In the time Justine took to realize what she had said and to whom, Gabriel had moved past speechless. “Yes, what an outrage, to treat a slave as if she is human.”
He left after he told Lottie that if he finished in time, he would meet her in the evening. But for the Justines of society, he and Lottie might have a chance at the life they wanted.
* * * * *
Gabriel pushed the saw through the boards with a vengeance as he repeated to Joseph what Justine had told him and Lottie.
“I know you’ve met your share of Justines through the years, and you already know you’ve not met the last. We may detest what she says, but she’s at least letting you know what she thinks. As far as I’m concerned, the people who think it and never say it are sometimes more dangerous. Most of them already know that the Bible says we’re all God’s creation. Sometimes I wish the verse would have ended with ‘we’re just different colors.’” Joseph handed Gabriel a hammer and took over sawing. “But Justine isn’t really the person we ought to be talking about. What are you going to do about Lottie?”
“Lottie? How do you know anything about Lottie?”
“The day we went to her grandfather’s office, the two of you laid eyes on each other like you’d just seen water after being in the desert for weeks. I started paying attention after that. Same way nobody had to tell you how I feel about Rosette.” Joseph stopped, got a long nail, placed it into the opening he’d already cut so it wouldn’t close in on his saw, and went back to cutting the wood. “You don’t have many options, though I’m sure you figured that out already.”
“One thing I’ve figured out is, it’s one thing to swing a hammer. Making the nail go in straight is another.”
“Practice. It’s all practice. Stop focusing on the hammer; focus on the nail head. That’s why you’re getting all those sideways swings. I’m surprised you haven’t flattened a few fingers,” Joseph observed.
“Maybe that’s my problem with Lottie too—the wrong focus. It’s not enough just to want to be together. If we’re serious, then we both know it can’t happen here. And that’s what we have to focus on. But I don’t know what she’s willing to do to make that happen.”
“Lottie may not either. Sometimes people learn what they’re willing to sacrifice only when life doesn’t require it of them anymore. If you’re lucky, she won’t be one of those people.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
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A New Orleans evening sun coaxed people out of their houses to revel in the gift of a mild winter day. Some families abandoned strolling in favor of watching their chubby-legged children run in wide circles, in the hopes that they would fall fast asleep once they reached home. Mothers with the foresight to wear fewer petticoats and dresses more ready to be cut down than worn found it possible to arrange themselves appropriately and sit on the hard, dry ground. When a steamboat blasted its giant trumpet and belched inky, smoky notes, the delighted children celebrated with a symphony of squeals, giggles, and applause. Later, carried onward by the wind, a sprinkling of soot rested on collars and capes and gowns.
The scent in the fresh air depended on the number of ships and their cargo. Hogsheads of sugar and tobacco, molasses and flour, and so many bales of cotton they seemed as endless as the Mississippi River waited to be loaded or had been off-loaded. Lottie breathed in pineapplefragrant air as far down as her corset would allow. She envied the little girls who bent and stretched so effortlessly, their soft bodies not held prisoner by laces and whalebones. Even Alcee, whom Gabriel had invited along, rarely bothered with uncomfortable underpinnings. But looking at her as she walked with Justine ahead of them, Lottie could see the woman in Alcee pushing out the little girl.
“She is truly repentant. I know she wants to apologize,” said Lottie about Justine’s remark at the café. “And one day, one of us might need to grant forgiveness before we seek it.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Rosette, which is not conducive to what I want to say. I intended to talk to Justine later. Anything about Agnes, Abram, or Alcee we need to address?”
“Nothing,” she said. “But I want to talk to you first.” Lottie wished she had pockets so he wouldn’t see her fidgeting with her hands. She intertwined her fingers and her hands bounced with the movement of her skirt as she walked. A long stretch of ground lay ahead, so she would have time to finish. “I’m not exactly sure when it happened—when I crossed from ‘Gabriel as friend’ to ‘Gabriel as more than friend.’ I do know there was one day in particular when I could no longer ignore or deny those feelings. When you smiled, all I could think about was what your lips would feel like on my forehead, my cheeks, my own lips. How it would feel to stand so close to you and be held so tightly and be kissed so deeply. I feared you could read my mind. And I feared you couldn’t.”