The Soldier's Lady (17 page)

Mrs. Hammond bent down behind her counter a moment.

“Here it is,” she said as she stood, handing Katie the envelope. “And here is the rest of your mail,” she added, handing a small stack of envelopes to Templeton.

“It's from Aunt Nelda,” said Katie, scanning the envelope. “Why would she be writing me?”

“We wrote a while back and told her everything,” said Ward. “Maybe she's decided her two wayward brothers aren't so bad after all.”

“She didn't write to us, Brother Ward,” grinned Templeton, “only to Katie. It may be she thinks we're not suitable guardians for Rosalind's poor daughter, eh, Katie?”

“If she thinks that, then I shall set her straight!” laughed Katie. “You two are the best uncles a girl could have!”

“What do you think, Mrs. Hammond?” said Templeton, throwing Katie a brief wink. “Are we suitable guardians for the refined daughter of Rosalind Clairborne?”

“I, uh . . . really couldn't say,” stammered Mrs. Hammond, so caught off guard that for once she didn't have a reply ready. “It wouldn't be my place to interfere in . . . uh, family matters.”

Templeton laughed good-naturedly. “Well then, Mrs. Hammond,” he said, “here's a list of some things we need. I'm sure you will be able to handle that. And a newspaper too, if you please.”

“Of course, Mr. Daniels.”

As we continued to laugh and tell about our lives, even laughing about things that had happened when we were slaves, the rain kept coming down in sheets and we didn't even think about going back outside. Gradually an hour slipped by, then another.

“It could rain on dat ol' Mississippi, I kin tell you dat,” said Henry. “Dere were times when I wuz a boy
dat I looked out an' cudn't tell where dat brown ol' ribber ended an' da sky began.”

“Tell us about it,” I said.

“Dere wuz one time,” chuckled Henry with a faroff smile on his face, “when three or four ob us colored boys wuz playin' at da ribber. Dere wuz a storm brewin', but we didn't mind cuz we wuz full er mischief.

“We foun' a white man's boat tied wiff rope ter da side ob da ribber an' dere wuz nobody around. It wuzn't big but wuz enuff ter hold four boys lookin' fo adventure. We untied dat rope an' hauled dat boat upribber fo an' hour er two. We wuz plumb tuckered out, but we had ter git it far enuff up ribber so's we cud float down. So we got up what we figgered wuz two er three miles. We wuz so excited ter git in dat little thing an' float down we cudn't wait fo nuthin'. We wuz jes' young scamps an' we didn't know one end ob a boat from da other.

“So we got ter a spot we figgered wuz far enuff, an' two er da tykes jumped in an' somebody yelled, ‘Shove us out!' an' da third jumped in, an' I gave da boat a big push away from da shore an' jumped over the edge an' plopped down inside. An' we wuz off down da mighty Mississippi.

“We floated along an' it wuz jes' as quiet an' nice as it cud be, an' we wuz feelin' right proud ob ourselves watchin' da shore git gradually further an' further away as we drifted out into da current. It wuzn't fast or dangerous, but it wuz carryin' us along.

“Den afore long da rain started ter fall. An' den
a great blast er lightnin' lit up dat dark sky an' da thunder sounded like it wuz right on top er us. An' dat's when we began ter git a little skeered cuz suddenly dat ol' Mississippi seemed like a fearsome place ter be all alone. An' dat rain it started ter come down an' dat thunder an' lightnin' it kept explodin' above us an' we looked ober an' dat shore wuz further away den before.

“An' somebody said, ‘Let's git back—dis be far enuff.' An' dat's when we realized we wuz nuthin' but a pack er cracked coons—we hadn't brung us no oar er pole or nuthin'. Dere wuzn't nuthin' in dat boat but four skeered little nigger boys dat couldn't steer dat tub no how. Dat ribber wuz jes' gonna take us where it wanted an' dere wuzn't nuthin' any ob us cud do 'bout it.”

By then we were all laughing to hear Henry chuckle as he told about it.

“But it weren't funny den,” he went on. “It wuz mighty fearsome, I kin tell you. We wuz gwine drown on dat ribber jes' like all our mamas had warned us 'bout all our lives. An' we wuz shakin' an' yellin' out fo help. But dat rain wuz poundin' down an' dere wuzn't nobody gwine hear us an' da rain wuz startin' ter pile up in da bottom er da boat an' our feet wuz sittin' in water, an' ef dat rain kept comin' we'd sink too. An' den I looked ober, an' it wuz rainin' so hard you cud hardly see in front ob you, an' da shore had disappeared from sight. By den I wuz mighty skeered. For all we cud see we might er been out in da middle er da ocean! We wuz jes' floatin', an' we
wuz goin' faster by now cuz we wuz in da current, though still I reckon we wuzn't nowhere close ter da middle on account er dat Mississippi's a mile wide here an' dere.”

“What did you do?” asked Emma, her face looking terrified.

“We jes' floated an' floated,” chuckled Henry. “Pretty soon we got so skeered we all jes' quieted down an' sat dere still in dat boat, wet ter da bone an' shakin' from fear an' cold, an' jes' waitin' ter sink an' drown cuz we knew dere wuzn't nuthin' we cud do ter save ourselves. An' I wuz thinkin' 'bout dem ribber pirates an' white men an' what dey'd do ter us ef we got caught by da likes er dem.”

“How did you get rescued?” I asked.

“We din't exactly git rescued,” chuckled Henry. “But dat ol' Mississippi—it kin be yo frien' or yo enemy. It can take a life—an' it's taken plenty er lives!—or it kin give life back too, an' on dat day I reckon it gave back da lives ob dose four fool nigger boys instead ob drownin' dem fo stealing dat boat.”

“What happened?” asked Josepha.

“Well, when we'd gone maybe four miles, dat ol' ribber takes one ob dose giant bends like it does. Sometimes it goes all da way aroun' like a big horseshoe. An' though we cudn't see too far an' cudn't see da shore, we wuzn't really so far out in da ribber—only maybe a hundert or hundert fifty yards. So when dat ribber swung roun' in dat big arc, dat boat it jes' kep' goin' straight an' din't git turned quite as fast as da current, an' by'n by we looked up an' dere wuz da
shore comin' close agin.

“An' it din't take long fo us ter figger out what wuz ter be done. We scrambled up an' jumped outer dat boat lickety-split an' we wuz all swimmin' fo our lives dat nex' minute, an' when we walked up out er dat mud onto da bank, we wuz 'bout da happiest four young scamps in all Louisiana. Den we jes' had ter git home wiffout any white boys seein' us. We knew we wuz likely ter git whupped fo bein' gone so long, but we still lit out runnin' up dat ribber till we got ter where we knowed where we wuz. An' dat rain, it didn't stop till we got all da way home.”

Henry stopped, but we were all still staring at him.

“What happened then?” I asked.

“We got our behinds whupped somethin' fierce,” chuckled Henry. “It still hurts when I think 'bout it. My papa wuz a good man, an' he din't put up wiff no foolishness from me.”

When Katie and her two uncles walked out of Mrs. Hammond's store lugging several bags and parcels of supplies, Ward glanced up at the threatening black clouds approaching from the direction of Rosewood.

“That looks like a nasty storm,” he said. “I say we get on our way home . . . and fast.”

“It's coming this way, Ward,” said Templeton. “Maybe we should stay in town and wait it out.”

“We don't know when it's going to unload.”

“Looks like it's already raining back home. I say we make a run and hope it stops or swings around us. We don't want to be stuck in town several hours.”

“Yeah, you're right—let's go.”

They put their parcels in back, along with the sacks of feed and some garden seed from Mr. Watson's, then jumped up onto the wagon and headed out of town as fast as they dared push the two horses and still manage to keep their seats.

“What's Sister Nelda have to say?” asked Templeton.

“I don't know, Uncle Templeton,” replied Katie. “I haven't opened the letter yet.”

“Why not? Open it up, girl.”

“I don't think I could read it bouncing around like this.”

“I'll slow down, then,” he said, easing the horses back to a gentle walk.

Katie tore the edge of the envelope, took out the single sheet of white paper, and began to read. Her two uncles waited, not exactly patiently but glancing over at her every so often, obviously curious.

Finally she set the letter down in her lap and sighed thoughtfully.

“Well . . .” said Ward impatiently.

“She, uh . . .” Katie began, “she invited me to Philadelphia for a visit.”

Ward and Templeton glanced at each other in surprise.

“She apologized for not keeping in touch,” Katie went on. “She said they have had some difficult times in the last few years, but that after reading your letter, Uncle Templeton, she realized how important it was to keep in touch
with family and, with me not having a mother now, wondered if I would come to Philadelphia for a while. She mentioned a finishing school for young ladies.”

“There, you see—she doesn't think we're suitable,” said Ward, obviously perturbed.

“Don't jump to conclusions, Ward,” said Templeton. “Just because she invited Katie for a visit doesn't mean—”

“Why didn't she write us, then?” asked Ward. “She never answered your letter. She only wrote to Katie.”

“She did say at the end to give my uncles her best,” said Katie.

“There, you see, Ward—nothing so sinister at all.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” mumbled Ward. “But . . . I don't know—it still seems a mite peculiar, her saying nothing to us about Katie visiting. But Nelda was like that—she never had much use for me. She was different than Rosalind.”

It was silent a minute or two.

“I suppose in a way you're right, Ward,” said Templeton at length. “It was always Rosalind who was looking out for her two brothers. I guess that's why we both stayed closer to her over the years. She's the one we went to see, not Nelda.”

“Yeah, Rosalind was good to us, all right. Richard never had much use for us, for me anyway—meaning no disrespect to your pa, Katie—but Rosalind, though she might grouse at us, she'd never turn us away.”

“In a way, you know, Katie,” said Templeton, “Mrs. Hammond back there is right—you are a lot like your mother. And you're looking more like her all the time too, just like the lady said.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” smiled Katie.

“And, you know, maybe Nelda's right too—it wouldn't hurt you to go to a finishing school. Maybe you ought to go for that visit.”

“Uncle Templeton . . . a finishing school!”

“You're getting older, Katie. We've got to think about your future—yours and Mayme's too. Some education would be good for you both. I want my daughter and niece to have the best.”

“Why don't we send them
both
to Nelda's finishing school?” suggested Ward with a twinkle in his eye that looked strangely like his brother's.

“Somehow I do not have the feeling Nelda would be altogether receptive to that idea,” said Templeton. “And I doubt, even in the North, that they mix their races quite like we do at Rosewood.”

“Did you tell her about Mayme, Uncle Templeton?” asked Katie.

“Well, in a roundabout way,” replied Templeton. “But I didn't
actually
tell her about her mama and me in so many words. I figured getting her used to the three of us together here was enough for one letter.”