The Governor’s Sons
Page 7
“Miss Joan, I am too,” Lillian Ann said. “I wish the reading and the reception didn’t have to be outside.”
“I know, Lillian Ann. But our Arts Center is too small for the crowd that’s expected.” Miss Joan sighed, fanning slowly. “My goodness, I’ll have to have some of my Lydia Pinkham to get me through the afternoon.”
“Oh, Miss Joan,” Lillian Ann exclaimed, “my mother swears by Lydia Pinkham!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is about that stuff,” Ash said. “Just one whiff and you can smell the alcohol; might as well just have a shot of scotch.”
Miss Joan looked at Ash sharply, and then rose from her chair. Ash stood with her. Refusing to acknowledge his remark she said, “I’ll see you at the reading. It’s already past noon. I promised my volunteers I’d be there by now.” Ash sat back down as his mother left the room. She called over her shoulder, “Don’t be late. Mr. Stuart will begin at 2:00.”
****
Kitty stood in the kitchen fuming with the burning desire to scratch out Miss Lillian Ann’s eyes! Only Ash called her Kitty—no one else! Despite what she’d told Ash yesterday, Kitty was sorry now, because today, Miss Lillian Ann—very pretty, very rich and very white—sat with Ash for lunch, and would later accompany him to a reading—a reading of love poetry.
Kitty hugged herself so tightly, her finger nails dug into her rib cage. She could smell Miss Lillian Ann’s gardenia perfume all the way in the kitchen. And the image of her expensive dress, the sleeveless turquoise, splashed with large lavender flowers was seared into Kitty’s mind. Its plunging neckline revealed her rather generous cleavage, and of course, her strand of pink luster pearls was real.
Kitty, in her pale blue uniform and flat white shoes, couldn’t have felt more ugly. Grease from frying this morning’s bacon still lingered in her clothes, and her hair was more kinky than usual because it had rained last night. The extra humidity in the air caused it to rise like yeast. Next to Miss Lillian Ann’s glossy locks, Kitty felt like the jungle woman from deepest, darkest Africa.
“You’re looking mighty sour,” Betty Jean said, as she finished loading two slices of sponge cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. “What’s got you in a tizzy?”
“Nothing,” Kitty snapped. “It’s—it’s just that Miss Lillian Ann. She’s bossing me around like a plantation mistress.”
Betty Jean stopped what she was doing. “It’s not just that, is it?” A plump strawberry rolled from the counter. Betty Jean caught it before it hit the floor. “I know you like Ash,” she whispered. “And he likes you, as much as a white man can, anyway. I’m not blind—as long as I have my glasses on. I’ve seen the way the two of you look at each other. But now he’s out there with Miss Lillian Ann. Catherine, you just better protect yourself and forget all about him!”
“I’m not interested in Ash. Why would I be?” Kitty lied. “White men are nothing but trouble.”
Betty Jean grabbed Kitty’s arm firmly. “You can deny it all you want, but I know what I see!”
Kitty ignored her. “I guess I need to clear away the dishes now,” she said, but didn’t move.
Betty Jean released her arm and waited silently, looking at Kitty. “Well—I guess so.”
Finally, Kitty left the kitchen and walked into the dining room.
“Oh, Ash,” Lillian Ann batted her lashes, “it’s a shame Mr. Stuart has to come when it’s so hot. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad having him outside in the spring time, now, would it?” As Kitty cleared away the dishes, Miss Lillian Ann said, “Now, Ash, don’t you dare let me forget my hat and shawl. If I do,” she eyed Kitty spitefully, “I’ll turn as black as Kitty!” Then Lillian Ann laughed, looking at Ash.
But Ash didn’t laugh. Instead, he gazed into Kitty’s eyes with an apology. Unreceptive to him, she abruptly left the room. Kitty piled the dishes on the kitchen counter, and then removed her apron.
“What is it?” Betty Jean asked.
“I quit!”
“But, Catherine, you can’t! Aunt Izolla’s at a funeral and she probably won’t be back for a while. I need your help to finish serving and getting everything cleaned up.”
“I’m sorry, Betty Jean,” Kitty’s voice cracked, “but I just can’t stay.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Kitty left through the back door in tears.
****
Betty Jean blew out a breath as she walked to the dining room to finish clearing the table. She noticed Ash look at her oddly, and odder still when she served dessert. She rushed back to the kitchen and hastily put away the leftovers, then quickly began washing dishes.
In a few moments, Betty Jean heard Ash excuse himself from the table.
“And just where do you think you’re going, Ash Kroth?” Lillian Ann said. Betty Jean noticed that her sweet tone had a sharp edge to it.
“I won’t be a minute.” Ash sounded annoyed.
“You’d better not be. How dare you leave me alone.”
Betty Jean heard Ash come through the swinging door. As he walked into the kitchen he said, “Where’s Kitty?”
“She quit.” Betty Jean’s back faced him while she washed dishes.
“Quit?” Ash asked, in what sounded like disbelief. The silence between them was broken by Miss Lillian Ann loudly stirring her iced tea in the dining room. The spoon and the ice clanked monotonously against the glass.
Betty Jean continued washing. “That’s what she said.”
“Oh, Ash,” Miss Lillian Ann called. “I could use some more lemon slices.”
Ash ignored his guest. And he didn’t ask why Kitty had quit, so Betty Jean assumed he knew why. She paused from rinsing flatware and turned toward him. “So—I suppose something happened out there—that upset her.”
Ash hesitated. “Miss Lillian Ann said something…insulting to her.”
As colored folks, they could take insults, Betty Jean thought. Being Negro meant learning how to let them roll off your back, no matter how hurtful. But she knew this went deeper.
“Oh, Ash!” Miss Lillian Ann’s tone was more demanding now.
“Mr. Ash,” Betty Jean handed him a dish of lemon slices. “Don’t you think you ought to get back to your guest?”
“Yeah.” He waited for a moment. “I suppose I should.”
****
After dinner that evening, Ash drove Betty Jean home. He pulled under the shade of a large oak tree in front of the Wilkes’s small white frame house. Before Betty Jean got out of the car, he said, “Would you ask Kitty if she’ll come out and talk to me?”
Betty Jean stiffened and pursed her lips. To Ash it looked like she was about to say no. “I suppose it’s not my place to interfere,” she said hesitantly. “So, I’ll see if she wants to talk to you.” Betty Jean thanked Ash for the lift home, and then left his car.
Ash turned off the engine. Despite the shade, he wiped his face and neck with a handkerchief. He looked toward the front porch. The swing looked inviting. He’d rather talk to Kitty there than in a hot car, but he couldn’t risk being seen with a Negro girl on a porch swing.
A short while after Betty Jean had disappeared into the house, Ash wondered if Kitty would come out at all. And if she did, besides apologizing for Lillian Ann’s insult, what would he say? He’d beg her not to quit. No, he wouldn’t beg. He’d ask her not to quit. If she didn’t agree to come back, then he’d beg. Was he crazy to pursue her? Yes. Was it even fair to ask her to give up everything so she could be with him? No. But Ash wanted her anyway.
To save face at least, he’d be the one to tell her things never have worked between them. Ash wouldn't give Kitty the satisfaction of the last word. But—he loved her. And she still had to love him. Love just couldn’t--dissipate like that. Or could it? What if she refused to see him? He deserved a chance to plead his case!
Ash wiped a fear-induced sweat from his brow, then looked toward the porch. He saw Kitty. He wasn’t sure how long she’d be
en there, but she stood quietly wearing a bright yellow sundress. It was cut straight with a halter-top and she wore wedge-heeled yellow sandals.
As they held each other’s gaze, Kitty hesitated to approach. After a few moments, she slowly descended the stairs. She strode to Ash’s car and stopped at his window. “So—what d’you want?”
“Can you—” Looking at her, Ash could barely speak. He cleared his throat. “Can you get in—and sit with me for a while?” He said in a raspy voice.
“Don’t you have more plans this evening with Miss Lillian Ann?” Kitty sounded hoarse. Ash wondered if she’d been crying.
“No.”
As Ash leaned over to open the door, she sauntered to the passenger side and then climbed in. Kitty crossed her arms tightly and stared straight ahead. “So, how was the poetry reading?”
“Well,” As exhaled, “the reading was tolerable, but the reception was awful. That Bennett Stuart couldn’t keep his eyes off me, the blasted pantywaist. Made me sympathize with what a female has to deal with.”
“Serves you right.”
They sat quietly for a few seconds. “Kitty,” Ash said, “I’m really sorry about Lillian Ann—I mean that comment—that insult—I’m really sorry she hurt your feelings.”
“I reckon I’ve heard worse.”
“She can—she can be pretty thoughtless.”
Kitty turned angrily toward him. “Then why do you like her?”
“I don’t like her!”
“You said you’d been thinking about her!”
“I lied! I just wanted to make you jealous.”
“Well,” Kitty said, “I suppose it worked.”
“And I wanted to hurt you…I wanted to hurt you as bad as you hurt me.” Ash looked away from her and grabbed the steering wheel. The grips dug into his hands. “What you said…I didn’t deserve that—and it still hurts me to think about it.” Taking his hands from the wheel, his eyes met hers. “And then you threatened me with that dang blasted knife like I was gonna rape you. I’d never hurt you that way. Why do you even doubt that?”
Gazing into his eyes, Kitty said, “I’m sorry, Ash. It’s just that Russell and Thomas—said some things…”
“I figured as much. But did you forget that you made the first move.”
Kitty looked down embarrassed, then smiled at him. “I knew you were interested. You would have made it sooner or later--if I hadn’t.”
Ash laughed, as he pushed himself against the off white leather upholstery. “Then you would’ve accused me of being a cad, a scoundrel, and a dog and whatever else Russell and Thomas called me.” Suddenly worried, Ash asked, “Did you tell them about what happened between us—what I said to you Friday?”
“No! I didn’t say a thing! They know what white men are all about, and they just put you in the same category with all the rest of them.”
“Why would you believe any of what they said? Have I ever given you a reason to?”
“No.” Kitty sighed slowly. “I’m so confused—I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Ash grabbed her hand. “You can always believe me. And you can always trust me.”
“Negroes have a hard time trusting white folks.” Kitty smiled sadly.
“Don’t clump me in with all those white folks you don’t trust. And Kitty—please don’t quit. I want to see you every day.”
“But--it would be best if I did.” Tears welled in Kitty’s eyes, then she dropped her head and began to cry. “Ash--it’s too painful to be around you. I--I love you—but I don’t want to—but I can’t help it.”
Ash wiped away her tears with a handkerchief and squeezed her hand. “Kitty, I love you,” he said softly, “and I want to be with you forever.” She said nothing, but didn’t pull her hand from his. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
Her eyes met his. “I don’t know. I’ll—I’ll have to think about it. Goodnight, Ash.”
“Kitty--” Before he could say anymore, she climbed from the car and shut the door. Ash got out and ran after her. “Kitty.” He looked around to make sure no one saw them, then pulled her toward the oak tree to shield them from any passersby. “I want to marry you—I mean that,” he whispered. “I know we can’t really be married—but if we could—would you marry me?” Kitty nodded, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “When is everyone asleep in your house?”
“What?” She looked at him blankly.
“When is everyone asleep?”
“Ten o’clock—no later than eleven.”
“Can you be on your back steps at midnight?” Ash asked.
“What?” Again, a blank stare.
“You heard me. Can you be on your back steps at midnight--waiting for me?”
“Waiting for you? Where do you want to take me?”
“Nowhere. And you don’t have to be dressed up.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m not telling. You just meet me out back at midnight. Okay?” Ash said.
Kitty didn’t say anything. She only looked at him skeptically.
Chapter 7
Kitty wore a house dress over her nightgown while waiting near the back steps. Right around midnight, she heard Ash’s car rolling slowly over the gravel that lined the driveway to the back of her house. Seconds later, she saw him pull around with his headlights off.
Ash got out, holding a flashlight. He placed it down not far from the car, then reached back inside and grabbed what looked like three coffee cans. He set them on the ground a few feet apart. From his pocket, he pulled a book of matches, and then dropped a lit match into each can to ignite a low burning flame.
“What’s in there?” Kitty asked.
“Lye soap.”
“Just what are you doing?”
Ash smiled at her. “You’ll see.”
He went back to the car and pulled out what appeared to be a white cape with thick gold brocade around the edges. “Put this on.” Ash draped it over Kitty’s shoulders.
“This is your mama’s.”
“Yeah. But it looks better on you.” He pulled up the hood.
“Which movie star do I look like more, Carole Lombard or Claudette Colbert?”
“Kitty Wilkes—wearing a wedding gown and veil,” Ash replied.
Kitty laughed. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”
“Yeah.” Ash rushed back to the car for the last item he’d brought. It looked like a wine bottle. He set it down not far from where they were. When he stood up, he held Kitty’s hands. The flames provided just enough light for him to see into her eyes.
“Ash, just what have you got up your sleeve?”
“Listen and you’ll find out,” he said softly. “I, Ashton Leigh Kroth, take thee, Catherine Mae Wilkes, to be my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” Ash looked at her expectantly, waiting for a response, but she didn’t say anything. “Well,” he prodded.
She smirked. “Well, what? You want me to repeat those vows or something?”
“You’re ruining my plan for a romantic wedding by firelight under a full moon.”
Ash sounded wounded, but Kitty blew out a deep breath. “You’re the one that’s gonna be a lawyer. What we’re doing won’t hold any water legally. We don’t even have any witnesses.”
“There’s God.” Ash looked up. “And the moon and the stars.” After he said this Kitty laughed. “Kitty—this is the best I can do for us. Will you accept it—and repeat the vows?”
“Ash!” Kitty began to laugh again. “Just what will—”
“Please…”
Before Kitty could say anything else, she noticed Ash’s eyes begin to water. “Ash,” she said softly, “are those tears I—”
“No.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I just got something in my eye.”
So touched, Kitty couldn’t help but say, “I, Catherine Mae Wilkes, take thee Ashton Leigh Kroth, to be my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
After a long kiss, Ash grabbed the bottle he’d brought. “I loosened the cork already.” He pulled firmly to remove it. “But I forgot glasses. Here,” he thrust the bottle toward her, “take a sip.”
“From the bottle?” Kitty asked. “That’s so unladylike.”
“I won’t tell.”
Kitty had never tasted champagne. She’d expected something sweet and bubbly. Instead this was fizzy and bitter. She coughed after drinking it. “So—is this champagne?”
“No. Alcohol’s not good for you. It’s imported seltzer water,” Ash said, then took a sip. “I figured we needed something to celebrate—but non-alcoholic with a good fizz.”
“It’s fizzy alright, but I say,” Kitty nuzzled next to him, “we celebrate with another kiss.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Ash smiled. “But I’d really like to celebrate in another way.” After a slow, deep kiss, Ash said, “So--when can we make our marriage--real?”
“You mean—consummate it?”
“Yeah.”
This thought was actually scary to Kitty. Right now she just wanted to bask in the romance. “I don’t know,” she replied vaguely.
Ash pulled her closely for another kiss. “I guess we’ll know when the opportunity presents itself.”
****
In the house, Betty Jean tried to go back to sleep in the room she shared with Catherine. But it was no use. She’d have to get up and relieve herself all because of that iced tea she’d had so close to bedtime. She hated having to use the slop jar in the middle of the night, but if she kept waiting, it would just get worse. Betty Jean threw back the sheet and sat up, glancing out the open window by her bed as she did.
At first she heard the soft murmur of voices, but then her heart stuck in her throat as she saw the blur of a white robe and the light of flames. She reached for her glasses on the bedside table, but in a panic, knocked them to the floor. She dropped to her hands and knees, feeling for them, but couldn’t find them.