by Afton Locke
She let herself into the passenger side and moved to hug him. He eluded her, squeezing her hand on the seat instead.
“Someone may be watching,” he reminded her.
She’d gotten so used to Leroy’s all-encompassing hugs, she’d forgotten her father didn’t like to be hugged at all. His excuse this time was valid, however. Now that she was back on Oyster Island, she had to be white every minute of every day. That burden was easier now because she was used to it and she knew Crab Creek was worse.
“I’m glad you received my letter,” he said. “It hadn’t been tampered with, had it?”
She shook her head. His formal voice used to fill her with trepidation. Now it warmed her with the familiarity of home. Then an awful thought occurred to her.
“Where’s Mother? Is everything all right at home?”
“She’s been healthy as a horse and even working on the house,” Father assured her. “The place looks better every day.”
“I’m so glad. Give her my love, won’t you?”
It was the best news she’d received in days. Everything was going wonderfully because she’d finally become the daughter they wanted. How much easier this was than fighting against the current.
“I will,” Father promised. “Now tell me about the school.”
When she described the painting lessons, he waved his hand impatiently. “I want to hear about the people. Have you made friends?”
“I share a room with the mayor’s daughter. We’re friends.”
She decided not to mention she was also friends with the colored cook. His approval filled the car with a warm glow she really needed after last night. She didn’t want to do anything to break it.
“Excellent,” Father replied. “What about the mayor’s son? Have you seen him?”
Rose nodded. “He has tea with us on the porch and he wants me to paint his portrait.”
He smiled so wide he showed every tooth. “What a sight that must be. Imagine, you sitting among them looking just as white as everyone else.”
“It’s dangerous, though, Father.”
His glittering eyes sobered. “I know. Your safety worries me. You must hurry things toward marriage as quickly as possible.”
More confusion swirled through her more than ever. Of course, she couldn’t pretend to be white at that school forever. She may be leery of marrying into Leroy’s family, but the thought of wedding a ringleader of the Klan was much worse.
But what if she’d stayed at Crab Creek last night as Leroy had insisted? She would have missed this meeting with her father and he might have grown suspicious. Everything was so terribly complicated. People pulled her in so many directions she felt torn to pieces.
Unable to hide her emotions, she shielded her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know how long I can do this.”
He touched her face. “Rose, you’re doing so well, better than I’d ever hoped. I’ve never been more proud of you.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.” He reached across her and opened the door. “The town is starting to wake up. Run along now.”
“Make me proud, darling,” he told her through the open passenger window after she’d gotten out and closed the door.
“I will, Father.” As she walked back to the school, her hopeless confusion cleared just a little.
Chapter Fourteen
Before lunch, Rose lay on Caleb’s old bed, wondering how he and Pearl had managed to forge such a strong relationship despite their circumstances. It was a shame she’d never get to make love to Leroy in this fine bed or any other bed, for that matter. She would always treasure her first time in the shed, never forgetting his warm muscles under her hands or his solid hips between hers. His voice, his mouth…whispering words of passion and love in her ear.
Part of her wished she’d gone to church with him today. Now she would never know what that would be like. If only their families approved of their love. Father’s pride in her was all she had left to cling to, as Leroy and their future slipped away. She squeezed the pillow with clenched fingers while her tears dripped onto the smooth white fabric. When Mary walked in, she sat up and hastily wiped her face.
“Mary, I didn’t expect you. What are you doing back so soon?” Rose asked.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed. “After church, it was too boring at home to stay there. Do you feel better?”
“Better?” Did Mary know about the fish fry and her argument with Leroy? Then she remembered her excuse for staying here this weekend was to rest. “Yes, much better.”
Mary bent and peered at her face. “Have you been crying?”
Rose knew her face was too wet to deny it. If only she could tell Mary everything.
“I was just feeling lonely, I suppose. I’m glad you’re back.”
Mary grinned with her usual infectious enthusiasm. “Me too. Let’s have a picnic in the backyard.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
When they went downstairs to the kitchen to ask Cali for the food, Rose tensed up inside. Being around both Mary and the cook at the same time reminded her of the awkward moment when Mary had walked in on their conversation. Rose couldn’t be herself with either woman now.
“It’s a fine day for a picnic,” Cali said when they made their request.
The girls watched while she put a basket on the table and filled it with sandwiches and fruit. Rose noticed a tall black candle in the middle of the table. A pool of hardened wax lay on the saucer that held it. The house had electricity, so she couldn’t help wondering what it was for.
“I heard you come in last night, Rose,” she said. “I was hoping you’d visit me for coffee again.”
Mary frowned at Rose. “You left the school?”
Unease tugged at Rose’s spine. “I just went for a walk. After that, I was tired and went to bed.”
“Well, you’ll come visit me tonight, won’t you?” Cali asked.
Mary tugged at Rose’s sleeve as she reached for the picnic basket.
“I-I’ll probably be too busy,” Rose muttered, unable to look Cali in the eye.
“I see.” The woman answered in a flat tone that said she didn’t see at all.
“Thank you for the basket,” Rose said.
“Don’t forget this,” Cali added, pulling a blanket from the shelf for them to sit on.
When Rose took it from her, she saw hurt and anger in her eyes. Was she angry enough to reveal Rose’s secret? Relief washed over her as soon as they left the kitchen.
Mary peered into the basket while she carried it outside. “I hope she didn’t poison the food.”
Rose frowned, opening the back door for both of them. “That’s awful. Why would you say that?”
“I told you she gives me the creeps. Did you see that big, ugly candle? She probably casts spells with it.”
Rose remembered Cali talking about her vodou religion and realized Mary might be closer to the truth than she realized. She didn’t want to make any judgment about Cali’s beliefs, though, until she knew more about them. Mary had apparently already formed her opinion.
They walked down the wooden porch steps and around the bushes that Leroy had scalped earlier.
“Maybe if you got to know Cali, you’d discover she’s just an interesting person,” Rose said. “Her skin is a different color, but she probably has feelings just like us.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Mary agreed with an impatient shrug, “but getting too familiar with the help isn’t proper. Mother would scold me if I did. You shouldn’t do it either.”
Again, Mary’s reactions seemed to stem from the way she’d been brought up. It wasn’t terribly far from the way Rose’s father tried to bring her up. In fact, Father’s opinion of Cali would be much worse than Mary’s. How ironic, since his skin wasn’t nearly as white as Mary’s.
Why couldn’t the three women all have coffee tonight and be friends? Spending time with one felt as though she betrayed the other.
The sun was h
igh in the sky as they spread the blanket on the grass Leroy had recently cut with a hand mower. The warmth of it embraced Rose when she sat on one side of the blanket. This reminded her of her first picnic with Leroy and that magical tree. She clasped her knees and leaned her head back, enjoying the heat on her skin.
How many times have I told you not to go outside with your parasol!
Father’s words were so loud inside her head it was as if he stood right beside her. Her parasol! She’d completely forgotten. She wouldn’t pass for white very long if her skin darkened. Unlike Mary’s fair complexion, which would burn, hers would tan. She’d sat outside in the sun as a child enough to know.
“I have to get my parasol,” she said, jumping to her feet.
Mary waved as she rooted through the picnic basket. “I hate those dreadful things. Let’s forget them today. Besides, tanning is fashionable now.”
Rose glanced up at the sun as if it might burn away her cotton blouse and her whiteness, exposing her secret instantly.
“I wish I could,” she replied, “but my skin is very sensitive. Could we move to the shade?”
Mary stood. “Oh, all right. Sunburn is even more dreadful than parasols, I suppose.”
They settled under a maple tree. The river breeze felt cooler here and made the leaves tinkle above their heads as if they were hundreds of tiny bells.
“Jon talks about you constantly,” Mary exclaimed. “He’s anxious to see you again and have you paint his portrait.”
“Really?” Rose replied. “How nice.”
“Are you in love with him?” Mary asked, biting into an apple.
Rose almost dropped her sandwich at the blunt question. “I-I’m not sure I’d know if I was.”
Mary stretched out on the blanket and folded her arms behind her head as a pillow. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I’ve never been in love with anyone, unless you count Clark Gable.”
“I think love is supposed to make you feel warm inside. Even if there are things about that person you don’t like, there are so many other things you do.” Rose knew she should stop herself, but couldn’t. It was as if Leroy was here with her. “You find yourself thinking of him first thing in the morning and the last thing at night.”
Mary leaned up on one elbow. “You seem to know quite a bit about love. Are you sure you don’t have feelings for my brother?”
Rose wished she could tell Mary about Leroy. She had no intention of marrying Jonathan Carter, but telling Mary that could end their friendship. Better to let things float along a bit longer. After school ended, she supposed she would get a job. According to her agreement with her father, at least he’d no longer pressure her to find a white husband.
“I suppose it’s possible,” she replied, echoing Mary’s earlier words about Cali.
“I want to marry soon and have lots of children,” Mary said. “It’s the means of creating them that frightens me.”
Rose touched her arm. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She stopped herself as horror welled inside her. Without thinking, she’d almost confessed her most private secrets. Mary must never know she’d already lost her virginity, especially not with whom. How she wished she could allay her friend’s fears by telling her how wonderful passion was. How her entire body came alive with an exquisite fire…
“I mean, women all seem to endure it,” Rose amended. “Most even survive childbirth, and that must feel a lot worse.”
Rose took her apple out of the picnic basket and turned it round and round in her hands as Leroy often did with his plaid cap. She and Mary didn’t differ by race alone. Mary wanted marriage without passion while she wanted passion without marriage.
Mary sat up and hugged her knees, fear still lurking in her blue eyes. “Oh, my. Perhaps I could marry one of those fairies and have marriage and children without…the other.”
Some fairies were evil and even lustful, but Rose decided not to mention it.
“Perhaps,” she replied, thankful for this friendship, however long it would last.
* * * * *
When Leroy rowed back to the school, he gazed at the big house, wondering where Rose was and what she was doing. He had half a mind to march up the stairs, barge into her room and fuck her. Maybe his body could knock some sense back into her.
He opened the shed, hating this menial job now that Caleb had a baby on the way and needed him more than ever. Was Rose worth this? His family didn’t think so. His mother and Sadie hadn’t even mentioned her during church.
“I wish you’d been a little nicer to Rose,” he’d told Mama on the way back to the cottage. “She doesn’t want to marry me now.”
Mama had sniffed with disgust. “If she’s that sensitive, she’ll never survive in this family. You need a nice black girl to bear you some young ‘uns, Leroy, not that prissy little thing.”
At that point, he’d thrown up his hands. Maybe Rose was right and their families were too big an obstacle to defeat. Even so, he wasn’t quite convinced. She’d asked for some time and he’d given it to her. He hoped it was enough.
Leroy walked along the shoreline—wondering if he should trim the bushes to enhance the view—when he saw her enter the cellar and close the doors over her head. Wasting no time, he went after her.
When he followed her into the dark, cool space, she gasped. She probably wouldn’t be so jumpy if she led a simpler life.
He moved toward her, stepping around a nearby barrel. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Leroy! You shouldn’t be here.”
“The hell I shouldn’t,” he replied. “What are you doing in here?”
“Returning this apple I didn’t eat.”
He eyed the ripe, red piece of fruit in her hand. It was a short trip from there to her even riper breasts under the white cotton of her blouse. While he inhaled the earthy scents around him, desire careened down his spine, making him harden. His palms ached to cup those two mounds. If only the doors had a lock. The house had looked pretty deserted, so no one should come in.
Taking the apple out of her hand, he set it on the shelf. The dim light from the small, square window was enough to show the spellbound look in her eyes. His mouth closed over hers, taking without asking. To hell with her father and his mother. He and Rose belonged together.
Was her mouth sweeter than he remembered or had the fear of losing his precious rose heightened his taste? He spanned his palms across her ass, possessing the soft curves.
“Leroy, you have to stop,” she said, pushing against his chest. “You can’t change my mind with…that.”
He bet he could, but he wanted her to come willingly, not under the spell of physical need.
“Then your mind is made up?” he asked.
She nodded and bit her bottom lip. “We can’t marry. It simply wouldn’t work.”
“It’s not just because of my family, is it?”
“I don’t know. All I know is I can’t do it unless I’m completely sure…and I’m not.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”
“Then what are you planning to do the rest of your life?” he asked. “You can’t paint at this school forever.”
Her gaze roamed the shelves of canned vegetables and fruits. “I know, but I’m not going to marry anyone. I’ll get a job, and if I can’t find one right away, I might move home temporarily.”
“Home? You weren’t happy there.”
“Father came yesterday,” she said. “He’s so proud of me.”
“Damn,” Leroy said under his breath.
The thought of Charles Wainwright III planting more dangerous ideas in Rose’s mind made him want to break a few bottles in here. When Rose lived at home, he was the only threat Leroy worried about. Now he faced a bigger obstacle than a mere man—Rose’s independence. How the hell was he supposed to beat that?
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her touch on his face was as light as butterfly wings. “Go get your job back. Caleb needs you with the b
aby coming. Forget me.”
How could her brown eyes look so damn soft while she said such harsh words? He slapped the nearest shelf, making the bottles jump in protest.
“Aw, sweet girl, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re confused.”
“No, I’m not. Leroy, please don’t make this more difficult. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to marry.”
The catch in her voice gave him hope. “I’ll never marry anyone but you and you know it.”
When she moved toward the door after kissing his cheek, he restrained her with an arm around her waist. It looked as if he had to convince her with passion after all.
“You want to say goodbye?” He turned her so she faced him and pressed her close.
Her eyes widened. “Not that way. We can’t.”
He jerked open his trousers, pulling out his shaft. The pain of losing her raked his chest, making him flaccid. Did he really want her to see him this way? Yes, he did. He needed her to know how much control she had over him.
She clasped him in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Say goodbye to him, Rose. He’ll miss you…almost as much as I will.”
Something between a laugh and sob escaped her as she leaned her head on his chest. When her hand slipped free of him, he put it back.
“Rub me, Rose. Give me something to remember.”
They both stared down at his cock resting in her soft, sweet hands. It resembled his heart lying there, broken and defeated. Only she could bring it back to life…bring him back to life.
While cradling him with one hand, she stroked a fingertip around the head with the other. One tiny nerve ending came to life at a time when she ran her light fingers down his shaft. His head snapped back as blood filled him again, faster than the tide coming in.
Moisture collected on the tip of his penis and soon coated her palm. She seemed to know when to make her touch firmer and when to speed up. How could anyone dare deny they were made for each other? Their bodies seemed to know what no one else did.
