“I don’t have a dress like that,” Othella replies with a sigh. “Oh, you can wear one of mine,” Katherine suggests.
“I’m twice your size.”
“I have a trunk full of dresses, all types and styles. We’ll find something.”
“We should all go together,” I say.
“And stay together as a group.” Katherine takes Othella’s hand. “Let’s hurry, I haven’t opened all my trunks and it might take a spell to find the right clothes.” She turns toward me. “Will you need anything?”
“I have plenty. And I need to tell Tully about tonight,” I say, heading to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Count on it.”
Katherine wishes to follow Iris’s instruction by arriving neither too early nor too late, but waiting makes her jumpy and cranky. Her tongue is so vicious that I think I see a tear in Robbie’s eyes. And the boy, though a gentle spirit, is not weak-minded or a complainer. Sadly, however, I’m almost glad about her bad mood. It distracts me from thinking about me.
After screaming at us to hurry and stop wasting time, we follow Katherine—Othella, Robbie, Tully, and me—to the open pavilion.
It is already filling up with villagers of all ages, some with familiar faces but mostly strangers. Tully lifts his moving picture machine over his head until he finds an elevated spot, a mound of dirt, for a better view.
“Help me up,” Katherine orders.
Tully doesn’t change his position, holding his machine with both hands. “I’m already losing the light.”
Katherine huffs loudly. “All right, then. I’ll stay here. Is everyone taking notes?” she shouts to the rest of us.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “This is just the first of many dances, Katherine. We’ll be here for weeks. So, let’s just take in this moment. Maybe even enjoy ourselves.” I anticipate her shaking off my arm, but she surprises me.
“You’re right,” she replies. “I’ll try.”
Some villagers offer friendly smiles, while others are openly curious, as if we haven’t been marching around Accompong for the past week, trying to get to know them and talk to them about rituals, history, and African legacies. Other villagers are outright hostile. Katherine, as she has been since our arrival, remains oblivious. She can’t or refuses to see that to some, we are intruders, outsiders, and unwelcome—these villagers may never change.
A commotion in the center of the pavilion grabs our attention. Colonel Rowe is pushing through the crowd with his wife, his daughter, Iris, and a man who must be the fiddler from White Hall by the look of the musical instrument in his hand.
The fiddler is middle-aged, and some villagers call himyella man. I can see it’s not because of his skin color. He’s black as night. It must mean something else. He hobbles on a crippled leg, shifting his weight from side to side as he appears to tune his fiddle.
Whatever the colonel intended by charging to the center of the crowd is forgotten as a group of old and young women and baby girls come center stage wearing white kerchiefs on their heads.
A jug is placed in Robbie’s hands, and he quickly passes it to me, looking horrified. Glancing around, I notice others sipping healthily from their jugs.
“It must be the white rum,” Katherine remarks.
I sniff the mouth of the jug and nod, and before anyone can stop me, I take a long swig and lick my lips. “It tastes good.”
Tully laughs. “Save me a swallow.”
I am so stunned by the sound of his laughter that I indulge again, taking an even longer drink. When I look back, thinking I’ll get another playful reaction, he’s looking through the lens of his motion picture machine. I pass the jug to Katherine.
“Are all the women here wearing something on their heads?” I ask her, although I can see that the answer is yes.
“Of course, we are capless,” Katherine replies with a shrug.
“At least we got the dresses right,” I say. They also wear loose-fitting dresses tied at the waist that fall below theirknees. The men circling the dancing women wear blue denim or faded khaki trousers or go barefoot. The only ones in sandals like us are the prominent members of the village: the council members, their immediate families, the shopkeeper, and several young dandies, as Zinzi informed us one afternoon when she took the time to show us around.
“Are you getting all of this, Othella?” Katherine looked sharply at the young girl whose eyes were wide but not empty. I could see her taking in every speck of information that came within her gaze. Katherine saw it, too, and gave me a raised eyebrow. “Maybe she can do as she claims.”
“I think so.”
A hush suddenly falls over the crowd, but only for an instant. Music of some sort—anharmonic chords, squeaks, and thumps—mix together.
