The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez

rich people and leave them sailors behind.”
    The Girl looked aghast, trying to picture Rachel alone in a western city, owning a shop, mixing with rich people who weren’t trying to get in her bed. But the image was too distant to get it into focus.
    â€œSay, you think you want to come too? I bet we could get us a little business goin’ put there the way you can sew and all.”
    Leave Gilda and Bird? The thought was a shock to the Girl who had never considered such a possibility; it seemed ludicrous as she knelt under the warm sun feeling the softness of the earth’s comfort beneath her. And even with the war coming and talk of emancipation and hardship, the Girl had little in mind she would run away to. “Naw, this is my home now, I guess.”
    â€œWell, you just be careful.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWatch yourself, is all.” Minta said it softly and would speak no more. The Girl was puzzled and made anxious by the edge in Minta’s voice as well as the silence that followed. Her look of frustration tugged at Minta. “There’s lots of folks down this way believe in ha’nts and such like. Spirits. Creoles, like Miss Gilda, and Indians, they follow all that stuff.” Minta spoke low, bending at the waist as if to make the words come out softer. “I like her fine, even though some folks don’t. Just watch, is all.” She skittered through the garden to the kitchen door.
    The Girl finished her weeding, then went to the kitchen steps to rinse her hands at the pump and dust her clothes. Bernice watched from the back porch.
    â€œWhat you say to Minta, she run upstairs?”
    â€œI ain’t certain. She’s so nervous I can’t get hold to what she sayin’ half a while. I know she wants me to go out there with her to stay with Rachel.”
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œShe afraid of something here. Sometimes I think maybe it’s Miss Gilda. What you think?”
    Bernice’s face closed as if a door had been locked. “You ain’t goin’, is you?”
    â€œI’m here for the war no matter what, if there’s gonna be one.”
    â€œListen gal, you been lucky so far. You got a life, so don’t toss it in the air just to stay ’round here.” Behind Bernice’s voice the Girl could sense her conflict, her words both pushing the Girl away and needing her to stay.
    â€œMy life’s here with you and Miss Gilda and Bird. What would I do in California—wear a hat and play lady?” she said, laughing loudly, nervously. She saw the same wary look on Bernice’s face that had filtered through Minta’s voice.
    â€œWhat is it? Why you questioning me with that look?” the Girl asked with a tinge of anger in her voice.
    â€œNothin’. They just different. Not like regular people. Maybe that’s good. Who gonna know ’til they know?
    â€œYou sayin’ they bad or somethin’?” The challenge wavered in the Girl’s throat as her own questions about Gilda and Bird slipped into her mind.
    â€œNo.” The solid response reminded the Girl of how long Bernice had been at Woodard’s. “I’m just saying I don’t know who they are. After all the time I been here I still don’t know who Miss Gilda is. Inside I don’t really know what she thinkin’ like you do with most white folks. I don’t know who her people is. White folks is dyin’ to tell each other that. Not her. Now Bird, I got more an idea what she’s up to. She watch over Miss Gilda like… like…” Bernice’s voice trailed off as she struggled for words that spoke to this child who was now almost a woman.
    â€œThat ain’t hurt you none, now has it?” The Girl’s response was hard with loyalty to the women who’d drawn her into their family.
    â€œNot me. I’m just waitin’ for the river to rise.” Bernice didn’t