A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [43]
Again it was quiet.
“Tell me a story, Mayme,” said Katie after a minute.
“Now?” I said, looking over at her.
“Yes, please. We haven’t done stories for more than a week. Tell me a story about Mr. Rabbit.”
“All right … let me try to remember a good one.”
I thought a minute and then started a story as Katie snuggled down into the pillow and sighed contentedly.
When I finished it a few minutes later, I looked over and Katie was fast asleep.
I got up, turned down the kerosene lantern, and got back into bed next to her, happier than I had even been a few days ago after finding out that I was free.
The next evening after supper when we were starting to think about bedtime, Katie suddenly said, “Aleta, Emma … as soon as you’re both ready for bed, we’re going to have a surprise.”
I saw Aleta’s face light up for an instant, which was just what Katie was hoping for.
“What about me?” I said laughing. “Don’t I get a surprise too?”
“You are the surprise!” said Katie. “So, Aleta—go out to the outhouse if you need to and then go upstairs and get your nightclothes on. Then come back and we’ll sit in the parlor.”
I still wasn’t sure what Katie was up to, but she had a smile on her face, and Aleta seemed to be catching a little of her excitement and scurried off to do like she’d said.
Ten minutes later we were all seated together, Aleta cozied up to Katie, who had her arm around her, Emma in another chair with little William at her breast, and me in a wooden rocking chair.
“Aleta and Emma,” said Katie, “how would you like a story before bed?”
“Oh, yes’m, Miz Katie,” said Emma, “dat be right fine. I habn’t herd a story in eber so long.”
“What about you, Aleta—would you like a bedtime story?”
Yes,” said Aleta softly.
“Tell us the story you were telling me last night, Mayme,” she said, turning toward me. “I went to sleep before it was over.”
Now I saw what Katie had been up to!
“All right,” I said. “It’s a story about Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Fox when Mr. Fox was going hunting for something to eat.”
I looked at Aleta.
“Would you like me to tell it in a funny old black man’s voice, Aleta?”
I think she was surprised that I’d spoken to her. At first she didn’t say anything, but then slowly nodded.
“All right, then,” I said, “it goes like this … it seems Mr. Rabbit was out walkin’ one day when he ran into ole Mr. Fox, who was going huntin’. Mr. Fox, he ax Mr. Rabbit fer ter go huntin’ wid ’im, but Mr. Rabbit, he sorter feel lazy, en he tell Mr. Fox dat he got some udder fish to fry in da way er huntin’. Mr. Fox was mighty sorry et havin’ t’ go huntin’ alone, but he say he b’leeve he try his han’ at it enny how, en off he went.
“He wuz gone all day, en he had a monstus streak er luck at huntin’, Mr. Fox did, en he bagged a big sight er game.”
By now Aleta was snuggling down into the sofa beside Katie, and I thought I could see the faintest little smile on her lips as she listened. How much she understood I don’t know.
“Bime-by, on to’rds evenin’,” I was saying, “Mr. Rabbit sorter stretch hisse’f, he did, en think hit’s mos’ time fer Mr. Fox fer ter git ’long home. Den Mr. Rabbit, he went en mounted a stump fer ter see ef he could hear Mr. Fox comin’. He ain’t bin dar long when sho’ nuff, here come ole Mr. Fox thoo de woods, singin’ like a black man at a frolic. Mr. Rabbit, he lipt down off ’n de stump, he did, en lay down in de road en make like he dead.”
“Why he do dat?” asked Emma in a dreamy voice. William was already asleep, and I don’t think Emma was far behind.
“Just wait and see, Emma,” I said. “So Mr. Fox come ’long, he did,” I went on, “en see Mr. Rabbit layin’ dar. He look at ’im, en he think dat rabbit’d make a mighty fine supper. So he look closer, en he tu’n im over, he did, en ’zamine ’im, en say, sezee, ‘Dish yer rabbit’s dead. He look like he bin dead a long time layin’ in de hot sun. He dead, but he mighty fat. He de fattes’ rabbit what I ever see, but I