The Governor's Sons (10 page)

Ash caught a glimpse of Kitty as she left the room. After hearing Lillian Ann’s remark, Kitty slouched and grimaced, as though she felt sick.
 
Ash gazed at Lillian Ann with an empty smile, but didn’t say anything to her.

When Kitty returned with a fresh salad for Miss Lillian Ann, Ash studied Kitty’s slender arm. He followed it to her shoulder as she set down the plate, then he tried to look into her eyes again. This time, Kitty refused to let her eyes meet his.

Ash knew she hated being ordered about by Lillian Ann.
 
And although she’d accused him of being a lecherous white man with less than honorable intentions, he now detected her to be jealous; which was exactly what he wanted.

It was his turn to wield the knife.
 
Now he’d twist it a little more.
 
“I don’t have to conjure up any thoughts of love poetry to bring you to mind, Lillian Ann.
 
It’s easy to think about you--and it’s not that I haven’t been,” he lied.
 
Kitty heard this before leaving the dining room.
 
He could tell she was seething by the way she forcefully pushed open the kitchen’s swinging door.
 
It flopped back and forth angrily as she disappeared from view.
 
“And I, uh, hope you enjoy the reading this afternoon.”

“Oh, Ash, I’m sure I will.
 
No one can express—love--quite the way Bennett Stuart does.”
 
Lillian Ann had brought her small leather bound volume of his last collection,
Love’s Passionate Bliss
, to the table.
 
Carefully picking it up, she held it to her heart.
 
“I’m hoping he’ll autograph this for me.”
 
She opened the little book to a page marked by a red satin ribbon.
 
“My favorite poem’s in here.
 
It’s called
‘Smitten.’”

“Oh, why, Lillian Ann, I love that one, too,” Miss Joan said.

Lillian Ann closed the book and smiled.
 
“I’d love to recite it, if you don’t mind, Miss Joan.”

“Please do, dear, I’d love to hear it.”

Lillian Ann cleared her throat, then looked toward Ash as she began:

My dearest, oh one of wonderment

I am assuredly smitten.

Admittedly so, I can think

of nothing but your gaze.

Though others hope of golden coins,

be they but hard and cold,

you, my love, my dearest one,

‘tis you that are soft and warm.

My mind is of feathers, floating,

fluttering back to you and your golden hair.

My dearest, my grandest wish is for you

to call me your lover, your beaux.

You have captured my heart.

My thoughts are a plenty, full of you,

rather than grits, greens or redeye gravy.

Though you’ve warmed my tummy, too,

you’ve mostly warmed my heart.

I long for you, my love, my cherished one,

I long for you, oh love, who stole my heart.

Miss Joan fanned herself languorously.
 
“Beautiful.
 
Absolutely beautiful,” she said softly.

Ash tried not to cringe.
 
He’d have to endure more of the same all afternoon.

Lillian Ann looked into his eyes.
 
“Ash, he has such a way with words, doesn’t he?”

“Uh, oh yeah.”

Lillian Ann turned to his mother.
 
“Why, Miss Joan, I just had no idea Ash was a fan of Mr. Stuart’s work.”

“Neither did I.”
 
Miss Joan laughed.
 
“I didn’t even know he was interested in going.
 
I’d suggested it to him, but he’d seemed—rather disinterested.
 
It’s not every day that our town receives a visit from an artist of such high esteem.”
 
Miss Joan looked at her platinum wristwatch.
 
The slim band was encrusted with diamond chips.
 
“I must be leaving.
 
I’ll have to miss dessert, but y’all enjoy.” She smiled.
 
“I’m certainly dreading the heat this afternoon.”

“Miss Joan, I am too,” Lillian Ann said.
 
“I wish the reading and the reception didn’t have to be outside.”

“I know, Lillian Ann.
 
But our Arts Center is too small for the crowd that’s expected.”
 
Miss Joan sighed, fanning slowly.
 
“My goodness, I’ll have to have some of my Lydia Pinkham to get me through the afternoon.”

“Oh, Miss Joan,” Lillian Ann exclaimed, “my mother swears by Lydia Pinkham!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is about that stuff,” Ash said.
 
“Just one whiff and you can smell the alcohol; might as well just have a shot of scotch.”

Miss Joan looked at Ash sharply, and then rose from her chair.
 
Ash stood with her.
 
Refusing to acknowledge his remark she said, “I’ll see you at the reading.
 
It’s already past noon.
 
I promised my volunteers I’d be there by now.”
 
Ash sat back down as his mother left the room.
 
She called over her shoulder, “Don’t be late.
 
Mr. Stuart will begin at 2:00.”

****

Kitty stood in the kitchen fuming with the burning desire to scratch out Miss Lillian Ann’s eyes!
 
Only Ash called her Kitty—no one else!
 
Despite what she’d told Ash yesterday, Kitty was sorry now,
 
because today, Miss Lillian Ann—very pretty, very rich and very white—sat with Ash for lunch, and would later accompany him to a reading—a reading of
love poetry
.

Kitty hugged herself so tightly, her finger nails dug into her rib cage.
 
She could smell Miss Lillian Ann’s gardenia perfume all the way in the kitchen.
 
And the image of her expensive dress, the sleeveless turquoise, splashed with large lavender flowers was seared into Kitty’s mind.
  
Its plunging neckline revealed her rather generous cleavage, and of course, her strand of pink luster pearls was real.

Kitty, in her pale blue uniform and flat white shoes, couldn’t have felt more ugly.
 
Grease from frying this morning’s bacon still lingered in her clothes, and her hair was more kinky than usual because it had rained last night.
 
The extra humidity in the air caused it to rise like yeast. Next to Miss Lillian Ann’s glossy locks, Kitty felt like the jungle woman from deepest, darkest Africa.

“You’re looking mighty sour,” Betty Jean said, as she finished loading two slices of sponge cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
 
“What’s got you in a tizzy?”

“Nothing,” Kitty snapped.
 
“It’s—it’s just that Miss Lillian Ann.
 
She’s bossing me around like a plantation mistress.”

Betty Jean stopped what she was doing.
 
“It’s not just that, is it?”
 
A plump strawberry rolled from the counter.
 
Betty Jean caught it before it hit the floor.
 
“I know you like Ash,” she whispered.
 
“And he likes you, as much as a white man can, anyway.
 
I’m not blind—as long as I have my glasses on.
 
I’ve seen the way the two of you look at each other.
 
But now he’s out there with Miss Lillian Ann.
 
Catherine, you just better protect yourself and forget all about him!”

“I’m not interested in Ash.
 
Why would I be?”
 
Kitty lied.
 
“White men are nothing but trouble.”

Betty Jean grabbed Kitty’s arm firmly.
 
“You can deny it all you want, but I know what I see!”

Kitty ignored her. “I guess I need to clear away the dishes now,” she said, but didn’t move.

Betty Jean released her arm and waited silently, looking at Kitty.
 
“Well—I guess so.”

Finally, Kitty left the kitchen and walked into the dining room.

“Oh, Ash,” Lillian Ann batted her lashes, “it’s a shame Mr. Stuart has to come when it’s so hot.
 
It wouldn’t be nearly as bad having him outside in the spring time, now, would it?”
 
As Kitty cleared away the dishes, Miss Lillian Ann said, “Now, Ash, don’t you dare let me forget my hat and shawl.
 
If I do,” she eyed Kitty spitefully, “I’ll turn as black as Kitty!” Then Lillian Ann laughed, looking at Ash.

But Ash didn’t laugh.
 
Instead, he gazed into Kitty’s eyes with an apology.
 
Unreceptive to him, she abruptly left the room.
 
Kitty piled the dishes on the kitchen counter, and then removed her apron.

“What is it?” Betty Jean asked.

“I quit!”

“But, Catherine, you can’t!
 
Aunt Izolla’s at a funeral and she probably won’t be back for a while.
 
I need your help to finish serving and getting everything cleaned up.”

“I’m sorry, Betty Jean,” Kitty’s voice cracked, “but I just can’t stay.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Kitty left through the back door in tears.

****

Betty Jean blew out a breath as she walked to the dining room to finish clearing the table.
 
She noticed Ash look at her oddly, and odder still when she served dessert.
 
She rushed back to the kitchen and hastily put away the leftovers, then quickly began washing dishes.

In a few moments, Betty Jean heard Ash excuse himself from the table.
 

“And just where do you think you’re going, Ash Kroth?” Lillian Ann said.
 
Betty Jean noticed that her sweet tone had a sharp edge to it.

“I won’t be a minute.” Ash sounded annoyed.

“You’d better not be.
 
How
dare
you leave me alone.”

Betty Jean heard Ash come through the swinging door.
 
As he walked into the kitchen he said, “Where’s Kitty?”

“She quit.” Betty Jean’s back faced him while she washed dishes.

“Quit?” Ash asked, in what sounded like disbelief.
 
The silence between them was broken by Miss Lillian Ann loudly stirring her iced tea in the dining room.
 
The spoon and the ice clanked monotonously against the glass.

Betty Jean continued washing. “That’s what she said.”

“Oh, Ash,” Miss Lillian Ann called.
 
“I could use some more lemon slices.”

Ash ignored his guest.
 
And he didn’t ask why Kitty had quit, so Betty Jean assumed he knew why.
 
She paused from rinsing flatware and turned toward him.
 
“So—I suppose something happened out there—that upset her.”

Ash hesitated.
 
“Miss Lillian Ann said something…insulting to her.”

As colored folks, they could take insults, Betty Jean thought.
 
Being Negro meant learning how to let them roll off your back, no matter how hurtful.
 
But she knew this went deeper.

“Oh, Ash!”
 
Miss Lillian Ann’s tone was more demanding now.

“Mr. Ash,” Betty Jean handed him a dish of lemon slices.
 
“Don’t you think you ought to get back to your guest?”

“Yeah.”
 
He waited for a moment.
 
“I suppose I should.”
 

****

After dinner that evening, Ash drove Betty Jean home.
 
He pulled under the shade of a large oak tree in front of the Wilkes’s small white frame house.
 
Before Betty Jean got out of the car, he said, “Would you ask Kitty if she’ll come out and talk to me?”

Betty Jean stiffened and pursed her lips.
 
To Ash it looked like she was about to say no.
 
“I suppose it’s not my place to interfere,” she said hesitantly.
 
“So, I’ll see if she
wants
to talk to you.”
 
Betty Jean thanked Ash for the lift home, and then left his car.

Ash turned off the engine. Despite the shade, he wiped his face and neck with a handkerchief.
 
He looked toward the front porch.
 
The swing looked inviting.
 
He’d rather talk to Kitty there than in a hot car, but he couldn’t risk being seen with a Negro girl on a porch swing.

A short while after Betty Jean had disappeared into the house, Ash wondered if Kitty would come out at all.
 
And if she did, besides apologizing for Lillian Ann’s insult, what would he say?
 
He’d beg her not to quit.
 
No, he wouldn’t beg.
 
He’d ask her not to quit.
 
If she didn’t agree to come back, then he’d beg.
 
Was he crazy to pursue her?
 
Yes.
 
Was it even fair to ask her to give up everything so she could be with him?
 
No.
 
But Ash wanted her anyway.