A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [38]
“No, ma’am,” said Katie. “It’s mine.”
“Ah … I see. Yes, well, Kathleen … in checking your mother’s account, and with today’s order, I find that she has one dollar and thirty-seven cents left over. Shall I just keep it and apply it as credit to her account?”
“No, ma’am,” replied Katie. “I will take it home if you don’t mind.”
Disappointed, Mrs. Hammond fished about in her cash drawer, then handed Katie the money, in small silver coins this time.
“Put that in your pocket, Kathleen,” she said quietly. “Don’t let that girl see it. It’s not good for them to know about money. It puts ideas in their heads.”
“Yes, ma’am.—Mayme,” she said to me, “get those things on the counter and take them to the wagon.”
“Oh … and, Kathleen,” said Mrs. Hammond as Katie started to follow me out, “here is the mail that has come.”
She stooped down behind the counter, then handed it to Katie across the counter. I slowed my step because I was curious and wanted to hear whatever else she might say.
“Some of it looks important, Kathleen,” said Mrs. Hammond. “You be sure your mama gets it. I don’t want somebody blaming me if you lose it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I continued on with the sugar and flour and a few smaller things, and Katie followed me out the door.
We walked back to the buckboard, climbed up, and Katie took the reins, still holding the letters, and swatted the horse with them and we bounced away, knowing all the time that Mrs. Hammond’s eyes were glued to our backs through the window of her store.
Don’t move under those blankets, Aleta! I was thinking to myself.
A few minutes later, Katie pulled up and stopped in front of the bank.
“Why don’t I just wait here, Miss Katie?” I said. “I don’t think they’d like the idea of a colored girl going in there.”
“I don’t care what they think,” she said.
“I know, but we don’t want to raise too many questions.”
“All right, Mayme,” said Katie.
She walked inside, looked around a second, then walked over to where Mr. Taylor, the manager of the bank, was sitting at his desk.
“Hello, Kathleen,” he said as she walked up. “Doing errands for your mother again?”
“Uh … yes, sir. I have a payment to make on her loan.”
She stuffed her hand into the pocket of her dress, deposited the letters, and in their place pulled out five gold coins and set them on the banker’s desk.
“Where did you get these!” he exclaimed, reaching out and taking the coins in his hand.
“From my uncle, sir,” replied Katie. “He found gold in California and gave it to my mother for safekeeping. She didn’t want to use the gold before this, since it wasn’t hers.
But now she finds she must.”
“Ah, yes … yes, of course.”
“Will this pay off my mama’s loan, Mr. Taylor?”
“I’m afraid not, Kathleen,” he said, still clutching the coins. “But it will make a nice dent in it. I shall apply it to the loan immediately.”
Before Katie had a chance to think about whether it was a good idea to let him keep all the money or not, the banker opened a drawer, put the coins inside, then pulled out another drawer and removed a sheaf of papers and made a few notes on it.
Katie was glad she’d kept the last coin in her pocket or he might now have that too!
A few seconds later, he glanced up. “I’ve made the entry,” he said. “This will be a good start on the loan. Is there anything else, Kathleen?”
“Yes, sir. Would it be possible to get small money for this one?”
She pulled out the last ten-dollar gold piece and set it on the desk.
“There’s more?” said the banker.
“Just this one.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to apply it to the loan as well?”
“Yes, sir. We … my mama needs some coins for smaller bills.”
“I see … right, well, I see nothing wrong with that.”
Holding the coin, he rose and walked across the floor to the cashier’s window. When he returned a minute or two later, he was holding a number of smaller coins in his hand.
“Here you are, Kathleen—ten dollars in coin. Tell your mother thank you for the payment. And tell her that we still need