The Soldier's Lady (12 page)

“You mean like Miz Katie and Mayme.”

He looked at her deeply, then slowly smiled. “Yes.” He nodded. “Mayme and Katie are certainly young women of character. But they aren't the only ones.”

“I know—you's be meanin' Mister Templeton,” said Emma. “He's a right fine man.”

“Yes, he is,” smiled Micah. For now he kept what else he was thinking to himself.

“How you git ter be so much like a white man, Mister Duff?” asked Emma.

Micah threw his head back and roared with laughter. “How do you mean, Emma?” he said, still chuckling.

“You talks so good, an' you's smart an' always sayin' dose important kind er things.”

Again Micah laughed. “Why can't a black man be just as intelligent as a white man?”

“I don' know,” said Emma. “I jes' neber met one dat wuz.”

“Well, I don't know if I am or not, Emma,” laughed Micah. “All I try to be is myself and be the best myself I can be.”

Already, with the others gone from Rosewood less than an hour, Emma had begun to feel more relaxed around Micah Duff. Without realizing it, she found herself gradually opening up and talking more freely.

“But saying important kinds of things like you said, that's not necessarily all there is to life, Emma. And besides, a person's character is formed by what a person
does
and what a person
is,
more than by what he says. You know how to do a lot of things, Emma. You're always helping someone with something. That's character too, Emma.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course—it's a spirit of helpfulness.”

“Mayme taught me ter do things,” said Emma. “I reckon I learned ter try ter help folks from watchin' her. She taught me and Miz Katie everything. Back when I wuz a slave I wuzn't good fer nuthin' but runnin' errands. They'd always tell me to go fetch a rug or mop or go git somebody. All I eber did wuz help pretty white girls fix dere hair. But Mayme, she knows how ter do everythin'.”

“But it's also who you
are
,” said Micah, “that makes you a person of worth.”

“I ain't worth nuthin',” said Emma. “But Mayme, dat's her, all right. She kin do things like you say, but she's a fine person too—she's about da finest person in da worl'.”

Micah nodded. He did not like to leave the discussion at that, but perhaps Emma wasn't quite ready to look at herself differently. He knew such things took time.

“Well, Jake's likely got those cows out to pasture by now,” he said, rising, “I suppose I better get out there and help him with that fence we are going to put in.”

As we bounded along the road south between Greens Crossing and Charlotte, Katie and I found ourselves talking about Micah Duff, though I was still too embarrassed to tell her what Papa had said that day. But Katie was going on and on about him like she'd never met anyone so wonderful in her life. And I suppose she hadn't . . . and neither had I, come to think of it.

Before she'd only said how good-looking he was, and I hadn't really taken her too seriously—I mean in thinking that she might actually be interested in him . . . for herself, I mean. But now with the way she was carrying on about him, I began to wonder if she was more interested than I had realized.

It didn't occur to me that the two men in front were probably hearing every word we said. All of a sudden, Uncle Ward turned around.

“Say, Kathleen,” he said, “that Micah Duff is quite a young man. He seems fond of you too.”

Katie's face turned red as a beet. That's when I knew that his words must have hit pretty close to home.

“He's . . . oh, he's nice to everyone, Uncle Ward,” Katie stammered.

“Yeah, maybe . . . but you never know—you're a
pretty fine-looking young lady.”

Papa turned around and glanced at us, then threw me a little wink and got that twinkle in his eye that meant he was having fun with somebody.

What was he thinking, I wondered!

After that Katie didn't mention Micah Duff once more the whole way.

C
OMPLICATIONS IN
C
HARLOTTE AND
E
LSEWHERE

11

J
EREMIAH AND
M
ICAH WERE BOTH BARE-CHESTED
and dripping with sweat from the hot sun that same afternoon as they dug holes and set the fence posts for a new section of fence across one of the grazing pastures. It was one of their first chances to work alone together for a full day since Micah had arrived. He had asked about Jeremiah's years since they had parted long ago, and how he had come to find Henry. Most of the past two hours Micah had spent listening to Jeremiah's story.

“Everything you are telling me is truly remarkable, Jake,” he said. “The Lord was guiding your steps here just as surely as He was mine.”

“I reckon dat's so,” nodded Jeremiah. “But as good as it's been wiff my daddy, an' as appreciative as I am fo his kindness toward me, I still habn't been altogether at ease in my mind all dis time on account er runnin' out on you like I done.”

“That was a long time ago, Jake—think nothing of it.”

“But I regret it, Duff. You wuz good ter me when I needed help, an' I been wantin' ter ax yo forgiveness eber since—so now I'm axin' for it. I's sorry, Duff.”

“Thank you, Jake,” said Micah, looking deep into Jeremiah's eyes. “As far as forgiving you is concerned, I did that the day you left. I never thought ill of you then, and I think all the more of you now to see how you've grown into such a fine young man.”

“Thank you, Duff.”

As Jeremiah and Micah were working a half mile away from the house, Josepha returned from her chores outside. She found Emma in the kitchen. Emma had been thinking about her conversation earlier in the morning with Micah Duff. A smile had unconsciously come to her lips. Josepha saw it as she entered and half suspected the cause. A scowl spread over her face in response to Emma's smile.

“Whatchu lookin' at me like dat fo, Josepha?” said Emma. “You lookin' daggers at me!”

“You jes' watch yo'self, girl,” said Josepha.

“Whatchu mean by dat?”

“Jes' dat dere's two fetchin' young men out dere dat's bof got eyes fo you.”

“Whatchu talkin' bout! Ain't nobody got eyes fer me!”

“All I's sayin' is don't you git yo'self in ober dat fool head ob yers agin. Don't you go back ter da way you used ter be.”

“I ain't neber goin' back ter dose days, Josepha. You oughter know dat. I's different now.”

“I hope dat's so, girl. But folks don't change as much as dey think dey do.”

“Well, I done learned my lesson.”

“Dat's all well an' good, and women says dat all da time,” persisted Josepha. “But den a man comes along an' dey forgets agin, lose dere heads and gits foolish all ober agin. Women are da biggest fools in da worl' sometimes, how dey lose dere heads ober some men dat ain't got but one thing on dere mind.”

“Oh, but Jeremiah and Micah—dey ain't like dat!”

“Eben men like Jeremiah and Micah got eyes in dere heads.”

“Not for no dummy like me with a pickaninny on her hip. Besides, dey bof got eyes fo Mayme.”

Josepha grunted and muttered something about the “blind foolishness of young folks” that Emma couldn't quite make out.

Leaving his shovel standing in the hole he'd just dug, Jeremiah straightened, pushing his hand into the small of his back to work out the knots from being bent over for so long.

“I reckon dat's 'bout enough fo today,” he said.

Beside him, Micah also straightened. “Amen,” he agreed. Micah stood tall, leaning on the handle of his shovel and staring off in the direction of the river. “Say, how's the fishing in that river?”

Jeremiah followed his gaze. “Dere's a couple deep pools where dere's always some catfish,” he replied.

“Let's go get some!”

“Well, it's late enough in da day, I reckon. The sun ain't so hot now. Might be we cud catch a few.”

“Is there enough time before supper?”

“Always enough time fer fishin'!” Jeremiah grinned. “I'll go fetch two poles.”

Micah took Jeremiah's shovel and hoisted both over his shoulder.

“How 'bout you dig some worms out ob da garden?” Jeremiah said.

“Great—more digging.” Micah smiled, but set off quickly on his task.

A short time later, the two young men walked across the field toward the river, their damp work shirts tied around their waists. Sweat still gleamed from their bare arms and chests and mud still clung to their boots and pant legs. A bucket swung from one of Jeremiah's hands and two cane poles were slung over his shoulder. Micah carried an old baking-powder can full of dirt and worms.

As they approached the bank, Jeremiah untied his shirt and tossed it across the bent trunk of a tree. The tree's exposed roots grasped the bank while its misshapen trunk curved sharply and reached out across the river, a few feet above its slow current. It was Jeremiah's favorite spot to fish. Dipping the bucket full of water, Jeremiah said, “Mayme and me came—”

Abruptly he stopped.

Micah looked at him closely. “You two sweet on each other, Jake?”

Jeremiah stared out at the sun, where it hung lazy over the treetops in the western sky. Then he shrugged. “We came here to talk, dat's all.”

He handed Micah a pole and a new subject. “We
should hab brought William wiff us,” he said. “Dat boy loves ter fish.”

“Good idea. Next time we will.”

Micah held out the baking-powder can. Jeremiah wiggled his fingers inside and came out with a nice fat worm. He laced it on his hook. “Now, let's git down ter business.”

Soon both men were standing at the river's edge, baited lines in the water.

“Now, what you wants to do,” Jeremiah said, “is give da line plenty er slack. Let da worm go deep.”

Jeremiah watched as Micah did as he suggested.

“I hardly ever went fishin' till I come here. Slaves don' git much time fer fishin'.”

Micah nodded, eyes on his line. “I tried fishing in the Chicago River once with nothing but some twine and a twisted-up hatpin I'd found.”

“Any luck?”

“I snagged an old hat.” Micah shrugged. “Guess I had the right hook for it. Kept my little head warm all winter.”

Jeremiah grinned. “Dat's better den we's doing right now.”

They stood for several minutes without speaking, the silence broken only by the occasional birdcall.

“William is some boy,” Micah said after a time. “Imagine what life will be like for him. He won't grow up on the street like I did, nor as a slave as you did.”

“Dat's right.”

“No one will ever take a whip to him or take him from his mama.”