Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins

Chapter 7

“Are you challenging me?” she asked, all the while wondering why seeing him made her feel so good inside when she didn’t want it to.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He was close enough for her to feel the heat rising off his tall lean body and to pick up the faint scent of his now familiar cologne. “Challenger goes first.”

He was staring down with such intense amusement, she swore she knew what he was thinking. Just in case she was right, she beckoned him down and whispered in his ear, “If you kiss me in front of all of these folks, so help me I’ll crack you over the head with this horseshoe.”

Eyes twinkling, he replied with a soft whisper of his own, “Then I’ll wait until later.”

Teresa’s knees almost gave way.

Although no one else had heard the whispered exchange, the interaction was plain. People were smiling as if they knew something Teresa didn’t, but Paula Wade’s anger was all over her doll-like face. “Is that really your cousin?” she asked.

Madison was lining up his shot. “Anyone tell you different?”

Because Paula couldn’t say yes, she folded her arms across her chest and remained silent.

Madison flung the shoe. He used a side-arm motion, similar to the way Teresa’s brother Shafts threw, and just like Shafts, the shoe caught the spike, circled it and hit the ground.

“Not bad,” she said, “but watch this.” Mentally cursing her skirt because it was in the way, she sighted, leaned in, and sent the shoe tumbling end over end to the spike. Ringer. Flashing Madison a superior look, she stepped aside so he could take his second shot.

He did, and matched his first. Ringer.

In order to tie him, Teresa had to hit one too. The pit spectators were quiet and the atmosphere was tense. They watched as she held the shoe in front of her and focused on the stake. She swung her arm back then stepped into the throw. Everyone’s eyes followed the shoe as it turned end over end in the air, and when it hit the spike and landed on top of Madison’s shoe, a cheer went up.

They battled. Ringer after ringer. Game after game.

At one point Madison stopped to remove his blue seersucker suit coat because of the heat of the day, but Teresa would have none of it. “If I have to throw in this skirt, you have to keep that coat on.”

Her female rooters soundly agreed.

Teresa then added saucily, “But if it’s getting too warm for your city blood, you can always surrender.”

“Not on your life. Only person surrendering will be you, my sweet cousin.”

Teresa blinked. Was he flirting with her? It certainly felt that way, and the wild beating of her heart was threatening her focus. She wondered if he was purposefully trying to distract her in order to win, and decided he was. Ignoring the sensations evoked by him watching her, she flung the horseshoe in her hand toward the stake for another perfect throw.

They matched each other point for point for another ten minutes. In the end, Teresa lost not because of skill, but because she stepped on the hem of her skirt as she made her toss and the subsequent stumble sent her and her throw awry.

Her supporters groaned.

Cursing mentally, she picked herself up, dusted herself off. She wasn’t the type to use excuses, so she coolly gestured for him to take his turn.

Since Madison had no skirt to foul his throw, when he hit another ringer, the game was over. The men cheered loudly.

Teresa knew the game had been fair and were it not for her damn female clothing she could have pitched with him for another hour and probably won. Her shoulders were going to be mad at her later, she thought, because she hadn’t thrown shoes in years. But having grown up with her brothers, she loved a good game, no matter what it was, and she’d enjoyed competing against him. She stuck out her hand.

Madison looked down at it. He only knew one woman who shook hands like a man, Loreli Winters, and now he knew two. He grasped her hand, smiled and said, “We can have a rematch whenever you like.”

Teresa noted how warm his hand felt holding hers. “Only if I’m wearing trousers or you’re wearing a skirt.”

He laughed, then took the two glasses of lemonade his mother handed him before she and the other ladies went to get the meal started. He handed one to Teresa.

She took a long swallow then sighed softly with satisfaction. “Thanks. I need to find some shade. I’m roasting. How do women wear all this clothing and not keel over from the heat?”

“Many of them don’t,” he said, amusement lifting his mustached lips. He looked around the grounds. “I see an empty bench under that tree. How about we head there and cool off?”

Teresa could see people watching the exchange between them. Paula Wade and her gang were among them, and she ignored them as she walked with Madison across the grass.

They sat down. The shade felt good, and the lemonade was a blessing.

“You throw horseshoes pretty good,” he said.

“For a girl?”

“No, for anybody. Calm down.”

She smiled over her raised glass. “Started pitching shoes soon as I could lift them, and since my brothers were always bigger and stronger, I’ve never beat them.”

“If it hadn’t been for that stumble, we might still be going at it.”

“No might to it. We would be.”

“I’d’ve won eventually, though.”

She cut him a look.

He responded. “Bigger. Stronger.”

She rolled her eyes.

They went silent for a few moments while the picnic played in front of them like moving pictures. The children had claimed the horseshoe pit, and sure enough some of the girls spurred on by Teresa’s performance were challenging the boys.

Madison watched them for a moment. “You’ve started something. Now, all the little girls will be wanting to horn in.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’d rather have them pitching horseshoes than acting prissy like Paula and her friends.” She turned to him, “And I liked the way you answered Miss Paula’s question about us being kin. Very clever.”

“Why thank you. It’s about time you started noting some of my better qualities.”

“First time I’ve seen one.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Holding her eyes, he went silent for a moment and studied the face that had been haunting him since the last time he’d seen her in that indigo gown. “You’re something.”

Feeling the attraction arching between them like heat lightning over the desert, she shrugged. “I’m just a little country girl from out West.”

Neither of them moved until he reached out and very slowly traced a finger down her ebony cheek. When he leaned down, she knew he was about to kiss her but couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. The kiss was as mesmerizing as he, the sweetness of it far more powerful than the one he’d given her last time. This one awakened her inside, made her lean closer so she could respond, and he did the same, cupping her neck with his hand to pull her even closer as the kiss deepened.

She said softly, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.”

But like adolescents finally allowed to be alone, they kept at it, learning, exploring, soaring. She finally backed away, her breathing coarse, her eyes closed, and leaned back against the bench to catch her breath and restore her sanity. Moments later she opened her eyes and found him watching her. She held his eyes, wondering where this might lead, if anywhere.

“So,” he said quietly.

“So,” she echoed. “What brought this on? A month ago you wanted me chained in the cellar.”

He chuckled softly, “A month ago I didn’t know what a fascinating woman you’d turn out to be.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Teresa had always considered old friend Griffin Blake to be the handsomest man in the country hands down, but not anymore. Madison Nance made Griffin look like the back end of a mule. Madison’s strong jaw, the brown eyes. To be truthful, she was attracted to everything about him, from the neatly cut hair, to the thin mustache framing his full lips. Most of the eastern men she’d met were only a few inches taller than she, but Madison rivaled her brothers in height, and she liked that aspect of him as well.

But she’d be willing to bet her new boots that he wasn’t looking for anything more than a roll in the hay from her. If he had expected the little country girl to be dazzled by the big city boy’s attentions, she was, but it didn’t mean she’d misplaced her brain. He probably had more notches on his headboard than she’d had Wanted posters and she didn’t see herself as being one of the stories men tell each other when they get together and whiskey’s in the room. “Thanks for the kiss,” she said genuinely, “but you should probably be saving them for that bride you’re looking for.”

Wanting to feel her silky skin again, Madison ran a finger down her cheek. “You didn’t like my kisses?”

His touch gave her sweet shakes, “Liked them fine, but there’s no future in it.”

He met her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because this is probably just a game for you.”

“I think I’m insulted.”

“You shouldn’t be. Men are who they are. Been around them all my life.”

“And you think you know them?”

“Like the back of my hand, and to prove it, I’m going to ask you a question. And you have to answer truthfully.”

“Okay.”

“Could you see yourself falling in love and then marrying a woman like me?”

His stunned silence put a bittersweet smile on her face.

She stood. “See, it is a game. I’m going to go get something to eat.”

She walked away and left him sitting there.

For the rest of the picnic, Teresa made a conscious effort to avoid Madison. On a few occasions she saw him watching her from afar, but he didn’t approach, and that suited her just fine. She wasn’t looking to be tumbled then tossed aside when the next pretty face rode up, because as loco as it sounded, she was developing feelings for him.

On the ride home, she was so quiet, Molly asked, “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You and Madison didn’t have another fight, did you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Molly turned to look in her face, and Teresa gave her a small smile in return. “I’m okay, really.”

“Okay, but if something is bothering you and you want to talk, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Teresa said genuinely.

That night, as she sat alone in the gazebo watching the moon and thinking about the day, the memories of the kiss returned. She supposed she had no one to blame but herself for asking Madison if he could see himself falling in love and then marrying a woman like her. She knew they were from worlds as different as night and day. And more important, as she’d noted many times, women like her didn’t belong in fairy tales. With that in mind, she sat there a bit longer, taking in the clean night air, then said good-night to the moon and the stars and went inside to bed.

Seated in a chair on the balcony attached to his bedroom, Madison studied the moon. Teresa July was on his mind and had been since she’d put him in his place. Her question had been far more weighty than he’d expected, and the quick flash of sadness he saw cross her features in response to his silence was not something he’d soon forget.

Could you see yourself falling in love and marrying a woman like me?

Truthfully, no. Men of his class did not choose paroled prisoners as wives. Successful businessmen usually allied themselves with women who’d be an asset; women who could run a household, entertain friends and clients, and be elegant and graceful at both. Men from elite families did not consider horseshoe throwing, train robbing, or wearing a gun belt qualities they were looking for in the potential mother of their children. Yet, she intrigued him so much he wanted to see her right then.

Teresa July.

To make matters worse, she was more beautiful each time he saw her. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was using an old Seminole spell to enthrall him. He’d had trouble putting the brakes on his attraction when she’d had butchered hair and dry ashy skin, so how in the world was he supposed to ignore her now that she’d filled out so temptingly and her black hair had grown long enough to pull back and frame her stunning ebony face? The prominent cheekbones, the full luscious mouth, the ink black eyes…Sooner or later such beauty would attract attention and the men would came calling, a certainty he found troubling.

As she’d pointed out, he’d wanted her chained in the cellar. But now he wanted her chained to his side until he learned everything there was to know about her. That she was unconventional was an understatement, and it was that aspect of her personality that ensnared him the most because she appealed to the unconventional sides of himself. During his early twenties, he and Ben had only three pursuits in life: cards, women, and scotch. They’d sit at tables with the scions and captains of industry one night, and be in a whorehouse playing with pimps and hustlers the next.

For five years the two best friends—one Black the other White—gambled, drank, and whored their way from Philadelphia to Havana and back. They’d shot their way out of rigged games in Washington, D.C., and jumped out of windows, clothes in hand, to escape enraged husbands more than once. They’d been handsome, articulate card sharps who gave no quarter. In light of their adventures, they were lucky to be alive, but now, he sat musing over a woman who challenged him where women like Paula had bored him to death. Maybe that’s what’s been wrong with me? he thought. Society dictated that when a man settled into being an adult, he would place his oat-sowing days behind him and concentrate on attaining a successful life, and he’d done that. But did that successful life have to be dull and lifeless like his had admittedly become? He worked, played cards at his club and at Ben’s occasionally, then went home. He visited his mother and occasionally took a select few women to the theater or a concert, women who invariably bored him with their addle-headed prattle about hats and who was seeing whom, but he slept with them.

When Ben had told him he couldn’t spend his life alone counting his dividends, he’d wanted to disagree, but maybe Ben was right. What happened to the Madison he used to be? When had the fire in his life been extinguished? Yes, he was passionate about the fate of the race and planned to keep storming the gates, but what about passion in his personal life? He’d flirted with Teresa today during the horseshoe game, something the old Madison had done instinctively but the present version hadn’t done consciously in quite some time. Who was there to flirt with? Paula? The daughters of his mother’s friends? Yet with Teresa, he’d slipped back into his old persona so effortlessly he hadn’t realized it, and it felt good. Their verbal jousting and charged encounters seemed to have freed him from the lethargy he’d unknowingly buried himself beneath.

So, what to do? No, he didn’t want to marry Teresa July, any more than she wanted to marry him. But he did want her company, her wit, her sass. He wanted to take her for rides in the park, escort her to the theater, maybe even take her to see Ben. He wanted to show her the city and, yes, make love to her—no sense in denying that—but that wasn’t his main focus. Just being in the glow of her radiant and captivating personality was enough, because it seemed that she was drawing him back into the light.

Teresa woke up the next morning with her arms and shoulders stiff and sore. It took a moment for her to figure out why, then the horseshoe contest came back, which in turn brought back memories of Madison, the kissing, and the aftermath. Deciding she wasn’t going to think about Madison Nance today, she got out of bed.

She had the paper open and was reading to Molly about a cereal food coffee called Postum that was invented and being sold by a man named Charles W. Post when Emma came in and said, “There’s a gentleman in the parlor wanting to call on Teresa.”

Teresa spit out her coffee.

Molly smiled. “Really? Who?”

“Matthew Mitchell, the undertaker lady’s son.”

Molly looked to Teresa. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think my parole allows me to have gentlemen callers.”

Molly waved that off. “Silly girl. Go change your clothes. Who knows, you may like him.”

Teresa doubted it. “Mrs. Nance, I genuinely don’t—” The look on Mrs. Nance’s face told all, so a reluctant Teresa got to her feet. “Okay. Miss Emma, tell him I’ll be there directly.”

Emma nodded and left.

Not happy, Teresa went up to her room to change out of her leathers. Dressed in more traditional female clothing, she went back down to meet the undertaker’s son.

He was three inches shorter than she and had bad skin. He stood when she entered the parlor, but when she stuck out her hand, he seemed startled. Catching himself, he gave her hand a quick shake.

Teresa waved him to a seat.

Thanks,” he said, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her. “I was at the Constantines’ picnic. Not sure you remember seeing me.”

“I do.”

“Really?” He seemed pleased and excited.

Teresa sighed mentally. She sensed it was going to be a long morning. “So what do you do?”

“I work with my mother. She’s an undertaker.”

“Ah.”

The parlor became so silent she could hear the clock ticking on the mantel. Finally, he asked,

“Uh, where are you from? I heard you tell Alvin Porter you were from Texas. Was that true?”

“Yes. My family lives near the Mexican border.”

“I hear Texas is full of bloodthirsty Indians. Have you ever seen any?”

Teresa studied him for a moment. “Where I come from, the bloodthirsty people call themselves Americans.”

He seemed puzzled by that, and Teresa mentally rolled her eyes.

“You impressed a lot of people at the picnic,” he told her. “Heard quite a few men said they were interested in courting you. Thought I’d try and get here first. You know, the early bird getting the worm, and all that.”

She cocked her head at him.

As if he’d heard himself, his eyes widened and he said hastily, “Oh, no. I wasn’t implying that I…that you…” He hung his head. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”

She smiled at his contrite, embarrassed manner. “No. How old are you, Matt? May I call you Matt?”

“Oh, yes, Miss August. Please do. I’m twenty-one.”

“I see. Do you know that I’m twenty-six, almost twenty-seven?”

Surprise filled his eyes and he scanned her as if looking for gray hairs. “No.”

“So, I don’t think we’re equally yoked, agewise.”

“Twenty-six? Really?”

Teresa nodded. “Almost twenty-seven.” She hoped it would be enough to deter any interest he may have been harboring, but just in case, she added, “And I’m an Indian. Black Seminole to be exact.”

He jumped to his feet as if he’d suddenly sat on a hot poker. His eyes were wide as saucers. “What!”

She nodded. “Yep. One of my brothers is half Comanche.”

The eyes popped even wider. “Why, the Comanche are supposed to be the most savage—” he stopped, then cleared his throat. “I suddenly remembered that I have an appointment with a grieving family. I—have to go.”

“I understand.”

If he could have bolted from the house, he would have. Instead he made as hasty a retreat as he could to the door and still be polite. “Nice talking with you, Miss August.”

“You too, Matt.”

And he departed as fast as his legs could carry him.

Sighing, Teresa closed the door and looked down at her skirt. Next time, she’d just keep her leathers on and save herself the trouble.

She was on her way back upstairs to change when Mrs. Nance walked out of the library. “What happened to Matthew?”

“He remembered that he had a grieving family to attend to.”

Molly searched her face. “Did you scare him off, Teresa?”

“I think he scared himself. Especially when I told him my brother was half Comanche.”

Molly shook her head. “Teresa.”

“Mrs. Nance, he said he’d heard Texas was full of bloodthirsty Indians. Besides he’s only twenty-one. He’d do better spending time with someone like Paula.”

Molly sighed. “Well, do you want to go with me over to the church this afternoon?”

Teresa had been helping out with the weekly afternoon teas the Bethel Ladies had been putting on for the young domestics, and she found the volunteering oddly satisfying. She’d never done charity work before, but before she could answer the question, the door pull sounded.

“Now, who could this be?” Molly wondered aloud.

It was Madison. He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Good morning, Mother…Teresa.”

Teresa tried to deny the way her body fluttered when he walked in the door, but she couldn’t. “Madison.”

“What brings you here?” Molly asked. “Why aren’t you at the bank?”

“Declared today a holiday,” he said, his eyes on Teresa.

His mother appeared shocked. “You? A holiday?”

“I may even take the rest of the week. All work and no play has turned Madison into a very dull boy, so I came over to see if Teresa cared to see the city.”

Teresa blinked.

Molly turned her way. “I think that’s a fine idea. I have to go over to the church, and I’d planned to take her with me, but no sense in the both of us being cooped up inside on such a lovely day.”

That morning, Teresa had vowed not to think about Madison, so she definitely wasn’t keen on the idea of being in his company. “I think I’d rather help you and the ladies at the church.”

Molly shook her head. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. Go on with Madison and have some fun.”

That said, she went back into the library, leaving Teresa standing in the foyer with Madison.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she echoed.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Come along anyway. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

Teresa was drowning in his eyes, but she didn’t believe him for a minute.

“I promise, we’ll have fun.”

She didn’t believe that either, but Mrs. Nance hadn’t left her a choice. “Okay, let’s get this over with.” Striding by him without another word, she walked out into the sunshine.

Madison shook his head and followed in her wake.

When they were seated in his carriage before he picked up the reins he said, “I’d like to apologize for my rude behavior at the picnic. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.” That was a lie, of course, but she certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge the truth. “I asked you a question and you answered honestly.”

“Suppose we turn that same question your way. How would you answer?”

“I told you before, I don’t plan on marrying.”

“Then we’re of a like mind.”

“I suppose.” Except her feelings were involved and his plainly were not.

“Would you say we get along well when we aren’t fighting?”

“I would.”

“Then how about we agree to simply enjoy each other’s company?”

“No games?”

He shook his head. “No games.”

“No kissing?”

“Only if you ask.”

She rolled her eyes and her smile crept out. “I thought you were going to be on your best behavior?”

“I am, but you’re a beautiful woman, Teresa, and as you so sagely pointed out, I am a man. No getting around that.”

Their gazes held. He wanted to trace his fingers over her mouth. She smelled the faint spicy scent of his cologne.

Feeling herself succumbing to his silent spell, she said, “Drive, Nance.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With the tension between them lightened, Teresa relaxed and settled in for the ride.

The first part of the tour took them to Seventh and Lombard, the area of the city that gave rise to Philadelphia’s first Black enclave. “This is where everyone’s grandparents and parents lived initially,” Madison said. “No matter your station or class, home was here in the blocks between Eighth, Pine, Sixth, and South.”

He went on to explain that many of the city’s Black residents were native Philadelphians descended from the original slave captives who were brought in 1684. “Back in the 1840s and 1850s, Philadelphia was home to the largest number of free Negroes in the country, but as you can see, this is a slum area now. Some of the streets over in the Fifth Ward are much worse, but this is a slum nonetheless.”

Teresa wasn’t accustomed to seeing so many people and so many derelict houses packed so densely. Back home, there was also tremendous poverty, but at least the dwellings weren’t stacked against each other like the row houses they were driving by. She noted the groups of men loitering on corners, and raggedly dressed children playing in the streets. Signs touting pool halls, political clubs, and gambling establishments seemed to be on every other storefront.

“Most of the poor here are immigrants from the South who came north after the war to escape the violence and look for a better life.”

“Doesn’t look like they found it.”

“No, they didn’t. There are very few opportunities. When we go uptown you’ll see all the new construction going on, but not a company will hire us. Not even to sweep. The steel industry is booming too, but only one private company, Midvale Steel, hires workers of all colors and pays everyone equal wages.”

He then pointed out the spot where the famous Philadelphia Institute for Colored Youth stood until the decaying condition of the neighborhood forced the Quaker-run private school to move to Bainbridge and Ninth in 1866. “I graduated from ICY,” Madison told her proudly. “The principal, Mrs. Fanny Jackson Coppin, is an Oberlin graduate. She speaks five languages, including Sanskrit.”

“What’s that?”

“An ancient language of India.”

Teresa had no idea why someone in Philadelphia would need to speak Sanskrit, but kept the question to herself as he began to recite the names of some of the school’s famous students.

“Dr. Rebecca Cole, the first female of the race to earn a medical degree from the Women’s Medical College. Richard T. Greener, the first man of the race to receive a degree from Harvard. The institute’s first graduate, Jesse Glasgow continued his education at the University of Edinburgh.”

“Where’s that?”

“Scotland.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “And in 1875 the first Negro to get a Ph.D., physicist Edward Bouchet, became one of the teachers.”

“That’s a lot of firsts.”

He grinned. “Yes, it is.”

He drove to his bank. “This is my bank.”

It was a nondescript building, a simple storefront, but Teresa was impressed nonetheless. She’d robbed a fair amount of banks in her time but never personally knew anyone who owned one. He parked and they went inside. He introduced her to Tate, his young scrub-faced assistant, then she looked around. The interior was small. Madison had an office but Tate did not. There were a few tables where customers could sit and fill out their slips but little else in the way of furniture.

“Where do you keep the money?” she asked curiously. She didn’t see any safes and the place looked too small to hold a vault.

“Hidden,” he replied with a grin.

“Clever, Nance. Real clever.”

But she was smiling.

“Ready to see the main city center?”

“Yes.”

Outside, he began walking away from where they’d parked the buggy. Teresa looked at the buggy. “Where are you going?”

“To the streetcar.”

She hurried to catch up with him. “Streetcar?”

“Ever ridden one?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Then you’re in for a treat,” he said, but even as he did, he thought that the treat was having her by his side.