Race Traitor: BWWM Romance Novel for Adults Read online

  “You sure can, Miss Janie,” he said, putting strange emphasis on her name. He had a smile that could cut butter. “But I’m more thinkin’ how I can help you.”

  He looked horribly familiar.

  “And how’s that- sir?”

  “The name’s Burke Giraud, Miss, but I like ‘Burke’ just fine. I’m the carpenter.”

  Ah. The carpenter. Janie squinted at him skeptically. He had rough hands; capable hands. He was well built- tall. Very tall. He had black, thick hair. Unlike most white men, he wore it loose around his shoulders instead of cropped short. His eyes were an indiscernible color, possibly gray, hidden behind two heavy lids that gave him a sleepy, feline appearance. His nose was rather big, but it didn’t take away from his good looks. She stared harder. Could this be the same white man from the hot springs?

  It had to be. But that raised more questions for Janie than it answered.

  “That won’t be necessary, uh, Mr. Burke, ” said Janie, forcing a smile. She had to get rid of him as soon as possible. “I’m sure one of my people can work on the schoolhouse. There are plenty of negro carpenters in Rickshaw. Why, I’m sure even a woman like me could figure out how to drive a nail and set a board. Please don’t go to the trouble.”

  She caught that her tone bordered on insolent. Another white man might have taken offense. But this white man-Burke- didn’t react at all. He was actually smiling.

  “Well no, Miss Janie. I’m ‘fraid it is necessary. Y’see, I offered to do it free of charge. And there’s a hell of a lotta work to do b’fore Summer’s over.” He kicked at a rotting piece of the step, proving his point.

  “I’m the only one with enough spare time.”

  Janie looked at him as if he was mad. Free of charge, the devil be damned. There was no such thing with white people.

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate,” She said flatly.

  Burke Giraud took a step towards her. Janie shrank back, eyes flashing. If he dared touch her-

  “Miss Janie,” he said impatiently, “Pardon me, but if y’all want those kids to be learnin’ in a nest of rats an’ bugs, then it really ain’t my business. But put aside your pride for ten seconds, and tell me what y’all need fixed in here so I can get right to fixin’ and leave you be.”

  Janie sighed helplessly. She had followed all the rules that governed interactions with white people. But this man seemed intent on breaking every one. What was she to do?

  “You sure the committee sent you?”

  “Yes,” he said, eyes widening at her, as if she were a halfwit.

  “Well- alright. You can- you can go in and see what needs to be done.”

  A smile was curling on the edges of his lips. Giraud seemed to think this whole thing was endlessly amusing. His eyes, so sleepy-looking and strange, roved shamelessly over her figure, lingering too long on her face. Janie felt heat rise to her cheeks. She had seen this man, Burke, naked at the hot springs. She was sure now that it was him.

  Worst of all, he looked quite pleased with himself, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Sounds good to me,” he drawled. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “I- well. Alright. Sorry. Good day. ” Flushing, she clamped her hat on her head and stalked away.

  *

  “I hear you’re working on the nigger school,” said Francis Croup. Cigar smoke hung in a halo around his head. He sounded bored. He usually was.

  “I am,” said Burke. They were sitting on the Croups’ porch, looking out over the vast expanse of the Croup estate. Burke found something unsettling about this view. The birds were too cheerful; the babbling of the marble fountain too airy. It was manicured, cultivated, pruned. Luxury built with sweat and blood. The house itself was an obese construction fit to rival a castle. Burke had been permitted inside only once.

  “What for?” probed Francis, his green eyes cool. The look might have made another man tense. But it had been a very long time since Burke Giraud had feared his cousin.

  “I got my reasons,” said Burke. He watched the ember crawl down the length of his cigar. Truthfully he hated the stuff- he preferred his cherrywood pipe. He ashed it in the tray, because he knew it would annoy Francis, and Burke took pleasure in doing so.

  “You always did like somethin’ about these niggers,” Francis remarked. “I guess you feel sorry for ‘em. You never grew up ‘round ‘em, that’s why. Lazy animals, every one.”

  “Lazy?” said Burke calmly. “They built this house. That fountain. They raised you, if I recall. They still cook your meals, wash your clothes-”

  Francis fumed, “You might as well be one, for all you love ‘em so much. God Almighty, Burke. I’m plumb tired of defendin’ you. When are you going to act right?”

  Burke felt a flicker of annoyance. His cousin’s hypocrisy had always worn on his nerves. “If anyone’s got a problem with the way I live my life-.”

  “I’ve got a problem,” said Francis testily. “Things are changin’. Used to be that the white man had all the power. Used to be that we ran things- it’s the natural order, Burke. Now all this talk about Negro voting. There’s Negro lawyers. Negro judges. Negro officers. Soon we’ll have a Negro president!” Francis took a deep, aggrieved breath.

  “I don’t see what any of that has to do with me,” said Burke flatly. He sensed another one of Francis’s lectures brewing, and desired to cut it short.

  “There has to be a line, Burke. We need to guard tradition.”

  “What tradition? Enslaving human beings?” snapped Burke.

  Francis stopped. His gaze was heated. “You sound like one of them bleedin’-heart northerners.”

  Burke met his cousin’s gaze with a coldness of his own. Francis was always looking for ways to push him. Like a wolf testing a much larger prey; always circling.

  “So what if I do?” he said. “I can say what I damn well please.”

  “Not in my house,” Francis snapped.

  Burke stood up. He was suddenly sick of the argument, of his spoiled cousin, and of the sickening opulence of the plantation before him. “Alright.”

  Francis stood up too. He was much smaller than Burke; and Burke knew it aggravated him.

  “You can tell your friends to back out of my affairs,” Burke said, gathering his hat. His voice was like a bullwhip. Francis actually flinched.

  Suddenly the porch door banged open. A beautiful woman sashayed out of it in a whirl of blue silk, chirping with laughter. Burke’s urge to leave grew stronger.

  “Oh, hello Burke,” said Evelyn Bricassart, soon to be Evelyn Croup. “Hello, dear Francis.”

  “Darling,” oozed Francis; typically, she ignored him.

  “Is everything alright?” Her giant blue eyes glistened up at Burke, as if she expected him to drop into a bow.

  “Burke was just fixin’ to leave’, sugar,” said Francis tightly. He smiled a winning smile, but her eyes were on his cousin.

  “Oh, were you, Burke?” She beamed. “Walk with me, then.”

  “So sorry,” said Burke immediately. “I’m goin’ in the opposite direction.”

  Evelyn blinked. “But I haven’t told you where I’m going.”

  “Good afternoon, to both of you.”

  Burke left quickly. The more time he spent around his cousin, the more he felt that he should cut Francis off forever. They’d grown up together, Francis ever the bully, with his headstrong ways, until Burke got his height and started licking Francis back. They’d tumbled over hill and glen; Rickshaw was their playground and their kingdom. But now their relationship was a fragment of what it had been. And as more time went on, Burke realized that it suited him just fine.

  Francis had never held a great love for black people, it was true. His great-grandfather, who was also Burke’s great-grandfather, had been one of the wealthiest planters in the Confederacy. The war had torn all but the land and a little piece of money from under their feet; even so, Francis was set to inherit a tidy fortune from the moment he was born. Yet Burke’s cou
sin still felt cheated of something greater; exactly what that was, Burke wasn’t sure. Whatever it was had been lost many years ago, in the war. Francis blamed black people for stealing that “something” from him.

  And now, Burke’s cousin had been roped into the white-power mania that was sweeping the South, which had taken hold in Rickshaw, which many, many white men were members of. Oh yes, Burke knew about their secret little meetings, their long white robes, the burning crosses they left to awe and terrify. He knew what they had done to Samuel Good. Even if he hadn’t heard what happened from the black folks themselves, he might have guessed- correctly- the identity of the perpetrators.

  Samuel’s death was the second lynching they’d had in Rickshaw- the second most obvious one, anyway. Burke remembered the first with a shudder.

  He’d never forget that summer, for as long as he lived. His Pa had taken him down to the forest- where they’d tied the black man up. Burke couldn’t remember the man’s name anymore, but he remembered the screams. The smell of burning hair. His Pa didn’t participate, but he’d made Burke watch.

  Burke had looked at the faces of the white men who did it. They were men he’d grown up around. Men he’d laughed with and trusted. But that night they looked like demons. He saw what they were, and he hated them for what they did to that man, a deep and burning hatred that he carried inside him like a venom. Burke had torn from his father’s grasp and fled into the trees, the mangled cries following him like a pack of hounds. But it wasn’t enough- and running away hadn’t saved the man. It took him- Shad, Burke remembered the name now- hours to die.

  Burke pushed the memory away as he strode into town. It did no good to reflect on these things.

  ***

  “Hello, Miss Ross.”

  The voice was clipped; a Yankee voice, with a hint of education. Janie raised her head to greet its source.

  He was a tall, rather handsome man. He had peanut-colored skin, loosely curling brown hair, and a mobile, sarcastic mouth. Green eyes flashed mischievously into hers. A mixed-race fellow- but not a local, or she would have recognized him, surely. His dress was sharp. Northern.

  “Er-Hello.”

  To her surprise, he took a seat next to her under the oak tree. They were in the “colored” section of Plume Park. Janie had been nodding off, a lesson book in her hand.

  “May I see?”

  She handed him the book. He turned it over gingerly, as if examining a rotten leaf.

  “This is old. The textbooks they use in the white school are fifteen years newer.”

  “I’m aware,” said Janie.

  The man handed the book back to her, and held out his hand. “The name’s Emmett Freeman. I’m the head of the school board here.”

  “We have a school board?” Janie wondered aloud. She shook his hand nonetheless. “I thought- the church-”

  “Indeed, we do,” Emmett interrupted, smiling patronizingly at her ignorance. “It’s new.”

  Janie suddenly remembered- this was the man who had written to her as she was finishing up college, requesting she come teach.

  “Well, it’s sure nice to meet you, Mister Freeman. You ain’t- you’re not- from Rickshaw?” she observed.

  “No Ma’am. Pennsylvania. But my Mama was from here, and I thought I’d head down South to build up this town. She always wanted the people here to make something of themselves. Colored people can’t be stuck in the past forever. There’s a lot of work to be done, and it starts with a child’s education.” He swelled with pride; Janie got the sense that he’d rehearsed that speech beforehand.

  “Well, this place sure is different from Pennsylvania,” said Janie diplomatically. She was disliking his self-important tone, but he had a naivete about him that she found refreshing. Most black folks in Rickshaw spoke pessimistically about the way things were or were going to be. Emmett Freeman reminded her of those ambitious boys back at Xavier, full of pride and hope for black people of the future.

  “The race relations are...uncomfortable,” admitted Emmett. “But we can’t be scared of white folks anymore, Janie. We’ve got to build ourselves up. Fight back. Education is the first step.”

  “I agree,” began Janie. “But-”

  “Oh look, it’s the carpenter,” said Emmett suddenly, breaking into a grin. Janie’s head shot up. Sure enough, the tall, wiry frame of Burke Giraud came stalking into view. For some strange reason Janie’s heart began to thump.

  “Dont-” she began, but Emmett was already waving his arm genially, beckoning the white man over. Burke looked for all the world like he wanted to be somewhere else, but Emmett was insistent. The big man crossed into the colored section of the park to where they were seated.

  “Hello, Emmett,” he said warily.

  “Burke,” said Emmett, grinning. “Have you met Miss Ross? She’s the new teacher for the negro school.”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” said Janie tersely. “Mr. Burke and I, were, er, introduced this morning. He came to ask about repairs.”

  “Oh,” said Emmett. Janie wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

  “Well? How’s it looking?”

  Burke shuffled on his feet. “Not good. The flood banged it up pretty bad.”

  “Oh yes, the flood. It was also vandalized,” Emmett confided to Janie. Her eyebrows shot up; she looked at Burke quickly.

  “Vandalized?”

  “Yep,” said Burke. “They almost burned it down.” No one needed clarification on who they were.

  “Why?”

  Burke opened his mouth, but Emmett was faster. “Because they know the next worst thing to a poor and angry negro, is an educated and angry negro,” he said bitterly. “Which is why you are so important, Miss Ross. We need to get the children of Rickshaw some confidence. Our children need to learn that they can stand up to oppression.”

  Janie’s eyes flew to Burke again; would he be offended at such talk? Would he be angry? She wished Emmett would shut up.

  But the big man only nodded in agreement.

  “Anyway,” said Emmett, rising. He examined his watch. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just realized I’ve got a meeting with the church board. I’ll see you around, Miss Ross. Burke.” He tipped his hat and strode away in long, elastic strides.

  There was a momentary silence after Emmett left. Burke was the first to break it.

  “Well, here I am all tickled to see you, Miss Janie, and you look like you’re havin’ a duck fit.”

  The woman’s dark skin glowed in the sunlight. As always, her kinky hair was straining from its barrettes. She didn’t have it chemically straightened, like most black women were doing these days. Burke liked the way it curled around her temples and the soft skin at the back of her neck.

  “I don’t want to keep you here,” Janie said. “I’m sure you’re a busy man.” I wish you would leave me be.

  Instead he took a seat next to her, grinning. Janie found herself taken aback by his smile. It seemed to turn his whole face into a sunbeam. Even his sleepy, hooded eyes lit up dimly. His teeth were white and straight.

  “You sure about that?”

  “You know what people would say if they saw you- us- talkin’?” She whispered fiercely. She was angry at him for putting her at risk like this. But a small, secret part of her rebelled. She would have liked to keep looking at this good-looking man. Janie did not trust men- and white men even less so- but in his company she felt a strange sense of comfort. Somehow she knew she could talk to him as she would any man of her race, without inciting his anger or giving him offense.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass,” said Burke. He leaned his long body against the tree, taking off his hat to rest in his lap. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. He looked perfectly relaxed, and irresistibly handsome.

  “This side ain’t for white folks,” said Janie, smoothing her skirts nervously. She looked around the park. It was empty, but for a group of white children playing in their section. “You got plenty of space over there.” />
  “We’re jes’ talkin’. Ain’t nothin’ in the law about talkin’. Be easy, now. I’m tryin’ to get to know you.”

  “Why? Ain’t you got some other woman doggin’ at yo’ heels? What you doin’ gettin’ all friendly with a colored gal?” Despite her joking tone, she felt a little twinge of annoyance.

  Burke cracked open his eyes and rolled them in her direction. “You sure do think highly of yourself, Miss Janie.”

  She began to get up, but he fastened a hand around her wrist.

  “Let me go,” she said.

  “Naw, you ain’t leavin’ yet. I got some questions for you.” His tone brooked no argument.