Never Too Late (22 page)

“That's so good of you, Kathleen. I don't . . . let me see . . . all right . . . the key to the door is hanging on a nail behind the counter. The mail is behind the counter. If people want to buy something, just write
down their names and what it is and tell them I will give them a bill later. I don't think anyone will mind.”

“No one will mind, Mrs. Hammond. If I have questions, I'll come up or call for Mayme. You just rest and if you're not feeling better soon, we'll send for the doctor.”

Katie left the bedroom and went downstairs, leaving me alone with Mrs. Hammond. I went into her kitchen to make a fire. There were no coals left, which I'd figured from how cold it was. But with Mrs. Hammond's supplies and some old newspapers, I had a fire going before long and the pot of soup on top of the cook stove. Then I made a fire in the woodstove in her sitting room. Just as I had a few sticks of kindling burning, Katie came back up the stairs
.

“How is she doing?” she asked
.

“I don't know,” I answered. “I just got the fires started.”

Katie went into the bedroom. Mrs. Hammond was sitting up trying to take off her nightclothes
.

“Would you like me to help you get dressed?” Katie asked
.

“Yes, thank you dear,” she said. “I'm sorry to be such a bother.”

“You are not a bother, Mrs. Hammond,” said Katie, getting her dress from where it lay draped over the chest of drawers from the night before. “Everyone needs a little help sometimes.”

Together they got the dress over her head
.

“Mr. Thurston was in. He said you were going to fill an order for him.”

“Oh, yes . . . I'd . . . I'd forgotten to finish it.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Is he waiting?”

“No, he had some other errands. He said he would come back when he was done with them. He said to give you his regards and he hopes you will be feeling better.”

Katie buttoned the last of Mrs. Hammond's buttons and then helped her lie back down
.

“That is very kind of him. He is a good man.” Mrs. Hammond sighed like she was already too tired out to keep talking
.

“What should I do about his order?” asked Katie
.

“I had started gathering it together. There is a small pile of things to the left of the counter.”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“His list is with it . . . I think. If you want to, Kathleen . . . you can try to find the things. If you can't find something, come ask me.”

Katie pulled the blanket back up over her and turned to go. Mrs. Hammond reached out and took Katie's hand
.

“Thank you, Kathleen,” she said, smiling again. “This means more to me than I can tell you.”

Katie smiled back, then returned downstairs to the shop
.

I was a little timid about being left alone with Mrs. Hammond, especially knowing how she felt about blacks. So I stayed in the other room, tending
the fires and stirring the soup until steam finally began to rise from the pot
.

When I thought the soup was ready, I looked around and found a ladle, a bowl, and a spoon. I ladled two scoops into the bowl, then walked toward the bedroom and poked my head inside
.

“Mrs. Hammond?” I said nervously
.

She was still in bed just like Katie had left her. She glanced toward me
.

“Hello . . . uh, Mayme, isn't it?”

“Yes, ma'am.—Would you like some of the broth Josepha made for you? I think it's hot enough.”

“It smells so good,” she sighed. “I've been lying here for the last five minutes thinking of nothing else.”

I walked forward and stood beside the bed
.

“It's all right,” she said. “You can sit down.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, still holding the bowl and spoon
.

“Do you, uh . . . shall I set this on the nightstand?” I asked
.

“I don't think I could get up to eat it just now.”

“Would you, uh . . . like me to help you?”

“That would be nice—it smells so good!”

I set the bowl on the nightstand
.

“Just help me sit up,” she said
.

Gingerly I reached my arm around her shoulders and eased her up from the bed. I couldn't believe I was doing this! And sitting on Mrs. Hammond's bed! But she didn't seem to mind
.

“Here . . . prop those pillows behind my back . . .
that's it . . . oh, that's better. Thank you! Now spoon me some of that nice broth. I don't want to hold the bowl . . . I'm afraid I might drop it.”

I took the bowl again, and even more gingerly took out a spoonful and set it to her lips. She took it and swallowed it, closing her eyes and sighing
.

“That is delicious!” she said. “I didn't realize how hungry I was. I didn't eat anything last night because I went straight to bed.”

I gave her a second spoonful, then a third, and before long the bowl was empty
.

As I was pulling the spoon back from her mouth, Mrs. Hammond reached up with her hand that had been lying on the blanket. Gently she stretched out two fingers and touched the back of my hand. The look on her face was almost one of curiosity
.

“Your skin is brown,” she said
.

“I'm a Negro,” I said
.

“Yes,” she smiled. “I know. I've never touched colored skin before. It feels the same as white skin.”

Her words reminded me of my first days at Rosewood. “It was funny for me when I first touched Katie's skin,” I said
.

“When was that?” she asked
.

“When I went to Rosewood after my family and hers were killed.”

“The two of you so remind me of Katie's mother and her colored friend. What did you say her name was?”

“Lemuela.”

Mrs. Hammond nodded. “They were such good
friends, just like you and Kathleen. I never had a friend like that.”

“I've never had a friend like Katie,” I said
.

“It's strange,” said Mrs. Hammond. “I know Kathleen bears a resemblance to her mother. But you—and I know what they say about whites thinking all coloreds look alike, but I don't really think that—but what I was going to say is that—and I didn't see her that many times, but if my memory isn't playing tricks on me, it seems that you look a little like Rosalind's slave.”

“She was my mother,” I said. “She wasn't a slave. She was from the North. She was free.”

Mrs. Hammond gasped in astonishment
.

“You don't say!”

I nodded. “Katie's father sold her to Mr. McSimmons . . . the older Mr. McSimmons, when he found out that my mother was carrying me.”

“Well, I never!”

“And your father
. . .”

“My father is Templeton Daniels,” I said. “Katie and I are cousins.”

“Well, I . . . that does explain a great deal.”

I went on to tell her the rest of the story
.

Mrs. Hammond was quiet a long time after I finished telling her about Katie's and my families. I didn't know what she might be thinking
.

“I didn't know all that,” she said finally. “It must have been very hard on you and Kathleen.”

“I reckon it was,” I said. “But we grew close through it and weathered it. God's been mighty good
to us to bring us a new family. I might not have met my father otherwise.”

“Templeton Daniels is really your father?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“He seems a nice man.”

“He is, ma'am.”

“I'm afraid I haven't been as gracious to him as I ought to have been,” she said a little sadly. “But he always treats me kindly in return
.—Is
Mayme your real name?”

“My full name is Mary Ann,” I said
.

“Oh . . . Mary Ann—that is a nice name. Do you think I could have a little more of that soup, Mary Ann? I'm feeling better already.”

“Yes, ma'am, I'll get you some more.”

I started to get up, and like she had done with Katie, she took hold of my arm. I paused and glanced down at her where she lay. She was looking at my brown arm, with her white fingers around it. Then she looked up at me, smiled, and released my arm. I stood up and walked back into the other room
.

S
HOPKEEPER
K
ATIE

30

W
hen we got back to Rosewood that evening, Papa and Uncle Ward and Josepha were all worried about us, since we had been gone all day. Jeremiah rode up behind us on his way home from Mr. Watson's, surprised to see us too. We rode the rest of the way together
.

“Where have you two been!” asked Papa as we clattered up in the buggy, Jeremiah on his horse beside us. “I was just about to go out looking for you.”

“We went to Mrs. Hammond's,” said Katie
.

“I know that . . . but all day?”

“She was on the floor when we got there and was too weak to get up. So I ran her store for the day while Mayme took care of her upstairs.”

“What!” laughed Papa, looking at me. “You took care . . . of Mrs. Hammond!”

“It was great fun!” said Katie as we got down. “I
was surprised how nearly everyone who came into the shop knew who I was. Most of the people were real nice.”

“And she let you nursemaid her?” said Papa to me
.

“She was as nice as she could be,” I said. “I was surprised too. Later I went for the doctor to ask him to call on her. She seemed appreciative of our help, didn't she, Katie?”

“I would never have believed it.”

“Sounds like you won her over, all right. Is she feeling better?”

“Yes, but she's still pale. The doctor said she needs to rest for a few days and drink as much as she can—and finish up Josepha's chicken soup. We're going back in tomorrow to help with the store again. Now that I know what to do, I'll enjoy it even more!”

“My niece, the shopkeeper!” laughed Papa. “—What about you, Mary Ann?”

“I'll go into town too,” I answered. “But I'm not sure Greens Crossing, or Mrs. Hammond either for that matter, is ready for a colored shopkeeper. Not that I wouldn't like to try to help. Katie had the time of her life. She didn't stop talking about it all the way home.”

Katie laughed and we went inside and repeated the whole story to Josepha, Uncle Ward, and Henry, who were already at the table as Josepha was just finishing up supper preparations. Jeremiah had had
a good day too at the mill and we were all in pretty good spirits
.

“Josepha,” said Katie as we sat around the table eating, “I'm sorry to ask so late in the day, but you wouldn't mind making up another pot of soup for Mrs. Hammond this evening, would you? She enjoyed that broth so much. She said to tell you thank you.”

Josepha nodded but said nothing. She didn't seem in as good spirits as the rest of us
.