A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [55]
“I’ve got all I need,” I said. “I’ve got food and a bed, and …” I paused briefly, “… and folks who care about me.”
“Yep … I reckon dat’s mighty important.”
“And I feel like I’m needed,” I added. “And Katie … I mean, Miss Clairborne needs me.”
I don’t know why I was talking so much, but I realized it was easy to talk to him. We’d already reached the barn but had unconsciously stopped while we kept talking. I’d been around plenty of boys of my own color. But this was so different from any situation I’d ever been in before in my life … just talking to a black boy my own age. Back at the colored town where I’d lived, if I’d been standing together with a black boy like Jeremiah, we wouldn’t have been talking. We’d have been standing there keeping our mouths shut, while some white man looked us over wondering what kind of babies we’d make together.
But now we were just two people … two free people. Nobody was watching us. Nobody was thinking anything. And we could just talk. It felt strange, but good.
“Dey really need you?” asked Jeremiah. His voice sounded like he’d never considered such a thing—that a white person could need a black person. “And you think Miz Clairborne cares ’bout you? You make it soun’ like yer frien’s.”
“We are,” I said with a little laugh. “What’s so strange about that?”
“I jes’ neber considered dat afore, I reckon.”
“Miss Katie couldn’t get by without me … or me without her either. I don’t know what would become of us if we hadn’t—”
I stopped myself, realizing I’d gone too far. Feeling comfortable talking to Jeremiah was one thing, but what was I thinking!
“I mean … they …” I said, fumbling to correct myself, “—they took me in and helped me, and … well, that’s all.”
Again I stopped. He was looking at me funny.
“What do you mean … took you in?” he said. “Din’t you used ter be one ob dere slaves?”
“Uh … yes … that’s what I meant to say. I mean, they let me stay after I was free.”
“Where’s Mister and Mistress Clairborne?” he asked. “My pa wanted me t’ ask dem somethin’ fer him.”
“Katie’s pa ain’t back—”
“What about Mistress Clairborne—she in da house? I din’t see nobody but jes’ two other girls, an’ one ob dem was colored.”
“She’s … she’s somewhere and it ain’t … well, it ain’t none of your business where she is,” I said. Then I turned and led the way into the barn. “Here’s that bridle,” I went on. “Just fix it and mind your own business.”
He set about his work with the straps of leather and few tools he had. I saw him looking around the barn. I knew he was noticing things—maybe we’d done a few things wrong, but at least it was pretty clean.
I walked outside, more mad at myself than at him. I hoped I hadn’t got us into a worse fix than we were already in.
I went back to the kitchen where Katie and the others were waiting for me. Katie sent me a look of question and I just shrugged.
“I don’t think he’ll be too long,” I said. “We can finish the cheese when he’s gone.”
Then I went back outside and waited on the porch. I didn’t figure it’d do anybody any good for him to come snooping around looking inside again.
Five or ten minutes later I saw him coming out of the barn. I got up and walked over to meet him.
“Got it mended,” he said. “Reckon I’ll jes’ tell Miz Clairborne.”
I didn’t like the idea of him looking into the kitchen again, but after what had happened I figured I’d better not protest too much.
We walked in silence back to the house. He climbed the steps and knocked on the door again. Katie had been watching and immediately opened it.
“Bridle’s fixed, Miz Clairborne,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Anything else you’d like done aroun’ da place?”
“Uh, no … but thank you,” said Katie. Then without waiting for anything further, she closed the door, leaving me to get rid of Jeremiah by myself.
Slowly he came back down the three or four steps.
“Well … reckon I’ll be headin’ back t’ town,” he said slowly. “You, uh … you min’ if I come out agin?”
“I don’t think Miss Katie, I mean Miss Clairborne—” I started to say.
“No, Miz Mayme … I mean,