Race Traitor: BWWM Romance Novel for Adults

by Jamila Jasper

“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 eve
r 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.”