Sapphire's Grave by Hilda Gurley Highgate Page A

goin’ now, Ma’am. We sorry.” And he disappeared into the shrubbery.
    Vyda Rose stood frozen in the water for a long time after he had gone. When she came to herself, she realized that she was cold, terribly cold, and more alone than she had ever felt. In one moment, she had found and lost; exactly what, she was not certain. But the loss was certain, as certain as lost innocence, or a lost child. Vyda Rose waded toward the bank of the creek. She was sickened with loss.
    INEZ, NORTH CAROLINA
    SEPTEMBER, 1900
    The Feels Good Inn was closed on Mondays. Vyda Rose knew this. She only came on Mondays, and then only when she could not avoid it. Today, she had to talk to her mother.
    She had put it off for weeks, but when the boys never came back to meet her at the creek, she had realized that she had no choice.
    Fields was there, behind the long bar, sharing a bottle of corn liquor with several of his suppliers, who leered at her, their eyes like dirty hands on her body, making her feel nasty in her loose-fitting dress.
    “Evenin’, Vyda Rose,” Fields greeted her, coming around the side of the bar. “How you dis evenin’?”
    “Oh, I’m jes fine, thank you,” she replied. “My mama here?”
    “She back dere. You can come on ’roun’,” he replied, jerking his head toward the swinging doors behind the bar.
    She held her hips carefully still as she moved past the men seated at the bar. Steam assailed her carefully combed hair as she opened the swinging doors.
    Queen Marie had grown fat. The flesh on her upper arms shook vigorously as she washed glasses and plates in a sink full of steaming water, stacking them on a clean towel. It took her a moment to notice Vyda Rose standing just inside the doors, and even then she did not speak. She examined her daughter with the discriminating eye of a mother, confirming that Vyda Rose looked well, prosperous, and in good health, no marks or bruises evidencing a bad customer or jealous would-be suitor. Queen Marie waited for Vyda Rose to speak, and when she did not, opened her arms. “Hi-ya doin’, baby?”
    Vyda Rose fell into her mother’s arms, grateful, once again, for acceptance and acquittal. Any other mother in this town would disown her. Vyda Rose knew this, and it shamed her, making these visits both rare and brief.
    Queen Marie never came to the clapboard attachment to the redbrick house. She knew that her only child lived and practiced her profession there, but it broke her heart and filled her with guilt to visit. Vyda Rose had been sixteen when Queen Marie had been informed, by reliable sources, of her daughter’s adventurousness. Inside herself, when Queen Marie was in bed at night, with Fields sleeping soundly beside her, she knew that it was her fault. She had been preoccupied, and had failed to adequately supervise her child. Queen Marie had cried many nights because of this, while Fields held her, helpless to assuage her guilt. She had since then given up crying, and resolved to make it up to Vyda Rose, somehow.
    She took her daughter’s hands and led her to a table and tottering chairs.
    “Mama,” Vyda Rose began, as she always did. “I want you to know that I’m happy. My life is good. I make good money . . .” She studied her shoes. Her mother, she realized, would never believe this. Vyda Rose swallowed and decided it would be best to be direct—undemanding, unaccusing, but straightforward. “Mama, I saw a boy, a good lil’ while ago now, an’ he look like me. I saw it, Ma. I know you say my daddy ain’ had no people ’roun’ here, but he look like me. An’ I was jes thinkin’ maybe—” she glanced up at her mother’s impassive face. “Maybe he some kin to me. Maybe some o’ his people know my daddy.” Vyda Rose stopped to stare at her mother. Queen Marie was not sharing her excitement. “Mama? D’ya hear? He might be my daddy people.”
    Queen Marie stared back at her daughter, her expression stoic. Then she sighed. All her muscles