A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton - Michael R. Phillips [92]
We were dumping our pickings into two wagons on each side of the field. By the end of that day, with Jeremiah’s help, we had one of them nearly full. I don’t know what he was telling Henry, but he came back the next day, and the day after that. We were up every day at dawn. On the twenty-ninth, we worked till about noon, then finally stopped to get ready to take both wagons into town. However much we’d picked in these three weeks, we’d run out of time. But we’d done better than I’d expected. Whether it came to anything close to the one hundred fifty dollars Katie needed, neither of us knew.
We ate some lunch, then hitched a team of two horses to each wagon. To get all the cotton to town, I’d have to drive one of the wagons myself. It couldn’t be helped. Katie led her team off along on the road, and I climbed into the second wagon. Jeremiah jumped up beside me. We would take him partway into town, and he would walk the rest of the way by himself. Then I called to my two horses and followed Katie onto the road.
“Y’all hurry back!” said Emma as she and Aleta waved to us.
“And you be careful and watchful,” said Katie back to her.
“I will, Miz Katie. Aleta an’ me’ll stay inside da whole time.”
PAYOFF
48
WE RODE INTO GREENS CROSSING SITTING ON the two wagons, bouncing along the street toward Watson’s Mill, Katie leading, me following. Jeremiah had jumped off about a mile from town and disappeared across a field.
These were our fifth and sixth wagonloads since we’d started on the cotton field.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Henry as we passed the livery stable. I could tell he was watching us a little more carefully than I liked.
“Please, Mr. Watson,” said Katie when we got to the mill and his men were unloading the two wagons, “my, uh … could you pay us today for all the cotton we’ve brought so far? My … my mama wants me to deposit it in the bank.”
“Certainly, Kathleen,” he said. “I’ll go inside and tally up your account, then we will add today’s weight to it. Do you want it in cash or a bank draft?”
Katie seemed confused for just a second. But then she answered, “Cash please, Mr. Watson.”
We kept waiting. I tried to sit there looking down as if I wasn’t paying much attention. But every once in a while I saw Henry down the street eyeing us.
Ten or fifteen minutes later, Mr. Watson came out of his office.
“Here you are, Kathleen,” he said, handing her a small bag. “You’d better take this straight to the bank. Tell your mama I wish it were more, but hopefully she’ll get the rest of the crop harvested in a little faster. And here are the scale sheets,” he said, handing her a paper, “—two thousand one hundred and ten pounds at sixteen and a half cents a pound, which makes the three hundred forty-eight dollars that’s in the bag.”
Katie took both the paper and the bag, staring at him like she hadn’t heard right.
“Did you say … three hundred dollars?” she said.
“Yes, three hundred forty-eight.”
“Thank you … thank you, Mr. Watson!”
Katie turned and ran back to where I was sitting, her eyes huge and a big smile on her face. Then she stopped and turned back.
“May we please leave the wagons and horses here for a few minutes, Mr. Watson,” she asked, “while we walk down to the bank?”
“Of course, Kathleen,” laughed Mr. Watson. “And don’t spend it all in one place!”
I got down. Katie was obviously excited. I tried not to act like I’d understood, but I was dying of curiosity.
“Did he say what I think he said?” I whispered as we walked down the street toward the bank.
“Yes … yes!” said Katie. “There’s over three hundred dollars here. It’s enough … it’s enough, Mayme!”
“I had no idea cotton cost so much,” I said. “No wonder plantation owners are rich.”
Katie laughed. “Maybe we are rich too,” she said, “for a few minutes at least.”
We walked into the bank and I stopped. “I’ll wait for you out here,” I said.
“This time you’re coming in with me, Mayme,” said Katie.
“I can’t, Katie. People will stare.”