A Perilous Proposal

by Michael Phillips

  “We already did,” said Katie. “But it was only about fifty dollars. That wasn’t enough to pay off Mama’s loan.”

  “Hmm . . . I thought there was more. Those men sure think there is more,” he added.

  “Why, do you know them, Uncle Templeton?”

  “I’ve run into them a time or two—that is, if it’s the same bunch. They’re convinced I was in on it with Ward.”

  “If there’d been more, we wouldn’t have had to pick the cotton,” said Katie. “But we earned over three hundred dollars, didn’t we, Mayme?”

  Mr. Daniels whistled in astonishment. “That is a lot of money! It must have been hard work.”

  “It was. We paid off the first loan, but there’s still one more loan to pay off. That’s why we’re still picking cotton.”

  We talked a bit more, but I soon excused myself and went upstairs to my room, feeling downcast and wondering what was to become of Emma and me.

  Suddenly a sound disturbed my thoughts. I turned around and there was Mr. Daniels standing in the doorway looking at me.

  “I was just—” I started to say. But the sudden look that came over his face silenced me. His face went white and he gasped. It was such an odd expression that I couldn’t take my eyes off him either. The two of us just stood there for a minute, staring at each other. Suddenly, he turned and stumbled away and down the stairs. But just before he turned away, I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

  Some time later, I was outside hanging some wash on the line when I heard footsteps behind me.

  I turned and there stood Mr. Daniels only a few feet away. Again he was staring at me strangely.

  “Hello, Mary Ann,” he said. “I’m sorry . . . didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “How did you know my name?” I asked, trying to hide that he had startled me and that I’d nearly jumped out of my skin to see him standing there so close.

  “I asked Emma,” he said with a smile. “She told me.”

  “Nobody calls me that,” I said, going on with the laundry. “Nobody except Katie when she’s funning me.”

  “It’s a nice name,” he said. “A pretty name.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I meant it,” he said.

  “It ain’t like a white man to think kindly about coloreds,” I said. I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. It was probably a stupid thing to say to a white man I hardly knew, though it was true enough.

  Mr. Daniels chuckled lightly. “You’re right about that,” he said. “But I’ve always been a little different than other white men in that regard.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, starting to relax a little.

  “I reckon because that’s how my mama taught me—that’s Kathleen’s grandmother, her mama’s mother. Eliza Jane Daniels, that was her name. She taught Rosalind and Ward and Nelda and me that everyone was equal in God’s sight, and that if God had seen fit to make people with different-colored skin, then the least we could do was treat everyone equal.”

  “Lots of white men go to church but are as mean as can be to coloreds.”

  “I reckon that’s so,” he said. “But our mama taught us different.” He paused, then looked at me closely. “Mary Ann,” he said, “would you mind . . . mind telling me . . . what was your mama’s name?”

  His words were so unexpected that I just stood there staring back at him. What could he possibly care about that?

  “I don’t know why—” I began.

  “Please, I know you may not understand,” he said, and his voice sounded almost urgent, “but it is important to me.”

  “All right, then. I don’t reckon there’d be any harm in it,” I said. “Her name was Lemuela . . . Lemuela Jukes.”

  The instant I said the word, his face showed a momentary look of shock, as if I’d slapped him across the mouth. He took a step back, still staring at me with an expression stranger than all the rest. His mouth seemed to go dry and his face was pale.

  “And . . . and she was killed along with everyone else?” he asked, his voice low and husky-like.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, suddenly feeling very strange.

  Mr. Daniels said nothing more. He just turned and walked slowly away.

  The next morning when we got up, Templeton Daniels was gone.

  “Do you think he’ll be back?” I asked Katie when I found her in the kitchen.

  “I don’t know,” Katie replied. “With Uncle Templeton . . . you never know.” She sighed and squared her shoulders. “Well, uncle or no uncle, we have more cotton to pick.”

  COTTON-PICKIN’ HENRY

  37

  Once we had milked the cows and tended the other animals, we went back out in the field to work again. It was tedious, especially without Jeremiah’s company, and we worked slower and went along in rows next to each other. We had been working two or three hours and the weariness had begun to set in.

  Katie sighed and said, “I think these rows are getting longer every time we turn around.”

  “That’s the way cotton is,” I laughed. “It seems like it’s never going to end!”

  When Katie suggested it was time for a water break, no one argued with her.

  We walked toward the wagon where William was sleeping and where we had jugs of water and milk. As we walked, Emma asked why we had to keep picking cotton, since we had already given the man at the bank his money. Katie began explaining how her mama owed the bank a lot of money and they still had another loan to pay, when all of a sudden she stopped talking right in the middle of a sentence.

  I looked over at her. She was standing still as a statue. I turned around in the direction she was looking. There was a tall black man walking slowly toward us from between the long rows of cotton.

  It was Henry!

  Suddenly we forgot all about water! We just stood there stock-still as he walked toward us. I was sure that Jeremiah hadn’t told him. But there was no way around his papa finding out now more than we’d wanted to tell him. It seemed like our secret was suddenly spilling out all over the place.

  Henry sauntered up and stopped and just looked us over one at a time. I figured we were in big trouble now and that the worst of it’d come on me. But Henry just stood there a few seconds. Then he finally spoke, and it wasn’t what I had expected.

  “Y’all got anudder satchel a feller cud use?” he said, as if there wasn’t anything unusual going on at all.

  I took mine off and handed it to him. I wasn’t quite sure what he wanted it for, but I figured I could use the big pockets in my dress for a while.

  He slung it over his shoulder, then stooped down and started picking away on the next row beside mine. Katie looked over at me, and we all looked at each other, and then started slowly in again, none of us saying a word.

  It was dead silent. All you could hear was our feet shuffling along the dry ground as we went back to where we’d left off and then slowly began inching our way from one plant to the next.

  “Yep,” Henry finally said, “eben wiff dose clouds up dere, a body cud git mighty tard in dese ole fields er cotton.”

  Again it was quiet, with just our feet moving slowly along the ground.

  “Yep,” he said again, “dis ole cotton’ll make yo han’s ruff an’ red an’ full er prickles. Ain’t da kind er work mos’ white folks eber done. Ain’t dat right, Miz Kathleen? Right unushul work fer mos’ white folks!”

  “Yes, sir,” mumbled Katie, keeping her head down.

  Again we shuffled along in silence.

  “Who’s dis yere frien’ er yers, Miz Kathleen?” he said, looking toward Emma. “Who you be?”

  Emma glanced toward Katie with big eyes of question. Katie nodded for her to speak up.

  “Dat’s right,” said Henry. “You kin tell me. I’m jes’ a colored like you what ain’t gwine hurt you nohow.”

  “Emma,” said Emma. “My name’s Emma.”

  “Emma . . . I see. So dere’s Miz Kathleen, Miz Mayme, an’ Miz Emma all workin�
� out chere togeder, sometimes wiff a boy called Jeremiah helpin’ ’em, ain’t dat right? Mighty strange situashun it ’peers ter me.”

  There was a long silence. None of us knew what to say. Every now and then I’d try to sneak a look over at him.

  He paused and looked up, shielding his hand from the sun peeking through the clouds. “Gettin’ kinder ’long tards da time mos’ folks take er break from dere work,” he said. “You ladies knows how ter fix a man somefin t’ eat?”

  “Uh . . . yes, sir,” said Katie.

  “Den I say we go t’ yer house an’ git somefin t’ eat an’ drink.”

  Without asking us any more questions, Henry straightened his back and stood up and started walking out of the field toward the wagon. Katie and I looked at each other, both of us silently saying, What do we do now!

  Slowly we followed him. He dumped the cotton out of his satchel into the wagon, then walked off toward the house. Emma retrieved William from the buckboard and hung back behind the rest of us. Still not saying anything, we followed him and gradually he slowed down so we could catch up.

  “An’ a young’un too,” he said as he saw Emma. “My, oh my . . . yes, sir, dis indeed be some kine er mighty unushul situashun.”

  I saw Henry glance over at the four graves as we approached the house. He hesitated for a second, but followed the rest of us inside. There he stood standing until Katie told him he could sit down. Finally he sat down at the table.

  “Now, Miz Kathleen,” he said, then looked over at me, “an’ Miz Mayme, ah seen dem stones markin’ what looks ter me like graves out dere, an’ ah got me an idea. But ah’d rather hear you tell me ’bout it yo’selfs.”

  Slowly Katie started to cry.

  Henry waited a minute.

  “Yo mama and daddy’s lyin’ under dem stones, ain’t dey, Miz Kathleen?” he said quietly.

  “Yes!” she whispered softly.

  Henry got up from the chair and ambled toward us. He took Katie in his arms now and held her as I stepped back. Seeing how much he loved her made me realize he hadn’t been trying to be mean with all his questions.

  “It’s gwine be all right, Miz Kathleen,” said Henry. “Da Lord’s watchin’ ober you, an’ He ain’t ’bout ter ferget none er His chilluns—white, black, or any udder color.”

  Then Henry looked over at me.

  “What ’bout you, girl?” he said. “Yo mama an’ daddy dead too?”

  I nodded.

  “Was dey Rosewood slaves?”

  “No, sir . . . I lived at the McSimmons place.”

  “Ah see,” he nodded. “An’ you?” he asked Emma.

  “I don’ know ’bout my mama and daddy,” she said. “Dey wuz sold an’ I wuz sold an’ I don’ eben hardly remember dem. I ain’t got no notion where dey is.”

  “Wha’chu doin’ here?”

  “I got myself in a heap er trouble an’ I ran away an’ Miz Katie an’ Mayme, dey helped me.”

  “I see . . . well den, come here all er you,” he said, opening one of his hands toward me and Emma. “I reckon dese ole black arms is big enuff ter hol’ all er you at once.”

  I went forward and he drew me toward him. I felt Katie’s arm go around me too, and the three of us stood there for a few seconds in Henry’s wide embrace. Emma followed and started blubbering like a baby.

  It was such a relief having Henry hug us. He wasn’t mad at all, like I’d expected him to be. I don’t know why, but he was as compassionate as could be.

  Finally we stepped away and Henry went back to the chair where he’d been sitting.

  “What happened, Miz Kathleen?” he said.

  “Some terrible men came, men on horses . . . they were shooting and killing.”

  “Where wuz you?”

  “In the cellar.”

  Henry nodded. “I heard ’bout dem marauders, dey was called. How ’bout you, Miz Mayme?”

  “The same men killed most all the slaves at the McSimmons place,” I answered.

  “When all dis happen?”

  “Last April,” said Katie.

  Henry nodded again, then looked at Emma.

  “Emma ran away from where she was,” said Katie, answering his silent question. “There were people trying to kill her because of her baby.”

  Henry nodded again and then it got real quiet for a minute or so.

  “Are you going to tell on us, Henry?” said Katie. “Are you going to get us in trouble?”

  “Well, I don’ rightly know,” he said. “Tell what? What is it dat you’s so feared er folks findin’ out dat y’all gotta sneak roun’ town pretendin’ an’ carryin’ on like y’all been doin’?”

  “We’re . . . we’re trying to make people think my mama’s still alive,” said Katie.

  “Why’s dat?”

  “So they won’t put me in an orphanage and take Mayme away.”

  “What ’bout yo kin?” he asked. “As I recollect, yo papa’s got a brudder somewheres?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Katie. “But I’m not sure exactly where he is, and I don’t like him.”

  Henry glanced back and forth between us all again, seemed satisfied for the time being, and sat for a minute or two thinking.

  I finally got up and got us all some milk and cheese and bread and butter to eat. Nobody said too much. We were still anxious to know what Henry was thinking, and Henry just kept thinking and hardly saying a word.

  After we had finished eating, he rose back up to his feet.

  “Well, I got me some work I gotter tend to back at da livery,” he said.

  “What are you going to do, Henry?” Katie asked again as we walked. “Are you going to tell on us?”

  “I don’ rightly know yet, Miz Kathleen,” he said. “Who wud I tell, an’ what wud I tell ’em? Afore I do anyfing, ah needs ter spen’ some time ruminatin’ an’ prayin’ an’ axin’ da Lord what He thinks ’bout dis whole thing. It’s da Lord who tells me what I’m ter do. So I got ter fix mysel’ on what His mind is on it—den I’ll know what I’m ter do.”

  We watched him go, but didn’t talk much amongst ourselves after he was gone either. Like she was with her uncle, I think in a way Katie was relieved that Henry finally knew.

  RAIN

  38

  THE NEXT MORNING, JEREMIAH GOT UP EARLY AND set out for Rosewood at dawn. When he arrived, Mayme was just leading the cows out after the morning milking. He waved to her and she waved back.

  “You’re here early,” she said, giving him a big smile as she walked over to meet him.

  “My daddy tol’ me what’s goin’ on wiff you and Miz Katie,” he said. “An’ he said you’s needin’ mo help wiff de cotton.”

  Half an hour later they were all out again in the field. Everyone seemed glad not to have to pretend anymore. Jeremiah noticed right away that Mayme smiled and laughed more, now that she didn’t have to watch her words to protect their secret. Katie and Emma were in especially good spirits too. Even Jeremiah himself was more talkative than usual.

  But it was chilly and windy. Dust was flying about getting in their hair and eyes. Every now and then Jeremiah would look up into the sky and shake his head.

  That evening Henry came out again. With Jeremiah and his papa working, the cotton mounted twice as fast. The next day they both came out a little before lunchtime, and they finished the field the girls had begun a month ago and got started on another even bigger one a little farther from the house.

  All the while as they worked that day it got chillier and chillier and windier. Henry kept picking faster and faster and was mumbling to himself as he glanced up at the clouds swirling above them.

  Gradually they began to feel the moisture in the air. They kept working frantically, nobody saying a word.

  Suddenly the wind stopped. The air became calm and still.

  Henry looked around in every direction, sniffing in the air and still muttering.

  “Hit’s comin’,” he finally said aloud. “Hit’s comin’ fo sho.—Jeremiah!�
�� he called. “We gotter git dis yere wagon hitched up!”

  Jeremiah looked at Mayme and without another word both started running for the barn to fetch a horse.

  Suddenly a terrific blast of thunder exploded above them.

  “Hurry, Jeremiah—we ain’t got no time ter lose.—Miz Kathleen,” Henry called to Katie, “come wiff me . . . we gots ter git dat wagon under cover!”

  Within seconds a few huge drops of rain began to fall. Jeremiah and Mayme reached the barn ahead of Henry and Katie, who were hurrying as quickly as they could. Mayme led Jeremiah to the corral. Three minutes later they were racing back to the field with horse and harness. Henry and Katie were hitching up another horse to pull the full wagon of cotton into the barn and out of the rain.

  As Jeremiah and Mayme fussed with the harness, already their faces were wet. Mayme jumped up onto the seat and grabbed the reins. Jeremiah leapt up beside her. She yelled at the horse, and off they clattered toward the house. The rain poured down in torrents. By the time they flew into the wide open doors of the barn, they were soaked to the skin. Mayme’s dress was clinging to her, and water was dripping from her hair and ears and chin and nose. The two horses were in a frenzy of excitement from the rain and thunder and sudden exertion and the close quarters of the barn. Henry hurried to them and began talking to them and stroking their noses one at a time while Jeremiah and Mayme unfastened the harnesses and got them free from the wagons.

  Ten minutes later the horses were in their stalls munching on oats. Katie ran back from the house with a handful of towels, and they all dried their hands and faces. She was still not aware of the danger. But Henry was running his hand through the cotton, pulling out handful after handful to feel how wet it was. Gradually Katie must have realized that his expression was serious.

  “It’s all right, isn’t it, Henry?” she asked.

  “I reckon we got it in time,” he said thoughtfully. “I reckon Mr. Watson’ll take it.”

  He sighed and walked to the big open doors and took a couple steps outside where he stood and stared out. The rain was pouring down in sheets.

  “Unforturnt’ly, Miz Kathleen,” he said as he stood staring out into the storm, “hit ain’t dis yere cotton I’m a worryin’ ’bout. Hit’s da cotton still out dere in dem fields dat we gotter be worried ’bout.”