“Well, young lady,” said Aunt Thelma, giggling through the side of her mouth. “I was expectin’ you to be a little lighter.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, Ma’am,” I gritted.

  She looked at Papa. “Has she got any bags?”

  He blinked at her, his dislike obvious.

  “I’ll get them,” he grunted, and stamped outside.

  Mrs. Thelma Bell made a circuit of me. She fingered my dress, my hair, pinched my arm.

  “Well you aren’t too skinny, that’s good.”

  “Mama feeds me well.”

  Her pinched mouth grew small. “Don’t expect to be eatin’ us out of house and home. We live modestly here. But Lord, you is dark. You sure that man is your Pa? Ha Ha Ha!”

  She laughed in pieces: Ha Ha, Ha.

  I only looked at her. She shook her head. “I guess John will decide for himself. He’s my cousin. His Papa was a white man, so he’s got the good color. I don’t know how he feels about dark girls.”

  “We’re all black, at the end of the day,” I said sweetly.

  She stuck her pointy nose in the air.

  “I can see there’s no harnessin’ your tongue, little Miss.”

  “I hope Mr. Miller finds it to his liking.”

  “ ‘Mr. Miller’ isn’t home yet,” she sniffed. “John is always out to town.”

  “I haven’t seen my Uncle yet,” I said, anxious to be rid of her.

  “That’s ‘cause he’s sitting on the back porch being useless.”

  Papa came in with my bags. I hadn’t brought much.

  “I’ll take them,” oozed Aunt Thelma, hurrying to his side. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. Some lemonade for you?”

  “No,” said Pa, keeping a firm grip on the bag’s handle. “Thank you. I’d just like to see Mr. Bell for a moment.”

  “He’s sitting on the back porch.”

  Her attitude had entirely changed. Now she was the doting wife. I had a sudden impulse to beg Papa to take me home. But of course now that was impossible. It was the thing a spoiled child would do, not a grown woman about to be married. Grown Women did not suddenly change their minds.

  Papa went to find Uncle Sam, and I packed my things in the little room Aunt Thelma showed me to. She stopped to point out the framed photographs on the wall.

  “My Mama was a Creole,” she puffed, pointing to some white lady. “A quadroon. But don’t she look full white? I got her hair.”

  Her tone said she thought me very unlucky indeed. I had dark skin and no ringlets at all. Aunt Thelma sat on the bed while I took out my things, making comments on my clothes, hats, shoes, and toilette. I got the sense my Uncle Sam must be the least talkative man on the planet, or possibly deaf. How else could he have stood her chattering?

  At last Pa came in to bid me farewell. Aunt Thelma didn’t bother giving us privacy.

  “Well, Minnie.”

  “Well, Papa.”

  “You be good now.”

  “I will.”

  “Don’t give ‘em any trouble.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Remember what we talked about.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  He patted me on the cheek and kissed my forehead, like he’d done so often when I was small. His huge body looked awkward and stooped in the small room. The next time I saw him I might be a bride. If I ever saw him again.

  “Be careful, Pa,” I said.

  He smiled akwardly, patted my head, and left. Anything could happen on a cattle drive. In my life he’d done only three. Sickness, drowning, snakebite. Papa even knew a man who’d died from a little centipede bite.

  I wanted to fly down the hallway and hang onto his shirt, crying. Instead I watched him go, aging and handsome and serious. I tried to burn his picture in my mind.

  Aunt Thelma came to stand with me to watch him leave. I dabbed quickly at my eyes.

  “A handsome man,” she sighed.

  “Is Mr. Miller handsome?”

  “Of course!”

  I spent the rest of the afternoon trying hard to adjust to my new home. My aunt, after clinging to me for hours, now seemed content to leave me to my own devices. She was often alone, I wagered, and hungered for and tired of company in bursts.

  My thoughts wandered to Jake. And to Papa’s warning. In hindsight, I was relieved Jake and I hadn’t gone any further. Perhaps there might have been a baby if we had. The idea was chilling. I admitted Mama was right. The best thing to do would be to get married straight away and repair my reputation.

  I smoothed my skirts. What did Jake McCoy have in common with me, anyway? He was an illiterate farm boy. Not the kind an educated woman would hitch her wagon to. I had a right to be picky.

  The sweet memory of a few nights earlier needed to be exterminated. He had been kind and gentle with me. But it didn’t matter.

  I went to the mirror and pointed at my reflection.

  “No more,” I told myself. “You’re a respectable girl.”

  If John Miller would have me, I would marry him.

  The sun went down. Uncle Sam dozed in his chair, perspiration beading on his forehead. My aunt squinted at some mending. I paced the kitchen floor.

  A little after seven we heard a man holler from over the hill. A horse came into view. I stilled myself against the porch railing. John Miller. Would he like me? Would he think me beautiful?

  He dismounted a ways from the house and walked the horse the rest of the way.

  “Light the lamp, Minnie,” ordered my aunt.

  I did so; the light finally woke Uncle Sam. He wiped his sweating face. “Huhnh?”

  “John’s back, Sam,” snapped my aunt. “Go wipe yourself down. He don’t need to see you sweatin’ like a toad.”

  My uncle blew out through his lips. “I think John will survive seein’ a little sweat. Maybe he ought to bend his back once in a while and get used to it.”

  “Hold your tongue,” my aunt hissed.

  John came into view. My hands gripped the banister so hard they hurt. His features arranged themselves in the darkness one at a time. His broad face was perspiring. He didn’t seem to notice me.

  He’s older, I thought. Older than thirty-five. Why lie about his age?

  “Good evening folks,” he said. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “I got supper waiting for you, honey,” oozed my aunt. “Come wash up.”

  He nodded, then caught sight of me. He frowned.

  “Who’s this?”

  Aunt Thelma urged me forward. “That’s Ada’s girl. Remember? She was supposed to come last week.”

  John Miller blinked. His eyes toured me from head to toe. I remember Jake McCoy giving me a similar look, only that one hadn’t made my skin crawl.

  “Well,” said Miller bluntly, “She ain’t what I expected.”

  Uncle Sam barked a laugh. More of a guffaw. It echoed through the hills.

  Miller’s eyes slid to my uncle, full of venom. Then his expression changed. All smiles.

  “But she’s fine to look at. How do you do, Miss Minnie?”

  He tipped his hat, but his eyes were now sliding to the front door, and the hot dinner waiting behind it. He tramped up the steps. Then, as if remembering, he turned and took my hand. Though he’d been hot from the ride, his hands were cool.

  “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

  His moustache brushed my knuckles. Aunt Thelma giggled stupidly. The two of them bustled inside. Uncle Sam made no effort to move. His beetle eyes pinned me to the floor.

  “You take after Ada,” he said. “In looks, I mean. You dark as she is.”

  All day I’d been waiting to talk with him. He’d slept and slept. Yet his voice now was clear as the morning. It jumped up and down, the way funny people talk.

  “I’m proud to look like Mama.”

  Sam flicked his gaze to the door. “Ada thinks you’re gonna marry that man.”

  “I came here to meet him, didn’t I?”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know him well enough.”

  Sam nodded. “He’s a funny man. Never seen a man so into readin’. I reckon he sleeps with his head on a book. Two books tucked between his legs.”

  “Oh. Well- that’s good.”

  Sam spat. “He can’t hold a plough. Can barely sit a horse. Read, read, all day long. What use to that?”

  Defensively, I said, “Knowledge is the key to freedom.”

  “Ain’t freedom he’s after,” said Uncle Sam. “I can tell you that.”

  I went inside. Aunt Thelma fluttered like a moth around the kitchen. Quietly I went to help her.

  “Pour him this milk,” she snapped. “The flies got to the scones. I’ll see if Sam wants ‘em.”

  She took the plate of scones outside. I set a cup down in front of John Miller and began to pour. He put his book down and watched me. As I bent down, his hand came up and settled on my lower back.

  “There now,” he murmured. “I think that’s enough.”

  I told myself not to flinch; he might be offended.

  “Sit with me,” he said quietly. He had a soft voice, but it slid like oil, just like his eyes, sliding all over the place, never settling. I sat.

  “I made your Mama a marriage proposal,” said John Miller.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Call me John, honey.”

  “John.”

  He had crow’s feet, and his eyes were a kind of liquid gold. His spectacles were dirty. But God, was he old as Papa?

  “I won’t force you,” said John Miller, “But I’m lookin’ for a smart girl who can keep house and mind my affairs at home. Someone honest and hardworking with a little bit of education.”

  “I have that, John,” I said.

  He patted my shoulder. The gold in his eyes wandered around like mercury. “Most negro girls don’t posess those qualities,” he said. “They don’t know what it means to support a strong black man. But I know your Uncle thinks highly of your sister, and you were reccommended. I think you’re beautiful, and you seem bright.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “And the way you talk. Refined.”

  I could talk like a cowboy or a lady. I’d been raised by both. But he only saw the lady. Wasn’t that a good thing?

  He breathed deeply. “We’ll marry in a few weeks. Would you like that?”

  A few weeks!? My heart lurched. “Why so soon?”

  “Why not?” John chuckled. “I declare, Miss Minnie, since I saw your picture I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  I stared at him. He didn’t look like a man in love. He looked like a man comfortable that he’d just gotten what he wanted. But what did I know of love? I could be wrong.

  “I won’t be able to hold myself in,” said John. “Having to be around your beauty every day.”

  “I guess my Mama can come,” I said. “To our wedding, I mean.”

  His caress of my hand had developed to my shoulder.

  “If there’s time,” said John. “But she gave her permission that you could be married right away.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll wait until your Pa returns from the drive. And then we’ll away to Boston.”

  “Boston...”

  Mama had lived in Boston many years ago, before she met Papa. One of her other brothers still lived there. So I supposed it wouldn’t be so bad. I’d be in a fancy city, have shopping, and new sights. In the North they weren’t so reckless with black folks - or so I’d heard. And with the new railroad, coming to see Mama and Papa would be easy.

  “How pretty you look when you blush,” said John Miller. “You know, in this light you don’t look near so dark as I first thought.”

  The words went over my head. He kissed my hand again. Every time he touched me I had the urge to shudder. It was probably nerves. I had shuddered when Jake touched me, too. No. Musn’t think about Jake. John Miller was no Jake. I could see we would make a good match. He didn’t look as old as I’d thought. He was handsome. A scholar.

  “I have a gift for you,” he said.

  He reached into the bag at his feet and brought out a gilt-paged Bible. The silver clasps on it shone prettily in the light. Inscribed on the inside was my first name, linked with his. The book looked expensive, but the writing clumsy. Perhaps he had done it himself. I drew a sharp breath.

  “When we marry,” said John Miller, “We’ll keep this at our bedside.”

  “Yes,” I murmured. “If you want to.”

  But when I returned to my rooms, I panicked. It was the sight of the bed that did it. If John Miller and I married, this would be our marital bed. I would have to get naked for him. He would have to lift my skirt and touch me like Jake McCoy had touched me. I knew instinctively that John Miller did not know how to do that. He was not the kind of man for caresses and stolen, passionate kisses. Maybe he would make love like he talked. Like he just expected obedience. Meek, simple Minnie.

  For hours I paced the room, thinking of what I could do. Then, on a sudden impulse, I flung myself at the desk and penned a frantic letter to Mama. I asked to come home as soon as possible.

  I sealed the letter and handed it to my aunt, who was going to town.

  I waited a week, and then another, and then another. Mama never replied.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  No response from Mama ever came. But the weeks passed, and I began to be glad she had never received my letter.

  John Miller was in a hurry to wed me. I began to take a liking to him. He spent most days in my aunt and uncle’s parlor, invested in a book. A life of this had given him a slight slouch. I thought he looked better out in the sunshine, when the freckles on his nose were prominent, and his slouch didn’t look so obvious. But he preferred the indoors. All my life I’d been around men like Papa who strongly preferred the back of a horse to the inside of a parlor. John Miller was a welcome change. After all I didn’t take to horses too much myself, and I loved reading.

  Some time passed, I did not give John an answer, and my aunt took me aside.

  “John will need your answer,” she said. “It’s unkind to make him wait.”

  “But what about Mama? Papa?”

  “Mr. Sampson won’t be returning for months,” said my aunt. “And your Mama can’t be runnin’ all over the state with a farm to mind. You know how it is.”

  “But she said-”

  “She gave permission,” said my aunt firmly.

  “I want to see it. Why isn’t she replying to my letters?”

  “She’s busy,” said Aunt Thelma. “Not everyone has time for you, Minnie Sampson. You better learn that lesson quick.”

  Later that night John took me down to the path. He tore up flowers and stuck them in my hair. The smell of crushed stamens and violated weeds filled my nose. Holding hands, we walked a long ways, almost the whole two miles to town.

  That night he asked me to marry him again. He looked so earnest it made my heart stop. I said yes.

  Of course I believed I was falling in love with John, and he with me. But I wanted my parents at my wedding.

  I expressed this to my aunt again, later, when John had gone to bed. She patted my cheek. “There’s no hurryin’ love, Minnie. But you won’t get a man like that at the snap of a finger.”

  Everyone made it sound like John was reconsidering, like he would vanish in the night without warning. But when I spoke to John he was all assurances and “take your time”. Maybe he was telling my aunt his real feelings.

  I bit my lip. “Alright.”

  She brightened. “I’ll tell him, then. Next Thursday? Thursday is the best day for a wedding.”

  Things then seemed to fall into sequence without my doing. My aunt made all the matrimonial arrangements herself. My father had advanced her some money for this purpose. She got me a dress, and a fine hat with a feather. On the morning of, she did up my hair “to hide the nappiness”, and went to fetch the preacher, who was late. She seemed to me in an even bigger hurry than her cousin. At the time I didn’t question it.