The Soldier's Lady (5 page)

She was still looking away and shook her head
without saying anything.

“Yeah, we're a mighty strange bunch!” said my papa. “It all started with Katie and Mayme—they're cousins, you see. Katie's mama—she was my sister. So that's why I'm Katie's uncle. Katie's mama and daddy had a black lady
. . .”

He paused and looked away for a second or two. Finally he took a breath and continued.

“They had a lovely young black lady,” he said in a soft voice. “She wasn't really a slave but a maid to Katie's mama—and when I came for a visit, I suppose you would say I fell in love with her. Mayme is our daughter.”

He looked at me and smiled a little sadly.

“My mama's dead now,” I said, “but Papa and I have each other, don't we, Papa?”

He nodded.

“So you both grew up here?” asked Mr. Duff to Katie and me.

“No, my mama was sold to another plantation not far from here,” I said. “That's where I knew Emma and Josepha
—we were
all slaves there.”

“So . . . where do you fit in?” he asked, turning to Uncle Ward.

“I sometimes wonder if I do!” laughed Uncle Ward. “I can understand your confusion. I had a pretty hard time figuring it out
too
when I first came. Let me see if I can explain it. I'm his brother,” he said, nodding to my papa, “which makes me Katie's uncle . . . and I'm Mayme's uncle too,” he added, nodding toward me. “And . . . actually I think I'm
also the one who owns this place . . . leastways that's what they tell me!”

When supper was finally over, Henry and Jeremiah took Micah down to his bed at their place. He drifted off to sleep and slept like a rock. He woke up the next day refreshed but weak and could hardly get out of bed. Josepha declared that if he hadn't come when he had, he wouldn't have lived another week. I don't know if that's true or not, because Josepha sometimes exaggerated. But that's what she said.

He remained in bed for several days, Josepha tending him like a ministering but fussy angel. By then little William, who had been fascinated with the strange newcomer from the moment he had seen him, was one of his most devoted attendants, dogging Josepha's steps and babbling constantly to Micah as he stood for hours beside his bedside and came and went from the cabin to the house fifty times a day with all the energy of a four-year-old.

Emma, meanwhile, though she listened to many of the conversations between her son and Rosewood's newest boarder from the landing outside the cabin, remained shyly hesitant to go in.

N
EW
F
RIENDS

5

A
fter two or three days, on a day when Henry and Jeremiah had gone into town early, I hadn't heard anything from Micah Duff all morning. By then he had been getting up and around again and seemed to be feeling a lot better. Not seeing anything of him by late morning, I began to get concerned.

“Have you seen Micah this morning?” I asked Josepha, who was kneading great lumps of bread dough in the kitchen.

“I ain't seen hide er hair ob dat boy. I been so busy wiff dis bread I din't have time ter go check on him.”

“I'll go if you like,” Katie offered quickly. I hadn't even heard her come downstairs and into the kitchen. She was wearing one of her better dresses, and her hair was all combed into a pretty little topknot.

Josepha looked over at Katie and eyed her up and down. “Mercy, mercy, mercy,” she humphed, punching the bread dough with each word.

“He's bound to be hungry,” I said. “There's plenty left from breakfast, isn't there?”

“Too much,” Josepha said. “Can't stand to see nuthin' go ter waste. Henry and Jeremiah lef' wiff only a few corncakes.”

“I'll fix up a tray for him and take it down,” I said.

“I can,” said Katie again.

Just then our neighbor Mr. Thurston rode into the yard, and Katie had to go out and see what he wanted.

I walked down to Henry and Jeremiah's cabin carrying a tray of corncakes, eggs, bacon, and a small pot of coffee. From the house as I glanced back, I saw Emma in the window watching me. I smiled and waved, but she shrank away inside, which was a mite peculiar I thought. She'd been acting a little funny for several days. I wondered if she was feeling all right, or was coming down with something.

I knocked on the door and heard a voice call out from inside. I opened the door and went in. Micah Duff was still lying in the bed Henry had made for him on the couch across the room.

“Hi,” I said. “I was worried about you so I brought you some breakfast. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just lazy, I suppose. It feels good to lie here. I've been sleeping on the ground so long this feels like a white man's hotel to me.”

I set the tray down on the table. Micah tried to sit up halfway but stayed stretched out on the couch.

“Josepha said I ought to check your bandages. Do you mind?”

“No . . . that's fine.”

I walked over to the couch. He unbuttoned his shirt. I felt a little funny getting so close to him and felt my neck getting warm. But he sat still like a gentleman and waited. I pulled his shirt gently down from his shoulder so I could see the white cloths Josepha had wrapped around his chest and shoulder. There was no blood or anything leaking from them, so I pulled his shirt back up, then smiled and stepped back.

“It looks fine,” I said. “You like a cup of coffee?” I asked.

“Sure—that sounds good.”

I poured a cup and took it to him.

“Thanks. That smells good and strong.”

“Don't I remember Jeremiah saying that you were the coffee maker for your army unit?”

“Jeremiah?” he repeated in a questioning tone.

“Yes . . . Jake, I mean,” I added. “Wasn't that what you called him?”

“Oh . . . right. I forgot. Jeremiah . . . hmm—that will take some getting used to!”

He sipped at the cup. “Yeah, I used to make the coffee,” he said. “But that was a while ago.”

He glanced toward me. “You want to sit down?” he asked.

I pulled a chair out from the table and sat down as Micah took another drink of coffee.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Illinois,” he answered.

“I didn't think you sounded like a Southern colored.”

“Neither do you.”

“I was a slave until the war,” I said. “But being around Katie and learning to read—I suppose I tried to improve how I talked too. Katie's taught me a lot of things.”

“How did you and she come to be here? You're cousins, right . . . isn't that it?”

“That's right.”

Briefly I told him how our families had been killed and how I'd come to Rosewood and then about my papa—Katie's uncle Templeton—and how I'd found out about him and my mama.

“So you're all family here?”

“I suppose in a way—though not Henry and Jeremiah and Emma—well,Henry and Jeremiah are, of course, but not Emma or Josepha.”

“Still, family or not, this is a pretty remarkable place.”

“I reckon it is, all right. It feels like we're all family. Katie's the remarkable one. She's the reason we're all here.”

I glanced over at Micah and saw him smile. “I've never met a white woman like her, that's for sure,” he said.

“Where's your family?” I asked.

Micah didn't answer immediately. His smile faded and a sad look came over his face.

“I don't suppose you'd say I've got any family,” he
said. “That's why I joined up when the war broke out, and why I've been more or less drifting ever since. Not that I haven't been trying to find work, but things seem more difficult for a black man now than they ever were before.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “It sounds like things have been hard for you.”

“Yeah . . . they have. But that's part of life. I'm not complaining. God has been good to me. And now suddenly here I am with a roof over my head and new friends taking good care of me. Who could have it better than that!”

“Speaking of all that, this breakfast of yours is getting cold!”

“I'm ready for it now. I just needed that coffee first. But if you don't mind, could you help me up?”

I went over to the couch. He reached up his free hand, and I took it and pulled gently. With a wince or two, he got himself up to a sitting position, then slowly stood.

“Thanks,” he said. “I didn't realize how bad this shoulder of mine was. But it's on the mend now.”

He walked over to the table and sat down.

“You'll join me, won't you?”

“I've already eaten,” I said.

“Then just keep me company. Where are the others?”

“Henry and Jeremiah went into town,” I said, getting Micah a plate and a fork and spoon. “They left early this morning.”

“That's right. He mentioned they had to pick up
some seed or something,” Micah said, dishing out some eggs and a couple of corncakes. “This looks like a feast!”

Jeremiah had gone into town early with Henry and had just returned with a wagonload of supplies. He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the barn. He jumped down and headed toward the cabin he and Henry shared to see how Micah Duff was feeling.

As he approached, however, he slowed his step. He heard unexpected voices coming from inside—Micah's voice mingled in laughter with another voice, a girl's voice talking and laughing along with his.

It was Mayme's voice.

Jeremiah hesitated and stopped. He listened just long enough to hear them go on with their conversation, both talking freely and obviously enjoying themselves. Then he turned and walked back up toward the house. What he was feeling he couldn't exactly tell, but strange sensations were swimming through his brain.

Why shouldn't they be visiting and enjoying each other? They were two of the best friends he had ever had in the world. Why did the sound of their voices and their laughter make him feel funny?

He walked into the kitchen. Emma was at the counter shaping Josepha's bread dough into loaves.

“Hi, Emma,” he said, sitting down at the table.