comprehend it. Now and then she flashed a little secret smile at Judith and Judith smiled back.
“Bright-skin niggers,” said Tibby contemptuously. “All time tryin’ to be white folks.”
Judith laughed and told Tibby to take a bowl of okra out to Mr. Philip. Relieved of Tibby’s resentful presence, she ran about touching objects in the cabin, teaching Angelique their English names. Angelique learned quickly and they laughed together over her mispronunciations. Angelique didn’t seem like a slave. She was just another girl who wanted to be friends. She was astonishingly pretty too—prettier than Judith had thought any colored girl could be. Judith put her hands to her own face thoughtfully and wondered if Philip still thought her pretty. The only looking-glass in the cabin was a little square one Philip used for shaving.
That night she asked him if he would get her a big mirror when he went to town.
“The first one I can find on the wharfs,” he promised, and he drew her to him and kissed her.
Her head lay back on his shoulder so that she was looking up. Between two of the logs that roofed the cabin she saw a star.
“Philip, the roof is warping,” she exclaimed. “Next time it rains we’ll get wet.”
“I’ll have the men mend it,” he said, glancing up. “It leaked during that rain last week and I meant to have them put on a patch. I’m glad you reminded me.”
Judith pulled back from him. Every joint in her body was aching from her ride, and his casual way of telling her the hole had been there a week cracked open her resolve not to complain.
“A fine husband you are!” she cried. “Why didn’t you mend it before you brought me back from father’s?”
“But honey, it’s not raining now!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “I’ll have it fixed. I told you I forgot about it.”
He tried to put his arms around her again, but she caught the bedpost.
“You let me alone! You say you love me and you’re going to make me a great lady and you put me in a hovel not fit for a pig. Father told me I’d be miserable. You and your grand vaporings! I never pretended to be elegant but before I married you I could always get out of the rain.”
“But my precious child,” Philip protested, “it’s not raining. What on earth are you shouting about?”
“How did you know it wouldn’t be raining tonight?” Her voice broke in her throat. She began to sob. “I’ve done the best I could. I’ve smothered and choked in this horrible weather and I’ve fished bugs out of the gumbo before I could eat it and I nursed my mother till she died and I’ve never told you how scared I was because I don’t know anything about having a baby and there’s nobody to tell me, but I can’t stand not having a roof over my head!”
She was sobbing so violently that her last words were like screams. As she flung them out Philip picked her up like a child and laid her on the bed. He held her in his arms and leaned over her as she sobbed into the mattress.
“Judith,” she heard him say.
“You stop trying to talk to me. You get me into all this trouble and all you can think about is indigo.”
“My poor dear girl.” He was holding her tight. “I’m sorry about the roof. But you aren’t going to make yourself feel any better by behaving like this.”
Judith caught a short breath. After a silence Philip spoke again.
“Judith, I do love you, and you’ve got to believe it. I reckon this is what a man gets when he loves a woman too much to be reasonable and wait for her. I didn’t know I’d get you with child so soon and I did think this cabin would hold together a year—please, sweetheart, say you love me in spite of it! You must love me or you wouldn’t have come with me that night.”
She was crying quietly, without any sobs. “Oh Philip, I do love you! But I haven’t had any peace since I saw you. It’s all been heat and mosquitoes and rats and being sick and having my ankles swell
“Bright-skin niggers,” said Tibby contemptuously. “All time tryin’ to be white folks.”
Judith laughed and told Tibby to take a bowl of okra out to Mr. Philip. Relieved of Tibby’s resentful presence, she ran about touching objects in the cabin, teaching Angelique their English names. Angelique learned quickly and they laughed together over her mispronunciations. Angelique didn’t seem like a slave. She was just another girl who wanted to be friends. She was astonishingly pretty too—prettier than Judith had thought any colored girl could be. Judith put her hands to her own face thoughtfully and wondered if Philip still thought her pretty. The only looking-glass in the cabin was a little square one Philip used for shaving.
That night she asked him if he would get her a big mirror when he went to town.
“The first one I can find on the wharfs,” he promised, and he drew her to him and kissed her.
Her head lay back on his shoulder so that she was looking up. Between two of the logs that roofed the cabin she saw a star.
“Philip, the roof is warping,” she exclaimed. “Next time it rains we’ll get wet.”
“I’ll have the men mend it,” he said, glancing up. “It leaked during that rain last week and I meant to have them put on a patch. I’m glad you reminded me.”
Judith pulled back from him. Every joint in her body was aching from her ride, and his casual way of telling her the hole had been there a week cracked open her resolve not to complain.
“A fine husband you are!” she cried. “Why didn’t you mend it before you brought me back from father’s?”
“But honey, it’s not raining now!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “I’ll have it fixed. I told you I forgot about it.”
He tried to put his arms around her again, but she caught the bedpost.
“You let me alone! You say you love me and you’re going to make me a great lady and you put me in a hovel not fit for a pig. Father told me I’d be miserable. You and your grand vaporings! I never pretended to be elegant but before I married you I could always get out of the rain.”
“But my precious child,” Philip protested, “it’s not raining. What on earth are you shouting about?”
“How did you know it wouldn’t be raining tonight?” Her voice broke in her throat. She began to sob. “I’ve done the best I could. I’ve smothered and choked in this horrible weather and I’ve fished bugs out of the gumbo before I could eat it and I nursed my mother till she died and I’ve never told you how scared I was because I don’t know anything about having a baby and there’s nobody to tell me, but I can’t stand not having a roof over my head!”
She was sobbing so violently that her last words were like screams. As she flung them out Philip picked her up like a child and laid her on the bed. He held her in his arms and leaned over her as she sobbed into the mattress.
“Judith,” she heard him say.
“You stop trying to talk to me. You get me into all this trouble and all you can think about is indigo.”
“My poor dear girl.” He was holding her tight. “I’m sorry about the roof. But you aren’t going to make yourself feel any better by behaving like this.”
Judith caught a short breath. After a silence Philip spoke again.
“Judith, I do love you, and you’ve got to believe it. I reckon this is what a man gets when he loves a woman too much to be reasonable and wait for her. I didn’t know I’d get you with child so soon and I did think this cabin would hold together a year—please, sweetheart, say you love me in spite of it! You must love me or you wouldn’t have come with me that night.”
She was crying quietly, without any sobs. “Oh Philip, I do love you! But I haven’t had any peace since I saw you. It’s all been heat and mosquitoes and rats and being sick and having my ankles swell
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