The Soldier's Lady

by Michael Phillips

  From an upstairs window in the house, Emma and Katie and I happened to be watching as my papa and Micah Duff walked up to the barn for some things an hour or so later, talking and laughing like old friends.

  Actually Katie had been standing at the window first. I saw her and walked up behind her. We stood a minute just looking at the two of them as they disappeared into the barn.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  Katie looked over at me and smiled. It was a quiet and peaceful smile.

  “I guess I was thinking . . . I don’t know—just how wonderful it is what God has done here. Isn’t it, Mayme?” she added, glancing over at me. “How could we have ever known, that first day when we saw each other downstairs in the kitchen . . . that was such an awful day. I didn’t know how I would keep living at all . . . yet now, look—there are two wonderful men out there—did you see them just now, laughing and talking. We didn’t even know them then . . . well, I knew Uncle Templeton, but you didn’t, even though he was your father. And now here they are part of our lives, just like everyone else. It’s really wonderful how good God has been to us. I am so thankful that we have a family again . . . and for you especially, Mayme.”

  Emma walked in before I had a chance to reply. She came over and joined us at the window. A minute later Papa and Micah walked out of the barn again, each holding the ends of two long planks. Their voices carried up to where we stood watching, though we couldn’t make out their words.

  “I wonder what they’re talking about,” said Katie. “They act like they’ve known each other for years.”

  “I have a feeling Micah Duff is that way with anyone,” I said. “Remember how Jeremiah talked about him, like Micah was always able to tell what he was thinking.”

  “And he’s so good-looking,” said Katie.

  I glanced over at Katie. She saw that I was surprised by what she’d said.

  “What?” she laughed with a questioning tone. “He is . . . don’t you think?”

  “But he’s black,” I said. “Do you really think he’s good-looking?”

  “Why, you mean because I’m white? You thought Rob Paxton was good-looking, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but that’s different.”

  “No it’s not,” said Katie, “I think Micah Duff is about as handsome as anyone I’ve seen, don’t you, Mayme?”

  “Well . . .” I said, looking down again to Papa and Micah Duff now walking back toward the cabins. Even though their backs were turned, I remembered his face well enough. And Katie was right. “Yes,” I said, giggling a little, “he is a mighty fine-looking man, all right.”

  “What do you think, Emma?” asked Katie.

  “I reckon you’s right dere,” nodded Emma. “I jes’ hadn’t thought ob it afore.”

  “You hadn’t noticed him!” said Katie. “How could you not have noticed?”

  Now Katie started giggling even more.

  “What are you thinking?” I laughed.

  “I was just thinking . . . oh, wouldn’t it be the most . . .”

  Now she broke out laughing like she couldn’t stop.

  “What is so funny!” I said.

  “I was just thinking what the people in town—and especially Mrs. Hammond!—what would they say if I was to marry a black man?”

  I stopped laughing and looked at Katie in shock.

  “Katie Clairborne,” I said, “you’re not really thinking . . . I mean—what are you thinking!”

  “Nothing . . . I’m not thinking anything—only . . .”

  She stopped and glanced away. I couldn’t believe it—Katie’s face was red. I don’t ever think I’d seen her embarrassed like that before.

  “But . . . but could you really marry a black man, Katie?” I said after a minute. “You’re not really thinking that . . . are you?”

  “You could marry a white man, couldn’t you, Mayme?”

  “Well, maybe, but that’s different—I’m half white.”

  “I don’t think it’s different at all,” said Katie. “Of course anyone who did would get plenty of grief from whites and blacks both. But, yes—I could marry a black man, if he was the right man—if he was sensitive and kind and I could talk to him . . . and if I was in love with him. Why shouldn’t I? Love’s the main thing, isn’t it, not the color of someone’s skin.”

  We stood staring out the window another minute or two until the two men had disappeared from our sight.

  When Jeremiah returned from town after work late that afternoon, even before he could see the buildings of Rosewood, he heard the sounds of Micah and Mr. Templeton where they were talking and laughing as they sat on the roof of the cabin pounding nails into the new boards and shingles they had put in place. At the first sound of their voices Jeremiah guided his horse forward to join them.

  Then a great laugh from Templeton Daniels sounded. Jeremiah hesitated. Mayme’s father had never laughed with him like that. Suddenly Jeremiah felt strange, isolated and distant, like an outsider, and not a part of the conversation and camaraderie the two men were obviously enjoying with each other.

  Why did their laughter and conversation make him feel this way? Was he jealous that Micah could laugh and talk with Mayme’s father like an equal, man to man . . . was he jealous that Micah could speak like a white man . . . that he was intelligent and could read books?

  Such thoughts did not exactly form themselves in Jeremiah’s brain. But he felt them in his heart. They were unsettling and confusing. Slowly he turned the reins away and took a more roundabout route to the barn. Earlier in the day he’d seen Deke Steeves in town. He always knew, when he ran into guys like him and Weed Jenkins and Jesse Earl that they looked down on him like he was trash. All whites looked down on people of colored skin as inferior, except for unusual whites like Katie and Mr. Templeton and Mr. Ward. But there weren’t many like them, that was for sure.

  But Jeremiah knew he wasn’t really inferior in any way to a rough like Deke Steeves. Inside he felt every bit Steeves’ equal.

  But the feeling that had just surged through him was something he had never felt before. Suddenly he felt inferior . . . to another black man, even a black man he considered a friend.

  Templeton had always treated him well enough. But Jeremiah knew he was beholden to Templeton Daniels. They could never really be friends. But it was different with Micah. He and Templeton were behaving like they were friends. And for some reason he couldn’t explain . . . it hurt to know that he could never be like that. He could never really be on the same level as Micah.

  And . . . what about Mayme? Jeremiah thought.

  After meeting Micah, how could she not see the same thing that was suddenly so obvious to him—that he could never measure up to a man like Micah Duff? The fact was, Micah would be so much better for Mayme. She had to notice it too.

  Alongside Micah Duff, what did he have to offer her? Not much.

  “I’ve got an announcement to make!” said my papa at supper that evening. “I’ve talked Micah into staying with us for a spell as our newest hired hand!”

  “Well, dat be right fine, Mister Templeton,” said Josepha. “I had da feelin’ dat boy was gettin’ da itch ter be pullin’ up stakes agin and he ain’t ready effen you ax me.”

  “It’s one more mouth to feed, Josepha,” said Uncle Ward.

  “You let me take care of feedin’ da moufs aroun’ here, Mister Ward, an’ you jes’ make sure we got enuff food.”

  “It’s wonderful!” said Katie, smiling warmly at Micah. “We’re very happy that you’re going to stay.”

  Seeing the smile on Katie’s face reminded me of what she’d said earlier when we had been looking at Micah from upstairs.

  Just how fond of him was she!

  READING, WRITING, AND RANCHING

  8

  MOST OF THE ROSEWOOD FAMILY BEGAN TO gather in the large kitchen for lunch. Josepha had rung the bell outside and was setting plates and serving bowls on the table as everyone wandered in. The newspaper
she had been looking at a few days before lay open on the table and Mayme, who had been helping Josepha with preparations for lunch, sat down and began to read one of the stories aloud.

  “ ‘It is with great,’ ” she read, then slowly tried to make out the next word, “ ‘an . . . tic . . . uh . . . pa . . . shun . . .’ ”

  “Anticipation,” sounded a voice behind her. Micah Duff had just walked in with Jeremiah and Ward. “Keep going—you’re doing fine,” he added.

  Mayme smiled and bent down to the paper again.

  “ ‘It is with great anticipation that workers for the Union Pacific,’ ” she went on slowly.

  As she read Micah slowly walked to the table and stood beside her.

  “ ‘. . . and Central Pacific Railroads continue . . . uh . . . feverishly to lay down their tracks, ap . . . approach . . .’ ”

  “Approaching,” said Micah, looking down over Mayme’s shoulder, his head close to hers as she read.

  “Some of the words are long!” laughed Mayme.

  “That’s all right. You read very well. Go on.”

  “I’ll try. ‘. . . Approaching one another closer and closer every day, each racing to cover more ground than the other. They will almost surely meet . . . sometime next month in early May in the . . . vicinity of Pro . . . pro . . . mon’—I’m sorry, I don’t know that word,” said Mayme.

  “It’s the name of a town in Utah,” said Micah. “Promontory Point—that’s where they expect the tracks to meet.”

  “That’s what it says next, isn’t it?” said Mayme. “ ‘. . . Then at last will the two coasts of the great American . . . continent be joined by . . .’—you finish it, would you please?”

  “‘. . . the great iron bands of railroad,’ ” Micah went on, “ ‘and the dream of seeing California and the mighty Pacific Ocean will be only as far away as a ride of several days in a comfortable coach behind a great steam locomotive.’ ”

  Mayme looked up at Micah, still standing close, and smiled. “Thank you—that was fun. Katie’s the one who mostly taught me to read, didn’t you, Katie?”

  “All you needed was a little help,” said Katie, walking over to join them. “And then you were smart enough to pick most of it up on your own.”

  By now Josepha was hustling everyone to the table. Emma scooted William’s chair closer to the table, his little hands and sleeves still wet from a washing at the pump. Jeremiah came in and quietly sat down next to him, and Ward and Templeton soon followed.

  “How did you learn to read so well, Micah?” asked Katie as they took chairs beside each other.

  “I taught myself too,” replied Micah. “I asked lots of questions, I listened to what I was told and I worked at it and got some simple books when I had the chance. I wanted to read, so I worked hard to learn. Then there was a fellow I told Jake about called Hawk, who helped me just like you helped Mayme. Everybody’s got to have somebody, don’t they, to help them through the rough spots.”

  Everyone looked around the table at one another. They all knew just what he meant. They’d all been doing that for each other for several years.

  “Anyway,” Micah went on, “Hawk helped me figure out a lot of things about life besides reading. But by the way,” he added, turning to Katie, “what should a man like me call you? I’ve heard Miss Katie and Miss Kathleen, and I think even Miss Clairborne, and just Kathleen. I still haven’t quite figured out how everything around this place works, so I don’t want to misspeak.”

  Katie laughed with delight. “We’re all trying to figure out how this place operates, aren’t we, Uncle Templeton!”

  “That we are, Kathleen!” he said, joining her in laughter.

  “Well, Mr. Duff,” said Katie, “my uncles call me Kathleen, Josepha and Henry usually call me Miss Kathleen, and people who don’t know me very well call me Miss Clairborne. Mayme and Emma used to call me Miss Katie out of respect. But I prefer that my best friends just call me Katie. After all, that’s my name.”

  “So what should I call you?”

  “Call me Katie.”

  “Then you have to stop the Mister Duff and call me Micah.”

  “All right . . . Micah,” said Katie with a smile and a slight reddening of her cheeks.

  By now lunch was in full swing and Micah brought the conversation back around to the subject of the newspaper article about what was called the transcontinental railroad.

  “Just think what it would be like to go west,” he said excitedly. “All the way to California!”

  “It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,” said Ward Daniels with a cynical expression.

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s not the land of milk and honey people make it out to be. California’s just like any other place.”

  “Is there really gold, Mr. Daniels?” asked Micah.

  “Sure. And there was lots of it at first,” Ward replied, “though it’s mostly all been found by now. But all it did was make men into greedy animals. There’s a lot of things that money can’t buy.”

  “Your gold saved Rosewood, Uncle Ward,” said Katie.

  “I suppose you’re right,” nodded Ward, “and I’m thankful for that. But gold can’t buy family, can it, Templeton?”

  “Nope, it sure can’t.”

  “So you were in the gold rush, Mr. Daniels?” asked Micah.

  “The tail end of it, I reckon you’d say.”

  “That sounds like a story I want to hear!”

  “Good luck,” laughed Ward’s brother. “He won’t even talk to me about it.—Tell them,” added Templeton to Micah, “what you told me about going west.”

  Micah glanced at him, thought a second or two, then nodded.

  “I’d like to go west,” he said, “that’s my dream anyway . . . have a place of my own, raise cattle, maybe horses,” said Micah, more thoughtfully now. “It’ll probably never happen, but I think about it.”

  “Why couldn’t it happen, Micah?” said Mayme excitedly to Micah where he sat between her and Katie. “You’re well now and the war’s over and now there’s a train that goes all the way there.”

  “Not quite yet!” laughed Micah. “Next month!”

  “All right,” she said. “We don’t want you to leave, anyway. But I bet you will go to California someday! You might be one of California’s first black ranchers!—Are there coloreds in California, Uncle Ward?” she asked.

  “Not too many. Lots of Mexicans and Chinese. Not many Negroes.”

  “I wonder if coloreds like us will ever be able to go places like that and see faraway places of the world,” said Mayme.

  “You just said that you thought I could,” said Micah.

  “I meant you, not me.”

  “Why not you too? What do you say, Mayme—you and me, we’ll make a trip to California and show them what blacks are like!”

  Mayme laughed. “I doubt that is something I will be doing anytime soon! I’m not like you, Micah. You’ve already seen lots of the world. You’re an adventurer.”

  Micah roared with laughter. “I rode into Greens Crossing, by Josepha’s account, more than half dead,” he said. “And you call me an adventurer!”

  “Well, you’re still an adventurer compared to me.”

  “I don’t know, Mayme. You’ve got a lot of the adventurous spirit in you too. Unless I miss my guess, so do you, Katie,” he added, turning to Katie. “I’ve got the feeling the world’s just begun to hear about you two!”

  “We might say the same about you, Mr. Duff,” said Katie.

  “Micah, remember?”

  “Oh . . . sorry. In the South we are always taught to call people mister. But you know what I mean . . . Micah— maybe the world’s just begun to hear about you. I still agree with Mayme that you’re the bold and daring one.”

  Micah laughed again. “All right, then, we’ll set the world on its ear together someday—all three of us—you and Mayme and I. We’ll set California on its ear, how’s that!”

  Templeton
laughed. “Listen to these young folk, Ward!” he said. “Were we that way when we were young—with all kinds of dreams?”

  “I think we were, Templeton,” replied Ward, “but ours were more schemes than dreams.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean. These three are adventurers. We were just drifters.”

  “That’s all I’ve been for several years,” said Micah, a little more soberly.

  “All that’s changed now, son,” said Templeton. “Meeting these two girls does that to folks. Run into Mayme and Katie and things change in a hurry!”

  “I can see that!” laughed Micah. “I’m feeling the change already.”

  When lunch was over, though the others were still talking away about the railroad and the west, Jeremiah got up and left the kitchen. He hadn’t said anything for a while, for most of lunch, in fact.

  He walked outside around the barn until he was out of sight from the house. Emma too had been mostly quiet during the conversation. She now slipped out of the house, leaving William splashing in the dishwater beside Josepha. She had seen Jeremiah go, more than half suspected the cause, and now followed him. Emma found him sitting on a pile of boards behind the barn, staring down at the ground. She walked over and sat down.

  “Everythin’ all right wiff you, Jeremiah?” she said.

  He glanced toward her and forced a smile, though it didn’t seem like a very happy one.

  He said nothing for several minutes. The two continued to sit side by side.

  “You ever wish you cud read, Emma?” said Jeremiah at length. “I mean read real good, so’s you cud read a newspaper like dey wuz doin’, or even a book?”

  “Not till I got ter Rosewood,” answered Emma. “Dat’s when everythin’ changed fo me.”

  “Yeah, maybe me too.”

  “I never thought much ’bout nuthin’ afore dat,” Emma went on. “I figgered readin’ an’ such-like wuzn’t somethin’ coloreds wuz supposed ter do. But Josepha kin read real good, an’ now Miz Katie’s taught Mayme ter read, though I think Mayme cud already read a little. She has her mama’s Bible, you know. You know how ter read at all, Jeremiah?”