don’t look like any black I’ve ever seen…and I’ve been around a few. You’re golden, not black, and your hair is so lovely, and….” His hands itched to stroke her wavy hair.
“And you better eat.” She chuckled, her eyes darting to his.
When he didn’t say anything, she shrugged as though considering telling him something. “I’m part black and part white.”
It was an honest answer, and Jesse wondered how many honest answers he’d get from her. So far he was doing pretty well. “The best parts of each I guess,” he said before thinking.
She smiled as her long curly lashes veiled her thoughts from him. “Are you flirting with me, Lieutenant?”
“No, ma’am, that’s just fact.” He cleared his throat and continued to stare.
“In this old dress, with no shoes, I don’t see how you say such a thing. I have nothing nice…like most women. I live in a shack. I wear tattered clothes that are so old if you touch them they might fall apart.” She laughed, her voice sounding lyrical.
Her dress falling apart brought a mental picture that had his body responding.
“You can’t hide beauty, ma’am.”
She stared into his eyes and studied him openly for a moment. “Perhaps you’re the spy. Do you flirt so with all women?”
“No…just you!” He laughed.
She obviously liked his response. She turned away, and then back to him. “I’m from Louisiana. My mother was a mulatto, the plantation owner’s favorite.
Mama’s husband wasn’t my father.
“I was brought up under a curtain of shame but educated nonetheless. That’s the way it’s done there. Although from my present position, no one would guess it. If a white plantation owner creates a mulatto, he sends them off to school in another area to be educated so that if he’s found out, he has taken the precaution to educate his own children. Of course his white wife usually pretends to be blind or doesn’t care about his extra activities. As long as it is not discussed or brought up in public, everything is fine. It’s a privilege not afforded most slaves, so I’m thankful for that.”
“What are you doin’ in Arkansas, then?”
“I escaped the plantation.”
“How long ago did you run away?” He marveled at her openness and honesty, and studied her face as she gave so much of herself away.
“A little over two years ago.”
“D-did they hurt you or something?” he asked hoping she’d tell him about the whip marks on her back.
“Hurt me? Where are you from? Of course they hurt me. You just don’t know.
The owner raped my mother repeatedly. She was young and beautiful, quite desirable. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, despite the fact that he had a wife and children of his own. I’m the result of that glorious union. His wife knew what went on. She ignored it. But once in a while I’d see her look at me, and the hurt in her eyes seemed to condemn me. He’d come in the middle of the night and take my mother, in front of me, rutting her like a pig. At first she fought him, and then one day she just quit and lay quietly. Eventually, his wife grew sick and he took my mother to his bed. She became the wife’s handmaiden. But the wife knew, and I think that’s why she eventually died. When my mother grew older and I grew up, I tried to run away. For that they beat me with a whip. Ungrateful, my father called me. I didn’t plan on sticking around and taking my mother’s place. He as good as killed her in the end. I saw my chance, and I took it. And I’ve never regretted it.” Her words slurred with unshed tears.
“Did you escape by yourself with no help?”
“My mother’s husband, the one that should have been my father, helped me get away. They killed him during the escape. I never got to thank him. I’ll always
love him for that.” She bit her bottom lip and her eyes took on a faraway look as she spoke.
“This is an intolerable thing…I meant no offense in asking. I’m sorry for your loss.
“And you better eat.” She chuckled, her eyes darting to his.
When he didn’t say anything, she shrugged as though considering telling him something. “I’m part black and part white.”
It was an honest answer, and Jesse wondered how many honest answers he’d get from her. So far he was doing pretty well. “The best parts of each I guess,” he said before thinking.
She smiled as her long curly lashes veiled her thoughts from him. “Are you flirting with me, Lieutenant?”
“No, ma’am, that’s just fact.” He cleared his throat and continued to stare.
“In this old dress, with no shoes, I don’t see how you say such a thing. I have nothing nice…like most women. I live in a shack. I wear tattered clothes that are so old if you touch them they might fall apart.” She laughed, her voice sounding lyrical.
Her dress falling apart brought a mental picture that had his body responding.
“You can’t hide beauty, ma’am.”
She stared into his eyes and studied him openly for a moment. “Perhaps you’re the spy. Do you flirt so with all women?”
“No…just you!” He laughed.
She obviously liked his response. She turned away, and then back to him. “I’m from Louisiana. My mother was a mulatto, the plantation owner’s favorite.
Mama’s husband wasn’t my father.
“I was brought up under a curtain of shame but educated nonetheless. That’s the way it’s done there. Although from my present position, no one would guess it. If a white plantation owner creates a mulatto, he sends them off to school in another area to be educated so that if he’s found out, he has taken the precaution to educate his own children. Of course his white wife usually pretends to be blind or doesn’t care about his extra activities. As long as it is not discussed or brought up in public, everything is fine. It’s a privilege not afforded most slaves, so I’m thankful for that.”
“What are you doin’ in Arkansas, then?”
“I escaped the plantation.”
“How long ago did you run away?” He marveled at her openness and honesty, and studied her face as she gave so much of herself away.
“A little over two years ago.”
“D-did they hurt you or something?” he asked hoping she’d tell him about the whip marks on her back.
“Hurt me? Where are you from? Of course they hurt me. You just don’t know.
The owner raped my mother repeatedly. She was young and beautiful, quite desirable. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, despite the fact that he had a wife and children of his own. I’m the result of that glorious union. His wife knew what went on. She ignored it. But once in a while I’d see her look at me, and the hurt in her eyes seemed to condemn me. He’d come in the middle of the night and take my mother, in front of me, rutting her like a pig. At first she fought him, and then one day she just quit and lay quietly. Eventually, his wife grew sick and he took my mother to his bed. She became the wife’s handmaiden. But the wife knew, and I think that’s why she eventually died. When my mother grew older and I grew up, I tried to run away. For that they beat me with a whip. Ungrateful, my father called me. I didn’t plan on sticking around and taking my mother’s place. He as good as killed her in the end. I saw my chance, and I took it. And I’ve never regretted it.” Her words slurred with unshed tears.
“Did you escape by yourself with no help?”
“My mother’s husband, the one that should have been my father, helped me get away. They killed him during the escape. I never got to thank him. I’ll always
love him for that.” She bit her bottom lip and her eyes took on a faraway look as she spoke.
“This is an intolerable thing…I meant no offense in asking. I’m sorry for your loss.
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