The Soldier's Lady (8 page)

“You hadn't noticed him!” said Katie. “How could you not have noticed?”

Now Katie started giggling even more.

“What are you thinking?” I laughed.

“I was just thinking . . . oh, wouldn't it be the most . . .”

Now she broke out laughing like she couldn't stop.

“What is so funny!” I said.

“I was just thinking what the people in town—and especially Mrs. Hammond!—what would they say if I was to marry a black man?”

I stopped laughing and looked at Katie in shock.

“Katie Clairborne,” I said, “you're not really thinking . . . I mean—what are you thinking!”

“Nothing . . . I'm not thinking anything—only
. . .”

She stopped and glanced away. I couldn't believe it—Katie's face was red. I don't ever think I'd seen
her embarrassed like that before.

“But . . . but could you really marry a black man, Katie?” I said after a minute. “You're not really thinking that . . . are you?”

“You could marry a white man, couldn't you, Mayme?”

“Well, maybe, but that's different—I'm half white.”

“I don't think it's different at all,” said Katie. “Of course anyone who did would get plenty of grief from whites and blacks both. But, yes—I could marry a black man, if he was the right man—if he was sensitive and kind and I could talk to him . . . and if I was in love with him. Why shouldn't I? Love's the main thing, isn't it, not the color of someone's skin.”

We stood staring out the window another minute or two until the two men had disappeared from our sight.

When Jeremiah returned from town after work late that afternoon, even before he could see the buildings of Rosewood, he heard the sounds of Micah and Mr. Templeton where they were talking and laughing as they sat on the roof of the cabin pounding nails into the new boards and shingles they had put in place. At the first sound of their voices Jeremiah guided his horse forward to join them.

Then a great laugh from Templeton Daniels sounded. Jeremiah hesitated. Mayme's father had never laughed with him like that. Suddenly Jeremiah felt strange, isolated and
distant, like an outsider, and not a part of the conversation and camaraderie the two men were obviously enjoying with each other.

Why did their laughter and conversation make him feel this way? Was he jealous that Micah could laugh and talk with Mayme's father like an equal, man to man . . . was he jealous that Micah could speak like a white man . . . that he was intelligent and could read books?

Such thoughts did not exactly form themselves in Jeremiah's brain. But he felt them in his heart. They were unsettling and confusing. Slowly he turned the reins away and took a more roundabout route to the barn. Earlier in the day he'd seen Deke Steeves in town. He always knew, when he ran into guys like him and Weed Jenkins and Jesse Earl that they looked down on him like he was trash. All whites looked down on people of colored skin as inferior, except for unusual whites like Katie and Mr. Templeton and Mr. Ward. But there weren't many like them, that was for sure.

But Jeremiah knew he wasn't really inferior in any way to a rough like Deke Steeves. Inside he felt every bit Steeves' equal.

But the feeling that had just surged through him was something he had never felt before. Suddenly he felt inferior . . . to another
black
man, even a black man he considered a friend.

Templeton had always treated him well enough. But Jeremiah knew he was beholden to Templeton Daniels. They could never really be
friends.
But it was different with Micah. He and Templeton were behaving like they
were
friends. And for some reason he couldn't explain . . . it hurt
to know that he could never be like that. He could never really be on the same level as Micah.

And . . . what about Mayme?
Jeremiah thought.

After meeting Micah, how could she not see the same thing that was suddenly so obvious to him—that he could never measure up to a man like Micah Duff? The fact was, Micah would be so much better for Mayme. She had to notice it too.

Alongside Micah Duff, what did he have to offer her? Not much.

“I've got an announcement to make!” said my papa at supper that evening. “I've talked Micah into staying with us for a spell as our newest hired hand!”

“Well, dat be right fine, Mister Templeton,” said Josepha. “I had da feelin' dat boy was gettin' da itch ter be pullin' up stakes agin and he ain't ready effen you ax me.”

“It's one more mouth to feed, Josepha,” said Uncle Ward.

“You let me take care of feedin' da moufs aroun' here, Mister Ward, an' you jes' make sure we got enuff food.”

“It's wonderful!” said Katie, smiling warmly at Micah. “We're very happy that you're going to stay.”

Seeing the smile on Katie's face reminded me of what she'd said earlier when we had been looking at Micah from upstairs.

Just how fond of him was she!

R
EADING
, W
RITING, AND
R
ANCHING

8

M
OST OF THE ROSEWOOD FAMILY BEGAN TO
gather in the large kitchen for lunch. Josepha had rung the bell outside and was setting plates and serving bowls on the table as everyone wandered in. The newspaper she had been looking at a few days before lay open on the table and Mayme, who had been helping Josepha with preparations for lunch, sat down and began to read one of the stories aloud.

“ ‘It is with great,
' ” she read, then slowly tried to make out the next word, “ ‘
an . . . tic . . . uh . . . pa . . . shun . . .' ”

“Anticipation,”
sounded a voice behind her. Micah Duff had just walked in with Jeremiah and Ward. “Keep going—you're doing fine,” he added.

Mayme smiled and bent down to the paper again.

“ ‘It is with great anticipation that workers for the Union Pacific,' ”
she went on slowly.

As she read Micah slowly walked to the table and stood beside her.

“ ‘. . . and Central Pacific Railroads continue . . . uh . . . feverishly to lay down their tracks, ap . . . approach . . .' ”

“Approaching,”
said Micah, looking down over Mayme's shoulder, his head close to hers as she read.

“Some of the words are long!” laughed Mayme.

“That's all right. You read very well. Go on.”

“I'll try.
‘. . . Approaching one another closer and closer every day, each racing to cover more ground than the other. They will almost surely meet . . . sometime next month in early May in the . . . vicinity of Pro . . . pro . . . mon'
—I'm sorry, I don't know that word,” said Mayme.

“It's the name of a town in Utah,” said Micah. “Promontory Point—that's where they expect the tracks to meet.”

“That's what it says next, isn't it?” said Mayme.
“ ‘. . . Then at last will the two coasts of the great American . . . continent be joined by . . .'
—you finish it, would you please?”

“‘. . . the great iron bands of railroad,' ”
Micah went on,
“ ‘and the dream of seeing California and the mighty Pacific Ocean will be only as far away as a ride of several days in a comfortable coach behind a great steam locomotive.' ”

Mayme looked up at Micah, still standing close, and smiled. “Thank you—that was fun. Katie's the one who mostly taught me to read, didn't you, Katie?”

“All you needed was a little help,” said Katie, walking over to join them. “And then you were smart enough to pick most of it up on your own.”

By now Josepha was hustling everyone to the table.
Emma scooted William's chair closer to the table, his little hands and sleeves still wet from a washing at the pump. Jeremiah came in and quietly sat down next to him, and Ward and Templeton soon followed.

“How did you learn to read so well, Micah?” asked Katie as they took chairs beside each other.

“I taught myself too,” replied Micah. “I asked lots of questions, I listened to what I was told and I worked at it and got some simple books when I had the chance. I
wanted
to read, so I worked hard to learn. Then there was a fellow I told Jake about called Hawk, who helped me just like you helped Mayme. Everybody's got to have somebody, don't they, to help them through the rough spots.”

Everyone looked around the table at one another. They all knew just what he meant. They'd all been doing that for each other for several years.

“Anyway,” Micah went on, “Hawk helped me figure out a lot of things about life besides reading. But by the way,” he added, turning to Katie, “what should a man like me call you? I've heard
Miss Katie
and
Miss Kathleen,
and I think even
Miss Clairborne,
and just
Kathleen.
I still haven't quite figured out how everything around this place works, so I don't want to misspeak.”

Katie laughed with delight. “We're
all
trying to figure out how this place operates, aren't we, Uncle Templeton!”

“That we are, Kathleen!” he said, joining her in laughter.

“Well, Mr. Duff,” said Katie, “my uncles call me Kathleen, Josepha and Henry usually call me Miss Kathleen, and people who don't know me very well call me Miss Clairborne. Mayme and Emma used to call me Miss Katie
out of respect. But I prefer that my best friends just call me Katie. After all, that's my name.”

“So what should I call you?”

“Call me Katie.”

“Then you have to stop the
Mister
Duff and call me Micah.”