It had been a perfect June morning, and I rode away from town pleased I had money to give Pa, pleased with my new color.
I found a spot along the creek to let Junia drink from and dallied a little longer, thinking of clever talk I could have with Mr. Lovett next Monday, eager to show him my new color.
I mounted and headed to my outpost, anxious to see what the courier had dropped off. Soon, the hardness of my morning spent at the Center, Queenie’s leaving, Harriett and Eula’s fussing caught up with me, and in a few moments a headache reached my temples and tightened a band around my head.
I pressed a hankie to my forehead, fanned my neck. On Knob Trail, I passed a few folks headed into town, a man with a cart full of wares, and a woman and small child carrying baskets. A few minutes later, I heard the high whinny of someone else’s mount.
I pulled Junia’s reins to the right, stepping slightly off the path to let the rider pass.
The mule stopped and pricked her ears when she saw him.
Jackson Lovett rode toward us on a strong chestnut horse. Junia blew twice to let them know to step aside. He galloped onward, stopping beside us. “Cussy Mary, I’m taking my new horse into town to meet some men about timber. And here you are, and just in time to say hello.”
His smile disappeared. Leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me, brows knitted in concern, a worriment peaking in his eyes. Again he searched my face.
My skin grew hot, and my mouth became dusty as I called out a greeting. Then everything blurred and I was falling. Falling. Falling.
I came to on the ground, Jackson’s head bent over mine, his hands cradling, rubbing mine.
I’d fainted or died, maybe both, I couldn’t be sure. But I felt a dreamy grin on my lips, a warmth in his touch of a kind I had never known.
He squeezed my hand and called to me once, twice. “Cussy Mary.” He tapped lightly on my shoulder, rubbed my hand. I bolted upright, sat up, and scanned my surroundings, sure I was dreaming it all.
“Cussy, are you ill?” He gripped my arm, and I blinked and pulled to his voice and saw his wide eyes darken. “Talk to me. Are you hurt? Are—”
“I’m…I’m fine. It’s only the medicine.” I pressed my hands to my warm cheeks, shook away the grogginess.
“Medicine?”
I pulled myself to my knees and drew breaths. Jackson lifted me to my feet.
Junia gave a weak bray, kept a big eye pinned to us.
“I, uh… Doc found a cure for my color.” I patted my hair and dusted my skirts, feeling horribly embarrassed.
“And it makes you faint?”
“No, it upsets my belly and gives me fierce headaches. This is the first time I’ve had this…this type of spell. It usually rights itself as the day wears on and the medicine gets out of my body—I turn back to blue.” I shook my skirts again.
“Turn back? It’s temporary?”
I hesitated, wanting it to be forever—for him to see me like this always. “Yes,” I said, feeling a sadness rise, as I searched his eyes for disappointment. “It’s…uh…temporary.”
Jackson shook his head. “You could’ve broke your neck just now.” He waited, thinking, then, “Lots of cures are worse than what they aim to cure. Are you stuck with it, or can you toss it?”
“Ah,” I stammered. “Doc said I could stop any time if I couldn’t take the reactions.”
I felt a flush color my ears and crawl over my face. It was vanity that made me use Doc’s medicine and keep using it. And one of the deadly sins of the Lord Almighty. Now Jackson thought I was foolish and vain.
“There’s nothing wrong with your color, being you,” he said firmly. “Nothing wrong with what the good Lord gives us in His world, Cussy Mary.”
He didn’t know, couldn’t know, the load I’d carried as a Blue, the scorn and hatred and gruesome marriage. How dare Pa call me vain and now Jackson. How dare he too?
“Nothing wrong—” Jackson repeated.
I stepped back and shot out a shaky hand. “No, Jackson Lovett, you’re wrong. There is nothing wrong with your color in your world, a world that wants only whiteness.”
He flinched, and his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt, sadness, maybe pity, I couldn’t be sure, but I wouldn’t wait to find out.
I spun on my heels and grabbed Junia’s straps. Hoisting myself up, I snapped the reins, and we broke into a fast run.
“Dear Lord,” I said when we were far away, pressing my face, the shame, into Junia’s fur. “God, what has happened to me? Who have I become, and how small have I become? Mama would be so ashamed.”
And thinking about her, and the burdens my folks carried, and the grace they’d carried them with made me feel smaller.