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“What about Louise?”

“That’s all right. It’s just with boys, well, it’s different. You stay with your own kind when it comes to boys.”

“But they’re my classmates.”

“You heard me. Stay away from the boys. Understand?”

She nodded. In the flickering lantern light, I saw tears standing in her eyes. I put out my hand to her. “Come here.”

“Ma’am?”

“Just wanting to gives you a hug, that’s all. It’s been a good while.”

Mary came to me and wrapped her arms around my swollen middle and rested the side of her face on top of my belly. I patted her head, feeling the springy hair that had worked loose from her braids.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry. When we first came out to the Badlands, Isaac was sure the country would fill up with Negroes. That hadn’t happened.

The barn was quiet. Even the crickets had stopped their chirping. But the biggest quiet came from Jerseybell. Her breathing had stilled and her chest wasn’t shuddering. I pulled my handkerchief from my sleeve. “Honey,” I said. “Jerseybell’s dead.”

“Oh no,” she said. “Oh no.” She went to Jerseybell, laid down, and put her head on Jerseybell’s neck and an arm around her. I let Mary cry for a while before telling her it was time for bed. She wiped her eyes on my handkerchief and helped me up from the milking stool.

I unhooked the lantern, blew out the oil rags, and put my arm around Mary’s shoulders, feeling the sharpness of them. “You’ve been to your first dance,” I said. “There’ll be more.” I forced my voice to be strong. “With boys. Negro boys.”

14

THE MANDOLIN PLAYER

Isaac?” I said when I came into our bedroom after coming up from the barn with Mary. “You awake?”

“Some.”

“Jerseybell’s dead.”

The mattress crackled as he turned onto his back. “Mary all right?”

“She will be.”

“At least this way I don’t have to put Jerseybell down.”

I put on my nightdress, sat on the edge of the bed, and wiped the bottom of my feet with a rag. “You going to bring Al’s milk cow home tomorrow?”

“I’ll go as soon as I take care of Jerseybell.”

I got in bed beside him, lying on my side, my back aching. My earlier spell of restlessness was gone now, washed out by all the dancing. Maybe the baby was a few days off. That’d give Isaac time to get the new cow. That’d give the baby time to perk up and start kicking. I said, “Mary’s growing up.”

“They all are.”

“She’s noticing boys.”

“She’s only twelve.”

“She’ll be thirteen in a few weeks. Lots of girls from around here start courting by fourteen.”

“Not Mary.”

“I’m just saying she’s noticing boys. Boys from around here.” I felt Isaac looking at me. “White boys.”

“Good God.”

I said, “Mary needs to meet some Negro boys.”

He didn’t say anything.

“She needs to meet some nice Negro boys before she thinks the only boys what count are white.” Or Indians, I almost said.

“What are you saying?”

I paused. “There’s going to come a time when our children’ll have to go home.”

“This is home.”

“Chicago,” I said.

“There’s no need for that. Zeb Butler will help. Him and Iris.”

“What?”

“They know most of the Negroes in the Dakotas, Nebraska and Iowa too. They’ll know who’s right for Mary. And for John, when it comes time.”

Zeb Butler and Isaac had served together at Fort Robinson. He had quit the army a year or so before Isaac and had gone to Sioux Falls. Him and his wife, Iris, rented rooms in their house to Negroes passing through town. Me and Isaac had stayed at their home on our way from Chicago to the Badlands. They were rough people. Zeb Butler drank too much to suit me. I didn’t want them having anything to do with our children.

“But not before Mary’s sixteen,” Isaac was saying. “She’s not getting married before then. We need her here.” He paused. “I’ll find her a rancher, a good man who knows what he’s doing, someone proud to have her.”

“Maybe that’s not what Mary has in mind. Maybe she wants to be a teacher, maybe even a nurse.”

“She’s a rancher’s daughter. She’ll want her own land.”

It would never be hers, I thought. It’d always be her husband’s. But