by Afton Locke
She stood too and folded her arms. “I am white, aren’t I? I have white blood in me.”
“It’s not the same and you know it,” he said in a low voice.
“Why isn’t it?” she insisted. “Why does one drop of colored blood make a white colored, but not the other way around?”
He shrugged. “Because that’s just the way things are.”
Unable to bear the intensity of his expression, she studied the tree bark. “Father would never put me in an unsafe situation.”
“This is not just about your father, is it?” he asked, leaning closer. “You want to be white.”
How dare he suggest such a thing? Had he looked into her soul and discovered a secret she couldn’t even admit to herself? No more sitting on the front stoop in Baltimore, being ignored by other girls. But to finally be a bona fide member of one group… Yes, she wanted to see what it was like, if only for a moment. Was that so wrong?
Her first instinct was to deny it, but she couldn’t keep anything from this man. Just standing next to him laid her open as if she were a gutted fish. His eyes, his touch, his breath enveloped her completely.
“If I did wonder about being white, would that make me a terrible person?”
Disapproval roughened his face for several agonizing moments. He sighed and stared at the river before pinning her with his gaze again.
“No, it might make you a practical person. But look at me, Rose. I’m about as far from white as you can get.”
With a touch so soft it almost made her cry, he ran his palms over her cheeks.
“I guess I’m afraid the more white you become, the less you’ll want me.”
She clasped his hands, slowly pulling them down. “I’ll never stop wanting you, Leroy Johnson. Never.”
To seal her vow, she kissed him. This time, his mouth was soft instead of hard, questioning instead of demanding. It was as if he’d just handed her something precious. They clung to each other for at least a minute before letting go.
“What time is it?” she reminded him.
“Time for me to go soon,” he said as he looked at his watch. “See, you distracted me so much I forgot to check.”
“I can’t believe one hour passed so quickly.”
He gripped her forearms. “Don’t go to that dance, Rose. Please. Pretend you’re sick. That way you wouldn’t be disobeying your father.”
But that would mean lying, just as she would if she attended and told everyone she was Rose Smith, the white orphan. How had her life gotten so complicated? Father pulled her in one direction and Leroy in the other.
“The dance is only for one evening,” she told him. “If I don’t go, he’ll only arrange something worse.”
They stepped off the quilt and Leroy folded it.
“Then I’m going too,” he said as he handed her the folded quilt, “so I can watch over you and make sure you’re safe.”
Rose couldn’t think of anything more awkward or dangerous. What if he grew jealous and made a scene?
“How are you going to attend a white dance?” she asked.
“I won’t be dancing, but I’ll be around, watching.”
Visions of him glaring through the window or, worse, attacking a white man and getting thrown into jail, raced through her mind.
“Oh, Leroy. Please don’t.”
He hit the tree with his fist. “If you’re going to that dance, so am I.”
She squeezed the quilt while he grabbed his cap and went on his way. The sooner Saturday night was over the better. Darn Leroy. Darn her father. After throwing the quilt into the cart, she sat in front of her easel where some insects had crawled through the black and white paint, blending it even more.
Watching a duck swimming parallel to the shore calmed the emotions Leroy had stirred up. She picked up her brush and set about painting it. If only her life could be as simple as that bird’s.
Chapter Six
Rose clenched her hands in the folds of her gown as her mother drove her to the mayor’s summer dance in Father’s car Saturday night. She was so dressed up she’d barely recognized herself in the mirror earlier.
The pink chiffon of the floor-length gown calmed the gold tone in her skin and made her resemble a white, marble statue. She couldn’t believe she wore such a daring outfit and that Father approved of it. The wispy fabric dipped to the tops of her breasts in front and clear down to the small of her back. The slightest breeze would probably peel it off her shoulders, leaving her torso completely bare.
And if it fell lower than that, she would really have a problem because she wore no underwear. Her bulky bloomers hadn’t looked right under the gown.
Father had even insisted Mother force the wave out of her hair with an iron and fashion an elaborate hairstyle similar to a chignon. The liberal amount of rose water she’d slathered on herself filled the car with scent. Between the hair, heirloom earrings and high heels, Rose was afraid she’d trip and fall as soon as she entered the mayor’s house.
Not to mention the etiquette lessons Father had insisted Mother teach her all day yesterday. She’d learned to smile politely, juggle a beverage and plate of food with one hand, and walk across the room with a book on her head without dropping it. Painting ducks was much easier.
Leroy had been so upset the other day about this dance. Quarreling ruined the time they’d had together. He could have rubbed her wet softness instead, laved her breasts with his hot tongue… In the tree or under the tree—it didn’t matter. Once this evening was over, she hoped there would be nothing more between them.
Mother reached over and touched her arm. “Don’t worry your gown so, dear. We don’t want it to wrinkle.”
Too late, Rose thought. The dampness of her palms had made the fabric damp too. Mother worked hard altering it, but Rose had the sudden desire to go home and put on one of her day dresses instead. The stockings Mother bought her, which had to be worn with evening shoes, she’d said, constricted her legs.
She gripped her evening bag instead and took shallow breaths as if her gown were two sizes too small. Leroy was right. Attending this dance was a crazy idea. The idea of pretending to be white just once in her life sounded appealing. Now she was sure everyone would see through her disguise.
But the glowing expression on Father’s face this evening had almost made it worth it.
“Heavens, you look like a real princess, Rose,” he’d said after she’d walked down the stairs. “Every man in the room will fall in love with you on sight.”
Mother was quiet as they crossed the bridge to Oyster Island.
Rose glanced at her. “I hate seeing you in that maid outfit, Mother.”
The other woman waved a hand. “This outfit is actually very comfortable and it’s nice to get out of the house for a while.”
“It certainly is.” For Rose, at least, home was a prison. If she hadn’t been able to walk to the waterfront to paint, she was sure she’d have lost her mind by now.
Mayor Carter’s stone home was perched on a hill overlooking the water. Every electric light in the county seemed to be clustered within its walls. Bright round headlights and the sounds of slamming car doors and gay laughter greeted them as they drove slowly down the street. The women’s gowns were every color of the rainbow but their skin was all white.
Mother maneuvered the car into a spot with difficulty. “I wish your father was here to park this thing.”
By the time the car stopped, Rose’s heart thumped so loudly she didn’t even realize the engine was off. She forced herself to take larger breaths but they did nothing to chase away the feeling of being strangled.
“Are you ready?” Mother asked.
Rose shook her head so hard her teeth clicked together. “I can’t do it. They’ll know. Everyone will know.”
“No, they won’t. Not unless you tell them,” Mother replied calmly.
“Leroy told me Mayor Carter is the Grand Titan of the Klan on Oyster Island,” Rose said.
“
You shouldn’t listen to that boy.” She rubbed her forehead. “You’re not even supposed to be seeing him. Must I watch you every moment?”
Rose sighed, realizing she’d been thinking too much about herself. This evening was hard on her mother too. The sooner it was over with the better. Maybe she’d plead a headache herself so they could go home early. Father had insisted she go to the dance but didn’t specify how long she must stay.
When they got out of the car, Rose nearly tripped in her wobbly shoes. Act white, she told herself. I am white. I am white…
She repeated it while they entered the front doors to a dimly lit vestibule with a couple of coat trees and shaded lamps on elegant little tables. When the butler asked her name, her lips were too frozen to move or speak.
“This is Rose Smith,” her mother said.
The tall colored man frowned. “Good evening, madam. Are you new to Oyster Island?”
“I-I’m from Baltimore.” She glanced at her mother. “This is my maid.”
The man barely glanced at the older woman. “You can sit here with the others.” He turned back to Rose. “Follow me, miss, to the ballroom.”
Rose willed her ankles not to give out on her as she walked across a wooden floor as shiny as a piece of glass to a bigger room with brighter lights and louder sounds. She’d worn rose water but the familiar scent was no match for the other perfumes.
The butler bowed and left her. With Mother out of sight in the other room, she’d never felt so alone. Her vision blurred with fear, clearing in certain spots to reveal a high ceiling and a verandah flanked with glass doors, some of which were open. Then she took in the band on the dais. The discordant sounds of their warm-up mixed with the clink of glasses on trays as waiters served hors d’oeuvres and beverages.
It was easier to stare at the floor and her toes peeking out of the open-toed pumps. Drafts swished around her when people passed by. The sensation of being watched slid across her skin, as palpable as a touch. People were staring at her!
Her ankles wobbled as her gaze darted from corner to corner of the room. They knew! They all knew she wasn’t white. What would happen now? Would the mayor himself arrest her and hang her from the nearest tree?
Thinking about him must have conjured him up because an important looking older man came toward her. He was short and portly with thinning gray hair. Rose backed against the wall behind her.
Trying not to visibly flinch, she searched his face for the disgust and anger she expected to see there. Instead, his blue eyes were large with admiration. He even smiled at her. Grabbing a quick breath, she put her hand to her chest and looked around. The others watching her had similar expressions.
You look like a real princess. Was it true? Did they all think she was a beautiful princess? A white one? The sensation was so foreign to her she didn’t know what to make of it. Potent emotions, one by one, shook her bones—terror, guilt, and exultation to name a few.
When the mayor extended his pudgy hand, Rose placed hers into it and tried to smile as he lifted it to his wet lips. If this was what it was like to be white, however, she wanted no part of it.
“So young and lovely,” the man said. “Where are you from, dear?”
She repeated what she’d told the butler, hoping he didn’t ask any questions.
“I’m Mayor Carter. Welcome to our home. Come. I must introduce you to my son.”
Dismay pressed her in the stomach. She’d been hoping to escape to one of the empty chairs at the side of the room and try to hide from the others. Instead, the older man clutched her arm as tight as a vise and pulled her across the room.
People watched them as they passed. Conversations paused and hands slowed as they ate. She’d never seen such admiration and respect in white people’s eyes before. They’d always looked down their noses at her or through her as if she didn’t exist.
As terrifying as this evening had been so far, this one moment had been worth it. She would never forget how it felt to be white for an evening. Surely Leroy could understand it, even if he didn’t approve.
The mayor escorted her to the corner of the room. A man more her age sat with his long legs crossed while he sipped something the color of amber from cut glass crystal. A pair of hard gray eyes glanced up at her and softened.
“Jonathan, I would like you to meet Rose Smith,” the mayor said.
“Enchanted.” He set down his drink and took her hand as his father had, but his touch was very different. Whereas the other had been clammy and somewhat lecherous, this grip was strong, as if Jonathan Carter already owned her.
From the smell of Jonathan’s breath, she gathered his drink contained alcohol. When she looked around, she realized nearly everyone had a glass in hand. Had Mayor Carter also served it a few years ago when it was illegal?
He glanced across the room. “My wife requires me. You can meet her a bit later, Rose.”
A warning chill raced down her back as Jonathan stood, still gripping her hand. In fact, he reached for the other one too. He had a pale, sharp-featured face and light brown hair slicked down with hair tonic.
Was this the type of man her father wanted her to marry? She gulped, knowing it was. Why didn’t she feel anything except the intense desire to get away? All Leroy had to do was look at her and her body filled with tingly little bubbles.
A pang of longing hit her in the chest, making it ache. Why couldn’t he be the one standing across from her holding her hands? Was he outside watching her as he’d threatened to do? He couldn’t possibly when he felt hundreds of miles away.
“What a lovely surprise you are, Rose Smith,” Jonathan said. “I believe you’re the most beautiful woman in this room.”
His voice was so different from Leroy’s. As soft and smooth as melted butter, it rolled across her flesh, making her want to fling it off. She much preferred the sound of Leroy’s rich voice, which was as warm and husky as raw pepper.
“Oyster Island is a small place,” the young man continued. “I would have remembered if I’d seen you before. Where are you from?”
Fixing the polite smile she’d practiced in place, she repeated her story—hopefully for the last time.
“What part of Baltimore?”
The smile froze on her face. She hadn’t expected to have to go into so much detail. Hesitating only for a moment, she told him the name of an upscale white neighborhood.
“Please, sit down.” To her relief, he finally let go of her and swept his arm to indicate the gray velvet-upholstered chair next to his.
“What does your father do?” he asked after they were seated.
While waiting for her to answer, he got the servant’s attention with a signal so subtle Rose hadn’t even noticed it. He picked one of the amber-colored drinks from the tray and set it on the small, round table between them.
“There you are,” he said and repeated his earlier question.
Rose picked up the drink, hoping it would make him forget to question her. Never in her life had she drunk spirits. She’d never pretended to be white before either. Why not try drinking too? Lifting her glass, she decided whatever was in it couldn’t make her feel any worse than she already did.
“My father is—was a businessman.” She lowered her lashes. “He’s no longer living.”
The lie hit her stomach the same time as the fiery drink. Rose’s eyes watered and she tried not to cough.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said. “Have you other family?”
She shook her head, not wanting to speak the lies aloud. Every false word she’d spoken had filled her mouth with acid.
“You need a husband to look after you,” he declared.
The fingers wrapped around his glass were long and elegant. Rose tried to imagine what it would be like to feel them skimming her breasts and plunging into her core as Leroy’s had. The thought made her cheeks burn with shame as much as her throat from the alcohol. She couldn’t imagine it. The mere fleeting image of it made her shiver with
dread. Leroy had said she was his girl and she finally realized how right he was. The thought of anyone else’s touch made her queasy.
Jonathan leaned across the table and studied her face with the intensity of a scientist. Rose’s fingers trembled as she touched her cheek. He must see through her disguise, figuring out she wasn’t white. Would he announce it to everyone in the room and embarrass her? Would the butler who’d so politely escorted her in kick her out?
The breath left her lungs when Jonathan reached one of his thin, white fingers across the table and touched the tip of her nose.
“Your freckles are very fetching,” he said. “You must enjoy the sun.”
She started to say she was forbidden to let sunlight touch her, but this was the perfect explanation for the faint golden tone of her skin. After studying her face, his gaze dipped to her chest. Light gray eyes probed the pink chiffon, making Rose wish Mother had bought a gown with a much higher neckline.
The music started with a clatter of horns that almost spilled her drink across the table.
Jonathan jumped from his chair. “Shall we dance?”
She nodded and stood, accepting his hand. Anything would better than continuing to sit there while he studied her entire body. The band played a lively jazz number at least ten years old.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer,” she told him.
His thin lips curved into a leer as if he relished her innocence and inexperience. With a possessive hand against the small of her back, he steered her onto the floor.
“Just follow my lead, darling.”
Darling? They’d just met and he was already using endearments. Father would be very pleased, so why did she feel so miserable? She and Mother had spent their lives pleasing Father. He was so much more pleasant when he was happy. Instead of bellowing, he laughed, complimented them and bought them little gifts.
Did Leroy dance? She would ask him the next time she saw him—if she ever saw him again. He’d been so angry with her. At least the music kept Jonathan from asking her any more questions. Gripping her hand, he flung her to and fro. It took every bit of her concentration to keep her high-heeled shoes on the slick floor from knocking her down.
