Page 70 of Queen

take her past the Hendersons, which was unthinkable. North would take her to

  Florence. She turned left, to go north.

  She hadn't gone very far before she heard a horse riding up behind her, and

  for a moment she was scared, thinking it might be one of her pursuers come

  for her in daylight, but there was nowhere to run now, so she turned to

  face the rider.

  It was Jass. He had seen her from a distance away, from behind, and from

  her clothes and her suitcase he made a guess that she was leaving. But

  mostly, he was relieved to have found her.

  "Queen," he called out. "Where have you been? I've been looking

  everywhere."

  578 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  She was pleased to see him and not pleased to see him. Frightened that he

  would let her go, scared that he would not let her leave.

  141's leaving," she said. "For good."

  Jass glanced at his house, where Lizzie was.

  "Miss Lizzie?" he asked her, but Queen said nothing, and he knew the

  answer.

  It was for the best; it solved so many problems. Queen was part of his

  past, part of the South's past; there was no real place for her in his new

  life. It would solve so many problems for her, too, and make things very

  much easier with Lizzie. But he would miss her.

  "Are you all right? Do you have money?" he asked, and she nodded.

  -You can take a horse," he said. "It's too far to walk."

  "I'll manage," she replied.

  There was nothing else to say. What could he say? Only good-bye.

  "I'll miss you," he said.

  She almost broke. At that moment, she would have changed her mind, she

  would have gone back, put up with Miss Lizzie's tantrums and too much work

  and too little pay, just to know that he loved her, or cared for her, or

  appreciated her. All he had to do was ask. All he had to do was say one

  little thing. He didn't say any of them.

  "Good-bye, Queen" was all he said. "Good luck."

  Suddenly, he spurred his horse and cantered away, up the drive to the

  mansion that she had loved, and that she would never see again.

  She watched her father ride home to his family, and then, head high, she

  picked up her suitcase and began to walk away, off on a great new

  adventure, off to a bold, bright somewhere.

  When Jass reached the house, he stopped his horse and looked back for a last

  glimpse of Queen.

  He'could see her tiny figure trudging away down the road to Florence,

  resolute and brave, and for a moment he was filled with a sense of his own

  failure to her. He wanted to ride after her, call her back, bring her back

  to the place that was her home, but could not.

  QUEEN 579

  He sat on his horse for a long time, long after he could no longer see

  her, hidden by the trees, and he sent up a little prayer to God that she

  find some safe haven.

  Then he rode to the stables, dismounted and tended to his horse, and went

  into the big house, looking forward to his supper. It had been a busy day

  in Florence, and he still had much work to do.

  He seldom thought of Queen again. But sometimes a fragment of memory of

  her came into his mind, and he would smile. And sometimes, when that

  happened, he would take a leisurely walk to the slave cemetery, and sit

  beside Easter's grave, and mourn what he had lost.

  67

  The day was hot, and the sun at its zenith, sapping Queen's energy and

  resolution. Blisters on her feet, which had begun the previous evening,

  were hurting her, and she sat on her suitcase at the side of the road,

  took off her shoes, and nursed her aching feet. Why had they built the

  house so far from town? How far had she come? How much farther did she

  have to go?

  He could have given her a ride. She could have taken a horse. She'd have

  said yes if he'd asked her one more time.

  She began to have doubts about her enterprise. It would be so easy to go

  back, to beg Jass's forgiveness and accept the role she had been cast in,

  but pride, or dignity, or stubbornness, would not let her do that. By her

  reckoning, she was about halfway between The Forks and Florence, so to

  go back was as arduous as to go on. Except that there would be a bed

  waiting for her if she returned, and there was nothing in store for her

  if she went on. Needing some sense of security, she counted out the

  little purse of money that Sally had given her.

  Twenty dollars! It was an unbelievable sum to Queen, who had never had

  any money of her own. It made her, in her own

  580 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  mind, rich, and solved many of her immediate problems. She had to find

  somewhere to sleep that night, even if it meant spending some of the

  precious cash and staying in the old slave quarters at the hotel, so the

  sooner she got to Florence, the sooner she could rest. Knowledge of her new

  wealth gave her renewed energy, and she got to her feet, sweating in the

  blazing sun, and limped on.

  The time came when she had to relieve herself, and she looked around for a

  suitable bush. She always chose the spot with great care, because once

  Parson Dick had gone behind the bam and had peed on a homet's nest. The

  angry insects attacked him, and everyone had laughed at the sight of the

  immaculate Parson Dick running from behind the bam, pulling up his pants

  and being chased by a swarm of angry hornets. She found a tree that looked

  safe, squatted behind it, and did what she needed to. Again she considered

  her options-to go on or to go back-but the relief of her bladder made her

  feel better. She adjusted her clothing and returned to the road, still not

  entirely sure of her purpose, but trusting that something would happen.

  She heard a cart approaching. There had been very little traffic on the

  road that day, and the few riders passing by had ignored her. She prayed

  she might be luckier this time.

  Andy, the butcher's boy, was surprised to see her. He'd been on his rounds

  collecting farm-killed meat, and was heading back to Florence when he saw

  a white lady standing at the side of the road. He reined in the horse, and

  realized that it wasn't a white lady at all, but that light-skinned mulatta

  from The Forks of Cypress.

  He drew up beside her, and touched his cap.

  "Miss Queen, ain't it'?" he called cheerfully. "What yo' doin' out here on

  yo' ownsome? Where's yo' hoss?"

  He'd always liked Miss Queen because she was so pretty, and sometimes he

  had fantasies of her pale body lying beside his darker one, but although he

  had an outgoing personality, he was shy of women, and unfailingly polite to

  them. Sometimes he regretted his good manners.

  Queen knew she must took odd, out here all alone with her suitcase, and

  wasn't sure what to tell him. She wondered if a little white lie would

  matter, and decided on a vague version of the truth.

  QUEEN 581

  "It's a long story, Andy," she said. "Y'see, my horse throwed me,
/>
  and--

  It was as much as he needed. "That ain't no good," he said. "I'm gwine

  back to Florence, but I could take yo' back to The Forks."

  Queen needed no second bidding, and climbed into the cart.

  "No. Florence will do just fine, thank you kindly," she said. He took her

  suitcase.

  "Yo' leavin' the Forks, or summat?" he puzzled.

  "No, Andy, I's jus'-ah-gwine' visitin'," she lied, allowing her speech

  to slur into something closer to Andy's dialect.

  He helped her up, and made space for her beside him, on the little bench

  seat. He flicked the reins, and the patient nag began to walk.

  "Yo' be careful, Miss Queen," he told her. "Some white folk don't take

  kindly to niggers on their ownsome."

  Queen knew that to be true, but didn't have a worry in the world now. It

  didn't matter that Andy, sitting uncomfortably close to her, had a

  problem with his body odor. It didn't matter that the smell of the meat

  inside the cart assailed her senses. It didn't matter that the seat was

  hard and uncomfortable. God had sent her a sign, a chariot and a

  messenger in the form of Andy and his cart. Her decision to go on to

  Florence had been the right one.

  "I's surely grateful yo' came along then," she said, smiling happily. She

  listened gravely to Andy's tales of the dangers of life on the road, but

  inside she didn't stop smiling all the way to Florence.

  Andy offered her more help when they got to the town, even, he subtly

  hinted, a bed for the night, but she maintained her fiction that she had

  people to visit, and thanked him for the ride.

  "Anytime, Miss Queen," he told her. "Anything I c'n do, yo' only got to

  ask."

  He flicked the reins and rode away. Queen stood on the sidewalk and

  looked about her. She hadn't been to Florence since the war started, but

  it hadn't changed much, except that Yankee soldiers were everywhere

  roaming the streets, and they frightened her. There were several hours

  of daylight left, and so she walked away from the main street, looking

  for some-

  582 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  where to eat. It surprised her that a couple of older white men, smartly

  dressed, tipped their hats to her as she walked by, until she realized that

  they must think her white as well. It made her feel good, and she giggled.

  She saw the river sparkling in the distance, and walked toward it. It was

  such a lovely day.

  She came to the docks, a wharf and some warehouses, and enjoyed the bustle

  of it all. A ferryboat, an old paddle steamer, was loading cargo, and

  fishermen were bringing in their catch. A couple of street vendors were

  selling fried catfish and boiled crawdaddies, so she bought some food and

  was treated with considerable respect, and called " Missy. " She settled

  against an old tree on the bank of the river and used her suitcase as a

  small table, to eat. She giggled to herself again, for she knew that people

  thought her white. A full stomach and the breezes from the river lulled

  her, and she dozed for a while in the pleasant place.

  The afternoon was waning when she woke, refreshed from her sleep, her feet

  aching less and her spirits improved. Her prime objective was to find a

  place to sleep that night.

  And once again, Fate, or Chance, or God, decided for her.

  "Ferry fo' Decatur leavin' soon," she heard someone cry.

  An enterprising trader had bought an old paddle steamer that was used to

  transport cotton in the season, and whatever cargo they could get at other

  times of the year. Knowing that many people found travel by road arduous

  and dangerous in these postwar times, he had some modest cabins made, and

  began ferrying passengers between Florence and Decatur. The service was

  mildly popular, especially with women who needed to travel, for they

  thought the highways unsafe.

  Decatur seemed like an excellent idea to Queen. Although she was not well

  known in Florence, some few, like Andy, might recognize her, and there was

  always the chance that she might run into Jass or Lizzie if she stayed,

  which she preferred not to do. Besides, the ferry ride would delay a

  decision about her resting place.

  She bought the cheapest one-way ticket, which did not include one of the

  four cabins, and walked along the dock to the steamer. Half a dozen

  passengers were boarding, and their luggage was being loaded. Queen made

  her way up the gang-

  QUEEN 583

  plank feeling grand. She had never been on a boat of any kind, and

  experienced that sense of nervous excitement that is common to all

  first-time sailors, for travel by ship is the most romantic adventure. Even

  if she wasn't going very far, she was going somewhere, and anywhere had to

  be better than where she had been. Smoke belched from the stacks, the wheel

  started to turn, and as the ferry honked its farewell and the lines were

  cast off, she felt as if she were saying good-bye to an entire old life, and

  welcoming a new. Wide-eyed in wonder, she stood on the deck watching the

  dock, the land, recede, until she was surrounded by water.

  "No, you stupid darky," she heard a woman's angry voice. "I told you, that

  goes in the cabin!"

  A plump, middle-aged white woman, overly dressed for traveling, was

  berating a deckhand.

  "Yes, m'm," the deckhand said, carrying a large trunk inside. "I's puttin'

  it dere now."

  The aggrieved woman, fanning herself with a hankie, turned to Queen. It was

  too hot, she'd been traveling for several days, and her stays were too

  tight.

  "You can't trust those darkies to get anything right," she said to Queen,

  who smiled shyly.

  "And you shouldn't be out here by yourself, my dear, a pretty young thing

  like you," the woman continued, taking a little mirror from her reticule to

  adjust her hat and hair. "Those darkies would have us away as soon as look

  at us. If you take my meaning."

  The woman, Mrs. Porteous, or portly Porty, as an unkind friend once called

  her, hated traveling, but had no option. Her husband had recently died, and

  her son had been killed in the war, so she had sold her house in Natchez

  and was going to live with her spinster sister in Knoxville. Everything had

  gone wrong. The weather was hot, there was no reliable coach line from

  Natchez to Knoxville, and she had to change many times. Service was unheard

  of these days in the hotels where she spent her nights, and sleep

  impossible because of those rowdy, occupying, uncouth Yankee soldiers. The

  bone-crunching carriages, riding on rough, untended highways, had made her

  sick, and she had stayed in Florence for several days, unable to face the

  continuation of her journey. She heard of the ferry

  584 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  to Decatur, and at least that was a pleasanter mode of travel, and would

  bring her a little closer to her destination. She had started out from

  Natchez with three cabin trun
ks, but one had been lost in Memphis, stolen,

  she was sure, by darkies, who were far too uppity these days, and didn't

  seem to know their place at all. On top of everything else, she had found

  her various traveling companions to be decidedly unfriendly, and she was a

  garrulous woman who loved having someone to talk to.

  The pretty girl was sweet. Shy, obviously, but sweet. "Such a pretty

  thing," she said to Queen. "Visiting?"

  Queen started to find her voice, but it was not one that Andy would have

  recognized. It was the voice she used when she was on her very best

  behavior, in front of Miss Lizzie.

  "Yes, m'm," she agreed. "Relatives. In Decatur."

  "Such a relief to find pleasant company," Mrs. Porteous said. "So much

  trash traveling these days. It's the war, it's changed everything. I've

  been in fear of my life since Natchez. "

  She stared sadly at the river, as if remembering attempts on her life,

  rather than the loneliness of her present widowed ekistence.

  Queen was curious. Clearly, the woman thought her to be white, and she

  wondered how far she could push the pretense. For the first time in her

  life, the possibility of deceit came to her, but she justified it as a way

  to survival. She wouldn't lie, but if people wanted to make assumptions

  about her, Queen was happy to provide corroborating detail.

  "You probably haven't heard of my pappy then," she said. "Colonel Jackson,

  of The Forks of Cypress."

  Mrs. Porteous, still staring at the river, nodded absently.

  "It is a very famous plantation," Queen added, trying to think of other

  things that would impress.

  "Our glorious veterans, such difficult times," Mrs. Porteous said, turning

  away from the river. "You must tell me all about yourself. I'll wash -up,

  and then we'll find somewhere to sit, and have a nice, long talk."

  It would be a very long talk, Queen discovered later, although mostly

  one-sided. Mrs. Porteous had a very great deal to tell. She fanned herself

  away, to find her cabin, and Queen looked at the river.

  QUEEN 585

  It was so beautiful. The sun was going down, casting a golden sheen on the

  water. Life was wonderful to Queen, and she started to giggle again,

  because everyone thought she was white. Well, she was. She looked white, so

  she would be white, from now on. It had to be easier than being a nigra.

  The giggle turned into a laugh, and she wanted to do something silly, like

  throw her bonnet into the air, but she was worried it would fall in the

  water. But she laughed and laughed, and some passengers and deckhands

  looked in surprise at the pretty white girl standing on the deck by

  herself, laughing at nothing.

  68

  All of Queen's hopes for happiness were dashed by the reality of her

  existence in Decatur.

  The once thriving country town had been laid low by the war, and if life

  was difficult on the land, it was close to unendurable in the towns and

  cities. With no industry but agriculture, Decatur, like much of the South,

  relied for its prosperity on a single crop, cotton, and in good years, and

  especially at harvesttime, that crop was bountiful. With the fields devas-

  tated, the white male population decimated, and the black males fleeing the

  plantations, the citizens of Decatur struggled simply to survive. Yet the

  times were rife with opportunity. The armies of reconstruction were slowly

  moving in, having made their base camps in the larger towns and cities, for

  land was cheap, the population naive, and everything scarce. A moderately

  supplied huckster could do well, and barter was the currency. The policing

  Union Army lacked the moral fiber of its generals. Bored with war, hating

  the South, longing to be home, the Yankee soldiers made the most of any

  situation that could be turned to their advantage. So a carnival anarchy

  prevailed, which suited those of a buccaneering spirit, but

  586 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  proved disastrous for an innocent country girl with optimistic dreams.