Part 14 (1/2)
”Let me ask you, honey. That young man who keep sending you letters from West Point?”
”You mean Robert?”
”Uh huh . . . does he do all this 'heart messing' and 'body shaking' with you?”
Not once. Nor had any other man I'd ever met. I shook my head.
”How you feel about that Yankee man?” she asked.
”I feel . . . I feel sorry for Robert. And I feel safe with him.”
”You want to wake up beside him every morning?”
I remembered my cousin Julia asking me the same thing. The thought horrified me. ”No,” I told Tessie.
”Well, then. That's your answer.”
”What? What's my answer?”
”You not in love with this Robert.”
”Well, I'm certainly not in love with Mr. St. John, I can tell you that! He's insulting . . . and . . . and obnoxious and . . .”
”What he look like? He as ugly as he is mean?”
”No, he's not ugly at all.” My voice suddenly quivered with emotion, and I didn't know why. ”He's . . . he's . . .” I saw his face in my mind, the way he looked when he laughed and told stories, not when he was angry.
”He's what, honey?”
”Well . . . he would be a handsome man if he weren't so obstinate!” I covered my face and cried. I didn't even know why.
”Mm, mm, mm,” Tessie soothed as she gathered me in her arms. ”Sure do make it hard to hate a man when he's handsome.”
She let me cry for a while, but as my tears began to fade, she asked, ”What you and this man arguing about all the time?”
”Slavery. He defends it! Can you imagine? He thinks it's perfectly acceptable!”
A smile tugged at the corners of Tessie's mouth. ”Seem to me Cousin Jonathan, your daddy, and just about every white man in Virginia think the same thing. You arguing with all of them, too?”
”No,” I answered meekly.
”Honey, if you looking to find a Virginia man who think like a Yankee, you gonna die an old maid. Guess you better marry that Robert fellow while you still got the chance.”
I recalled what she'd said about Robert. I wasn't in love with him. But how had she known? ”What's it like to fall in love, Tessie?” I asked.
She gazed into the darkness for a long moment, then her smile widened. ”Well, when you see that certain man you heart flies like paper on the wind-don't matter if you just see him one minute ago or one year ago. When you with him, ain't nothing or n.o.body else in the whole world but him. You might be walking down the same old street you walk on every day, but if you with him, your feet don't hardly touch the ground anymore, like you just floating on a little cloud. And, honey, you want his arms to be around you more than you want air to breathe.”
”Is that how you feel about Josiah?” I asked. She nodded silently. ”But you hardly ever see Josiah. Have you ever thought about finding another man?”
”Most people very lucky if love come around once,” she said quietly. ”Better not be letting go of it, thinking there be another chance.”
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I knew that my father's grief had healed when he decided to take an active part in Richmond society again. As more and more invitations arrived at our house, he sometimes asked me to accompany him in my mother's place.
”It's hard for me to believe, Caroline, but you are old enough to be married already,” he told me one day. ”I think it's time I introduced you to some suitable families.”
Half of the time I worried that I'd run into Charles St. John at one of these functions, the other half of the time I was disappointed when I didn't. Then one night, nearly a month after the picnic, I accompanied my father to a political fund-raising ball at the governor's mansion. I was standing near the punch table when Charles appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of me.
”Dance with me.”
There was nothing gentlemanly about it. But it was a command. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn't stop myself from moving into his arms. It was the first time Charles and I had ever held each other, and my knees trembled so badly I could scarcely move.
”Listen now,” he said after a moment. ”If I believed in witches I'd swear you were one.” There wasn't a trace of humor in his voice. He stopped moving and drew back to look at my face. I'd never seen a bluer pair of eyes before. They smoldered like blue flames.
”Come on, Miss Fletcher, fight with me. Make me angry.”
”Why?” I asked in a tiny voice. I was afraid I was going to cry.
He looked away and started dancing again. ”Because maybe then I can stop thinking about you day and night.”
I knew exactly how he felt. I decided I would do it; I would give him one last fight, ending this obsession once and for all.
”Do you believe that Negroes can accept the Gospel?” I asked quietly.
”Certainly.”
”Then wouldn't that make them our Christian brothers and sisters? The Bible says we can't love Christ and hate our brother.”
”I don't hate Negroes.”
”Maybe not. But if you loved Christ, you couldn't stand to drive past the slave auction on Fourteenth Street, knowing what's going on in there to some of your Christian brethren.”
He danced silently to the music for a moment, then said quietly, ”I don't have an answer to that. I'm sorry.”
He pulled me closer. His grip on my hand and my waist was firm, possessive. I'd danced with dozens of men before, but I couldn't recall ever being so aware of a man holding me, so conscious of his nearness or the strength of his presence. Everything inside me seemed to be vibrating, as if I stood inside a clanging alarm bell.
When the music ended, we moved apart. I waited for him to thank me for the dance and walk away, yet I was terrified that he would. I had no awareness of the room, the people, or anything else that was going on around me, just Charles standing in front of me, his eyes studying my face. He hadn't let go of my hand.
”What are you doing to me, Caroline?” he asked softly. ”Do you know I've actually found myself thinking about some of the things you said? And some of the stupid things I said-like the Negroes being an inferior race. I don't really believe that. I've been wondering which one of us has been brainwashed with overblown rhetoric.”
I don't know how long we stood that way. I felt breathless, disembodied, as if I were floating-not only from his words but also from his nearness. It was just as Tessie had described it.
”I argue about slavery all the time in Was.h.i.+ngton,” Charles continued. ”I can do it in my sleep. But I'm not used to debating with a woman-especially such a beautiful woman. And to be frank, I've rarely known one who had anything intelligent to say about political matters. You've turned my comfortable world upside down, Caroline. And I'm forced to admit that you were right about at least one thing-I should have bought that little Negro boy an apple.”
I was so moved by his words, so captivated by his extraordinary blend of humility and charm, that I couldn't speak. Suddenly, Jonathan's friend Roger bounded over and tapped Charles' shoulder, breaking the spell.
”Excuse me. May I have the next dance with you, Miss Fletcher?”
I had to decide. If I accepted this dance with Roger, then Charles would probably walk away, perhaps for good. If I refused it, Charles would know that I had feelings for him. I thought of Tessie's words about not having a second chance with love, and I made my choice.