A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [54]
“And we need it to eat!” I said.
“Why do you talk about your mama like she’s never coming back?” Aleta asked abruptly. The question took Katie off guard. Neither of us had noticed that we’d been talking more freely than we realized. We also realized that Aleta had more natural curiosity than Emma, and that we’d likely have to answer her questions eventually.
Katie glanced at me with a concerned look. Then she looked back at Aleta.
“I’ll tell you all about it,” she said. “Just not today. Can you be patient and let me tell you another—”
INTERRUPTION
29
SUDDENLY WE HEARD A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.
We all stopped right where we were. Katie and I glanced at each other with wide eyes. The kitchen was silent as a tomb. We’d been so involved in the cheese making that we hadn’t heard any horse or buggy approaching. And we’d been outside just a minute earlier.
Katie looked at me again, then slowly began moving toward the door. I didn’t know whether we should all scatter and hide or stay where we were and pretend that nothing was wrong. But it was too late to hide anyway—there we were, all messy and with our sleeves rolled up, and there was the figure of whoever it was standing at the window of the kitchen door.
Slowly Katie opened the door. Standing in front of her was the last person we’d expected to see … Henry’s Jeremiah.
“Afternoon t’ you, Miz Clairborne,” he said. “My pa thought dat you might be needin’ dat bridle ob yers fixed so it don’ break on you.”
Still taken by surprise, Katie just stood there for a second or two. From where I was standing on the other side of the room, I saw that he was holding some leather and tools.
“Is … uh, Miz Mayme here?” he asked.
I heard the question in his deep voice. I don’t know if he saw me or not, but my heart started beating faster the minute he said my name. I didn’t know why. In the middle of my thoughts, I heard my name again. But this time it was Katie.
“Mayme … Mayme,” she was saying. “Henry’s son … uh, Jeremiah brought a piece of leather to mend that broken bridle—would you show him where it is … in the barn?”
I could tell from her voice that she was nervous—especially after what she’d told me after her last trip into town, that she’d had the feeling that Henry knew all about us. I knew she didn’t want anyone, least of all someone who was curious, looking too closely at what was going on inside the kitchen—though he was standing right there at the open door. In Katie’s mind I was the logical one to get him away from the house.
I walked toward the door and outside. The instant I was on the porch Katie shut the door behind me. I was left alone with Jeremiah.
I didn’t look at him but walked down the steps and toward the barn. He followed. I glanced back and saw Katie’s face in the window.
“Where’s your horse?” I asked.
“Don’ have one, Miz Mayme,” he said. “I walked.”
“All the way from town?”
“Yes’m.”
“That’s a long way.”
“My pa thought Miz Clairborne might be needin’ dat bridle. He’s been worried it would break.”
I thought to myself that I wished Henry showed a little less concern about us.
“An’ I been wantin’ a chance t’ try ter see Miz Clairborne an’ yerse’f agin,” he added, speaking slowly. Heat rose up the back of my neck. I didn’t say anything and didn’t dare glance over at him.
“Ain’t too many young folks my age ’bout town,” he said. “Leastways, no coloreds. Now dat we’re free, dey all lef ’, I reckon.—Is you free too, Miz Mayme?”
“I reckon so,” I said. “I heard about that proclamation, whatever it’s called.”
“Why you still here, den?”
“Where else would I be?”
“Why ain’t you lef ’?”
“I’ve got no place to go. This is my home.”
“Your ma an’ pa here too?”
“No.”
“Where are dey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’ you want ter fin’ dem, now dat yer free?”
“I can’t find them,” I said. I was getting uncomfortable with so many questions, especially about my kin. “I told you—this is my home. I don’t have anyplace else to go. I don’t want to go someplace else.”
“Mister an’ Mistress Clairborne pay you?” he asked.
The question