Angels Watching Over Me (Shenandoah Sisters Book #1)

by Phillips, Michael

  ‘‘I’m sorry for the things I said, or if I hurt you,’’ Katie said finally. ‘‘I didn’t mean to.’’

  ‘‘You didn’t,’’ I said. ‘‘I was wrong to think what I did. You’ve been better to me than I deserve. I know you care about me.’’

  ‘‘I do, Mayme. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.’’

  ‘‘You too, Katie. I was thinking earlier, when I left this morning, that you were my family now. I don’t know how I could leave you. But it just don’t seem—’’

  ‘‘Oh, Mayme!’’ she cried, and she put her hand over my mouth to stop me from saying anything more about my worries. ‘‘My heart was breaking in two to see you walk away down the road. I didn’t know what to do for the longest time. I just stood watching your back and crying. I don’t know what’s going to become of us, or what we’re going to do. But let’s not worry about it just now. All I know is that I couldn’t let you leave again.’’

  THE DARING SCHEME

  43

  THAT NIGHT, AFTER WE HAD ALL EATEN AND Emma and baby William were settled down for a spell—though he would probably wake up hungry again in another hour or two—Katie and I sat on the bed in what had been my room and had a long talk. We were both pretty sober after hearing Emma’s story of how she had come to Rosewood.

  Once Katie had heard what Emma had been through, and the danger she was still in, she was more determined than ever not to make Emma leave anytime soon, at least until she and William were healthy and strong. Beyond that we didn’t say too much about the future. Neither of us wanted to bring it up again, because I was still unsure what to do myself, and I think Katie knew it.

  We didn’t actually resolve anything. Katie was just happy that I had decided to stay for one more night and was content not to worry about how I’d feel later. And I reckon that about sums up how I felt myself. I didn’t know what I’d do or what was the right thing to do.

  Finally we said good-night and Katie went back to her room. I turned out my lamp and pretty soon was sound asleep.

  Suddenly in the middle of the night, I woke up.

  Katie was calling my name.

  ‘‘Mayme . . . Mayme!’’

  Terrified, I jumped out of bed. My first thought was that the men we’d scared off with the guns were back.

  I fumbled in the darkness to throw something around me and hurried out into the hallway. Before I could reach her room, Katie nearly knocked me over running toward mine.

  ‘‘Mayme . . . Mayme!’’ she said, her voice an urgent whisper.

  ‘‘What is it, Miss Katie! What’s wrong?’’

  ‘‘Nothing’s wrong,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve had the most wonderful idea! Come into my room and I’ll tell you.’’

  I followed her, not knowing what to make of it. I was still a little shaky from waking up so fast.

  ‘‘Get into bed with me, Mayme,’’ she said as she struck a match to turn on her lamp. My heart was finally beating normally again.

  We sat there leaning against the pillows for a bit.

  ‘‘You said it yourself, Mayme,’’ she said by and by. ‘‘We’re in trouble if anyone finds us alone. So that’s what made me realize what we need to do—we’ve just got to make sure no one finds out we’re here alone.’’

  I nodded. It was just what I’d been trying to tell her all along.

  ‘‘Don’t you see—we’ll make it look like we’re not alone!’’ she went on. ‘‘No one will know Mama and Papa aren’t still here!’’

  Her eyes were wide and expectant, like she was waiting for me to jump up out of the bed and dance around or something. But I just kept sitting there staring back at her.

  ‘‘Isn’t that what we’ve already been doing?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘But you said we couldn’t keep doing it without getting discovered.’’

  ‘‘I reckon so,’’ I said. ‘‘That’s why I decided to leave, because sooner or later we were gonna get found out, or one of your uncles was gonna come and claim Rosewood and take you away.’’

  ‘‘But why couldn’t we keep doing it?’’ asked Katie. ‘‘We can make it so believable that no one ever finds out! Not my uncles or anyone in town . . . or anyone!’’

  ‘‘But . . . how?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘I don’t know, just have things look like normal,’’ said Katie. ‘‘Do it even better than we have up till now—make the plantation look like everything it’s supposed to be. We can pretend you’re one of Rosewood’s slaves. Remember Mr. Thurston and Mrs. Hammond? They didn’t guess we were alone.’’

  I thought about it, trying to get my mind around what she was suggesting.

  ‘‘I’m going to do it, Mayme,’’ Katie went on, more serious now. ‘‘I’m going to because I have to, for Emma’s sake, to keep her safe. But maybe even after she’s gone. I don’t want to go to live anywhere else. I’m just a girl, like you said, but why can’t I make Rosewood mine? I’m sure Mama and Papa would want me to have it. And I’m going to! I want you to stay, Mayme. And I hope you do. But whether you do or not, I’ve got to get Rosewood up and running again. Don’t you see—I’ve got to. I’ve got to for Emma . . . and for me too!’’

  ‘‘But I still don’t see how you can keep going on like we’ve been doing,’’ I said. ‘‘We’re already starting to run out of things. And what will you do when winter comes or if something happens and you get sick? And how would you buy things? What would you do if you went into town and people asked about your mama? What are you gonna do when you run out of sugar and salt and matches and other things like that you gotta buy? You don’t have any money, do you?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said Katie. ‘‘But that doesn’t matter, Mayme. I still think I could do it . . . especially with your help. I think we could pull the wool over people’s eyes enough so that they wouldn’t bother us.’’

  Little by little her unbelievable, incredible idea began to dawn on me.

  ‘‘So you actually think,’’ I said, ‘‘that you can keep doing like we’ve been . . . keep doing it till you get old enough so that the plantation’s really yours—honeyfuggle everybody into thinking the others are still here—your mama and daddy and the slaves and everyone?’’

  ‘‘Yes . . . yes, Mayme—that’s it!’’ laughed Katie, excited again.

  It was silent for another minute.

  ‘‘By the horn spoons, Miss Katie,’’ I added, shaking my head, ‘‘that’s some daring idea all right.’’

  ‘‘I know what I’m saying could be dangerous,’’ said Katie. ‘‘But I’d rather be in danger and us be able to stay together and me be able to stay here.’’

  ‘‘But . . . but do you really want me to stay?’’ I asked. ‘‘I’m the daughter of slaves. You’re the daughter of a white man. Even if you could get away with it and gum people into thinking you weren’t alone—’’

  ‘‘Mayme,’’ she interrupted me, tears suddenly replacing her laughter, ‘‘I want you to stay.’’

  Her words made me feel like crying too. It got real quiet for a minute.

  ‘‘Maybe it wouldn’t work forever, like you say,’’ said Katie after a bit. ‘‘All I know is that right now I don’t want to go live anywhere else. I want to stay right here and take care of Emma and baby William.’’

  ‘‘But . . . but like I said before when you had to talk to that Mr. Thurston,’’ I said, ‘‘you wouldn’t lie and tell people your folks are still alive, would you? You once said you couldn’t do that.’’

  Katie thought for a minute.

  ‘‘Lying’s wrong—I know that. But I remember my mama once telling me when the war came that sometimes people had to do hard things they didn’t need to do at other times. So maybe I could do it, if it would protect us and Rosewood,’’ she said. ‘‘Me not having to go to one of my uncles or to an orphanage and keeping you here and being able to help Emma.’’

  ‘‘I sure don’t know about all this, Miss Katie,’’ I said. ‘‘but . . . but it’d sure be
some pumpkins if you could do like you’re saying!’’

  Katie thought a minute.

  ‘‘I’d try not to lie,’’ she said thoughtfully. ‘‘I guess if I had to, to keep whoever’s after Emma from finding her and hurting her, well, I don’t know . . . maybe I’d have to. But I hope not.’’

  JUST MEAND GOD

  44

  AFTER TALKING A LITTLE MORE, WE WENT back to our own rooms again. I don’t know about Katie, whether she’d had to get up in the night to see to Emma and William, but I slept sound right through until it had begun to get light.

  Even though yesterday had been a long day and Katie and I had been up late the night before, I came instantly wide-awake. The minute I sat up in bed I had the sense that somebody had called my name and that’s what had woken me up. But it was completely silent. I don’t know what time it was, but it was early and there wasn’t a sound coming from anywhere else in the house.

  What could have made me wake up so suddenly?

  I lay there for a few minutes, and then had the feeling that I should get up.

  As I got dressed and slowly tiptoed from the room and downstairs, the most peculiar sensation came over me that it was God who had awakened me. The idea made me feel funny—like God knew me, knew my name, and was now quietly saying it—Mary Ann Jukes, get up . . . come outside. I want to talk to you.

  Did God really talk to people like that?

  Did God talk to people . . . like me?

  I was a nobody, a black, a slave with no family, with nothing to call my own. I reckon I was about as insignificant a person as there could be on the face of the earth.

  Would God really pay attention to someone like me? And why would He want to talk to me?

  I didn’t have the answers to all those questions, but I figured I ought to do what He said and find out what it was all about.

  I went out of the house and started walking. Before I knew it, I was walking toward Katie’s special place in the woods. It was so quiet and still in the morning. The sun wasn’t even quite up yet.

  Not only was it quiet out in the morning, it was quiet inside me too—quiet and still and peaceful. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t worried about what to do or where to go. Maybe thinking about God does that to you—quiets you down inside and makes you less fretful. I was a practical kind of person that usually had to have everything all figured out. But on this morning I wasn’t worried about anything except right then, and being where I was supposed to be at that moment. And it was a good feeling too.

  Slowly I walked along through the woods, looking around me as the birds woke up too and began to sing.

  Just as I reached Katie’s little meadow, I saw a deer about forty feet in front of me drinking from the stream. It pulled its head up and looked at me. It didn’t seem afraid, and we just stood looking at each other for a few long seconds. Then the deer slowly walked away and disappeared in the woods.

  I went the rest of the way into the meadow and sat down on the rock where Katie sat to write her poems and think.

  I sat there for the longest time, just thinking about all that had happened. Then I remembered that God had woken me up—maybe called my name—though I still didn’t know why.

  I wasn’t too experienced at praying. I’d really only prayed that one time a couple of weeks before when I’d been reading in my mama’s Bible. But I figured if ever there was a time when I needed to pray, maybe that time was now.

  ‘‘God,’’ I said, talking softly, though it sounded a little funny to hear my own voice in the middle of that meadow when the morning was so quiet, ‘‘I don’t know why you woke me up and wanted me to come out here, but if you’ve got something to say, I reckon I’m listening. You must know that I’ve been a mite confused about what Katie and I should do, and especially about what I ought to do. I thought I should leave and I even tried to twice. But it just hasn’t seemed to work out, and now I don’t know what to do. . . .’’

  I stopped and took a deep breath.

  Again it was silent a long time. Gradually I began to get the sense like I had before that God was talking. But His voice was so still and quiet that I couldn’t hardly make out what He was trying to say.

  How were you supposed to hear God’s voice anyway? Maybe you had to get so still yourself that His voice kind of stole inside you in the midst of the quiet.

  So I closed my eyes and tried to relax and shut out all my own thoughts and ideas to see if maybe I could make out what God was saying.

  I sat for a while with my eyes closed, just breathing in and out and being still . . . and waiting.

  Then slowly a thought came into my mind and then eight words followed it. I didn’t really hear them, but it was like hearing them. This is what the words said—Ask me what I want you to do.

  ‘‘Was that you, God?’’ I asked out loud. ‘‘Was that you saying that?’’

  Again, someone repeated the words and I heard them in my mind. Ask me what I want you to do.

  Then I realized that ever since I’d been trying to decide what to do and whether or not to leave Rosewood, I’d never once talked to God about it. All I’d done was try to figure out myself what to do.

  I wondered if there might be a difference between what you wanted to do yourself, even if you thought it was right, and what God wanted you to do.

  And how else could you find out what He wanted except by asking Him? Was that why He’d woken me up and gotten me to get up and come outside, so I’d learn how to ask Him instead of doing what I thought I ought to do? Was that the prayer He was trying to teach me to pray, how to ask Him what to do?

  If that was it, I thought, it was a whole new way of looking at things, a whole new way of looking at life. I’d always done whatever I figured I ought to do. That was the kind of person I was. I just did what I thought was best.

  Maybe that wasn’t how it was supposed to be after you’d opened up your heart to God. Maybe you were supposed to ask somebody else, and who else would that be but God?

  I sat for a long time in silence. I didn’t get any more feelings that God was saying anything. Maybe He’d said all He had to say.

  If that was true, then I reckoned it was time I did what He’d told me to do—ask Him.

  God had had His say. Now it was my turn. I don’t suppose God keeps talking to someone who’s not paying attention to what He says. If you want Him to keep talking to you, I guess you’ve got to keep your half of the conversation going, and right now I figured that my half of the conversation was to do what He’d told me.

  ‘‘All right, God,’’ I said finally, ‘‘I suppose I’ve been trying all this time to figure out myself what to do. So I’m ready to listen to you now. I’m asking, like I think you told me, what you want me to do. Even if it’s different than what I think, I’ll do what you tell me. So, God, what do you want me to do?’’

  There wasn’t anything more to say. I suppose when you ask God what He wants from you, that’s about the best prayer you can pray, and so I stopped.

  The quietness only lasted a little while.

  Suddenly more words came to me so clear there was no doubt about them. I want you to stay, they said.

  I sat up straight.

  ‘‘God, was that you answering my prayer?’’ I asked.

  I want you to stay, came the answer again.

  Slowly a smile spread over my face.

  I don’t know if I mentioned before how I’d sometimes been curious whether God was black or white. But it didn’t matter—God had spoken to me!

  God had listened to the prayer of a black slave girl called Mayme Jukes and had answered her. He cared enough about that girl called Mayme to tell her what He wanted her to do!

  That’s pretty nice, I thought. All you had to do to find out what God wanted was to ask Him! What could be simpler? I’d have to start asking Him what He wanted me to do more often. It wasn’t until I was older that I grasped all the implications of what I’d done. But it was a good start
and got me thinking about God in new ways.

  After a bit I got up. As I came out of the woods and began walking back to the house, the sun was up and I could feel its warmth on my face. That’s how I felt inside too—warm and happy because God was looking down at me, and because He knew my name and cared about me, and wanted me to talk to Him and wanted me to do the things He told me.

  I think someplace between the woods and the house I knew that a big change had come into my life. In a quiet, peaceful sort of way, I knew I was a different person than I’d been when I’d walked into the meadow and sat down. How could you not be changed when God speaks personally to you—just to you and nobody else?

  God and I had just had a conversation together. That may seem like a simple enough thing. But it was a big thing for me—bigger than I know how to say.

  God and I had talked to each other!

  That’s an amazing thing when you stop and think about it. God made the world and everything in it, and they say He loves everybody and is taking care of everything in the whole world all at the same time. So for God to love me enough, in the middle of all that, to talk to me and help me and tell me what to do— wow, that’s about the most amazing thing in the world!

  Somehow I knew I was going to have lots of conversations with Him after that day. And I knew that when He had something He wanted me to do, He’d tell me.

  And whatever it was, I was going to do my best to do it.

  MAKING PLANS

  45

  WHEN I GOT BACK TO THE HOUSE, KATIE was up and busy with Emma and William. For the rest of the morning there never seemed to be a good time to talk to her. I guess I was pretty quiet for the rest of the day and mostly kept to myself. After what had happened at Katie’s special place in the woods, I didn’t know what to tell her. How do you tell someone that you’ve been talking to God? I had no idea what she might think.

  But I was happy inside. I knew that God loved me and cared about me. I guess those were things I’d always known. But it was different now—I knew them in my heart. And I felt warm and at peace inside, at peace with God, at peace with my future, and at peace with myself.