stopping tonight?” he asked Grace.
“I have absolutely no idea!” She saw the man’s concerned expression and laughed. “We’ll be fine. We always are. Erm, thank you for the lift, Mr…?”
The guy looked startled. I don’t think he was used to white people calling him ‘Mister’. “Glass,” he said. “The name’s Nathan Glass.”
“Are we at California yet?” Clem whimpered.
Nathan sighed and I could see him wondering what he’d got himself into. “Guess I’d better take you to Peaches’ place,” he said reluctantly. “That’s if you don’t mind walking some?”
I could see Clem drooping at the thought. Nathan handed the lantern to Rose. “But you can ride, little man!” He swung Clem up on to his shoulders then took back his lantern.
We followed him across a field and into the woods. If it hadn’t been for Nathan’s lantern it would have been pitch dark. We must have walked for half an hour, hurrying in and out of the trees. It was marshy in places and the local frogs kept up this monotonous backing track, interrupted by the occasional eerie cry of a night bird.
So far as I could tell there wasn’t a house for miles.
Don’t tell me Peaches lives in a tree , I thought. I suddenly stopped in my tracks. We were in the middle of nowhere, but I was picking up an incredibly buzzy vibe, the kind you get when loads of humans are grooving to the max.
Uh-oh , I thought. This is no time to star hallucinating, Melanie .
Nathan gave a throaty chuckle. “What can you hear?”
“Crickets?” said Rose in an exhausted voice.
“No, it’s music!” said Clem, jigging about on Nathan’s shoulders.
“The blues,” Grace corrected him softly. “Someone’s playing blues.”
“Peaches runs a speakeasy out here,” Nathan explained. “It’s just a shack and a few barrels of moonshine. But we reckon the music is as good as anything they get at Harlem’s Cotton Club.”
“Will there be food?” asked Clem hopefully.
A few minutes later we emerged in a clearing and I saw a rickety wooden shack. Hazy light leaked out from between the planks.
I couldn’t just hear the blues by this time - I could feel it, tingling up through the soles of my feet and into my belly. The shack was literally vibrating from the exuberant partying inside!
There was a break in the music and I heard a woman’s teasing voice, then a roar of laughter. Nathan rapped on a little barred window. It slid open and an eye squinted out through a fog of cigarette smoke.
“Tell Peaches she’s got company!” said Nathan.
The door opened and he bundled us inside. There was a moment’s astonished silence. Then someone said sarcastically, “Sup’n wrong with your eyesight, boy? Or did you just kindly forget to mention they was white?”
Black men and women of all ages were staring at the Bloomfields with stony expressions, plainly not too thrilled to have a white lady and her kids in their backwoods hangout. I saw Nathan talking and gesturing earnestly to a big curvy woman I guessed was Peaches.
She sauntered over, looking perfectly serene. “Hi, honey,” she said to Grace. “Nathan says you need a place for the night. Sit yourselves right down and I’ll send someone to get you some food.”
The customers blinked at this. You could see them thinking, well, if Peaches thinks it’s OK… And gradually everyone forgot about the white strangers and got on with having a good time.
Someone appeared with food, and Grace and the children gratefully tucked into pork and greens and cornbread.
Peaches was telling her customers about two prohibition agents, Izzy and Mo, who travelled around America trying to catch anyone breaking the law by making or selling illicit alcohol. “There’s nothing those devils won’t do to get their man!” she chuckled. “They’ll dress up in stupid disguises. Play mean tricks. You know, this one time, one of them actually stood out in the snow until he was blue with cold? His partner
“I have absolutely no idea!” She saw the man’s concerned expression and laughed. “We’ll be fine. We always are. Erm, thank you for the lift, Mr…?”
The guy looked startled. I don’t think he was used to white people calling him ‘Mister’. “Glass,” he said. “The name’s Nathan Glass.”
“Are we at California yet?” Clem whimpered.
Nathan sighed and I could see him wondering what he’d got himself into. “Guess I’d better take you to Peaches’ place,” he said reluctantly. “That’s if you don’t mind walking some?”
I could see Clem drooping at the thought. Nathan handed the lantern to Rose. “But you can ride, little man!” He swung Clem up on to his shoulders then took back his lantern.
We followed him across a field and into the woods. If it hadn’t been for Nathan’s lantern it would have been pitch dark. We must have walked for half an hour, hurrying in and out of the trees. It was marshy in places and the local frogs kept up this monotonous backing track, interrupted by the occasional eerie cry of a night bird.
So far as I could tell there wasn’t a house for miles.
Don’t tell me Peaches lives in a tree , I thought. I suddenly stopped in my tracks. We were in the middle of nowhere, but I was picking up an incredibly buzzy vibe, the kind you get when loads of humans are grooving to the max.
Uh-oh , I thought. This is no time to star hallucinating, Melanie .
Nathan gave a throaty chuckle. “What can you hear?”
“Crickets?” said Rose in an exhausted voice.
“No, it’s music!” said Clem, jigging about on Nathan’s shoulders.
“The blues,” Grace corrected him softly. “Someone’s playing blues.”
“Peaches runs a speakeasy out here,” Nathan explained. “It’s just a shack and a few barrels of moonshine. But we reckon the music is as good as anything they get at Harlem’s Cotton Club.”
“Will there be food?” asked Clem hopefully.
A few minutes later we emerged in a clearing and I saw a rickety wooden shack. Hazy light leaked out from between the planks.
I couldn’t just hear the blues by this time - I could feel it, tingling up through the soles of my feet and into my belly. The shack was literally vibrating from the exuberant partying inside!
There was a break in the music and I heard a woman’s teasing voice, then a roar of laughter. Nathan rapped on a little barred window. It slid open and an eye squinted out through a fog of cigarette smoke.
“Tell Peaches she’s got company!” said Nathan.
The door opened and he bundled us inside. There was a moment’s astonished silence. Then someone said sarcastically, “Sup’n wrong with your eyesight, boy? Or did you just kindly forget to mention they was white?”
Black men and women of all ages were staring at the Bloomfields with stony expressions, plainly not too thrilled to have a white lady and her kids in their backwoods hangout. I saw Nathan talking and gesturing earnestly to a big curvy woman I guessed was Peaches.
She sauntered over, looking perfectly serene. “Hi, honey,” she said to Grace. “Nathan says you need a place for the night. Sit yourselves right down and I’ll send someone to get you some food.”
The customers blinked at this. You could see them thinking, well, if Peaches thinks it’s OK… And gradually everyone forgot about the white strangers and got on with having a good time.
Someone appeared with food, and Grace and the children gratefully tucked into pork and greens and cornbread.
Peaches was telling her customers about two prohibition agents, Izzy and Mo, who travelled around America trying to catch anyone breaking the law by making or selling illicit alcohol. “There’s nothing those devils won’t do to get their man!” she chuckled. “They’ll dress up in stupid disguises. Play mean tricks. You know, this one time, one of them actually stood out in the snow until he was blue with cold? His partner
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