The Cottoncrest Curse: A Novel

Chapter 86

285 Chapter 86 Outside the train’s windows to their left, the marsh that curved around the northwestern edge of New Orleans stretched out to the horizon , and to their right was a vast expanse of water. The tracks, atop miles upon miles of wooden pilings, skirted along the edge of Lake Pontchartrain. Then the rails bore north, nestling the narrow spit of land that ran through woody swamps. The engine pulled six passenger cars followed by more than a dozen boxcars, several flatbeds, and a caboose. The conductor was working his way down the train, collecting tickets, starting with the firstclass cars. Back in the two Jim Crow cars, right before the boxcars, a number of passengers had unpacked their breakfasts. They had spread on their laps the old newspapers in which they had wrapped a biscuit or a scrap of ham or a piece of French bread and ate slowly, savoring the taste. They had to make the food last the entire trip. It was all they could do to afford the ticket. There was almost no money left to purchase the expensive items at the stations at the numerous stops along the way to Chicago. Near the back row of the last Jim Crow car, Jake, dressed in Jenny ’s spare blouse and skirt, sat demurely next to the window. “Is it still straight?” Jenny fiddled with the silver hairpins that held the broad felt brim of Jake’s hat in a curled, decorative edge on one side and the thick, drooping greenery that hid the edges of the folded brim on the other. With the strange shape and the wilted leaves, it was unsightly, but, pulled down enough, it helped to hide Jake’s face and stubbly beard. It was the beard, not the color of Jake’s skin, that was the problem. If passengers, no matter how white they looked, boarded the Jim Crow 286 cars, no one looked twice. They were simply mulattoes who, unlike Homer Plessy, knew their place. The front door of the car opened. The conductor entered, asking for tickets. He folded each into three parts and punched a hole through the thick paper. One part he put in the pocket of his coat, one part he gave back to the passenger, and one part he put into the metal holder that stuck up on the back of each seat. Jake pulled the folded blanket that he hoped others would mistake for a poor woman’s shawl more tightly around his neck and raised its frayed edges high on his cheeks. Jenny glanced over. Jake’s stubble of a mustache was clearly visible. The conductor was still taking tickets at the front of the car. Before he could look up and observe them, Jenny pulled out a kerchief and pretended to wipe Jake’s nose, helping an old lady suffering from an October cold. Jake took the kerchief and, bending forward in his seat and leaning on the stout branch he had picked up outside the cemetery to use as a lame old lady’s cane, continued to wipe his face. The conductor finally came to their seat. Jenny, as obsequious as she could be, handed over the tickets they had bought with Zig’s money. The conductor, without giving these two women any thought at all, punched the tickets. There was no point in spending any energy on coloreds or spending any more time than necessary in the Jim Crow cars. Finishing with his task, the conductor headed back toward the front of the train. Jenny sighed with relief. Jake put down the kerchief, but he kept his face to the window. Jake did not want to take any chances, even though Jenny had assured him that no one in this Jim Crow car would say anything, no matter how strange a bearded lady might appear to them. They were not about to complain to—or seek help from—a white conductor. It was curious, he thought. All his life, when he had sought protection , he had found it, and women always seemed to be involved. He had found safety by hiding beneath the skirts of women leaving Russia. Jeanne Marie had helped him escape from Lamou. Now he was seeking to safely leave Louisiana by hiding, with the help of a woman, in the skirt of a woman. Jenny leaned over and said, just loud enough so that Jake could hear [3.17.28.48] Project MUSE (2024-04...