A Perilous Proposal

by Michael Phillips

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Katie. “Thank you again!”

  NEW BOY IN TOWN

  33

  WORD OF COURSE GOT AROUND TOWN ABOUT “Henry’s boy,” especially after his gallop through town on the back of Katie’s horse. But all it did was bring Jeremiah more to the attention of the kind of young whites that were up to no good. That Jeremiah was alone made him an easy target for their rowdy pranks and insults. And that he was free and was working at a man’s job, and receiving good pay from a white man for a job some of them might have wanted but would have been too lazy to keep, irritated them all the more.

  A seventeen-year-old boy called Deke Steeves was the worst of the troublemakers. By himself Jake could have whipped him with one hand behind his back. But Deke was the kind of boy who took pleasure in making other people, especially if they were black, suffer. And he made sure that he was never alone. Being big for his age, and a bully, young Steeves always attracted a crowd of younger admirers whenever he was on the prowl.

  On one particular day, Steeves and his small following had been roaming about town with little to do. Deke himself was in a surly mood. His father had yelled at him earlier in the day and now Deke was on the hunt for someone weaker than himself to take out his anger on. A few minutes earlier, he and his cohorts had seen an elderly Negro woman coming out of Mrs. Hammond’s store and swooped down upon her. That’s when Jeremiah caught sight of them.

  He broke into a run toward the scene. As he drew closer he saw that they were tossing pebbles and small stones at her. She was pleading with them to stop, but her cries only encouraged them the more and brought jeers and cruel taunts along with them.

  Jake stooped down, grabbed up a half dozen good-sized rocks from the street, then ran forward until he was close enough to make sure he would hit them and not her. He began to hurl the stones at the biggest of the white boys. Two or three found their marks, one small rock directly on the back of Deke Steeves’ head. He cried out in pain, swore a few times, then backed away. The younger cowards followed his lead and ran across the street. Jeremiah scooped up another handful and kept up a volley of stones until they were out of sight.

  As soon as she was safe, Jake hurried to the old woman’s side.

  “Did dey hurt you, Miz Barton?” he asked.

  “No, I’s be fine now, young man,” she said. “But dey’s a troublesum lot, dose nickums.”

  She paused and looked at her defender a little more carefully.

  “Ain’t you ol’ Henry’s boy I heard ’bout?”

  “Dat’s me, Miz Barton.”

  “Henry’s a good man. He’s been er big help ter me.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “I’s jes’ walk you back partway ter yo place,” he said. “I got me a feelin’ dose bullies still might be roun’bout sumplace.”

  “Dat right nice er you. What dey call you?”

  “My papa calls me Jeremiah. My mama used ter call me Jake after I got big enuff dat I weren’t jes’ a little tyke. I didn’t like the Jeremiah fo a while, but I’s gettin’ used ter it agin.”

  “I can’t hardly imagine you a little tyke,” chuckled the old woman. “You’s a big’un now, dat’s fo sho!”

  Thirty minutes later Jeremiah walked back into the mill, where he encountered Mr. Watson.

  “I’s sorry ter be gone so long,” he said. “I saw sum whites botherin’ ol’ widow Barton an’ throwin’ rocks at her. So I helped her home.”

  Watson nodded. “I see,” he said. “Who were they, do you know, Jake?”

  “One ob dem was dat blamed Steeves kid, an’ a bunch er younger ones.”

  Again Watson nodded, this time more seriously.

  “You watch yourself, Jake,” he said. “You stay away from Deke Steeves. His father’s a bad one, and so is the boy. I’ve heard some things I hope aren’t true, but if they are . . . well, you just keep clear of him, that’s all.”

  “I cudn’t let dem hurt an ol’ lady.”

  “I suppose not. But just watch yourself, Jake. That’s all I’m saying. These are dangerous times. Just watch yourself.”

  COTTON

  34

  All this time, unknown to Jeremiah or anyone else but me, Katie had money worries because of two loans her mama had taken out at the bank during the war. So late that summer we were picking the cotton Mrs. Clairborne and her hired blacks had planted earlier in the year that was now ready to harvest and sell. We hoped to make enough money from it to pay off one of the loans. By then we were gradually seeing more and more of Jeremiah, and his curiosity about what was going on was mounting too. He was walking out to Rosewood more regularly to help us with things—and maybe for an excuse to see me once in a while too!

  One morning we were out in the fields picking when I glanced up and saw Jeremiah walking toward us.

  I paused and stood and stretched my back. About the same time Katie noticed him too and walked over to meet him near where I was standing.

  “You ladies is workin’ mighty hard,” said Jeremiah. “I been watchin’ the goin’s-on at Mr. Watson’s mill,” he went on. “It seems t’ me dat you could use a couple more han’s.”

  Katie smiled a weary smile. “I’m not going to pretend that we don’t need help, Jeremiah,” she said. “But what about your father? Does Henry—?”

  “He don’ know where I went. I ain’t sayin’ he ain’t been askin’ lots er questions. But I ain’t tol’ him nuthin’ ’bout what I seen here.”

  “Thank you, Jeremiah. We are all very appreciative of your help.”

  Katie went back to the row she was working on. I started in picking again too and Jeremiah started working beside me. We noticed a difference right away in how fast the wagon filled. As we went Jeremiah and I talked a little, mostly about how life used to be when we were slaves. I suppose picking cotton couldn’t help remind us.

  We were dumping our pickings into two wagons on each side of the field. By the end of that day, with Jeremiah’s help, we had one of them nearly full. Jeremiah came back the next day, and the day after that. We found another bag in the barn and now started moving even faster. The second day we worked till about noon, then finally stopped to get ready to take both wagons into town.

  We ate some lunch, then hitched a team of two horses to each wagon. To get all the cotton to town I’d have to drive one of the wagons myself. It couldn’t be helped. Jeremiah jumped up beside me. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Pleased too. I felt his eyes on me and kept my own eyes straight ahead. I called to my two horses and followed Katie onto the road.

  “You min’ me ridin’ wiff you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t reckon I mind.”

  “Dat’s good.”

  “I was right sorry to hear about your mama,” I added after a bit.

  I felt him stiffen beside me, and I quickly regretted my words. We rode in silence for some time before he finally said anything more.

  “She wuz a fine woman.”

  “I’m sure she was,” I said. “Your papa too.”

  He shrugged, and I was confused by the expression on his face. “Effen you say so,” he said.

  “I lost my mama too,” I said. I blinked away sudden tears and focused on following the wagon ahead of me. Jeremiah didn’t reply. I figured that was probably just as well. Talking about my family could lead to more questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

  About a mile from town, Jeremiah said suddenly, “Slow down an’ I’ll jump off here.”

  I realized that was a good idea, so nobody in town would see us ride in together. I slowed the horses to a walk and just before he jumped off, he surprised me again by reaching for my hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

  “I’s sorry ’bout yer mama too,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. Then he hopped off the wagon and disappeared across a field.

  We rode into Greens Crossing a short time later on the two wagons, bouncing along the street toward Watson’s Mill, Katie leading, me following. Out of the corn
er of my eye, I saw Henry as we passed the livery stable. I could tell he was watching us with an expression of growing curiosity.

  A STRANGER WHO WASN’T A STRANGER

  35

  JEREMIAH DIDN’T HEAD OUT TO ROSEWOOD THE next day, since the girls were planning to take the day to catch up with their regular chores about the place and get a little rest. Jeremiah had his own catching up to do, both at Mr. Watson’s and at the livery. It seemed his father thought he had some explaining to do too.

  “Where you been dese las’ few days, Jeremiah?” Henry asked.

  Jeremiah shrugged, determined to keep the girls’ secret, but not wanting to lie to his father if he could avoid it. “Here and dere,” he answered.

  “What you keepin’ from me, boy?”

  A bit of Jeremiah’s old anger flared up. “Don’ be callin’ me boy,” he said. “No need to be fussin’ over me neither. I been doin’ fine on my own fer years.”

  “Hab you? Hab you truly?”

  Jeremiah looked away from Henry’s searching eyes. No, he hadn’t done fine, not always. But no use his father knowing that.

  Henry sighed. “I ain’t fussin’, son,” he said. “I’s worried ’bout you is all. Mr. Watson come here lookin’ fer you. Says you din’t show up at the mill all day.”

  “Well, I’m jes’ fine. I be working at the mill all day today.”

  The day after that, he was out again in the fields around Rosewood, picking cotton with Mayme, Katie, and Emma.

  They worked all morning, though not quite so fast and frantic as before, laughing and talking and almost enjoying it—if a black person in the South could ever be said to enjoy picking cotton. Suddenly Jeremiah looked up and saw a rider approaching. The rider caught them all by surprise. Beside him, Jeremiah noticed the others stop working too and stand still, watching the man on horseback come from the direction of the house.

  Jeremiah glanced at Mayme, but she was looking at Katie. He glanced next at Emma, who had a look of terror on her face. Suddenly Emma dropped her satchel, ran to grab William from the buckboard where he was sleeping, then bolted for the house. Jeremiah was giving mighty serious consideration to bolting in the opposite direction himself. But he stood there and waited with the others.

  As the rider came closer, Jeremiah saw the look on Katie’s face change from fear to relief. She gasped and it was clear she recognized the white man on the horse. She set down her satchel and began walking toward him as he reined in.

  “Well now,” the stranger said, and even from where Jeremiah stood he could see his teeth glisten white as he flashed a mischievous grin, “are my eyes deceiving me! Is this my sister Rosalind out in the fields, or would this be . . .”

  He hesitated, still with the grin on his lips, but also with a sudden look of doubt, as if he wasn’t sure anymore who this tanned, strong, hardworking girl actually was.

  “It’s me,” said Katie, walking up to where he sat on his horse, “—it’s me . . . Katie.”

  “Well . . . Kathleen!” said the rider. “You have turned into a woman since I saw you!”

  He began to dismount. “And you look so much like your mama,” he went on. “You’ve got her hair, her eyes, and—”

  Before he could say anything more, suddenly the man found himself smothered in the girl’s embrace. Taken by surprise, he stood a moment with Katie’s arms around him as if he didn’t know what to think. Then slowly he put his arms around her and hugged her back.

  Tired and worn though the man seemed, he looked like a dandy in Jeremiah’s eyes. His white shirt had ruffles and bright buttons down the front. Showing from beneath the end of his fancy jacket were cuff links sparkling from the ends of his shirtsleeves. If he wasn’t rich, he sure dressed like a man who was. Jeremiah saw the man look over Katie’s head at Mayme for a few seconds with a puzzled expression.

  Jeremiah took a step closer to Mayme. “Who dat?” he asked softly.

  Mayme turned to face him. “Katie’s uncle, I think,” she whispered.

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Does he know . . .’bout . . . ?”

  “No. But it seems likely he will before long.”

  “What you think he’ll do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mayme turned again to Jeremiah. “Maybe you oughta go,” she said. “One less person for Katie to have to explain will make it easier for her.” She smiled, though it wasn’t quite convincing. No doubt she was worried about what this man’s coming would mean to their future. “Thank you so much for your help.”

  “Don’ mention it, Mayme,” he said. “I jes’ hope no trouble comes fer you.”

  “We’ll try to get word to you. I don’t know what me and Emma will do if he makes us leave, but I’ll come see you somehow, whatever happens.”

  KINFOLK

  36

  I watched Jeremiah walk away across the field with his long strides and the broad stretch of his shoulders. Yes, sir, he was a strong and mighty fine-looking boy.

  I turned back to where Katie still stood in her uncle’s arms, just holding him tight. The man was obviously uncomfortable. He relaxed his own arms and tried to ease away.

  “Where’s your mama, Kathleen?” he said. “I need to have a talk with her.”

  “Oh, Uncle Templeton!” cried Katie. “—she’s dead! They’re all dead!”

  She burst into the most mournful wail and began to sob, like a dam that had been held back all these months was bursting inside her. At the word dead, her uncle’s face went ashen. Katie’s wailing and sobbing left no doubt that she was telling the truth.

  He stood there stunned, his eyes wide, his face white. After a few minutes, Katie put her hand in his and led him in the direction of where she and I had buried her family. I followed them, but from a distance.

  Katie took him to the spot, then stopped. They just stood there looking down at the graves, not saying a word. Slowly her uncle stretched one of his arms around Katie’s shoulders and pulled her to his side. She leaned her head against his chest and shoulders and again began to cry. I figured they needed to be alone and didn’t need prying eyes staring at their backs. As I turned and walked away, I took one last look back. Seeing Katie leaning into her uncle’s arms, I knew my life was about to change forever.

  Katie’s kinfolk knew. Everything was bound to change because of that. Without even consciously trying, my brain was working hard to brace itself for whatever this was going to mean, even if it meant that in a few days I’d be gone from Rosewood and might not ever see Katie again.

  After a while, I saw Katie and her uncle walk slowly back from the graves and into the house together. He still had his arm around her, and she was leaning against his side as she walked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As nervous as I was about what all this might mean, it warmed my heart to see them together like that.

  When I entered the kitchen a short time later, Katie and her uncle were both seated at the table quietly talking. Katie’s eyes were red. She glanced up at me and tried to smile.

  “Hi, Mayme,” she said. Her voice was still husky from crying.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “I told him everything, Mayme . . . I couldn’t help it. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  “Of course not, Katie,” I said, glancing toward her uncle. “You had to . . . he’s your kin.”

  As her uncle watched, he seemed moved by our obvious love for each other. But I could see he was looking strangely at me, just as he had in the field. I was used to that. White folks always look different at blacks than they do their own kind. But something about the way Katie’s uncle did it was strange. It made me feel funny in a different kind of way than any feeling I’d ever had.

  “This is Mayme, Uncle Templeton . . . Mayme Jukes,” said Katie. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  My eyes started blinking fast to hear Katie’s words. I knew it wouldn’t do much good for me to start
crying too. But it was all I could do to keep from it.

  “I am happy to know you, Mayme Jukes,” said Katie’s uncle. “My name is Templeton Daniels, and from what Katie has told me, I suppose I owe you my thanks—for helping look after her, for helping look after the place . . . and for helping bury my sister and her family.”

  I nodded and forced a smile. I didn’t know what to say.

  At last Katie broke the silence by jumping straight into the middle of it.

  “Does Rosewood belong to you now, Uncle Templeton?” she asked.

  Katie’s words seemed to sober her uncle all the more. I reckoned the poor man was having a lot thrown at him at once. He’d just found out that his sister was dead and that his niece had been running the plantation with an assortment of colored kids. And now suddenly his own future had changed as much as ours.

  Mr. Daniels looked at the two of us staring at him, then chuckled a little nervously.

  “I don’t see how that could be, Kathleen,” he said. “I’m no kin to your pa.”

  “Does it belong to Uncle Burchard, then?” Katie asked. “You won’t tell him, will you, Uncle Templeton?”

  “I’ve never met your father’s brother. I only heard Rosalind mention him a time or two.”

  “I don’t want to go live with him.”

  “We’re not going to do anything until we have a chance to think this thing over a bit.”

  Katie looked up at me. “I told him about the gold, Mayme. And about the men who came here looking for it. He says the gold was Uncle Ward’s—that’s Mama’s other brother.”

  “And do you know if he’s coming back for it, sir?” I asked, finally sitting down with them.

  “Naw . . . Ward’s dead, as far as I know,” he replied. “At least that’s what I heard. I haven’t seen him in years, and the last time I did there were men after him. I tried to pick up his trail several times, but it always went cold. Take the gold and use it, I say. He’s never coming back.”