The Governor's Sons (3 page)

“No.
 
Two days is good enough.”

“But two days isn’t enough to keep you out of trouble.”

“And I’ve got my teaching twice a week.”

“But you’re still around to cause mischief during the day since you teach at night!
 
So just how many adults are in those reading classes?”

“About a dozen, but there should be more.
 
Some folks are too ashamed to admit they can’t read.”

“Well, I think what you’re doing is right admirable.”

“It’s necessary,” Ash said.
 
“In this day and age, there’s no excuse for illiteracy. Now see, when I’m governor, I’m gonna put some reading programs into place.
 
That way, everyone’ll know how to read in this state.
 
Knowledge is power.”

“Especially…”

“Especially what?”

“Nothing.”

Ash knew what she was thinking, “Especially if you’re white.”
 
But he didn’t force the issue. It was true.

They walked silently for a few moments.
 
“Guess you could say I’m taking it easy this summer.
 
Once I’m in law school, then start politicking, I won’t have much time to call my own.
 
So I hope you don’t mind me—helping you out, since I’ve got some free time on my hands.”

“Oh, I appreciate your help; seems like you know everything.
 
From drying dishes to hanging linens on the clothesline, you’re an expert.
 
And no matter what I do, you’ve got a lecture on how to do it better.”

Ash stopped walking, then grabbed Kitty’s arm with a tug.
 
Unable to move, she stiffened.
 
Her eyes widened as though afraid.

“What was I giving you a lecture about a few days ago—that time when you
teased
me?” Ash asked.
 

Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
 
Ash released her arm, then shoved his hands into his pockets.
 
Kitty’s stiffness disappeared.
 
She smiled and relaxed.
 

“So,” he returned her smile, “you know what day I’m talking about, don’t you?
 
Mother off at her Tuesday bridge luncheon, Izolla and Betty Jean gone to market, and you and me—alone—washing dishes.”

Kitty looked down for a moment, then grinned.
 
By the look on her face, Ash assumed she was blushing.
 
But her dark skin prevented him from knowing for sure.
 
When Kitty began walking again, Ash followed.

“You were talking too much.
 
I wanted to shut you up.” She winked.

“Yeah, and when you reached to kiss me, I lost my train of thought.
 
One second you act like you wanna kiss me, then the next you pull away.
 
Why’d you do that?”

Kitty hesitated.
 
“Because you stopped talking, and—and because Aunt Izolla warned me about you.”

“What’d she say?”

“That sometimes you don’t act as gentlemanly as your brother does.
 
So—I was just testing you,” Kitty said coyly.
 
“You passed.” She moved her basket from one hand to the other.
 
“When I pulled away, you didn’t try to make me--change my mind.”

Ash took a breath to speak, but before he could, Kitty changed the subject.

“Well, today I’m just picking peaches.
 
I doubt there’s anything you can teach me about that.”

Her tone almost seemed a challenge. “Are you kidding?”
 
Ash said, as they approached the small orchard.
 
Peaches hung invitingly from the branches and the smell of ripening fruit wafted through the air.

“When I was growing up, we lived out in the country, and Heath and I had to do chores right along with the Negroes that worked our land.
 
My dad made sure we showed them the same respect we would anybody else.
 
Respecting others, no matter what—that’s one of the best lessons Dad ever taught me.”

“So what lesson do you suppose you can teach me about picking peaches?” Kitty asked.

“Well, since I grew up cultivating peaches,
and
 
since I have a degree in agriculture—”

“Oh, Ash!”
 
Kitty laughed.
 
“Stop talking!
 
I’ll just pick one—
then
you can give me a lecture.”

Kitty gazed up into the glossy leaves.
 
Ash watched as her slender arm rose to pluck a peach. Even this innocuous action oozed sensuality to him.
 

“Think fast!”
 
Kitty tossed the peach to him and laughed.
 
He almost missed, distracted by a hint of lace peeking from the neckline of her dress.
 
“Is that a good one?” she asked.
 

Ash squeezed the fruit, then smelled it.
 
“Not bad, but not perfect.
 
When you pick peaches, they need to be firm, with a little give to ‘em.
 
And they should have a deep, sweet peachy smell.”

“Well, I figured, since that one had rosy red skin, it’d be just right.”

“But rosy red skin doesn’t mean it’s ripe enough to pick.”
 
Ash took the basket, placed the peach inside, then set it on the ground.
 
“What you want to look for instead is a deep yellow background color.”
 
He looked up and then pointed high above them.
 
“Like that one.”

Kitty tried to reach the peach he indicated to but couldn’t.
 
“It’s too high.”

“Now it’s not,” Ash said, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her up.

Kitty laughed, as she was hoisted into the air.
 
After she pulled on the peach, snapping it free from the branch, Ash slowly lowered her to the ground.
 
Kitty held the peach between them, but Ash didn’t remove his eyes from hers.

Now that one looks perfect,” he said, still not looking at the fruit.
 
“But the best way to test it—is to taste it.”
 
Ash took the peach from her hand, then touched it to her lips.

Kitty held his gaze and took a deep, sensual bite.
 
Juice burst from the peach, trickling to her chin.
 
Ash brushed it away with his thumb, then licked the juice from his finger.
 
“Now it’s my turn,” he said, before she could eat any more.
 
“You don’t mind if we share, do you?”

Kitty smiled, shaking her head.
 
“I wouldn’t dare deprive you of something this good.
 
It’s sweet.”

Before Ash bit into, he said, “And it feels just firm enough—and I can see how juicy it is.”
 

They ate the peach together, the only sound between them soft laughter.
 
After they finished, Ash threw the pit aside into the soil.

“I reckon we can’t test each one now, can we?” Kitty smiled.

“I reckon not.”

Silently, they picked peaches until the basket was filled.
  
When both reached down to pick it up, their heads collided.

While they laughed, Ash rubbed his head and said, “
I’ll
carry the basket!”

But when the laughing stopped, neither of them moved.
 
They looked into each other’s eyes. When Ash bent to kiss her, this time Kitty let him.
 
He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him in a firm embrace.
 
When his kiss deepened, Kitty encircled her arms around his neck.
 
But after a few seconds, she gently pushed him away.

“Aunt Izolla’s probably looking for me about now.
 
We need to head back.”

Ash hesitated.
 
He wanted to keep kissing her. And he wanted more than that—and even more than that.
 
Anything he’d say now wouldn’t make sense, so instead he just grabbed the basket.
 
They walked toward the house without a word between them for several moments.

“So, who’s Russell?” he asked.

“Russell?” Kitty laughed.
 
“How’d you hear about him?”

“I heard Betty Jean tell Izolla how much he likes you.”

“Oh.”
 
Kitty smiled slyly.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So—who is he?
 
Are you talking to him?” Ash demanded.

“About what?”
 
She batted her eyes.

“You know what I mean!
 
Are you seeing him?”

“Oh,” she sighed, “kind of.”

“Kind of?
 
You either are or you aren’t!”

“Well, Ash--that’s really none of your business, now, is it?”

As Kitty casually strode ahead, she left Ash behind, smoldering.

Kitty looked at the round silver platter.
 
It was filled with a new arrangement of stuffed shrimp and scallops wrapped in bacon.
 
She’d rather be at the movies on a Friday night, but since she’d been asked to work this evening, and would receive extra pay, she was in the Kroth’s kitchen.

Russell had asked her out to see
Love on the Run
with Joan Crawford and Clark Gable.
 
Since she was stuck here, the least she deserved was one of those tasty looking hors d’oeuvres.
 
She reached for a scallop.

“Don’t eat what’s on there, chile!”
 
Izolla smacked her hand.
 
“I done just made up that tray for the white folks.
 
Don’t you go messin’ it up!”

Kitty rubbed her stinging fingers.
 
“Sorry, Aunt Izolla.”

“You can have one of those.” Izolla pointed to a plate of partially burned rejects.
 
Kitty took the least burned among them.
 
“Now, Cat, you better get back out there!
 
You need to be workin’ like Betty Jean, goin’ ‘round with those hot hors d’oeuvres.
 
Ash’s mama ain’t payin’ you extra to eat tonight, she’s payin’ you to work her cocktail party.
 
There’s near ‘bout forty folks out there.”

While Kitty finished the reject, she gazed longingly at the presentable hors d’oeuvres, pouting.
 
“Daddy said I ought to spit on everything.”

The Robinson sisters, Earline and Nadine, laughed loudly as they assembled finger sandwiches.
 
Hired just for the evening, those Negro girls came from Shantytown, Joy Hope’s poorest colored community, where the dilapidated houses were nothing more than shacks.

“Hush up!” Izolla yelled at them.
 
“Stop laughing all loud and unladylike!”
 
Turning back to Kitty she said, “And Cat, you just better watch your mouth!
 
This party’s important to Miss Joan.
 
She’s givin’ it to honor of Mr. Bedford’s retirement after 40 years of public service.”

Kitty rolled her eyes.
 
“I know, Aunt Izolla, and Daddy was mad as all get out when I told him we’d be working at a party for Governor ‘Torch’ Bedford.”

“Now, I done told you, Mr. Bedford didn’t believe none of that stuff he said when he was the governor.”

“No, you didn’t.
 
All you said was that when Ash’s daddy was ‘The Torch’s’ speech-writer,
he
didn’t believe all the stuff he wrote for Mr. Bedford to say.”

“Well, both of ‘em felt the same.
  
They don’t have nothing against Negroes.” Izolla wiped her hands on her apron.
 
“But the white folks wanted to hear all that hate talk, so that’s what they gave ‘em.
 
It was all just politics—and it kept gettin’ ‘em elected.”

The older Robinson sister, Earline, put a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.
 
“We know Mr. Bedford didn’t mean none of what he said,” she whispered loudly, “‘cause he kept a colored woman.”
 
Kitty’s mouth fell open.
 
At this Earline added, “And he kept her a long, long time.”

“Now, I tol’ y’all to hush!” Izolla snapped.
 
“You don’t need to be airin’ nobody’s dirty laundry!”

“Aunt Izolla—is—is that true?” Kitty said.

“Cat, we ain’t here to gossip.”
 
Izolla threw Earline a nasty look, which the girl completely ignored.

“‘Course it’s true,” Earline replied smugly.
 
“Mama knew her.”

“And she always had fine clothes,” the younger Robinson sister, Nadine, giggled, “and a car.
 
That’s what Mama said.”

Kitty gasped.
 
“Aunt Izolla—”

“Chile,” Izolla interrupted, “no more lollygagging, you get out there and work.”

Kitty sighed, adjusting the white ruffled cap and apron she wore over a black satin uniform.
 
“Yes, Ma’am.”
 
She picked up the silver platter of hors d’oeuvres, then backed out of the kitchen through the swinging door.