Page 14 of Junie
Chapter Fourteen
The Taylors linger at Bellereine long past the final flare of the last summer lightning bug, just as Muh predicted. The days of horseback rides, garden walks, porch flirtations, and loaded glances pile like dead leaves, fading from vibrancy into decay. Junie’s most dreaded task is collecting Mr. Taylor’s daily love letters, always hidden under Miss Taylor’s breakfast plate, the T s crossed in broad, delicate swoops. When she brings them to Violet, she steels herself for the onslaught of snatching, ripping, and giggling as Violet reads the letters’ contents. On the nights Violet asks Junie to help prepare her for bed, which dwindle like the last of summer’s green leaves, she prattles on about her afternoons with the Taylors, a traitorous sparkle in her eyes: their childhood summers in France, the glamour of New Orleans, the perfection of Miss Taylor’s taste. Violet never notices how her stories make Junie’s skin crawl, or how much her choice to exchange their evening companionship for Miss Taylor’s cracks Junie’s heart. It is one thing to lose her friend to marriage; it is another to also lose her to a new friendship.
One September evening, four weeks after the Taylors arrived, Junie stations herself in the parlor, ready for another evening of listless chatter while counting the crystals on the chandelier. The mistress makes elaborate apologies for the master, who is already too drunk to climb out of his study. The evening goes the way of the others; Mr. Taylor rattles off stories about his father’s cotton imports, hunting trips, and hatred of the North’s interference in Southern affairs, all topics Junie knows Violet couldn’t care less about. Yet, Violet responds to every tale with a beaming smile.
When Miss Taylor tells a story about her last trip to Paris, in which she read Flaubert’s novel for the first time, Junie sees a sparkle of curiosity in Violet’s eyes. The two of them engage in such an involved discussion of Madame Bovary that Mrs. McQueen pinches Violet under the table, the same way she does when Violet’s taken more food on her plate than the mistress believes is polite.
No matter how much Junie hates to admit it, watching Violet hang on Miss Taylor’s words makes her skin hot with agitation. As the chaperone, Miss Taylor is always present on Violet’s dates with Mr. Taylor, a half pace behind and ready to interject with a witty aside or cultured remark that draws Violet’s attention. She’s never seen Violet this way with anyone other than herself. Violet is her friend, and she Violet’s.
Far worse is Violet’s affection toward Mr. Taylor. Junie studies the back of Violet’s ginger head as she laughs sweetly at Mr. Taylor’s joke. She wonders if each ladylike giggle is a harbinger of disaster. No decision has been made about Violet’s future or Junie’s along with it. Is this all it takes to charm Violet? A handsome face, genteel manners, and a pile of money? Junie imagines Mr. Taylor in the evenings after the parlor chatter is done, stripping down to his secret snake skin and a sharp tail, the monster concealed under immaculate European suits.
“If you want to go on one of your little secret missions now, I’ll cover for you.”
Junie jumps back from the wall, turning to see Caleb over her shoulder. Despite Junie’s laughing with her family over meals in the cookhouse, serving Mr. Taylor and Violet on their rendezvous, and spending every night reading with him for the last few weeks, Caleb’s voice still sends a shock through her every time she hears it. He’s a faster study than she expects, although he would learn faster if he talked less. His ramblings irritate her at first, but after a couple of weeks, she starts to look forward to his stories about running through fields of sugarcane to touch the sea or playing piano for coins in bourbon bars.
She never says much about herself, and he never pries.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that. You shouldn’t be talking to me here.”
“Your girl’s about to play. They ain’t listening. I bet if I screamed ‘fire’ right now, they wouldn’t even look up.”
Caleb’s timing is annoying but astute; Violet’s piano playing will keep the white folks distracted for a half hour at least.
“What’ll you say if they notice I’m gone?” Junie asks.
“I’ll tell ’em you’ve run off to join the circus to be their bee witch and sic your hives on all the bad lions.”
Junie holds back a laugh.
“The lions don’t deserve it. I’ll send ’em to the ringleader.”
“Go on before you run your mouth too long and miss your chance,” Caleb whispers.
—
Junie slips up the stairs and into Violet’s bedroom. Violet’s books are strewn around as usual; her French collection is scattered on the floor. Junie rolls her eyes—cleaning up after Violet isn’t her objective right now.
Even though she’d left Minnie’s keepsake box in Violet’s room out of urgency, it had turned out to be the ideal hiding spot. With the box tucked underneath Violet’s bed among her out-of-season clothes, there is no chance anyone but Junie would even peer underneath the bed skirt, let alone start digging around.
The box is safe; it is the key that is the problem.
Caleb has given her enough tip-offs and diversions to buy her time to search every room in Bellereine for the damned key to Minnie’s mystery box. In the last month, Junie has developed a routine for searching throughout the main house. She drapes her cleaning cloth over her arm—an easy way to show she’s cleaning if anyone comes in unexpectedly. First, she checks the floors of each room, tapping every hollow board for signs of a secret hiding place. Next, she checks under the furniture cushions. She’s peeked under every cabinet, tipped over every drawer, and checked every squeaky floorboard for the godforsaken key. All she’s found is a pair of pearl earrings Violet’s been desperate for.
Minnie hardly spent time in Violet’s room when she was alive, but it’s as likely a hiding spot as anywhere else in the house at this point.
She tries the drawers first, which yield nothing. Violet’s jewelry box holds nothing more than its usual contents. She starts on the armoire, lifting and replacing all of Violet’s brushes, combs, perfumes, and rouges. Nothing. Junie bites down on her lip, cursing the pointlessness of tearing apart a room that she puts back together nearly every day. She knows the contents of these drawers better than anyone, and she’s never seen a key.
Her mind seethes with the futility of her task. Minnie has provided her with nothing but vague, fruitless clues, and while logic tells her she should go back and ask for more help, a decade and a half of experience with Minnie has taught her that returning to her sister for guidance after failing the first time yields little but a scolding.
She looks up at Violet’s library, eyes glazing over at the hundreds of volumes. If Minnie has hidden a key in one, it would take Junie decades to find it. She slumps against the bookshelves, tears building in her throat. She considers all the rooms she’s upturned and reset in the last few weeks, the attic, the linen closets, even the master’s office on a day he’d passed out in his bedroom by noon. Of all the loose keys she found around the estate, not a single one slipped inside the keyhole.
It is another new moon tonight. One full moon has already passed, and with it a fragment of her sister’s soul.
She is failing her.
Junie expects tears to come like they always do at the realization of her own uselessness, but instead, her cheeks start to burn. How could Minnie expect her to succeed with so little to go on? Her conscience admonishes her for blaming her sister; it isn’t Minnie’s fault her spirit is too weak to communicate more. It isn’t even Minnie’s fault that she’s dead.
Still, something about this task reeks of Minnie’s familiar superiority and evasiveness, the same as all the other silly, incomprehensible tasks her sister had sent her on over the years without any explanation beyond because I said .
The floorboards outside Violet’s door creak in warning. Junie presses up to her feet, gulping down the last of her frustration as Violet floats in, her burgundy gown rubbing against the floor in a rustle of satin and lace.
“Goodness, you scared me half to heaven, Junebug!” Violet says, clutching her hand to her chest. “How’d you beat me up here?”
Junie eyes the room for a decent excuse. A cold wind blows through the window.
“I wanted to come up and start your fire for you.”
“Here, use your candle to light the rest of ’em. Ain’t no use sitting in the dark until the fire’s ready.”
Junie nods, walking around the room to light the wall sconces. Violet sits at her vanity, and Junie watches over her shoulder as Violet unclasps the buckles, pins, and combs that hold her together. Even in the candlelight, the burgundy color of the dress brings out the milkiness of her complexion.
“I ain’t seen that dress before,” Junie says.
“Oh! It’s one of Miss Taylor’s, ain’t it something? She got it made special, in France of course. It’s a little tight, but I managed to squeeze in. Here, before you start that fire, come help me out of it.”
Junie complies, wiping the trace of sweat from her palms. The dress is sealed from neck to waist with satin Swiss dot buttons, each no bigger than a pea. Junie fiddles with the top button until it gives. Leave it to the French to make something unnecessarily complicated.
“This dress has an awful lot of buttons,” Junie says. “How’d you manage to get into this on your own?”
“Oh, Bea—I mean, Miss Taylor helped me,” Violet says. “We played a bit of dress-up this afternoon.”
“It’s awful nice of her to lend you her fine things,” Junie says.
“Yes, she is awfully kind that way. Did I tell you she met a real opera singer when she was last in Paris? I can’t imagine what it would be like to meet somebody like that.”
“Do they got nature in Paris? Or in New Orleans? Like trees and animals and things?”
“I believe there are some parks, but nothing like we have here. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned.”
Junie twists the button at Violet’s shoulder between her fingers, rolling her lips inward. Logic tells her to keep her mouth shut, but instinct urges her onward.
“Violet?”
“Mhmm.”
“You and Mr. Taylor…do you…have an understanding?”
“Understanding of what?”
“You know, an understanding about your relationship? Did he give you any reasons to think he might—”
“Marry me?”
“Yes, marry you.”
Violet sighs, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes. Junie feels Violet’s shoulders tense under her dress.
“I…I don’t know. Nothing’s been said yet.”
“Do you want to?” Junie asks.
A flush of pink rises across Violet’s pale cheeks.
“What would it mean, Violet?” Junie says. “For…me?”
The air feels thick as mud as tension builds in Junie’s muscles; when did it become so difficult to be alone with Violet?
“You’re like a sister to me. I can’t live without you, Junie,” Violet says.
“What does that mean?” Junie asks.
“I suppose, where I go, you go, all right? I can’t stand us being separated,” Violet says.
Junie’s ears buzz, as though cicadas have swarmed them, blocking the sound of Violet’s declaration. It is the truth she’s long known but never heard from Violet herself. Her family’s opinions are conjectures; Violet’s are law. She rushes through the last of the dress’s buttons, looking for any way to escape.
“The dress is done. It’s an awfully cold night. I ought to fix the fire,” Junie says.
She dashes toward the fireplace, crumpling and tearing paper to stuff in the bottom before lighting it with her candle. The flames roar to life, the same color as Minnie’s spirit. What fate awaits her sister now that she’s failed at finding the key? What awaits her and her family now that she is certain to be taken away with Violet? She wants to curl in on herself, to disappear from the inevitable suffering she’s sure to bring on her family.
“Lord, it’s chilly tonight, ain’t it,” Violet says. “I hate to ask but could you fetch us a couple blankets?”
Junie nods, wiping her eyes. She looks up to find Violet standing over her picking at her palms and rolling her lips. Even through her own sadness, she can tell that Violet is nervous. She leaves to collect a blanket from the linen closet, suspicious. When she returns, she slowly cracks open the door to Violet’s room, peering in first. Spying is certainly not a virtue in servitude, but it is a necessity.
Violet is crouched next to her armchair, shoving it over to reveal a loose floorboard. Violet lifts it open, pulling out a box Junie’s never seen before. She brushes off the surface before pulling a pendant necklace almost identical to Minnie’s out from underneath the chair’s cushion, except set in gold instead of silver.
Violet opens the pendant. She lifts the box, pressing the locket into an overlapping circle design on the front edge. The box pops open, and Violet pulls out a stack of what looks like letters from Mr. Taylor.
Junie whips from the door to the wall, covering her gasp. She runs back into the linen closet, where she pulls Minnie’s locket out of her apron. She opens it—two circles.
Does Minnie’s box have the same mechanism?
Junie snatches a few extra blankets off the shelves.
She knocks on Violet’s door. Violet’s already hidden her box underneath the chair again and crawled into bed.
“Violet, do you think I could sleep in here tonight?”
“You want to stay here? What about Muh?” Violet says.
“I hate to leave her, but her snoring was too bad last night.”
“You can always stay if you want to,” Violet says.
Junie lays out the extra blankets, making her pallet on the same side of the bed as Minnie’s box.
“Good night, Violet,” Junie says, before turning away from Violet on her side.
“Good night.”
Junie feigns sleep as Violet reads her hidden letters from Mr. Taylor, giggling and sniffling until she eventually falls asleep. Once Junie hears Violet’s snores, she creeps toward Violet’s bed and rummages through the piles of winter clothes until her hand hits wood. She pulls the box out, dusty but undamaged.
—
Junie runs for the fields, the only place other than the woods she can be sure no one will find her. Adrenaline courses through her body like water through a hole in a bucket. She lifts her lantern and places it next to her on the ground, then digs into her pocket, pulling the locket from inside. The light of the lantern glows golden against the silvery metallic surface. She opens it, then places the two connected circles into the inscribed sun and moon around the keyhole, closes her eyes, and presses with all her strength.
The lid pops ajar.
Junie drops to sit on the earth, pushing the necklace back into her pocket. She moves the lantern closer, then nudges the top open. Despite its lightness, the box is filled to the brim. She tips the box over onto the hay and assesses the contents: a stack of ripped papers, a glass vial of dried leaves, five dollars, and a plain copper ring. She lifts the lid off the vial and smells the leaves inside. They smell like tea, with a sharp pungency that makes Junie’s nose wrinkle.
Probably one of Muh’s old remedies.
Underneath the vial is a large page, folded neatly into a square. She holds her lantern up again, unfurling it to read.
My Dearest Charlotte,
I write this letter far away from you, in New Orleans, though in my mind we are together always in Bellereine. I have known you since we were children, and yet every day my love for you grows. Even as I marry, know you are my only love, my only devotion. It is here, in New Orleans, that I think of you, and have crafted this locket, an eternal symbol of my love for you, carved into silver. Accept this, my dear, as a piece of my heart. It reads.
cor meum alia
aliud animam meam
supermundanae potius pietate erga te mei
semper
In Latin, my dearest, this is my declaration to you.
my other heart
my other soul
my otherworldly devotion to you
always.
Yours with love,
William Devereux McQueen, Jr.
Junie’s hands leap for the locket flipping it over to find the same inscription. Charlotte was her mother’s name.
The locket wasn’t Minnie’s at all.
It was their mother’s.
A gift from the master.
McQueen loved their mother, loved her enough to buy her jewelry no Negro could possibly own. Why did Minnie have the necklace, and why did she keep this letter?
Junie thumbs through the other papers, her fingers running along their torn and burnt edges.
Someone had tried to burn them.
She starts to arrange the scraps like a puzzle until they form three completed pages. The first has Mr. McQueen’s signature along the singed edge. Her pulse mounts in her chest.
Lowndes County
State of Alabama
United States of America
Renunciation of Ownership
This document hereby certifies the renunciation of ownership, and all its benefits and stipulations, of woman MINERVA MAY “MINNIE,” Negro, aged twenty-one years or thereabouts, of a height of five feet and four inches, light African complexion with black, woolly hair and brown eyes, a scar on the right thigh above the knee, from William Devereux McQueen, Jr., of Bellereine, in Lowndes County in the State of Alabama in the United States of America.
Minerva May
Minerva May
William McQueen, Jr.
William McQueen, Jr.
Hon. Nathaniel Ulysses Brown
Judge Nathaniel Ulysses Brown
Lowndes County
State of Alabama
United States of America
I, Nathaniel Ulysses Brown, honorable judge of Lowndes County in the State of Alabama, hereby certify, that MINERVA MAY “MINNIE,” property of WILLIAM DEVEREUX MCQUEEN, JR., aged twenty-one years or thereabouts, of a height of five feet and four inches, light African complexion with black, woolly hair and brown eyes, a scar on the right thigh above the knee, a native of the plantation of Bellereine in Lowndes County, in the State of Alabama, has on this day, produced to me proof of freedom from the service and ownership of WILLIAM DEVEREUX MCQUEEN, JR. And, pursuant of the laws, I do hereby certify that the said Minerva May is a Citizen of the United States of America.
In Witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal of office, this twelfth of December, in the year One Thousand, Eight Hundred and Fifty-Nine.
Minerva May
Minerva May
William McQueen, Jr.
William Devereux McQueen, Jr.
Hon. Nathaniel Ulysses Brown
Judge Nathaniel Ulysses Brown
Certification of Freedom and Citizenship
This document hereby certifies that MINERVA MAY “MINNIE” of a height of five feet and four inches, light African complexion with black, woolly hair and brown eyes, a scar on the right thigh above the knee, a FREE NEGRO and CITIZEN of the United States of America, with the full rights and protections provided to all citizens of the United States of America
Hon. Nathaniel Ulysses Brown
Judge Nathaniel Ulysses Brown
Twelfth of December, in the year One Thousand, Eight Hundred and Fifty-Nine.
Junie’s hands shake violently. She shoves the papers back into the box, and tosses it from her like a hot coal. Junie leans back, cupping her face in her worn hands.
Minnie was free. She had been free when she died.
Her sister was going to leave her all along.
Junie wipes her eyes and thumbs the ripped, burnt edges of the pages. If Minnie intended to be free, and had gotten as far as having these papers signed, why had she hidden them? The master is drunk, absent, and useless; he could hardly remember the names of the people at Bellereine. Why had he agreed to let Minnie go?
Junie starts to restack the papers and put them back into the box. It will be easy to dispose of everything in the fire in the cabin. But first she has to end this, once and for all.
She runs for the woods before she knows where her legs are taking her.
—
The leaves decay off their branches, mixing with the dampness from the river and the redness of the mud, but Junie’s tears cloud her vision worse than any foliage could.
“Where are you?” she yells from her gut.
There is no glow in the darkness. She drops to her knees, curling back into a ball on the earth. Lord knows now would be the time the catchers finally get her. The sudden cold on her back is like winter’s wind, intensified to a point. Junie looks behind her. A glowing hand rests on her shoulder. She flinches and covers a yelp.
Minnie draws a finger to her own lips. She glows brighter now that the first task is completed, her features more defined in shadow and light. Minnie crouches across from her, taking a seat in the mud.
Junie wipes her eyes. Seeing her sister again forges the cold metal in her heart into a dagger.
“You were going to leave. You were always going to leave me.”
Minnie looks at the sky and shakes her head.
“You ain’t even gonna listen to me. You’re puttin’ my life at stake, Minnie, and for what? You couldn’t even be bothered to tell me you were getting free? That you were gonna leave me? Leave us all?”
Minnie stares into the distance, her flickering eyes blank.
“Do you know, Minnie, what we’ve gone through without you? What I’ve gone through without you? I don’t sleep no more. I’ve wasted all these months missing you and begging from somewhere deep inside to have you back here with me, and when you were alive you couldn’t even be bothered to try to stay.”
A sting pinches Junie’s wrist, and she glances in time to catch the leftmost mark disappearing from her skin. She’d completed the task, just like her sister wanted.
“I did it,” Junie says, holding up her wrist. “I did your first task, and that’s all I’ll do. I don’t give a damn about what’ll happen to you if I don’t do what you want, Minnie! You can go to hell for all I care!”
Before the ghost can grab her, Junie runs out of the woods, and away from her sister.