“Indeed. We were discussing yesterday’s Vespers and how blessed we feel every time we hear you sing.”
“Like a foretaste of Heaven, Joseph.” Miss Joanna touched his arm. “’Tis a gift from God you have: the voice of an angel.” Joseph knew he was blushing. Then the Bishop’s sister added with a sigh: “’Tis truly a shame your mother cannot hear it.”
Joseph nodded haltingly. He’d thought it himself, about so many sounds. Every morning and every evening, Joseph prayed that God would restore Mama’s hearing. But even if He granted a miracle tomorrow, Mama would never know what Joseph’s little brother had sounded like when he giggled. “My lord…when wearein Heaven”—if Joseph ever achieved it—“will Mama be able to hear me then?”
“Yes, son. At the Resurrection of the Dead, we shall all be transformed. We shall haveperfectbodies.”
All?Joseph dared to glance up. “Will there be negroes there, too?”
“Absolutely. The Revelation of John the Apostle is clear: he saw ‘all nations and tribes and peoples’ standing before God’s throne, praising Him.”
Side by side? Would the negroes still look like negroes? How then could they be perfect, cleansed of their sin and washed “as white as snow”?
Joseph was unable to voice these questions. He saw someone else standing nearby, waiting to talk to His Lordship. Joseph was reluctant to relinquish him, but he knelt quickly to kiss the Bishop’s ring again and left them. Joseph still felt sore and unsettled from his fall, as if it might happen again. And what those men in the drawing room had said about Mama—and Papa…
Joseph retreated deeper into the garden. Their host had set out lanterns. Along the high wall separating the garden from the neighbors’ yard, a white bench stood out, set between two crêpe myrtle trees with orange leaves. On the bench, a girl was hunched over with her face in her hands. Joseph heard her sobs almost in the same moment he realized it was his sister.
He hurried to her. “Cathy?”
She glanced up, recognized him, and hid her face again.
Joseph sat beside his sister on the bench. “What’s wrong?”
“Theodosia Lockwood!” Cathy choked out. “She said it was about time I got better hair! She said I need it, because myrealhair looks like a colored girl’s!”
“That’s ridiculous.” Joseph remembered he had a handkerchief and offered it to his sister.
“I know!” Cathy blew her nose loudly.
“Did you tell Theodosia that our grandmother was a Spanish noblewoman—andthat’swhere you got your hair?”
“No,” she moaned. “The other girls started laughing at me, and I ran away.”
“Do you want me to talk to them?”
Cathy drew in a shaky breath and sat up straight. “No; I should do it.” She glanced down at the sodden kerchief, then at Joseph. “Do you want this back?”
He chuckled and shook his head.
His sister blew her nose one last time and tucked the handkerchief into a pocket. “Thank you.” Cathy stood up and raised her head to its usual angle. “I’m going to tell Theodosia that my hair isn’t nearly as ugly as herteeth.”
Joseph smiled in spite of himself. He knew he should advise his sister to behave like Christ and turn the other cheek. But he alsoknew Cathy wouldn’t listen. He watched her stride back to face her enemies.
Joseph stayed on the bench until Mama appeared. They moved closer to a lantern, but it was still hard to see all her signs clearly. Joseph gathered that the Grands had gone home and Hélène was falling asleep. Papa was also ready to leave because Mrs. Prioleau was after him again. Joseph laughed. The old woman always wanted to describe some new rash.
‘Have you seen Catherine?’ Mama asked him.
Joseph nodded, but he decided not to tell Mama what Theodosia Lockwood had said. It would only upset her.
He turned when he heard hushed voices behind them. Two boys climbed onto the nearby bench, and then one boy hoisted the other to the top of the garden wall. Even in the half-light, Joseph recognized them: brothers a few years older than himself and also French Creole. More than once, they’d disturbed Mass by making ridiculous noises. Now, the first boy hauled the second atop the wall with him, until they were both wobbling on the ledge.
Scowling upward, Mama clapped her hands to attract their attention. When she succeeded, she made a sharp pointing motion at the ground.
The brothers turned back to each other and sniggered. Joseph caught the words: “That’s the dummy!”
Joseph’s face grew hot. He was glad Mama couldn’t understand. She clapped her hands again, louder.
“Only if you say ‘please,’ dummy!” one of the boys taunted, speaking as if to a child. His brother found this hilarious.
