A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [88]
“We planted this cotton in April, on the full of the moon.
We’ve had a hot, dry summer. That’s why it opened so soon.
Cotton needs a-pickin’ so bad, cotton needs a-pickin’ so bad, Cotton needs a-pickin’ so bad, gonna pick all over this field.”
While I’d gone out to the field, Katie had called Aleta and Emma together for a serious talk.
“Aleta,” said Katie when they were together in the kitchen, “I need to have an important talk with you.”
They sat down. Aleta could tell from Katie’s voice that whatever it was, it was serious. She looked into Katie’s face waiting, and a little afraid that Katie was getting ready to send her away.
“I want you to tell me where you and your mother lived,” said Katie.
“Oakwood,” answered Aleta nervously, glancing over to where Emma sat quietly waiting and worrying about what Katie would say to her next.
“That’s where you were riding away from when your daddy was chasing you?”
Aleta nodded.
“What is your last name, Aleta?”
“Butler.”
“Aleta Butler … that’s a nice name. What is your father’s name, Aleta?”
Aleta looked down and remained silent.
“You know, Aleta,” said Katie, “we have to do something about getting you back with your father. We must tell him about your mother. Don’t you want to live with him?”
“No. I don’t ever want to live with him again.”
Katie was quiet for a bit, thinking what to say.
“You know, it’s real special having a daddy,” she said after a minute. “Mayme and I don’t have daddies.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are both dead.”
At the word dead, Aleta looked up into Katie’s face with a sober expression.
“So you have something we don’t have, Aleta,” Katie continued.
“But my daddy’s mean.”
“He is still your daddy.”
“What about your mamas?” Aleta asked.
Katie hesitated.
“They are both dead too, Aleta. That’s why Mayme and I were here alone before Emma came.”
There was another long pause. Again Aleta seemed sobered by what Katie had said, though also a little confused.
“But you tell people that she’s not here,” she said.
“She isn’t here,” said Katie. “But sometimes I don’t tell them that she’s not coming back.—Do you want to keep staying with us for a while?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then we will let you, for a little while longer, until we decide what is best to do,” said Katie. “You might have other relatives, like I do, that you might want to go stay with someday.”
“Please let me stay here with you,” said Aleta.
“You have to promise something, then,” said Katie. “I normally wouldn’t ask a little girl to keep a secret from grown-ups, but this is very, very important.”
“Yes … I will do anything you say.”
“You have to promise not to tell anyone what we are doing, that we are alone here. No one can know. You know the danger Emma is in from that bad man who wants to find her. And you know what they did to poor Mayme. You saw the wounds on her back.”
Aleta nodded.
“So no one must know there are no grown-ups here, for Emma’s sake and for Mayme’s sake. Some white people want to hurt black people like Emma and Mayme. So we have to make sure they’re safe here, don’t we? So can you keep our secret?”
“I promise, Katie.”
“Even after you leave later, you can never tell.”
“I promise.—But … are there really no grown-ups? None of them are coming back? I just thought your mama was on a trip or something.”
Katie nodded. “We are doing everything ourselves,” she said. “We are just pretending that the grown-ups are still here.”
“What about that colored boy?”
“Jeremiah? Yes, he knows a little. But we haven’t told him even as much as we have you. And he’s promised not to tell either. If people knew it was only four girls by themselves on a plantation, they would take us away and do bad things to Emma and Mayme.”
“You mean … it’s all pretend?”
“The work isn’t pretend. You see how hard we work to do everything. The only thing that is pretend is that we are alone. And now we have to work harder than ever to pick the cotton to sell so that the bank won’t take the house away from us. So, Aleta, if you want to stay, you have to promise