Templeton nodded. “Yeah, we do,” he said. “These are bad times. We’ve all got to do what we’ve got to do. We’ll get by. You want me to talk to him? After all, he is going to be my son-in-law one of these days.”
“No,” said Mr. Watson. “It’s only right that I tell him. But I wanted you two to know how it was, that it’s nothing personal.”
“We understand,” said Templeton.
“I’d watch yourselves too,” added Mr. Watson. “You do know whose rifle you took and turned on that bunch?”
“Yeah, I know. Sam already doesn’t like us much.”
“This won’t help matters.”
“We’ll be careful.”
They rose and shook hands.
“Where can I find the boy?” asked Mr. Watson.
They walked outside and pointed out the way to Henry’s cabin.
As Mr. Watson made his way toward the small house, a single-seat buckboard was just leaving Rosewood on the road into the countryside with Jeremiah’s father at the reins. Beside him, in her finest dress, sat Josepha, feeling happier than she had ever felt in her life.
From an upstairs window where they had earlier that day helped Josepha get ready for her picnic with Henry, Katie and Mayme watched them go with expressions of youthful glee on their faces. They were almost as excited for the two older people as Henry and Josepha were for themselves.
“Well, Miz Josepha,” said Henry as they rode, “whatchu think ’bout all dis?”
“All dis what, Mister Patterson?”
“Dese coupler ol’ colored folks behavin’ like dey wuz still as young as Miz Mayme an’ Jeremiah, goin’ fo picnics together, goin’ ter da river together, goin’ fo walks together, da man takin’ his lady friend flowers? All dese carryin’ ons got tongues waggin’ an’ wonderin’ what dey’s gwine do next! So what are we gwine do?”
Josepha laughed. “I don’t know, Mister Patterson. Dat’s likely up ter you.”
“Dey’s all mighty curious what we’s up to,” chuckled Henry.
Josepha laughed again. “Dem two girls back at da house, dey don’t know what ter do wiff me dese days! So what is we up to?” she added, trying to swallow a giggle.
“I’s goin’ out fo a ride an’ a picnic wiff a lady I’s grown mighty fond ob, dat’s what,” replied Henry.
“Jes’ like a coupler white folks. Who’da thought a black man an’ a black woman would hab da freedom ter go out ridin’ in an expensive carriage like dis? I neber been ridin’ like dis in my life.”
“Not me neither. But times is changin’, I reckon fo da better an’ da worse in some ways. But dis part ob it’s fer da better, an’ dat’s a fact. Dis shore ain’t nuthin’ we’d ever be able ter do back in da ol’ days. What master would gib us a carriage ter use like it wuz our own?”
A few minutes later, Henry pulled the carriage off the road and guided the single horse across a smooth field of grass where daisies and a few yellow wild flowers were growing, then reined in.
He got down and secured the carriage, then offered his hand to Josepha. She stepped to the ground, not quite daintily but with a lightness of step that was almost elegant for a woman her size.
“What you got in dat basket?” Henry asked.
“Ef you’ll jes’ hand it down ter me,” replied Josepha, “we’ll find us a place on dis nice grass ter open it an’ fin’ out.”
“Soun’s good ter me,” said Henry.
Two minutes later they were walking across the grass hand in hand, the picnic basket swinging at Henry’s side.
Half an hour later, Henry and Josepha sat on the blanket Josepha had brought, quietly talking as they finished up their outdoor lunch.
“I don’t know exactly what you’s thinkin’ ’bout all dis,” said Henry. “I reckon it’s a mite unushul, so I thought I oughter explain myself as best I kin. Back in da ol’ days, some things wuz simpler. Coupler folks like us, we jes’ did what da master tol’ us. But now we ain’t got nobody ter tell us what ter do, ’cept da Lord, ob course, but His voice is a mite hard ter hear sometimes. So a body’s jes’ gotter make up his own mind what’s right.
“What I’s tryin’ ter say is dat I don’t know exactly what we oughter do. You’s workin’ fo Miz Kathleen in da house, but now all ob a sudden I’s outer work an’ ain’t got but fifty dollers ter my name. Dat soun’s like a lot, but it won’t go far when no more’s comin’ in. I don’t see much likelihood er getting’ no work roun’about here no time too soon. So I’s kind ob a man in er fix.”
Suddenly Josepha looked across at him with fear in her eyes.
“Henry Patterson,” she said, “you’s not tryin’ ter tell me you’s leavin’ Rosewood!”
The serious expression on Henry’s face told her that the thought had crossed his mind.
“I wouldn’t be altogether tellin’ da truf ef I said I hadn’t given dat thought some consideration. A man’s gotter hab work, an’ it wudn’t be right er me ter presume on Miz Kathleen’s an’ Mister Templeton’s an’ Mister Ward’s good graces. Dey’s right generous folks, but a body can’t expect other folks ter take care ob him. I’s been givin’ dem half my wages from da livery fo da little cabin dey let me an’ Jeremiah use, an’ fo da food dat we all enjoy eatin’ together, an’ Jeremiah’s been doin’ da same. Dey don’t like takin’ our money, but it ain’t much, an’ it’s da right thing ’cause dis is a big place an’ dere’s lots ob us ter feed an’ we all gots ter do our part, jes’ like you do in da kitchen, an’ it ain’t as ef da crops make all dat much money. Da cotton hasn’t been too good dese last coupler years. But now wiff me an’ Jeremiah bof out er work, things is boun’ ter change—an’ so we gotter figger out what ter do.”
Josepha’s worry was growing. She didn’t like Henry’s serious tone!
“I reckon it’d be different fo white folks,” said Henry. “Dey could jes’ go off an’ git new jobs. But who’s gwine hire a fifty-year-ol’ colored man roun’ ’bout dese parts?”
Henry paused and took in a long breath.
“So I had me a little talk wiff Mister Ward and Mister Templeton,” he went on, “an’ I laid dis troublesome situation before dem an’ asked what dey thought I should do, since neither me nor Jeremiah got no mo wages comin’ in. An’ dis is jes’ between you an’ me, an’ you gotter promise ter say nuthin’ ’cause he’s gotter tell Miz Mayme in his own way, but Jeremiah’s considerin’ goin’ up norf fo a spell ter see what kind er work he kin find, like what you said. Dat’s why I said I’d considered da same thing myself.”
Again Henry paused briefly, then continued.
“An’ da long an’ da short ob it,” he said, “is dat Mister Templeton an’ Mister Ward tol’ me dey wanted me ter stay right here where I wuz an’ dat I’d be workin’ fo dem from now on an’ dat we’d all git by jes’ fine, an’ dat wiff three men we’d be able ter git da cotton back ter like it wuz before da war, an’ den dey said dat ef I tried ter leave ter fin’ work dey’d hog tie me an’ keep me here.
“So I reckon I ain’t gwine be leavin’ anytime soon, an’ so dat got me thinkin’ long an’ hard ’bout you an’ me, an’ since we’s bof here an’ I got my situation kind er figgered out, I’s finally ready ter ask you ef you’d maybe do me da honor er bein’ my wife fo however many years we got lef’.”
Josepha gasped in shock. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t this!
“You’s always sayin’ somethin’ ter take my breath away,” she said.
“So what you think? Wiff Jeremiah goin’ norf, da little cabin he and I share can be our cabin now. ’Course you’d still have ter go ter da big house ter fix everybody else’s meals, but it’d be kind er like havin’ our own place.”
“I figgered you an’ me, dat we’d jes’ . . .” Josepha began.
Her brain was reeling, and words were coming out in a jumble.
“I don’t know what I figgered,” she went on. “I’s up dere in da house, an’ you’s . . . but you’s down dere in da cabin . . .
I jes’ didn’t never think . . . you . . . you’s sayin’ you want . . . ter marry me!”
For answer Henry leaned over and kissed Josepha.
“I reckon it came on me slow,” he said after a moment, “realizin’ dat you wuz becomin’ mighty special ter me, an’ dat fo da second time in my life I knew dat I loved a woman. I hope you don’t mind ef you’s da second woman I kissed.”
“I don’t reckon I mind,” said Josepha. “I ain’t neber been kissed by a man before you in my life, so I don’t reckon I kin begrudge Jeremiah’s mama dat you loved her afore me. What wuz her name?”
“Lacina.”
“Dat’s a pretty name. She muster been a fine woman.”
“She wuz. But now I reckon dere’s room where she lives in my heart ter share wiff you, effen you don’t mind.”
“I don’t reckon I think much ob a man havin’ two wifes at da same time. But I don’t mind sharin’ her memory wiff you. Dere’s jes’ one mo thing.”
“What’s dat?” asked Henry.
“I’d like it ef you’d call me Seffie. I ain’t been called dat in a lot er years, an’ it’s a special name ter me.”
“So what’s yo answer, den, Miz Seffie?” said Henry.
“I reckon, Mister Patterson, dat my answer’s yes.”
At supper that evening when we were all at the table together, not even news of Jeremiah’s talk with Mr. Watson could dampen the joy we all felt when Henry told us about his talk that afternoon with Josepha.
Katie and I shrieked with joy and jumped up to hug Josepha. Papa and Uncle Ward and Jeremiah gathered round Henry with back slaps and handshakes.
It was almost more than we’d dared dream of!
THREE CONVERSATIONS
38
The conversations that took place four days later were all ones that influenced our lives in unforeseen ways. The first was between Jeremiah and me.
I knew that Mr. Watson had let him go at the mill, but I didn’t know what he was thinking of doing about it.
He asked me if he could talk to me after lunch. He took my hand as we walked out toward the woods. I knew it was serious because he said nothing for a long time. We were all the way to Katie’s secret little meadow in the woods before he said a word. By then I was really getting worried!
“You know ’bout Mr. Watson an’ da mill?” he said.
I nodded.
“You know how me an’ Papa hab been givin’ some ob our wages to Mister Ward and your daddy,” Jeremiah went on. “It ain’t as if it’s dat much, but Papa says dat now dat we’s free, we’s got ter prove dat we’s worthy er freedom by workin’ hard an’ payin’ our own way an’ not lookin’ fo nobody ter pay our way fo us like da white masters used ter do. Dey used ter do everything fo us. Now we’s got ter do fo ourselves an’ Papa says we gotter show dat we can, dat we kin work hard. Mister Lincoln’s dead an’ now we gotter prove dat he wuz right. Dat’s what my daddy says. An’ da way we do dat is ter work hard an’ not expect no hand-outs from nobody.
“Now your papa an’ Mister Ward, dey’s ’bout da finest two men I eber knowed besides my papa and Micah Duff. An’ dey said da same thing ter me as dey did ter my daddy, dat I could stay on wiff him an’ dey’d fin’ plenty er work fo us bof. But I been thinkin’ ’bout it, an’ it ain’t jes’ da danger ter blacks here, I figger too dat it don’t seem right fo you an’ me ter git married when we’s beholdin’ ter folks fo everythin’, even folks as generous as Miss Katie an’ Mister Templeton an’ Mister Ward. An’ now wiff my daddy plannin’ ter marry Josepha, an’ dem both bein’ here wiffout other jobs, it seems dat maybe I needs ter be helpin’ out wiff some real money so dat things don’t git bad like dey was a while back for you an’ Katie. I saw yer papa an’ Mister Ward go into da bank da day ob da fire, an’ dey ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but I heard ’em once talking ’bout taxes an’ where dey wuz gwine git da money ter pay ’em.”
Jeremiah stopped and drew in a long breath. That was a lot of talking for him to do!
“I gotter work,” he went on. “I need ter be earnin’ money so’s we kin git married an’ not be beholden to nobody. An’ I figger I gots ter help my papa a little too cause he can’t be dependin’ on your papa every time he an’ Josepha wants ter buy somethin’. So I’s decided dat I need ter fin’ me another job an’ put some money away fo you an’ me, an’ fo my papa an’ maybe fo dose taxes too. But since dere ain’t likely ter be no work roun’ here, I’s decided ter go up norf fo a spell an’ git me a job.”
“Oh . . . oh, Jeremiah!” I said, drawing in a breath of shock. I couldn’t help it, I felt tears filling my eyes. I clutched his hand tight and looked into his face.
“I don’t like da thought ob leavin’ you any more den you does,” he said. “But it won’t be fo too long. Dey say dere’s jobs in da harbors an’ in da factories an’ wiff train buildin’, an’ dat even a black man kin make better money up dere den a white man does down here. We’s be together agin soon, an’ by then maybe I’ll hab enuff saved dat will last us awhile an’ things’ll git better here, an’ I’ll be able to git another job, an’ maybe den da time’ll be right fo us.”
I sat down on a log, still stunned. But as heartbroken as I was, I admired Jeremiah all the more for wanting to work hard for himself. Somehow inside I knew it was the right decision.
But I couldn’t help crying. The thought of him leaving Rosewood was almost more than I could bear. We’d been waiting, for one reason or another, for so long!
While we were off talking in the woods—-with me crying!—my papa and Uncle Ward rode into Oakwood.
People were used to the two Daniels brothers by now, but they still turned a few heads wherever they went. And of course word had spread about the fire and what had happened. Most folks didn’t approve of the KKK’s tactics. But to turn a gun on a white man in defense of a black man, for whatever reason, was a sin that most Southerners would never forgive. The fact that Templeton Daniels carried a rifle across his saddle as they rode into town drew even more looks than otherwise, and stares followed them as they rode down the street, then stopped in front of the sheriff’s office.
They dismounted and went inside, Templeton still carrying the gun.
When Sam Jenkins looked up, hatred filled his eyes.
“I believe this is yours, Sam,” said Daniels, setting the rifle down on the sheriff’s desk. “You left it behind when you and your cowardly scum rode off the other day.”
“How dare you talk to me like—”
“Shut up, Jenkins!” interrupted Ward. “Now you just sit there and listen. My brother’s right—you’re all nothing but a bunch of yellow cowards, going about like little boys dressed up in sheets. You don’t have the guts to own up to what you’re doing. My brother came to return your gun—he’s a little more neighborly than me. I came to tell you this—I’ve been in jail a few times, I’m more than fifty years old, I’ve already lived longer than I probably have a right to, and so there’s not much I’m afraid of. I’m not afraid of jail, I’m not afraid of dying, I don’t think I’m even afraid of hanging, though I don’t relish the thought. But one thing I’m especially not afraid of is you. I’m sorry about your boy. Nobody ought to have to lose a son like that. I’d hoped maybe you’d learned from it a bit about hate, but it doesn’t seem that you have. I think you’re a coward, Jenkins—a coward and a hypocrite . . . sitting there with that badge, then going out and hiding behind a mask when you try to kill people. No true man would do that, only a coward. So I’m telling you that if you lay a finger on any of our family, black or white, or so much as set foot on Rosewood without our permission . . . I’ll personally kill you, Jenkins. They may hang me for it, but you won’t be there to watch. Don’t push me, Jenkins. I mean what I say. I’ll kill you if you give me cause.”
Ward turned and walked out. Sheriff Jenkins stared after him, his face trembling and so white with rage that he couldn’t even manage a word. Templeton followed a few seconds later, almost as shocked at wh
at his brother had said as the sheriff.
The third conversation that day took place later, after Papa and Uncle Ward were back from Oakwood. They didn’t tell any of us right then what had taken place in the sheriff’s office. It would come back to haunt us one day, but not for a while.
The rest of the day had been sad and thoughtful for me after my conversation with Jeremiah. Katie and I had talked. I’d told her about Jeremiah’s decision and cried again. Later, while Katie helped Josepha get supper ready in the kitchen, I went up to my room to rest. I was trying to get ready to put on a smiling face when I went down to supper. I couldn’t act all glum for Jeremiah’s sake. He felt right about his decision and I had to show my support by acting like I felt good about it too.
After a while, I got up from my bed and wandered to the window. In the distance I saw my papa and Henry and Uncle Ward walking away from the house.
“We thought maybe it was time we took a look at the work you’ve been doing on the cabin,” said Templeton. “Why don’t you show us?”
“You wuz jest down dere yesterday, Mister Templeton,” laughed Henry. “You done as much ob da work on it as I hab.”
“Well, we want to see it again,” said Ward. “Supper’s not quite ready. By the way, Henry, that cabin of yours and Jeremiah’s is pretty small for a married man, and it’s got no kitchen. How’s Josepha going to manage as a married lady without a kitchen?”
“We figgered she’d still be cookin’ for you all at da big house,” said Henry.
“I’m glad to hear that!” laughed Templeton. “But what if she wants to make a special cake or batch of biscuits just for you? What’s she going to do then?”
“I hadn’t thought er dat, Mister Templeton.”
Never Too Late Page 19
