Dessa Rose by Sherley A. Williams

Author:Sherley A. Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1986-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

The wench began to sit up, to take notice of her surroundings, though she said little to Rufel and that in a voice barely above a whisper, eyes downcast. The darky’s diffidence irked Rufel and she was offended by the way the girl flinched from her when she reached for the baby, by the girl’s surreptitious examination of the child when Rufel returned him after nursing. For all the world like she was going to find some fingers or toes missing, Rufel thought indignantly. Exasperated, she told the wench, “Just because one mistress misused you don’t mean all of us will.” She did stop flinching at Rufel’s approach, but it was plain to Rufel that the wench did not like having to let her nurse the baby; and she seemed incapable of even casual conversation with Rufel. Some times Rufel wanted to laugh—she had thought that “devil woman” business no more than a joke. At other times, remembering the silly, passionate argument over Mammy, she knew the wench’s reticence and timidity were feigned, and was angry and bewildered by the deception.

The wench talked freely enough with Ada and the other darkies who came to see her. Rufel often heard the murmur of their conversation as she sat in the parlor; now and then she heard a soft chuckle or muffled giggle and was surprised at how envious the laughter made her feel. She watched the wench covertly when she was in the bedroom, wondering what she could have done to make the other darkies, even laughingly, call her “devil woman.” There had been only admiration in the big darky’s tone when he spoke of her, no hint of fear or amusement in his voice. Though it would probably take more than this little pesky gal to frighten that darky, Rufel thought, recalling the breadth of his shoulders and the hard muscled arms. Rufel sensed somewhere in the general outline of the wench’s tale a deeper story and one not entirely unrelated to her concern for Mammy, though she could not say just how. She blamed the curious restlessness she felt on her unanswered questions about the wench and one afternoon she gave in to impulse and wandered out to the stream.

Rufel and the darky were each aware of the other’s presence this time. He stood and touched his hat. “Evening.” He bowed his head slightly.

She stood awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “Fishing?” she asked.

He nodded, then as though remembering himself, “Yes’m,” and touched his hat again.

“Nice spot for it.”

He shrugged. “Not as good as the spot down by the pool, but quieter. Everyone trying to fish down there this evening,” he explained.

It seemed somehow rude to tell him that darkies were not allowed to use either, so Rufel merely nodded. She saw the stump she had sat on the other day and sat again, tucking her skirts carefully about her. After a moment he picked up the pole he had laid aside, cast, and sat on the ground a short distance from her.

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