tell us. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”
Anne let out another long breath of air. “Okay, here is Paul’s story from the horse’s, mind, so to speak.”
<><><>
Paul and Anne sat on the swing on the front porch of the Meux home. They rocked slowly back and forth. Finally, Paul stood and went down on one knee.
“Anne, I realize we’ve only known each other a relatively short while, but I must confess it was love at first sight for me. Since our first meeting I have been inspired not only in love, but in my life ambitions. I now understand the ancient wisdom of having a life partner, a media naranja, as the natives to this area would call it, quite appropriately.”
“What’s media…na…I didn’t understand?”
“Media naranja literally means half an orange. In Spanish it means I am only half without you. It so fits this land with its orange trees and spiritual history of tilling the earth and bonding with the environment by plunging one’s hands into the richness of the earth toward the heart and soul of existence. Our lives in this small part of planet earth depend upon that bond. It’s such a bond that I seek. I am media naranja without you, only half. Make me whole, Anne. Let us plunge our hearts into the richness of marriage and the bonds of matrimony, for I shall surely wither and die as only a lonely half.” He held Anne’s hand and gazed into her eyes.
Anne looked into his eyes and for but a fraction of a moment saw the hidden person. It seemed a person of fear, of contempt. Then the confident one pushed itself to the forefront, aided by eloquent words, creating the façade that was almost impenetrable.
Anne looked off into the distance at the mountains. They were so beautiful with their snowcapped peaks. She wished she could fly off and lose herself within their beauty. She didn’t want to make this decision. She thought of Colton and felt a sob catch in her throat. Her heart began to beat rapidly, and her breath became short.
Finally, she looked back at Paul. “Paul, those were the most beautiful words. I’m truly impressed with your expressiveness. Were they written? I could show them to any young woman, and she would be envious. It is just that I have much to consider. There is my mother’s care and other responsibilities. Please give me some time.”
“Of course, Anne, please forgive my impetuousness. I have allowed my heart to overrule my head. Take as much time as you need. I know this is sudden.” Paul gently squeezed her hand.
“Thank you, Paul.”
Three weeks later and after several more proposals, Anne said yes. She was engaged.
A month after Anne said yes, Paul was in the library of his, or more accurately, his father’s home. He sat in a leather chair reading. He looked up as Tillie came into the room and began dusting. Tillie was the black twelve-year-old daughter of Bessie Mae Johnson, who was his dad’s long time housekeeper. Bessie was teaching her daughter the fine points of excellent housekeeping. She knew the experience and reputation of being trained by Bessie Mae and apprenticing in Judge Hawthorne’s house would help ensure Tillie’s future. Good futures and good jobs were of course not that easy to come by if you were black.
Paul watched Tillie as she dusted. He noticed she was starting to develop breasts. He watched her butt wiggle through the thin cotton dress her mother had made for her.
Tillie hummed quietly as she dusted, unaware of her audience. Paul watched as she got down on her hands and knees to dust the bottom shelves of the bookcase. He felt a stirring inside him. He had studied chronicles of former slave owners who had their way with any female slaves, anytime they wished. He often fantasized about this in school when he read of it. Now, here was his chance right in front of him.
He would break her in. He’d be doing her a favor. Soon enough some young buck was going to have his way with her, get her pregnant. That buck
Anne let out another long breath of air. “Okay, here is Paul’s story from the horse’s, mind, so to speak.”
<><><>
Paul and Anne sat on the swing on the front porch of the Meux home. They rocked slowly back and forth. Finally, Paul stood and went down on one knee.
“Anne, I realize we’ve only known each other a relatively short while, but I must confess it was love at first sight for me. Since our first meeting I have been inspired not only in love, but in my life ambitions. I now understand the ancient wisdom of having a life partner, a media naranja, as the natives to this area would call it, quite appropriately.”
“What’s media…na…I didn’t understand?”
“Media naranja literally means half an orange. In Spanish it means I am only half without you. It so fits this land with its orange trees and spiritual history of tilling the earth and bonding with the environment by plunging one’s hands into the richness of the earth toward the heart and soul of existence. Our lives in this small part of planet earth depend upon that bond. It’s such a bond that I seek. I am media naranja without you, only half. Make me whole, Anne. Let us plunge our hearts into the richness of marriage and the bonds of matrimony, for I shall surely wither and die as only a lonely half.” He held Anne’s hand and gazed into her eyes.
Anne looked into his eyes and for but a fraction of a moment saw the hidden person. It seemed a person of fear, of contempt. Then the confident one pushed itself to the forefront, aided by eloquent words, creating the façade that was almost impenetrable.
Anne looked off into the distance at the mountains. They were so beautiful with their snowcapped peaks. She wished she could fly off and lose herself within their beauty. She didn’t want to make this decision. She thought of Colton and felt a sob catch in her throat. Her heart began to beat rapidly, and her breath became short.
Finally, she looked back at Paul. “Paul, those were the most beautiful words. I’m truly impressed with your expressiveness. Were they written? I could show them to any young woman, and she would be envious. It is just that I have much to consider. There is my mother’s care and other responsibilities. Please give me some time.”
“Of course, Anne, please forgive my impetuousness. I have allowed my heart to overrule my head. Take as much time as you need. I know this is sudden.” Paul gently squeezed her hand.
“Thank you, Paul.”
Three weeks later and after several more proposals, Anne said yes. She was engaged.
A month after Anne said yes, Paul was in the library of his, or more accurately, his father’s home. He sat in a leather chair reading. He looked up as Tillie came into the room and began dusting. Tillie was the black twelve-year-old daughter of Bessie Mae Johnson, who was his dad’s long time housekeeper. Bessie was teaching her daughter the fine points of excellent housekeeping. She knew the experience and reputation of being trained by Bessie Mae and apprenticing in Judge Hawthorne’s house would help ensure Tillie’s future. Good futures and good jobs were of course not that easy to come by if you were black.
Paul watched Tillie as she dusted. He noticed she was starting to develop breasts. He watched her butt wiggle through the thin cotton dress her mother had made for her.
Tillie hummed quietly as she dusted, unaware of her audience. Paul watched as she got down on her hands and knees to dust the bottom shelves of the bookcase. He felt a stirring inside him. He had studied chronicles of former slave owners who had their way with any female slaves, anytime they wished. He often fantasized about this in school when he read of it. Now, here was his chance right in front of him.
He would break her in. He’d be doing her a favor. Soon enough some young buck was going to have his way with her, get her pregnant. That buck
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