Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) (48 page)

“Look, ma’am. I help people, or I try to. It’s what I do, a decision I made a long time ago. But I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is. You say you’ve heard about me. Then surely you know you can trust me?”

She hesitated, very much off-balance. Joshua Devlin wasn’t at all what she’d expected. And his speech. She was a native Southerner, born and bred. Contrary to anything the rest of the country thought, the white Southerner, more than any other American, interacted with the Negro on a personal level that would’ve astounded a resident of any other section of the country.

But this man. He sounded white. And his mannerisms, the way he moved. She hadn’t hesitated to seek shelter here, mostly because she figured it was last place the the man looking for her would look. She’d expected Reverend Devlin to be well aware he was a Negro and as such, hadn’t expected him to question any story she, obviously white and obviously a lady, cared to spin. She was a lot younger than he’d expected, too, mid-thirties at the most. She looked more closely and wondered how she’d missed it. He was a mulatto.

And extremely well-educated. Polite and concerned, but not deferential. And he wouldn’t appreciate being lied to, even supposing she could lie to him successfully. She didn’t think she could. Not to this man. Might as well not try. She had nothing to lose.

“My name’s Serena Wentworth,” she said. “My husband’s David Wentworth. Of the
Greenville
,
South Carolina
Wentworths. And if you try and send me back to him, I’ll throw myself in the nearest river, see if I don’t.”

Well, that damn sure had the ring of truth about it. Joshua nodded.

“I see. Well, the
Greenville
,
South Carolina
Wentworths don’t throw a lot of weight around down here in
Macon
,
Georgia
. But I take it they throw a lot in
Greenville
,
South Carolina
.”

She made no response.

“And I further take it that Mr. David Wentworth ain’t a pleasant individual to live with. Seein’ as how you’re on the run, at least eight months pregnant, sick as hell and looking for shelter with the niggers.”

“I—please don’t—it’s not—he hurts me,” she finished simply. “In ways—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, I got the general idea.”

Mr. David Wentworth must go far beyond the bounds of accepted husbandly rights and privileges to send a pregnant woman running with such determination.

“How long you been runnin’?”

“Five months.”

“That long?” Joshua cocked his head. “He must be a
real
unpleasant individual. And you must be a real determined lady. Wouldn’t think you could make it that long or this far.”

“I ran out of money.”

“Safe to say he’s lookin’ for you?”

“No. Yes. Not exactly. Me, I mean. He’s looking for the baby. His
son
.”

“Ahhhh. One of those.”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t technically a criminal offense for a woman to run away from her husband but it was troublesome, just the same.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Oh, I think the first order of business is for you to have that baby. Don’t you?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “I can’t tell you how ready I am for that to happen.”

“I think you should use Serena. Always easier to stick as close to the truth as possible and you might forget to answer to Sally. Lots of folks wouldn’t notice but believe me, my Mama would. And she wouldn’t be too fond of the idea of an irate Daddy lookin’ for his baby around these parts.”

“I’ll leave as soon as I can, I promise.”

“But I don’t think it’d be a good idea to spread the Wentworth name around. Is Ferris your maiden name?”

“No. It just popped in my head.”

“What is? Your maiden name? Like I said, keep as close to the truth as you can, less chance to slip up.”

“Foxton.”

“Well, Mrs. Serena Foxton, welcome to Gorley House. Now, about your husband. I take it you’d be just as pleased to be a widow?”

“I’m not that lucky.”

“Then right now, just to get us through this, let’s just pretend you are. Welcome to widowhood.”

Joshua rose and got to the doorway before he turned back.

“Oh, there’s just one thing.”

“Anything!”

“If you’re goin’ make a slip, for God’s sake,
don’t
do it around Mama.”

“That would be Sadie, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be careful. You’re—” she paused and then continued, “very unusual. Aren’t you?”

“You mean for a nigger?” He smiled.

“For a minister. You don’t talk like one and you thought that story up so fast.”

“I had an unusual upbringing. We’ll talk later. Get some rest.”

* * *

Sadie wasn’t happy. She didn’t think Serena was a widow, either. This woman was on the run. And you didn’t run from dead husbands, you ran from live ones. Rich, unpleasant live ones, if the clothes Serena Foxton, or whatever her name was, wore were any indication. Those clothes might be worn out but they’d originally been good quality and very expensive. No point in even trying to argue with Joshua, though. No way would he turn her out while she was carrying that child.

Serena donned a fluffy cotton robe and began moving carefully and slowly around. Most especially, she watched Joshua. By keeping her eyes and ears open, she pieced together his background. Well, at least she pieced together the background Joshua’d put out for public consumption, which wasn’t exactly his true one.

Always proper, she was “Miss Serena” and “ma’am”. For the first time in her life, mostly because of his speech and his striking good looks, skin color played no part in her opinion of another. He wasn’t ‘a good-looking man for a Negro’ nor did he ‘show a lot of sense for a Negro.’ He was simply a good-looking man. Period. And a highly intelligent one. Period. Though damn near any man of any color would be, compared to the one she was running from.

“Miss Serena,” he said one evening, “I think we need to consider what we’re goin’ to do when that baby decides to come.”

“I told you, I’ll leave just as soon as I possibly can.”

“No. I mean what we’re going to do when it decides to actually come. I don’t want to scare you, ma’am, but you’ve had a hard time. You didn’t have much strength left to start with and that fever took what little you had left. I think you’re goin’ to need a doctor, not just a midwife. I’d feel a lot better if you had one, I know that.”

“
No!
Please, no! There may be fliers out, notices! I can’t take the chance!”

“Now, Miss Serena—”

“You can’t tell me your Mama’s not a good midwife, I know better. I’ve heard things.”

“Yeah, but she’s not a doctor and she’s getting’ on up there, doesn’t get much practice.”

“You’ve done it, too. Delivered babies. I told you, I’ve talked to the people in the shelter, I know you’ve done it!”

“Whoa!” Joshua kept a firm grip on reality, no matter how much Sadie worried he didn’t. In this town, he was a Negro. A Negro
man
. Serena Foxton was a lady. A
white
lady. Maybe if they were stranded somewhere together fifty miles from any other available help, society might overlook that. Maybe. In the city limits of
Macon
,
Georgia
? Not a chance in hell. “I can’t do that,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Miss Serena, I call certain facts to your attention. You’re white. I’m black. Delivering a baby involves a certain amount of—bare skin. And if the town found out a black man delivered a white baby—”

“I don’t care. And nobody else would have to know. Let them think Sadie did it.”

He stared at her.

“You honestly don’t, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Care.”

“I trust you. You’re the only man since Papa died that’s cared what happens to me. I want you to bring my baby. No doctor. Please.”

“
Unnhhh
!” Joshua moaned. He didn’t want to upset her. He’d just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

He crossed it the next night. Labor was long and hard. When the time came for transition from labor to delivery, transition didn’t.

“Son, we got to get a doctor. Dat baby goan need forceps. I can’t do dat, and neither can you.”

“
No!
”

“Girl, you hesh up!” Sadie commanded. “Doan know whut you sayin’! Dat baby ain’t goan survive dis, even if you do! Not without mo’ help den me and Joshua can give!”

Serena grabbed Joshua’s hand.

“
Then let me die!
I’d rather die than risk goin’ back!”

Sadie shook her head.

“I knew it,” she said. “I jest knew it.”

Joshua bit his lip.

“I can get you a doctor,” he said slowly. “One that won’t say anything.”

“Son! Whut you thinkin’?

“But you have to promise, you have to swear to me—you’ll never, never tell anyone about him.”

Sadie sank down in the bedside chair and moaned.

Serena lay drenched in sweat, her hair plastered to her face. No one told her childbirth was this. She’d expected sharp pains that cut like glass, not this. Not this unending, dull and relentless cramping starting like the very worst menstrual period from hell and accelerating into these unending, gut-wrenching gigantic waves of pain ripping her apart and drowning her.

“I promise,” she whispered.

“I’ll be back,” he said, and raced out of the room.

Chapter Ten

Serena didn’t know how long he was gone. She just held on with the last shards of determination left from five months of hard running. She saw the face bending over her in a semi-stupor, lamplight glinting off the blond hair.

“You got any forceps?” The voice sounded familiar somehow.

“No. Joshua doan keep ‘em since both of us’d be scared to use ‘em.”

Where was Joshua, why hadn’t he come back with the doctor?

“Chloroform? Morphine?”

“Nuttin’ dat strong.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Son, we ain’t got time to fool around here.”

“Won’t take me two minutes, don’t worry.”

“Where you goan get—”

“Gonna raid Dave Cabot’s office. Hell, he don’t need to be usin’ ‘em anyway, should’ve  retired years ago.”

Nothing made any sense to Serena but she was far beyond caring. It seemed only seconds until the strange, oddly familiar voice returned. Something covered her face.

“Breathe deep!” it commanded.

She breathed. And sank gratefully into the waiting dark.

She woke fighting new waves of nausea, nausea of a different type, sweeping up from her stomach.

“Here.”

Joshua’s voice. Thank God. He pulled her head over and held the basin while she gave in to the nausea.

Finally, she lay back. He wiped her forehead and mouth.

“It’s the chloroform,” he said, “makes you real sick.”

“The baby?”

“Miss Serena, I’m sorry. You just both been through too much.”

She sighed, too exhausted to feel much sorrow. “A boy?”

“No, a little girl.”

She smiled. Even David Wentworth didn’t get what he wanted every time. A daughter. The first twinges of loss swept over her. She would have liked a daughter.

“I’m so glad!” she said, and fell back into exhausted sleep.

Sadie leaned over when she woke again.

“So, you back in
de land
of de living?”

“Seems that way. I’m still not real sure right now.”

Sadie stood. To Serena, Sadie seemed to soar in height until she approached the ceiling.

“Well, I jest wanta say one thing to you, girl. Joshua, he take yo’ word last night ‘bout dat doctor. De one saved yo’ life and doan you make no mistake. He saved yo’ life.”

“I know. I remember. And I’m not supposed to say anything.”

“Dat’s right. You doan say nuttin’ to nobody ‘bout dat man. You make a solemn vow to my boy. But jest in case, lest something come up make dat promise slip yo’ mind, you ‘member dis. Do you even think ‘bout slippin’ up, I goan know. An’ I’ll tear yo’ tongue out by de roots. You unnerstan’ me?”

Serena sank back against her pillows, as frightened by the fierceness of Sadie’s expression as by her words. She nodded.

“Dat’s good.”

* * *