Free A Woman so Bold by L.S. Young Page B

another beside her collarbone. Her hair fell past her waist in one long, even swathe. It gleamed glossy and smooth as honey in the sunlight, and her lovers, meagre poets all, likened it to rivers of molten gold, waterfalls of wheat, and rays of liquid sunshine. We laughed behind our hands at these strange metaphors; none of them could touch the striking reality.
    She cut her teeth on my brother at barely fourteen; he was sweet on her, and she thought he was terribly handsome, a fact she reminded me of every chance she got. For his fifteenth birthday, she sent him a lock of her golden brown hair. He took it silently from my hand, red-faced, and put it into the pocket watch Daddy had given him. To this day, I sometimes see him take it out and observe it in times of reflection. They kissed for the first time not long after that, another milestone I grew weary of hearing repeated, and before much more time had passed they became lovers.
    I heard this tale as I was reading David Copperfield in the window seat of Ida’s girlhood bedroom. She sat trimming a new bonnet her father had bought for her. Tansy was with us. She sat on the floor, arranging a pile of Ida’s colorful bead necklaces into various patterns. As Mabel’s daughter, Tansy was often our companion. During the week she went to school with other Negro children, but on Saturdays she stayed with Ida, supposedly being groomed to become her lady’s maid. None of us knew what this meant, but Ida took it as an opportunity to boss Tansy within an inch of her life.
    Just as Mr. Micawber was beginning to wax eloquent about his money troubles, Ida exclaimed, “I have a secret and I’m just bursting with it!”
    I continued to read as Tansy stirred the pool of beads on the floor.
    Ida made a noise of petulant impatience until I closed the book, saving my place, and looked up. The soft, wave-like roar of the beads quieted as well.
    “About whom?”
    “Me!”
    I waited.
    She leaned forward slowly, no doubt to heighten the suspense, and whispered, “. . . and Eric.”
    “What now?”
    “Well, the other night we were in the cupola, kissing. . .”
    “Ida, please. I don’t wish to hear.”
    “But! Something else happened.”
    I stared at her, uncomprehending. “What happened, Ida dear? I’m trying to read. ”
    “You know. He and I, we were . . . together.”
    “Yes?”
    “Honestly, Landra, you’re so daft!”
    The sound of Tansy tisking from her place on the floor startled me.
    “You gone get yo’self in a mess of trouble, Miss Ida,” she intoned. “You best watch out.”
    “Oh hush, and leave my things alone!”
    Tansy removed her fingers from the pile of beads and was silent. She shook her head, her brow furrowed between her green eyes. She had features of incongruent but enviable beauty; golden brown skin, full lips, and a small, pert nose. Her thick, inky hair, as coarse as boar bristles, was combed into a simple but becoming coif, with a small pompadour in front and a round bun behind. I envied how well it kept a style when my own wispy tendrils were forever coming loose of their pins, and, unwittingly, stretched a hand out to touch it. She slapped at my fingers, her eyes flashing.
    “It’s so beautiful. If only my hair stayed in place so.”
    She eyed my messy auburn waves with doubt. “Ain’t likely to, but eb’m so, my hair ain’t fo you to touch.”
    I swallowed guiltily. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
    “Oh, don’t apologize to her,” Ida interrupted, then, desperate for our attention she continued, “You don’t even know what I mean, do you? We had our first roll in the hay.” She giggled at the silly expression. “That’s what Clyde calls it.”
    I had never encountered the expression myself, but I began to catch her meaning. “You mean to say you’re compromised?”
    “Goodness, no! I’m only fourteen and no one knows but us. Besides, if anyone can keep a secret, it’s Eric. I’d trust him with my dying wish,” she sighed.