Race Traitor: BWWM Romance Novel for Adults

by Jamila Jasper

  “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 a
nd 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.”

  W
hatever 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.”