Rapture's Rendezvous

A wide porch stretched across the front of the house with many white wicker chairs positioned on it. At the far end, a porch swing hung from the porch roof, swaying gently in the breeze, emitting a slow, creaking sound.

Now completely ignoring the dogs still following along beside her on the other side of the fence, Maria eyed the stately black carriage and two matching chestnut mares that were tied to a hitching post outside the fence, next to a gate that opened into the yard, where a path of white gravel led to the steps of the porch.

One of the horses whinnied as Maria moved closer. She reached a hand upward and touched the softness of its mane, but still looking around her, seeing the many leafless trees that surrounded the house, and how their limbs hung low over it, seeming to embrace it.

Her gaze moved lower, seeing the squared-off flower beds on each side of the walk. They showed signs of once having been filled with an assortment of flowers, but had turned into brown, wilting stalks, bent now, like an ageing man might do.

A stronger gust of wind sent Maria's dress hem whipping upward, causing a chill to creep up her legs and between her thighs. In haste, she pushed the skirt of her dress down and snuggled more into her shawl, stopping, gaping, when the front door of this house opened slowly, revealing a figure standing in the shadow of the alcove.

Maria swallowed hard and began to inch her way backwards, now realizing what an awkward circumstance she had found herself in.

A dark-skinned lady stepped out into full view and began to move down the steps toward Maria.

Maria stood wide-eyed, stunned. She hadn't been around any Negroes before. She had read of how they had been used as slaves, and how they still didn't have the same privileges as most white people. But this Negress didn't appear to have been affected in any way by such prejudices. As was Maria, this Negress was tall and stately and held her head high. She was attired in a long, flowing satin gown of a rose coloring that clung sensuously to her figure that was well-represented by its plunging neckline. Her pompadoured hair was of a reddish tint, but displayed roots of shining black. Her eyes were as dark as any dark Maria had ever seen and her thick lips had been painted red. Her wide nostrils flared as she reached the gate and began to talk. . . .

“What brings you here?” she asked in a deep throaty, slow drawl that matched the sultriness of her costume. Her long, lean fingers displayed many rings of ruby-colored settings that matched the small circles of red earrings on each earlobe.

“I was just taking a leisurely . . . walk . . .” Maria said, clearing her throat nervously. Somehow she felt inferior to this beautiful creature standing before her. The lady's dark skin was sleek -and shining, and an aroma of expensive perfume traveled from her body upward into Maria's nose.

Maria eyed the lady's dress once again, feeling envy eating away at her insides. In Italy, this was what Maria had dreamed of wearing, when America flooded her thoughts both day and night. She had hoped that her Papa had purchased such a grand house and that she would be able to go and purchase closets of gorgeous clothes.

Her gaze moved upward, seeing the confidence in the strong set of this lady's jaw. How had this person succeeded at getting so much in the world? How had a Negro … a female Negro .. . managed to have more than even the Italians? Maria had always thought the Italian race to be superior. Had she been wrong?

Maria's face colored when she felt this lady's eyes travel over her, feeling very self-conscious about the drab way in which she was dressed. She pulled her shawl even closer, clutching it in front of her.

“Are you of the Italian community?” the lady asked, patting one of the dog's head, as the dog moved to her side, panting.

“Yes . .. I.. . am,” Maria stammered.

“You're the first female of that community to cross the iron bridge that leads away from their houses,” the lady said, curving her lips in a soft smile.

“1 . .. am .. . ?” Maria said, eyes wide.

“What's your name?” the lady asked, eyeing Maria's attire once again with a fleeting glance.

“Maria. Maria Lazzaro.”

“Mine is Ruby. Just Ruby,” Ruby purred. “Come on in out of the chill of the air.” She lifted the latch on the gate and opened it.

Maria eyed the dogs cautiously. “But the dogs,” she said. “They appear to be so … so .. . vicious. . . .”

Ruby's throaty laughter fdled the air. “Only if I want them to be,'.’ she said, clapping her hands sharply, then shooing the dogs away from her.

Maria reached down and lifted the skirt of her dress, walking alongside Ruby, anxiety rippling through her. Had she found a friend? The color of Ruby's skin made no difference to her, for wasn't her own of a different coloring from all other Americans'? In a sense, Maria knew that this alone could make for a special bond between her and Ruby. But she was puzzled by something that Ruby had said.

“Why would I be the only female Italian to cross the iron bridge?” she asked, moving up the front steps. “Surely there had to have been others with the same need to get away from such terrible surroundings.”

“Nathan Hawkins has etched a fear inside most of their heads, almost as though they've been branded by dangerous hot irons,” Ruby said. “If not the females, their husbands, brothers, or fathers. Most females are warned against wandering too far .. . Most believe that Nathan would put them in bondage if he found them wandering on his private estate.”

Maria paled, remembering her earlier plans of going to stand in front of Nathan Hawkins's house. “And is it true? Would he do such a thing?” she asked softly, stepping onto the porch.

Another laugh bounced through the air as Ruby reached for the screen door. “Hell, no, honey,” she said. “He might have something else on his mind, but never anything like bondage. It's just a tale that got started by some fool of a husband who feared that his lovely Italian wife might wander off after becoming bored with washing a coal miner's filthy underthings and having only a house filled with children for company.”

“This Nathan Hawkins. You do know him?”

“I've had many a run-in with the bastard,” Ruby hissed, opening the main door, stepping aside so Maria could enter.

“He is an evil man, isn't he?” Maria said, stepping gingerly across the threshold, stopping, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs when her gaze moved quickly around her. She took it all in, then stared ques-tioningly at Ruby. “Why, it's so beautiful,” she finally blurted. “How . . . ?”