A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [18]
I kept out of sight and snuck up to the big house, coming toward it from the side away from the barn, where I thought I’d be most out of sight. I was just gonna look around and see who I could see.
I crept toward it until I was pretty close, then ducked down and hid behind the well shed. I saw people. There was the overseer and the master’s two sons walking behind the barn. I didn’t see any coloreds, but the white folks looked like they were working as usual. Then gradually I saw some other people I didn’t recognize, both white and colored.
All of a sudden I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey, girl, wha’chu—why, Mayme!”
I spun around at the sound of the familiar voice.
“What’n tarnashun … dat really you?” There stood the ponderous form of Mistress McSimmons’ housekeeper and cook, who we all said ran the whole plantation.
My heart skipped with joy to see a familiar face!
“It’s me, Josepha,” I said, smiling.
“We thought you wuz dead wiff da others … how in tarnashun … but where you been all dis time, chil’!”
“I ran away,” I said.
She waddled toward me, her round black face beaming, and took me in her arms. It was all I could do not to break out bawling.
“Den it muster been you dat buried yo family—dat wuz what none ob us could figure, why some ob ’em wuz buried an’ not da res’.”
I nodded with a sad smile at the thought of that horrible day.
“Come in da house!” she said, standing back and running a scrutinizing eye up and down my frame. “You al’ays wuz a scrawny one, but wherever you been, dey ain’t been givin’ you enuff food. You needs some vittles in yo tummy.”
She started half pushing, half leading me toward the house. But I hesitated.
“I can’t stay, Josepha,” I said.
“Wha’chu mean … you ain’t fixin’ ter run off agin?”
“I can’t come back here, Josepha,” I said. “The master’ll whip me but good for running off. I’ve got another place that’s home to me now that my kin’s gone. Please don’t tell them you saw me.”
“You set yo min’ at ease, chil’,” she said. “Jes’ come wiff me. I’ll take care ob you, chil’. Why, I wuz dere when you wuz borned… .”
She paused a moment, and an odd expression passed briefly across her face as she looked me over—a little strangely, I thought.
“What I’s sayin’ is dat you’s always been a mite special ter me. ’Sides, no white man ain’t gwine tell you what ter do no mo, no how.”
“Why, what do you mean?” I asked.
“Ain’t you heard? Ain’t no mo slaves. We’s all been dun set free.”
“Free,” I said, not understanding what she meant.
“Dat’s right—you’s free now, chil’. Dere’s sumfin called er ’mancipation proklimation what’s done made it against da law ter own slaves. Some feller named Lincoln done it. You’s a free black girl. Da white man kin’t do nuthin’ ter hurt you no mo.”
We had heard talk from some newspapers we’d read about Lincoln’s proclamation, but I never really believed it could be true. Leastways, not for me. I couldn’t see how some fancy words from far up north ways was gonna change Master McSimmons’ mind about slaves.
“But what about the war?” I asked.
“Dat’s all over, Mayme, chil’. Dat’s what dey wuz fightin’ ’bout, near as I kin tell. Da norf won an’ da souf had ter set us coloreds free. Leastways, sumfin like dat’s what da master done tol’ me.”
My brain went numb at what she was telling me. It was hard to imagine any white man fighting for colored folks, let alone a whole army. While I was still trying to make sense of it all, she put her great big arm around me and I found myself walking up the steps into the house with her.
I’d never been inside the big house before. As we went through the door I kept looking around nervously. After what she’d told me, and after being in Katie’s house and acting like it was my own, I don’t know why I should have been nervous now. But I couldn’t help still being afraid of the master. It hadn’t been so long that I’d forgotten what his whip felt like.
I was still jittery when Josepha put a plate of bread and cheese