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Henry Lestory/Hunter’s Hunter
Vera Louise is a prosperous white woman, the daughter of the plantation owners who enslave both True Belle and Henry Lestory. As a young woman, Vera has an affair with Henry, which leads her family to exile her. Vera Louise moves to Baltimore with True Belle in tow, separating True Belle from her own family. Together, the two women raise Golden Gray, the blonde son that results from Vera’s relationship with Henry. At the end of the Civil War, Vera Louise begins paying True Belle, but she holds her wages “in trust,” a sign that Vera Louise is more like her white supremacist parents than she would care to admit.
Vera Louise Quotes in Jazz
The Jazz quotes below are all either spoken by Vera Louise or refer to Vera Louise. For each quote, you can also see the other characters and themes related to it (each theme is indicated by its own dot and icon, like this one:
).
Chapter 6
Quotes
True Belle was the one [Vera] wanted and the one she took. I don’t know how hard it was for a slave woman to leave a husband that work and distance kept her from seeing much of anyhow, and to leave two daughters behind with an old aunt to take care of them. Rose Dear and May were eight and ten years old then. […]
More important, Miss Vera Louise might help her buy them all out with paper money, because she sure had a lot of it handed to her. Then again, maybe not. Maybe she frowned as she sat in the baggage car, rocking along with the boxes and trunks, unable to see the land she was traveling through. Maybe she felt bad. Anyway, choiceless, she went.
Related Characters:
Page Number and Citation:
Explanation and Analysis:
[Golden thought of] the woman who cooked and cleaned for Vera Louise; who sent baskets of plum preserves, ham and loaves of bread every week while he was in boarding school; who gave his frayed shirts to rag and bone men rather than let him wear them; the woman who smiled and shook her head every time she looked at him. […] When the two of them, the whitewoman and the cook, bathed him they sometimes passed anxious looks at the palms of his hand, the texture of his drying hair. Well, Vera Louise was anxious, True Belle just smiled, and now he knew what she was smiling about, that nigger. But so was he. He had always thought there was only one kind—True Belle’s kind. Black and nothing. Like Henry Lestory. Like the filthy woman snoring on the cot. But there was another kind—like himself.
What was I thinking of? How could I have imagined him so poorly? Not notice the hurt that was not linked to the color of his skin, or the blood that beat beneath it. But to some other thing that longed for authenticity, for a right to be in this place, effortlessly without needing to acquire a false face, a laughless grin, a talking posture. I have been careless and stupid and it infuriates me to discover (again) how unreliable I am.
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Vera Louise Quotes in Jazz
The Jazz quotes below are all either spoken by Vera Louise or refer to Vera Louise. For each quote, you can also see the other characters and themes related to it (each theme is indicated by its own dot and icon, like this one:
).
Chapter 6
Quotes
True Belle was the one [Vera] wanted and the one she took. I don’t know how hard it was for a slave woman to leave a husband that work and distance kept her from seeing much of anyhow, and to leave two daughters behind with an old aunt to take care of them. Rose Dear and May were eight and ten years old then. […]
More important, Miss Vera Louise might help her buy them all out with paper money, because she sure had a lot of it handed to her. Then again, maybe not. Maybe she frowned as she sat in the baggage car, rocking along with the boxes and trunks, unable to see the land she was traveling through. Maybe she felt bad. Anyway, choiceless, she went.
Related Characters:
Page Number and Citation:
Explanation and Analysis:
[Golden thought of] the woman who cooked and cleaned for Vera Louise; who sent baskets of plum preserves, ham and loaves of bread every week while he was in boarding school; who gave his frayed shirts to rag and bone men rather than let him wear them; the woman who smiled and shook her head every time she looked at him. […] When the two of them, the whitewoman and the cook, bathed him they sometimes passed anxious looks at the palms of his hand, the texture of his drying hair. Well, Vera Louise was anxious, True Belle just smiled, and now he knew what she was smiling about, that nigger. But so was he. He had always thought there was only one kind—True Belle’s kind. Black and nothing. Like Henry Lestory. Like the filthy woman snoring on the cot. But there was another kind—like himself.
What was I thinking of? How could I have imagined him so poorly? Not notice the hurt that was not linked to the color of his skin, or the blood that beat beneath it. But to some other thing that longed for authenticity, for a right to be in this place, effortlessly without needing to acquire a false face, a laughless grin, a talking posture. I have been careless and stupid and it infuriates me to discover (again) how unreliable I am.
