The Soldier's Lady (7 page)

“What do you think about that,” he said, kind of to everyone at the same time, “our neighbor Mc-Simmons running for Congress!”

I don't think he realized anyone had read the paper. I doubt he thought Josepha could read at all, because it seemed like he was about to go on and tell us about it. But before he could say a word, Josepha answered his question in no uncertain terms.

“I kin tell you what I think of it,” she mumbled, “an' dat ain't much!”

Uncle Ward laughed. “Why's that, Josepha?” he said. “You got something against the man?”

“I got more den jes' somethin' against him, an' dat's da truf.”

“Josepha used to work for McSimmons,” said my papa, “didn't I tell you that, Ward?”

“I used ter be dere slave's mo' like it,” said Josepha. “I ain't sayin' ol' Master McSimmons wuzn't kind enuff, an' his poor wife, God bless her—but the
young one an' his wife—dey wuz bad'ns. Dat's why I lef'.”

I saw Micah Duff listening to everything, and Emma was quieter than usual. She glanced toward him once then looked away almost shyly. Getting used to new people around always was a little hard for Emma, and I could imagine it was the same with Micah Duff. She had probably never known a black man that acted so much like a white, so knowledgeable and refined. Neither had I!

I saw him glance with a look of question toward Emma. “We were all from the McSimmons plantation,” I explained to him, “—Emma an' Josepha an' me. My family were field slaves, and when they were all killed at the end of the war I escaped and wandered here. Josepha and Emma were house slaves, so they weren't hurt. Then Emma came to Rosewood, and then Josepha a year or two later.”

Uncle Ward and Papa started talking about it again.

“This guy McSimmons, has he got what it takes for Congress?” asked Uncle Ward.

“Hardly. That man's an evil snake,” answered my papa. “He's got money, though—both his father's and his wife's. Word is his wife's family's dripping with it.”

A few seconds later Emma left the kitchen. After a minute I got up and followed her. She was standing at the back window of the sitting room looking out over the back porch toward the fields and trees in the distance. I put my hand on her shoulder. I was pretty
sure she was feeling all her old fears again about William McSimmons.

“We won't let anything happen to you,” I said.

Emma turned and cast me the most forlorn look. “You's always been so good ter me,” she said softly. “I don't know why, but you has.”

“We love you and William,” I said. “You'll be safe here.”

“You won't tell dat Mister Duff 'bout me an' him, will you, Mayme?”

“Not if you don't want me to, Emma. I'm sorry if I said too much in there.”

“Dat all right. You didn't say nuthin'. But I jes' don't want him ter know I's such a fool as ter git inter dat kin' er trouble.”

“You're not a fool, Emma. You're a fine young mother. Sometimes things happen that we wish hadn't. But I won't say anything.”

She smiled and hugged me so tight I could hardly breathe.

“Thank you, Mayme,” she said. “You's da bes' friend a girl cud hab.” She paused. “Cud you make sure William's all right fo a short spell? I jes' want ter be alone . . . jes' fo a minute or two.”

“Of course, Emma.”

She smiled again, then went out the front door and slowly down the porch and across the grass. I'd hardly ever seen Emma cry, but I think that's why she wanted to be alone.

She was quiet for several days after that.

Henry and Jeremiah left for town again early one morning where both had full days to put in at the livery stable and Mr. Watson's mill.

The morning had hardly begun and Micah Duff had only been out of bed long enough to drink one cup of the strong coffee Henry had left for him when he heard a commotion outside. He pulled on his boots, then picked up his cup again and wandered outside.

There was Templeton Daniels getting down off a wagon loaded with boards and tools.

“What's going on?” asked Micah, walking toward him. “It looks like you're getting ready to build a house!”

“It's not quite that ambitious,” laughed Templeton. “We just thought we would fix up one of the other cabins down here—this one next to Henry's.”

“Let me finish getting dressed and grab something to eat and I'll give you a hand. What's the occasion—are you planning to hire more hands for the summer?”

“You never know when someone else might show up around this place,” answered Templeton. “People seem to come all the time out of nowhere.”

“People like me!” laughed Micah Duff.

“To answer your question,” Templeton went on, “no, we've got no plans to hire anyone. We're not necessarily expecting anyone either. Ward and I thought we ought to fix the place up for someone who's already come.”

“Oh . . . who's that?” asked Micah Duff.

“You.”

“Me!”

“We thought it might be getting a little crowded in there for the three of you,” he said with a nod toward Henry and Jeremiah's house. “Now that you're mending up so nice, I thought you'd like your own quarters.”

“I appreciate that,” said Duff, “but it's really time that I thought about moving on.”

“Moving on . . . to where?”

“I don't know—wherever I was going before I rode into town.”

“But that was no place, I thought.”

“I suppose you're right at that,” laughed Micah.

“So why not stay a spell?”

“I can't presume on your hospitality forever. And I'm afraid I can't pay you. I'm flat broke.”

“Who said anything about hospitality?” returned Templeton. “I was planning to put you to work.”

“Ah, I see . . . well, that might change things, all right.”

It was quiet a minute. When Templeton spoke again, his voice was more serious. “What is your long-range goal, son?” he asked. “Where
were
you headed anyway when you rode into town? Knowing you—because you're a pretty smart young man—I doubt it was
completely
aimless.”

Micah thought a minute. “Honestly I didn't really have a destination in mind,” he said. “I'd been going from place to place looking for work, but these are hard times for a black man.”

“Yep, I understand that. Well then, saying you had the money, what would you do? Would you keep wandering around North Carolina?”

Micah thought awhile again. “I suppose I'd like to go
out west someday,” he said after a moment, “and get a little spread of land. I've only been as far as Missouri, but I'd like to get to Oregon someday. I suppose if I have a dream in life, that's it.”

“Seems to me you've done a lot of wandering without getting too far,” said Templeton. “Maybe you ought to work awhile and save up enough money to follow that dream.”

“That sounds good, all right, but sometimes it's not so easy. A man's got to have a job. And getting a piece of land ain't easy when you're a black man.”

“True enough. But you can't just be aimless either, or the things you hope for will never happen. Take it from a man who never knew what he wanted till it bit him in the face, and who wasted too many years accomplishing nothing. If Oregon's your dream, son, then figure out a way to get there, and don't wait till you're too old to enjoy it.”

“What was it that bit you in the face, as you say,” asked Micah. “What was it that made you see what you really wanted out of life?”

Templeton nodded slowly with a curious, sad smile on his face. “That young lady up there at the house named Mayme—that's who it was,” he said. “She and the memory of her mother, I should say. Once I found out she was my daughter, everything changed for me—though it took me a while to realize it. Having somebody to love—that makes all the difference.”

“Yeah, I can see why—she's really something,” said Micah. “She's got . . . I don't know, an energy and enthusiasm for life that's special, all right. I can see why she would change things for you. She is quite a young lady.”

Templeton looked at Micah with an expression of question. But he did not pursue what more the young man might mean.

“She's made my life more than I ever thought it would be, I'll say that,” he said after a couple of seconds. “But you go on and get dressed, son, and finish your breakfast and then come help me with this lumber. Ward'll be down to help us directly. We thought we'd patch the roof first, then replace a few floorboards. We'll have this place livable in a day or two!”

From an upstairs window in the house, Emma and Katie and I happened to be watching as my papa and Micah Duff walked up to the barn for some things an hour or so later, talking and laughing like old friends.

Actually Katie had been standing at the window first. I saw her and walked up behind her. We stood a minute just looking at the two of them as they disappeared into the barn.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

Katie looked over at me and smiled. It was a quiet and peaceful smile.

“I guess I was thinking . . . I don't know—just how wonderful it is what God has done here. Isn't it, Mayme?” she added, glancing over at me. “How could we have ever known, that first day when we saw each other downstairs in the kitchen . . . that was such an awful day. I didn't know how I would
keep living at all . . . yet now, look—there are two wonderful men out there—did you see them just now, laughing and talking. We didn't even know them then . . . well, I knew Uncle Templeton, but you didn't, even though he was your father. And now here they are part of our lives, just like everyone else. It's really wonderful how good God has been to us. I am so thankful that we have a family again . . . and for you especially, Mayme.”

Emma walked in before I had a chance to reply. She came over and joined us at the window. A minute later Papa and Micah walked out of the barn again, each holding the ends of two long planks. Their voices carried up to where we stood watching, though we couldn't make out their words.

“I wonder what they're talking about,” said Katie. “They act like they've known each other for years.”

“I have a feeling Micah Duff is that way with anyone,” I said. “Remember how Jeremiah talked about him, like Micah was always able to tell what he was thinking.”

“And he's so good-looking,” said Katie.

I glanced over at Katie. She saw that I was surprised by what she'd said.

“What?” she laughed with a questioning tone. “He is . . . don't you think?”

“But he's black,” I said. “Do you really think he's good-looking?”

“Why, you mean because I'm white? You thought Rob Paxton was good-looking, didn't you?”

“Yes, but that's different.”

“No it's not,” said Katie, “I think Micah Duff is about as handsome as anyone I've seen, don't you, Mayme?”

“Well . . .” I said, looking down again to Papa and Micah Duff now walking back toward the cabins. Even though their backs were turned, I remembered his face well enough. And Katie was right. “Yes,” I said, giggling a little, “he is a mighty fine-looking man, all right.”

“What do you think, Emma?” asked Katie.

“I reckon you's right dere,” nodded Emma. “I jes' hadn't thought ob it afore.”