she cried and laughed her way to orgasm.

Burke’s arousal came to a head and caught him by surprise. He burst within her with a loud groan, feeling the warm slippery semen fill Janie and spill out around the base of his cock. He withdrew from her. She turned over on her back, her eyes soft at the corners and hazy with the knowledge of what had just happened. His gray ones met her brown. They looked at each other- beyond each other.

Burke’s breath caught. Cum was still beading at the tip of his cock, and dripping on the smooth brown plane of Janie’s stomach.

Her long arms came up around him and pulled him to her. He would be aroused again soon, and they would make love in a hundred new ways. They stayed there for a long time, saying not a word.

Janie left sometime early in the morning, her heart glowing, the secret of what had passed between her and Burke vanishing with the rising sun.

***

The knock came on Betty Young’s door, sometime after 8 o’ clock. She peered through the little eye-hole that her beloved Samuel had carved in there, a week before he died. Her eyes met the concerned, leaf-green stare of Emmett Freeman.

“Mister Freeman?” She said, opening the door. The man burst through. Betty didn’t need to ask to discern that something was the matter.

“Betty,” he greeted. “Sorry to disturb.” His accent always jarred her. Betty hadn’t met any northern black folks in all her years. Their clipped voices sounded suspicious to her, though of course Emmett Freeman could hardly be called suspicious.

“What’s the matter?” She said, peeping out the window. It would be dark soon. There was a curfew…

“Have you seen Little Curtis? The brat keeps running from his lessons. Thought he might have come out this way.”

Betty hadn’t. The boy was a rare sight in Rickshaw now, spending most of his time holed up with Emmett getting his education. He had an uncle that lives two doors down from Betty.

“Hmph. I guess he’s gone back to the house. I wish he’d tell me where he keeps running off to.”

“Children do that,” Betty said knowledgeably, with the barest hint of disapproval. “You oughta keep a tighter rein on him, though. Times bein’ what they are.”

Emmett waved a hand, as if dismissing her. “There’s something else, Betty.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s your cousin. Janie.”

A thrill of anxiety shot up Betty’s spine. She looked at Emmett sharply. “What you mean?”

“She’s not in the schoolhouse.”

“So? She always goes for walks.”

“No, no. She’s going over to visit that white man. Burke.”

Betty frowned. Loyalty burned in her breast; she opened her mouth to deny any such thing. But then she stopped. There had been rumors...

“You don’t have proof,” she said finally.

“I do. I do. I’ve seen her sneaking out that way.”

“Well, like I said, she goes for walks…”

“I’m not here to argue,” Emmett snapped. Betty’s frown turned to a scowl. She didn’t appreciate this high-yellow man busting in on her house to cause trouble.

“Well, so what if she is?” She said. “It ain’t my business. Janie’s a grown woman.”

Emmett paused at her tone. His eyes met hers. “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

“Mister Freeman,  you wastin’ time comin’ here to tell me my cousin’s business when you could be findin’ that little boy. Look how dark it’s gettin’.”

“You’re right,” he muttered. “I’m just- concerned. With how it will look.”

Betty’s eyes narrowed. The man’s hair was tousled, his clothes unkempt. She sniffed. Women’s perfume- the barest hint of it, clinging to his jacket.

“You better leave, Mister Freeman. Find that little boy.”

Emmett swept out of her house. The night was coming thick and fast. He jammed his hat on his head and strode off down the row of houses. He’d tan that little bastard’s hide!

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, some 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.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

She turned to see a tall, plain-faced but exceptionally well-dressed man. He had amber skin and a salt-and-pepper beard. He said his name was Mindoo. He carried a guitar in a sling over his back.

“Let me play accompaniment to you.”  He spoke with a firmness that caught Janie by surprise.

“Oh- are you sure?”

“No problem, Miss,” the man said. “Let’s see how we do.”

Janie stepped over to the mini-stage. Red-rimmed eyes and dull expressions greeted her.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?”

Grumbles.

Mindoo began to play. A tune Janie recognized- for a song in French.

Smiling, she sang along, slowly, languorously, the music coming out of her soul in low, strong, tones. Burke watched. Spellbound. Janie looked a vision: the flare of her waist emphasized by the close-fitting dress, the soft contours of her face illuminated by the barlight… Had he ever told her that purple was her color? Did she know?

Her voice, so unusually low, so even and pretty, trapped them all in its spell. Of course Burke recognized the song. It seemed it would always haunt him. She sang it in perfect French. Mindoo played silently along, his eyes never leaving Janie’s figure.

Wherever they went for the next week, somehow the mysterious man with the guitar appeared also. He only played for Janie, never saying much. He never asked for money, and he always left before they could get him with too many questions. Somehow he knew where they’d turn up, and every night he appeared there on time, right before Janie got up to sing.

When their intended stay was up, it was Burke’s idea that they stay another few days. The dullness of Rickshaw could not compete with the small, fast life they led in the city. In New Orleans, Burke and Janie could walk down the street together. They could eat together in some restaurants. He could kiss her cheek on the street, he could take her wherever they needed to go. Their lives were reinvented in the city. They were just two people in love, and nobody knew their names. When Burke suggested they delay their return, then, Janie brooked no disagreement. Neither did the Madame, who seemed to have developed a fondness for them after all.

On their last night they went to a place they’d been before. “Purple suits you,” Burke told Janie. She wore a lilac dress and a glittering blue shawl.

“You’re right,” Janie laughed, twirling so the short, swishy edges of her dress rose about her thighs. “I oughta make it my signature.”

The bar was mostly empty. Janie performed. Mindoo didn’t show up until she was done.

“Miss,” he said softly.

“Oh- hello!” Janie turned in surprise. At the sight of the other man, she beamed.

He didn’t return the smile, but produced a small, gold-rimmed card from his pocket. It read:

BIG EASY SOUNDS

RECORD COMPANY

TROILEFETTE ST., NEW ORLEANS, LA.

“When you’re ready, Miss, drop on by,” he said seriously. “You’ve got the prettiest voice this side of the Mississippi. I aim to make more people hear of you. Where you from, honey?”

Janie gawked at him, dumbfounded. “I live in Rickshaw,” she replied.

“Mississippi?”

“Yessir.”

“What you doin’ all the way out there?” He raised bushy silver eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you plannin’ on runnin’ off there again, now.”

“I gotta, sir,” Janie said. The fact of it hit her like a sack of potatoes. If only she could stay! “I’m relyin’ on someone’s charity just to be here. Findin’ honest work in this city ain’t easy. I gotta earn my bread.”

“I’ll give you a month to figure it out,” said Mindoo. “I ain’t patient, so it’s a lot fuh me to do this. Come back before then, we’ll go to my studio. We’ll see where we can take you, huh?”

“Thank you,” Janie said numbly. She grasped his arm and squeezed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” shrugged the older man. He smiled a brilliant, gold-studded smile. “Just show me some of that talent when you come again, and I’ll be thankin’ you.”

***

The ride back to Rickshaw was quiet. Janie’s eyes stayed fixed to the tops of the trees. They jutted against the sky. How did trees know to grow like that? What could you see, if you could stand on the very very top?

She imagined herself with soft white wings. She’d fly to the very top of the world and look out at everything. How did that verse from Psalms go?

Oh that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away, and be at rest.

Burke came to bring her water- there wasn’t a cooler in the Colored car. The conductor eyed him beadily. Janie barely saw him. Her mind was elsewhere, soaring over the trees. Her heart was still in New Orleans, where she’d left it.

They returned to Burke’s cabin. Tired. Burke took a bath in the springs and came to the bed stark naked and dripping wet. Janie was ready for him; he entered her with one strong thrust. In the last few days he hadn’t spoken much. Such was his way. Sometimes he seemed to recede inside himself, lost in the workings of his mind. Still silent, now he claimed her with an urgent passion that Janie felt her entire being open up to like a hibiscus in bloom. He pulled her wetness out of her with his strokes. Sticky cream smeared all over her thighs. His hands fastened on her breasts, drawing them into his mouth and suckling, suckling. Janie twisted her hands in his black mane of hair. He fucked her mercilessly, roughly, holding her pinned beneath him like a butterfly. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes: somewhere between extreme tenderness and savage lust. The same reflected back to Burke when he looked at her.

She was Janie- his Janie. He made love to her fiercely, so she couldn’t hide the screams of pleasure. Let her shout it to the rafters. He hoped the whole town heard. He turned her over and took her from behind, the folds of her pussy drawing him in greedily. The pink of her steaming pussy overflowed with a heady-smelling cream that he could taste over and over again. He watched the curves of her ass move rhythmically over his cock, working for her orgasm. He cupped the smooth brown cheeks of her ass to control his thrusting, pushing all the way to that sensitive part of her that gave the greatest release. He used some of her cream to lubricate his thumb, and pushed the digit partway inside the brown rosebud of her asshole. Janie moaned and fell forward, he knelt over her, pounding into her from behind with practiced, even thrusts. God. Janie felt hot as a furnace when he was inside her; but tight and wet, a sensation that sent cum boiling from his testicles and shooting deep inside her pussy. He withdrew and watched it leak out of her puffy, chocolate pussy in a smooth white spill. She lay facedown, legs trembling. Ragged breaths tore out of her.

A sort of gentleness seized his heart. He turned her over to face him.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. One hand fastened gently around her throat. She could breathe, but still feel the pressure of it, the power latent in his grasp. Burke would never hurt her. And he knew, as he examined the tiny scar on her lip from where she’d been roughed up, that he’d kill anyone who ever did.

“I know. And so are you,” Janie whispered back.

He brought his lips down over hers.

***

He’s hidin’ somethin’ from you, oh, he sho’ is.

Who was his Mama? His Granny?

After I kept his secret- all that I’ve done for him…

They echoed in Janie’s mind like water in an empty cave. Eroding her focus.

She walked through Burke’s house. It was nighttime. She was completely naked, damp with perspiration from their lovemaking. Burke slept in the other room, lost in a deep, full sleep that only men could get.  

His cabin was small. Only two rooms. It had been built many years ago, by hands just as capable as Burke’s.

The other room was a small, study, of sorts. Books, though Burke couldn’t read- perhaps they’d been his father’s. The thought gave Janie pause. She kept meaning to breach the subject of his illiteracy. But she was scared to- what if he told her to mind her business? What if he resented her?

Ever nosy, ever curious. Two faults that Janie would never get rid of. She brushed the sides of the small oak desk, opening a couple drawers. Dust had settled inside them all. Of course, Burke would have no reason to open them. But the very fact that he’d hung onto these things maybe said something…

Letters in spidery old handwriting crawled across paper. She shuffled through them. They were all signed “Augustus Giraud.”

One paper caught her eye in particular, because the ink had run and blurred in places, as if someone had wept over it.

It read,

Augustus,

It grieves me to hear you speak this way. Our son is a healthy boy. The circumstances of blood do not bother me. In New Orleans you see many children like this. In France we do not judge on such things so small. Surely there is no shame. You must come see me. I am sending Burke on the train. He has desired to get to know his Papa. Such a smart little boy. I know you did not mean what you said last time. I will wait for you. Please come see me once in a while. It is lonely.

-Geraldine

Janie read the letter over. Something was missing here. She felt as if something had just clicked into place. But she couldn’t tell what it was. She folded the letter up neatly and tucked it back in the drawer.

Something broke in her heart. Burke could not even read this letter from his own mother. Would he let her teach him? Could she try?

Chapter 5

One Drop

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Emmett warned me again,” said Janie. She examined her hair in the dusty old mirror. The fact that Emmett was cross with her again didn’t seem to bother her. Unless he found a replacement for her- and soon- Janie would be all set to start teaching in a week’s time. He could bleat about “upholding the image of the race” all he wanted.

“Oh? Say Janie, what’s this word?”

“Sound it out, Burke.”

Burke mouthed the word out, his finger pressing so hard on the paper the bed of his nails went white. He raised his head.

“ ‘Effectively’ ,” He pronounced.

Janie eyed it. “Good job.”

Burke bent to the table again, one hand beating out a staccato rhythm on the tabletop. Over the last three weeks he’d made incredible progress. He preferred reading to writing, but he took to both quickly and eagerly. Sometimes he forced himself to sit down with a newspaper and painfully read each word of an article. This could take him hours and often left him with a headache.

Exhausted, Burke threw the paper down and launched himself on the bed. He tucked his palms under his head and looked up at Janie.

“I’m hankerin’ for a bath, Janie,” he sighed. “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a mule.”

“I can’t join you,” she said regretfully, eyeing the clock on the wall. “I’ve got a meeting with Emmett and the church board in an hour.”

Burke smacked her bottom as she crossed past him to get her dress, which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Bring me one of those little treats Miss Esther sells, while you’re at it,” he said. “Them custard things.”

“You ate enough to bust yesterday,” Janie laughed.

“So?”

He pulled her onto the bed in one smooth motion, settling her bottom comfortably against his thighs. The dress hung about her neck.

“Burke,” she begged. “I gotta go. Don’t make me late.”

He pulled her down to him anyway, taking one of her breasts in his mouth. Somehow Janie had gained weight, which he thought made her even more stunning. Her curves slid easily under his hands. He palmed each breast, brushed the swell of her hip, then pressed a thumb to the wet button of her clitoris.

“Burke,” She groaned.

Laughing, he bit gently on a nipple then set her free.

“Tell me what they talk about,” he said.

“I will.”

Janie blew him a kiss before she swept out the door.

***

“We warned you, Janie,” were the first words out of Emmett Freeman’s mouth. She’d been ambushed. Two people were assembled in the little room of the schoolhouse. They cornered her against the door. The intentions of this were plain.

“About what?” said Janie smoothly.

She’d already made up her mind to tell the truth, if this was about Burke. She was tired of this town and tired of their obsessions. Did anyone ask her if she was happy with Burke? If he made her smile?

“We heard about what happened with Curtis.”

“That was three weeks ago,” Janie said. “I don’t get your meanin’.”

“We mean to say, you’ve already made yourself a target,” intoned Ubaldus Smith, the Pastor. A paunchy, balding older man who could never keep his spectacles on his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Liftin’ your skirts for that white man. They all know about you, and what you’re doin’. No secrets in this town, Miss Ross.”

“I must be deaf,” said Janie. A black temper was rearing in her. “I know you ain’t about to start talkin’ under my clothes, Mr. Smith. And that ain’t even why these white men came after me. I just happened to be a black woman in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Emmett broke in quickly, “I think, is what I’ve been trying to tell you, Janie. It’s a bad example for the children. It makes them think they’re invincible, that they can just frolick with white people whenever they please-”

“No child growin’ up in Rickshaw would ever think that,” Janie retorted. “And no child gives a flyin’ hog about what I’m doin’ in my spare time. You hired me to teach these children. I’ve hardly done that yet- you can’t even know what I’m worth until I prove it!”

“What you need to do is-”

“All I do, Mister Freeman, is mind my black-ass business. I don’t throw nothin’ in nobody’s face. I keep my head down and I do my dirt in private.”

“You’re supposed to be the jewel of this town, Janie,” Emmett gritted. “They’re all supposed to look up to you and see what they can become. Your behavior should be without fault. Without criticism. You must be perfect.”

“My place is here, in this schoolhouse. I’m here to educate.”

“A woman’s place is with her man, and the man must be of her people,” droned Ubaldus Smith. “Plenty of brothers in Rickshaw can meet your womanly needs. You don’t have to be hangin’ your backside out for the enemy.”

“And a man’s place is with his wife,” Janie snapped, the last threads of her self-control breaking. “You would know that if you paid attention to them sermons you preach instead of bandicootin’ with the choir director durin’ rehearsal.”

A stunned silence followed her words. Ubaldus turned purple as a plum.

“Apologize,” sputtered Emmett.

The fury was on Janie Ruth Ross, though, and she would speak her piece. She had a few words for Emmett Freeman.

“I accept any criticism on my teaching,” she said clearly. “I have nothin’ but those kids’ best interests in mind. I won’t beat ‘em. I won’t shout. And I got a whole pile of lesson plans right here.”

She flung her arm to indicate an impressive stack of papers on the desk. “I want to teach these kids to think for themselves. To live lives outside the damned rules of this place. There’s a whole big world out there but y’all want to squish people’s heads into your own narrow ways of thinkin’.”

She rounded on Emmett. “Shame! Wantin’ to make women bend and bow and lick yo’ heels. A black woman ain’t a mule, and she ain’t a prize hog you can show off, Emmett. She’s a thinkin’ human being. And I spend time with Burke because he makes me feel like one. If that ain’t a good lesson for children I don’t know what is- learn to treat people like human beings. To know what kind of treatment they deserve. If that’s a problem for you, fire me!”

The men gathered themselves and left. Janie collapsed on one of the benches. Guilt wracked through her so fiercely she felt like sobbing.

She was being selfish. In all her gallivanting with Burke, she could have prepared more for the upcoming school year. She could have done more work, seen some of the children individually….She could have opened the schoolhouse anyway- for Christ’s sake, it was already complete enough to teach lessons!

The fact was simply that Janie did not like Rickshaw. She saw that plainly now. She hated it here as a child, and she hated it here now. Every move of hers was watched. Too much suffering. The white people had the black people of Rickshaw in an iron death-grip, and the black people, with no other outlet, began tearing each other apart. It nearly broke Janie’s heart.

Sitting there in the schoolhouse, which Burke had worked so hard to restore, Janie came to a painful realization. This had been a mistake. This wasn’t where she wanted to be. She just wasn’t cut out for this life. To try to force herself into it would make the children of Rickshaw suffer.

Janie walked to her desk and pulled out some stationary and a pen. She began to write some letters.

***

Burke woke to the cool press of lips against his ear. Janie climbed into bed next to him. She was warm and soft. She threw one leg over his thighs and Her body melted against his. Her breasts made a perfect handful, much larger now, the tips as dark as the night that surrounded them. How had Janie made it all the way here in the dark? He swore sometimes the woman was a cat.

Feline-like, she purred as he took the peaks of her breasts in his mouth and laved at them with his tongue. Janie’s breasts had filled out, gotten bigger and rounder and more erotic. Her areolas were dark and sensitive. It filled some primal part of Burke with pleasure to see them so full and bounteous against her thin figure. Even the rest of her had gotten plumper; he squeezed the juicy fullness of her buttocks to make sure.

She thrust her hands under his shirt, feeling the brush of his chest hair. It took a moment for Burke to realize that Janie was completely naked. His hands swept over her to make sure; ending their journey in the slick wetness gathering between her thighs. Burke thrust a finger into her. Tight as ever. He sent another to join the first, then another, and worked three in so fast she gasped. Wetness dripped from Burke’s wrist.  Janie fell forward on his chest as he worked her, bouncing her ass on his fingers. Tonight she couldn’t be filled enough.

Burke rolled her over. Janie had never looked more beautiful than now. He had his cock out. She knelt almost in obedience to it, taking it in her wet, sweet mouth and sucking it from the base to the head in long, torturous strokes. Burke held her head between his hands and fucked into her mouth, picking up the pace until she gagged and drooled all over him. Janie took every inch of him  into her mouth as she did with her pussy. She tongued him, bubbles of saliva coating his dick and dripping from her full, luscious lips. The wicked movement of her tongue and the blinding, aching heat of her throat were enough to send cum shooting from his balls, emptying into her mouth and down her throat. She drank every drop.

“Good girl,” Burke breathed. “Fuck, Janie.”

He pulled her up to sit on his face. Burke liked feeling the weight of her on top him. He liked tongue-fucking her pussy and holding her still as she bucked and rode him, unable to handle the desire rocketing through her body. His tongue could press and lick her clitoris. He could taste the juices running out of her. The taste of pleasure. The taste of Janie. It wasn’t enough; he needed more. Again he placed her in front of him, tonguing the chocolate starfish of her asshole, sweeping a long hot tongue-stroke again down her pussy, and finally pulling her over him to settle himself between her thighs.

He had risen and hardened the moment her lips touched his. Every inch of his member was at full attention. He came into her with one stroke, shattering any sense of self control. She rode on top him, gasping at the hugeness of his cock, which she always felt keenly in that position. Burke speared her fully. He filled her whole body, every sensation, every movement she made concentrated to his presence inside her. She rode him, bucking and rolling her hips up and over the tip of his dick, the most sensitive part. Burke grabbed her and pressed her upper body against his, using his hips to pump into her with rhythmic, steady thrusts. Cream and pussy juice leaked all over his thighs, white and slick against the brown of Janie’s skin. He could hear her panting on top of him, and feel the weight of her two breasts pushing against his chest. He would love to see Janie one day in one of these skimpy, flimsy doll-outfits. The erotic kinds they did in dirty magazines. Her figure would fill one out so beautifully.

“Burke, I’m gonna cum,” Janie gasped.

“Make a mess, sugar,” He said into her throat. She came in long, shuddering cries that shook the house. But Burke wasn’t done with her yet. Pulling out of her, he turned her over and slapped her ass as she got into his favorite position. Ass in the air, presenting her pussy to him for the plundering. He liked shallow-fucking her like this, feeling her wriggle and tilt her hips to accept more of his cock. Then thrusting deep into her, holding her there, as she moaned and cried out at the largeness of him.

He did just that. Janie’s ass rippled and bounced. Full, soft, fuckable. He moistened a finger in her mouth and slowly slid it through the tight ring of her asshole. She gasped in pleasure, and to Burke’s enjoyment, actually took both palms and spread her cheeks for him. He fucked her like this, one finger teasing her sensitive asshole, his dick, larger and fuller, plowing deep into the steaming tightness of her cunt.

Orgasm built in the both of them. Janie shook and trembled, Burke threw back his head. With a final, deep thrust he shot his load inside her. It spilled from her when he pulled out his cock.

They collapsed in bed together. Janie’s head came to rest on his chest. He drew her in and kissed her hair. The furious heat of their union died to a peaceful ease.

“What’s the occasion?” He murmured.

“Aw, nothin’,” said Janie. Burke swore he detected a catch in her voice. “I just miss you.”

“I’m right here,” he said.

“I know.” She buried her nose in his chest.

Burke took a breath. “Listen, Janie,” he said. “I’ve been thinkin’.”

“About what?” she whispered.

“I heard about a white man in Oklahoma,” said Burke carefully, “That went down to get married in Mexico. His wife was black- part Indian, too.”

Janie went very still. “Really?”

“Yeah. Made me think- about some things.”

She could only hear the sound of her breath, whistling quietly between them. Surely Burke didn’t mean...surely he wasn’t implying…

“Let’s go to sleep,” Burke said abruptly.

Janie sagged in relief. She didn’t want their last night to be weighed down with dreams of what could never be.

Burke held her close. One hand trailed down to her wetness again, feeling the aftermath of their lovemaking.  Janie’s sensitive flesh tingled, but he did no more with her. She could sense his eyes were open, staring up vacantly at the ceiling. Thinking.

For a moment the temptation to reveal all seized her.  But Burke’s silence soon faded into soft snores. She had missed her chance.

In the end, she slept. But her dreams were soundless and empty.

***

Janie caught a train that morning, after dropping off her letters. The dawn came crisp and cold. Janie felt nothing but the rough handle of her suitcase, and the gnawing, horrible emptiness that would only gape wider as the day went on. Her throat closed up any time someone tried to speak to her. She stared out the window as Rickshaw shrank to a tiny pinprick in the distance. Though she hoped to never see it again, the weight of what she left behind dragged at her heart like an anchor through sand. She pressed her shoulders into her seat and fell into a hot and fitful sleep.

She woke an hour later. The Colored Car was filling up. Mindoo’s card burned in the pocket of her travel coat. She knotted her brow. Come hell or high water, she would follow her dream.

*

Evelyn Bricassart fussed and preened at her reflection. She was a woman obsessed with mirrors- at her home in Maryland her collection numbered in the hundreds. Evelyn loved mirrors because they showed her her favorite thing in the world: herself.

Tonight had to be perfect. She’d dismissed all the servants but Bird, a young mulatto woman who giggled but didn’t talk. Likely Bird was one of James Croup’s bastards. Evelyn didn’t care much to find out.

Tonight she wore a gown of blue satin that brought out her eyes and set off her hair in a brilliant sheet of gold down her back. She could wear her hair down tonight, like a young woman or a wanton, without fear. A proper lady would wear the dress with a slip underneath, to preserve modesty, but tonight Evelyn did not. At her throat she wore her engagement pearls, the ones that had belonged to Francis’s mother. In her ears she wore nothing. On her feet she also wore nothing. She fancied herself as a Turkish temptress, an Odalisque, her nudity peeking sensuously through the gossamer fabric.

Francis was not home. As usual he’d gone to some Klan meeting, this one in Jackson. Evelyn was rather glad. Lately the man had been overly aggravating. He watched her like a hawk. Maybe someone had tipped him off as to the purpose of her frequent outings. Evelyn was no fool; she grew less bold with her romantic liaisons, played the simpering adoring woman just like Francis wanted. She was careful. Still, he watched her.

Rarely did he leave her alone now, sticking to her side like a burr. The man had actually suggested she come with him to Jackson. Of all places. Jackson! Only a furious, teary temper tantrum convinced him to leave her behind. It had been worth it to see the simple fool backtrack all over his accusations. They’d parted on good terms, with Francis promising to fetch her something nice from Jackson, and Evelyn promising nothing.  

Now she could enjoy a full week without his meddling, a week with an enormous mansion, a deep feather bed, and a virile lover at her disposal. Evelyn smiled at her reflection. She had to hand it to herself.

Bird poked her head through the door and waved at Evelyn. A visitor.

“Don’t just stand there,” Evelyn breathed. “Let him in.”

To her surprise, it was Burke Giraud.

The big man stood in the doorway, dressed in his peasant overalls as usual. He could have benefitted from a woman’s touch, Evelyn thought. How fine he would look in some real clothes!

“Hello, Burke,” Evelyn said. She remembered their last interaction. He’d been violent with her. But Evelyn was willing to let bygones be, if he was. Her feelings for Burke, which had never been more than lust and possessiveness anyway, had cooled with time and distance. Still, if there was a chance with him, Evelyn would consider taking it.

“Hello,” he said. His voice was clipped. Cold. Angry.

“Can I help you?” She thrust out her chest invitingly.

“Where’s Francis?”

“Oh, bother,” she snapped. “He’s not home.”

Burke’s eyes travelled up her body, boring through the lightweight gown. His lip curled, not in pleasure, but in disgust. Evelyn flushed.

“Expectin’ someone?” he shot.

“No,” she replied coolly.

Burke twisted the hat to shreds in his hands. He seemed to be reining in his temper. “I did some askin’ around. It seems Francis had an altercation with the teacher the other day. Seems he got violent with her. Carried away, some would say.”

Evelyn found her body responding to his fury. Men were much better lovers when they were angry.

“The negro woman?” Evelyn laughed. “Whatever for?”

“I don’t care for his reasons,” said Burke. “She’s gone. She left. Tell me where Francis is.”

“She probably goaded him,” Evelyn said viciously. “The slut probably tempted him into it, then tried to change her mind. I don’t blame Francis in the least. I hope he taught her a lesson.”

“Watch your tongue, Evelyn,” Burke growled.

The woman tossed her head. Her hair rippled. Her nipples thrusted out. She wished Burke Giraud were a normal man who could be controlled by these things. But he wasn’t. That was precisely why she found him so tempting.

“Well, looks like your slut isn’t here, and neither is Francis. So I suggest you leave.”

“You deserve to be exposed,” Burke said. “I should tell Francis. What kind of woman you are.”

“But you won’t,” Evelyn flared. “Because you know the consequences if you do. And you wouldn’t be telling Francis because you respect him, or because you care about his reputation. You’d be telling him to get revenge on me. Which isn’t good enough, is it? You don’t fight dirty, Burke Giraud. You’re a man of honor. You’d like to take me down without getting your hands dirty. Without sinking to my level. But you know that’s not possible.”

The truth of it was in his eyes. “Where is Francis, Evelyn?”

“Jackson,” she said, waving him away.

“Thank you,” Burke said. Polite as always, polite to a fault. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat.  Instead he slammed the door on Evelyn’s sneer, and left.

*

Her lover came shortly afterwards, through the back door of the Croup house. Sweat glistened on his peanut-colored skin. She tasted it when he kissed her. Even at night, Rickshaw boiled with heat.

Bird put out a small dinner, which they took upstairs and ate off each other’s bodies. Then they made love- or fucked, however you wanted to call it- in Francis’s bed, the same bed that had belonged to James Croup.

“We have to stop,” Evelyn told him, for the millionth time. She didn’t really mean that any more. She just liked to hear him say that he didn’t want to.

To her surprise, this time he agreed.

“You’re right,” her lover said. “I meant to tell you the same thing. We should call it off. It’s getting too dangerous.”

She shot to her elbows. He withdrew his thick cock from her pussy, leaving a trail of wetness over her thighs.

“What do you mean?” She said. “You seriously think-”

He blinked at her. It was a look of disgust, as if seeing her for the first time. Not a disgust tapered with desire or lust, like she was used to. It was the true, blinding hatred one feels for something that has outlived its use; something ugly and irritating. She might have been a dead animal on the road, a wart on his foot. Useless, stinking, hateful.

“Be reasonable, Evelyn,” said the man. He spoke in soft, silky tones. Trying to soothe her. “You can’t possibly expect-”

She slapped him. He barely flinched, but got up and began putting on his clothes. She sprang up, naked, and slapped him again. He caught her wrist. In the same silky tones, he said, “Be careful, Evelyn. You’re not as strong or as clever as you think.”

A violent fury took hold of her.  “Leave and I’ll tell them you raped me,” she choked. “A big nigger hurting a white woman. You’d never run far enough. They’ll hang you from the closest tree.”

“Then maybe I should just kill you,” he said, starting towards her.

A furious banging on the door jolted them from their wrath.

“Open this door, Evelyn Bricassart!” roared Francis. His fists sounded like thunder and fury.

Evelyn paled. The man froze, halfway into his breeches.

“I- Francis-”  

“Whore!” Francis bellowed. “Open this door!”

Evelyn’s eyes darted around the room. An escape, a weapon, anything. Then the frantic knocking died, and they heard something much worse: the rattling of keys.

The door opened. Time froze. They stood there, Evelyn half-naked, the blue gown torn to ribbons from their passion. Francis purple with rage, his fists balled into death-weights. And the tall, finely formed black man Evelyn had brought into the house, stood with knees bent like a lion ready to pounce.

“I’ll kill you,” Francis said, and started towards Evelyn.

“Francis, please!” she shrieked. “He forced me-”

Francis seemed not to hear her; he stretched out his arms, fingers curled around an imaginary throat. She screamed and fled to the only escape hatch: the wide window overlooking the fountain. If she had gotten there, the jump may have killed her.

But Francis was quicker. He had his hands around her throat. Squeezing. She choked and sputtered. In the doorway Bird the serving maid tweeted helplessly. And Evelyn’s lover- ex-lover- was out the door and running, running for his life.

*

The facts trickled slowly to the black people of Rickshaw, but the lie traveled like lightning among the white people. The lie was that Evelyn Bricassart was dead, violated and strangled by a black man. The truth, which few could have ever guessed, was that this black man was none other than Emmett Freeman.

Torches burned. A mob assembled.  Who was harboring Emmett Freeman? Who had known? And if Emmett Freeman could not be found, who would pay for his crimes?

They came to Burke’s cabin first. The party was led by Francis and his thugs. The first thing Burke noticed was that his cousin had deep purple scratches across his cheek.

Burke answered the door with the rifle in his hands.

“Are you hidin’ this man?” Francis wheezed, thrusting a photograph under Burke’s chin.

“No,” said Burke. “And I highly doubt he strangled Evelyn, Francis. The man’s ‘bout as harmless as a dragonfly.”

“Don’t-” Francis choked.

“Leave these people alone,” Burke said. But his cousin was out the door already.

The white mob swept across the river to the black community that lived there. They banged on doors.

“Anyone who harbors this man, shelters this man, or gives him an escape is gettin’ strung from that tree!” roared Francis. He and his goons were bristling with guns- farmer’s guns, with old ammunition. Most of the black people were unarmed, and all were afraid.

“He ain’t here,” called Wendel Brown. The elderly black man rose from his stoop, his voice firm. “He’s gone.”

Francis marched over to Wendel and jabbed the point of his pistol into the man’s gut. He half-dragged the old man to kneel before the white mob. A crowd of black and brown faces surged in the windows of the houses. Most were too frightened to come outside. They huddled and prayed the white men would leave.

“What’s your name, boy?” Francis said, his voice a curse.

“Wendel Brown, sir. And that’s my wife Esther, and my children, right there in that window.”

“Nigger brats,” spat Ernest Masters. “Now, Francis-”

“What do you know about Emmett Freeman? Since you’re so smart, boy, tell us what you know.”

Wendel’s eyes were wide with fright, but he was a proud man, and would not be talked down to. He raised both hands.

“I don’t know nothin’ but that y’all are out here terrorizin’ innocent folks over another man’s mistakes. Please-”

“Pointless questions,” Masters said. He snatched the pistol from Francis and cocked it. “Tell us the truth, boy. Since you got such a big mouth.”

Wendel licked his lips. “I’m jus’ tryin’ to explain. We don’t know nothin.’”

“Please,” Esther Brown wailed from her window. “Leave him ‘lone! He’s got a bad heart!”

“Get the men out of these houses,” Ernest barked to his attack dogs, the slavering white mob whose thirst for blood had already worked into a frenzy. “Every one above fifteen. Let’s show them what happens to high-steppin’ niggers like this one.”

Then he shot Wendel in the heart.

The seal broke. People poured out of the shanty-houses. Their voices made a single war-cry, and they took nothing to defend themselves but their fists.

Before the hunt for Freeman, Ernest Masters, the Grand Dragon of Rickshaw, had had no time to don his red robes, a fact which bothered him. He’d wanted this to be done swiftly, and he wanted the Klan’s name all over it. The negroes had to know who they were dealing with. But not even the red hood could have protected his skull from the flat, deadly river stone aimed with all the accuracy of a vengeful heart.

It sailed through the air as if shot from David’s sling, taking the white man between the eyes.

The crowd erupted. The white people tore into the black folks with their knives and pistols and bullets. The black people came for Wendel’s body, then they came for revenge. They beat the white mob across the river, but once they had done that, the white people came with backup.

The streets of Rickshaw raged for hours. Burke saw the flames from his home in the woods, and he took his father’s rifle and went to see. By the time he got there the lamps were still burning, and the stores were burning too. A few black folks lay dead in the streets, huddled, bloody forms. Burke checked their faces; he recognized only one. His friend Jeremiah. He looked around to see if the man had at least gotten revenge on his murderer, but Jeremiah’s body lay alone and forgotten. The dead white people had already been removed.

His heart thumped numbly. Burke’s gaze turned East, to the biggest inferno of all. The flames devoured a house of wood, a small house that for months the black people of Rickshaw had concentrated their best efforts towards. The pinnacle of Emmett Freeman’s dreams for Rickshaw. It was as if Francis and his goons had honed in on it like killer bees. Janie Ross’s schoolhouse was a mass of smoke and flame.

He would return for the body.

Burke made his way to the burning building. Outlined sharply in front of it was a small woman’s form. Betty Young, Janie’s cousin. The fire seemed to light upon her clothes, throwing her dark skin into a shadow full of night. She turned quickly when Burke approached, though she hardly could have heard him over the thirsty crackle of the fire.

“Betty,” Burke said urgently. “What you doin’ out here?”

“I threw it,” she said, not looking at him. He saw with dull horror that her dress was in tatters.

“You what?”

“I started it. I threw the stone at that white man. The one who shot Mister Brown- Esther’s husband.”

Burke didn’t know what to say. “Is that how this all started?”

“No,” said Betty. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “It all started with my Samuel. He was good but they didn’t like ‘im. He insulted a white man and they hanged him. Then Emmett. It starts with you white people, it don’t start with us. Every time we try to dream up somethin’, white folks come and tear it all down.”

Her voice broke. “I hate all of you! I wish you were all dead!”

Burke held her arms. “I’m sorry. I can’t say much but that, Betty.”

“We’re leavin’,” said Betty. She brushed away her tears. “All of us. Me and Ma and my brothers. We’re goin’ up North to Michigan. Maybe Chicago. Ain’t nothin’ left for black folks here.”

Betty looked even more rumpled than ever. The chubbiness of her face dragged down into heavy, stressed lines. She looked like she’d seen a thousand lifetimes.

“Did the men get you?” Burke asked quietly.

Betty fingered the tattered remains of her dress. “It looks that way. But Naw. Jeremiah fought ‘em off. I hope he got away- I didn’t stay to look.”

“He’s dead,” said Burke heavily.

Betty shuddered away another sob. “Well- alright. Alright, then.”

“I think it was quick,” Burke said. “He was my friend, too. I’ll help him get buried.”

“I was the one who cut down Samuel,” said Betty. She seemed not to hear him.  “No one else had the stomach. They messed him up bad. I remember when they got old Shadrac, too. Back in the day. You never forget the smell. That’s the worst part.”

“I don’t know why,” said Burke. It looked like the fire would burn itself out, though it was blowing dangerously close to the trees. He thanked God that it had been a wet summer. “Don’t know why white folks got so much hate. I think it burns ‘em up to see that y’all don’t just give up and lay down. Maybe they’d be easier if you did.”

“Never,” swore Betty. “We never will. I for damn sure never will.”

“Good,” said Burke. “It would sure be depressin’ if you did.”

“They need someone to hate,” said Betty. “If all the black folks took sick and died tomorrow, white folks would just be beside theyselves. They need us around to kick. Like dogs.”

“Dogs bite,” said Burke.

“And we ain’t dogs,” said Betty. “We’re human beings. That’s what kills ‘em. That’s what they can’t stand. They want to keep us separate, but they know.”

“You’re a smart girl, Betty,” said Burke. “I do believe you’re right.”

“I’m quotin’ Janie,” said Betty, hugging herself, though the heat of the schoolhouse was blistering. “She would always say that. I wonder where she went off to. I hated her for leavin’. Thought she was bein’ mighty selfish. But I see why she did. I sure wish we’d all had her sense- to leave.”

“Where would you go?” said Burke sensibly.

“Africa, I guess.” Betty laughed without humor. Then she added, quietly: “Anywhere.”

“Janie will be back,” said Burke. He had tried, these last few weeks, not to think of her.

“Then where will you go?”

“Anywhere,” said Burke.

Betty eyed him. She wanted to talk about Janie, about Burke. She didn’t want to think of tonight. She would push it away as long as she had to.

“Are you gonna marry her?”

“I might,” said Burke.

“You’re gonna have a real job of it.”

“I can only try. There’s got to be some place we can go.”

“Uh-huh.”

They watched the school crumple in on itself. He could remember carving every window. Making the chairs. Nailing the roof shingles. He’d done it for Emmett Freeman, then he’d gone beyond, for Janie. Now Emmett was gone- disappeared. Janie too. And the thing linking them all together was rising into the starry roof of the world in a flurry of smoke and dust.

Suddenly Burke could bear it no longer. He put a hand on Betty Young’s shoulder.

“Let’s go find Jeremiah.”

“I’m scared to go back,” said Betty. She clutched his wrist.

Burke patted his rifle. “Nothin’  to worry about now. I promise. ”

They walked.

“Burke,” said Betty. “You think Emmett did it?”

Burke sighed. “I know they was sleepin’ together. I saw ‘em runnin’ in and out of the woods for weeks. I talked to him ‘bout it and he nearly blew a gasket. Said I oughtn’t to meddle. Told me to mind my business.”

“He said that to you?” gawked Betty. “After all the hell he raised ‘bout you and Janie?”

“Folks is funny,” shrugged Burke. “I wish I’d known what he said to her.”

Betty nodded. “He ain’t have it in him to strangle a dog that bit ‘im, let alone some white woman. He was all bark no bite. Croup is lyin’.”

“He better have some swift feet,” said Burke. “They’ll be lookin’ for him all over Mississippi.”

Chapter 6

Hell is Empty

Janie read about it in the paper. Talk of the Rickshaw Riot had reached New Orleans. the subject would be passed over and done with in a week. Such was the way with these things. These days there always seemed to be a riot of some kind.

Still, she cut out the newspaper clipping, and placed it next to her letter from Burke. The letter had arrived a few days after the Rickshaw Riot.

Dear Janie I hope you are well, it read. I am having Betty your cousin write this down for me. You probably heard about what happened. The schoolhouse burned down too and some of the black folks here are dead. I know the paper said Wendel Brown, but also Jeremiah my friend, and Sampson Green and one woman I don’t know if you knew her, her name was Etta Thompson. The white folks swept through and burned most everything that could catch but they didn’t find Freeman, and that little boy Curtis is missing too.

Anyway there’s talk of leaving now among most of the black folks. Following your example I see? I sure wish you’d come back, Janie.  I’m about to get right on a train and come to New Orleans myself to find you. You can say what you want. Some nasty business is happening in Rickshaw and I think they’re coming for me next. I don’t aim to make you worry because I can handle myself. But either I come to you or you come to me. I wish I knew what else to tell you to convince you to get back here.  But I guess I can’t blame you if you don’t. Take care of yourself.

Burke.

He signed his name himself, in bold, spiky letters.

Janie took the news as she took in almost everything these days: with dull acceptance. She was getting apathetic. At first she thought it was just New Orleans. The city had a way of easing one’s mind. But Janie wasn’t easy. She was making music, sure. Every night she sang at one of Mindoo’s clubs, or a venue of his choosing. The crowds were as extravagant as the dresses she wore. She sang songs that Mindoo wrote. She sang songs that she knew- ones he pre-approved, of course. They made two records and were working on a third. She learned to do her makeup, she bought and wore fine things to make herself look good and feel better. She told herself she was living her dream- working towards something great. But at night when the darkness of her hotel room seemed to swallow her up like a great black fish, Janie couldn’t help but feel that she had made a grave mistake.

One night Mindoo took her out in his flashy brown convertible. It had began to occur to Janie that this man was the type to surround himself with beautiful women as a sort of status symbol. Janie had become one of these women. The thought made her uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter, Queen Sugar?” he asked. They pulled up next to Rita’s, a small dive bar.

She hated his nicknames. He tried about three a day, hoping one would stick.

“Nothing,” Janie intoned.

“Then fix ya mouth,” said Mindoo, lighting a cigarette. He let Janie out and they ducked into Rita’s. A seedy crowd gathered at the bar, and at the pool tables.

“Am I singing here?” Janie asked skeptically.

“What do you think? Of course not,” said Mindoo. “We’re just guffin’ it for tonight. You just sit there and look good for me.”

Janie didn’t want to sit and look good. She wanted to be home, in bed. She took a seat at the very edge of the room. A layer of grease covered the floor of Rita’s. The patrons left their food where it fell- and everything in Rita’s was fried twice and crumbled when you bit it. The place had a heavy food-stink about it.

Pushing back her nausea, Janie took in her surroundings. She and Mindoo looked out of place here. Her dress was much too nice. His even nicer. The man wore a flashy gator-skin suit and shoes. He sported enough gold to shame Mansa Musa. Everything about him, from the trimmed salt-and-pepper beard to the mirrored sunglasses, bespoke arrogance, wealth, and intimidation.

Mindoo had friends here- poor men who he had grown up with. They laughed and joked. They seemed to resent him, love him, and envy him all at once.

“Who’s the quiet gal?” One man asked, thrusting his chin at Janie.

“One of my singers,” Mindoo said. “Janie Ross.”

“Oh?” The men looked interested. “So you say, huh? Janie Ross.”

“The one and only.”

“I seen you singin’,” said another man- the only white man of the group. He addressed this to Janie. “You got good pipes. Pretty face, too.”

“Ain’t she a sight?” laughed Mindoo. He gave a careless shrug. “You wouldn’t know it, but she’s a fussy prude, that one.”

The men chuckled. Janie felt the breath coming short in her ears. She felt silly and hot in her nice dress and shoes. She longed to throw her purse at Mindoo’s handsome, sinister face and leave.

“Around you?” said the white man. The one who had called her “pretty”. He looked about twenty years older than her- at least. His gaze crawled over her like a nest of cockroaches. “She’s a dumb thing, then. Girl, you don’t know nothin’ ‘bout opportunity. Any woman who can spread her legs for Mindoo better do it- this man’s the fastest movin’ thing in New Orleans. You won’t keep him interested or your mouth fed if your knees stay together.”

Janie looked to see if Mindoo would say something. He didn’t. He laughed and shrugged. “She’s got a voice like the Lord’s angels.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Sing something for us,” said the man, his green eyes oily and violating.

Janie clenched her fists. She hated- hated - being commanded to sing. Her eyes flashed daggers of hatred at the man, and her mouth stayed closed.

“Aw, you made her mad,” laughed another friend. “Look at that face! Girl you ain’t half so pretty when you mad. Smile.”

I got nothin’ to smile for, Janie thought. For some strange, horrible reason she felt like crying.

But her eyes stayed dry. The men became uncomfortable. She wasn’t joining in the fun. And her rebellion was making Mindoo, the star of the show, look bad.

“What you so fussy for?” Mindoo snapped.

“Needs someone to loosen up that mouth,” said one man suggestively. The others laughed. “What’s the price, Mindoo?”

“Not for sale,” said Janie clearly, speaking up for the first time. This was too much. Her career be damned. She shot to her feet.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mindoo barked. “And sit your ass down.”

He turned to the man who had spoken. “I don’t sell the singing girls, usually.”

“She got an attitude.”

“I like attitude,” said the white man. “Look, I got money. What’s the price?”

Janie started to leave. Mindoo intercepted her with an iron hand clamped on her arm. He dragged her back into the circle.

“Let me go,” she gritted.

“You fuckin’ country bumpkin,” the producer hissed. The rims of his eyes were red and rheumy. He’d taken something- some drug. And he’d been tipsy when they arrived. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Then he turned to his friends. “Only one of you. I don’t like wearin’ out my girls.”

“Me,” said the white man. He reached into his pocket and began to count out money.

“No!” Janie shouted. “I don’t want you. I ain’t for sale.”

Mindoo shoved her towards the man. She stumbled; he caught her and pulled her close, backing her into his crotch. “See? I’ll be easy with ya.”

Bile rose in her throat; she panicked, thrusting herself away from the man with all her strength. When he caught her she felt the nausea rising within her like a nasty wave, and it surged from her mouth all over his trousers and the front of her dress.

“You bitch!”

The man’s backhand sent her spinning. Janie didn’t stay around to fight. She tore out of Rita’s, leaving her purse and everything else behind her. The night rushed past her in a blur of lights, the clotted street corners, the guttural sounds of Cajun French. She stopped running only when she couldn’t breathe anymore, and then it was a struggle to take in air through the heavy, wrenching sobs that claimed her. Mindoo was gone. She’d been sick on one of his friends. She’d almost been raped. The loneliness clawed at her heart. She had no one to count on. And in this beautiful, rich, bustling city of night and light and music, Janie Ruth Ross saw only misery.

Of course, Burke would pop into her head at a time like this. Janie sat on a curb that smelled like human piss and put her head in her hands. She’d left Burke to pursue this dream. She’d left the children of Rickshaw- people who needed her. All because she’d let a man like Emmett Freeman worm his way into her head with talk about racial purity and a Black Woman’s Duty. Janie had to admit that to herself- she’d been scared!

Don’t sit here feeling sorry for yourself, she snapped. Get up. Wake up.

Her bag was still at Rita’s- with all her money. She did not want to go back- what would Mindoo do to her? There was nothing for it but to walk somewhere and hope to spend the night.

Instinctively Janie’s legs guided her to the hotel she and Burke had stayed at on their first trip to New Orleans. She walked all the way to Treme to find it.

The hotel was called La Papillion, and it looked dark and closed inside. An old black woman, with her sugar-white hair tied up in a knot, sat comfortably on a rocking chair outside of it. The woman was not Madam Choc, who had set up Janie and Burke during their visit. She was someone else entirely- someone she had seen before. Janie felt a thrill of electricity run through her body.

“Well, look who it is,” said the woman. One eye was brown, the other a milky white. She smiled a familiar smile.

“You’re the woman from the train?” said Janie.

“Ah, so you recognize me?” the woman smiled.

Janie wondered wildly if the woman had followed her here. She dismissed the idea for a foolish one.

“You- um- you stay here a lot?”

“Sometimes,” said the woman. “Say, sugar, why you so blue? You look like you seen your own ghost.”

Janie flushed self-consciously. “I ran into some trouble, Ma’am. Ain’t got a penny to spare but I was hopin’ Madam Choc would let me use a room for a night. I’ll make my way from there.”

“You runnin’ away huh?”

“I- yes,” admitted Janie. “I guess I am.”

The woman surveyed her thoughtfully. “You look fed up with it, too.”

“I just need to sleep,” said Janie. She sounded like she might cry.

“Come here, sugar. Don’t worry about that. I know how it is.”

“The Madame-”

“Who you think she works for? You can stay here, alright? Just sit down and tell me about it.”

Janie sat down and told her.

“Huh,” said the woman. “I got an idea.”

She plucked a hair from Janie’s head. Janie yelped in surprise. The woman held it up to the lamplight and examined it as if she were examining a fossil under a microscope.

“You kin tell a lot about black folks from their hair. It’s about the best way, in my belief, better than palm-readin’ and scryin’ or anythin’ like that. Your hair tells me you had a rough childhood. You got beat a lot- you wanted love from your Mama and she never gave it- is that right?”

Janie nodded. “That’s true for a lot of folks, though.”

“Ah,” said the old woman. “You right about that. But see here- “ she traced a pattern in the coil- “I see you got the makin’s of greatness but you’re all mixed up inside. You went to school, you did everythin’ a respectable girl should. But you don’t like teachin’. You don’t like school. These two knots say you wanted to be a singer but you right now findin’ out that it ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

“That’s right,” said Janie, feeling a little ridiculous, and a little dumbfounded.

The woman drew a box of matches from her pocket and set the hair alight. She watched the thin, weak smoke trail up. The hair shriveled and burned in her palm.

“So what do you want to do, girlie? Tell this old woman what you want.”

Janie stared out into the street darkness. “I want a family,” she said. “I want love. I want people to like me. I want to help people. I want my music and singin’ to touch people right here.” She thumped a hand over her breast.

“Well, Miss Janie, you aint gotta stay in New Orleans to do that.”

“How do you know my name?”

The woman smacked her lips and laughed. “ ‘Cause I was just talkin’ to a white gentleman stayin’ here about you. Your bear-man.”

Janie’s heart rose to her throat. Impossible. “What? Burke is here?”

“Burke, yes. Sure is. He came this afternoon. Looking for you, I think. Now ain’t that funny?”

Janie stood up. Suddenly she wanted to be away. She wasn’t ready to face him. Shame gripped her chest with fingers like hot pokers. The old woman, for her part, looked endlessly amused.

“Is he here now?” Janie asked faintly.

“He’ll be back,” said the woman. “He went out to get food. I can show you his room.”

She led Janie up the stairs, half against Janie’s will.

“Who are you?” Janie said, as the woman turned to leave. “You seem so familiar. Not just from the train. I feel like I met you somewhere else, before.”

“In another life, maybe,” said the woman. She nodded to Janie, her mismatched eyes sparkling. “My name’s Agnes Dump. But most everyone calls me Fleur. Flower. I think that’s prettier, don’t you?”

“I- I suppose,” said Janie.

“I get around, that’s all. Maybe you seen me somewhere else in New Orleans. I’m hard to miss. Now, Miss Janie. You didn’t ask Burke that question I told you to, did you?”

“Naw,” said Janie. Then, boldly, “I guess I forgot. And I guess you can just tell me the answer.”

“Guess again,” said Agnes Dump. Fleur. “Ask him yourself.” She jutted her chin past Janie’s shoulder. Janie spun.

He stood there, the soft light of the streetlamps throwing his face into great shadow. She had forgotten how big he was. The muscles of his body looked even more pronounced. She remembered the first time she’d seen him naked in the springs of Rickshaw, how lean and wiry he had looked. With distant surprise she realized he’d filled out in the months that she’d known him. He was now about ten pounds heavier- all of it muscle. He might have been carved from marble, so still he stood. His black hair hung around his shoulders in a curly cloud. A wild man, come to the city to find her.

He took her in with those hooded gray eyes. He betrayed no emotion, though she felt like she would crack and shatter in a million pieces in the street.

“Janie,” was all he said, and it sounded like an accusation, a curse, and a love-word all at once.

She took a step towards him, then another, until she was hurtling towards him and falling into his arms. She hugged him and buried her face in his chest.

Burke’s arms rose to pull her closer. He was all around her at once: his smell, his strength, everything. And Janie realized that here they needed no words at all.

*

“I’ve been a fool,” said Janie.

Burke pulled her down to the bed. “Yes, you have been. A beautiful fool.”

“I shouldn’t have come back to New Orleans.”

“I didn’t say that. What do you mean? What happened?”

She shrugged and shuddered. “It ain’t easy here for a woman alone.”

Burke tugged on her hair, acknowledging the fact. They lay nestled together, his big body cradling hers. He thought, privately, that Janie had lost some weight. Had the time away been as hard for her as it had been for him?

“I sure thought you’d never come back,” he admitted. “I hoped it would have gone better for you. I thought maybe I was right to let you go.”

“It did, for a while,” Janie said. “I made a little money, then Mindoo started keeping the rest.”

“You went back to that man?” said Burke.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Burke shrugged. A small silence stretched between them. What had happened in Rickshaw lay unopened. A ticking bomb. They had to bring it up eventually. But neither wanted to be the first to do so. Right now they just enjoyed the pleasure of the other’s embrace and warmth. Burke smelled like old leather and sage. Janie couldn’t believe how amazing it felt to hold him again in her arms. To feel his kiss against her throat. To simply touch him, and listen to the sigh of his breathing.

“I’m gonna marry you, Janie,” Burke said finally.

A thrill shot up her entire body. Struck dumb for a moment, she glanced up sharply to see if he was joking. But she knew better.

“Is that,” she began softly, “A proposal, or a statement?”

“A statement.” Burke cupped her face in his hands. His gray eyes were stormy. “You can’t say no. I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll follow you to perdition until I get a ‘yes’ from you, Janie Ross. You’re gonna be my woman.”

“Mississippi law-”

“Fuck the law. Say yes to me.”

A few weeks ago she’d been ready to walk out on Burke to follow some pipe dream. She’d listened to all the talk in Rickshaw about them for months. The gossip. The slander. She’d followed the advice of Emmett Freeman, who she knew now to be the worst kind of hypocrite, at the cost of her own happiness. Janie looked at Burke. Really looked at him. He lay there, a man of honor, a man who could be a king. Proud and lovable, silent and strong. Lonely- like she was.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Burke wrapped his hands around her wrists and dragged them up over her head. He planted steaming kisses on her throat, kneaded her pillowy lips with his own. His breath came hot and ragged against hers. The kiss deepened into something more.

Janie bared her breasts; they came easily out of the skimpy club dress. Burke, his teeth insistent and demanding at her ear, cupped their generous weight. Janie had lost weight, but her breasts were fuller, the tips round and dark and thrusting boldly against his palms, begging to be suckled. Burke obliged. He brought them into his mouth with a slow groan, kissing each once, then twice. Then he lifted Janie to sit on his face. She ruched the dress up and did so, gasping in surprise at the new sensation.

Burke dove into her pussy with his tongue. He swirled it around the hot bead of her clitoris, fucked her with the tip of it. His hands clenched her ass in place as she quivered and bucked atop him. The feeling of Janie’s full weight pressing down on him was unbelievably erotic. If I could die with her thighs crushing my face like this, and her ass being punished by my tongue, I’d die a happy man, thought Burke. Maybe Janie thought so too. She shifted so she could suck his dick while he tongue-fucked her.

His length slid easily down her throat. Janie had realized long ago how much she loved sucking Burke’s cock. Despite the size, she managed it well. She liked when he held her head gently, as he did now, and slowly drove it again and again to the hot wet tunnel she offered to be fucked. The sensation of Burke licking her pussy was almost too much for her to concentrate on sucking his dick properly, but she loved the feeling, and would do it well.

“Fuck,” grunted Burke. He came suddenly. There was a lot of it. Janie couldn’t swallow it all; some spilled from her mouth. Without being told she cleaned it up with her tongue.

Then Burke was raising himself over her. He drew his dick out of her mouth.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmured. “Open your legs.”

Her knees pulled apart. She was wet and ready for him. Janie had heard once that men couldn’t go again after they’d ejaculated. With Burke, the man was a bottomless pit of desire. He was still hard. He still wanted her.

He thrusted into her pussy easily, but only gave her the tip. He liked when Janie begged for the rest of it. He liked giving it to her slowly, an inch at a time, until she writhed and tilted her hips to try to get more.  “I’m going to shoot my load inside you,” he told her. “Tonight. And then tomorrow morning. And every day until you’re filled up with me, and with my cum.”

Janie found herself imagining, wildly, how it would feel to have Burke’s life-giving seed make a baby in her womb. She pictured being pregnant for him. How would it feel to have his child?

Well, maybe soon she’d find out. Again and again he pummeled her moist love passage. His tool surged as it bottomed out against her. Janie’s cries of pleasure echoed through the hotel room, and his joined her. A fiery, consuming heat rose between them. He would have her like this, spread open like a butterfly beneath him, ready to receive the pleasure all the skill of his lovemaking could give her. He would be hers. He would be her stallion, fucking her with all the strength of his body, loving her with all his soul. This time she wouldn’t escape so easily. He meant to keep her there, to keep loving her.

Burke fisted a hand in her hair. His hips pumped rhythmically. Janie moaned into his shoulder, incoherent, gripped by the beginning waves of a powerful orgasm. She felt somehow that Burke was losing control too. His eyes, so impenetrable, had stormed over in a kind of lustful wildness.

“Burke,” she sighed. She tipped over; she was falling, falling into a pool of molten pleasure. She held onto his back with her nails for an anchor, and burst into bottomless cries of ecstasy. Burke came with a strangled roar, shooting loads of jism into her, over her stomach, her breasts. He came up to her mouth and she cleaned him off, then he was back inside her pussy again, fucking and fucking her. At last he withdrew and fell in a heap next to her. He gave a happy, wonderful laugh that she hadn’t heard in ages.

“I love you,” Janie told him.

“Love you too, honey,” he told her.

They fell asleep, the sounds of New Orleans echoing distantly around them, and the sound of the other’s heartbeat crashing in their ears like waves in a storm-tossed sea.

*

“Read this,” Janie told Burke. She handed him the newspaper.

Burke’s first reaction was always to say that he didn’t know how to read. Sometimes he’d rather avoid it altogether than to show how slow he was. Even the lowliest white man could read something. He ought to be better at it.

When Janie had left he’d stubbornly kept at his lessons. At first he’d done it to feel a kind of connection to her. Then he’d done it out of stubbornness to himself. Even Jeremiah, God rest his soul, had helped, although the quiet man wasn’t so great himself and his spelling had been next to useless.

Burke took the article from Janie and read it slowly, his finger pressing on each word. Then he wished he hadn’t.

MURDER OF MARYLAND HEIRESS LEADS TO MANHUNT, screamed the headline.

Authorities believe the murder of Maryland heiress Evelyn Bricassart by one Emmett Freeman of Philadelphia to be a crime of passion. At six o’ clock on Saturday, August 12th, Miss Bricassart was found strangled to death by her fiancee Francis Croup in their house in Rickshaw. Croup told authorities that he saw Emmett Freeman fleeing the scene. A female servant had witnessed the brutal act but declined to speak to authorities. Reactions to the murders sparked riots across Rickshaw, with the negro population rising up to defend Freeman’s innocence, and white vigilantes seeking justice for the vicious crime….

“Bullshit,” Burke said, tossing the paper back to Janie. Of course they wouldn’t mention that the white mob, led by the KKK, had murdered five negroes and burned down the schoolhouse.

“Do you think Emmett killed her?” Janie asked.

“I think it was Francis,” said Burke grimly. “Any man can do anything when he’s pushed hard enough. But I know my cousin, see? I know he’s wicked enough to do it- his pride is an ugly thing. And I saw him after it happened. He had scratches pushin’ out all over his face. No chicken-scratches, these. These were woman’s nails.”

Janie shuddered. “I almost feel sorry for her.”

“Don’t,” said Burke grimly. “This ain’t the first time Evelyn tried somethin’ like this. She came after me once, and I rebuked her. Then she said she’d scream rape if I didn’t, and then I had to teach her a lesson.”

“What did you do?”

Burke shifted, uncomfortable. “I convinced her it would be a bad idea.”

Janie and Burke took breakfast in the parlor of La Papillion. The woman Fleur brought out a tray of delicious food and a pitcher of orange juice. Seeing Fleur reminded Janie of the conversation they’d had last night- talking of Burke’s secret. The woman swirled past them in a flurry of skirts, and gave Janie a conspiratorial wink.  

How different she looked from the old, shriveled woman Janie had first met on the train!

“Do you know her from somewhere?” asked Janie. “Fleur, I mean.”

Burke smiled. “I think I do. But the memory’s bad. It was a long time ago, to be sure.”

“Tell me,” said Janie. She knew precious little about Burke’s past. She’d been afraid to ask, unsure if she would like his answers.

“She was my mother’s friend,” said Burke. “I know that. Geraldine- my mother- would leave me in her care when she went...out.” He gave the word strange weight.

“Out?” asked Janie curiously.

“She was a prostitute,” Burke admitted. “The daughter of an old creole family, fallen from grace. She’d leave me with Fleur a lot, but that didn’t last long. Pa came to get me eventually.”

“I see,” said Janie. She squinted up at the ceiling. “My mother was a prostitute too. For a while, anyway. It made her sick, so she couldn’t take care of me. I got sent to Rickshaw a couple times to stay with relatives. Like the summer I met you.”

“What happened to her?” asked Burke.

Janie shrugged. “I never found out. She might still be in the city. She might be dead. After I got into Xavier we lost touch.”

“Do you miss her?”

“All the time,” said Janie quietly.

She turned to Burke. The question lingered on the edge of her tongue but she was afraid to ask it. What was his secret? What was he hiding?

“There’s somethin’ you should know,” Burke told her. His eyes seemed to pierce into hers. “About my father.”

“I don’t know much about your folks,” said Janie cautiously.

“I know,” said Burke. “There’s not much to say about my Ma, except that she was beautiful, and kind, and I didn’t want to leave her. But I can say a lot about Pa.”

“Go on then,” said Janie.

“He was a quadroon,” Burke said quickly.

Janie stared.

“My great-grandmother was the concubine of Francis’s great-grandpa. She was a black woman, but tell you true I don’t even know her name. The old bastard had her livin’ in the house right along with his wife. He gave her a passel of land- the land where I live, and the land I rent out- when slavery ended. His little gift.”

A stunned silence fell. Janie remembered what Fleur had told her on the train- Do you know who his Grandmama was?

Burke’s eyes fixed on the curtains in the room, deep in thought. She examined him from the tail of her eye, seeing his face in a new light. He had no African features whatsoever- apart from the black hair, possibly, but Janie knew lots of white men with softly curling black hair. His strong nose, which set off the rest of his features so handsomely, came to a point; it didn’t expand or flatten like hers did. His skin tanned nicely but was still moon-pale in places. And the dusting of freckles over his cheeks and forehead could have come from anywhere. Burke looked white, plain and simple.

Yet the blood coursing through his veins, even just a drop of it, made him black in the eyes of the law and the eyes of most men in Mississippi. But he wasn’t black, was he?

“Who else knows?” said Janie, because she couldn’t think of anything else.

“Just Francis,” said Burke. He seemed to be warming up to the subject; at first he’d feared Janie’s reaction would be less than pleasant. Black people could be funny about those who “passed”, he knew.  He continued, “His father told him, before he died. The miserable devil. He wanted a reason to snatch up my land. Said it didn’t belong to me- but I had the papers. Couldn’t read a word, but I had ‘em. You’ll never know how many times the Croups tried to push a paper under my nose to sign. As if they needed more from me.”

“Bastards,” swore Janie.

“Motherfuckers,” Burke agreed. He sat up and tilted her chin towards him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind? Burke, if anythin’ this is good news,” she said. “We can get married now. Wherever we want.”

“I don’t want to stay in Rickshaw,” said Burke. “But I don’t want to sell the land, neither.”

He shifted uncomfortably, and Janie came to a speedy realization. “You don’t want them knowin’ you ain’t all white,” she said. “You wanna keep passin’ if you’re gonna stay in Rickshaw.”

“Yes,” said Burke heavily.

His answer incensed Janie. “What do you mean? I thought you didn’t care what they thought.”

“I don’t, Janie.”

“If you want to leave Rickshaw and be truthful about who you are, that’s one thing,” she said. “But you got to go all or nothin’ with it.”

“You’re right,” Burke said. “So maybe I do care. I don’t want these people knowin’ anythin’ about me. That’s my private business. If we get married in Rickshaw, it’ll raise questions. Send people pokin’ around at me for things I’ve been doin’ my whole life. I can’t claim my great-grandma’s blood any more than you could if your great-grandsire was white. It don’t make no kinda sense, to me.”

Janie saw his point. “Are you gonna stay passin’ forever, then?”

“I’ll use it when I need to, but not forever,” Burke said, after giving it some thought. “I ain’t ashamed of anythin’. I’m not my father.”

They called people like him Octoroons: an eighth of black blood. Burke’s father would have been a quadroon. The concept was so ludicrous Janie might have laughed. It was anything but funny, though. The things white people came up with to make themselves feel better, safer, more exclusive. She felt sorry for Burke. As a young boy he’d been told to think this drop of blood was a stain, something impure, dirty, that needed to be concealed. Something that had no effect on him as a person whatsoever; in appearance or character. But perhaps that was what made him sympathetic to black folks in Rickshaw. Though Janie didn’t think someone like Burke needed an ancestral connection to empathize with people. It was simply his nature.

She remembered the first time they’d met, all those years ago. The fire that had coursed through her young veins when he’d kissed her! But then she remembered something else- the look in his eyes. Curiosity and wonder and- perhaps- relief.

“I can’t stay in Rickshaw, Burke,” she said finally.

“You can’t stay here, neither,” he pointed out.

“There’s no place for me anywhere,” Janie sighed. “But especially not in Rickshaw. I know it’s your family’s land and all, but I can’t stay there. What kinda lives would our children have?”

“Bad ones.”

“So where do we go?”

He looked at her curiously. “You haven’t given up on your dream, right? You still wanna sing?”

She sighed. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“Janie.” His big hands cupped her face. His gray eyes glinted fiercely. “Don’t be a coward. You go on and do your thing. You can still make it big here.”

“I can’t.”

“Maybe not without me,” he agreed.

She stared. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m comin’ with you. Wherever you go.”

“Burke…”

He squeezed her shoulder. “But we need to go back to Rickshaw first.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s some accounts I need to settle, with Francis Croup.”

“What accounts?”

“Don’t you worry about it,” said Burke grimly.

*

Fleur had given them a tiny pouch of gold dust on their last night in La Papillion. Madame Choc made a sumptuous dinner of crabs, crayfish, rice jambalaya, cornbread, stuffed peppers and yam pie. They ate until they burst.

“I got this prospectin’ in California,” said Fleur, nudging the little leather pouch of dust. “It ain’t much, but I been hangin’ onto it for a while.” She smiled a wide, happy smile. Then she pulled Burke aside.

“I knew your Mama,” she said. “She woulda been proud of you. Your daddy was ashamed of who he was. I kin see that you’re not. You’re white as the next cracker, to me anyway, but don’t forget where you came from.”

She lowered her voice and her nails dug for a moment into the flesh of his arm. “You treat that girl well, you hear me?”

Burke nodded. He glanced over at Janie, who was bouncing Madame Choc’s little daughter on her lap. A grin took up Janie’s whole face.  “I aim to.”

“So what’s your plan, then?” asked Fleur. “You gonna stay here and try to cut it with her? You gonna go back to that Mississippi dump?”

“I got a plan,” he said. “I have some relatives here that could help her. My Mama’s people.”

“Oooh,” said Fleur. She rolled her good eye towards him. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“I’ve been writing to them. Mama’s brother. He was the only good one of the bunch.” A pang of sadness pierced him; he remembered those long hours with Jeremiah, having the man transcribe every word in painstaking script, then having the letters proofread for spelling errors. Ever since Janie up and left Rickshaw, he’d been looking for ways to help her from afar. He knew he’d been right not to trust that sketchy producer, no matter how good a name the Big Easy records had in New Orleans. If his plan worked out, then they had Jeremiah to thank for it.

“They sent me a couple letters back. They know people in the business. They can get her out there. Without some no-count bastard takin’ advantage of her.”

Fleur nodded and thumped him on the back. “You’re a smart boy, Burke.”

He smiled secretly to himself.

Chapter 7

Trouble Always follows

Janie woke to the cool barrel of a .45 pressed against her forehead. She had no time to scream or think.

“Get up,” said the low, hoarse tones of Emmett Freeman.

She wore hardly anything, but Emmett didn’t care. He led her out of the house- Burke’s cabin.  Then he lowered the gun.

“Where is Burke?” Janie whispered. “Did you do somethin’ to him-”

“I did nothing,” hissed Emmett. “And I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need you to trust me.”

“You just put a gun to my head!” Janie snapped.

“Come. Watch.”

They picked their way through the forest, the smell of sulfur hanging heavy in the air. Janie could hear the running of the springs, and as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she began to make out Emmett’s features.

“We’re goin’ to the Lookout point?” Janie asked.

“Yes,” said Emmett.

Emmett had always looked clean and put-together. Shaven, well-dressed. Now he looked like any backwoods hillbilly- and he stank to high heaven. His hair hovered in a tangled cloud about his head. A few weeks’ worth of beard growth sprouted from his chin. In the glint the moonlight cast off his sea-green eyes, Janie detected something deranged.

“Where the hell you been?” Janie asked. “You look a pure fright.”

“Hiding,” he answered. He held the gun loosely at his thigh. “Watching.”

“Who’s hidin’ you?”  

“Burke,” he said. “And Little Curtis helped.”

“Burke?”

“He told me not to tell you. But I’m a dead man anyways. I don’t care.”

“Emmett- did you kill that woman?”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“You were pokin’ her, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said shamelessly.

“After all the trouble you gave me about Burke,” muttered Janie. “You’re a lyin’ hypocrite, Emmett Freeman. I wish to God I’d never answered your letter and came back here.”

Not entirely true, thought Janie to herself. Then I wouldn’t have met Burke.

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Emmett. “Make this turn here.”

He guided her through a thicket of briars. Janie yelped; he hissed for silence. It occurred to Janie that Emmett, even if he hadn’t been holding a gun in his hand, was still very dangerous. He had nothing to lose. If the men of Rickshaw caught him, it would be fire and a short drop from the end of a rawhide rope. If the law caught up with him, he’d spend life in prison- or go straight to the chair.

Yet Janie found herself no more than strongly irritated with Emmett. She really wasn’t scared at all.

“Help me understand,” Janie said. “Just tell me why.”

Emmett stopped. “We’re about to get to the place.”

“So tell me before we get there. All your talk about upliftin’ the race. All the hopes you had for the children.” She found herself getting angry. “You tossed it away for some white bitch.”

“You don’t know anything, Janie Ross,” Emmett snapped.

“You really expect me to believe-”

“Fine. I’ll tell you.”

He stuck the pistol in his waistband; a quick movement that nearly scared the life from Janie.

“I’m a dead man anyway. What I say doesn’t matter. You can run and tell it on the mountain for all I care.”

Janie folded her arms. “Try me.”

“I am- I was- part of a secret Negro organization. Based in Philadelphia. We’re called the Sons of Moses.”

The night chirruped around them. All was silent but the wild creatures, and the slow gurgle of the river. Janie stared at Emmett. Emmett stared right back.

“We started as a community movement in the 1890s. Helping black folks register to vote, and all that. But in the 20th century the Jim Crow laws and the rise of the new Klan Order changed everything. So our mission changed too.”

“I see,” said Janie. She wondered if the man was deranged.

“We started trying to infiltrate different Klans. Get information, learn their names, their residences, their families. I was stationed to Rickshaw, because of the recent lynchings. They wanted me to try to open a school, and use that as a cover while I gained intel on Ernest Masters and his lot.”

“Masters is dead,” said Janie.

“I know,” said Emmett. “Burke told me. Anyway, our ultimate goal is freedom. Freedom for the black race. And there’s only one way to do that.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, two ways. One is to stop diluting our blood with the enemy’s. We need negroes marrying negroes. We need to keep together.”

“What about Evelyn Bricassart?” Janie challenged. She didn’t even bother bringing up his own mixed-race heritage. It would probably be fruitless.

“That was part of my mission,” Emmett said, waving his hand, an expression that reminded Janie of his old self.

“I was gathering intel on her family and Francis Croup. Anyway that’s not the point. The real purpose is to get black people out of the United States. That’s the only way we’ll be free. The Sons of Moses will be an international Underground Railroad, the likes of which have never been seen before.”

Whatever response Janie had been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. The idea sounded noble at first; yet after a moment’s thought it became so ludicrous she had to restrain a mocking laugh. “Like they want us all the way the hell over there in Africa,” Janie said. “What are black folks here gonna do in Africa? They got people over there already. They don’t want nothin’ to do with us, and you’d find most folks here don’t want nothin’ to do with them.”

“Typical women,” Emmett muttered. He began to walk again, leading them deeper into the thicket. “Small minded. No vision.”

“Typical man,” Janie retorted. “Delusions of grandeur.”

They maintained a sullen silence. Then Emmett said, “We’re here.”

“Here” was a lookout point. It was a familiar place to Janie, and probably many people in Rickshaw. It offered a spectacular view.   Janie could see all of Rickshaw beneath them, washed by cold moonlight. Most noticeably the immense property and mansion of Francis Croup. It stood like a nasty scarab jewel in a nest of black velvet. Janie had a vision of the earth there as a sodden mass of blood and flesh, feeding a giant tap root that snaked down from beneath the mansion. At one point the Croups had owned more property than anyone in Southern Mississippi. She imagined Francis sitting there in his blood money, weaving a web of treachery and violence like a fat and vicious spider.

To her surprise, small pinpoints of fire appeared in the corners of the property. They began to converge on the mansion.

“What’s that?” Janie said. “What’s going on?”

Emmett turned to her. “Tonight, while you were sleeping, a woman was abducted by the Klan,” he said. “Betty Young, your cousin. They say she threw the first stone during the riot. The one that killed Ernest Masters.”

“No,” said Janie. Her heart plummeted in her chest. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.  “No, no. Not Betty. Did they get her back? Is she alright?”

“Burke went to get her,” said Emmett patiently. “He told me to take you away, in case anyone came to the house. I took you here, so you could see.”

“I have to go,” said Janie, eyes blurry.  She started back down the hill. “I have to go find her.”

Emmett grabbed her arm. “Calm down. He found her already. Burke is a good man. As much as I hate to admit it.”

“You didn’t trust him!” Janie shouted, her self control snapping. “You never trusted him. You told me to stay away from him, even after he helped you.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Janie,” said Emmett, his voice infuriatingly calm.

“I’m done with you,” Janie said.

Emmett raised the gun. Janie took a better look at it and realized it was one of Burke’s. She realized how uncomfortable he looked holding it. He looked tired, too.

“I’m leavin’. You won’t dare shoot me.”

“Look at that, then. Before you go.”

To Janie’s shock and horror, the little torches had reached the porch of the Croup mansion, and were merrily setting it ablaze.

“What on earth-”

“Retribution,” said Emmett, his voice proud and far away. “Justice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We won’t stop until every plantation in the south is burned to the ground,” said Emmett. “We won’t stop until black people have their freedom. That’s the mission of the Sons of Moses. And you won’t tell anyone about it, Janie. I know you better than you think.”

“What about you? You’re a wanted man, Emmett.”

“I know,” the man said calmly. “I failed. My work in Rickshaw is done.”

“You can escape,” Janie told him. “Run away North, to Canada, or somethin’.”

“I’ve been living in this godforsaken cesspit for weeks,” Emmett spat. “Eating frogs and weeds. I’m tired of it. I failed. My life has no purpose now.”

“So you’re giving up?”

“Yes. Tell Little Curtis I’m sorry. He needs a new tutor.”

“Emmett-

“Leave, Janie.”  He swung to face her, looking murderous.

Janie tore from his grasp and ran.

As she reached the bottom of the hill, there came a sharp crack. A gunshot that burst through the air with a single, final note. And Janie knew Emmett Freeman was dead.

*

Janie returned to Burke’s cabin to find Betty there, wrapped in a blanket. Burke had given her tea. She gave a cry and hugged Janie as hard as she could.

“What happened?”

“A man came to drag me from bed. The neighbor heard me screamin’ and ran for help. Only a miracle someone thought to get Burke.”

“Where’s Burke now?” Janie asked. Except for Betty, the house was deserted.

“I dunno,” sighed Betty, wiping away her tears. “Where were you?”

“Emmett Freeman is dead,” Janie said. “I need Burke to go get his body. He shot himself and he’s lyin’ up there- he had Burke’s pistol- he’s on top of the lookout hill.”

“What?” Betty yelped. “Emmett is here?!”

“Was here,” Janie said. She realized she was shaking all over. The fact of Emmett’s death hadn’t processed yet in her mind. Or that the Croup mansion was currently on fire, a fire set by a national vigilante group of black men...God Almighty, it was too much. Too much.

A thought occurred to Janie.

“You ever heard of the Sons of Moses?” she asked her cousin.

“Moses?” Betty said curiously. “Naw. What’s that?”

Janie wondered if Emmett had made up the whole thing. What would she find, if she tried to search for evidence of what he’d said. Who would believe her if she told?

The door burst open suddenly, sending both women springing up from their seats. Janie’s eyes went immediately to Burke’s father’s rifle, standing in the corner. A dark shadow loomed; but it was not Burke. It was the small, bedraggled figure of Francis Croup.

“Evenin’, ladies,” he sneered.

*

He had no weapons, but his fists were curled and ready to swing. Betty cowered; Janie stood up tall and fierce. She had two whole inches on this white man. And she was tired of being afraid.

“What do you want?” Janie demanded.

“To talk with you,” said Francis. “Just to talk. You’ll oblige me, I’m sure.”

“You think you’re getting anythin’ out of us, you’re wrong,” said Janie. “I suggest you leave before Burke comes back.”

“Ah, Burke,” said Francis. He walked slowly around the room until he came to stand directly in front of the old rifle. Janie’s heart gave a trill of fear. She moved to face Francis, protecting her cousin.

“The savior of every nigger in Rickshaw. Anythin’ happens you all run straight to Burke. He’s your protector, ain’t he? Your Knight in Armor. It makes sense, given his breedin’. What doesn’t make sense is how willing you niggers are to throw yourselves at his feet for protection. ”

“That’s not true,” Betty put in. “We don’t need nobody’s help.”

Francis ignored her. He turned to face Janie. A mask of disgust, envy and  wrath warped his features. In another life he might have been quite handsome. But hatred had deformed him.

“Did you know Burke’s great-grandmother was a slave woman?” He said softly.

“Yes,” said Janie. She surveyed the room for a weapon, an opening. Of course, nothing. She’d just have to keep him talking.  “I knew that. So? He’s still white as you. Hardly no white people left in the south that don’t have some colored blood runnin’ through ‘em.”

“Not me,” said Francis. “My blood is pure. I used to pity Burke, you know. For havin’ such a stain on him. My pity was misplaced, it seems.”

“Seems so,” said Janie. She hesitated for a moment before adding,  “Shouldn’t you be at home right now, Francis?”

“What do you mean?” said the man. “Are you scared, girl?”

He doesn’t know, Janie realized. He doesn’t know about the fire.

She decided not to tell him.

Francis turned and picked up the rifle casually. Janie shrank back; Betty opened her mouth to scream. He only slung it, casually, over his shoulder by the strap. Then he bolted the door.

“No cause for alarm,” he said. “Unless you open that door. Then I shoot you both.”

He pointed to Betty. “You stay just where you are.”

He pointed to Janie. “Come with me. I’m doing a little search.”

Betty sat back down, her eyes wide, gauging whether she could run outside and get help. But then the man would just shoot Janie. Francis turned into the second room- Burke’s father’s study. Janie scurried after him.

Burke rarely used this study, for obvious reasons. Until Janie came along he’d barely touched it, though his father had been dead for almost a decade. It smelled just like him: leather and herbs.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

Francis began roughly opening drawers, rifling through the papers.

“You know that big dumb son-of-a-bitch can’t read?” he laughed.

“You’re wrong.”

Francis pulled out document after document. “I suppose you taught him. Burke was always quick at learnin’ things. “

“Why didn’t you tell everyone about Burke?” Janie wanted to know. “You could have made things hard for him here, if people knew about his heritage.”

“Because,” Francis grunted. “I thought we were brothers. I only found out when I got older. I was too loyal to him. That was then. This is now.”

“You mean you never found the courage to blackmail him with it,” Janie scorned. “Because you knew what would happen.”

In time his search grew more frantic. Janie was afraid to ask what he was looking for. Luckily Francis felt chatty.

“Burke’s father and my father were cousins,” he explained. “It didn’t matter that Burke was a bastard, you see. The man was already part negro. But even negroes can own land here. This land should have gone to me. There’s much that can be done with these springs right here. I can have a hundred uses for them.”

“Why did your great-grandfather give them to the slave woman, then?” Janie said.  She hoped to goad him into revealing more without provoking his ire.

“There’s a lot that can be said about my great-grandfather,” Francis replied. He upended a box that had been sitting in the corner. A mass of papers fell out, along with ropes of pearls and jewels Janie had never seen before. They all looked old- very old. Francis crouched and began sifting through them.  He ignored the jewels and focused on the papers. Janie saw that many were just old receipts, random scraps of scribble. Nothing official-looking at all. “He was a ruthless bastard, but that woman had him by the balls. In his right mind he never would have given it away to her.”

“So she cheated him?” Janie probed.

“Yes!” Francis nearly shouted. “She cheated him. Did some negra magic on him. Bewitched him, heart and soul. This land should be mine by right.”  

“So you’re looking for the proof now, amongst these papers,” said Janie. “That she cheated him.”

Francis looked up at her. His eyes scored  her up and down, lingering on her curves. Venom leeched into his voice.

“You’ve got a fat backside. Nice breasts. But not much brains. I can’t see what Burke sees in you, besides a treat to stick his cock into.”

Janie took a deep breath. She would not be provoked. Her eyes wandered around the small room instead of looking at Francis’s judgemental, evil eyes. They were a fresh green, like a cat’s, but cold and without light.

Another breath.  The furniture in the study was minimalist. However a large ornamental stone rested on the mantelpiece. Some amethyst of some kind; Janie could see little crystals forming in the interior, looking blood-red in the dim light. The thing looked heavy. It was within reach.

Francis swayed on his heels as he squatted over the papers. He would find nothing; Janie knew. She’d been through many of them, by herself and with Burke. The important thing was to keep him sitting there, searching, talking. Buying time until Burke came back.

Francis belched into the back of his hand. He shifted on both feet, uneasy, holding a tentative balance. Of course he had likely been drinking.

What if he didn’t find anything in Burke’s study, and got angry?

It seemed that was exactly what was happening. Francis swore and got to his feet. He shoved the mass of papers aside with his heel.

“There has to be more,” he said. “Show me.”

“Ain’t nothin’ here but what you see in front of you,” Janie replied, inching  away from him- towards the stone.  “You can look around. I’m tellin’ the truth.”

“You lying slut,” said Francis. “Show me the rest. There has to be some compartment- something-”

He advanced on her; she made a grab for the heavy stone, and from the other room Betty screamed.

Janie once again underestimated the strength Francis Croup held in his little body. He angled himself closer to the door, slammed it, and bolted it shut. Janie’s arm raised to hit him with the stone but he grabbed her wrist and wrenched it downwards. She dropped the stone; he planted a leg in between hers and bore her down to the hardwood floor.

Betty’s screams from outside the room reached fever-pitch as the two of them wrestled. Janie remembered the last time Francis Croup had touched her; the feeling of his hands under her skirt, pressing and probing with clumsy insistence. She wouldn’t let that happen again.

With a roar he pinned her under him. “You never told Burke it was me who hit you,” Francis hissed. “That time in the town. You never told him.”

“I should have,” panted Janie. Oh, did she regret it now. One word from Burke and Francis would have been a few teeth shorter. A moment of past weakness that she regretted very much now. Right now he had both of her hands locked to her sides. His hips thrusted suggestively; Janie screeched and wriggled and turned to bite him.

“You didn’t tell him, because you liked it,” said Francis. “Admit it. I’ve seen your kind before. You get off on bein’ manhandled- roughed up-”

“Get offa me!”

Betty was pounding on the door. “Don’t you kill her!” She shouted. “Please don’t kill her!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Francis bawled.

Outside Burke’s dog was yowling and barking. Francis grabbed hold of Janie’s hair and lifted her off the floor. He flung her into Burke’s chair. She nearly cracked her head on the seat of it. Francis picked up the enormous hunting rifle and cocked it. Janie knew it was loaded; Burke considered an unloaded weapon a waste of time.

“Luckily for you black bitches,” he said, “The Klan knows exactly where I am tonight. Anythin’ happens to me, you’ll both be dead and strung up, like your friend Emmett Freeman will be.”

“Emmett is dead,” spat Janie. She swallowed the blood from a split lip. “And you should have stayed home. Someone set your pretty old house on fire tonight.”

“What do you mean?” laughed Francis derisively. “Someone who? Who would dare?”

Betty’s knocks faded to an indiscernible babble, but the barking grew louder. Then a heavy thump sounded on the door. Francis stood back from Janie, the rifle trained on her,

She’s trying to break in, thought Janie. Betty will never be able to make it through this door. The door banged again, but it boomed with the weight of something very heavy. Francis looked up, his eyes wide. An animal roar sounded from within, echoing through the house. The banging grew louder until the door of the study exploded from its hinges, revealing the enormous frame of Burke Giraud.

Where’s Betty? Thought Janie.

Burke looked more bear-like than ever. A murderous intent burned in his eyes. It had come to this- him or Francis.

Francis wasted no time. If his cousin caught him, he was finished. He pointed the rifle at Janie, and fired.

The gun roared. She felt a nothing at first, then a sharp, sudden pain in her throat. Her fingers clapped to her neck and came away bright with blood. She whistled with shock, backing up into the corner. It hurt too much to scream.

“Janie!” Burke shouted.

“Listen to me!” said Francis. He swung the barrel towards Burke’s chest. “You let me leave this house, or I kill every one of you in the next five minutes.”

“Drop that gun, Francis Croup, or it’ll be the last mistake you’ll ever make.”

“My last mistake was trusting you,” spat Francis. “And yours was gettin’ involved with some nigger bitch not worth a dime. We could have had it all, Burke. You could have been one of us.”

“You only wanted my land,” spat Burke. “I never would be one of you, with my blood the way it is. Ain’t no point lyin’, Francis. Put that fuckin’ gun down.”

“You slept with Evelyn-”

“I never did. She was a two-bit whore. I pick them better than that.”

“Liar,” said Francis, his voice almost a sob. He turned the gun back on Janie. “This time I’ll make sure I won’t miss.”

“P-please,” Janie wheezed. A river of tears scurried over her cheeks. The fear was real. This man could kill her in front of Burke. Then he could kill Burke. She had to say something. Do something.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

“What?” said Burke.

“Pregnant! I’m pregnant!”

Francis stared, then began to laugh. An evil, hollow laugh. “Poetic justice, Burke.”

“Francis. Please,” he said. Burke’s eyes looked into Janie’s. He felt like the world had just dropped on his chest. “That’s my child she’s carryin’,” he said.

“How do you know?” said Francis. “She didn’t tell you? The night she got hurt by these white men. I was one of them. Maybe I even had a little feel or two under her dress. It could be my child, Burke. What do you think of that?”

“Liar!” Janie gasped. “Burke, don’t listen. He never did- he never touched me like that.”

“I’m goin’ to kill you,” said Burke. His gaze fixed on his cousin, hating, furious.  “I’m goin’ to kill you slow.”

Francis hadn’t lowered the gun, but the shot didn’t come from the rifle. Betty, ever true to her aim, had fired a pistol from the doorway. It took Francis in the shoulder.

He screamed and made his last mistake: he dropped the rifle.

Burke was across the floor in a single powerful movement. He struck Francis to the ground and climbed on top of him.

“Janie!” Betty cried as he did so. She did not drop the gun- a gun she seemed to have produced out of thin air. She hurried over to her bleeding cousin, ushering her out of the room. “Don’t watch. Let’s go!”

“I- can’t leave,” Janie choked. The pain from where the bullet had scored her was blinding. But she’d been lucky. A centimeter to the right, and it would have struck her jugular. She looked back at Burke, who pinned the writhing body of the other man to the floor, and was raising his fists…

She turned away. She didn’t want to see this.

Choking and thumping sounds came from the other room. Janie gagged and rushed outside, Betty close behind. They only stopped running at Janie’s insistence; the pain was making her dizzy.

“Betty!” she gasped. “Where did you get that gun?”

“Baby Jesus, you’re bleedin’ everywhere.” Her cousin tore a strip from her skirt and pressed it to Janie’s injury.

“I went up to Lookout,” Janie said. Betty’s face was a mask of sweat, fear, and exhaustion.  “I found Emmett’s body. I took it from him.”

“Christ almighty. I’m sure glad you’re smarter than me.”

“We need to get outta here, Janie. You heard what he said. The Klan knows where he is. They’re bound to come knockin’ soon.”

“The Croup house is on fire,” said Janie. “I saw it- from the lookout. Won’t they be distracted?”

“I ain’t riskin’ it,” said Betty.

“I can’t leave Burke!”

“Janie, he can handle himself! You’re hurt!”

“I ain’t leavin’. Period. Let’s wait ‘till he’s...finished.”

It only took a few minutes before Burke emerged from the house. He stood, shadowed in the doorway. For a moment the two women clung to each other in fear. He could have been a devil or an angel. He was not Burke then, but some kind of spirit of darkness; a hulking form that drew the shadows into him and trembled at the edges. They saw him and prayed together, hoping wildly that his Eye couldn’t pierce the night and see where they were standing.

But then he sank to his knees, and he was Burke again. Janie staggered to him, despite her cousin’s fearful whispers. She knelt at his feet and put her head in his lap. His hands, slick with blood, came to rest on her back. If the shudders from his body were from grief or exhaustion, she didn’t know.

“I’m sorry, Janie,” he said.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” she said.

“He shot you.”

“I’m alright.”

“No, no, no,” he said. “We gotta take care of it- do somethin’.”

“We have to leave, Burke.”

He looked back into the house. The body of his cousin was still there. Growing cold.

“You’re right.”

*

Little Curtis had seen the whole thing. The men came up to the Croup mansion, dressed all in black, wielding torches like spears. They wore black hoods over their faces and black gloves on their hands. He had been there, at Emmett’s request, to watch the performance. For that was what the men treated it like- a performance.

Curtis knew some of them from the community. They were Emmett’s recruits from Rickshaw, the proof of his own pathetic attempts to start a chapter of the Sons of Moses in Mississippi.

As Curtis knew, from the conversation snippets Emmett left him, and the documents he spied on in Emmett’s study, there were men like Freeman being sent all over the South. Their missions were to spread the word of the Sons of Moses, gather intel on the rich old ex-slaveowning families, and, most importantly, help black communities wherever they could.

Curtis watched from between the branches of a poplar tree as the Sons of Moses did their work. He wondered only briefly where Emmett was. Though in his young heart he knew that his tutor couldn’t live out here much longer. Men on the run had never lasted long in the South.

Curtis stayed only long enough for the porch of the Croup mansion to go up in flames. Then he lighted down from the poplar branches and took off. Like the night of the riot, Rickshaw was a strained place tonight. Something evil hung in the air.

He carried on down the road. Thinking. With Emmett gone, so were his prospects of a good education, college, and sponsorship. Curtis had been looking forward to those. It was disappointing.

Later, sometime near dawn, he came almost unconsciously to Old Ben’s cabin. The man lived on the very edge of Rickshaw. At his house you could hear the trains going by. Old Ben was a hoodoo priest; or so he claimed, anyway. Curtis didn’t believe in that stuff. But the old man always had a kind word for him, and Curtis enjoyed his ramblings on the Universe and the Invisible World. Unlike with Emmett Freeman, Old Ben’s teachings didn’t come at the end of a razor strap.

The old man was sitting in the grass outside his house. He tipped his chin upwards as Curtis approached.

“Hello, child,” he said.

“Hello, Uncle,” said Curtis.

“Trouble in the air tonight,” said Ben. “You feel it?”

Curtis told him what he’d seen. Ben sucked in air through his teeth. “Bad news. But you know, good things always come after trouble. Cain’t make an omelette without crackin’ some eggs.”

Curtis nodded.

“I knew this would be a hard summer,” said Ben, scratching a bite on his ankle. “Even without these damn ‘skeeters.”

“Wisht you woulda told me,” said Curtis. “I needed the warnin’.”

Ben laughed.

“Hard for you, especially,” said the old man. “It’s always hard for children, in such times. But I got a good feelin’ about you, Curtis.  You’re gonna go places.”

“Emmett is gone,” said Curtis, in his matter-of-fact way.

“Oh, I know,” said Ben. “But look, here’s two more to take his place.”

They watched as two people came up the hill. One was Janie Ruth Ross, the schoolteacher-who’d-never-taught. The other was the white man- Burke Giraud. Curtis had never thought much of Burke- he’d hardly known the man, anyway. But he had a soft spot for Janie Ross, especially after that harrowing night they’d had together- which seemed like lifetimes ago.

As for Ben’s opinion of them, well, Ben had always had a way of knowing things about people. Whatever his keen eye didn’t pick up, the twelve-sided bone dice he carried in his pockets were sure to tell him. He didn’t need bones to tell that these two were in a hurry, leaving something dark and tragic behind them.

Ben whistled as they crossed. Burke turned his head; Ben waved the both of them over. It seemed they were unsure of whether to keep going or not. Ben watched them work it out between themselves. They carried a small carpet bag between them. Janie’s head and hair were covered. Burke wore his hat low on his face. To Curtis it appeared they were running away from something.

“Good mornin’,” said Ben genially. “We travelin’ somewhere today?”  

“Mornin’,” said Burke.

“Hello, Uncle Ben,” said Janie.

“Why don’t you set here a piece and tell me what’s got you so ruffled?”

“We can’t stay long,” Burke said. His tone was firm. Dark circles dug pits under his eyes. Janie laid a hand on his arm.

“We’re on the move, Uncle,” she said, placatingly.  

“Whatever you’re movin’ from,” said the old man knowingly, “I hope you had the sense to clean up after yourselves.”

Burke’s eyebrows raised in suspicion.  Janie smiled. She was the type to indulge people; Old Ben liked being indulged.

“Anythin’ we should know before we leave?” she asked.

Ben nodded, and closed his eyes. His fingers twitched in his lap.  “A red sky last night. Spilled blood, and a bright day to follow. Wind to the west.”

“Thank you,” said Janie.

“That’s not all,” said Ben.  He patted Curtis on the shoulder. “Travelin’ is always better in threes.”

“What do you mean?” said Janie.

“Take this little boy with you, when you go.”

Janie shook her head. “Naw. I’m ‘fraid we can’t, Uncle.”

Curtis’s heart skipped a little. He glanced from the old man to Janie, then to Burke. He wanted to go with her. Her lips were fixed to say no. The expression on the white man’s face was unreadable.

“I got some money,” said Old Ben. He made them wait while he dug out an old coffee tin from under his porch. The tin had three hundred dollars. He counted it out in front of them.

“I can’t take this,” said Burke immediately.

“I ain’t givin’ it to you,” said Ben. “I’m givin’ it to Little Curtis.”

“He’s only a boy,” said Janie. “And we might be in danger, Uncle.”

“No more dangerous than growin’ up a young black boy stuck in a place like this,” said Ben. His tone hardened. “This boy’s got a bright future ahead of him. Freeman threw it away on some white woman. I’ve known about you, Janie Ross, and I like you. At least take ‘im with you. He’s got nobody else. Give the boy a chance.”

“You mean adopt him?”

“In a way, yes. Get him out of here, at the very least.”

Janie looked at Burke helplessly. Curtis looked at his shoes.

“It’s too risky,” said Burke.

“We’ve been careful,” said Janie. “No one could know it was us.”

“Still,” said Burke. He looked at the young child closely. The boy had sloane-brown eyes that even he, Burke, who was uneducated, could tell burned with a fierce intelligence.

“He’s a prodigy, Burke. I’ve never met a smarter child.”

The big white man thought for a minute.

“Where would we take him?”

“New Orleans,” Curtis blurted. “It’s where y’all are goin’, ain’t it? They got better schools there than what we got here.”

“Who told you that’s where we’re goin’?” Janie said.

“A guess,” said Curtis.

Burke squatted on his hams to look the young child in the eye. “So you want to go to school, huh?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Curtis.  “I sure do, sir.”

Burke looked thoughtful. Then he set his shoulders. “I’d never deny a child an education.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Ben. He tramped back inside and got something else- a small traveler’s coat for Curtis, and an amulet for Janie. The amulet was blue glass, with a white eye painted in the center of it.

“Black folk oughta stick together,” said Ben. “I’m an old man, I never got much education. But I know that much.”

“Thank you,” said Curtis. He didn’t know whether to direct this  to Old Ben, Janie, or Burke Giraud. He felt nothing but that sweeping powerlessness children feel when their lives are steered by currents they have no control over; gratitude and anxiety mingled in his young breast. As if sensing this, Janie took his hand.

“We need to go now,” said Burke. He laid a protective hand on the child’s shoulder.

“God go with you,” said Old Ben. “I’ll be waitin’ just here if y’all decide to come back.”

“I don’t know about that, Uncle,” said Janie Ross. She fixed him with a watery smile. “But I sure do appreciate it.”

“Anytime, child.”

The three of them left together, on a train bound again for New Orleans. The green trees made a blur as the train churned past. Nothing could be heard over the roaring. Burke sat in the Colored Car after a long deliberation with the conductor. He looked back often through the window. Curtis and Janie did not. Rickshaw was behind them, and would be forever after. The weight of what they had done grew lighter with the realization that all of life waited at the horizon. Life with all its blessings.

Janie eyed the boy sitting next to her, absorbed in a newspaper. She touched a hand to her stomach. Already new life was growing inside her now…

With a secret smile to herself, she leaned her head back on Burke’s shoulder and went to sleep.

Chapter 8

Epilogue I

They had taken the body of Francis Croup up the mountain. Burke did most of the lifting, anyway. Janie just followed, covering their tracks. She’d never had an idea of Burke’s true strength until then. He hoisted the body like a sack of meal, staggering upward, upward, to a secret place only he knew about.  

As he walked, Janie remembered the second time she had laid eyes on Burke. He’d been cavorting in the springs with some black men, local bricklayers. She’d wondered what happened to those get-togethers. Happier times.

Burke’s dog followed them faithfully. Kojack. Janie had grown to like the dog and hate these woods. Branches tugged at her like unfriendly arms. She’d had too many bad experiences here. Even the hot springs, which she had spent so many hours bathing in, became wickeder the higher they climbed. Here the water boiled and bubbled. The smell was unbelievable.

“Almost there,” grunted Burke. Janie grunted back.

‘There’ was a pit, or rather, a hole, cut away inside the cliff. Burke told Janie to stay put; the ground here could be extremely soft. A man could fall in easily and be boiled alive. The pit itself had black, black water. It didn’t look like water, though, just some sulfurous, evil soup that Janie shuddered to think about. How would human flesh fare in such a toxic brew for longer than a second? Not well. She held her breath as Burke stopped in front of it, visions of him falling in racing through her mind.

He did not fall in. Instead, he began to strip the body. All clothes, shoes, and jewelry had to be removed. A precaution. Janie turned away from this. Burke’s face was set in a grim line. She turned to look at him for a second and saw he might have been fighting back tears. She turned away; she would leave him his privacy. He shoved the naked body of Francis Croup unceremoniously into the pit. It made a sick squelching noise as the water sucked it in.

“Let’s go,” Burke gritted. He pushed past her, stalking down the mountain.

Only later, did Burke tell Janie he had seen his father dispose of a man this way. One of the few people to ever know Burke’s true parentage. A white schoolteacher who had tried to keep Burke after school to touch and play disgusting sex-games with. Burke had been seven years old. He had thought the older man his confidante and friend.  He didn’t eat or sleep for a month.

His father had killed the man. Then he’d  taken the body up the mountain and disposed of it. He didn’t make Burke watch, but he showed him the place after.

“This is what happens to anyone who hurts this family, Burke,” he’d said.  

“Protect your own.”

Burke considered Janie a part of this family. And Francis had pointed a gun at her. The man had never been fond of Burke’s people. He’d kept the secret of Burke’s parentage but tried to snatch Burke’s  birthright from under him at every turn. That he could let go; but Francis’s true colors had showed the moment he’d taken up with these KKK bastards and started this whole mess in the first place. And a man who could strangle his fiancee to death with his bare hands...

White men showed up to the house later that night. There were only a couple. Burke hid Janie- Betty was long gone- and answered the door. He invited the men in. They asked if he had seen Francis. Burke said he had not; he showed them around the house. The men told him about the Croup Mansion fire. They said they suspected he had perished in the flames. Burke thanked them for their concern about his cousin. They told him he ought to come to one of their meetings. He agreed politely, and then they left.

After that, Burke wasted no time. He and Janie had to get the hell out of Rickshaw. It was now or never. They packed a few things, and were on their way.

Chapter 9

Epilogue II

Her belly was swollen and round, her breasts and nipples heavy. He watched her from the other room as she took down her hair.

“We need to talk, Janie,” he said. He put down the book he’d been reading.

“About what?” She came to sit on the edge of the bed. Her weight sank the mattress a little where she sat. The sight of it almost made Burke smile and forget he was angry with her.

“You’ve been lyin’ to me,” he said. Her eyebrows raised.

“About what, Burke?” she replied. Janie could always manage to look innocent. Not this time, though. Her brown eyes were wide and guilty.

He pulled a stack of pamphlets from under her pillow. He’d been keeping them there while she bathed: Advertisements, events for clubs and saloons. Janie had circled dates and names. Most incriminatingly, she had the number for Big Easy records, Mindoo’s company, written down on a scrap of paper.

“You said you weren’t gonna worry about the music until the baby came,” he said.

Janie hung her head guiltily.

“I know,” she sighed. She climbed up in bed with him. “It’s just hard, Burke. I feel like I’m missin’ a window for somethin’ big. I feel like I’m becomin’ a different person. My dreams are suddenly changin’. I’m not ready for it yet. I feel like I’m not ready.”

“It’s alright,” said Burke. “I understand. I’ve never had much dreams about anythin’. I’ve never had to work for anythin’, either. I just collected rents and spent the days idling ‘round. I know you’re busy tryin’ to work and everythin’, baby, and I can’t fault you for that.”

“But?” said Janie.

“I don’t like this Mindoo fella and that sleazy record company. Not after what happened that night, what you told me.”

“He’s the best shot I have,” said Janie. She sighed and rubbed her stomach.

“What’s gonna happen when we have the baby?” said Burke. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that. I’m sure you have, too.”

Janie smiled and rubbed her belly at the reminder of the new life growing inside her. Then she sighed. “I don’t know, for certain. I feel like I should give all the music stuff up once I have it. I don’t know if I’ll have the time. Raising the child is more important.”

Burke shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you should follow your dream, Janie. No matter what.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want our child to see that there’s no givin’ up on dreams, you understand?” said Burke. “No matter how many turns things take for the worse. No matter how old they are, or what happens.”

“I guess so,” said Janie. She smiled privately at Burke’s intensity. He was the optimist in their relationship, and she loved him for it.

Burke continued, “That’s right. Just wait a little while, darlin’, don’t exert yourself. Then you can sing and do your thing to your heart’s content.”

She nodded. Though she still thought she could perform during the pregnancy, perhaps Burke was right. Those old crusty saloons that, since her fallout with Mindoo, she was now confined to, were no place for a woman in her condition.

“What’s your dream, Burke?” Janie wondered. She had never asked him that question before. She realized with small surprise that she didn’t even know.

“To be left alone in peace and quiet,” he joked.

“No, seriously!” said Janie.

He breathed through his nose and looked off at the wall. A small furrow entered his brow.

“Well, maybe it’s ‘cause I just learned how to do it...But I want to write a book. About what I’ve seen.”

“Really?” said Janie.

“Really. I think it might be interestin’, kinda. A mental challenge.”

“I think you should do it, Burke.”

“Well, I figure I gotta read more to write better. If I write the way I talk, nobody’s gonna get past the first page.”

Janie hugged him. “I’m proud of you.”

He kissed her forehead. “It’s me that should be proud of you,” he said. “You got us out of that mess in Rickshaw. You’re talented, confident, incredible. I wish you could see what I see.”

Janie looked up at him. He brought his lips down over hers in a gentle kiss. He kissed her curly coarse hair, her wide nose, her full beautiful lips. His tongue slid, soft as velvet, into her mouth. She gave a small moan and sank beneath him. His body covered hers- gently, molding itself against the roundness of her belly. They melted into the bed together, until Janie moaned and shook in the drenching heat they created with their bodies.

*

Curtis had found a new tutor. One of Burke’s uncles. He had mastered German by now, and was working steadily on Spanish. They enrolled him in classes at Xavier. Slowly he lost his country shyness, becoming bolder, rougher. He took to a small gang of city boys, who made fun of him for his accent at first, but came to be awed by his intelligence. The boy blossomed in New Orleans; Janie and Burke rarely saw their new charge, so busy he was with his studies and his friends.

Whether Curtis loved his new foster parents, he didn’t say. They never mentioned Emmett Freeman again, though Curtis received some things in the mail a while later, which had been Emmett’s personal effects. These were: a pen, the Iliad, and a scuffed badge that read “the Sons of Moses”. Curtis threw everything away but the book, which he kept next to his bed. Some nights Janie could see him reading it by candlelight, though of course he knew it all by heart.

They heard from Betty every once in awhile. She had moved to Chicago with her family. Like Curtis, she was working on improving her education. She had a sweetheart in the city, her letters said, who would likely propose soon.

Life went on until Janie had the baby. A boy. They named him Jeremiah, but Burke would call him nothing but Jem, and that name stuck. Jem Giraud.

Janie had feared that Curtis might be jealous of his new brother- stepbrother? The boy didn’t show emotions well; and it was hard to say whether he liked or disliked anything. The small Giraud family lived in a small house- bought with some of Burke’s savings- and Curtis and little Jem perforce had to share a room.

One night Janie peeked her head in to see Curtis rocking the baby in the cradle. He was humming an old Negro lullaby. Janie wondered where he had learned it.

She tiptoed back to her room with Burke.

“Is Dinah coming soon?” she asked.

Burke checked his watch. At that moment came a knock on the front door.

Dinah, the woman they hired to watch the children, was a plump and short teenage girl. A relative of Fleur’s, who helped out sometimes at La Papillion.

“Miss Ross, you look stunnin’!” the girl exclaimed. Her eyes went round as buttons. Janie laughed and gave a little twirl in her dress.

“Why thank you, honey!” she said. Burke smiled. Janie sure did look stunning. This was a big night for her. He’d gotten in contact with his Uncle, and booked Janie a gig at the Rue Grenouille club. Such an exclusive club only hired the best performers. Even with Burke’s connections, Janie had had to audition. Her performance had blown them away.

She wore a floor-length red dress, covered in sequins. An enormous Ostrich feather graced her hat, which was tipped jauntily to one side of her head. Elbow-length satin gloves, of course, completed the outfit. Her shoes were also red, and they showed in the two slits in the dress that ran all the way up to her thighs. Burke had not bought this dress. His uncle, upon hearing Janie sing, had immediately had it commissioned. As a partner of the club he had a special interest in making sure they could secure the best and boldest entertainers. The man thought, privately, that Janie could prove to be one of their most valuable assets.

Janie and Burke didn’t know this, of course. But soon they would.

They entered the club with a pass from Burke’s uncle, and Burke took a place among the rows of seats at the back. Janie went behind the stage to prepare.

This is a big night, she told herself. The biggest night of your life!

She cleared her throat. After this, she would go for her dream harder than ever.

*

They returned from the club. Janie was drunk and so was Burke. The gin made them both feel fizzy and alive. They caught a cab back to the house. Burke drew Janie over his lap and slid his hands up the slits of her dress.

“Hey now,” joked the driver. “Fornicatin’ means extra.”

They all laughed, but Burke’s eyes moved over her in steady seriousness. He wanted her.

They dismissed Dinah when they got home. Curtis had fallen asleep next to Jem’s crib, a book in his hand. Burke suspected the small boy had been reading aloud to the baby before bed. His heart gave an affectionate throb.

Over time burke had come to accept little Curtis as a member of the family. The boy was quiet, and often emotionally disengaged. Burke attributed this to his harsh upbringing in the household of his cousin Francis, and the loss he had had from a young age. Yet of course there was no doubt the boy was a bright spark. Though he rarely spoke unless to correct someone, or express a physical need, the boy was still a child, with a child’s desires and energies. His losses had not defined his life; they had only created an iron core within him. Burke respected this, and in time came to love him for it. He saw much of himself in Curtis. Though the boy was still rather attached to Janie, Burke found that they all worked as a unit together. He had come, in many small ways, to think of the child as his own. Sponsoring him financially was only part of that.

He looked in at the two sleeping children and felt perfectly content. Life in New Orleans had been good to them, throughout it all. The house was nothing like his cabin back in Rickshaw, which had been closed-off and private. He missed the hot springs, the seclusion of the countryside, and especially his dog, Kojack. But Burke had made up for all these things in other ways. He was doing this for Janie, the woman he loved, and that was enough.

He entered the bedroom he and Janie shared. She was sitting on the bed, peeling off her stockings. The action alone seemed to Burke incredibly erotic. Her foot extended, and the stocking came off the long slope of one leg, then the other. She was so graceful and elegant.

He slid next to her, his arms circling around her back and pulling her down to the bed next to him.

“You were amazing tonight,” he murmured in her ear.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He nibbled the soft skin at her throat. “Watchin’ you up there with the lights all in your hair, I could hardly believe that was my Janie. You looked like a Queen.  Or a goddess. Comin’ to smite us all.”

Janie leaned her head back against his shoulder. His hands circled ever-closer to the twin mounds of her breasts. Since Jem’s birth they had grown very full and round. They sat perfectly on her chest. Right now she had constrained them in a skimpy lace bra; a French design. If Burke were to slide the red dress off her shoulders, he would see her dark blackberry nipples poking through the lace fabric, stiffening, peaking, under his gentle attentions. Attentions that grew more insistent and crude the longer he played with them.

“What do you want me to do to you?” he asked softly. His hands came back up under the dress. Thank God for those wicked slits. For her breasts, for her fat bottom and plump pussy. All of Janie was his, just as he was hers, and he longed for her now with a fierce passion that erupted suddenly inside him- just as he would soon erupt inside her.

He pulled her body alongside his. The pregnancy had given her some weight, but Burke thought it made her more beautiful than ever. Her height balanced it out evenly. Janie had always leaned towards a thinner figure, but now she was fleshy and heavy, soft and beautiful as a woman should be. He imagined her as some sort of fertility goddess, all breasts, stomach, thighs and bottom. He longed to plunge himself into her moist depths again and again.

As if by instinct her hand came up to cup his hardness through the fabric of his trousers. With the ring he’d bought her burning on her finger, her attention to his stiff cock seemed more elegant and regal than ever before. She drew his length out of his pants, a hand coming up to wrap around the base, stroking upward in agonizing slowness. Her soft mouth followed. Saliva coated his cock as he made the first thrust towards the back of her throat. Janie gave a choked moan; music to his ears. He lay on his back, cradling her head between his hands, as he used her throat to fuck him. She didn’t need to use her hands, her tongue and soft wetness was enough.

Burke raised up on his knees over her, drawing her head down again all the way to the base of his cock. He fucked into her like this, relishing the soft gags and mewls she made as he posessed her. Once she had pleasured him to his satisfaction, Burke drew his cock out of her mouth and bent her over on her knees.

This was his favorite position to have Janie; she presented him with a wonderful view of her rear, and spread her asscheeks open so he could have an even better view of her pink wet pussy. He plied one thick finger into it. It really was amazing how women could have such tight pussies that opened up like flowers as they got more aroused. Janie was tight against his fingers, but she became wetter and wetter the more he worked her. It was so easy to get her to this state- and Burke was an expert by now. It was hard to imagine that the innocent Janie from a few months ago, who had never been touched or claimed by a man, was the same woman kneeling in front of his cock, presenting herself to be fucked.  He pushed against the soft round button inside her. Wet moans and the squelching noises of her soaking pussy filled the room; she cried out again and again as orgasm tore through her. She came off his fingers once; he held her down against him and pushed two digits in this time, working her up even more.

Janie was ready for him now. Cream dripped from between her nether lips, coating her dark skin and running down her thighs. Burke readied himself to take her. He undid his trousers, letting the full length of him spring out. With a lustful groan he rubbed the head of it at her moist entrance. She shivered and angled her body to accept more of him. He had planned to just draw her down over his length in one thrust, but with sudden inspiration, changed his mind.

“Come here,” he ordered. Janie swiveled under his guidance, bringing her bottom to sit directly over his face. He pushed her down over to suck on his staff. The heat of her mouth was too good to resist; and besides, there were few things he enjoyed more than having Janie’s supple, round ass planted firmly over his face so he could suck on her clit and tongue-fuck her pussy to his heart’s content. He did this now, plying her soft wetness with his tongue expertly. Janie quivered and shook above him. Her lips did their best to service his cock, but distracted as she was by the pleasure she received from Burke’s tongue, she slobbered and drooled clumsily over it until he did what he loved best- held her head and simply used her mouth.

He loved when she sucked the cum right out of his dick. Janie knew better than to spit it out- and she wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway. He blasted one load down her throat, then groaned, his cock twitching, and sent another over her chin and face. When he pulled her up to look at hi handiwork, she was smiling. Good girl. Janie knew how to take a dick well, and she knew how to smile and say thank you for the loads of cum he gave her. As she should.

But Burke wasn’t finished with her. Far from it. She still hadn’t cum yet, and whenever he fucked Janie he wanted at least one load deposited in her steaming fertile pussy. For one thing, it felt amazing to hold her down and blast load after load inside her. For another, watching his cum leak from her tight lips- evidence of his possession of her- was one of the most erotic things he could think of.

He was ready for her now. Again she came to her knees, and again he positioned himself at the tight entrance to her pussy. He’d have it no other way- she had to be on her knees the first time he entered. The creases of her ass showed just how endowed she was; the stretch marks on the sides of it showed that she was all woman- a woman ready for him. Ready to give him pleasure with the use of her soft, hot little body.

He thrust into her slowly. One hand maintained an iron grip on the meaty portion of her ass. One clenched around her bounteous hair, holding her in the position he desired. That way he could control the direction her body moved, and the pace she held as she ground her ass up and down his length. He grunted at the slickness and tightness inside her. Already he could feel a load getting ready in his balls. Once Burke had pulled out of her and shot a fat wad of cum all over her asscheeks, back and hair. It had been nice to watch it slide down the curve of her bottom to pool in the moist heat of her pussy. He briefly considered doing that again. Or perhaps he would just raise her up and fuck the last of it into her throat for her to swallow. As long as it was planted inside Janie somehow, he was content.

Either way, right now he was still fucking her, with no intention of stopping soon. The more she moaned and squirmed, the more heat built in him until it expelled all other thought and consciousness from his mind. He bucked against her, inside her, allowing animal instincts to take over as they committed the most passionate of acts.

Janie felt a storm brewing inside her, one of lust and passion. She sought desperately from relief from her desires, and Burke’s cock was the perfect instrument to do so. She was always surprised she could take the whole length of him inside her. Burke filled her, impaled her. The sheer size of him compared to her was enough to send her over the edge with longing. It was primal and crude, but Janie liked that Burke was so big and manly, and she liked that he could stick her with his cock and make her forget all other thoughts and feelings but the searing pleasure it brought her most sensitive parts.

He flipped her over, placing her legs on his shoulders. He kissed the smooth curve of her calf. Janie had always been self-conscious about her long legs, but Burke loved them for their shapeliness and feminine curvature. He gripped them as he rode her, slowly at first. His rhythm made a steady beat against her. He swung his hips as a dancer might, hard, hard, softly, then hard again. The effect on Janie when he did that was a sight to behold. She seemed to go limp and tense up at the same time. Jane came best in this position, because the head of his cock bumped directly against the soft inner flesh of her g-spot. She was cumming now.

“Play with your pussy, baby,” he directed. “Put a finger in your pussy.”

Janie could hardly fit a finger in there, with Burke filling her so completely, but she did anyway. She tasted herself mingled with his sweat, sweet and salty. Burke drove down into her harder. She could barely keep her head straight. Her hands, under his direction, came to cup her mound. One finger was slick with their wetness. This she used to play with her clitoris. Her eyes never left Burke’s. The corners of his eyes narrowed; the pupils so large with desire they seemed to darken his irises from gray to black. His muscles rippled as he fucked her. His hands dug into her sides. Passionately, passionately. They were joined together in this intimate act, and nothing could stop either now from consummating it with a whirlwind of desire and relief that they forged together with their sexual energies.

At last Janie felt the burning fire of arousal overwhelm her. Her legs trembled under the brutal assault of Burke’s thrusts and the workings of her finger on her clitoris. Together they joined in a fever. Burke leaned down and whispered dirty words, sex words, in her ear. She sobbed under him, spreading her legs further. She wanted all of him to reach inside her and turn her into a puddle of longing. She wanted to always be ready and willing for his cock, to service him whenever he desired it.

With a shuddering groan and a sharp intake of breath, Burke spurted inside her, filling her with his spunk. She clenched her pussy around the length of him; he threw back his head and thrusted again, again, pumping more cum into her. Janie was filled with his seed, and she loved it. He withdrew, aching to leave the steaming wet heat of her hole. He scooped some of the cum leaking out of her onto his fingers and fed it to her slowly, enjoying the way her plump lips wrapped around his fingers.

“Good girl,” Burke whispered. “That’s my girl.”

Janie’s brown eyes were full of longing and love. They collapsed in bed together. He wrapped his big arms around her and drew her forehead to his lips.

“Say, Janie,” he said. “You remember those years ago, when I kissed you?”

Janie chuckled. She still needed time to catch her breath, though of course Burke was all energy. He could go another round if he had to. She felt her pussy tentatively; it was a little sore from his attentions, but she would relish feeling him again.

“I remember,” she said. “You bit my lip a little.”

She remembered only faintly the tall, lanky boy who had saved her. The boy who kissed her and made her forget, if only for a moment, the divides that stood between them because of race.

In New Orleans life was different. They still faced discrimination- it had been hell to even buy the house. But Burke had shone through again, and done it. He paid for it cash. Janie smiled. Sometimes having a man so good at arguing was an enormous boon.

They would be married soon- someday. Perhaps they would go up North to do it. Burke could prove, of course, that he had Negro ancestry, and the courts would allow it here. But a private, proud part of Janie didn’t want to marry based on a technicality, if she could help it. She wanted everyone to know that white and black people were simply people- and they could fall in love, marry, and have children just like anyone else. That was the way of the world, and the way of human beings. If anyone didn’t like it, too bad. She wanted to prove a point.

Burke gave a light snore in her arms. He was already falling asleep. Janie’s thoughts turned to her music career, and as if unconsciously, she began humming a familiar lullaby. Jem was still a little baby. But she could balance a family life and pursue her dream. She wanted to show her son- and Curtis- that life didn’t stop when you fell in love or made a family. Life was always rolling, rolling on. And she could become a singer. Fame and fortune would be nice. But Janie figured as long as she could pursue what she loved, she’d be content with a quiet life.

That was the key, she reflected, lifting a black curl from Burke’s face. You just had to chase your own paradise.

Chapter 10

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Back CATALOG

Back Catalog

Check out more BWWM romance novels by Jamila Jasper.

All steamy reads under $5!

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African American Romance

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Description:

“Jalen is the CEO of BK Records and since he's made his billions he's found himself a wife that everyone can be jealous of. But his wife Katie doesn't treat his little man Kareem the way a mother should and Jalen's having second thoughts about the whole affair...

Jalen hires a black woman as an au pair... Dallas. He wants his son to have an authentic black upbringing despite the billions to his name.

Dallas is nothing like Katie. She's independent, dark skinned educated and she won't tolerate BS or drama. Not to mention, she makes a mean fried chicken, cornbread, and greens.

Jalen falls for the woman that brings him back to his Southern roots instantly. All he has to do now is find a way to convince Dallas that his world of billions of dollars is worth even 1/2 the drama.

Dallas has feelings for Jalen too but she won't do a thing 'til he forgets about that white girl on his arm...”

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