“Byron, you’re too upset to make decisions now.”
“I feel like I’ve been under his control my whole life. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”
“What way?”
“Powerless,” he growls. “I thought I knew what my father was capable of, but now I have no doubt. At the rally, I did something I’ve been too much of a coward to do for a long time: I defied him. I publicly declared my support for the labor union movement. And he had his goons beat me—gave me a spanking for daring to disagree with him. I’m a grown man: bruised and swollen. But I refuse to back down.”
“So, you’ll join the movement and become one of our most passionate supporters. That’s what truly matters. Not revenge.”
“That’s rich, coming from the woman who dreams of burning the Tynesdale Estate to the ground.”
I shrug, as he tells no lie. “Okay, you’ve caught me. But do you know what form this revenge might take?”
“Yes, I do,” he replies. “I’m going to steal the family rum recipe and publish it in theJamaica Gleaner.”
I suddenly become aware of the heat and how few stars are left in the sky. “You don’t want to do that. You’re not that reckless.”
“You don’t know me. We met two days ago.”
I take a deep breath. “If you’re sincere and have made this choice,” I say, “what do you expect from me?”
“What do I expect?” Suddenly, Byron is close enough to rest his hand lightly on my shoulder. “That you will help me steal it.”
CHAPTER 13
VIVIAN JEAN
Harlem, New York City
Asleepless night on board the 20th Century Limited, alone in a berth while my husband snores loudly below, isn’t the ideal way to spend a seventeen-hour train ride. Although I didn’t expect a basket full of moonbeams and lollipops, a little conversation and a pleasantry or two would have been welcome. I had planned to tell Tully what my father had said, but I never had the chance—not even upon our arrival in New York. Once there, we quickly trekked across town to the Harlem YMCA—the only place in the city that had rooms to rent to visiting Negroes. As soon as we entered our room, Tully dashed out to catch up with his friends from the New York Black Yankees. I was upset, hurt, and angry, but Harlem has a way of lifting my spirits.
Katherine and I are scheduled to meet some of her artist friends for dinner this evening, but I need to get out and insist she join me. I drag her toward the exit, but she ushers me into the lounge, wanting a cup of coffee before we leave.
“I’m exhausted.” She sits beside me in a chair in the YMCA’sladies’ lounge. However, the tension in her angular jaw suggests that something other than weariness is on her mind.
“I am tired, too,” I say. “But it’s barely three o’clock, and if we stay in our rooms until it’s time for dinner, we’ll fall asleep, and after dinner, we’ll be up all night. And I want to be alert for the first day of our cruise, and besides, I need to do some shopping.”
“Shopping for what? I thought Maxi had it all organized.”
“She has. She did. I just want to do some of it myself, and she gave me a shopping list.” I reach into my handbag and remove a sheet of paper with Maxi’s handwriting.
Katherine frowns. “How much of this trip is Maxi’s idea?”
“Why would you ask that? You know I want to go to Jamaica to study the Maroon people and bring their history into academia.”
“That sounds like an appropriate reason. But I only care about academia as a means to explore African culture and dance. I want to do more than study it. I want to experience the Maroon people and their traditions, rituals, and beliefs. …” She pauses, and a sternness comes over her. “Including Obeah. I know Maxi has talked to you about Obeah.”
A woman peeks into the lounge, delaying my response. I immediately think of Maxi’s cautionary tale about how talking publicly about Obeah can be dangerous. The Brits made the practice illegal in 1898. Obeah men and women in her village had to hide their identities. If discovered, the punishment was imprisonment or seventy-five lashes.
“Yes, Maxi often mentioned it to me.” I wait for the woman to depart. “But I also learned about Obeah with you when I attended the University of Chicago.”
“But did you really? Our professors treated it like superstition or a spectacle.”
“That wasn’t the case with all our professors.”
“Other than Professor Herskovits, no one else actually gave a lecture on the significance of Obeah.”
Melville Herskovits, a highly regarded anthropologist, is one of Katherine’s mentors, but we’d end up sitting in this lounge for hours if we began discussing his teachings. “Let’s not get into that conversation now. We’ll have time on the ship to discuss it in more detail. Remember, I want to go shopping before dinner.”
