Juliet.â
âItâs not a joke, Nigel. His parents wouldâve shot me on sight, and mine wouldâve done the same to him. You ever risked anything like that for love?â
âThen it truly was love?â
âIt truly was a kind of love,â she said, her voice distant.
âBut not the kind that lasts.â
She looked down at her boots in the snow. âIâm done talking about this.â
âOf course,â he agreed gently.
When she spoke again, her voice had its normal sarcasm. âSo I should also warn you, my family will call you a nigger to your face.â
His eyebrows rose. âWill they?â
âThey will. Theyâll watch you like a hawk, and treat you like a Martian. They wonât hurt you, because youâre with me, but I just want you to be prepared.â
âNo worries. Iâve been called a Martian before.â
This made her smile. âAll right, then. Letâs get this over with.â
When they moved, the dog Stinkerbelle trotted around the side of the house and disappeared. On the porch, Nigel followed her example and stomped to dislodge the snow from his boots. Then she stepped to the door and firmly knocked. It rattled against the frame.
âPut your pants on, everyone, the prodigal has returned!â she called out. There was no answer. She opened the door.
Inside was an enormous room, made even larger by its singular lack of furniture. A semicircle of straight chairs was arranged around the hearth, where a tepid little fire fought the winter chill. Oil lamps burned on two small tables in the corners. Beyond this, bright electric light radiated from a kitchen where three people sat at the table. To Nigel, it was like standing in the nineteenth century and looking into the twenty-first.
On the wall was a large, strange painting of a baby, maybe a year old, standing on a chair. The babyâs head seemed to float just above its body, with no neck to attach it. It was disconcerting, and to Nigel, a little creepy.
The two people visible in the kitchen, an old man and an elderly woman, turned to look. The man immediately jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, as if he expected a fight. He wore overalls and a John Deere baseball cap.
âHey, Paw-paw,â Bo-Kate said as she took off her coat and handed it to Nigel. âThat Memaw with you?â
âBo-Kate,â the old woman said. She didnât stand up, but her whole body grew tense.
âItâs Bo-Kate,â the man said to the third person, who sat just out of sight. Only a pair of slender, feminine bare feet could be seen.
âJust toss âem on a chair,â Bo-Kate said to Nigel, and he draped their coats across the backs of two of the seats. Bo-Kate grinned, but didnât move any closer to her family. âReckon yâall are surprised to see me.â
âSurprised ainât the word,â Paw-paw Wisby said. His given name was Beauregard, but even people unrelated to him called him Paw-paw. âWhy donât you tell me why youâre here.â
Bo-Kate raised her chin and sang in a sweet, pure voice:
To thee Iâll return
Overburdened with care
My heartâs dearest solace
Will smile on me there.
For a moment, there was no response. Then the bare feet withdrew from sight, followed by the scrape of a chair across the floor as the unseen person rose.
Nigel gasped as the newcomer stepped into the doorway.
She was a staggeringly beautiful, dark-haired girl of about twenty. Despite the weather, she wore scandalously short denim cut-offs and a threadbare, tight T-shirt with plainly nothing under it. She leaned against the doorframe and said in a low purr, âAnd whoâs your friend, Bo-Kate?â
âYou just settle down, Tain,â Bo-Kate said. âHeâs mine.â
âYours? You can buy and sell niggers again? I sure didnât see that on the news.â
âI warned you,â Bo-Kate asided
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