A charming black man stood in front of Sarah. He wore a neatly pressed chocolate-colored suit, buttons shiny and new, and a matching bowler that fit his head perfectly. His eyes were a smoky brown, and a tiny crescent moon freckle decorated the space below his left eye. The man smiled at Sarah, the afternoon sun glinting off a bottom tooth made of gold.

What was she writing?

Sarah's cheeks filled with warmth. "Oh, it's nothing, really."

The man smirked. "It doesn't look like nothing. A moment ago, you were writing away madly. If I may be so bold to ask, what have you scribbled in that pad of yours?"

Sarah inhaled, not sure what to say. "It's a poem," she blurted finally. "I mean, it's supposed to be a poem."

The man quirked an eyebrow at that. "I happen to know a little bit about poetry. Do you mind if I have a look?" On his middle finger, a brilliant diamond ring sparkled as he held out his hand.

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat before she handed him the notebook and pulled her gaze away.

"Hmm," the man hummed, studying the page intently. When he finished, he gave Sarah a firm look. "This is quite impressive," he said, raising a manicured eyebrow. "Have you had any formal training in writing poetry?"

"No, not really," she said. "Well, I did have a teacher when I was younger who really loved poems. She taught me everything I know about poetry. Ms. Clanton ... that was her name. She was a Godsend. She didn't have a formal education either, but you wouldn't know it to talk to her. She sounded like she'd come straight out of a university. She worked with my father, and when I was having trouble learning how to read ... I think I was six or seven at the time ... anyway, she started giving me tips. When my father saw how easily I learned with her help, he paid her a nickel a week to teach me. She tutored me for years. It probably would've taken me much longer to learn how to read and write if it hadn't been for her."

Sarah felt herself blush again, realizing how silly she must have sounded, pouring out her life story to someone she'd just met. But like a gentleman, the man smiled and nodded as if he understood her perfectly.

"You sound like a poet to me," the man said. There was an easiness to his voice, relaxed and slow. He took his time moving over each word, as though he wanted to give each syllable the time and attention it deserved. "You know, I think I've seen you around before. You're Albert's niece, right? The mechanic."

Sarah chuckled. She was used to people calling her "the mechanic gal," but it was usually done with skepticism or outright condemnation. There was no malice in this man's words. Absolutely none.

"That's me," she replied, not sure where to set her gaze.

"My name is Edward Benedict. And you are?"

"Sarah Stewart," she said, then realization dawned in her face. "Wait a minute! You own the Rooks."

"I used to own the Rooks," he said, his expression suddenly tense.

"Oh," Sarah said. She wanted to ask him more. Wanted to ask him what he knew about Henry, but decided that might not be the best idea now.

"It was time for a change," Edward said. "That ball club had gone stale. But I'll bounce back."

Before Sarah could speak, Edward swung his hand around in a majestic gesture across the street to a shop with a large open front. Above the door, white letters against a red background read:

BENEDICT'S VARIETY STORE

Sarah's eyes slowly widened as the dots started to connect. Edward Benedict was the wealthiest man in Hester's black district. Twelve stores in the region. One in Hester, two in Pittsburgh, even one as far out as Canton, Ohio.

The Benedict's Variety Store here had two large picture windows that had been opened, giving shoppers a better view into the store. In front of the windows, several tables with various trinkets and novelties were set out on the pavement. With this setup, anyone passing by could inspect the store's wares without even walking through the door. Pretty smart ... and shrewd.

"But that's not all," Edward said, raising a prideful chin. "Have you heard of the Diamond Club?"

"Yes, I have," Sarah said, nodding. It was an upscale night club on the outskirts of town where topnotch bands played lively ragtime songs for hours on end, and where colored folk would go to dance and drink cocktails, sometimes until the sun came up, so she heard. "But I've never been there," she said, biting her lower lip.

"Oh, well we're going to have to change that," Edward said. "I own the Diamond Club. And I'm a big supporter of colored artists and writers in the area. In fact, I host an amateur night down at the Diamond Club every month so local artists can showcase their gifts. Over the years, we've had musicians, writers, poets, singers on stage ... just about any talent you can imagine. What do you say, Miss Sarah?"

Sarah's eyes grew round and bright. "What? You mean me?"

"Who else?" Edward replied with a throaty laugh.

Sarah mouth tightened as reality set in. "I've never read my poems in front of an audience before. I'm not sure I could do it."

Edward's eyes flickered for a moment only to shine brighter. "Okay, Miss Sarah, how about this? I'm hosting a private cocktail party tomorrow evening at the Diamond Club. It starts at six. Why don't you come on down and get a feel for the place? You'll meet a lot of the regulars on amateur night. And I promise, no pressure. Maybe, if you get to know some folks, and hopefully have a good time, you might feel better about reading your poetry in front of them. Can I count you in?"

Sarah felt her expression falter. She could tell Edward was interested in her, and not just for her poetry. His eyes gave that away. Being a mechanic, Sarah didn't get a lot of men showing interest, and when she did, she was never too sure how to respond. She had also spent most of the morning and the night before thinking of the baseball player she'd patched up. Henry. Would it really be fair to accept Edward's advances when she was thinking about Henry's smile and coffee-brown eyes? She really didn't want to lead him on.

"You know, I just don't think that's the best idea," Sarah said.

"Well why not?" Edward asked, a seriousness in his tone. "You could get discovered. In fact, one of my guests is looking for a poet to publish in her newspaper. You could that poet."

Sarah sighed, the words lingering in her head. You could be that poet.

Edward's expression lit up before he continued. "Think of what that would mean – the freedom, the independence, to write what you love and have thousands, and one day maybe millions, look up to your poems."

Independence. Sarah's heart swelled at the thought.

Edward's expression eased, and his voice softened. "It's a chance of a lifetime. Are you going to pass that up?"

Sarah opened her mouth and paused.

The corners of Edward's lips turned up. There was something alluring in his smile. It was odd, magnetic, but whatever it was, it also made Sarah feel a bit hesitant. She shook the feeling away and blurted out her decision.

"Okay, I'll come," she said.

"Excellent!" Edward said, displaying a gold-toothed grin. He handed the notebook back. "You live with your uncle at his shop? Or do you have your own place?"

"What?" Sarah's face screwed, caught off guard. Then she shook her head. "Oh, no, I live with Uncle Albert."

"Great, I know where it is," Edward replied. "I'll pick you up at six-thirty."

"Pick me up?" Sarah said, her mouth hanging open.

"Why yes." Edward let out a small laugh. "After all, I can't take any chances and risk you tearing your dress."

"Dress?!" Sarah said, almost in a high-pitched squeal.

"You are precious," Edward said. "Cocktail party, remember? Hester's black elite will be there. I'll see you tomorrow. Until then, it's been my pleasure."

Edward wheeled around, waving his hand like a star-spangled flag, and started across the street.

Sarah strode away, sensing Edward's eyes burning through her back. She felt her heart drumming like fireworks on the Fourth of July. A million thoughts popping into her head.

A chance for independence! A chance to wear her favorite yellow dress and style her hair with a nice piece of ribbon. It wasn't like she had the opportunity to go out very often.

Then again, something seemed odd. Edward had said all of the right things. He'd been the perfect gentleman. He had reassured her and overcome all of her objections. Maybe she was just being silly, but something deep inside her stomach clenched.

What had she gotten herself into?

Sarah pushed those feelings aside as she scurried through the busy marketplace.

Author's Note

Hmm, you didn't think it was going to be easy for Henry and Sarah to meet and continue on the same road, did you? They are on two separate paths now. Will they ever meet again?

The themes of Sarah's poems will ring strong up to the very end of the story. Themes of hope. Without them, "Color" would lack a certain level of depth and meaning. This book is as much about Sarah's story (right now about Independence) as it is about Henry's.

Next Week:

We return to Henry and Big Willy. Our big friend will reveal a plan that will shock Henry to his core.

Behind the Scenes:

A couple weeks ago, I had strongly considered cutting out Edward Benedict from the story. I kept going back and forth. Then a fellow writer convinced me to keep him. So I tweaked a few things around his role. He does and will add depth to Sarah's story line. So fellow writers, if you're weighing the importance of your characters, keep 'em if and only if they make your story stronger.

Thanks for taking the time to stop by. Means a lot to me.

Until next week ...

Best Regards,

Tom