This Strange New Feeling by Julius Lester

Author:Julius Lester
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2011-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

A Christmas Love Story

One

I

Ellen held the oak-framed oval mirror in front of her and stared. She did not see the smooth, creamy-white skin, the gray-green eyes, or the brown hair that fell down her back like a silken waterfall. She looked instead at the dark-skinned man standing behind her, his face without a smile or frown.

“I can’t do it, William,” she said, lowering the mirror. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.” Emotion made her voice even deeper and huskier than normal.

William put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “I know,” he said softly. “I’m afraid too.”

She turned and looked at him. “You are?” she asked, surprised.

“I’m not a fool,” he responded with quiet seriousness.

His admission of fear was oddly comforting. If he had said otherwise, she would have been too alone. She would be alone enough during the next four days. One mistake by her, one false move or word, and they were caught. William was depending on her.

“I love you, William Craft,” she said, turning around and hugging him to her. “And if we’re both afraid, then we are stronger.” She released him. “I’m ready now.”

Ellen sat down in the straight-backed chair in front of the dresser, the mirror in her lap. William began cutting her hair patiently, snipping an inch away at a time, as if he hated what he was doing.

That straight hair had fooled him into believing she was a white woman the first time he saw her. When he learned she was a slave like himself, he could not believe it, though he should have. He had been a slave in Georgia all of his twenty-four years. It was not uncommon for slave owners to have children by black women. He had seen many, and no matter how white their skins, how gray, green, or light brown their eyes, or how straight and smooth their hair, William always knew they were slaves like himself.

Why, then, had he not known that Ellen was a slave, too, that July day two years ago? He had happened to look up from the bureau he was sanding to see her walk slowly past the window. Was it the way she held her head level and steady on her slender neck? Was it the slow, almost leisurely way she had passed the cabinetmaker’s shop where he worked? She looked like the favored daughter of a wealthy planter strolling to have tea at a friend’s.

It was almost impossible for a slave not to bear the marks of his or her condition, no matter how much he or she hated it. Shoulders carried proudly would acquire at least a stoop eventually, and the eyes become furtive, flitting around in their sockets like tiny birds at the approach of a cat. He had seen that look, particularly in the slaves who worked harder than mules on the plantations. He supposed he was lucky that Dr. Collins, his owner, had hired him out as an apprentice to John Knight, a cabinetmaker, when he was fourteen.

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