The Black Rose Read Online Free PDF

her plaits. “Come on, then. You an’ me’s on a errand tonight.”
    Sarah couldn’t believe her luck! She closed the palm of her hand tightly around her candy and vowed to save it until later. The white lady had told her not to eat her candy until after supper, and besides, she might try to wait until tomorrow or the next day, or even longer, before she ate it. She wanted to save her candy for a special day.
    “Take a lamp, and y’all hurry back,” Mama said, then she sighed. “I sho’ hopes Missus Anna ain’t be bringin’ none o’ that Yellow Jack roun’ here.”
    With Mama’s worry in their minds and a low-burning kerosene lamp to light their way, Sarah and her father began their journey along the rutted road in the twilight. Stalks of high grass swept across Sarah’s thighs as she walked. She could hear the bathing creek gurgling a few yards away from them, which made her wish she could jump into the water and splash the heat away. Insects followed them, and Sarah scratched at a new bump on her wrist from a bite.
    “Papa,” Sarah said, “who Yellow Jack is?”
    Papa laughed. “Yellow Jack ain’t no who . It’s a fever makes white folks turn yellow.”
    “Yellow like a nigger?”
    “Nah, not like that. But they’d sho’ be scared o’ that, too, maybe mo’ than they scared now . Yellow Jack’ll kill ’em, though, lots o’ time. That be what kilt off Ole Marster and Ole Missus, use to own all this land. Ole Marse Burney got the fever in April, then his wife went sick in fall, near to Thanksgivin’. That was a awful year roun’ here, Li’l Bit. I only stayed here on ’count Mr. Burney had axe me to, cuz he done me a good turn long time ago. Ain’t for that, your papa woulda been runnin’ to the Yankees, too. Then the crop went bad in sixty-seven, and I ain’t pull myself out of owin’ since. Only good thing to come out o’ that year was you . But ’til we leave roun’ here, we still be slaves, every one o’ us, don’t matter what po’ Abe Lincoln writ down.”
    Papa was silent for a long time after that, and Sarah enjoyed the sight of their long shadows walking alongside each other on the road. Papa usually didn’t talk to her like she was one of his grown men-friends, and she didn’t want to say anything stupid to ruin it so he’d remember she was still the baby, only six years old. She looked up toward the sky, and saw that the sun was ready to dip out of sight inside the tree line to the west. It would be dark soon, and they’d need the lamp for sure. Sarah knew the bugs would follow their light and bite them the whole way.
    “Papa … where do Yellow Jack come from?”
    “You git it from touchin’ and breathin’ on folks that’s gots it, I reckon, or maybe the air git dirty. When somebody die from it, they burn up the bodies so won’t no one else kitch it. I figger it’s like one o’ them plagues on Egypt the Sunday preacher be talkin’ ’bout. Plagues take the good an’ wicked alike. I sho’ would hate for Yellow Jack to take Missus Anna. I knowed her since she was born.”
    Swatting away a cloud of gnats flying close to her head, Sarah looked up at her father’s bearded face and sharp chin, feeling at once very small and very safe. Her feet stumbled in the deep, muddy ruts, but she struggled to keep pace with him. Her bare foot splashed into a thin puddle of muddy water left over from last night’s storm, and she hoped she hadn’t stained her dress. There were still three more days until Mama did washing.
    “Papa … only white folks git Yellow Jack?”
    “That’s what they say, Li’l Bit, but plenty niggers git sick, too. Jus’ don’t be breathin’ on nobody who sick, an’ you be fine. But know sump’n? I figger God ain’t got no plagues in mind for a sweet li’l one like you.”
    Sarah hoped Papa was right. He smiled down at her, his teeth glowing bright in the waning sunlight, but this time Sarah didn’t feel warmed by his smile. Her stomach