The white woman put her baby to her knee and bounced both in agitation. The baby yawned and jiggled, unbothered. “You got a baby, don’t you?”
Only a white woman could ask something so intimate so pointedly. Rue shook her head. The woman leaned forward, really squinted at her through a fall of grease-stiffened hair, looked at her like she didn’t quite believe it, which was fair enough. It was strange, Rue supposed, hard to think of a girl, and then a woman, who’d made her whole life and livelihood from other folks’ babies never having one. Not wanting one herself. Well, Rue had never thought it would or could be. But now.
“You soon to have one,” said the white woman. She sat back, satisfied like she’d won an argument. “And when you do you’ll know just exactly what I’m feelin’, all the fear and the baby love. Every single minute a’ every single day. It’ll eat you up.”
She leaned forward and kissed the top of her baby’s creamy head. The baby crooked its mouth in pleasure; drool dribbled from his open lips and dangled down to the woman’s blue-scabbed knees. She didn’t seem to feel it puddle.
“Come back on Friday,” Miss Rue said. It was a thing her mama often said, because magic was meant to be best on Fridays. Probably it was just to give her space to think. Friday was in two days’ time.
The woman nodded and stood. She swooped up the fussing, restless baby. Rue would’ve liked to hold him, but she didn’t.
“Y’all got some place you stayin’?” Rue wasn’t offering.
“We on at my uncle John’s place.” It took Rue longer than a moment to remember Ol’ Marse John. He’d been her daddy’s old master. The Marse John who had died under his wench saying, Goddammit goddammit god—
“You a relation to him?” Rue did not remember any living family, but a son, Jack, who had died, not in lovemaking like his daddy, but in the war. Rue thought, it seems the dead is rising.
“I’m the daughter a’ his sister what married up and lived east a’ here. Government man come to me and said he was tracing up white folks’ properties that were deserving. A bit a’ Christian charity that. Yank devils tore Uncle John’s whole house asunder but no matter,” the white woman said. She was talking singsong to her baby, her voice roiling as she bobbed him in her arms. “Don’t matter, no it don’t. We come here for the land.”
* * *
—
Varina’s expression was haunted. “I seen ’em. A white man and a white woman. A mangy black dog. A baby.”
“They ain’t see you?” Rue asked.
“No, no, I stay well clear of that white man.” Varina made white man sound like a cuss word every time she said it.
“Good.” Rue walked the length of the rectory. Five steps, turned, walked the other way. It made for agitated pacing. She thought, not for the first time, how could Varina stand it here?
“They lay traps in the woods catchin’ rabbits and varmint.” Varina sniffed, that old plantation daughter’s affectation. “They let that baby go round stark naked.”
Varina still carried herself stiff with her lost wealth and station, queen of a cotton industry so mighty she could play the hostess to visiting princes and have them feel grateful to be received.
“Miss Varina,” Rue said, startled. Knew then what about the room had set her so suddenly on edge. Varina had hid her bedroll, neatened her one dress, tamed down her curls. She turned her chair toward the door and there were two tea cups set out, like they were just waiting for a housegirl to run up and fill them. Sweet tea for company. “Has somebody been in here with you?”
Varina’s blush rose on her pale skin like a fever tell.
“?’Course not. Whyever would you think that?”
Secrets. They had always had them.
* * *
—
Weren’t the meek to inherit the earth? Rue felt she’d heard a preacher