Never Too Late

by Michael Phillips

  They reached the new house and walked inside.

  “You do beautiful work, Henry,” said Ward. “Look at this, two big rooms, and this big kitchen with that new counter you put in, the sink with an inside pump, and the place there for a cook stove—you’ve turned a small cabin into a spacious home, Henry. Nobody’d ever know it used to be a slave cabin.”

  “Thank you, Mister Ward—I’s pleased how it all’s turnin’ out,” said Henry, still a little bewildered by the gist of the conversation, since all three of them had been working on the house together.

  “By the way, I’m not sure whether Templeton told you, but last time we were in town we ordered the new cook stove, made to fit right there—brand-new, coming from Richmond. And while we were at it, we ordered a new bed, extra wide and extra long.”

  “We figured the new occupants of the house might like it that way,” added Templeton with a mischievous wink, though Henry did not understand his meaning.

  “Yep,” he nodded, “I’s sure dey will at dat.”

  “And we ordered a couple of chairs and a couch. We thought they would look good over here,” said Ward, now wandering into the empty space of the living area off the kitchen, “alongside this handsome bookcase you built. I must say—very fine work, Henry!”

  “Thank you, suh. But effen you don’t mind my askin’ . . . I did tell you dat Jeremiah’s plannin’ ter leave fo a spell?”

  “That you did.”

  “Seems like you’s goin’ ter considerable expense when he an’ Mayme ain’t gwine be ready no time soon.”

  “Well, speaking of Mayme and Jeremiah,” said Templeton, “we’ve been thinking about that, and when we heard about what Jeremiah was set on doing, we changed our plans. This house turned out so nice that we decided to sell it.”

  “Sell it!” said Henry in surprise, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Effen you don’t mind my askin’ . . . does you hab yorselves a buyer yet?”

  “Nope,” said Templeton, shaking his head. “These are tough times. The market’s a little slow for converted slave cabins.”

  “Effen you don’t mind my askin’ agin . . . uh, what wuz you thinkin’ ’bout askin’ fo da place?” said Henry.

  Ward and Templeton looked at each other. “We’d talked about somewhere in da neighborhood of twenty, maybe twenty-five dollars,” said Ward.

  “Twenty-five dollars!” exclaimed Henry. “Dat can’t hardly be. I run up ten or twelve dollars at Mister Watson’s on yo account jest’ fo lumber an’ roofin’ an’ da new windows. An’ dat new cook stove’s likely gwine cost ten er twelve mo, den da bed an’ dose chairs. It don’t soun’ ter me like dat could possibly be da price.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Templeton. “But the way we figure it, the house is here and isn’t doing anything, and if we can just recoup what we’ve put into it, then that ought to be enough. We’re not trying to make a profit on it, Henry, we’re just trying to make it available as a nice home to someone, possibly a newly married couple, who could be happy there. Do you know anyone who might be interested?”

  “Well, beggin’ the two of you’s pardon,” said Henry, “but does you think you’d be willin’ ter sell ter black folks?”

  “Hmm . . . that is an idea,” nodded Templeton. “I don’t see why not, since we had planned it for Mayme and Jeremiah. Why . . . you have someone else in mind?”

  “Well, effen you don’t mind da presumption . . . I’s thinkin’ dat perhaps, effen you wuz willin’, dat maybe me an’ da future Missus Patterson might raise dat money an’ buy da house ourselves.”

  “You and Josepha, why that is a fantastic idea!” said Templeton.

  “But dere’s jes’ one thing,” said Henry. “I’s afraid I gotter take exception ter dat price er yers. I know what we put inter dis place, an’ I know dere’s more den dat. An’ I wudn’t gib you less den forty dollars fo it, an’ to tell you da truf, I know it’s worf more den dat. But you jes’ name your price an’ I’ll talk ter Josepha, an’ we’s see effen we kin do it.”

  “You are a hard negotiator, Henry,” laughed Templeton. “Why don’t we tentatively agree on forty dollars, then.”

  “Effen you’s shure dat’s all you wants ter ask.”

  “All agreed?” said Templeton, glancing at the other two men.

  “We probably should clear it with Kathleen,” said Ward.

  “Right . . . of course. Forty dollars, then—pending Kathleen’s approval.”

  The three shook hands.

  “I’m much obliged ter you bof,” said Henry. “Dis is gwine make my Seffie ’bout da happiest black lady in da whole worl’.”

  HENRY AND JOSEPHA

  39

  The big day came.

  Just like for Emma and Micah’s wedding, Reverend Hall came out to the house. We were all thinking of Emma and wishing she could be there with us. The only other cloud on the day was that Jeremiah would be leaving after the wedding. Many mixed feelings were running through my mind.

  But I determined not to be sad for myself. This was a day to be happy for Henry and Josepha.

  Katie and I helped Josepha get ready upstairs just like we had with Emma. Josepha was as excited as a girl. She had never expected to be a bride. But she was about to become Mrs. Henry Patterson!

  What to do for a wedding dress had been our biggest problem right from the start. We’d thought about a trip into Charlotte to buy one, but nobody was anxious to do that, especially now with hotels not allowing blacks and whites to stay together. In the end it was Mrs. Hammond who helped us out of the difficulty. One day Katie and I were asking her about ordering a dress for Josepha.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “for a woman . . . well, you know—so large . . . it can be difficult to get a good fit, and once the dress comes, what can you do? And a nice dress can be quite expensive.”

  She thought a moment, then a smile came over her face and she began to nod.

  “Yes,” she said, “I think . . . yes, I think we could do it.”

  “What, Mrs. Hammond?” asked Katie excitedly.

  “Well, what I was thinking . . . was that we could make a very nice dress ourselves.”

  “Do you really think we could!”

  “I used to do quite a bit of sewing when I was young—yes, I am sure we could.”

  Katie and I took some fabric samples home to Josepha from Mrs. Hammond’s supply. Within the week we had several yards of a beautiful light green linen material, and Josepha had begun her fittings with Mrs. Hammond upstairs in her house above the shop.

  The four of us had such fun, laughing and talking together, while the dress slowly took shape around Josepha’s frame. It turned out that Mrs. Hammond was a much better seamstress than she let on. The dress had all sorts of fancy folds and tucks, so that by the end it was better than any store-bought dress could possibly have been. By then Josepha and Mrs. Hammond had become such good friends that Josepha had asked her to stand beside her at the wedding along with Katie and me.

  Then the day came. Mrs. Hammond was the first to arrive. She wanted to make a few last-minute alterations to the yellow bow that went around Josepha’s middle. We hurried her inside the house and upstairs to Josepha’s room and there the four of us—two young ladies barely twenty and Josepha, who I think was forty-nine, and Mrs. Hammond, who was probably about the same age—carried on like four giggling schoolgirls as we helped Josepha get ready.

  Once Josepha had the dress on and everything was in place, we fixed her hair while Josepha held a mirror to see what we were doing. With a few flowers and ribbons, she looked beautiful.

  Meanwhile down in what was already being called “the new house,” Papa and Uncle Ward and Jeremiah were busy getting Henry ready. Also with Mrs. Hammond’s help, they had tailored one of Papa’s old fancy gambling suits and ruffled shirts to fit Henry. Mrs. Hammond had let down the legs a couple of inches and taken the waist in about the same amount, since Henry was both taller and thinner than Papa.
But the end result, when I finally saw it a little while later, was amazing. Henry looked like a black riverboat gambler!

  Mr. Thurston and Reverend Hall and his wife arrived about eleven in the morning. Aleta and her father arrived a little while after that. Since this was the second wedding we had had at Rosewood, we did everything nearly the same as we had before for Emma’s. Reverend Hall and Katie talked a bit about arrangements, then she hurried back upstairs where the rest of us were waiting. Josepha had asked both Papa and Uncle Ward to walk her downstairs to give her away to Henry, just the same as Emma had done.

  “Everything’s just about ready,” said Katie as she came in. “What about you, Josepha—are you ready?”

  “I don’t know, chil’,” said Josepha. “I’s so happy an’ nervous, I don’t know what ter think!”

  We heard the kitchen door open downstairs.

  “That must be the men,” said Katie. “It’s about time for us to leave you, Josepha.”

  Katie stepped forward, gently embraced Josepha and kissed her on the cheek. “We love you, Josepha. We’re so happy for you.”

  “Don’t do dat, chil’, you’s gwine make me start cryin’ all over again!”

  Then she looked me straight in the face with her hands on my shoulders.

  “Thank you for being such a big part of my life,” I said.

  I hugged Josepha and cried. I couldn’t say anything more. Neither did she. We didn’t need words.

  Finally Mrs. Hammond stepped forward, hesitated just for a moment, then put her arms around Josepha. “God bless you, Josepha. You’re a sweet and lucky lady.”

  “Thank you so much fo everything, Elfrida,” said Josepha. “You’s a good friend.”

  She stepped back. Both women had wet eyes. The sound of men’s footsteps on the stairs told us it was time to go.

  We all took Josepha’s hand one last time, gave it a squeeze, and with smiles all around left the room just as Papa and Uncle Ward walked in.

  “All right, you all, get out of here!” said Papa. “We’ll take over from here!”

  “There’s a mighty handsome man downstairs waiting for you, Josepha,” said Uncle Ward.

  “Oh, Mister Ward, don’t make me cry!”

  “Don’t worry about a few tears. There’s always more where they came from—good for the soul, they tell me, though I can’t claim much personal knowledge.—So,what do you think . . . you about ready to go meet your man?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . I reckon so!”

  “You look ready to me,” said Papa. “You’re a beautiful bride, Josepha. We’re all very proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Mister Templeton. You hab bof been so good ter me.”

  “There’s Katie at the piano!” said Uncle Ward. “Sounds like it’s time!”

  They opened the door and began slowly to descend the stairs, Josepha on the arms of both men. She was beaming as she came down into the room. The moment she saw Henry standing there smiling, so handsome in Papa’s ruffled shirt and tie and dark blue suit, I could see that the sight of him took her breath away.

  Mrs. Hammond and I were standing on one side of Reverend Hall. Jeremiah was standing on the other. Henry’s face was so proud as he watched Josepha in her new green dress descend into the room. It was obvious he loved her so much.

  They came down and stopped in front of Reverend Hall. Katie played a little more, then reached the end of the music and stopped. She stood up from the piano and came over and stood next to me.

  “Dearly Beloved,” said Reverend Hall. “We are gathered here this day to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony. If any man should show just cause why they should not be so united, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

  After a brief silence, he went on.

  “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” he asked.

  “We do,” said Papa and Uncle Ward.

  They both stood aside and went to stand with Jeremiah as Josepha stepped forward and took her place at Henry’s side.

  As she did, she thought back to the day she had left the McSimmons plantation and had gone to Greens Crossing in search of Henry.

  She remembered ambling toward the livery stable, weary from her long walk in the hot sun. She had immediately recognized the man behind the fence holding a pitchfork, but wondered if he would remember her.

  “You be Henry, effen I’m not mistaken,” she had said.

  “Dat I is,” replied Henry.

  “I’m Josepha, from da McSimmons place.”

  “I knows who you is,” Henry had chuckled. “You don’t think I forgot our first meetin’. Why I owe you dis job er mine. But whatchu doin’ so far from home, an’ on what looks ter be sech tired feet?”

  “Ain’t my home no mo,” she had said. “I’s a free woman, so I done lef’. I ain’t gotter take dat kin’ er treatment no mo from nobody. An’ now I’m lookin’ fer Miz Mayme, an’ I’m hopin’ you might be familiar ’nuff wiff her ter be able ter direct me ter where I kin fin’ her.”

  At that, Henry had chuckled again. “I reckon I kin do dat all right,” he said. “Why, I might jes’ take you dere mysef’, effen you ain’t in too much a hurry. Hit’s a longer walk den I think you wants ter make, an’ effen you kin wait till I’m dun here, I’ll fetch you dere in dat nice buckboard ober dere dat I’s repairin’ fer Mister Thurston. I reckon hit’s ’bout ready fer me ter take ter him, an’ Rosewood’s right on da way. I don’ think he’ll min’ a passenger ridin’ ’long wiff me.”

  Henry had been so kind to her, even then.

  Josepha had sought out Henry Patterson to find Lemuela’s girl Mayme. How could she ever have imagined that one day she would be standing beside him like this!

  “Do you, Henry Patterson,” said Reverend Hall, “take this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God’s holy ordinance?”

  “I shore do,” replied Henry.

  “Do you, Josepha Black,” Reverend Hall said, turning to Josepha, “take this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God’s holy ordinance?”

  “Dat I do,” said Josepha. “An’ God bless him fo lovin’ da likes er me.”

  A few laughs went around the room. We couldn’t help it!

  As the laughter quieted, Henry’s mind flitted back to the day he had first seen Josepha.

  He’d had no premonition at the time that the McSimmons’ cook might become his future wife. But the impression she made on him was a lasting one. Yet the deeper love he now felt had blossomed slowly within him, taking him over so gradually during their time at Rosewood that he never saw its approach until suddenly one day he recognized it for what it was. By then he knew that he loved her. But he did not know when he had begun to love her. Yet when it comes to love, perhaps beginnings do not matter so much as endings.

  And so now here he stood, as surprised as she. His happiness was different, for it must make room for a memory.

  But it was just as complete.

  “Inasmuch as you, Henry, and you, Josepha,” Reverend Hall was now saying, “have declared before God and these witnesses your wish to be united in marriage, and have pledged love and fidelity each to the other, I now pronounce you man and wife.—Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, turning to the rest of us, “may I have the honor to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Henry Patterson!”

  Cheers and clapping broke out. Then we all rushed to hug Josepha and Henry, and the men shook hands. There were kisses and congratulations and Mrs. Hammond was right in the middle of it, happy and smiling with the rest of us. I think she had almost by then become color blind like everyone else at Rosewood.

  I looked for Jeremiah and walked over to him. As we stood side by side, he put hi
s arm around me. I know we were both thinking the same thing—we hoped our own day wouldn’t be too far away.

  Since we had invited the Halls and Mrs. Hammond and Mr. Thurston and Aleta and her father for lunch, it didn’t take long before the talk turned to food and coffee and the cake we had made.

  That was all Josepha needed to hear. Pretty soon she was in the kitchen and putting on a clean apron over her new green wedding dress and getting ready to continue preparations for the great wedding feast we had planned. It was a kitchen, after all—the place where she was happier than anyplace in all the world.

  PARTING

  40

  Even before we had all completely finished the wedding feast, Jeremiah slipped out of the house. I watched him through the window as he went into the barn. My heart sank. I knew what he was doing. The moment had finally come that I’d been dreading. I knew he was planning to leave after the wedding, though he hadn’t said much to me about it recently. I suppose I had secretly been hoping that he’d changed his mind. I think we were both too sad to talk about it.

  As we ladies were cleaning up in the kitchen, Jeremiah came back into the house and said he wanted to talk to me. As we left the house I saw his horse tied to the rail beside the barn. It was saddled.

  Jeremiah took my hand and we walked out toward the woods where we had often walked together. We were quiet most of the way. Both of our hearts were heavy.

  “Jeremiah,” I finally burst out, “why do you have to go?”

  He let out a long sigh. We stopped and sat down on a fallen log.

  “I jes’ think it’s best,” he said after a minute. “I don’t like it no better’n you. But I gotta do somefin’ ter make some money, an’ Mister Watson done gib me a letter an’ tol’ me about a place in Delaware where dey likely can use a young man like me. It won’t be fo long.”

  “How long?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe a few munfs—till I kin save some money so dat we kin pay our fair share here, an’ till it’s safe roun’ here agin. Da way things is, it’s too dangerous. Dose blame white boys hate me, an’ ef dey know I’s gone, dey’s not gwine be thinkin’ ’bout Rosewood quite so much. Especially now dat Papa ain’t workin’ in town no mo’, I’s hopin’ dey forgit ’bout us altogether.”