Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins
Chapter 2
When Teresa woke up in bed that next morning, the room was unfamiliar, but after looking around at the starched white curtains and the sunbeams dappling the floor and the walls, everything came back to her and she relaxed and she laid back with a smile. The fact that she couldn’t remember coming to bed didn’t worry her, because she was not in prison anymore. Her release hadn’t been a dream. In spite of being thousands of miles away from home, and mandated to be under Mrs. Nance’s guidance for the next year, her life and prospects were infinitely brighter than they’d been at this same time yesterday. Speaking of which…
She turned her attention to the small clock on the fireplace mantel and bolted upright when she saw the time. Was it really one in the afternoon! Mrs. Nance probably thought her to be the laziest of lazybones after sleeping away the day. Alarmed, Teresa threw aside the quilt, then realized she was still wearing the blouse and skirt she’d donned after last night’s wonderful bath. Puzzled, and deciding maybe she did need to find out how she came to be in the bed after all, she walked down to the bathing room to take care of her needs. She didn’t have any other clothes to change into, but even though wrinkled, what she was wearing beat her old prison gowns, hands down.
Emma was in the kitchen when she walked in, and all the cook said by way of greeting was, “Mrs. Nance is in the library.”
Teresa was as hungry as a barn full of cowboys, and the aroma of whatever was cooking on the stove made her mouth water, but when Emma didn’t offer up any samples, Teresa and her grumbling stomach left the kitchen to seek out Mrs. Nance.
The library room was filled with more books than Teresa had ever seen. She stopped at the sight of them all, and didn’t realize she was staring around in wonder until she heard Mrs. Nance say brightly, “Good afternoon, dear.”
Teresa tore her attention away from the hundreds of volumes neatly arranged in elegant wooden bookcases and immediately apologized for her tardiness. “I’m sorry for sleeping so late, Mrs. Nance. I really am. No idea what came over me.”
“It’s called fatigue,” Mrs. Nance quipped sagely. “Frankly, I’m amazed you’re awake now. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a dead man, and I don’t remember climbing in bed or why I slept in my clothes. Sorry about that too,” she said, looking down at her wrinkled skirt and blouse.
“No apologies needed, and we’ll see to fresh clothing momentarily, but you don’t remember going to bed because you fell asleep on the stairs.”
The memories drifted back. “Oh, yeah,” Teresa said, though still confused. “But how’d I get to the room? Did you sleepwalk me there?”
“No. My son Madison carried you.”
“Oh really?” Teresa wasn’t sure she liked the idea of some stranger carrying her around while she was out cold like a drunk in an alley. “I didn’t know you had children.”
“He’s my only. He’s thirty-seven now. Used to be a gambler, of all things, but now he’s a banker.”
A gambling banker. Teresa found that interesting because Mrs. Nance seemed far too proper to have raised a gambling man. “Does he live here?”
“No. He has his own place. He stopped in last evening to meet you, but as I said, we found you asleep.”
Teresa wondered if the gambling banker approved of his mother taking a former bank robber into her home, but then the sight of all the books recaptured her attention. “Have you read all of these?”
“Proud to say I have. Do you read?”
“Yes, ma’am. Used to be one of my favorite things to do. My mama Tamar insisted my brothers and I learn. She said it would help our futures.”
“She sounds very wise. Is she still with us?”
“Far as I know. She lives in south Texas near the border with Mexico.”
“Would you like to send her a telegram to let her know where you are?”
“Tamar can’t read, but I’d like to send one to my brother out in Kansas.”
“Your brother Neil?”
Teresa was surprised Mrs. Nance knew his name, then decided she shouldn’t be. Newspapers all over the country had printed many stories on the adventures of the train robbing, bank robbing Julys over the years.
“We can send word to him if you’d like.”
Teresa nodded. Neil would be glad to hear from her, and doubly glad to learn she’d been given an early release.
Mrs. Nance fetched some paper, and Teresa wrote her brother a hasty note.
“Emma will take it to the telegraph office later on,” Mrs. Nance said. “A messenger will deliver the reply soon as it’s received.”
Pleased to have that taken care of, Teresa returned her attention to the books. She couldn’t believe Mrs. Nance had read them all.
“Feel free to read whatever interests you, Teresa.”
Embarrassed to have been caught staring again, she nodded. “That’s real kind of you.” Then her voice took on a more serious tone as she asked, “What kind of work do you want me to do so I can help out around here? I’m good at cleaning. I could do your rugs and your windows. I’m a pretty good cook. Emma will have to show me how to work the stove, of course, and where she keeps everything, but on her days off, I could do the cooking.”
“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Right now, let’s work on getting you fattened up and rested up.”
“But Mrs. Nance—”
“Are you hungry?”
“As a bear after winter.”
“Emma was making corn chowder earlier. Smells like it might be done.”
Teresa was hungry but wanted to continue the discussion about her role in the household. Apparently, Mrs. Nance planned to stick to her guns because she was already leaving the room. Teresa gave the books one last fond look, then hastened to catch up.
When Mrs. Nance entered the big dining room, she took a seat at the polished table, but Teresa hesitated. She didn’t think it her place to sit and eat in this fancy room. “I’ll go eat in the kitchen with Miss Emma,” she said.
“Sit down, Teresa.”
“But—”
“Sit, dear.”
The firm patience on Mrs. Nance’s face made her reluctantly comply, but once seated, Teresa tried to press her case, “Mrs. Nance, I—”
“This is where you will be taking most of your meals from now on, at the table, like a lady.”
Teresa blinked. “Excuse me?”
For a moment Mrs. Nance studied Teresa intently. “When you were young, what did you most want to be when you grew up?”
“Part of my brothers’ gang.”
Mrs. Nance dropped her head and chuckled. Composing herself again, she asked, “Wasn’t there anything else? Something a bit more lawful?”
Teresa thought. “Wanted to be a schoolteacher at one time. When the government closed down the school, our teacher left too, and for a while I taught the young ones. I enjoyed it, and Tamar said she was real proud of me, but riding with my brothers was all I ever wanted to do.”
“Understandable. It must have been very exciting.”
“Oh yes indeed.”
“But you can’t rob trains or banks anymore, dear, so, what do you wish to do with your life?”
Teresa went silent while mulling that over, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here, so you can figure it out.”
“But I don’t know if I have anything else in me to be.” It was an honest answer, but she knew Mrs. Nance was on the mark. She had already sworn off outlawing, so she needed a legal way to make a living. “What do you think I can be?”
“Anything you put your mind to. Any woman with the gumption to be an outlaw already has a leg up on ninety-nine percent of the female population. We’re raised to be scared of our own shadows. There should be more like you.”
Teresa found that declaration surprising. For all of Mrs. Nance’s proper ways, she liked her thinking.
Emma entered the room then, pushing a short wheeled tray. On top was a covered, green soup tureen and bowls that matched. Beside them were spoons, fine linen napkins, and short lead crystal glasses monogrammed with an elaborate N. Teresa stood, thinking to help Emma set the table, but the cook’s sharp look sat her back down. Frustrated, Teresa let herself be served as if she were the Queen of the May and not a poor Seminole from southern Texas. She’d never been waited on this way before, and the experience made her downright uncomfortable. “I’ll help wash the dishes, Miss Emma.”
“Not in my kitchen you won’t. That’s my job. You keep Mrs. Nance company. I’ll keep you both fed.”
On that note, Emma and the cart exited the room. Teresa looked to Mrs. Nance, who smiled sympathetically and said, “Pass me your bowl.”
The corn chowder was good. Emma had thinned her portion with a little watered down cream to make it easier for her stomach to digest, but Teresa didn’t mind. After eating tasteless prison rations for the past three years, Emma’s cooking was heavenly. “She’s a real good cook.”
“The best I’ve ever had.”
“How long has she been with you?”
“Over twenty years. She was in her early thirties when she came to work for my mother.”
“Does she have family?”
“Not blood, no. Madison and I consider her a member of our family, though. She held me up when my Reynolds died a decade ago.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Teresa wanted to ask how long the two had been married, but thinking that more questions might remind Mrs. Nance of her sorrow, she focused on finishing her chowder instead.
After eating, she and Mrs. Nance went upstairs to ferret out a wardrobe for Teresa from amidst the donated clothing and goods Molly kept stored in various trunks and crates in a hall closet. Teresa didn’t mind the prospect of wearing castoffs because anything was better than the sacks she’d worn in prison. Besides, until joining up with her brothers’ gang, she’d worn nothing but charity clothes anyway. Growing up poor and Seminole, the only thing she and her family had in abundance was courage.
“I’ve a few more things in my bedroom,” Mrs. Nance said.
And what a beautiful room it turned out to be. Teresa looked around at the lovely pale blue wallpaper and saw that the bedding, draperies, and upholstered furniture were of similar tones. She was certain that Olivia would fall in love with a room like this one, but the space was a tad too ladyish for her. The nice plain room she’d been given suited her just fine.
Teresa took her new wardrobe to her room and placed the items in the armoire. Mrs. Nance came in with a couple more pieces, and Teresa put them away too.
“Once you start putting your weight back on,” Mrs. Nance said, “we’ll get you in some new clothing.”
“That isn’t necessary. The things you’ve already given me are fine.”
“But I’m a seamstress by trade and haven’t sewn in years. Outfitting you will give me a chance to re-sharpen my needles. Do you sew?”
Teresa snorted. “Me? I can tighten a button or stitch a tear in my leathers but that’s all. My sister-in-law is the seamstress.”
“Sewing is a very good skill to have, so we’ll add it to our list.”
“What list?”
“The one I’m making of all the things you need to learn in order to be able to provide for yourself, and to make yourself more rounded.”
Teresa’s skepticism was plain. “Really?”
“The parole board will be sending a representative over to check on you periodically, and we need to be able to show them you’re making progress in your rehabilitation.”
Teresa supposed that made sense, but she didn’t have to like it. Keeping her voice even so as not to hurt Mrs. Nance’s feelings, she asked, “What else is on this list?”
“Let’s see. Deportment. Table etiquette and table settings. Music appreciation. Flower arranging. Cooking. Cleaning. We’ll add more as we go along.”
Other than the cooking and the cleaning, Teresa didn’t see much value in the list. What good would deportment or music appreciation do her out West, but she didn’t argue, because no matter the task, she’d learn it, even flower arranging, if it meant having the parole board’s blessing to head home.
A sudden yawn claimed her, and Mrs. Nance nodded sympathetically. “I want you to rest. Go down and get something to read if you’d like. I have to go over to the church to help with the preparations for tomorrow’s service. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“I can’t just sit around reading all day. You must have something I can do.”
“Not that I can think of at the moment, so rest. You may think you’ve regained your strength but I’m pretty sure your body knows otherwise.”
Teresa sighed with frustration.
“I promise to take you up on your offer to help out.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I’m sure you will. We’ll talk when I return.”
After Molly’s departure, an irked Teresa flopped down on the bed. Looking up at the ceiling, she wondered how to get Mrs. Nance to stop treating her like a hot house plant, but before she could concoct a plan, her eyes drifted closed and she was asleep.
Madison was grim when he left the meeting at Bethel AME. He and twenty other prominent men had come together to form an organization that would speak to the problems and issues faced by Philadelphia’s citizens of color, but for four hours they’d done nothing but argue. The heated debate stemmed over which tact to take: Conservative or Radical. All over the country the same battle was being waged. Men like Madison and Dr. N. F. Mossel, founder of Douglass Memorial, the city’s only Negro hospital, were considered Radicals because they favored continued political agitation, even though the Jim Crow laws made their efforts seem futile. The Conservatives, led nationally by Tuskegee Institute founder Booker T. Washington, favored what the Black press had dubbed “accommodation.” The Conservatives preached that since segregation and Jim Crow were the law of the land, the race should forget about calling for justice and equality, and concentrate instead on self-sufficiency, farming, and learning a trade. The Conservatives touted their approach as being the only way the Negro would earn the right to the protections offered by the Constitution. The Radicals thought that hogwash.
Madison hoped he and the others could iron out their differences soon because there was much to address. The schools were underfunded, the owners of public facilities continued to draw the color line, and in the South lynchings were becoming a macabre national pastime.
As he drove away from the church, he put the meeting out of his mind and headed to his mother’s house with the hope of meeting an awake Teresa July. From reading newspaper stories about her, one would think that she was as wild as a mountain lion and twice as cunning. In her heyday, she’d ridden with the remnants of the notorious Dick Glass gang, and supposedly robbed her first bank at the tender age of fifteen, an age when most of the well-raised young women in his mother’s circle were contemplating more law abiding endeavors like marriage or furthering their education. Admittedly, she hadn’t appeared very ferocious when he carried her to the room last evening; in fact, sleeping, she’d seemed downright tame. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms and recall the scents she’d been wearing. He shook off the memory because in reality she was a very dangerous woman, and if she harmed his mother, he’d personally see to it that she returned to prison for a very long time.
He also wanted to stop in and tell his mother about Paula’s party. More than likely the gossip about it was making the rounds, and he preferred that she hear the facts from him than from someone relating what they’d heard thirdhand. Lord willing, Paula would now set her sights elsewhere and leave him the hell alone.
When Teresa awakened for the second time that day, she shook her head in wonderment; she’d never slept so much. After throwing some water on her face and taking a brush to her short hair, she went downstairs to see if Mrs. Nance had returned. Not seeing her in the parlor or the library, Teresa entered the kitchen. Emma was there peeling potatoes.
“Is Mrs. Nance back?” she asked.
Emma shook her head. “Should be soon, though.”
“Oh.”
Teresa watched Emma and the potatoes. “I’d ask if I could help with dinner, but you’ll probably chew my head off, so I’m going to the library and get a book.”
Emma glanced up from her peeling and studied Teresa for a long moment. “Did Mrs. Nance say you could touch her books?”
“Yes, ma’am, and that I could read one if I found anything to my liking.”
“Go on, then,” Emma replied, waving the knife in her hand. “Just make sure you don’t bother anything else.”
“I won’t.”
Teresa entered the library with a reverence worthy of a cathedral. As much as she enjoyed reading, she’d never owned a book in her life, but here she was surrounded by hundreds of them. Some were thin, others fat; some had red bindings, while others had titles printed in gold. She doubted the gold was real, but the realization that there were people in the world who cached books the way she and her brothers had cached loot was new for her. Out West, libraries were common in some of the larger towns, but she didn’t know anyone who had a library in their home.
She toured the room, stopping to open a book here and there. One that piqued her interest right away was Journey to the Center of the Earth by someone named Jules Verne. She wasn’t certain if Jules was the name of a man or a woman, but the title intrigued her so she held onto it. Then she saw Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell. Thinking it might be a story about a woman of color, she took it down and leafed through it for a moment. Realizing that the book was in fact about a horse, she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not because she did love horses. Replacing it, she moved on to The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, and Clotel: Or the President’s Daughter by William Welles Brown. Next to Clotel stood another book by Mr. Brown, and it had the longest title she’d ever seen: The Black Man, His Antecedents, His Genius, and His Achievements. She vowed to come back to that one later, but for now she just enjoyed being in the room.
“What are you doing in here?” The voice was male, harsh and accusatory.
Teresa turned around slowly. Standing on the threshold was a very handsome man. A mustache accented his full mouth and he was tall, lean, and wearing a nice suit. Because the brown eyes viewing her with such suspicion and hostility were twins of Mrs. Nance’s, Teresa guessed this was the son, Madison.
In that same hard voice, he snapped, “I asked, what are you doing in here?”
“Picking out a book.” She sized him up. About six feet, three inches tall, and rude.
“Why?” He came into the room, and while waiting for her to answer, made a point of taking a long, silent look around the interior.
Teresa had always been careful not to assign reasons to people’s actions without knowing their real intent, but she got the distinct impression that he was trying to determine if there was anything missing. When he seemed satisfied that nothing was amiss, he turned his attention back to her. “Can you speak?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you have that book?”
She thought he had the right to be suspicious, after all, she was the dreaded Teresa July, but she didn’t have to like his attitude. Looking down at the book in her hand, she shrugged, then drawled, “Oh, I don’t know. Guess I’m just trying to decide how big a book I’ll need to overpower Emma and run off with the silver. Think this one will do?” She held it up for him to see.
His eyes blazed a silent response.
Smiling coolly, Teresa turned back to the bookcase. “Name’s Teresa July. You must be Mrs. Nance’s son.”
“Where is she?”
So much for polite introductions, Teresa thought, then took down a copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson and leafed through it for a few seconds before replacing it. “She’s helping out at the church,” she finally replied. “Emma says she should be back any time now.”
“She left you here unsupervised?”
“Imagine that. Guess she’s not worried about me stealing anything. Boy, will she be surprised.” She looked his way and took in his tightly set jaw. Even mad, he had the good looks and manner of both a gambler and a banker. The women probably fluttered like moths to a flame when he came around.
“I was against my mother taking you in.”
“Really? Why?” Teresa already knew the answer, but she was still simmering from his rudeness and wanted to get his goat.
“Because I don’t want her taken advantage of.”
“And what if I said I agree?”
“You’re pretty combative, aren’t you?”
“And you probably prefer your women a lot more docile. Docile women don’t make the newspapers.”
With her book in hand, Teresa walked to the door. His tall frame blocked her exit, but he stepped aside. Looking up into his cool eyes, she stopped. “Thanks for carrying me to bed last night. Nice meeting you.” And she left the room.
Madison watched her go, not pleased with this first encounter with the lady outlaw Teresa July. Contrary to Miss Wild West’s statement, he didn’t prefer his women docile, but he didn’t like smart-mouthed ones either, especially living with his mother.
Back upstairs in her room, Teresa put the book on the nightstand and wondered how much influence Madison Nance had over his mother. Was it enough to influence her continued stay in the Nance home? In her youth, she had never worried about the consequences of being flippant or crude or smart-mouthed. Anyone taking offense could always challenge her to step outside. Prison changed that—somewhat. She’d learned early on that talking back to the matrons or complaining about the conditions got you nothing but a hard way to go. She’d been denied food, beaten, and forced to sleep outside in the cold for so many nights that first year she’d almost died of pneumonia. Now, wiser but no less spirited, she wondered if the pretty boy downstairs would go tattling to his mama about her less than deferential responses. Although Madison Nance looked to be more of a man than that, one could never tell.
In the end, she decided that if Mrs. Nance decided she had to go, she’d leave this nice room and the lady’s nice house without a fuss. Being here had been like stepping into a fairy tale, but because she knew women like herself weren’t allowed in fairy tales, she’d take this one day, store it away in her heart, and move on.
Downstairs, Madison was indeed tattling, but on himself. He’d told his mother about his run-in with her charge and how it ended. “I suppose I jumped to conclusions.”
“Sounds like she put you in your place, though.”
“She did indeed, and I must tell you, I wasn’t pleased.”
“That’s because every female you’ve ever known has licked your boots instead of boxing your ears.”
A smile crossed his handsome face. “Quite true, but you understand why I was suspicious of her actions?”
His mother nodded, “I do. She did steal the railroads blind, but she has promised me those days are over, and I intend to take her at her word.”
Madison didn’t hide his skepticism. “You’re going to take the word of a train robber?”
“It’s better than taking the word of a tinhorn,” Teresa drawled as she entered the book-lined room. She didn’t see Mrs. Nance’s surprised smile, she was too busy glaring at her son. She reckoned that if she were going to be asked to leave, she’d better get her licks in now.