The Loom (7 page)

“And his name?”

“Jackson.”

Jackson and John.

“I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to the gathering and look what happened. I’m smitten.”

“Smitten? Is that right?”

“Why, I might as well be. I can’t get him off my mind.”

“Well, when will you see him again?”

“I’m hoping soon. He told me he’s arranging a ball at his manor next weekend. I want to go, but he lives in Manassas.”

“Virginia?”

“Yes.” Lizzy sighed solemnly. “Lydia, I really want to go. I need to go. I need to see him again.”

Like she needed to see John. Lydia smiled. She followed her friend’s eyes as they moved to the rumpled dress on the floor, watched blue eyes beam.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me. To Virginia.”

“Are you out of your mind? No.”

“Please. Oh, please, Lydia.”

“No! Lizzy, what are you thinking? You’re not thinking.”

“I am. It’s perfect. It’s a perfect idea.”

“It’s foolish and you know it.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Lizzy climbed off the bed, clapped her hands, and laughed.

“Lizzy, stop it.”

“Can you imagine?” She leaned down and grabbed Lydia’s shoulders. “Me and you in Manassas? Two White women—”

“No, I can’t.”

“It’s not that far. Less than an hour away.”

“I’m not sneaking out of the house, acting like I’m White. And cross the state line? No.”

Lizzy pleaded.

But before she could refuse again, Lizzy squeezed her hands. Lydia looked down at their fingers, one on top of the other.

There was no difference.

Every day Lydia waited for Midnight.

Every day she waited until John found reason to be near. Out, away from the manor, were havens more beautiful than anything that could be housed. John introduced her to endless shades of green on long walks and awakened in her body hungers she had never known she had. She tried to resist but love seeped in.

She smiled at the thought of him. Teeth shone against a skin so smooth and black it looked like the velvet she used to make something rare, something beautiful.

A fine-looking man, women whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening. When he came in from the tobacco fields, rags froze midswipe, brooms stood at attention, and even those who’d worked side-by-side with him cocked their heads at his rolled-up sleeves and the peek of muscle when his shirt lifted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Just doesn’t make no sense for a man to look so good, they purred. What didn’t make sense, Lydia thought, was their persistence even in her presence.

Nearly every Sunday after suppertime, some lady, wide-eyed and nervous, would tip into the cabin he shared with Charles, Master’s driver, bearing gifts—a crisp apple dumpling, anything hot, sweet, and as oozing as her words—like she was standing on holy ground, setting eyes on Baby Jesus Himself. When John received her offering, she’d rejoice. No, don’t thank me. Thank you! I should’ve done more. But Lydia never even received so much as a glance from any of them. Because of it, as soon as the wooden door creaked shut, she was quick to ask for the treat. She devoured every one of those gifts, swallowed every morsel of those traps, until she sat full and pleased that not even a crumb had touched her love’s lips, let alone his heart.

On the back porch of the cabin they sat in the dark of night.

“Marry me.”

The words warmed her heart. He wanted her. This man wanted her as his own. If only…

“John, I can’t. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“No, you don’t.” If he knew the things in her head. The wish, the dream of life in her heart. Never a dream of love.

“All right then, Lydia. Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What I don’t know.”

She laughed.

“I’m for real now. What don’t I know?”

“I can’t tell you all that.”

“Sure you can. Little by little. Go on. Tell me something.”

“All right.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, laid her head against her thigh. “I love sunrises.”

“That’s good.”

“And the smell of cinnamon on apples.”

“Umm. I like that too.”

“And sunshine. I love the way it feels when I’m walking in it.”

“That’s ’cause you’re not working in it. I guess I’d love it, too, if it wasn’t beating down on my back from the time it got up every morning.” He smiled when she giggled. “What else? What about holding hands? You like holding hands?” He laid her palm on his and grazed it with his fingertips. She shivered.

“You cold?”

Nowhere near.

“What else you like?”

“Ladybugs.”

“Really?”

“I know it’s silly.” She straightened her back and stretched her legs in front of her. “But when I was little it’s what I wanted to be. So I could fly away.”

“It’s not silly. Long as you’re not trying to fly off nowhere.”

If she could, she would. He smiled. Would she?

“I bet you don’t know many girls who like bugs.”

“No. No, I don’t, but I doubt it’s the bug part you like. It’s the lady. You’re a little lady yourself.”

She stared at him. This man understood her better than she understood herself.

“All right, Lady.” He turned her toward him and slid his thumb from her temple to her chin. “Anything you don’t like?”

“No.” She looked up into moonlit eyes of onyx. “There’s nothing I don’t like tonight.”

John arrived ten minutes early, watching, pacing, waiting for Lydia at the back of the Kelly manor.

In the month since she’d showed up at the slave gathering, he had spent every Sunday evening with her. But tonight was a weeknight. They wouldn’t have much more than an hour together. Studying the night sky, he noted the whereabouts of the moon, the position of the stars, and shook out the crinkled pass from his pocket, reading it for the fourth time, like it had somehow changed since he’d last checked. He needed to do more, rise earlier, get out more crops, anything to get Dr. Kelly to give him more time with her. He was getting nearer, inching closer to where he was going. Soon this whole state of mind would be a thing of the past.

John watched Lydia skip down the back steps two at a time. One minute she was far from him, the next, near and up close. He wanted her closer.

“Lady.”

She smiled. Beautiful. His hands wanted to reach for her, but he shoved them deep into his pockets instead. “It’s a beautiful night.”

“Yes, it is.”

He led her through an orchard. The tang of citrus and sweet apple hung in the air, clinging to their clothes. John picked up black walnuts from the ground and tossed one to her. To his surprise, she caught it and giggled.

“Pretty good. You’re quick.”

She smiled.

“I’m glad we’re able to see each other during the week. I wasn’t sure the Kellys would be all right with it. Some masters don’t allow it, you know.”

Lydia walked with her hands clasped behind her back in silence.

“They are letting you see me tonight, right?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He laughed. Hadn’t expected that. “Well, it’s best you get on back inside before they discover it.”

“They think I’m taking a walk with Cora, but it’s all right. They won’t come looking.”

“You sure?”

“Are you leaving if I’m not?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re all right then.”

She was something. He shook his head and looked at her. Sweet but something else. That something else kept him coming.

Tonight, she was quiet, quieter than she’d been the other times.

They stopped under a maple tree. He sat near the base of the trunk and tugged her wrist. She followed and eased down in front of him. The ground was moist from a late shower the night before.

“You all right, Lydia?”

“I’m all right. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.”

“Us?” It was all he thought about lately. “Is that right?”

“You think we’ll always be slaves?”

“No.” No. He knew it. Answered her quickly. It was his constant prayer. “I’m hoping one day, not too long from now, we’ll see the other side.” He looked up at the starry sky. He looked at her. “No.” There was too much beauty in the world. “No, we won’t always be slaves.”

Lydia bent her knees and laid her head against them, stretching the length of her skirt over her ankles.

They sat in silence, the night breeze relaxing him. He pressed back until his spine rubbed against the trunk and bark crumbled onto his shoulder. He closed his eyes but just as soon felt fingers tapping his. Her widened eyes startled him.

“What is it, Lydia?”

Like lightning, he glanced around them, then back at her.

She blinked. Shaking her head, she simply smiled, but when she looked back into his eyes, she whispered, “The night I ran off.

I sat just like that.” She dusted his shoulder clean. “Just felt like when I looked at you I’d seen it all before.”

She hadn’t, but he had. Witnessed it all.

“I always wish there was more, John.” Lydia swiped her hands through the grass then glanced up at the Kelly manor. “More to our lives. I think about being free all the time.”

“I can’t imagine there’s a slave who don’t.” John brushed a blade from her wrist, damp from the moisture in the air.

“Oh, there’s slaves who don’t, John. Plenty of them. Believe me. They just stop thinking about it. They give up. But that’s not me. I’m never gonna stop wanting it.” She looked into his eyes. “There’s nothing I want more.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The statement stung. Not even love, he’d thought to ask, but instead he nodded and added, “I won’t rest until we have it.”

“I can see that.” Her words, her voice waved through him. “I can see that in you.”

“Do you?” He leaned closer. “What else you see?”

“I see somebody late for curfew.”

“No.” He shook his head. “What else do you see?”

Lydia curled her pinkie around his. “I see a man who makes me happy.”

“Better. I like that.” He touched his lips to the back of her hand, stared into her eyes, and studied her face, promising himself he would hold the picture as beautiful, as perfect when he was alone, until the next time. “Go inside now, Lady. I want to watch you go in. We’ll leave together, at the same time.”