Race Traitor: BWWM Romance Novel for Adults Read online

“I got another request from you, Marie.” He cleared his throat, shrugging the rifle higher on his shoulder.

  Janie blinked. “Um, alright.”

  He turned to face her, stepping close. Janie could see the freckles on his nose. The whorls of hair at his temples and the back of his neck looked soft. He smelled very nice indeed. She felt rooted to the spot, even as his hand came up and tugged on a stray kink of her hair. He rolled it between his fingers, examining its curl. Then, his eyes never leaving hers, he undid the pins that held the rest of it together. Her thick hair sprang loosely out to hang over her shoulders. He pulled at it gently, spreading it out around her head. Aunt Sarah’s voice echoed distantly in her ears. I don’t know why you bother fussin’ wit’ that picky-knot hair. She drowned Aunt Sarah out. A breeze ruffled over her scalp, cool and sweet.

  “Don’t touch my hair,” she whispered.

  His hands fell to his sides, then floated up and grabbed both her wrists. He massaged her pulse with his thumbs.

  “You know,” said the white boy quietly. “You’re mighty purty.”

  She shuddered; from fear or pleasure. She was tall enough to almost look him in the eye.

  He leaned forward and kissed her.

  His lips seared against cheek, burning every thought from her head. She clung to his back as he molded his mouth over hers, wrenching the fire up from her loins to curl in her chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her breast. One large, calloused hand curled gently at the base of her neck, the other at her waist, holding her whole length against the hard muscles of his body. Janie kissed him as she had never been kissed before, and he responded, pressing against her soft body as if they had been long-parted lovers, now with nothing separating them but their clothes.

  Then, as suddenly as it had began, it was over. He wrenched his lips from hers and stepped back. Two spots of red burned in his cheeks. She saw him as if through a haze.

  “Go along, now,” he said quietly.

  Janie picked up her skirts, and ran.

  Chapter 1

  The Return

  Rickshaw, Mississippi

  1932

  7 Years Later

  They knew this would not be an ordinary summer. The signs were there. Old Ben, who knew about such things, called it first. He’d eyed the chicken guts on his doorstep, left there by a wild dog and frozen by a late frost, and shuddered. It would be a long and ugly summer.

  Old Ben had been right, as he usually was. A strange heat came on the heels of the frost, coaxing all the buds out from their slumber. The trees bloomed at once in a sickening array of color, only to be strangled by another deep cold that arrived out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly. The birds couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to stay or leave Rickshaw. Moods turned ugly, and tempers flared. Fish deserted the river, the yams they pulled up were twisted and blood-red. Oh, yes. The signs were there.

  *

  It was at this time that Janie Ruth Ross came back into town, toting a little carpet bag that held everything she owned. People turned to stare. What they saw was a tall, shapely black woman who held her shoulders like a queen. Her face was soft and her eyes bright and curious- always curious. College had sharpened her drawl; now she sounded educated. But more immediately striking were her features. The childish roundness had given way to high cheekbones. Her snub nose had widened, her lips were soft and full. She was tall, with high legs and a large bottom that swung like a bell when she walked. The black people drew back cautiously. The white people curled their lips. They saw her passing by and remembered her face. They wanted to see what kind of woman she was.

  Janie would let them figure that out for themselves. Her Aunt Sarah had been dead and buried a year past- leaving not a penny for Janie, of course. It had all gone to the church. But Janie had made her own way. She’d gone to school. She’d gotten some culture. A lot had happened to cover up her spark, but she’d pulled through.

  It just hurt to be back in Rickshaw again.

  Of course, the little town was just the same as when she’d left it. The job they’d offered her did not pay well, and she hadn’t expected it to. Teaching was never something Janie had considered. In fact, she maintained that she would vehemently dislike it. But in these times, one took whatever job one could get.

  Janie’s cousin Betty Young- more of a second cousin, really- came to fetch her from the station. Janie remembered Betty as a short, plump, cheery woman. She’d always looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed. It gave her a thrill of pleasure to see her cousin hadn’t changed much, either.

  “Janie-girl!” Betty cried, waving madly from the platform. Janie barely had time to breathe before Betty barreled into her, squealing with delight. The two cousins laughed, Janie squeezing the other woman so tight she nearly lifted her off the ground.

  “Hey gal,” Janie laughed. “How you been?”

  Betty adjusted her dress and lifted Janie’s carpetbag. Her smile was wide- too wide, Janie thought. She detected a glint of something behind it. But Betty’s tone was light. “Oh, you know me. Don’t ax for much, don’t git much, praise Gawd.”

  The two chattered endlessly on their way to town, all the way to Janie’s place at the schoolhouse. She’d been told that she could sleep in a little apartment on the second floor.

  It was a walk of a couple miles. The building stood just on the fringe of the Blue Forest. From a distance it appeared rather charming. But up close it was a frightening piece of work. Janie’s heart sank.

  The building needed painting. The windows were hanging precariously on their hinges. Half the steps were rotten, and the interior looked dark and forbidding, like a witch’s cave.

  Betty sensed Janie’s dismay, and winced. “We had a flood come through here a month ago. It ain’t so bad inside.”

  In fact, it was much worse. Half the benches were toppled over and mite-eaten. The other half were stacked haphazardly in a corner. Janie heard the distinct scurry of rats beneath the floorboards, agitated by their steps. Someone had smashed the chalkboard in. Upstairs promised no better. Everything was choked with dust except Janie’s bed, which, Betty informed her, some kind soul had donated prior to her coming. A heavy, masculine stink hung in the room- Janie’s room. She pressed the back of her hand to her nose.

  “It ain’t much,” Betty offered. “But we can fix it up real good.”

  “Uh- Thank you. I’ll get by,” said Janie. Her cousin’s guilty expression shamed her. She put back her shoulders and took her hand from her nose. She had decided to come here. The people- and especially the children- of Rickshaw needed her. She could handle whatever they threw at her.

  “I’m so glad t’ see you, gal,” sighed Betty. “Let’s rest a minute then I’ll help you clean up.”

  Alerted of her arrival, it wasn’t long before two more women came by, armed with brooms and rags and buckets. Grimly they tied the rags around their noses and got to work. The ladies swept and scrubbed. They flung open the windows- some deserted their moorings and fell clear out of the frames- and they evicted the rotten furniture. As they worked, Janie kept a mental tally of the endless list of repairs.

  But she threw herself right in to help them. It took all morning. Sometimes they worked in silence. But the women were a talkative bunch, and took to Janie right away.

  “Now, I ain’t mean to scare yuh, Miss Janie,” said Esther Brown. Esther was a strong, capable woman, the self-appointed director of the cleaning operation.

  “Cus I knows you prolly got some delicate leanings, bein’ in Naw’Leans fuh so long. But things work a lil’ differently around heah. First lesson: you gotta take care wid’ these white folks.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Janie agreed.

  “Second lesson. Anythin’ you need, you ask one of us, alright? You doin’ us a mighty big favor, comin’ all the way out heah in the muck. The children ain’t so excited,” Esther smiled, “But they’ll take to ya, and if they don’t, you just come straight to us, and we’ll set ‘em s
traight. We’re on yo’ side.”

  “Thank you Ma’am,” said Janie appreciatively. The woman’s encouraging tone warmed her heart.

  “I like her,” Esther said to Nora, a young, walnut-colored woman. “She’s real polite. I was ‘fraid she’d be like that Aunt of hers.”

  “Just keep ya head down,” Nora advised Janie. “Don’t make no waves ‘cross the river. Don’t ruffle no feathers.”

  “You gonna tell her?” said Betty suddenly. She’d been quiet for most of the morning, once Esther and Nora had arrived. Something was weighing on her heart.

  Esther shook her head. “I guess I should.”

  “Tell me what?” Pressed Janie. She longed for the scraps of gossip they threw her way, anything she could file away and use later.

  Nora sighed. “I s’pose you wondered why they sounded so urgent, callin’ you back heah to teach.”

  “Well,” said Janie truthfully, “I did say I’d be kinda interested, once I got outta school. I jus’ didn’t expect them to call on me. I figgered they’d hire one of the church fellows.”

  “Naw,” said Nora lightly. “We got new people on the church board. They say they’s too busy to teach- now I ain’t one to mind people’s affairs, but I doubt that highly- plus they wanted someone college-educated. You was the only option, after Samuel-”

  Esther cleared her throat. Nora stopped.

  “Samuel?” Janie said curiously. There was only one Samuel in Rickshaw. “Samuel Good?” She remembered him from her early summers in Rickshaw. He’d been a tall, handsome boy. Always had his nose in a book. Sometimes he preached on Sundays- Janie had once giggled at his thin, reedy voice, so unsuited for his striking figure.

  There was no giggling now. The women looked serious. Betty played with the fibers of her rag. Janie was startled to see her cousin’s eyes brimming with tears.

  “What happened to him?” she asked.

  “He died,” said Esther flatly. “Ain’t no point relivin’ it. Betty, why don’t you go fetch us some water?”

  Betty put the rag down and walked outside without a word.

  “They was engaged,” Nora whispered sadly.

  “White folks,” Esther gritted. Her tone said everything. “Just you stay away from them, Miss Ross, if you kin’ help it.”

  *

  The women left. There was still much work to be done, but late afternoon was approaching and they had dinner to tend to. Their men would be home soon from work, they told her apologetically. If she couldn’t stand to stay in the schoolhouse alone, she could stay with one of them. But Janie said she didn’t mind at all- she’d prefer some time alone anyway, to pay respects to Aunt Sarah’s grave.

  The women seemed to accept that answer, and bid her goodbye, imploring her to come ‘round by five for some dinner.

  Janie watched Esther, Betty and Nora leave. She had no intention of seeing Aunt Sarah’s grave. And she wasn’t hungry. Her heart felt heavy and sad. It bled for her cousin, and for poor Samuel Good. Suddenly she was sick of the decrepit old schoolhouse. She slipped out the door, making a straight path into the woods.

  Janie knew the Blue Woods like the palm of her hand. The path was narrow, parts of it covered over by brambles. She headed west, skirting the line of the river. The babbling of the water sounded like a second language. In college Janie had learned Latin and Greek, old languages spoken by white people thousands and thousands of miles away. She wondered what the language of the water would be called. Did anyone know how to speak it?

  Suddenly, the laughter of the river morphed into actual, distant laughter. Human laughter; the high, round, raucous laughter of black people. Janie’s sensitive ears picked it up on the wind. It came from somewhere not far away.

  It was at this point that Janie’s irrepressible curiosity shifted every other thought from her head. She stepped quietly towards the sound, off the path. The woods began thinning out; she kept low. For a city girl she really didn’t mind the outdoors. Thorns pulled at her skirt; she hiked it around her thighs. Birds fluttered anxiously in their roosts. The sounds of the woods concealed her as well as the trees.

  The noises grew bolder and louder- and the air got hotter. The smell of old eggs hit Janie in a wave. She clapped a hand over her nose in disgust. Sulfur.

  Her heart beat faster as the pitch of the voices increased. She gave a private exclamation; she could finally see the source.

  The tree line fell away to the view of a small clearing. Its inhabitants were all black men, young and old. About seven of them in total. She recognized mostly all, though knew only two by name. Four of them worked at the bricklayer factory, if she remembered correctly- though of course, the way things were, they might have been laid off since she had last been in Rickshaw. Their bodies were hard and strong, but they had hunched backs, their shoulders pinched together from spending most of their lives bending down. Naked as babes, they cavorted in a series of hot springs which descended from a rolling hillside, carved eons ago by some celestial hand. And, to Janie’s eternal astonishment, there was even a white man right there in the springs with them!

  Her mouth hung open. The longer she looked, the stranger the scene before her became. Over the warm smell of sulfur came the unmistakable smell of cooking meat: pork. Her eyes, which had always been quite sharp, determined the source. The men had a whole roast pig turning on a spit.

  Janie knew that she was witnessing something completely forbidden. Something that needed to be hidden so deep in the woods, away from all civilization. These men had managed to carve this place out for themselves, but once they left the forest they would be back under the heel of the world, and all the laws that governed it. This was a stolen moment.

  Their conversation sounded heated but friendly. The men began to climb out of the springs and migrate towards their clothes, which they all pulled on over their soaking wet bodies. Janie could hear their excuses already; a swim in the river after work surely wasn’t unusual. Their wives, who were no doubt wondering about their whereabouts, wouldn’t question it.

  It seemed almost unfair to Janie that these women should work so hard in the home while their men splashed about in hot springs in total secrecy. Janie herself wouldn’t have minded stripping naked and taking a dip. In private, of course.

  As the men set their knives into the roasting pig, Janie’s eyes fell once more on the white man who had defied all custom.

  It was hard to see him in the growing darkness, so she moved closer. He was tall. Very tall. His body was wiry but strong; the body of a working man. She couldn’t determine his features.

  “Oh my,” she gasped.

  She had never seen a naked white man before- she gawked. He was strongly built, wiry, with long legs, broad shoulders and a torso that narrowed into a V. Janie observed, blushing, that he was well-endowed. The white man toweled himself off and pulled on his clothes. Even his dress revealed nothing about his status, or his profession. It was no different from the simple overalls the other working men wore.

  Janie became aware that she was spying, and the blood rushed to her face. She should be ashamed of herself! She was no different from a Peeping Tom. Besides, if she was seen...

  She stood up suddenly and began to pick her way back from where she’d came. Her heart hammered in her ribcage. She couldn’t be seen.

  Darkness closed in all around her, but it was a waxing moon that night, and the light it provided was plenty.

  *

  The next morning, Janie got an unpleasant surprise.

  She’d had a fitful sleep on the rough corn-husk mattress. Her mind was reeling with what she’d witnessed, and with the thought of poor Samuel Good, who had once taught in the very building and lived in the same room she was now inhabiting.

  She woke around six in the morning. Hunger cramped in her stomach. Perhaps Betty would have something for her to eat.

  When she stepped outside, dressed in her second-best dress, she had a pretty fair idea of how the day was going to go. She’d
head over the Betty’s and get a bite. Then the general store, for some groceries and sewing material. Then a meeting with the church board about expectations for their teachers. It was all planned out.

  She hardly expected to see a white man sitting on the steps of the schoolhouse.

  “I- Good Morning,” She said cautiously, every nerve in her body alert. Her eyes darted around. Maybe he had brought friends.

  But he seemed to be alone. He’d walked here; she could see neither horse nor automobile.

  The man twisted around. He wore a hat pulled over his eyes, but when he stood up he took it off, inclining his head slightly. That action alone made Janie blink. White men didn’t take off their hats for negro women.

  “Well, hi,” he said easily.

  “Can I help you?” Her tone was unintentionally cold.