The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart (16 page)

Mr. Daniels looked away and I saw him swallow hard, like he had a lump in his throat. When he spoke again his voice was soft and shaky.

“He sold her … because she was carrying my baby.”

The room was deathly quiet for several seconds. Katie walked over and took my hand as she sat down beside me. I looked at her, then back at her uncle. My mouth was hanging open.

“Richard hit the roof,” he said. “He was so angry that he ran me off and told me never to show my face at Rosewood again. I’m still not sure how he found out because I was never absolutely sure myself. She may have told Rosalind. In any case, before she could tell me, he ran me off, then sold Lemuela, probably through some third party, I don’t know. Richard Clairborne was a hard man, but he was as upright and moral as they come. I suppose he didn’t want anyone suspecting
him
of what had happened. And he didn’t want Lemuela traceable to Rosewood. Even Rosalind never knew where she’d gone. I don’t think she ever quite forgave Richard for that. And though I never knew what had happened to her until today, I assumed that she had married and raised a family as a slave on some other plantation.”

As I listened, I felt my brain starting to clear, like a pond that you’d thrown rocks in and then it gradually calms until the water stills again so you can see down to the bottom.

“Does that mean …” I said, and I could feel Katie’s hand squeezing mine “—who … who was … the baby?”

“Mary Ann,” he said, “that’s what I have been trying to tell you. The moment you told me how old you were and when you were born, that’s when I knew. Mary Ann … I am your father.”

The room got even quieter than before. The word
father
just hung there in the silence, like it had exploded into my ears. I didn’t know what to think … what to say … what to feel.

I’d hardly known the man I always called my father, the man called Henry Jukes. He was always away working with the men, and I only saw him at night and didn’t even remember a time he and I’d had a conversation alone together. Then he died when I was twelve and ever since I’d been used to life without a father at all.

Now suddenly this! A
white man
had just told me he was my father!

Was I really half white? It filled me with such a turmoil of confusion. I suddenly wondered if my name was even Mary Ann Jukes.

Who was I? Had I never been who I thought I was?

Half white!
How could such a thing be true?

In the few seconds that we all sat there in silence, such confusion about so many things filled me that gradually I began to get mad. There was no reason for it, but it just happened. And I took it out on Mr. Daniels.

“You mean you were just like William McSimmons,” I said, “and my mama was like Emma? You mean … you mean—” I sputtered.

It didn’t occur to me that I was yelling so loud that Emma was sure to hear. I wasn’t thinking very clearly about much of anything right then.

Suddenly I stood up, knocking my chair over, “You mean I’m just … just like little William … that my daddy wasn’t my daddy at all! You did that to my mama!”

My words jolted him. It was the last thing he had expected. But right then I couldn’t see the pain I was causing him, or that my words were like plunging a knife into his heart. I was too bound up in my own emotions to think about anything other than what I was feeling. That’s something about young people—they don’t pay much attention to how they can hurt grown-ups, especially their parents, by what they say and do. All they can think about is themselves, and that’s what I was doing right then. I would regret it later, but I couldn’t see it then.

I flew around the table and began hitting him. I was so angry. But he just sat there and let me pound on him until I stopped yelling and started to cry and stepped back. As I did I glanced across the room.

There were Emma and Aleta standing in the doorway.

All the yelling had brought them downstairs to see what was going on. I saw William in Emma’s arms and thought of my poor mama and what disgrace and grief she must have felt. I knew I’d been born a slave, but hadn’t figured on being a bastard slave. I couldn’t help it—my anger came back to the surface again. I turned back to Katie’s uncle.

“How could you have left her!” I cried.

“If I had just known …” he began.

“You would probably still have left,” I shot back, “because you’re nothing but a coward.”

It was a cruel thing to say. He sat silent as a stone.

“You made my mother into … into—”

I couldn’t even say it but ran out of the house.

A
NGER,
T
EARS, AND
S
ILENCE

23

W
HEN
I
GOT OUTSIDE
, I
RAN AND RAN UNTIL
eventually I found myself at Katie’s quiet place in the woods.

Angrily I picked up some small stones and threw them as hard as I could into the stream. Finally I began to tire and crumpled crying onto the ground.

I probably dozed off. Crying does that to you. Gradually I felt something wet on my cheek. It startled me awake. Rusty was licking at the tears that had dried on my face. As I opened my eyes I saw Katie standing behind him.

She sat down on the ground beside me and put her arm around my neck. Neither of us said anything. I felt ashamed. Seeing Katie made me start crying again. She waited while I babbled and cried. I was still pretty mixed up, feeling both guilty and stupid, yet still I couldn’t get past the anger I felt at Mr. Daniels for what he’d done to my mother.

Finally Katie spoke. Her voice was calm and steady, and it was the first time she’d ever done anything like this before. It just showed what a friend she was that she loved me enough to tenderly tell me I was wrong.

“You really hurt Uncle Templeton by what you said, Mayme,” she said. “I think you wronged him.”

I sniffled and halfway nodded. I knew it was true. I was feeling bad enough about it already.

“He was trying to reach out to you, Mayme,” said Katie softly. “I think you owe him an apology.”

“But what about what he did?” I said, getting defensive.

“What did he do, Mayme—fall in love with your mother? Are you going to hold that against him? Just think about what I’m saying instead of arguing. Think how you’d feel if he had gotten angry at you.”

“It’s different,” I said.

“Maybe it is. But he can’t go back and undo it, Mayme. So he’s trying to make it right now. Maybe it’s taken him a long time, but what else can he do? He didn’t know.”

I sat in silence trying to sort through it all.

“Besides, Mayme,” Katie went on, “if what he said is true, that he’s your father, then he gave you life and helped make you what you are. How can you be mad at him for that? If he had never known your mama, you’d never have been born.”

Right now I was too confused with so many feelings that it was hard to get my brain to make sense of that. The thought of being half white and half colored had spun my mind around so bad it made me feel like I wasn’t even a real person at all.

“What do you want me to do, Katie?” I said finally. “I can’t think straight. Just tell me what I ought to do.”

“Don’t you think you ought to talk to him?” she said.

“He is your father.”

There was that word again. It felt both warm and hateful at the same time. How could the word
father
arouse so many conflicting emotions in a young person’s heart?

I wiped my eyes and nose, splashed some cold water from the stream on my face, then stood up and tried to smile.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll try.”

Katie and I walked back to the house. Emma was in the kitchen. She glanced up and I saw from her face that I’d hurt her too. I could see that she was both mad at me and hurt by the things I’d said about her and William.

“He’s in da barn,” she said coldly, then went upstairs without even looking in my direction.

Katie looked at me, and I knew what I had to do.

Slowly I walked outside and across the yard to the barn. It was about the longest that walk had ever seemed in my life. There’s no way to describe what I was feeling. I didn’t even know myself. My heart was pounding so loud it seemed like I could almost hear it.

I opened the door. It creaked and light poured into the barn. There he was standing on the other side with his horse. He had just thrown a saddle up on its back.

He turned to face me. Again our eyes met. Everything had now changed. The look on his face was different. I saw the pain. And I knew I had caused it.

“I’m sorry for what you think, Mayme,” he said. “I suppose you’re right about my being a selfish man. I’ve always been selfish. I don’t deny it. And maybe I was a coward too, like you said. Maybe your words bit so deep because they’re true. But I loved your mama, that much is true. And when I told you that she was the only woman I ever loved, that’s God’s truth. There was never anyone else.”

My eyes were stinging with tears.

“I don’t know what happened with Emma,” he went on, “but it wasn’t like what you think. I don’t know if you can understand. I’d like to think you can. But there’s no way for a white man to love a black woman in this country. But we loved each other. I even offered to buy her from Katie’s father, but he wouldn’t hear of it. After he ran me off, that was just about when the gold rush was breaking. I went out west with Ward. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it was my way of trying to forget. He went to hunt for gold, but I didn’t want to work that hard. I discovered gambling in San Francisco and found I was pretty good at it. While Ward stayed on in California I returned east on a ship, gambling my way all the way around South America. But then I really didn’t have anyplace to call home. And I
couldn’t
forget. All I could think of was your mother, so I came back to look for her. I never knew for sure whether there had been a child. I always wondered. Rosalind didn’t know where she was and I could never find out. And if she couldn’t forgive Richard, I don’t think she ever forgave me either for taking away her friend. After that I began drifting and have been drifting ever since, but I could never make anything of myself. I reckon I never will. But I always wanted to find her. I never knew until I saw you upstairs a few months ago. Suddenly I saw Lemuela’s eyes staring back at me.”

“Then why did you leave?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose I was afraid … afraid of what it might mean. I just couldn’t cope with the idea of having … having a child … one that I had never known. I don’t know why. Seems like I’ve always been running from something. But that’s why I came back. I’d never been able to find out where your mama was. And ever since I saw that look in your eyes, I haven’t been able to sleep nights, wondering … hoping that maybe she was still alive. And now I find out that you … and that she’s …”

His voice faltered and he looked away.

When you’re young you have no idea how hard it is for a grown-up, especially a man, to open himself up and let people look at what he’s feeling inside. I reckon that’s what folks call being vulnerable. It’s hard to be vulnerable, but it’s a gift some people have and it makes them better people. But right then I still had eyes only for myself and I couldn’t realize what it meant that he was opening up such a window into himself and allowing me, his own daughter, to look into it. I had no idea how hard that was for him, or what a special thing it is for a daughter to be able to look into her father’s heart.

He stared down at the ground for a second, then back up at me. He didn’t know what more to say. I didn’t either.

We just stood there—a white man and a colored sixteen-year-old girl—neither of us knowing how to bridge the gap between us. The man who had always considered himself footloose and fancy-free had just discovered he had a daughter … and a black one at that. The girl who always thought of herself as the black daughter of Henry Jukes had just discovered that her father was alive after all, and was somebody else … and that he was white!

After a minute he turned and went back to saddling his horse.

“What … are you doing?” I asked.

“I reckon it’s time I was moving on again,” he said without turning around.

“Why?”

“This isn’t my home,” he said. “I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe it never could be … not now … not after this. You’re not looking for a father, at least not one who’s white, and maybe I was just fooling myself in thinking I was looking for a family. She’s dead and you got your own life now. It’s probably best we forget this whole thing.”

I just stood there like a statue, hot tears stinging my eyes.

He finished with the saddle and led his horse outside through the big door. I turned and took a few steps outside and then stood watching him. He led his horse across the yard, dropped the reins, and went into the house. I knew he was saying good-bye to Katie. A minute or two later he came back outside, Katie following him. Her eyes were red. She glanced over at me where I stood by the barn.

Mr. Daniels climbed up into the saddle, then reined his horse around and walked him slowly in my direction. He stopped and looked down at me where I stood.