A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [70]
Katie took her hand, and pretty soon the three of them were sitting together on the floor of the parlor, holding hands and crying and thinking how alone they all felt without me there with them.
Gradually Katie began to realize that she had to try to be strong for the sake of the other two.
“God,” she said, “please take care of Mayme.”
Then she wiped her tears and stood up.
“Let’s have something to eat,” she said. “It will make us feel better, and if Mayme was here that’s what she would want us to do. Let’s have some more of Mayme’s birthday cake.”
They tried to keep their spirits up, but every five minutes one of them would look out the window to see if I was coming yet and then sigh. But I didn’t come, and evening came and the shadows lengthened and pretty soon night was falling. By then Katie was getting really scared, but she tried not to show it to the other two.
She helped them get ready for bed and then they prayed together.
“What do you think Mayme is doing right now, Katie?” asked Aleta as Katie settled her into her bed.
The question stung Katie to the heart because she was so worried about me.
“I don’t know, Aleta,” she said, trying to smile. “But two things I’m sure of, that she is safe and that she is thinking about us.”
INTERROGATION
36
KATIE WAS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING—I WAS thinking about them and missing them and wishing I was with them. Whether or not I was safe … I wasn’t so sure about. I didn’t feel too safe.
Once they’d gotten me off my horse, as I heard the hooves of Katie’s horse fading into the distance, one of the men dragged me back to where William McSimmons stood. He was probably more angry at his wife for her threats than he was at me, ’cause he hardly knew me, but as they pulled me up toward him I saw that his face was red and his fists were clenched. The man shoved me toward him, then backed away while he looked me over.
“I want to know what you’re doing trespassing on my property,” he said in an angry voice.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I used to be one of your slaves. I came back to visit Josepha. I didn’t mean to trespass.”
“All right,” he said to his men, who had gathered around hoping to see a beating, “you can go. I want to talk to her alone.”
The horse I’d been riding wandered away out of sight, which worried me some ’cause I was still hoping to get out of here and follow Katie home. The men dispersed and gradually wandered off toward the barn, the corral, and the bunkhouses, where some of the new men were staying who had been brought on to replace the slaves who had left. The dozen or so blacks who had decided to remain as hired hands were all out working in the fields. I still had only seen two colored men about the place, and no women except for Josepha. One of the men who had joined the group was the same one Katie and I had followed here, the one who’d been asking about black babies. He hadn’t come around until Katie was gone, and as I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, I don’t think he recognized me. If he was one of William McSimmons’ hired men, we must have been right—there was no disease, he had just been trying to get on the trail of any black newborns in the area so that they could find out where Emma had disappeared to. I couldn’t tell, but I don’t think McSimmons recognized me either from that day he’d come into Mrs. Hammond’s store. And why would he? Right now the only colored girl he was thinking of was Emma … how to find her and get rid of her.
By now Mistress McSimmons had come out the door to see what the ruckus was about. Slowly she approached, and the closest thing I can think to call the look in her eye was hatred. Ever since the slaves had been set free, it seemed like some white people’s feelings toward blacks had turned to hatred. They may have looked down on us when we were slaves, but in another sense there was a part of them that