(from Chapter 6)
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I couldn't sleep very well the next night. It was especially hot and sticky, and I had to get out of the stale, confining bedroom. I was careful to keep from waking up Byron. I slipped a light cotton robe over my shift and crept down the stairs. I wandered around the parlor for a while, touching the dark shapes of furniture and running my fingers along the white highlights from the moon. My anxious bare feet took me outside. I realized I'd never walked outside barefoot at Chesterfield before. I skittered across the porch and onto the cool, dark grass below. The sky was a sullen bluish black. I winced as I occasionally stepped on stray stones and twigs. Without even realizing where I was going, I headed toward the stables. It was like there was a magnet pulling us together. The building was dark and quiet, and I was partly relieved. I had no business being there. I kept walking past the slave buildings and felt a slight breeze against the perspiration on my chest. Eventually I thought I heard something faint like music. I was far away from the main house by then, but I'd gone too far to turn back now. I headed toward the sound and eventually stopped at a building that was larger than the other quarters. The music was louder now. I found the door in the moonlight and pushed it open with a squeak. I don't know who was more startled -- me or the gathering of slaves I found inside. The music stopped abruptly, and all eyes watched me nervously. I heard low mutterings of disappointment and fear. A man in the corner had a fiddle in one hand and the bow in the other. He held the two apart in midair as if he weren't sure what to do. "She found us out now," a woman said. "It's all over." "What's going on in here," I asked cautiously. "We was just havin' us a little singin' and dancin'," the fiddler said. We didn't mean to disturb nobody." I stood there, nodding, trying to take it all in. My eyes collided with Wilson in the crowd. I saw Harriet and her husband there too. In fact, it looked like most of the slaves were present. "Please carry on," I said. The fiddler gently applied the bow to the fiddle and played some soft, slow notes. Everyone started to sway gently but didn't take their eyes off me. I nodded at the fiddler and gestured him to play faster. Gradually, the stiffness fell out of everyone as they started to dance again. I danced too. It felt wonderful. I think I'd only danced twice before in my entire life. Some of them sang, and many of them clapped. I felt caught up in a rhythm that bonded itself to my heartbeat and enveloped me entirely. Wilson came over to me and took my hand. We danced. I followed as he led me into steps I'd never seen before. He subtly led me into a dark corner of the building and hugged me ferociously. We held onto each other for minutes before separating. "Everyone does this every Wednesday," Wilson said. "I just found out about it myself. I think it helps us make it to the weekend." "I think it's great," I said. "I haven't had this much fun in years. We have to be careful, though." I knew only too well that field hands didn't always get along with house staff. It only took one person with a grudge to blow our cover and possibly endanger Wilson's life. No one seemed to notice or care that we hugged, though. "Don't you worry about a thing," he said confidently. "Everything will be just fine. I know it will." "I hope so," I said quietly. I glanced around the room for some sort of a clock, but of course there wasn't any. "It's late. I'd better get back before Byron notices I'm gone." "I wish you didn't have to go," Wilson whispered in my ear. I squeezed his hand and vanished from the building as suddenly as I'd arrived. When I got outside I realized how scantily dressed I was. I imagined there weren't too many mistresses that danced with their slaves in the middle of the night wearing only a nightgown. I looked up at the moon and giggled softly before rushing back to the house. I barely noticed the sharp stones pressing against my bare feet. I was out of breath when I reached the front door. I pushed it open silently and stood a moment to compose myself. No one else was around. I climbed the stairs slowly, careful to avoid the squeaky spots. Byron's father seemed to watch me from his painting. When I walked into the bedroom, I glanced at Byron's sleeping form. He was sleeping on his stomach with his head turned toward the door. The moon was slanting through the open windows and shining on his face. Then I froze. Looking back at me was a pale blue eye, illuminated by the moonlight. I stood for a moment, staring at it. I waited for him to yell at me, but he said nothing. Barely daring to breathe, I started to walk toward my side of the bed. Perhaps he was sleeping with his eye open. "Where have you been?" I stopped again and looked back at him. The eye was still watching me, but he didn't change his position or lift his head. I put my hand to my throat and fingered the collar of my shift. "I-I couldn't sleep," I said nervously. "This heat is awful. I took a walk. I feel very sleepy now." "That could be very dangerous," he went on calmly. "The patrollers are out at night, looking for runaway slaves. They might not see that pretty white skin of yours in time and shoot you or set the dogs on you." "I didn't go far," I said as I slid into the other side of the bed, as close to the edge as possible. I lay like a stiff board for nearly an hour, waiting for Byron to say something else or fling himself on me in a rage. After I'd listened to his even snoring for a while, I finally let myself go to sleep. I dreamed of my dance with Wilson. |