Free Sapphire's Grave by Hilda Gurley Highgate Page A

to watch from a respectful distance.
    Queen Marie barely noticed them.
Prince Junior.
The angry, hurting little boy clutching his mother’s hand at the Feels Good Inn. The child she had wished could be hers. He swallowed but met her stare, uncertain of what he should say or do. She was flattered by his discomfort. It made her feel mature, worldly.
    She took his arm and strolled with him down the path that led to the road, forgetting her coat. The snow had stopped, and the sky was clear and blue, peopled by stars that seemed to crowd the sky. Queen Marie supposed that they were having a Christmas party of their own.
    “You gotta name?” she asked when they were far enough from the roadhouse to hear themselves speak.
    “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied. Sister, Queen Marie noted, had raised a nice boy. “Prince—” he caught himself before saying
Junior
—“My name Prince.”
    Queen Marie hesitated, deciding what to call herself if he should ask her name. “Well, dass a fine name. For a fine fella,” she added, looking up at him. He blushed. She contemplated his age. Probably in his early teens, she guessed. Younger than Lilly. She took his hand and stopped walking as they reached the turn-off onto the road.
    “You ever been wit’ a woman, Prince?” she asked softly.
    His eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, as he tried to appear unruffled. “Yes, Ma’am.” Queen Marie was disappointed, and this must have showed, because he added, hastily, “I mean no, Ma’am. Not wit a
lady,
not like you.” She recalled the frantic groping that went on when fourteen-year-old boys were left alone with unsuspecting girls. She understood what he meant. Without a word, she led him into the dense woods beside the path, a shortcut to an abandoned supply shed where she and Prince had often made love.
    He was not as shy, or as unskilled, as she had expected. His hands moved along the length of her body, stopping at points of interest, exploring every inch of her in wonder and amazement. He had never seen a completely naked woman before, and he intended to exploit this opportunity for all that it was worth. And Queen Marie, content with her fantasy of Prince, allowed his son to stroke away the pain of his rejection.
    And as Prince Junior helped her into her dress, she turned to embrace him, discarding the dress again, pulling him with her to the floor, drawn to him by loneliness or vengeance or confusion as to his identity, or perhaps some combination of these. Queen Marie knew only that there was satisfaction of a sort in the uncertain embrace of this boy-man who had not asked her name.
    INEZ, NORTH CAROLINA
    MARCH, 1881
    Thus saith the Lords of hosts; Consider your ways.
    —Haggai 1:7
    Spring came early that year, melting the frost of winter, causing folks to accelerate the stowing and mothballing of overcoats, the consumption of canned goods, now overstocked, and the carrying out of spring cleaning: quilts hanging from clotheslines, rugs shaken vigorously in front yards. And with the warmth of spring and its attendant fever, churches began once again to compete with the forces of darkness that beckoned from juke joints and whorehouses, luring away young deacons-in-training and junior Willing Workers, emptying pews and choir stands as thoughts of a wintry and wrathful God gave way to shindigs and impromptu barbecues.
    Business began to pick up at the Feels Good Inn. Queen Marie worked tirelessly, the hours of labor in the solitude of the kitchen proving therapeutic. She had had several weeks to consider her ways, and to consider their consequence, the enormity of which had begun to sink in on a tepid evening in February when Prince, always cognizant of her menstrual cycle, had made inquiries as to her health. Queen Marie had smiled innocently, lowered her lashes, and hinted at maybe being in a family way.
    She had done this as he sat on the edge of her bed, shirtless and removing his shoes, the light from the gas street lantern outside