The Governor's Sons (8 page)

“And,” Betty Jean interrupted, “Mrs. Kroth wants us to do well in school.”

“So does Mr. Kroth,” Kitty said.
 
“He says that the more Negroes get educated, the better off we’ll all be.”

“Who knows if that cracker really means what he says?”
 
Thomas was skeptical.

“The best way the white man can keep us down and control us is to keep us ignorant,” Russell said.
 
“So you don’t need to go telling that white boy, Ash, what we’re studying and what we have.”

“Yeah.” Thomas smirked.
 
“He and his Klan buddies might just come around and lynch us.”

Angered, Kitty said, “The Kroths don’t approve of the Klan!”

“What about Old Man Kroth’s political views and all those hate speeches?” Russell asked.
 
“You do know that he was Governor ‘Torch’ Bedford’s political advisor and speech writer, don’t you?”

“Mr. Louis didn’t really believe all that nasty talk back then,” Betty Jean said quietly.

Kitty clicked her tongue.
 
“It was all just politics.
 
They had to say what the people wanted to hear.”

“Don’t be naïve about a white man.” Thomas scowled.
 
“When you’re working in his kitchen, there’s only one thing on his mind.”

Russell looked at his cousin and agreed.

“You might talk about that Mr. Ash being a gentleman,” Thomas said, “but all he wants to really do is get into your drawers.” Kitty and Betty Jean gasped.
 
“Maybe he’ll talk sweet, but most likely, he’ll use force.”

“Someone like him just wants to take advantage of you,” Russell said.
 
“He’s strong—and rich.
 
He doesn’t think you’ll be brave enough to fight him off.”

“And if you try to put the law on him, no one will believe you, your word against his.”

“All those crackers do is degrade our women.”

Betty Jean fanned rapidly as she gazed out the window.
 
“Well, you don’t know the Kroths like we do.
 
They’re decent people.”

Thomas took a deep breath. “No white folks are decent.”

Russell looked back at Kitty and Betty Jean, draping his arm over the seat.
 
“If Old Man Kroth, or any of his boys try something, you kick, you scream, you fight!
 
Don’t let them think they can get away with touching you!”

“Don’t be silly, Russell,” Betty Jean said.
 
“They’re gentlemen.”

Kitty remained silent.

Russell gazed at Kitty.
 
His eyes bore deeply into hers and she looked away.
  
She felt as if he could read her mind. “I’m not being silly,” he said, “I’m being realistic.”

Aunt Izolla made the world’s best mashed potatoes, Kitty thought, while she stood at the kitchen sink peeling spuds.
 
This was her assigned task while her aunt and sister had gone to market, and Ash’s mother was at her Tuesday bridge luncheon.

Miss Joan had given Kitty and Betty Jean permission to come in late because of last night’s affair.
 
So by the time they’d arrived, Ash wasn’t home.
 
Aunt Izolla mentioned that he’d gone into town to buy something.
 
That was just as well.
 
Kitty hoped he wouldn’t return until after Aunt Izolla and Betty Jean had come back.

Kitty finished peeling one potato, then picked up another.
 
Her aunt’s mashed potatoes were rich and creamy and tonight she’d fry up pork chops and make a peppery onion gravy.
 
When those potatoes were swimming in that gravy, they’d be so good they’d make you want to slap your mama!
 
Kitty smiled, but only for a moment.

She couldn’t really concentrate on how good the potatoes would be, or the pork chops, or the delectable chocolate cream pie that Aunt Izolla had made for this evening’s dessert.
 
Too many conflicting emotions shot through her mind and her heart.

“Okay,” Kitty said to herself, so she’d started it.
 
She’d reached to kiss Ash first, but then only teased him by pulling away.
 
Then she’d allowed him to kiss her.
 
And he’d kissed her
a lot
since she’d let him.
 
She liked kissing him and even dreamed about it.
 
Though she’d wanted longer, deeper kisses, she wouldn’t permit that.
 
But Friday night, she had.

Ash said he loved her.
 
She wanted to believe him.
 
There was no doubt that she loved him.
 
But did he really love her, or was he just trying to take advantage of her?
 
He’d always been a gentlemen, never going further than she’d allowed.
 
But did he really care for her?

After last night’s dinner, Kitty and Betty Jean had visited with Russell’s family. The main topic of conversation was the peril of the Negro woman at the hands of the depraved white man.

“A white man could never love a colored woman,” Thomas had said.
 
“But they’re curious to find out what it’s like to sleep with one.”

“Besides,” Russell said, “they think they’re entitled.
 
It wasn’t that long ago when their grandfathers owned and raped our women.”

“White folks are always complaining about what a menace to society the Negro is because of his supposed weakness for white female flesh,” Thomas said.
 
“But those crackers refuse to even look at a colored woman being violated by a white man as rape.
 
They think all our women are promiscuous and there for the taking.”

Words Thomas said about Ash in yesterday’s car ride reverberated through Kitty’s mind. “He just wants to get into your drawers.
 
He might talk sweet, but most likely he’ll use force.”

Mama and Daddy had always warned that a white man was nothing but trouble.
 
Even though Ash wasn’t one of
those
white men, Kitty wondered if she
could
trust him.
 
After all, he was white.
 
And besides, Ash loving her—really loving her—was a fantasy.
 
And even if he did—they’d never have a real future together.

Kitty tried to convince herself that her fears were irrational.
 
But what if they weren’t?
 
S
he hadn’t really known Ash that long. Yet he’d said he wanted to make love to her.
 
Would he have been bold enough to say that if she’d been white?
 
Or was it because she was Negro, he felt no shame in expressing himself so blatantly?
 
Did she not deserve the same respect as a white girl?

Would he resort to force if he didn’t get what he wanted by sweet-talking?
 
Fear gripped Kitty and she almost sliced her hand with the potato peeler.
 
Putting the peeler and the potato down for a moment, Kitty took a deep breath.
 
For the first time, she felt like she didn’t trust Ash.
 
And for the first time, she feared being alone with him.

The knob turned at the back door.
 
Kitty froze.
 
Her heart began beating rapidly.
 
She knew it was Ash.
 
When he walked inside, she didn’t turn to face him.
 
Instead, she picked up the potato and began working industriously to skin it clean.

Slowly, Ash walked to the kitchen table behind her and set down his bag.
 
For a few moments, he didn’t say anything.
 
Kitty felt her chest tighten.

“I missed you this morning,” he said.

Kitty exhaled, relieved that he’d finally spoken.
 
She let out a a small nervous laugh, but still didn’t look at him.
 
“Your mother let us come in late—because of the affair last night.
 
Betty Jean and I—we uh--stayed up late—talking and visiting at Russell’s house.”

Ash walked up behind her.
 
He reached around her with his arms, pressing his chest into her back, then removed the potato peeler from her hands, and the potato stump she’d almost peeled away to nothing.
 
He set them on the cutting board, then firmly grasped her shoulders and turned her around.

“Kitty, after everything I said to you Friday night, now you act like it doesn’t even matter.”
 
Kitty squirmed, trying to release herself from his hold, but it only tightened.
 
“I love you,” he said softly, “And seeing you with another ma—that
boy
--just ‘bout drove me nuts.”

Thomas’s words played through Kitty’s mind again.
 
They’ll talk sweet, but most likely use force.
 
She didn’t like the force Ash was using now; he clutched her shoulders too hard.
 
Looking him coolly in the eye, she said, “What’s it to you, Ash?”

“What’s it to me?
 
How can you say that?
 
You know what it is to me—you know what you mean to me.”

“Do I really even matter to you?” she asked coldly.

Ash held her tightly, then kissed her firmly on the mouth.
 
His kiss was almost primal in its ferocity.
 
Kick, scream, fight—that’s what Russell had said.
 
Kitty squirmed harder, and tried to scream. But despite this, Ash kissed her more fiercely.

When Ash finally stopped, Kitty was able to push him away.
 
Breathing hard, she grabbed a knife from the cutting board.
 
She’d used it to chop potatoes, but now pointed the sharp steel blade in Ash’s direction.

“Kitty,” he said incredulously, “put that knife down.”
 
Ash moved toward her slightly, but she thrust the knife at him.

“Stay away from me!”

Ash stood looking at her, unable to speak for a moment.
 
“Kitty--you’re like a different person! What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Don’t touch me again!
 
And don’t you dare curse at me!”

“I’m only cursing ‘cause you’re not making any damn sense!
 
You’ve never complained before about me touching you!”

“Well—you—you’ve—never touched me like that—like some—rabid dog!
 
You’re no different from any other white man, are you?”

Ash looked at her like she’d gone mad.
 
“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!”

“But—Kitty—I thought—”

“You thought wrong!
 
Just because I’m a Negro girl working in your kitchen—that doesn’t give you the right to—to—violate me!”

Ash turned pale.
 
For a moment he looked like he’d been punched in the stomach and couldn’t breathe. “Kitty, you’re—you’re wrong!
 
You know how I feel about you—why would you think—”

“Because you’re white!
 
That’s the only reason I need!”

Suddenly, Kitty saw tears in his eyes.
 
Ash said nothing.
 
He only stood there looking lost and confused.
 
Then, “Kitty,” his face twitched and his voice quavered slightly, “why are you doing this to me?”

At this point Kitty didn’t know why herself.
 
Judging from his reaction, maybe he did care for her.
 
Regardless, she was too confused to speak.

When she didn’t respond, Ash took a deep angry breath. “Just what do you want from me, Catherine?”

That was the first time he’d called her that, and Kitty realized she didn’t like it.
 
She wanted to be Kitty to him.
 
“Don’t touch me again,” she said softly, lowering the knife.
 
“And stay away from me.”
 
Her bravado had turned mouse-like.

Ash’s face flushed bright red.
 
“Fine!
 
You don’t want me to touch you again—I won’t!
 
You don’t want me near you—I’ll stay away!”
 
Ash left the house through the back entrance, banging the door shut.

Kitty’s lower lip trembled.
 
Perhaps, she’d made a mistake.

****

Ash had driven for over an hour with no particular destination in mind.
 
He’d just needed to get away and think.
 
He was hurt and angry, and as he drove by a diner, Ash realized he was hungry, too.
 
He’d never been a drinker, but food would be a good way to drown his sorrows, or at least sop them up a little.

After he’d parked, Ash tightly gripped the steering wheel.
 
Fuming, he gritted his teeth while his mind played through the confrontation with Kitty for the hundredth time.
 
Finally, he climbed from the car and slammed the door.

When Ash walked inside the restaurant, he was greeted by the comforting smell of beef fat and frying potatoes.
 
Ceiling fans whirled around churning grease and cigarette smoke through the air. A buxom woman with bright red hair and gray roots showed him to a booth.
 
As he slid on to the shiny red upholstery, she gave him a menu.