Guilty of Love (17 page)

Causing a small scene, Cheney abruptly
halted in the crowd. “If you don’t let go of my hand, you’re going
to be worrying about me in a minute.”

Complying, Parke’s fingers opened like
a mechanical gadget. He repositioned his hand on her back, guiding
them through throngs of people. “How about grabbing a bite at our
place, the Whistle Stop?”

“
That’s your place, Parkay,
not mine.”

Throwing his head back, laughing at
her irritation, Parke wiggled his brows as he helped her into the
car. Now he was having a good time. She was fired up.

A half hour later, they sat inside the
Whistle Stop and devoured his Sicilian Express—Italian focaccia
bread with salami, roasted red peppers, and provolone cheese. Again
Parke realized he hadn’t blessed his food. He looked at
Cheney.

She shrugged. “I said a quick blessing
for both of our food.”

Thinking about that prayer he said, to
this day, Parke didn’t know where those words came from. He cleared
his throat. “How about checking out some more houses on the walking
tour? It’s only six o’clock.”

Shaking her head, Cheney bit into her
Cannonball sundae—a chocolate frozen custard with hot fudge wrapped
in a chocolate waffle cone. She closed her eyes, moaning her
pleasure. “Give Grandma BB a heart attack because she can’t track
us—never.”

“
Who’s Grandma
BB?”

“
Mrs. Beacon.”

“
I didn’t even know she had
children and grandchildren.”

“
She doesn’t.” Cheney held
up her hand as if she anticipated his question. “Don’t
start.”

Parke chuckled. “Okay. Does BB stand
for BB gun or real gun?”

“
Do you want to find
out?”

“
Nope.”

They ate in silence until Parke
cleared his voice. “You’re all right, you know that? I actually
enjoyed myself with you today.”

“
Did you doubt that you
would?”

“
Yeah, I did after your
neighbor put me through a criminal background check.”

“
Admit it. That was funny.”
Cheney grinned.

“
Do you see me
laughing?”

Before either could take another bite,
an unannounced contest started. Parke was determined to maintain a
straight face. Cheney ignored him, preferring to survey her food.
When their eyes met, their laughs detonated, echoing throughout the
parlor.

Composing himself, Parke stared at
Cheney. When she smiled, she seemed to open the door to his heart.
He grinned. “What are you doing next Thursday after
work?”

“
Not going on a walking
tour, a musical, or anything else with Parke Jamieson, whatever
your number.”

Laying a hand over his heart, Parke
pretended he was hurt. “Whoa, you wound me, woman. Since the moment
we met I noticed, you don’t sugarcoat anything, do you? I like
that, but if we’re going to hang out, you’ve got to know my
number.” Parke watched as her beautiful eyebrows worked their magic
on him.

“
What are you talking
about? I didn’t ask for your phone number, remember?”

Wiping his mouth, Parke displayed an
idiotic grin. “You’re sitting with royalty and don’t even know
it.”

Parke could see her challenge rising
as Cheney sat straight up in her chair. “I’m sitting with a royal
nut, and we both know it.”

Their light banter fueled Parke and
subconsciously excited him, regardless of Cheney’s height and lack
of skimpy clothes. He reached over and tapped Cheney’s
hand.

“
No, seriously, it’s a love
story that laws have forbidden, but not by God,” Parke paused,
frowning. Something he couldn’t explain was happening to him. Every
time he was with Cheney, he seemed to mention God more and more. It
started after Annette and her group prayed for him. Maybe there was
power in prayer, but Parke still hadn’t figured out what that had
to do with him. He knew now wasn’t the time to analyze
it.

“
It flourished. My
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather and
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother fell in love
in the late 1700s. It endured throughout the institution of slavery
until the end of the civil war. Wanna hear about it?”

Cheney cocked her head to the side as
she twisted her lips. “Sure. You’ve got a couple of hours before
Grandma BB puts out her all-points bulletin.”

Getting comfortable, Parke smiled and
recited the facts that had been passed down to him. “Paki Kokumuo
Jaja was born in December 1770 in Cote d’Ivoire, Africa,” he rolled
his tongue to authenticate an African dialect.

“
You’re supposed to tell me
about your family tree, not some made up fairy tale.”

He continued as if she hadn’t
interrupted him, “His name means a ‘witness that this one will not
die’. But on that fateful day he and his warriors were attacked,
severely beaten, and kidnapped. Mande tribe leaders thought their
country was too far westward and untouchable from slave traders,
nestled relatively safe between kingdoms that would later become
French or British colonies, and eventually Liberia, Guinea, Mali,
Burkina, and Ghana.” Parke took a deep breath. “FYI, America
resettled freed slaves in Liberia from ships leaving New Bedford,
Massachusetts about 1821.”

“
I didn’t know America had
colonies, but I guess that was why former Liberian President,
Charles Taylor, felt American troops were obligated to be
peacekeepers during that uprising years ago. I heard he was somehow
connected to al-Qaida. Didn’t he get something like fifty years in
jail for maiming millions of Africans?”

“
Yeah.” Parke was in awe.
His appreciation for Cheney’s intelligence grew. Finally, a woman
who had interest in history.

Cheney frowned. “Wait a minute. Let’s
go back to slavery exploitation. I didn’t think any Africans were
safe from the human hunters.”

“
Not really. Their skin
color was the deciding factor, even though millions of Africans had
already been captured on the coast off the Indian Ocean and in
Midwestern countries. They were driven across the Sahara desert and
northern Africa like a herd.”

“
That’s fascinating. I wish
more history was in our school’s history books.”

“
Yes. That’s why I give
lectures, volunteer as a storyteller at local libraries, and
participate in Black cultural events.”

“
It means a lot to you.”
Her expression softened.

Parke stared into her eyes. “Yes, it’s
my world.”

“
It’s our world.” She
tapped a finger on his hand.

His heart raced. He didn’t know if it
was what she said or did, but there went his heart again. Parke
swallowed to regain his concentration. “Paki’s ship landed in
Maryland, a state known for harsh slave laws. Separated from his
bodyguards and warriors, Paki was sold for a couple hundred
dollars.”

With folded hands, Cheney leaned
forward on the table, giving Parke her undivided attention. “How
could anyone find love in so much misery?”

“
It wasn’t easy. Some men
refused to marry females enslaved by the same master because they
couldn’t bear to see their wives whipped unmercifully when they
didn’t move fast enough for the overseer. Plus, we know masters and
overseers sexually violated women and children. And then sold them
off to punish the husbands.”

Closing her eyes, Cheney shook her
head and shivered.

The truth wasn’t for the
tenderhearted. Parke waited for her to open her eyes. “Some good
news. Paki was sold to Jethro Turner, the largest slave owner in
Maryland. He had more than one hundred slaves. My
great-great-great…you know—refused to submit to orders, Paki was
repeatedly tied to a tree and whipped with cowhide.”

“
The love story, Parke.
Just tell me the love story. You’re depressing me.”

“
Sorry. I’m so used to the
story that the bitter details no longer anger me. They empower me.
Well, the master had six sons and one daughter, Elaine. She was
seventeen years old and fascinated with the tall, dark-skinned
warrior from a country called Africa.”

Cheney chuckled. “Uh-oh, I bet she
was.”

“
I understand she was very
beautiful. Stop interrupting.” Parke’s eyes sparkled. “Here comes
your love story. Elaine taught Paki how to communicate in English
through symbols and signs. As time passed, Elaine became protective
of Paki. When she witnessed him being tied to a tree and beaten,
she ordered him down, and after dark, applied salve to his wounds.
Later, Elaine snuck Paki clothes and food from her dinner
table.”

“
Okay, so they fell in
love.”

“
Yes. It was a love against
all odds, risking punishment and death to be together.” Parke
paused. “Escaping bondage, Paki became a fugitive and took Elaine
with him. They set off for Kansas, a free state, but settled in
Illinois rather than chance crossing another slave
territory—Missouri.”

Reaching into his back pocket, Parke
pulled out a business-size laminated card from his wallet. “I
actually have a copy of the ad from
The Baltimore Star
. FOUR
HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLAR REWARD—Ran away from subscriber
. Negro
man
kidnapped only daughter, Elaine Turner. Said Negro is
nearly black, between twenty and twenty-five years old, very
good-looking, tall, over six feet and muscular. I hereby forewarn
all persons not to harbor or employ said man or woman at the peril
of the law. Reward is for his capture in or out of state, dead or
alive. I want my daughter alive.”

Cheney looked up, confused. “Why do
you carry this in your wallet?”

Rubbing his chin, Parke stared in
another direction. “Two reasons. First, they described my seventh
great-grandfather as good-looking—see any resemblance?”

“
Black man, please.” She
slapped his arm.

“
Okay. Second, Paki and
Elaine, or Alai as he affectionately called her, were never
captured. Both lived to see the end of slavery.”

“
A hundred years,
Parke?”

“
Almost. Elaine and Paki
were married eighty-two years.” Parke twisted his mouth. “What can
I say? I’m a descendant of a strong African tribe. Elaine, a
White-skinned, green-eyed brunette was willing to live as a slave
to be with him.”

“
I’m sure the old master
went ballistic judging from that ad.”

“
I read that he did.” Parke
closed his eyes. “Bits and pieces of what happened have been passed
down through the years in her journal.”

“
What did she
say?”

“
Basically, that Elaine was
in love with Paki Kokumuo Jaja, Chief Prince of the Diomande Tribe
of Africa. She wrote that Paki was a whole man and not the
three-fifths determined for those enslaved under the Maryland
constitution.

Her father, Jethro, argued that if any
White woman married a Black man, she’d become a slave until her
husband’s death and his grandbabies would be mulattoes, basically
born into slavery.”

“
What did Paki say about
her decision?” Cheney asked.

“
In his country, she would
be his first concubine.”

“
Unbelievable. Even your
ancestors were arrogant.”

“
Elaine wrote she’d be
queen and he wouldn’t have time for another woman.”

“
Good for her, go girl.”
Cheney smirked, pounding a fist on the table. “Wow. It’s amazing
you know your family’s history like this.”

“
Elaine kept a diary. It
has been well preserved throughout generations. Plus, there are
legal documents. When she overheard plans to sell Paki, they ran
away.”

Cheney stole one of his chips and
crunched, sending crumbs to the table. Parke grinned. Sometimes,
peeks of her feminine charm melted his heart.

“
Why do I have the
strangest feeling there’s more to their story?”

Parke tilted his head. “So you really
are listening. Yes, there’s more.”

She snapped her fingers. “Then
continue, Mr. Parke Jamieson… what number?”

Laughing, they finished off the chips.
Parke paused when a dimple winked in her right cheek.
How
unique, only one
. “I’m number six, but I really should be
number ten.”

“
Finish your story and
forget the mathematics.”

And he did, sharing more of the story,
filling it with twists and turns.

“
Humph. Love comes with too
much drama.”

Parke ogled Cheney’s long lashes. Her
eyes were beautiful. He lifted his finger. “The Jamiesons thrive on
drama. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparents
secretly married. Soon Elaine gave birth to a son, continuing
Paki’s legacy.”

She covered her mouth in a mock yawn.
“Well, now I know how you got here.”

He leaned closer. “What’s your opinion
of seeing a man crying?”

“
Are they capable? It seems
to me that men lack emotion.”

For a quick second, Parke sensed that
Cheney was about to open up to him, then she shut down again. The
jigsaw puzzle was adding pieces. “Elaine wrote that Paki sobbed
uncontrollably as he looked down at his firstborn son’s bright
yellow face. He lifted the child to his god mumbling a native
blessing,
Dankie, kind aansoek doen
—thank you, the child I
hoped for. They named him Parker Kokumuo Jamieson and so it was for
the first male born each generation thereafter. Paki cherished his
wife and five sons until the day he died, so the Jamiesons keep the
story about our heritage alive.”