Together is All We Need (27 page)

‘‘Morning, Mrs. Hammond!'' called out my papa as we passed, nodding with a smile and tipping his hat. ‘‘Fine day, isn't it?''

I could almost hear her mutter as she turned back into her shop,
Well I never! That ugly colored girl is going to get uppity,
Mr. Daniels, if you let her take liberties and ride beside you like
that!

But I didn't care what she thought. I was about as happy as I could be.

My papa continued to greet other townspeople as we went. He'd already made a lot of friends in Greens Crossing because he was so friendly and personable. He'd even been to see Mr. Sneed in Oakwood a couple of times about legal things. That didn't make Katie none too happy, but he just said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and that it never hurt to be on the good side of folks like that. And maybe it's good he did too, because that's how we eventually found out a little more about some of Mr. Sneed's conversations with Katie's uncle Burchard.

As we continued on through town, there were two or three spinsters and a widow or two that watched my papa with even more interest than everyone else. Because he was handsome too.

We reached Mr. Watson's mill. Papa bounded down and went inside. I searched high and low, hoping to catch sight of Jeremiah, but didn't see him. A few minutes later Papa came out chatting and laughing with Mr. Watson.

‘‘ . . . wondered why their bales were so light,'' Mr. Watson was saying. ‘‘But I've got to hand it to those girls, they picked a lot of cotton.''

‘‘Well, our bales may not be very tight or very heavy either, Mr. Watson,'' Papa said. ‘‘But our cotton is as good as anyone's. And there is a lot more where this came from.''

By then Uncle Ward had walked up.

‘‘I don't think you've met my brother, Ward Daniels, Mr. Watson. Ward—say hello to Mr. Watson.''

‘‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. Daniels,'' said the mill owner. ‘‘So you're Kathleen's other uncle I've been hearing about.''

‘‘I guess I'm the guilty party, all right.''

‘‘Well. We're glad to have you as part of our community.— I'll get some of my men and we'll get this cotton of yours unloaded.''

By that same afternoon we were back from town and out in the fields again. We kept on working and the cotton bales continued to pile up. The total on the Rosewood page of Mr. Watson's ledger mounted also as we took in a new load every time we had the wagons full.

Most of the big plantations around had their crops in by the first week of September. But we were still picking.

There was only one interruption to our harvest, though that was not one that slowed our work down.

During one of our trips to town we stopped at Mrs. Hammond's store. Papa and I waited outside while Katie and Uncle Ward went in to get some coffee beans.

After Mrs. Hammond had given them the coffee and they'd paid for it, she handed Katie an envelope.

‘‘You've got a letter, Kathleen,'' she said. ‘‘It's addressed to you.''

Katie took it, more than a little curious. It was the first time she had ever seen an envelope with her own name handwritten on the front:
Miss Kathleen Clairborne
.

‘‘Who's it from, Kathleen?'' asked Uncle Ward as they walked outside.

‘‘I don't know,'' replied Katie.

By the time she walked outside she knew who it was from.

‘‘What is it?'' I asked when I saw her pulling out two sheets from the envelope and starting to read even while she was walking back to the wagon.

‘‘It's . . . it's a letter from Rob Paxton. You remember . . . from up north.''

‘‘The deputy?'' said my papa, glancing at me.

I nodded.

Katie climbed back on the wagon beside Uncle Ward without saying another word, her face buried in the letter. I jumped up and sat down beside her.

‘‘What does he say?'' I asked finally as we got underway, my curiosity getting the better of me.

‘‘Here, you can read it when I'm finished,'' she said, handing me the first page.

I started to take it, but then hesitated. ‘‘Uh, no . . . that's okay,'' I said. Even though I was curious, it didn't seem right to read someone else's letter.

‘‘Then I'll just tell you what it says. It's not, you know, personal or anything.'' Her eyes scanning the letter, Katie said, ‘‘His parents send greetings and want us to know we are welcome to stay with them whenever we are next in Baltimore . . . which isn't likely to happen anytime soon. And Rob writes,
‘Please give
my
warmest regards to your uncles and cousin
Mayme—as well as to the other kind folks I met at Rosewood.'''

Katie read to herself for a few moments. ‘‘Let's see, then he goes on to tell about everything he's been doing and about his family in Baltimore and things around Ellicott City. Oh!'' Katie chuckled. ‘‘Listen to this:
‘I arrested a man twice my size
a few days ago and ended up with a black eye as big as a flapjack.
I'm glad this didn't happen before you came here, or your uncles
might have thought better of allowing me to escort you home. Too
bad you're not here to see my shiner.'''

Uncle Ward winked at her. ‘‘I think someone's taken a
shine
to you.''

Katie's cheeks turned pink, but she said nothing.

When we got home a couple hours later and by then I was again riding beside Papa, Katie was unusually quiet, and stayed that way for the rest of the day.

That night, after I'd gone to bed, she was still sitting at her writing desk with a small candle beside her and her pen in hand, writing page after page in reply.

A D
AY IN THE
L
IFE OF
R
OSEWOOD
46

K
ATIE AND
I
WERE IN THE BARN EARLY ONE MORNING
milking the cows. Most of the time my papa helped, but on this day Katie and I were milking alone like we used to. We were so accustomed to the routine of getting up early, building a fire in the cook stove, and then heading out to the barn to take care of the cows, and we usually kept to that same pattern. As often as not, Josepha was already stirring in the kitchen. That was her special domain. But when we got up real early and the whole house was still asleep, sometimes it seemed as though we were still moving in a dream too.

We were gradually tiring out from the picking day after day. And so on this particular day, when morning came, we were practically asleep on our feet and went through the motions of the milking without saying a word. Then we opened the gate and let the cows out and slowly led them along the road toward the pasture.

Katie began to lag behind and soon the cows clomping slowly along began to pass her. After another minute or two I heard her starting to laugh. I glanced back and there she was surrounded by cows, doing her best to keep walking in the midst of them.

‘‘What are you doing back there?'' I said.

Katie struggled her way forward, slapping a few of the cows on their sides and rumps to get by, until she had caught up with me again.

‘‘The funniest thing just happened,'' she said. ‘‘I had a dream as we were walking.''

‘‘A dream—are you still asleep?''

‘‘I feel like it.''

‘‘So do I!'' I laughed. ‘‘I'm
so
tired.''

‘‘But you know what I mean, don't you?'' said Katie. ‘‘It's a sort of awake-dream that happens when everything around you automatically becomes part of a dream.''

‘‘What was yours?''

‘‘As we were walking along, suddenly I found myself dreaming that I was in Mrs. Hammond's store. But she didn't want me there.''

‘‘That sounds like her all right! Then what happened?''

‘‘She tried to make me leave,'' said Katie. ‘‘But there were other customers in the store and she didn't want them to see her being rude to me. So she silently inched over toward me and tried to bump me toward the door and outside.''

‘‘
Bump
you out?'' I laughed.

‘‘She pushed and shoved at me with her hips so that nobody would notice she was trying to knock me out the door. Then suddenly I woke up and realized I was surrounded by the cows bumping at me as we walked along.''

‘‘Now, that's a funny dream!'' I laughed.

‘‘How did I get back there in the middle of the cows?'' she asked.

‘‘You just gradually fell back,'' I said. ‘‘I wasn't really paying much attention. I was nearly asleep myself.''

‘‘That must have been when I started thinking about Mrs. Hammond.''

We were nearly to the pasture. We led the cows into the field, closed the gate behind them, and walked back to the house. By then we were good and awake, though still tired. Josepha and my papa had come down and were in the kitchen talking, Papa sitting at the table and Josepha bustling away at the counter. The smell of brewing coffee filled the room. Within an hour or two another day in the fields would begin.

Ten hours later the picking was nearly done for the day. Josepha and Emma had gone back to the house a little while before.

‘‘Why don't you and Katie go on in and get started cleaning up,'' said my papa. ‘‘It's about time to call it a day. We'll be right behind you.''

When Katie and I got to the house, there were Josepha and Emma sitting on the porch with William, who was playing with Rusty's ears.

‘‘That's one patient old dog,'' I said wearily as Katie and I sat down on the steps. We were too tired to clean up just yet. For a while it was silent as we all just sat there, except for William babbling away to Rusty. One wagon sat in the yard all loaded up and ready to be taken in to the mill the next morning. Beyond it we found ourselves gazing in the distance at the field we'd just come from, by now about half picked.

‘‘That's some sight, isn't it?'' said Katie with a quiet smile.

‘‘What are you looking at?'' I asked, trying to follow her eyes.

‘‘The men,'' she said.

‘‘What about them?''

‘‘That's our field, Mayme,'' said Katie. ‘‘Don't you remember the first year when it was just you and me out there picking our cotton?''

‘‘And me,'' Emma piped up.

‘‘Of course,'' laughed Katie. ‘‘I meant you too. And Aleta. Then Henry came and started helping. And then last year both Henry and Jeremiah helped, and even Uncle Templeton worked as much as he could after his injury. But now look at it. Here we are sitting on the porch, and there are
four
men out there picking our cotton together.''

‘‘Dey's good men, all right,'' said Josepha. ‘‘I seen lots er men in my time, an' dere be plenty ob bad men in dis ol' worl'. So we's mighty lucky ladies ter hab four strong men like dat who's good men besides.''

‘‘
Our
men,'' said Katie. ‘‘Don't you like the sound of that? Just seeing them like that, and knowing we're not alone anymore, makes me feel safe somehow.''

‘‘Dat Henry, he's 'bout one ob da finest colored men I've eber knowed, jes' like his son is too,'' Josepha went on. ‘‘And dem two uncles er yers, Miz Katie, dey're da kindest white men tard me I eber knowed. Dey don' eben seem ter act like dey knows we's colored at all.''

We didn't know it as we sat there, but out in the fields the men were thinking about us too. They had just reached the end of the row they had been working on, then paused and stood up straight to stretch and straighten their backs.

‘‘Anyone ready to call it a day?'' asked Uncle Ward.

‘‘I's been ready fo' a couple er rows,'' said Henry with a chuckle.

‘‘If I'd known that, I'd have sent the girls in an hour ago!'' laughed Templeton.

‘‘I din't want ter be da one ter say't,'' Henry added. ‘‘I ain't so shure I like da noshun er a couple er green pickers workin' harder'n me an' showin' me up!''

‘‘Now I know you're making sport of us!'' laughed Uncle Ward as Henry went on chuckling.

‘‘No'suh, Mr. Ward,'' he said. ‘‘I may er made jes' a little joke, but you an' Mr. Templeton's jes' 'bout da fastes' white men I eben seen wiff da cotton. Dat's why we's gettin' hit in so fas'. We's goin' twice as fas' as las' year.''

‘‘All I knows is dat ef we's all ready, why we be standin' roun' talkin'?'' Jeremiah now said. ‘‘Why don' we get outer dis field an' see what da women hab waitin' fo' us?''

The four men turned, full satchels slung over their shoulders, and began making their way, side by side, toward the house.

‘‘I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Jeremiah,'' said Templeton when they were about halfway back to the house.

‘‘What dat?''

‘‘I don't think the women have
anything
waiting for us! Look at them,'' he added with a laugh, ‘‘—they're all just sitting there on the porch staring at us.''

‘‘ 'Peers dat's what dey's doin, all right,'' said Henry.

‘‘But I'm hungry!'' moaned Jeremiah.

‘‘Den maybe we dun worked 'em too hard,'' said his father.

‘‘I doubt that,'' said Ward. ‘‘It's all I can do to keep up with Mary Ann and Kathleen.''

‘‘Don' fo'git dat Josepha,'' Henry replied. ‘‘She may not be able ter las' so long, but w'en she's a'pickin', I can't hardly eben see dose fingers er hers!''

‘‘They're all good workers, and that's a fact,'' said Templeton. ‘‘More than that—they're good women and young ladies.

I'd say we're a bunch of fortunate men, all right.''