A Perilous Proposal

by Michael Phillips

  Jeremiah handed him the box. Mr. Thurston thanked him, and turned back toward his wagon.

  “Hey, Deke, look what I found,” cried Weed Jenkins behind them. “He dropped some letters.”

  Jeremiah glanced about and suddenly realized he’d set down the mail in his hands when he went after the box.

  “I didn’t know niggers could read or write!” said Earl. “What do they say, Weed?”

  “I don’t know . . . I’ll open them and find out!”

  “Hey, dat’s Mr. Watson’s mail, you gimme dat back,” said Jeremiah, walking toward them.

  But seeing Jeremiah make a move toward them, still holding the envelopes he had picked up, lanky Weed Jenkins took off running in the opposite direction. Three seconds later he was tackled from behind and sent sprawling to the ground.

  Jeremiah climbed off him and began to stand up when a shadow fell on the street beside him. He glanced up to see Deke Steeves standing over him, the piece of wood now in both hands and raised in the air. The look on his face said clearly enough what he intended to do with it.

  Again Mr. Thurston’s voice put a stop to his plans. “Don’t even think about it, son!” yelled Thurston. “You so much as make a move to hurt that boy, you’ll regret it.”

  He walked to the scene, grabbed the club from Steeves’ hand, and tossed it away as Jeremiah climbed to his feet.

  “Now you, young Jenkins—pick up the man’s mail.”

  Weed glanced toward Deke Steeves, then back at Mr. Thurston.

  “Go on . . . pick it up,” repeated Thurston.

  Muttering something to himself, the boy did so, then stood.

  “Now hand it back to Patterson here.”

  Again Jenkins glanced at his ringleader. But even at three to two, Deke Steeves was not anxious to tangle with Mr. Thurston, who was a big man and who knew how to handle himself.

  Steeves stood silent. Slowly Weed walked forward and handed Jeremiah Mr. Watson’s mail. Jeremiah nodded, then turned and walked away. When he was gone, Mr. Thurston also turned and went back to his wagon.

  “You’ll pay for this, Thurston!” Steeves called after him, incensed to appear so powerless in front of his friends. “You’ll pay, I tell you. I won’t forget this!”

  A THOUGHTFUL DAY

  49

  It seemed like washday sure came around often. I reckon there were more of us now, and we were washing all the men’s clothes, and there were four of them and they all worked hard and their clothes got dirty. It was a lot of work running a plantation!

  Papa and Uncle Ward had dragged out the big pots and got the fire ready the night before. Then as soon as it warmed up the next morning, Katie and Emma and I got started on the wash. Josepha let us do most of it ourselves. She was a hard worker in the kitchen, but she wasn’t too keen on washing, though she’d help us hang the clean clothes on the line sometimes.

  It was a hot day and we started to get silly like we had that other day right after Emma had come. Pretty soon we were splashing water on each other and laughing and running around as if we were little girls again. By the time we were almost finished, we were soaked. I was just filling a bucket half full of water to throw at Katie when suddenly I realized we weren’t alone.

  I looked up. There was Jeremiah watching us and grinning real big.

  It took me so by surprise, and I guess I was a little embarrassed to have him see me like that, and I forgot about the others. Emma took advantage of the distraction and suddenly I felt a bucketful of water dump on my head! Emma was nearly beside herself with delight at having gotten me so good. She ran off toward the pump to refill her bucket and go after Katie.

  Jeremiah walked toward me while the others went on, still laughing and throwing water at each other. He was staring at me with the oddest expression.

  “What . . . what are you looking at!” I laughed, water dripping from my head.

  “You’s jes’ real pretty, dat’s all.”

  “I’m a mess!”

  “Dat’s not what I’s talkin’ about. It’s who you are dat’s pretty. You’s even pretty when you’s all wet.”

  “My mama used to say men could be exasperating—but I didn’t expect it out of you!”

  “What you talkin’ about!” laughed Jeremiah.

  “Just you talking about me being pretty on a day like this.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You are.”

  “The other day I was all dressed up in my new brown dress and you didn’t even notice. But now that I’m soaking wet, you go saying those kinds of things about being pretty. I know I’m not pretty anyway.”

  “I did notice you dat day,” said Jeremiah. “I saw you standin’ dere on da porch as I wuz walkin’ up.”

  “I never saw you,” I said.

  “I wuz comin’ up behind you. But den I saw you kind ob lookin’ out, wiff a thoughtful expression on yo face, and I stopped. It didn’t seem right dat I should disturb you right den. But if I had, it would er been ter tell you dat you wuz da prettiest girl I’d eber seen, an’ dat you looked so old an’ growed-up, jes’ like a real lady. An’ dere I wuz in my work clothes an’ my dirty hat . . . you looked too good fo me. Dat’s why I stopped an’ didn’t come no further.”

  I looked away and felt the heat rising up the back of my neck. I remembered the day vividly. I had been thinking about Jeremiah at the very moment when he’d been watching me and I hadn’t known it. I’d been wondering what would become of us, what our future would be. I was wondering if I was good enough for Jeremiah, just like he had been about me!

  “So what did you do,” I said, “on that day, I mean, when you saw me standing on the porch?”

  “I jes’ looked at you fo anudder little bit, and den lef’ an’ went back ter what I’d been doing,” said Jeremiah. “But seein’ you like dis—all happy an’ laughin’ and workin’ hard an’ havin’ fun . . . it’s different. Den it’s jes’ shinin’ out from inside ob you. Like I said— you’s jes’ real pretty, dat’s all.”

  “That’s about the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me, Jeremiah,” I said, looking toward him with a smile. “Thank you.”

  Suddenly a shriek put an end to our conversation.

  “Mayme!” shouted Emma. “Kin you run after dat wet little scamp!”

  I looked where she was pointing and saw William running after one of the barn cats. He was heading behind the barn.

  Jeremiah and I ran after him. I was more than a little relieved. I wasn’t used to talk about how pretty I was!

  A DAY TO REMEMBER

  50

  Then came a special day I’ll never forget.

  It was a day when a young man came calling to Rosewood. How’s a girl ever going to forget a day like that!

  It was a warm day late in May of 1868. Katie had just turned eighteen. I was eighteen too and would be nineteen in three months. I’d done considerable growing up and changing just like she had. Whether I was shapely or not or any prettier than I used to be when white folks called me ugly, I don’t reckon I could say. But my father always said I was about the prettiest girl he’d ever seen except for my mama, and if he and Jeremiah thought I was pretty, that was enough for me.

  Late spring has always been one of my favorite times of the year in North Carolina. The days were getting longer and warmer, but it wasn’t yet too hot like it gets in July and August. On that particular day, most of the crops were already in the ground, things like cotton and wheat and some oats and potatoes, along with our big vegetable garden. Everything was growing and smelled so nice. It was a time of the year when the earth seemed fresh and alive and full of hope, and when you just couldn’t help thinking that no matter what happened, somehow everything was going to turn out all right. It was a time when you wanted to go on long walks through the fields and woods, and along the streams and rivers, just to be part of the life that was bursting out everywhere.

  That’s how I felt on that special day. I was happy and grateful for my life and my little family and
that I had a place to call home.

  It was really Katie’s house and her uncles’. But in a way it was my home now too.

  I don’t know if there’s a way to make you understand what a big change it is for a colored person like me to say a thing like that. It was such a short time ago when slaves hardly had anything to call their own. I remember what a turning point it was in my life when I first held some money in my hand that was actually mine. It was only eleven cents, but it made me feel like a whole new kind of person. And now I had a bank account with my own name on it with over fifty dollars in it, and here I was talking about my “home.” And Katie and my papa were paying real wages to Josepha, and giving Emma a little money too every once in a while. Things had really changed for black folks in just a few short years.

  Two days before what I’m going to tell you about next, Jeremiah had come to see my papa, Mr. Templeton Daniels. Though I didn’t know it yet, it was me they had talked about.

  Then came that special day.

  Emma ran yelling through the house to find me. “Mayme . . . Mayme!” she called, tramping up the stairs like a buffalo caught in too small a space and frantic to get out. “Mayme . . . Jeremiah’s at da front door, an’ he’s axin’ fo you . . . an’ he dun brung flo’ers!”

  When I came downstairs, I saw Emma had left the door ajar. I hurried to open it all the way. There stood Jeremiah, holding a little bouquet. He had a sheepish look on his face, which wasn’t like him, and he smelled of lilac water, which was even less like him!

  Immediately I felt the back of my neck getting hot!

  “Here,” he said, handing me the flowers. “I brought dese fer you.”

  I took them and smiled.

  “I thought maybe we cud go fer a walk or sumthin’,” he said.

  I started to go out the door with him. Then I stopped.

  “Do you mind waiting just a minute?” I said, then turned and dashed back inside and up the stairs. When I came back down a few minutes later, I was wearing the fancy brown dress Papa had bought me in Charlotte, the same one Jeremiah had seen me in that day we’d talked about when I was standing on the porch. He smiled when he saw me. I glanced away. I still couldn’t get used to the idea that he actually thought me pretty!

  As we left the house together, I knew something was different about this visit, and I more than halfway suspected what it might be. I had a feeling too that Katie and the others were probably watching from the windows of the house!

  Jeremiah was so nervous. I might have felt a little sorry for him if I hadn’t been nervous myself. If Jeremiah was going to say what I expected him to say, I’d been thinking some already about what I would say too.

  “I talked ter yo papa da other day,” said Jeremiah after we had walked a ways. “I been aroun’ here close on three years an’ you an’ I’s gettin’ older. An’ I figger it’s time we wuz thinkin’ ’bout sum things. So I . . . uh, axed yo papa if he thought I wuz da kind er young man he’d approve ob ter be wiff you. And he said I wuz an’ dat he’d be right proud ter call me son. An’ den he shook my hand an’ tol’ me ter talk ter you, an’ so here I am an’ I reckon I’m axin’ if you’d like ter be my wife.”

  My, oh my! He just blurted it out all at once!

  I had been expecting it, but it was so sudden that it took me by surprise. Jeremiah let out a big sigh of relief at having said all of what he had to say in one mouthful. I was hot and nervous and happy, and felt like I was just about the luckiest girl in the whole world.

  I didn’t know what to say!

  Sometimes you have too many words and they come out so fast you stumble over them. Sometimes you don’t have enough words and you can’t think of anything to say. But this was a time when I had a mountain of words I wanted to say, but couldn’t manage to get a single one out!

  I had to say something! But it was several minutes before I did.

  “Of course I want to be your wife, Jeremiah,” I said softly. “I can’t imagine being married to anybody but you. I’m so happy when I’m with you. I love you and . . . I reckon my answer’s yes.”

  I could tell Jeremiah was relieved. It must be hard to ask a girl to marry you, not knowing what she might say.

  He took my hand and we continued to walk. I’d been thinking about this so much, but now that the moment had come, the words and thoughts were all confused in my brain. Suddenly I was in an emotional whirlwind.

  “Jeremiah . . . ” I tried to begin again, though my tongue felt like it was stuck to the back of my mouth, “I do want to be your wife . . . more than anything in the world. But . . . I don’t think I’m ready yet to leave Rosewood.”

  He glanced over at me. It wasn’t what he’d expected.

  “I’m still getting used to being free and to having a family again,” I said. “It’s all still so new. I’ve just discovered my papa and you just found your papa too not long ago, and . . . I reckon what I’m trying to say is that I don’t feel I’m ready to get married yet. Can you understand?”

  “I reckon so,” he said. I could tell there was disappointment in his voice, but he was trying to hide it. “You’re sayin’ dat you got you a family now an’ a life here at Rosewood dat you’s not anxious ter leave ter start a new life an’ new family jes’ yet.”

  “Yes, that’s it! Oh, thank you, Jeremiah! You’re not too disappointed, are you?”

  “I don’t know ’bout dat exactly. I reckon I’m a mite disappointed, but I kin understan’ what you’s sayin’. Or . . . maybe I kin. I ain’t exactly got me a home like you. Da back ob da livery where me an’ Papa live, it ain’t exactly like sleepin’ in a white man’s house, wiff da smell ob horses an’ what dey do all ’bout everywhere. I ain’t complainin’ ’cause I’s glad ter be wiff my pa an’ ter be free an’ ter hab a job. I’s a lucky young man, all right. I’s jes’ sayin’ dat it’s a mite different fo me, dat’s all. So I’s thinkin’ dat being married might be a pretty nice thing.”

  “Oh, it would be nice, Jeremiah. It will be nice! And I will be happy with you even if we live in a barn or a livery stable or anywhere. It isn’t Rosewood I’m not ready to leave, it’s Katie and my papa and the others. I just want to be part of my family a little longer. Maybe it’s got something to do with finding out who I am. I’m still learning who Mary Ann Daniels is. It’s like the slave girl called Mayme Jukes is trying ter grow up to become Mary Ann Daniels, a free black woman. Sometimes I’m not sure who that person’s supposed to be. Family is part of that, just like you are part of that too.”

  “I reckon I kin understan’,” said Jeremiah. “I reckon I’ve had ter do sum changin’ inside too after findin’ out dat my papa wuzn’t like I always thought he wuz. Dat’s made me hab ter figger out who I am too, like you’s sayin’. I reckon dat’s a good thing fo us both. Maybe I still gots more ob myself ter figure out too.”

  “We’re both still young, Jeremiah. I know slaves used to get married a lot younger than we are. But that was because the masters wanted them to make babies to have more slaves. But we’re free now. We can take time to learn about who we are and what we want. We can think about things we never could before. I don’t want us to get married . . . until we’re both ready, and until we know who we really are and who we’re supposed to be.”

  Jeremiah nodded. I slipped my hand through his arm and leaned against him and we kept walking in silence. I was so content and happy. I hoped Jeremiah understood as much as he said he did.

  It was so different to be two free black young people, free to think, free to love, free to decide things for ourselves, free to become what we wanted, free to be the people we wanted to make ourselves, not what somebody else wanted us to be.

  It was different than anything we could have expected when we’d been slaves . . . but exciting. We had our whole lives ahead of us. We could make them anything we wanted them to be!

  Things were never the same with Jeremiah and me after that day. We’d been good friends for a long while, but now he and I sort of “belo
nged” to each other. Jeremiah’d spoken for me and everybody at Rosewood knew it. We would be married someday!

  Sometimes at the supper table, or when we were out working, we’d catch each other’s eyes and smile. It was like we knew what the other was thinking. It was a good and peaceful time in our lives.

  I knew Jeremiah was a mite disappointed that we didn’t get married right away. My papa had told him that he and Mr. Daniels would help him build a little house for us just past the barn. Jeremiah said he’d be just as happy to fix up one of the old slave cabins. But my papa wouldn’t hear of his daughter ever living in a slave cabin again. He said he would never forgive himself for leaving my mama to get sold off as a field hand and then killed. He wanted me to have a good life and to live a free life as the daughter of a white man, and now all black people, should be able to do. He said when the time came that I was ready, then we would all work together to build a nice little house right nearby where he could be near his little girl—even though she would be Jeremiah’s wife. He wanted to be part of my life even after I was married, and it made me feel so warm and good inside to know that.

  I felt like just about the luckiest black girl alive. But deep down I knew it wasn’t luck at all. I’d been reading in my ma’s Bible for a pretty long time by now, and I knew more than ever how God had been watching over me. As much as I missed my ma, and as bad as I hurt for Papa, I could see how the bad of her dying had turned into the good of me being here at Rosewood with a cousin and a father and a family . . . and now a future husband!

  VOICES IN THE NIGHT

  51

  WHETHER IT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH ASKING A certain young lady to marry him or not, Jeremiah began to be plagued with reminders of the past. With them came increasing pangs of guilt. More and more often Micah Duff’s words returned to plague him. It was like his conscience was speaking through Micah Duff’s voice. He couldn’t escape the probing words whenever he was alone. They came to him especially at night when he lay awake. As the weeks passed they became more and more insistent.