it, they all say I'm advocating abolition-Owwwwww-for pity's sake! " He
flinched at the sting of the iodine.
Easter ignored his yell, and carried on, as did Jass. --and I'm not
saying we should abolish slavery, I'm saying we have to think beyond it-"
Easter hated talk of slavery and abolition. Most of the time she was able
to convince herself of the lie that she wasn't really a slave, and this
mystical new word, abolition, had frightening connotations, such as the
possibility of not living at The Forks, of living somewhere else, of
being apart from Jass. "Them's five-dollar words," she complained, hoping
to shut him up, knowing she was wasting her breath.
"You've had learning; you know what they mean." He puffed contentedly on
the empty pipe, but she flared a little.
"You scare me when you talk like that! Freein' slaves. Where would I go?
What would I do?"
Jass looked at her. She seemed at that moment so vulnerable, so in need
of protection, that all he wanted to do was take her in his anns and hold
her safe from the world, for the rest of her life. She made the boy feel
manly.
"It's never going to happen; it's just silly talk," he said gently. "This
is your home and always will be."
Then he smiled. "Besides," he said, "whatever would I do without you?,"
which is what she had wanted to hear from the moment he came in the door,
but she would not let him off the hook too easily-
"That's all very well and fine, Massa," she sniffed, "but I still don't
get to go to no wedding."
He looked at her in genuine surprise, for he had been at
212 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
school when the invitations arrived and thought the visit of Mrs. Perkins
and Lizzie to be purely social. "What wedding?"
Parson Dick needed no telling. News of it had reached the slaves days before
the formal correspondence had reached the whites, but since it was to be a
black wedding, between black folk, none of the slaves had felt any need to
inform their masters, and although they heard rumors that some white folk
were to be invited, none of them were sure if their Massa was on the list,
although Parson Dick, who could speak three languages but couldn't read or
write, was fairly convinced that theJacksons were when he had taken the
envelope to his Master's study earlier that day.
"We will be going to Nashville next month, Parson Dick, to a wedding-" was
as far as James got.
"Yes, sir, I know," said the butler, to save time. And perhaps to score a
point. James looked at him in amazement. The accuracy and speed of the
slave grapevine was a constant and remarkable amusement to him.
Parson Dick was helpful. "Everybody talkin' about it, sub. Alfred is
marrying Miss Gracie."
James laughed. "How is it that whenever anything happens in this country,
the slaves all know about it before we do?"
"Jungle drums, perhaps, Massa," Parson Dick ventured, maintaining a poker
face. James was never sure quite how to take Parson Dick, although Mrs.
Perkins had no such hesitation. "That's exactly right," she cried. "Voodoo!
Sheer voodoo! White folk and nigras guests at the same wedding!"
Parson Dick looked at her. "Disgraceful, m'm, I agree," but Mrs. Perkins's
skin was far too thick for such subtle sarcasm. "You see!" she crowed in
triumph, reluctantly preparing to leave. "Even the nigras are agin it!"
Slaves had brought the Perkins landau to the house. Soon it would be
sundown, and so it was time to go, but Mrs. Perkins was not anxious to
depart without at least some discourse between Lizzie and Jass. Playing for
time, she was also looking for ways to shake the Jacksons from their
complaisancy.
"You don't suppose she'll actually allow nigras to dance with whites?" she
gasped, but the wretched people wouldn't even take that idea seriously.
They only laughed.
"It's a wedding, my dear, not a revolution," Sally tried to
MERGING 213
placate her. Mrs. Perkins sniffed, taking a long time to put on her
gloves. "You never know. Sarah's obviously a freethinker. "
It was Lizzie who saw him first, face iodined, shirt damed, hovering at
the side of the house, staring, she was sure, at her. She made a-hurried
farewell to Sassy, and moved as quickly as feigned lack of interest would
allow to be near him.
"Why, who's this mess of a boy?" she asked the world, thus drawing
everyone's attention to their proximity. "It can't be young James?"
Mrs. Perkins beamed in satisfaction; Sally concerned herself with tea
things and Parson Dick; Sassy giggled and gave unnecessary orders to the
slave nurse to tend little Jane.
But James stared at his son and Lizzie as if the best idea in all the
world had just occurred to him.
Jass smiled shyly at her attention. "Miss Lizzie, you're looking lovely,"
he said.
Generally, girls of his own age confused Jass, but he liked Lizzie. She
was so pretty. Somehow, she always made him feel like a callow boy, but
that didn't matter because he had an exquisite revenge. Alone in his bed
at night, when that vile thing happened to his body that demanded
attention but could not be spoken of to anyone, or even considered in
waking hours, he would fight against it and sometimes win. But sometimes
the urge for the pleasure was so intense that he would lose the battle,
and when he did, it was often Lizzie's face that he imagined, and her
golden hair, and lovely body. He had no clear idea of what the unclad
white female form looked like, but he assumed, and was assured by his
schoolmates, that it was simply a paler version of the black, and so he
had an intimate familiarity with what he imagined Lizzie's nakedness to
be. It was his constant triumph over her perpetual skittishness with him.
Having no idea of what was in his mind, Lizzie rejected the spoken
compliment. "Tush," she drawled, "just thinking of these nigra nuptials
makes me glow. Poor Mamma's in a terfible pother."
Jass was puzzled; he couldn't imagine Lizzie missing out on a party. "You
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 a
ttendant 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 appare
ntly 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