take her past the Hendersons, which was unthinkable. North would take her to
Florence. She turned left, to go north.
She hadn't gone very far before she heard a horse riding up behind her, and
for a moment she was scared, thinking it might be one of her pursuers come
for her in daylight, but there was nowhere to run now, so she turned to
face the rider.
It was Jass. He had seen her from a distance away, from behind, and from
her clothes and her suitcase he made a guess that she was leaving. But
mostly, he was relieved to have found her.
"Queen," he called out. "Where have you been? I've been looking
everywhere."
578 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
She was pleased to see him and not pleased to see him. Frightened that he
would let her go, scared that he would not let her leave.
141's leaving," she said. "For good."
Jass glanced at his house, where Lizzie was.
"Miss Lizzie?" he asked her, but Queen said nothing, and he knew the
answer.
It was for the best; it solved so many problems. Queen was part of his
past, part of the South's past; there was no real place for her in his new
life. It would solve so many problems for her, too, and make things very
much easier with Lizzie. But he would miss her.
"Are you all right? Do you have money?" he asked, and she nodded.
-You can take a horse," he said. "It's too far to walk."
"I'll manage," she replied.
There was nothing else to say. What could he say? Only good-bye.
"I'll miss you," he said.
She almost broke. At that moment, she would have changed her mind, she
would have gone back, put up with Miss Lizzie's tantrums and too much work
and too little pay, just to know that he loved her, or cared for her, or
appreciated her. All he had to do was ask. All he had to do was say one
little thing. He didn't say any of them.
"Good-bye, Queen" was all he said. "Good luck."
Suddenly, he spurred his horse and cantered away, up the drive to the
mansion that she had loved, and that she would never see again.
She watched her father ride home to his family, and then, head high, she
picked up her suitcase and began to walk away, off on a great new
adventure, off to a bold, bright somewhere.
When Jass reached the house, he stopped his horse and looked back for a last
glimpse of Queen.
He'could see her tiny figure trudging away down the road to Florence,
resolute and brave, and for a moment he was filled with a sense of his own
failure to her. He wanted to ride after her, call her back, bring her back
to the place that was her home, but could not.
QUEEN 579
He sat on his horse for a long time, long after he could no longer see
her, hidden by the trees, and he sent up a little prayer to God that she
find some safe haven.
Then he rode to the stables, dismounted and tended to his horse, and went
into the big house, looking forward to his supper. It had been a busy day
in Florence, and he still had much work to do.
He seldom thought of Queen again. But sometimes a fragment of memory of
her came into his mind, and he would smile. And sometimes, when that
happened, he would take a leisurely walk to the slave cemetery, and sit
beside Easter's grave, and mourn what he had lost.
67
The day was hot, and the sun at its zenith, sapping Queen's energy and
resolution. Blisters on her feet, which had begun the previous evening,
were hurting her, and she sat on her suitcase at the side of the road,
took off her shoes, and nursed her aching feet. Why had they built the
house so far from town? How far had she come? How much farther did she
have to go?
He could have given her a ride. She could have taken a horse. She'd have
said yes if he'd asked her one more time.
She began to have doubts about her enterprise. It would be so easy to go
back, to beg Jass's forgiveness and accept the role she had been cast in,
but pride, or dignity, or stubbornness, would not let her do that. By her
reckoning, she was about halfway between The Forks and Florence, so to
go back was as arduous as to go on. Except that there would be a bed
waiting for her if she returned, and there was nothing in store for her
if she went on. Needing some sense of security, she counted out the
little purse of money that Sally had given her.
Twenty dollars! It was an unbelievable sum to Queen, who had never had
any money of her own. It made her, in her own
580 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
mind, rich, and solved many of her immediate problems. She had to find
somewhere to sleep that night, even if it meant spending some of the
precious cash and staying in the old slave quarters at the hotel, so the
sooner she got to Florence, the sooner she could rest. Knowledge of her new
wealth gave her renewed energy, and she got to her feet, sweating in the
blazing sun, and limped on.
The time came when she had to relieve herself, and she looked around for a
suitable bush. She always chose the spot with great care, because once
Parson Dick had gone behind the bam and had peed on a homet's nest. The
angry insects attacked him, and everyone had laughed at the sight of the
immaculate Parson Dick running from behind the bam, pulling up his pants
and being chased by a swarm of angry hornets. She found a tree that looked
safe, squatted behind it, and did what she needed to. Again she considered
her options-to go on or to go back-but the relief of her bladder made her
feel better. She adjusted her clothing and returned to the road, still not
entirely sure of her purpose, but trusting that something would happen.
She heard a cart approaching. There had been very little traffic on the
road that day, and the few riders passing by had ignored her. She prayed
she might be luckier this time.
Andy, the butcher's boy, was surprised to see her. He'd been on his rounds
collecting farm-killed meat, and was heading back to Florence when he saw
a white lady standing at the side of the road. He reined in the horse, and
realized that it wasn't a white lady at all, but that light-skinned mulatta
from The Forks of Cypress.
He drew up beside her, and touched his cap.
"Miss Queen, ain't it'?" he called cheerfully. "What yo' doin' out here on
yo' ownsome? Where's yo' hoss?"
He'd always liked Miss Queen because she was so pretty, and sometimes he
had fantasies of her pale body lying beside his darker one, but although he
had an outgoing personality, he was shy of women, and unfailingly polite to
them. Sometimes he regretted his good manners.
Queen knew she must took odd, out here all alone with her suitcase, and
wasn't sure what to tell him. She wondered if a little white lie would
matter, and decided on a vague version of the truth.
QUEEN 581
"It's a long story, Andy," she said. "Y'see, my horse throwed me,
/>
and--
It was as much as he needed. "That ain't no good," he said. "I'm gwine
back to Florence, but I could take yo' back to The Forks."
Queen needed no second bidding, and climbed into the cart.
"No. Florence will do just fine, thank you kindly," she said. He took her
suitcase.
"Yo' leavin' the Forks, or summat?" he puzzled.
"No, Andy, I's jus'-ah-gwine' visitin'," she lied, allowing her speech
to slur into something closer to Andy's dialect.
He helped her up, and made space for her beside him, on the little bench
seat. He flicked the reins, and the patient nag began to walk.
"Yo' be careful, Miss Queen," he told her. "Some white folk don't take
kindly to niggers on their ownsome."
Queen knew that to be true, but didn't have a worry in the world now. It
didn't matter that Andy, sitting uncomfortably close to her, had a
problem with his body odor. It didn't matter that the smell of the meat
inside the cart assailed her senses. It didn't matter that the seat was
hard and uncomfortable. God had sent her a sign, a chariot and a
messenger in the form of Andy and his cart. Her decision to go on to
Florence had been the right one.
"I's surely grateful yo' came along then," she said, smiling happily. She
listened gravely to Andy's tales of the dangers of life on the road, but
inside she didn't stop smiling all the way to Florence.
Andy offered her more help when they got to the town, even, he subtly
hinted, a bed for the night, but she maintained her fiction that she had
people to visit, and thanked him for the ride.
"Anytime, Miss Queen," he told her. "Anything I c'n do, yo' only got to
ask."
He flicked the reins and rode away. Queen stood on the sidewalk and
looked about her. She hadn't been to Florence since the war started, but
it hadn't changed much, except that Yankee soldiers were everywhere
roaming the streets, and they frightened her. There were several hours
of daylight left, and so she walked away from the main street, looking
for some-
582 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
where to eat. It surprised her that a couple of older white men, smartly
dressed, tipped their hats to her as she walked by, until she realized that
they must think her white as well. It made her feel good, and she giggled.
She saw the river sparkling in the distance, and walked toward it. It was
such a lovely day.
She came to the docks, a wharf and some warehouses, and enjoyed the bustle
of it all. A ferryboat, an old paddle steamer, was loading cargo, and
fishermen were bringing in their catch. A couple of street vendors were
selling fried catfish and boiled crawdaddies, so she bought some food and
was treated with considerable respect, and called " Missy. " She settled
against an old tree on the bank of the river and used her suitcase as a
small table, to eat. She giggled to herself again, for she knew that people
thought her white. A full stomach and the breezes from the river lulled
her, and she dozed for a while in the pleasant place.
The afternoon was waning when she woke, refreshed from her sleep, her feet
aching less and her spirits improved. Her prime objective was to find a
place to sleep that night.
And once again, Fate, or Chance, or God, decided for her.
"Ferry fo' Decatur leavin' soon," she heard someone cry.
An enterprising trader had bought an old paddle steamer that was used to
transport cotton in the season, and whatever cargo they could get at other
times of the year. Knowing that many people found travel by road arduous
and dangerous in these postwar times, he had some modest cabins made, and
began ferrying passengers between Florence and Decatur. The service was
mildly popular, especially with women who needed to travel, for they
thought the highways unsafe.
Decatur seemed like an excellent idea to Queen. Although she was not well
known in Florence, some few, like Andy, might recognize her, and there was
always the chance that she might run into Jass or Lizzie if she stayed,
which she preferred not to do. Besides, the ferry ride would delay a
decision about her resting place.
She bought the cheapest one-way ticket, which did not include one of the
four cabins, and walked along the dock to the steamer. Half a dozen
passengers were boarding, and their luggage was being loaded. Queen made
her way up the gang-
QUEEN 583
plank feeling grand. She had never been on a boat of any kind, and
experienced that sense of nervous excitement that is common to all
first-time sailors, for travel by ship is the most romantic adventure. Even
if she wasn't going very far, she was going somewhere, and anywhere had to
be better than where she had been. Smoke belched from the stacks, the wheel
started to turn, and as the ferry honked its farewell and the lines were
cast off, she felt as if she were saying good-bye to an entire old life, and
welcoming a new. Wide-eyed in wonder, she stood on the deck watching the
dock, the land, recede, until she was surrounded by water.
"No, you stupid darky," she heard a woman's angry voice. "I told you, that
goes in the cabin!"
A plump, middle-aged white woman, overly dressed for traveling, was
berating a deckhand.
"Yes, m'm," the deckhand said, carrying a large trunk inside. "I's puttin'
it dere now."
The aggrieved woman, fanning herself with a hankie, turned to Queen. It was
too hot, she'd been traveling for several days, and her stays were too
tight.
"You can't trust those darkies to get anything right," she said to Queen,
who smiled shyly.
"And you shouldn't be out here by yourself, my dear, a pretty young thing
like you," the woman continued, taking a little mirror from her reticule to
adjust her hat and hair. "Those darkies would have us away as soon as look
at us. If you take my meaning."
The woman, Mrs. Porteous, or portly Porty, as an unkind friend once called
her, hated traveling, but had no option. Her husband had recently died, and
her son had been killed in the war, so she had sold her house in Natchez
and was going to live with her spinster sister in Knoxville. Everything had
gone wrong. The weather was hot, there was no reliable coach line from
Natchez to Knoxville, and she had to change many times. Service was unheard
of these days in the hotels where she spent her nights, and sleep
impossible because of those rowdy, occupying, uncouth Yankee soldiers. The
bone-crunching carriages, riding on rough, untended highways, had made her
sick, and she had stayed in Florence for several days, unable to face the
continuation of her journey. She heard of the ferry
584 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
to Decatur, and at least that was a pleasanter mode of travel, and would
bring her a little closer to her destination. She had started out from
Natchez with three cabin trun
ks, but one had been lost in Memphis, stolen,
she was sure, by darkies, who were far too uppity these days, and didn't
seem to know their place at all. On top of everything else, she had found
her various traveling companions to be decidedly unfriendly, and she was a
garrulous woman who loved having someone to talk to.
The pretty girl was sweet. Shy, obviously, but sweet. "Such a pretty
thing," she said to Queen. "Visiting?"
Queen started to find her voice, but it was not one that Andy would have
recognized. It was the voice she used when she was on her very best
behavior, in front of Miss Lizzie.
"Yes, m'm," she agreed. "Relatives. In Decatur."
"Such a relief to find pleasant company," Mrs. Porteous said. "So much
trash traveling these days. It's the war, it's changed everything. I've
been in fear of my life since Natchez. "
She stared sadly at the river, as if remembering attempts on her life,
rather than the loneliness of her present widowed ekistence.
Queen was curious. Clearly, the woman thought her to be white, and she
wondered how far she could push the pretense. For the first time in her
life, the possibility of deceit came to her, but she justified it as a way
to survival. She wouldn't lie, but if people wanted to make assumptions
about her, Queen was happy to provide corroborating detail.
"You probably haven't heard of my pappy then," she said. "Colonel Jackson,
of The Forks of Cypress."
Mrs. Porteous, still staring at the river, nodded absently.
"It is a very famous plantation," Queen added, trying to think of other
things that would impress.
"Our glorious veterans, such difficult times," Mrs. Porteous said, turning
away from the river. "You must tell me all about yourself. I'll wash -up,
and then we'll find somewhere to sit, and have a nice, long talk."
It would be a very long talk, Queen discovered later, although mostly
one-sided. Mrs. Porteous had a very great deal to tell. She fanned herself
away, to find her cabin, and Queen looked at the river.
QUEEN 585
It was so beautiful. The sun was going down, casting a golden sheen on the
water. Life was wonderful to Queen, and she started to giggle again,
because everyone thought she was white. Well, she was. She looked white, so
she would be white, from now on. It had to be easier than being a nigra.
The giggle turned into a laugh, and she wanted to do something silly, like
throw her bonnet into the air, but she was worried it would fall in the
water. But she laughed and laughed, and some passengers and deckhands
looked in surprise at the pretty white girl standing on the deck by
herself, laughing at nothing.
68
All of Queen's hopes for happiness were dashed by the reality of her
existence in Decatur.
The once thriving country town had been laid low by the war, and if life
was difficult on the land, it was close to unendurable in the towns and
cities. With no industry but agriculture, Decatur, like much of the South,
relied for its prosperity on a single crop, cotton, and in good years, and
especially at harvesttime, that crop was bountiful. With the fields devas-
tated, the white male population decimated, and the black males fleeing the
plantations, the citizens of Decatur struggled simply to survive. Yet the
times were rife with opportunity. The armies of reconstruction were slowly
moving in, having made their base camps in the larger towns and cities, for
land was cheap, the population naive, and everything scarce. A moderately
supplied huckster could do well, and barter was the currency. The policing
Union Army lacked the moral fiber of its generals. Bored with war, hating
the South, longing to be home, the Yankee soldiers made the most of any
situation that could be turned to their advantage. So a carnival anarchy
prevailed, which suited those of a buccaneering spirit, but
586 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN
proved disastrous for an innocent country girl with optimistic dreams.