Cold Hands

Jethro's Story

"My great-grandaddy came over on a boat from Africa, and he was bought by the very first Mr. Cole to come to Colesville. My family has been working for the Coles ever since this house has been standing.

"Abel Cole was the meanest one of all of them. Look at him funny and he'd slam your back with a shovel. The sharp part, not the flat part. But him and my father had a certain understanding with each other.

"My father's name was Jedediah, and he was the best worker they had. He was strong, and stoic, and he followed orders. He showed respect to his masters, and they respected him back.

"Until one night, a baby boy turned up on my daddy's doorstep."

"That wood house on the river?" I interrupted. "Is that where you lived?"

"Some of us, yes. There's another one in the woods out back. Shh."

"Sorry."

"What was I saying?" Jethro asked.

"A baby turned up on the doorstep," I reminded him.

"Oh. Yeah. It was my father's baby. It was me. And needless to say, that caused a little bit of a stir."

"Why?"

"Well, look at me," he said, holding out his hands.

I wasn't sure what he was trying to say. They just looked like hands. They were big, slender, strong. "I don't get it," I said.

"My skin," he said. "I'm not as dark."

"Oh," I realized. "So...your mother..."

"I don't know." He looked wistfully at the wall, his mind somewhere else. "My father knew who she was. He never told me. Not one of the Coles, obviously. Their daughter wasn't even born yet, and Abel would have noticed if his wife was pregnant. Some woman from town, probably. All I know is that my daddy loved her. When he talked about her, it was like he was talking about something sacred.

"If it had been anybody but my father, Abel would have shot him and me the minute I turned up, but like I said my daddy was the best worker he had. So Mr. Cole let him keep me.

"Problem was, I wasn't black enough to pass as a slave, but I wasn't white enough to pass as a Cole. I didn't belong anywhere, so instead I became a secret. They hid me from the world. I lived in the house, but when there was company I lived in the cabins with the slaves or up in the attic. I wasn't really part of the family, but I didn't really work for them either. I did the chores around the house, I swept and dusted and scrubbed, but more than anything I was something of a plaything for the children. I waited on them like a servant and went with them when they played. We had adventures in the woods and on the river. We caught crawdads and climbed trees.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cole tolerated me, but they were never too pleased to have me around. I think Mrs. Cole was more bothered by me than Mr. Cole was. She was afraid if anyone found out about me they would start to whisper about her. Desdemona was no faithful wife, even though it never made it past her husband's thick skull. She had her fancy dinner parties with rich men and politicians when Mr. Cole was away, and I figured out pretty quick that her motives were less than chaste. But Heaven forbid anybody ever accuse her of adultery with a negro.

"She had two sons and a daughter with her husband. Supposedly, anyway. Henry for sure was his father's boy through and through. He was just as big, just as ugly, and just as mean. He was awful to me. One time when we were boys he tied my arms and legs up and threw me in the river and laughed while he watched me drowning and trying to swim to shore. I was lucky my daddy was close by and heard me hollering. He pulled me out, and he couldn't say anything to Henry because he was just a slave and Abel would beat him if Henry tattled, but the look he gave that kid was enough to make sure he never tried to pull anything like that again, at least not when my father was around.