The Governor’s Sons

by McKenzie, Maria

  “He looks like a little Indian doll,” Ash said. For a short while he only stared in amazement at the baby he’d helped to create. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful baby! Heck! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful, period!”

  Seletha leaned toward Ash. “Hold him.”

  “But—I—I’ve never held a baby.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. Go ahead, Ash. I know you’re not afraid.” Seletha moved the baby toward his arms.

  Hesitantly, Ash took the infant. “He’s so small,” Ash said, stiffly gripping Harland for fear he’d slip through his grasp.

  “All babies are small, Ash. But as far as babies go, he’s pretty big, especially being early like he was. He’s over seven pounds.”

  “Look at those eyes,” Ash said in wonderment, as Harland’s locked into his. “They’re just like big black marbles.”

  “See how he’s studying you, Ash. It’s like he knows you.”

  “Maybe he knows my voice,” Ash smiled, “from all my visits with Kitty. And look at his hair! There’s so much of it.”

  Seletha smoothed her fingers over the baby’s glossy black locks. “Feels like silk. And that pretty brown skin looks good enough to eat—just like toffee.” Seletha paused for a moment. “Ash—even though he doesn’t look like white—you’ll love him just the same—won’t you?”

  Ash took his eyes from Harland and looked at Seletha. “Seletha, I’ll love him no matter what.” She seemed to heave a sigh of relief. “What? Did you think--”

  “No, Ash—it’s just that…it doesn’t matter what I thought. But—for someone who’s never held a baby, you’re doing just fine.”

  “I know what you were thinking—and you don’t need to worry. I hope our next baby’s just as beautiful.” While cradling Harland, Ash had relaxed some. “You know,” he smiled, “holding him’s not as hard as I thought.”

  A few minutes later, Heath slowly approached them.

  Ash tilted the baby carefully in his brother’s direction. “My baby’s something, isn’t he, Heath?”

  “Yeah,” Heath said softly.

  His brother looked pale, Ash thought, and distressed.

  “Ash—give him to Seletha for a while. We—we need to talk.”

  Where was the congratulatory pat on the back? Ash wondered. And why didn’t Heath look happy? Something didn’t seem right. But nothing could be wrong, Ash told himself.

  After Ash gave the baby to Seletha, Heath told her to go back to the house. He said Dr. Farmer needed to see her about something. Ash noticed Seletha’s grim expression as she turned to go, and she didn’t ask any questions before she left.

  Feeling uneasy, Ash said, “When can I see Kitty?”

  Heath lowered his eyes for a long moment, then looked straight at his brother. “Ash—Kitty didn’t—”

  “What, she didn’t ask for me? She—she must’ve been exhausted. I bet she fell asleep as soon as the baby came.” He paused, trying to suppress the welling dread he felt inside. “That’s what happened—right?”

  Heath put his hand firmly on Ash’s shoulder. “Ash--Kitty didn’t make it.”

  “What?”

  “She died.” Heath had tears in his eyes. “Ash—I’m sorry.” Almost choking on his words, Heath continued saying, “We couldn’t save her. She hemorrhaged—bled out. We—we couldn’t stop the bleeding. Ash—I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I feel like I failed you—I couldn’t do anything to save her. I tried—but I couldn’t.”

  For several moments, Ash couldn’t speak. He only looked at Heath, then finally shook his head and said, “No. No. That can’t be…you’re wrong.” Refusing to believe his brother, Ash quickly walked back to the house.

  When he forcefully strode past the parlor on his way to Kitty’s bedroom, he ignored the warnings of Dr. Farmer, Seletha, and Esther, not to go there. Seletha, the sprightliest of the three, placed the baby in her mother’s arms, then ran to stop him. But Ash firmly shoved her out of the way once he reached the room.

  He opened the door. A pink satin bathrobe covered her. He’d given it to her only weeks ago so she’d feel beautiful. It shouldn’t be over her face, Ash thought. She wouldn’t be able to breathe. As he gently lifted the robe, the entire garment slowly slid to the floor. Kitty looked as though she lay sleeping.

  Ash tried to rouse her. “Kitty,” he shook her shoulder but she didn’t stir. She was warm, and moved like a rag doll. Kitty wasn’t dead, he attempted to convince himself. Weren’t dead people supposed to be stiff and cold? He shook her harder, and harder still, yet nothing happened. Softly, Ash said, “Kitty, you can’t be…”

  The sobbing seemed to well up from nowhere, but took hold of him like he’d been slammed into a brick wall. Ash found himself on his knees next to the bed holding her and weeping into her breasts. The realization hit hard as he slowly pulled himself away from her smelling the heavy metallic stench of iron. His eyes moved from her face to her torso. Her white nightgown was splotched with large patches of pink and red, but most of the blood was concentrated below her waist. There was so much of it that the white sheets and lower part of her gown had turned crimson. Looking down, Ash saw even more blood on the hardwood floor.

  It didn’t take long for the nausea to set in. With a hand over his mouth, he ran from her room to the back door of the kitchen. He reached the backyard just in time to vomit. Moments later, Seletha brought him a handkerchief and some water. He drank the entire glass.

  “Ash,” she said softly, taking his glass, “we’ve called her family. And we—we’ve—called the undertaker. He’ll be out in a little while--to take her away.”

  Ash nodded.

  “I took this from her finger.” Seletha handed him Kitty’s engagement ring.

  The screen door creaked open. From the corner of his eye, Ash could see Heath on the back steps, but Ash ignored him.

  “Now, Ash,” Seletha patted his arm, “you let me know if you need anything, alright?” When he didn’t respond, Seletha gently squeezed his arm and walked away.

  Ash gazed down at Kitty’s ring. The sun reflected brilliance of the diamond shone brightly, until clouds rolled by and blocked the sun. Then its radiance diminished.

  He placed the ring in his shirt pocket, then dropped his gaze to the ground. “Why, Lord?” Ash said softly. His eyes again welled with tears. “Why did You take her from me? How am I supposed to raise a child without a wife?” Ash closed his eyes tightly and tried to stifle a sob. “I—I can’t raise him now. There’s no possible way I can.” He inhaled deeply. “It—it just wasn’t supposed to be like this. God—how am I supposed to go on?”

  Ash heard his brother’s footsteps, then his voice. “Ash, are you—are you all right?”

  Ash looked up, meeting Heath’s eyes. “No, damn it! I’m not all right!” When Ash began to cry, Heath held him tightly. “I wanted her to keep the baby,” he sobbed, “but I didn’t want her to die.” Ash clung to his brother as the tears poured out, but seconds later, pulled himself away, embarrassed by falling apart. “Thanks--for being here,” he muttered. For the first time Ash noticed how much blood was splattered on Heath’s clothes.

  “That’s what a brother’s for.”

  “Heath—I—I can’t go on.”

  “Ash, life goes on, and you have to go with it.”

  “But—I can’t. Not without her.”

  “You have to. You don’t have a choice. And she’d want you to.”

  Ash thought about the promise he’d made to Kitty. She said she’d give up everything for him if he promised to make a difference for her race. Now he had a son who needed him to make good on that promise for a better life. “Yeah, she’d want that. And my baby needs me to. But Heath,” his voice broke as he tried to hold back more sobs “all this—it’s just not fair.”

  “Sometimes--life isn’t.

  Chapter 13

  “Ash.” Heath knocked at his brother’s bedroom. “Are you about ready?” Aft
er receiving no response, Heath cracked open the door.

  Ash wore a solid black suit and stood leaning against his dresser.

  “Ash, why don’t you--”

  “Heath,” Ash didn’t look at him, “I can’t.”

  “What?”

  “I—I--can’t go to the visitation.”

  “But Ash—you have to go.”

  “I know—I’m trying—but I can’t…”

  “Ash--”

  “Heath—I just need to be alone, okay?”

  Heath hesitated for a few seconds. “If you need me, call. I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks,” Ash said, as his brother closed the door.

  ****

  Louis waited in the living room by the bar, holding a tumbler. He’d just finished his second scotch when Heath walked in and sat down.

  “Is Ash ready?” Louis asked.

  “He’s—he’s trying to be.”

  “Yeah.” Louis poured himself a third drink. “Well—I’ll be in the car.” After quickly downing the scotch, Louis left the house by the front door. He walked down the red brick steps, overwhelmed by the same sorrow he’d carried since hearing of Kitty’s death nearly a week ago.

  Louis could only imagine the pain of losing a child, and Catherine had been such a sweet girl. Although having an affair with a Negro woman wasn’t uncommon for a white man, it certainly wasn’t talked about. But Ash had crossed the line by falling in love, and because of that, Ash hadn’t been the same since Catherine had died.

  Last Saturday Heath and Ash had arrived home in blood stained clothes. Ash, scheduled to have classes on Monday, wasn’t able to drive back to school until Tuesday. He’d been so broken up he couldn’t even get out of bed.

  Feeling overheated by the hot weather and the scotch, Louis unbuttoned his black double-breasted jacket and loosened his tie. He wanted to offer some comfort to Ash, as well as to Catherine’s family, but he didn’t know how. After all, it wasn’t a man’s place to do such things. He’d leave that to Joan.

  ****

  “What do you mean, he may not be going?” Miss Joan asked Heath, who sat waiting in the living room with his arms spread across the curved back of the gray satin sofa.

  “Right now--he says he can’t.”

  Miss Joan headed for the stairs. Her black heels clicked rhythmically as she crossed the cold marble floor of the entrance foyer. Then, with rigid precision, she climbed the carpeted steps.

  Ash had had every intention of going to Kitty’s visitation. He’d driven from Simpson Leggett early this morning so he could. And last night he’d written a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes. To get the words just right, he’d labored over it for hours so he could place it in Ward’s hand today at the visitation—if he could force himself to go.

  Still standing at his dresser, Ash pulled the letter from the envelope to read one last time before sealing it.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes,

  There are no words to express my sympathy for Catherine’s untimely death. I can barely withstand the pain of losing her myself.

  I truly loved Catherine, and my intention was to marry her, and move abroad. There, we would have lived as husband and wife. I regret more than anything her death in the delivery our child. I will provide for Harland, and I wish to be a part of his life, if you and your family will allow that.

  My desire was to spend my life with Catherine, and raise a family with her. My love for her was genuine. I can only hope that you accept my words for the truth that they sincerely express. As my wife, I would have treated Catherine as a princess, no less.

  I extend my deepest sympathies.

  Yours truly,

  Ashton Kroth

  Ash finally sealed the letter. He placed it back on the dresser, then clasped his hands and stared at it. Since he’d showered and dressed, he’d been positioned at the same place for over an hour. And during that hour all Ash had done was dwell on the visitation and what waited there to confront him.

  Although he tried to muster the nerve, he felt paralyzed. Ash didn’t want to face Kitty’s family and friends. And the last person he wanted to see was Russell.

  Mother had been in contact with the Wilkes family immediately after hearing of Kitty’s death. From Miss Joan he’d learned that they’d wanted the Graham Mortuary to prepare her. So the Wilkeses had made arrangements with the undertaker in 86 to ship Kitty’s body back to Joy Hope.

  Ash sighed. Worst of all would be seeing Kitty dead again. Ash didn’t think he could handle that yet.

  Jarred from his thoughts, he heard his mother’s commanding footsteps coming down the hall. When she stopped outside his bedroom, he glanced toward the door.

  Miss Joan didn’t try the knob and she didn’t knock. For several seconds she said nothing, then, “Ashton Leigh, you open the door this minute.”

  At first Ash didn’t move, but then slowly walked to the door and opened it. His mother wore a raw silk dress, black and cut straight, with a matching shawl draped over her shoulders.

  “There’s never an appropriate time to be a coward,” she said.

  “I’m not afraid!” Ash exclaimed. “I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life!”

  Miss Joan raised a brow. “Then why are you acting like you are now? If you don’t go to Catherine’s visitation, what will that say about your character? It’ll show that you’re not cut out to be a leader of any kind. We all make mistakes, but we must confront the consequences head on, not hide from them. You can’t allow this—this indiscretion of yours—an indiscretion of extreme stupidity—to debilitate you.”

  Ash felt the blood heat his face.

  “Only a few people know the truth,” Miss Joan continued. “And you can either choose to be respected as a man by them, or be scorned as a coward.” She swirled to go. “We’ll be leaving in five minutes.”

  ****

  Ash gazed out the backseat car window at the sandy streets and oak trees. No one spoke as Mr. Louis drove his gray Packard to the Wilkes’s home. Miss Joan held a large covered dish of fried chicken for the visitation, along with a sympathy card. Enclosed in it was a check for $100.00 to help with Kitty’s funeral expenses.

  After Mr. Louis parked in front of Kitty’s house, he turned toward the back and looked at Ash. He cleared his throat, then said, “In this time of tragedy…” but he couldn’t go on. “Ash—I—I don’t really know what to say, but—”

  “Louis!” Miss Joan snapped. “Hush up! This is no time for a speech! And for heaven’s sake, straighten your tie and button your jacket! You look like a forgotten man, or a hobo, or something.”

  Mr. Louis adjusted his tie, then climbed from the car. He buttoned his jacket while walking to the passenger side to open the door for Miss Joan.

  Heath started to pull on his door handle, but Ash stopped him. “Can you wait with me—just a couple minutes?”

  “Yeah,” Heath said.

  Miss Joan glanced back at both of them. Then, with narrowed eyes on her youngest son hissed, “Ash, don’t embarrass your family anymore. You’ve already embarrassed us enough.”

  “Mother,” Heath said calmly, “we’ll go inside—just give us a couple minutes.”

  “Fine, but you’d better not stay out here more than 120 seconds.” Miss Joan abruptly turned away. As she stepped from the car, she handed the food to Mr. Louis. He didn’t say another word to either of his sons before he shut his wife’s door behind her.

  Heath looked at his little brother who sat silently, gazing straight ahead. “Ash—we can’t just sit here.”

  “I know. I—I just need you to—pray with me. Pray that I can make it through this visitation without breaking into a million pieces.” He was about to cry but managed to hold back his tears. “I don’t think I can see her again--without falling apart.”

  Heath clasped his brother’s hand. “Father God—we uh—just pray that you’ll keep Ash strong through this difficult time. We ask that—You give him the strength to face anything. In Jesus na
me—Amen.” Heath gave his brother’s hand a firm squeeze, and then let it go.

  Ash exhaled. “I reckon it’s been 120 seconds.” But he made no effort to move.

  “Yeah. So—are you ready?”

  “No, but I suppose we should go inside.”

  Heath stepped from the car first. His door faced the house. Then Ash climbed out. Heath waited, but his brother told him to go on. As Heath walked ahead, Ash took a deep breath and followed. But before he made it to the foot of the porch steps, he saw Thomas coming out of the front door.

  Dressed in a black pin stripe suit, Thomas quickly made his way down the steps and approached Ash with an outstretched hand. Unsure of what to think, Ash extended his hand in return. But Thomas grabbed it in a vise like grip, then steered him toward the large oak tree in front of the Wilkes’s home.

  “It’s safer to talk over here,” Thomas said, “so no one can over hear us.”

  The two men were roughly the same height. Thomas, however, was broader through the shoulders, and the extra fabric and light padding in the shoulders of his drape cut suit made him appear even larger.

  Thomas loosened his grasp on Ash’s hand, but still held it tight. Putting his other hand on Ash’s shoulder, he leaned closely to his ear.

  “The only people that know the truth are Catherine’s parents, Betty Jean and me,” he whispered. “Russell’s family prepared the body, so they know she died having a baby. The story that the family’s telling is that she was raped--by a white man.”

  Ash stiffened. He could feel the blood drain from his face.

  “A white man she didn’t know. And instead of aborting the child, she went away to have it.” He looked at Ash smugly. “So I suppose you can relax now.” Thomas dropped his hand, then left him standing alone.

  Ash felt as if something had been ripped out of him. Eviscerated, he could barely move. His love for Kitty had been reduced to an indiscretion of extreme stupidity, and now degraded to rape.

  Ash held onto the metal pipe railing for support as he walked up the steps to the house. Once inside, his senses were assaulted by the sickeningly sweet smell of orchids, gardenias and lilies. Sprays of floral arrangements, large and small, were placed throughout the cramped living room and dining room.