Dovetail: A Novel(59)

I fear your reaction to this news, even as I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.

The truth of it is that my great-grandfather on my father’s side was a Negro, which means that I have Negro blood as well. This is why my parents were attacked in their own home, which led to my father shooting and killing a man.

My heart is pounding as I’m writing this, fearing your reaction. I will be in agony awaiting your reply. I wonder, can you ever forgive me for keeping this from you? Could you love a man whose family is such as mine? I hope that you do not feel that I deliberately led you astray in presenting myself as someone I am not.

I would not cast off my family heritage even if I could. It’s part of who I am. I will understand if this changes things between us. I am praying it does not.

I hold you in high regard and am hoping you will answer this letter and tell me what you think.

Yours truly,

John





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT





1916


The next day, Mr. Bennett was eager to get to work early, so John didn’t get a chance to speak to Alice alone. When he returned from the mill that evening, he checked the tree hollow and found that his letter was no longer where he’d left it. She’d retrieved it and by now would know the contents. He hoped to read something in her eyes at dinnertime, some small clue of her reaction, but she wasn’t home.

“Where’s Alice?” He tried to act nonchalant as he looked around the kitchen, but still his heart sped up as he wondered if his letter was the cause of her absence.

“She took food over to the Clarks’ house,” Maude said, making a face. “Edna sent for her. Her mother is feeling poorly, and Alice is going to stay all evening to help, so we have to eat cold chicken and leftover biscuits for dinner.”

John felt his heart sink. She’d never been absent in the evening before. Could she have made up an excuse to go to the Clarks’ in order not to face him? He didn’t think she would do such a thing, even though his news must have been horrifying to her. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye ever again.

He’d made a big mistake in telling her. His mother had been right. And in a letter too, which meant it could be read by others. What had he been thinking? He had a sinking feeling that he’d live to regret his disclosure.

“Now, Maude,” said Helen, “no complaints about the food. You get what you get, and you’re lucky to get it. Others are not as fortunate.” Of all the sisters, Helen, after Alice, was the most maternal. John could see a day when she’d be taking over the household, leaving Alice free to marry. In his imaginings, he was the one she would marry, but now that idea seemed impossible.

At dinner John ate a few bites of cold chicken and a biscuit, the food feeling like a brick dropping into his stomach. He excused himself and went to the barn for the night, not even staying to help with the dishes.

He tried to read, lighting a kerosene lamp when the sun lowered in the sky, but found that the words refused to go from his eyes to his brain. He had gotten through several chapters, none of it sticking. He closed the book and turned off the lamp.

The sun was almost below the horizon when he heard the arrival of a wagon, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves accompanying the sound of female voices, one of them Alice’s. He sat up and listened but was unable to make out any words. Now the women were laughing as he heard the wagon come to a stop. Getting to his feet and crossing the barn, he passed the cow, who lowed in her stall, a mournful, deep-throated cry. “Hush,” he said, making his way to the door and peering out through the crack. He saw Alice hop down from the wagon and exchange goodbyes with her friend. Listening carefully, he could make out what was being said.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alice,” Edna said. “You are a true-blue friend.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Alice said. “I hope your mother feels better soon.” Alice waved as Edna drove off, then stepped lightly into the house. She didn’t appear distraught or upset, but it was hard to tell.

Miserable, John went back to his mattress and settled down, cradling his head in his hands. A dozen thoughts whirled through his brain. Maybe she hated him and was disgusted by the memory of the times they’d touched, brief and fleeting though they had been. Or perhaps she couldn’t love a man who hadn’t been truthful from the start. Alice herself was so good, he couldn’t imagine her deliberately lying. He wouldn’t blame her if she held others to the same high standards. She deserved that and more.

The more he thought about it, the odder he found the timing of her visit to the Clarks. A coincidence? Unlikely, he thought.

Despite his best efforts, he never did fall asleep. He shifted position, then considered trying to read but dismissed the idea. The animals in the barn, sensing his fidgeting, were themselves restless, mooing and whinnying in their stalls.

When he heard the barn door open, his breath caught in his chest. Could it be Pearl again? After her visit to the barn earlier in the summer, she hadn’t approached him in such a forward way again, perhaps embarrassed at being turned down. This time around, it was more likely to be Mr. Bennett, coming to take him to task after having heard about his talk of marrying Alice.

He stood up and pulled the curtain back, stunned to see Alice walking toward him, a kerosene lantern in her hand lighting the way. She was dressed for sleep, a cotton dressing gown wrapped around her front and tied in the middle. One long braid fell over her shoulder.