Wild, Beautiful, and Free(69)

A mother.

“I don’t care how many thousands of acres her daddy owned—she ain’t got none of that now. And in the eyes of the law you won’t be legal. We’ve come too far for you to mess this up now.”

I wanted to ask him what she was saying, but there were too many layers I didn’t understand. I could only stare at Founder’s mouth moving so fast, and her eyes creased tiny with her anger.

“She may talk nice, and she may be educated, but she’s still colored. And the world knows it.” She looked at me and shook a finger in my face. “You don’t get to have him. My son was meant for something better.”

“Your son?”

“Yeah.” She clapped her hands hard, twice. “MY SON. Stupid gal, he ain’t white! No more than you!”

She dropped my arm, and by the grace of God, I didn’t fall. I grasped the folds of my skirt in front of me so I could hold on to myself. I had nothing else.

“What is this?” I couldn’t get the words out. I stared at Christian until he finally had to look at me.

“Promises,” he said. “It’s about promises I didn’t make.”

“Promises I worked hard to get! For you! For everyone!” Founder shook a fist in my face. “Like I told you, I held that man to the fire—wouldn’t let him get out of it.” She turned to Christian again. “And where would we all be if I hadn’t done it! Now you standing there whining like you done had to sacrifice something. You who’ve never done a lick of fieldwork in your life.”

“But we are here!” he protested. “Safe! And I got us here! Why can’t I have my own life now?”

“You know why!”

“Christian,” I said. “Your father?”

“My father,” he said. “He put restrictions on my inheritance. Remember, I told you that.”

“Yes.”

“From the moment he was born, I told him!” Founder was sparking, leaning on one foot and the other, dancing with the energy. “‘My baby can pass for white! You’ve got to claim him! You’ve got to!’” She stomped her foot. “‘I will curse you, Louis Colchester!’ That’s what I said. ‘I will curse you to my dying day if you don’t do right by our boy.’”

“Jeannette, he raised me as white,” Christian said. “Founder looked after me, but . . .”

“He didn’t know I was his mama. Not right off. His daddy wouldn’t let me, but I didn’t argue that. He was right. Wasn’t safe, not when you was young. And you went to school, got educated, wore good clothes.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The old weasel got sick and died—that’s what he did. Had the nerve to leave a will with conditions. His conditions.”

Christian faced Founder, but he spoke to me. “I could only inherit the estate if I keep living as white.”

“But how could he do that?”

“Oh, he did it all right,” said Founder. “Lopsided, like I said. Gave me what I wanted with one hand but took away our freedom with the other.” She laughed. “At least that’s what he thought!”

I looked at Christian. “You sold Belle Meade,” I said quietly.

“Yes. Founder thought of it. As long as the estate was mine, I could do what I wanted. I freed our people, sold the house and land, then moved everyone who wanted to come north to establish Lower Knoll.”

“Had to do it,” Founder said. “Who was gonna honor that freedom if they all stayed down there?”

“But,” I said slowly, “what does this have to do with us?”

“The restriction still exists. It’s possible that if it were discovered that I’m not white, I could lose everything. Any distant family member could challenge my right to dispose of the plantation, including the slaves.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Founder said. “Not if you married to the right family.”

I sighed. This I understood. She meant to a white woman. With money.

“That would seal it. No one would doubt a thing. You see how the people round here look up to him. Like that Chamberlain gal.” She pressed a finger against my shoulder. “He marry you? How that gonna look? How long before he’s the talk of the neighborhood and that talk gets around and somebody start asking questions.”

Tears rose in my throat. “Christian, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ll tell you why! He thought he was white enough to do what he wanted, just like his daddy. I guess he’s white enough after all.” She planted her hands on her hips. “And I’ll tell you another thing.”

“Founder!” He spoke in a tone I hadn’t heard since the night I’d met him.

“No! She got to know it all! What does it matter, if she loves you like you say!”

She twisted her hips and drew out the word loves in an ugly sneer. I stifled a sob.

“What?” I stammered.

She leered at me. “You wanna know? Ask him how that fire got started—the one that nearly killed you and that little girl.”

Suddenly the room seemed crowded—crowded with questions, with unspoken words. And even more—it was as though Founder had flung the library doors wide open and every soul that owned a role in making this moment had stepped right through: the residents of Lower Knoll, Louis Colchester, my papa, and my mother. The room felt so full I thought I couldn’t breathe. I saw my mother’s face before me—her steady eyes, her stillness.