want her to leave, not yet. It didn't seem to matter how many times he told himself she was too young. Each time he was around her it was harder not to touch her.
"For a spell, mebbe." She tipped her head down, avoiding his eyes, but he saw her lips curve in a smile, and he knew she was glad he had invited her. Was she? Did she want to be with him? he wondered, conscious of the sudden leaping of his heart. She moved past him and sat down on the wooden bench. Deu gulped down a swallow of cider, barely tasting the tepid liquid, then sat next to her, careful not to sit too close. "You like deâthe fritter?" she asked. "I made it m'self."
"I like it fine." Deu quickly took his first bite of it, his teeth crunching through the crisply fried batter that enclosed the spiced apple mix. After a couple of hurried chews, he washed it down with another drink of cider. "How have you been? I haven't talked to you in a while. Lately, every time I've been here your mama's had you busy at something."
"There's been lots of work to do, what with the apples and all."
"I get the feeling sometimes that your mama's glad of that. I don't think she likes me much." He finished the rest of the fritter and wiped his hand on the leg of his pants, still thinking about her mother.
"She likes you fine. It's just that. .. well..." She was reluctant to tell Deu that her mother blamed him for her interest in book-learning. "I guess you could say she's got a case of the grumps. She and Pa've been going round and round, and that's made her sharp with just about everybody."
"I'm glad I'm not the cause of it."
"Did you hear Master Will is letting me and Shadrach go to school in the mornings?" Phoebe saw his glance of surprise, and smiled proudly. "We'sâwe're learning how to read and write and do our numbers, and about geography and things like that. I can read real good, and I can write my name, too. I'll show you." She picked up a twig from the ground and, bending forward, began to write her name in the red clay at their feet, printing the letters with painstaking care as she spelled them aloud. "P... H. .. 0... E .. . B . .. E. Phoebe." She straightened to study the drawn furrows faintly visible in the light from the house windows, then turned her head to look at Deu, almost bursting with pride at her accomplishment. "See?"
He leaned closer to look at her name. "That's very good, Phoebe." He nodded approvingly. She was almost certain that when he glanced at her, there was a new respect in his eyes. She wasn't a dumb nigger anymore; she was smart, like him. "Can you write my name?" he asked.
Phoebe faltered for an instant. "I don't know how to spell it. But I could, if I did."
"I'll help you." Deu crouched down on one knee and smoothed a long patch of dirt with his hand. "Come here."
She hesitated briefly, then knelt beside him, trembling and half sick with excitement. "The first letter is D ," he told her. Phoebe desperately wanted to impress him with her knowledge and skill, but when she tried to draw it, her hand shook, making the first line squiggly. Hurriedly, she wiped away her mistake, conscious of Deu shifting his position and moving to kneel behind her right shoulder. She was about to start again when his hand closed around her fingers, tightening her grip on the stick.
"Your hands are as cold as a mountain stream in winter."
"I know," Phoebe whispered, but they didn't feel cold to her. His hand covering hers felt like a fire shooting up her arm and heating her skin. He was close, so close his body almost touched hers, his breath sweet with the smell of cider. She felt weak and all aflutter inside, afraid to move and afraid not to.
"It goes like this." Although she continued to hold the stick, Â he guided it. "D...E... U... T. Â Â Â Â Â Â R ... 0... N. .. 0...M... Y. Deuteronomy. J... 0... N... E ... S. Jones. Deuteronomy Jones." He leaned back, and Phoebe could feel him looking at her. "It's a long name."
"I'm
"For a spell, mebbe." She tipped her head down, avoiding his eyes, but he saw her lips curve in a smile, and he knew she was glad he had invited her. Was she? Did she want to be with him? he wondered, conscious of the sudden leaping of his heart. She moved past him and sat down on the wooden bench. Deu gulped down a swallow of cider, barely tasting the tepid liquid, then sat next to her, careful not to sit too close. "You like deâthe fritter?" she asked. "I made it m'self."
"I like it fine." Deu quickly took his first bite of it, his teeth crunching through the crisply fried batter that enclosed the spiced apple mix. After a couple of hurried chews, he washed it down with another drink of cider. "How have you been? I haven't talked to you in a while. Lately, every time I've been here your mama's had you busy at something."
"There's been lots of work to do, what with the apples and all."
"I get the feeling sometimes that your mama's glad of that. I don't think she likes me much." He finished the rest of the fritter and wiped his hand on the leg of his pants, still thinking about her mother.
"She likes you fine. It's just that. .. well..." She was reluctant to tell Deu that her mother blamed him for her interest in book-learning. "I guess you could say she's got a case of the grumps. She and Pa've been going round and round, and that's made her sharp with just about everybody."
"I'm glad I'm not the cause of it."
"Did you hear Master Will is letting me and Shadrach go to school in the mornings?" Phoebe saw his glance of surprise, and smiled proudly. "We'sâwe're learning how to read and write and do our numbers, and about geography and things like that. I can read real good, and I can write my name, too. I'll show you." She picked up a twig from the ground and, bending forward, began to write her name in the red clay at their feet, printing the letters with painstaking care as she spelled them aloud. "P... H. .. 0... E .. . B . .. E. Phoebe." She straightened to study the drawn furrows faintly visible in the light from the house windows, then turned her head to look at Deu, almost bursting with pride at her accomplishment. "See?"
He leaned closer to look at her name. "That's very good, Phoebe." He nodded approvingly. She was almost certain that when he glanced at her, there was a new respect in his eyes. She wasn't a dumb nigger anymore; she was smart, like him. "Can you write my name?" he asked.
Phoebe faltered for an instant. "I don't know how to spell it. But I could, if I did."
"I'll help you." Deu crouched down on one knee and smoothed a long patch of dirt with his hand. "Come here."
She hesitated briefly, then knelt beside him, trembling and half sick with excitement. "The first letter is D ," he told her. Phoebe desperately wanted to impress him with her knowledge and skill, but when she tried to draw it, her hand shook, making the first line squiggly. Hurriedly, she wiped away her mistake, conscious of Deu shifting his position and moving to kneel behind her right shoulder. She was about to start again when his hand closed around her fingers, tightening her grip on the stick.
"Your hands are as cold as a mountain stream in winter."
"I know," Phoebe whispered, but they didn't feel cold to her. His hand covering hers felt like a fire shooting up her arm and heating her skin. He was close, so close his body almost touched hers, his breath sweet with the smell of cider. She felt weak and all aflutter inside, afraid to move and afraid not to.
"It goes like this." Although she continued to hold the stick, Â he guided it. "D...E... U... T. Â Â Â Â Â Â R ... 0... N. .. 0...M... Y. Deuteronomy. J... 0... N... E ... S. Jones. Deuteronomy Jones." He leaned back, and Phoebe could feel him looking at her. "It's a long name."
"I'm
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