The Loom (14 page)

“Oh, now, what did I tell you about that?” Lou chastised through tears. “No crying, Lydia. Got me crying again and ya’ll ain’t even married yet!”

“Come inside.” Lydia motioned but Lou shook her head.

“I can see plenty good from here.”

Truth be told, there would only be room for John in the tight quarters.

Abram and Odessa sat in a half circle on the mounts of fabric that remained. Ruth, at the loom.

“Got something for you.”

“Miss Ruth…”

“Ain’t much, but you know it’s from my heart.”

Ruth lifted a woven rainbow band of cotton. When she heard her approach, she reached out and loosened the yellow ribbon from Lydia’s waist and tied the colorful belt behind her.

“I had to do something.” Her fingers climbed from Lydia’s chin to the cheek she patted. “Had to do something.”

“He’s here,” her father announced.

Lydia brushed past her daddy and the others and stepped outside. Her heart lifted when she saw him a few feet away.

John gripped a tattered Bible in his right hand and a red rose in his left. He ran to her.

“I made it,” he said, dusting his faded black trousers and white shirt. He grabbed then kissed her hand and handed her the flower.

“A rose.”

“Yes.” He looked at her. “You look beautiful.”

“You think so?”

He nodded, his fingers slipping over the shiny scar she hid behind wisps of hair.

“Who would’ve thought we’d get married in this sad little place?” She laughed.

“It’s not sad today.”

No. No, it wasn’t. Not today.

In the moonlight near the log structures where slaves found rest, Lydia leaned against her grandmother on her new bench and watched the folds of skirts lift and spread around caramel and mocha-colored legs like the petals of flowers opening and closing above stems, thick and thin.

“I’m glad I lived to see the day,” Lou said, patting her leg. “It was beautiful.”

It was. Like a dream.

Lydia squeezed the walnut-shelled hand on her thigh and smiled at her husband several feet away. John clasped the tips of Cora’s fingers and spun the girl until she collapsed in giggles at his feet. A yellow glimmer drew her attention away. Lizzy ambled through the crowd in her ballroom gown. She waved when she saw her and pressed her way through, sunshine tendrils tumbling left, then right as she strained to keep contact.

Lizzy clutched her hand when she reached her and kissed Lou’s cheek.

“I didn’t know what to wear.”

“Oh, it’s fine, Lizzy. It’s fine.” Lydia stood to her feet, happy to see her. But it was a risk.

“Did you really think I’d miss this? Your wedding?” Lizzy looked around. “But I did miss it, didn’t I?”

“Just the vows.” Lydia wrapped her arm around Lizzy’s and led her toward the dancing. “I want you to meet John, but, Lizzy, it’s not wise for you to stay.”

“You don’t want me here?”

“Of course I do.”

“Lydia, please. I’m here and I’m staying.”

Lydia stared at the soft image of her master and forced a smile.

“I wanted to give you something.” Lizzy touched the strand of pearls against her throat and grinned.

“Lizzy. Lizzy, no.” But just as Lizzy had the night she discovered her adorned in the formal dress in her room, she unlatched the necklace from her neck. Through bleary eyes, Lydia looked at the gems, the treasure, the gift in her palm and the woman at her side. “Lizzy.”

“For you, my friend.”

Lydia clutched the pearls in her fist and Lizzy even tighter and cried.

Lizzy wiped her eyes and smiled. “Now where is this husband of yours?”

Lydia slipped the necklace in the pocket of her dress and spotted John and Charles bantering near an old, withered oak.

“Lydia,” Charles said, grabbing her hand. A smile, as wide as it was bright, spread across his narrow face before he released her. “The Lord’s blessing with this one.” He cocked his brow and nodded at the man at his right. “I guess this is it. I’ve got to find another place to lay my head tonight.”

“No, it’s all right.” John gripped his shoulder. “We’ll give you one more night.”

“Will we?” Lydia asked.

“Yes. I’ve got things set up somewhere else.”

The storehouse. She smiled.

“Introduce me,” Lizzy said, stepping forward a few feet from the men. Charles’s long, thin limbs shadowed like a maple over her. “Oh, I’m sorry. John, Charles, this is—”

“This is Elizabeth Kelly,” Charles inserted. “Of course we know the master’s daughter.”

“The master’s daughter? Is that what I’m known as?” She stretched her hand to him. “I’d much rather be called Lizzy.”

“I see.” He was hesitant. “Lizzy, then.” Tentatively, he shook her hand.

“Shall we?” Lizzy glanced at the couples swinging around them and shrugged. “It’s just a dance.”

“Miss Elizabeth.”

Lydia’s father appeared in the midst of them. The top button of his white shirt was now undone and his sleeves cuffed at the wrist.“Daddy.” She hadn’t seen him in hours, hadn’t even seen him walk up. She smiled up at him, but he was looking at the White men planted among them.

“Surprised to see you here,” he said to her friend.

“I didn’t want to miss Lydia’s big day.”

“Well, that was nice.” He glanced around and nodded. “But it’s probably best you head back over to the manor now.”

“I will.” Her face flushed red. “I was just going to have a dance with Charles.”

Charles backed up, shook his head.

“I think you need to go home, Miss Elizabeth. We don’t want no trouble.”

“There’s not going to be any trouble.”

Lydia looked down, hated to see the shame on Lizzy’s face. But her father was right. If Dr. Kelly found out where she was, it wouldn’t be good for any of them. The quiver of a man she encountered the other night faded into the one with power she faced day after day.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Her father lowered his voice. “I understand how you feel, but your daddy won’t be happy knowing you’re out here with us.”

“Lydia wants me here. Don’t you, Lydia?”

The joy of the day was wilting with the tension. Lydia moved closer to her friend and whispered, “Maybe it’s best…”

Lizzy’s eyes widened. She swung around and stumbled. Daddy’s hand flashed like a whip around her wrist.

“What are you doing?”

The crowd quieted. All eyes settled on them.

She jerked her arm free.

“I was just trying to help you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Don’t help me.” Wet eyes stared at Daddy, then Lydia.

Without another word, Lizzy staggered past them, draped the folds of her dress over her forearm, and teetered down the road.

Lydia twirled the stem of her rose and gazed into the eyes of her husband for the first time.

They strolled hand in hand, John with his Bible tucked under his arm. The September night had turned cooler than she had dreamed it would be. Back through the murky woods they walked across a clearing. Lydia stopped at a huckleberry bush, picked a handful of fruit, and fed them one by one to her husband. The deep purple juice stained his lips like wine.

“You all right? Not too cold, are you?” John faced her and rubbed the length of her arms in quick strokes until heat rose in places yet untouched. “Better?”

“Yes.” Lydia never could look just once, but tonight she let her eyes linger over every feature, every detail of the man.

Much of the way they walked in silence, Lydia so immersed in her thoughts about the beauty of the day, the journey to the storehouse seemed mere minutes.

“I thought we’d never get here,” John said when they arrived. This had become their place. When he slid the door open, the familiar scent of pine greeted them.

She smiled.

Through a high window, moonlight illuminated the room. Hours earlier, he had cleared a path through the straw, made a haven just for them.

“How long it take you to do this?”

“Not long.”

He lit a candle and led her behind the shelves to a puckered quilt in the farthest corner of the room.

“Not the blanket, I see.”

“Not tonight.” He laughed and settled beside her. “Lydia?” He brushed back the hair against her forehead and kissed her.

“Yes?”

“You ever been touched by a man?”

She dropped her head.

“I mean, it’s all right. It’s all right if you have.”

“No.” She hadn’t. Not really. Dr. Kelly was no man. He was a beast. How did she tell the one she loved the little he held had been trapped, harassed, handled by hands unlike his? “No, I haven’t.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. She could feel his lips, his breath, soft and gentle against her scar. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “The only thing is, I don’t have nothing for you. I have something I prepared, but nothing to give you. Something to put in your hands.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, a man’s supposed to have something for his wife.”

“I don’t have nothing for you. Your blanket is almost done, but—”

“You’re not supposed to, Lydia. You’re my gift, but I’m supposed to have something for you.”

“Who says? I say you’re my gift just like I’m yours.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right. John, you gave me a rose.”

“That was before you were my wife. I still think you’ve got to have something.” He looked around. “I’ll be back.”

Several minutes later, he returned with his hands behind his back.

“What you got, John?”

“Go on, now. Close your eyes.”

He came close. Close enough for her to want him closer.

“Open your eyes.” He placed the items down in her lap: a tree limb, a stone, and two crinkly gold leaves.

“What’s this?”

“All right, Lydia. You’ve got to work with me here. This is the best I could do for now.” He chuckled. “Not much out there this time of night.”

“All right…”

“All right. This here”—he lifted the twig—“this is a stick, Lydia. It means I’m going to stick around.” She giggled. “You see this rock? Now this rock means I’m going to rock you through life’s hard times.” She smiled. “And these”—he held the leaves up to the candle and twirled them by their stems—“these leaves are just what I’m doing. A man leaves his father, his mother, to be one with his wife. Tonight, I leave it all behind.”

“John…”

“I know, I know. I wish I had something—”

“I love it.”

He smiled.

“I love it, John.”

“You love it?” He laughed and stroked her hair. “You are too easy.”

“It was beautiful.”

“One day—”

“It was beautiful.”

“One day I’m going to have a real gift for you, Lydia.”

“I’ve already got it.” She thought about the pearls in her pocket. They were nothing compared to the ones shining down on her against the finest of velvet. “I’ve got it.”

“There’s something else.” He opened his Bible. She loved that he was a reading man. Not many of them could open a book, decipher letters, and extract meaning from passages of literature.

“And on the Sabbath

we went out of the city

down by a river side,

where prayer was wont to be made.

“And we sat down,

and spake unto the women

which resorted thither.

“And a certain woman

named Lydia,

a seller of purple cloth,

of the city of Thyatira,

which worshipped God,

heard us.

“Her heart the Lord opened.

And she was baptized,

and her whole household.

“She prayed,

If ye have judged me

to be faithful, Lord,

come into my house,

and abide here.”

“From the book of Acts.” He flipped the pages closed but his hand rested on the worn leather before he set the book aside.

“Lydia, you are named after a seller of purple, the royal color, of kings and queens.”

She relished his words.

“You are a rich, free woman who makes the finest cloth.”

“One day, I hope.”

“Right now, Lydia. You are right now.”

Her eyes filled. Who is this man?

John came closer and kissed her neck, her chin, her lips.

“That’s it, Lydia. That’s all I’ve got, but one day, one day, Lydia, I promise, I will give you everything.”

She wept into light hands he placed against his heart.

“You’re beautiful, Lydia. Did I tell you that?”

“Every time you look at me.”

The night was misty like a dream. Every touch, every taste sweeter still, wrapped up in tangles of heat. She breathed him into every pore and fell asleep in his arms.

In the morning, Lydia sat chilled in her crumpled dress staring down at the man she had to leave. He was sprawled on the quilt in a place far away. “John. John…”

When he turned over, his eyes lit. “Lady.” He propped himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his hand. He smiled. Lydia watched everything. Tried to remember every detail. She inched closer.

“I have to get back.”

His eyes flashed before the smile faded. He sat up slowly and reached for her. He covered her hands in his and held them to his lips. “How do I let you go?”

A glare of light, streaming in through the same window that had blessed them with soft moonlight, blinded her. She squinted, moved back from the ray, from him.

As much as she hated to leave him, she was foolish to expect more. They would never have enough time together. Slaves never had enough of anything. The thought choked out the beauty of the night. He wasn’t hers. It was just a night. One night.

When she stood to leave, she felt something against her heel. Like blood beneath her feet, she saw the rose. Trampled on.

Few words were spoken on the way back to the Big House. When he kissed her good-bye on the bottom steps of the manor, her heart broke and everything about their night, she tried to forget.