Page 22 of Junie

Chapter Twenty-Two

Caleb is leaning against the cookhouse wall. He is like a ghost to her at first, glowing in the low light the same way the spirits in the In-Between had. White clouds of warm breath leave his body in the kerosene light. Half of Junie’s heart tells her to run toward him headlong, taking his hands in hers and wrapping his strong arms around her. The other half demands she sprint in the other direction and hide in the woods until he’s left Bellereine for good. She stretches her hands open and closed. It’s silly to be so nervous. It’s her home, and she has a reason to go see him, after all.

“Why are you out here in the cold?” she asks as she steps out of the shadows.

“Mercy,” he squeals and drops the cigarette in his hand, then jerks toward her. Junie bursts out laughing.

“What you think you’re laughing at?”

“You!” she exclaims, covering her mouth to mute the sound. “You sounded just like my auntie when a mouse sneaks into the cookhouse.” While laughing, she lets out a snort. She prays Caleb doesn’t hear it, but he points at her and laughs.

“And you snort like a pig.”

Her laugh turns to a pout.

“I came over here to make nice, but I say, you are the most irksome boy I’ve ever seen.”

She wants to push him but tucks her hands into her armpits to keep from doing it. Caleb looks at her and extends his hand.

“Aw now, don’t be cross with me. I’ll let you snort if you let me squeal?”

Her eyes move toward his wrist and forearm, with its hairs slightly raised in the cold. The weakness in her knees begins to take hold again. She stretches her hand and shakes.

“Very good, then,” he says, relighting his cigarette. “You have something you wanted, or you just coming round to scare me?”

“I was hoping to find out why y’all are back.”

“Missed your auntie’s cooking, of course. You, too, but only a little bit.”

“Be serious, please. Why is he here?”

Caleb takes a drag, the light from the end of the cigarette glowing in the night.

“We was back in Selma for Thanksgiving and came round this way once that was finished. Y’all really didn’t know?”

Junie shakes her head.

“He sent a letter from what I understand.”

“Well, Violet didn’t get any letter,” Junie says, tucking her hands into her pockets.

“Why do I have a sneaking feeling you might’ve had something to do with that?” Caleb says with a chuckle. “Go on and stop it there. You gonna keep your secrets and I’ll keep ’em, too.”

“Do you know anything else? About his intentions?”

“Not much. Don’t believe he has to be back in New Orleans before Christmas.”

“What about his time there? What happened with his father?”

“Some business and such with the cotton. He was courting this lady that way, this shipping heiress. Her daddy owns a quarter of the steamboats on the Mississippi from what I understand.”

“And?”

“Well, they seem like a fine pair. At least that’s what everyone that way was saying. His daddy seemed to take a real shine to her and her money. Don’t get too excited yet, though. He was set on coming back here and bringing his sister again, so I suppose he might have an attachment to your Miss Violet. Don’t mean he won’t marry the other girl, but that’s something.”

The last of the dead leaves ripple in the wind. Junie smiles at the thought of Mr. Taylor being out of her hair once and for all.

“And you?” Junie says. “How you been?”

“Me? Oh well, all the same. This and that, you know. Ain’t nothing changes too much for people like us.”

“Did you keep reading, then?” Junie asks.

“What, you a governess now?” Caleb says with a laugh, stomping his cigarette.

“We spent all that time learning. Would be a shame if you stopped short.”

Caleb crosses his arms over his body, wrapping his flannel coat around himself.

“A little,” he says, looking at his boots before tilting his head back at Junie. “I try to practice reading signs on the road.”

“Good, that’s good,” Junie says. She digs a hole in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. She has to ask him.

“Did you ever say anything about me to Miss Taylor?”

Caleb furrows his brow. “Never. Why?”

“Miss Taylor said something to me just now. About you.”

The muted glow of the lantern catches his eye.

“I wouldn’t mind too much of what Miss Taylor has to say if I were you.”

“She’s important enough to turn your master’s opinion. Why wouldn’t her opinion be important now?”

“It ain’t the same thing for folks like us, Junie. We’re like little dolls or something to her, just something to amuse her when she’s bored.” Caleb rubs his palms together before tucking them into his pockets.

Junie fumbles her right foot over her left. “Well, she said it was the way you looked.”

“What about how I look?” Caleb says, gesturing to his pants and frayed coat.

“She said it was the way you look—or the way you used to look—at me.”

Caleb turns away from her, raking his boot over the dirt.

“Junie,” Caleb says in a low voice. The resonance of his voice vibrates in her abdomen like a cat’s purr. “You know we ain’t gonna be here long. I could be gone tomorrow for all I know. I don’t know anything from one day to the next.”

Junie’s cheeks turn hot as a lump forms in her throat.

“There’s no good gonna come from getting attached, you know? No good in all that nonsense, for anyone. For either of us.”

Junie bites her lip, wanting to press until she tastes blood.

“I didn’t ask you about any kind of attachment, Caleb,” she says. “I asked you what you said to Miss Taylor. Now that I can see you ain’t said anything out of order, I can be on my way.”

“Junie, if I’ve spoken out of turn—”

“You haven’t done nothing. Now, good night,” Junie says, walking off into the darkness, certain that the tears on her cheeks will freeze on her way home.

—

When the morning light creeps through the cabin windows, Junie rolls over into her half-stuffed pillow, wishing to scream. She spent the night watching the light from the fire play on the ceiling and repeating her humiliation with Caleb until she felt certain that if someone took a knife to her skull, they’d find his words written on her brain like an ancient rock carving. She checks herself for signs of illness; first, her forehead, then her nose, throat, and palms, in case a well-timed fever crept in. Without the blessing of an ailment, she scoots out of bed. At least it’s her free day.

“You sure laid around in that bed, lazybones.”

Junie turns toward Muh, who is sewing in front of the fireplace.

“It’s Sunday, Muh.”

“That don’t mean nothing today. With that Mr. Taylor and his sister back, you ain’t getting a day off, not even to pray to the Lord and Savior,” Muh says, gesturing toward Junie’s uniform. “But go on and start the fire for your old muh. It’s cold in here.”

Junie throws a log into the fireplace with a bit of kindling and lights it with a match. As she shoves her hands into her apron pocket for warmth, her hand bounces against the locket.

Junie sucks her lips between her teeth. Why does she still bother to carry this thing around, knowing she’s never going back to her sister? How could Minnie’s spirit expect her to throw away her one life, and leave her family behind? She’s chosen to stay. She’s chosen to be here.

Junie walks toward the bowl of cold water and soap in the corner. She strips off her nightdress, shivering as the fire dimly sparks. Normally she’d try to heat the water over the hearth before she bathed, but waiting on the fire to start burning properly will take too long. She dips a rag into the water and soaps up.

“Muh?” she says, hunching over the bowl. After her last conversation with Caleb, she’s sure she’ll crumble to ashes if she has to do much more than look at him. She’ll take any chances she can to avoid having to spend days with Caleb in Montgomery.

“Yes, Baby.”

“You ought to know, Violet wants me to go to Montgomery with her, if she goes with the Taylors.”

“Well, if that’s what Miss Violet wants.”

“Can’t you make up a reason why I ought to stay? The mistress would listen to you.”

“I certainly cannot. Your job’s with Miss Violet, you know that. We ain’t got no say in that.”

“But don’t you ever want to be able to do what you like? Without thinking about what somebody else wants you to do?” Junie asks.

“That’s dangerous talk, Junie,” Muh scolds. “Besides, don’t nobody really do what they like. There ain’t no freedom from this life, and talkin’ like there is only gonna get people killed or worse. You can come back from a lot of things, but you can’t come back from the dead.”

Junie bites her tongue between her two front teeth.

“Has anybody ever tried to leave?” she asks.

“Leave where, Baby?”

“Bellereine.”

The question hangs like an old peach. Junie hears a sigh.

“Not here, at least not in my time.”

The cabin is silent, save for the crackle of the fire.

“I knew a man, back before I came here, when I was in Georgia,” Muh mutters. Junie’s attention perks.

“You ain’t never said nothing about Georgia,” Junie says, wrapping her nude body in a blanket before stepping closer to the fire.

“He took off on Christmas Day. Suppose he thought all the white folks would be so busy celebrating they wouldn’t notice.”

“Did he make it out?”

“Caught him a couple of days later. Brought him back alive, though I’m sure he wished they hadn’t.”

A chill runs down Junie’s spine. The fire flares impatiently.

“What happened to him?”

Muh is silent, save for her rolling breath.

“The master called us all outside. I was just a girl. The catchers had cut off his feet and took out his teeth. When I got there, the man was tied up to a tree by his wrists, and the master was holding his horsewhip,” Muh says. “We was supposed to be silent. To look right at it. To watch. But when I saw that man’s back, the blood was rolling off him like creek water and the skin had gone white. Just seeing it, I…”

Junie turns, her stomach dropping as Muh’s lip shakes.

“You ain’t gotta say more, Muh, I’m sorry I—”

“When the master stopped whipping him,” Muh says, “he snatched me by the wrist. I can still remember the way his hands felt. So soft. He pulled up the back of my dress and whipped me for screaming. Next thing I remember is waking up with the healer. She was trying to keep the infection off us, but the other poor soul didn’t live through the night.”

Junie stares into the fire, remembering the feeling of the raised scars on her grandmother’s back. She’d never asked where they’d come from.

“I’m sorry, Muh,” she says. The words don’t feel like enough.

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for. We got food to eat, and a roof over our heads. Ain’t much more we need than that,” Muh says. “See, in this life, we’re all just floating down the river. You might have somewhere you wanna be, but like it or not, that river’s taking you where it wants to go. Fighting the current don’t hurt the river, it just wears you out.”

She doesn’t want Muh’s words to be true, even if her mind tells her they are.

“Now go on and get dressed so you’re fit to be seen.”

Junie nods, putting on her undergarments. She turns to face Muh, who smiles enough to show the gap in her teeth. Her short, peppered hair peeks from underneath her bonnet.

“You look so much like your momma sometimes, Junie, I can’t believe my eyes.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Junie asks.

“Good, Baby. It’s good.” Muh sniffs, rubbing her eyes with her thumb. “You ought to be on to see your auntie in the cookhouse. It’s Sunday, but with these guests here she ought to need your help.”

Junie pushes herself to her feet and slips on her maid’s uniform and leather shoes. She lingers by the door, reluctant to leave her grandmother behind, before eventually heading out.

—

When she arrives at the cookhouse, Auntie is already gone to pick a pig for slaughter, leaving Bess behind. Junie serves herself a roasted sweet potato, pulled straight from the coals of the cookhouse fire. She tries to focus on eating her food, but her eyes wander toward the window that faces the stables.

“He ain’t here,” Bess says, pulling the skin off her own potato.

“Who?”

“What do you mean who?” Bess laughs. “You know who. And he ain’t gonna be here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Junie says, dusting the soot off her potato.

“Another secret, then. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Bess sighs, rolling her eyes.

They eat their butter-soaked potatoes in silence. The quiet of the cookhouse makes Junie’s skin crawl.

“You looked real nervous during that dinner last night when Mr. Taylor got to talking and acting all jolly,” she says.

“It’s a good thing to be wary when white folks get to making plans.”

“You don’t like Mr. Taylor, do you?” Junie asks.

“It’s not my place to have an opinion on him. Nor is it yours. Besides, if anyone should be nervous, I reckon it would be you.”

“Why’s that, Bess?” Junie asks, putting down her food.

“That little Montgomery trip? If Miss Violet gets permission, you know you’re gonna have to go along.”

“I don’t see why it would be so bad to go to Montgomery,” Junie lies. “I ain’t never been before.”

“You’re gonna have to spend lots of time with that boy.”

“Who, Caleb?” Junie tries to keep her voice even when she says his name.

“Mhmm. And since you’ve been looking around for him like a cat after a mouse, I have a feeling that ain’t something you want to do.”

Junie thinks about spitting into her cousin’s potato but resists.

“You know, it would behoove you to stay out of other people’s business, Bess.”

“And it would bee-hooves you, Junie, to stop using fancy tongue-tying words.”

“Well, there’s no saying that she’ll get permission,” Junie says. “They don’t even know where the master is.”

A horse’s neigh rings through the stillness outside. Junie and Bess both leap from their seats and peek out the cookhouse window. She spots Granddaddy leading the carriage down the road and toward the house, bringing Mr. McQueen home.

“I’d start packing, Miss Junie,” Bess says with a grin.