Queen (36 page)

    won't be going then?" he assumed.

Really, he could be quite dense at times, Lizzie thought,

214 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

just a country boy at heart. "Of course we're going!" she explained.

"Everybody's going. If only to see Miss Sarah make a fool of herself."

    Jass thought it would be a lot of fun. "I don't expect I am," he said

    ruefully. "I'm probably too young."

    Lizzie was slightly relieved, Now she'd be able to enjoy herself at the

    ball, without the bother of having to flirt with him. "Such a pity." She

    was deeply insincere. "I might have saved you a place on my dance card."

    She decided she'd done quite enough work on him for one visit. She had

    years to achieve the union after all, and she was anxious to be gone.

    They wouldn't be home till after sunset now, and Lizzie hated driving at

    night, even with the security of the attendant slaves. It was so scary,

    night. She looked for a slave, and saw a gangly girl watching them.

    "Bring me my shawl," she demanded casually.

    Easter had followed Jass to the house on some errand but, on seeing

    Lizzie, had forgotten what that errand was. She couldn't believe Jass

    could like this girl, all pale and pouty, but was terrified that he

    might. For all her fantasies about Jass, she knew the reality was that

    he would eventually marry a white woman, a woman of his own kind, and

    Lizzie was the first indication that the once distant prospect was

    becoming a nearer reality, Hating Lizzie already, she picked up the shawl

    and, as she was about to put it on, let it fall to the ground.

Lizzie slapped her. "Fool girl! That's best French chiffon!"

    It wasn't a hard slap, but for Easter it was worse than the sting of the

    switch, for it carried with it all of this woman's ascendancy over her

    and thus, eventually, Jass. It didn't help that she heard him saying,

    quite sharply, "Don't do that!"

    Tears, not of pain, sprang to Easter's eyes, but she was too well

    trained, or too proud, to run away. She picked up the shawl.

    "She's just a clumsy nigra," Lizzie insisted, flushing at the rebuke.

    "We don't treat our slaves like that," Jass said, and with such authority

    that Lizzie wondered if he might be more of a match than she had

    bargained for. She snatched the shawl from Easter and flounced away to

    the landau.

"I declare, are you a nigra lover?" she said, loudly enough

    MERGING 215

for them all to hear, wanting, in some way, to hurt him, and knowing, from

the dinnertime conversations of her parents, that Jass had problems at

school because of his supposed liberal attitudes to the slaves. "It's a

wonder you ain't going to Nashville."

    Sally knew the slight was intended to hurt, and sprang to her son's

    defense. "Of course he'll be there." She turned to her astonished son.

    "Your father and I were just discussing it. It's time you were introduced

    into society and met some young ladies."

    She might as well have said "other" young ladies, Lizzie felt, for it was

    clear to her, in that moment, that the biggest obstacle to her future

    with Jass would be Sally. But Jass was beaming at her.

"We could have that dance," he said in transparent delight.

    To Lizzie, the visit had been a disaster. She knew that she had a

    potential enemy in Sally, she knew she'd been told off for her natural

    treatment of a slave, and she saw a lifetime ahead of being trapped in

    marriage to a young man who was so wretchedly, perpetually nice. Didn't

    he have any idea of how society functioned? Were boys not taught these

    things at school? Did she have to do all the work? She longed to think

    of a witty retort that would astound them all with its sophistication,

    but none came to her.

    "Unfortunately, I remember, my card is full!" she said as she huffed into

    the carriage, and even that embarrassed her because they'd all know it

    was a lie, since they had no idea yet of what other young men had even

    been invited, let alone who would ask Lizzie to dance. She wanted the

    carriage to go, now, but her mother took forever to climb in, and

    wouldn't stop saying good-bye, and to Lizzie it was all the most mor-

    tifying experience of her life.

    Finally they were on the move, but she refused to turn and wave, as

    etiquette demanded, even though she knew it would mean a lecture from her

    mother as soon as they were off the property. Had she looked back, she

    would have been disappointed again, because her intended was not waving

    with the rest of his family. He'd gone racing off to tell Easter the good

    news that he was going to the wedding.

216 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

News that Easter took almost as badly as Lizzie. "That's nice" was her

only response, and it burst jass's bubble of excitement more effectively

than any of Lizzie's barbs. "Just because that silly girl slapped you,"

he responded, thinking it would help. "I told her off."

"And couldn't take your eyes off her!"

    Easter wouldn't relent, and Jass didn't know what to do; he was too

    young, too inexperienced in the ways of sparring women. "Don't sass me!"

    he snapped, and walked away. But he couldn't let it go at that. Easter

    was his best friend, and he'd wanted her to share his fun. He turned

    back. "Damn you, Easter," he yelled, "you're no fun!" and continued

    walking away.

Immediately, Easter regretted her anger.

    "I'm sorry, Massa Jass, I-- she called, but not loudly enough for hirn

    to hear, and as immediately, she regretted her regret.

    "Oh, damn you, too," she cried, and this time he did hear. And smiled,

    as he walked away.

    27

Jass cut himself shaving, adding another tiny gash to the sev

eral caused by Wesley's fists. He staunched the blood with a

cotton cloth, stared at himself in the mirror, and wondered if

he would ever master the cutthroat razor. Cap'n Jack had

taught him the use of it, had made it look easy, and whenever

Jass watched his father shave, he seemed to flourish the per

ilous instrument with a careless, harmless grace that Jass en

vied. He didn't shave often-he didn't need to-but he

enjoyed it; it made him feel grown-up. The first time he had

ever done it, scraping away at the fuzzy down on his upper

lip, it had given him a surging sense of masculinity that had

thrilled him. Easter had shaved him once, for fun, under Cap'n

Jack's tutelage, but a similar feeling had occurred then, pro-

    MERGING 217

voking embarrassment and confusion in him, making Jass wonder if he was

quite nonnal, if this thing happened to the other boys so often, and

adding a new and disturbing, if unknown, dimension to his relationship

with the slave girl.

    He hoped the tiny nick would distract from the other wounds to his face,

    but staring in the mirror, he knew it was a forlorn wish. Those cuts and

    Easter's iodine stains ensured that his family would know that he had

    been fighting, if they didn't already, and his sister would giggle, his

    mother would make a disapproving speech, and his father would beam ami-

    ably at his son, and encourage Sassy's ragging.

    His body, though firm and taut, had the definition of a man's but the

    weight of a boy's, and he flexed his biceps, wondering if he would ever

    have the bulging muscles of Wesley and his older classmates. No longer

    a boy, not yet a man, he longed to be older, or younger again, or

    something, for he couldn't stand this netherworld he was living in. He

    still wasn't treated as a full-grown man, and the ways of adult men were

    confusing to him.

    He wondered if he would ever understand girls, and wished they were all

    more like his mother, who was at least predictable. Lizzie's butterfly

    mind, leaping from one thought to apparently unconnected others, confused

    him, but it seemed to be a factor in all young women. His sisters did it

    too. He would be having a sensible conversation with them, and suddenly

    they would say something that seemed utterly logical to them, but which

    confounded Jass, as happened in his Latin class when he was going along

    swimmingly, and a new verb conjugation, or the unexpected use of a case,

    caused him to flounder.

    He wondered why he thought about girls nearly all the time, why the very

    smell of them drove him mad, and why the closeness of Easter, tending his

    cuts, provoked such overwhelming urges.

    Sometimes, he thought, the only woman he really understood was his

    mother.

    The gong sounded downstairs. He was late for dinner. Just as always. He

    splashed water on his face to try to repair some of the damage, then

    hurried to put on his shirt and jacket.

The dining room looked grand, for Sally took especial pride

218 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

in it, trying to re-create here the dining room in Ireland that James so

fondly remembered. The oil lamps, with their exquisite, hand-painted glass

shades, seemed to make the burgundy velvet drapes glow and gave a rich sheen

to the carved mahogany furniture. The diffusing lamplight softened the

sometimes stem features of the family portraits hanging on the walls, for

the painters liked to make their wealthy subjects look authoritative. The

table linen was crisply starched, the silverware gleamed, and the smells

wafting from the pantry were mouth-watering. There was always some formality

about the evening meal at The Forks, and the family was expected to dress

for dinner, whether or not they had visitors, which they often did.

    Tonight it was only the family. They stared at Jass as he hurried to his

    chair on his father's left. James glanced at the grandfather clock. "Cut

    yourself shaving?" he wondered. Sassy giggled. Sally glared at her and Jass

    blushed, but before he could reply, his father coughed and bowed his head.

    They all followed suit, and James said grace. Sally rang a small bell, and

    Parson Dick marched in with the tureen, and Polly, with the plates.

    There was a tiny silence while the soup, lentil with ham hocks, was served,

    no one knowing which way the conversation would jump.

Sally broke it, determined to let lass know she was vexed.

    "I don't know why you always have to be fighting!" she admonished. Jass

    mumbled something about not starting it, and James came to his aid.

    "Schoolboys' Debating Club?" He smiled at his son. Jass felt a sudden rush

    of temper.

    "if only they would debate," he flared. "But the minute you start talking

    sense, they seem to think you're attacking the honor of the South! It's

    stupid to be so entirely reliant on one industry, one workforce. What if

    cotton suddenly went out of fashion, or something-"

    Everyone laughed. Cotton was, is, and always would be. Cotton would never

    go out of fashion. It couldn't; there was nothing to replace it. You

    couldn't wear wool in the summer heat, and what would you do for bed linen?

"No one would have any clothes," Sassy said, which riled

    MERGING 219

Jass a little more. All girls ever seemed to think about was clothes.

    "All right," he countered. "What if there was some bug or weevil that got

    into the cotton and destroyed it, something we couldn't control? We'd be

    bankrupt."

    He had them there, he was sure of it, but hadn't reckoned on his father.

    "Oh, I think we'd manage." James's voice was calm. "There are other

    crops, sugar and tobacco, after all."

    "They aren't as profitable as cotton, and need as many slaves," Jass

    argued, but his father was benign.

    "We do own rather a lot of land, and that never goes out of style." He

    turned to his son. "But that's why you keep getting into trouble, boy."

    Jass hated to be called a boy, but loved it when his father spoke to him

    seriously, man to man. "To question cotton is to question the economic

    validity of the South--

    "But what if the Feds abolish slavery?" Jass jumped in. "Or if the slaves

    revolted, like Nat Turner-"

    The very name Nat Turner unsettled the women, it was the stuff of their

    worst nightmares. Sensing this, James tried to be calm, and ignored the

    interruption. "And to question slavery is to attack the South, which only

    gets you into more trouble."

    Sally intervened, as much for herself as for her daughter. "Why don't you

    discuss this after dinner, in the other room?"

    Sassy had gone very quiet. "Quite right," said James, and looked for a

    happier subject. "Are you all excited about the wedding?"

    Soup done, Polly cleared the plates, and Parson Dick brought the roast

    to James to carve.

    The change of course and subject had the desired effect. Sassy cheered