Morning Sky (17 page)
Before Grace set the coffee to boil, Ezekiel heard the sound of an approaching wagon. Tugging open the door, he was greeted by Miss Hattie.
“ ’Bout time you was crawling out of bed, Ezekiel. We’s been up long ’nuff to eat our breakfast and drive all the way over here, but it looks like you’s jest now wiping the sleep from your eyes. You got coffee to boiling, gal?”
Before Grace could answer, Miss Hattie was inside surveying the room. “Um, um. Don’ look like you’s been getting food prepared for these here men that’s gonna be working for your pappy. I brung some chokecherry and sweet potato pies and a nice big ham, but you’s gonna have to get busy, Grace.”
The girl’s shoulders slumped. “I was planning to help with the cutting.” “The cuttin’? What you thinkin’, gal? You ain’t got Jarena here to do the cookin’. Who you think is gonna feed the men?”
Grace shrugged. “I hadn’t given it much thought.” She glanced at her father. “And Pappy didn’t say anything, either.”
Miss Hattie narrowed her eyes and looked at Ezekiel. “Did Effie Beyer feed you when you was working with John?”
He nodded. “Course she did.”
“Then how come you’s not giving any thought to feedin’ the men when they’s here to work for you?”
“Plumb slipped my mind, Hattie. Jarena took care of such things last year, and I jest wasn’t thinkin’. Me and Grace think about the crops, not the cookin’.”
“Now that there’s the first thing I heard that I can agree with. I tol’ Calvin you wouldn’t be ready. Course, he thought I didn’t know what I was talkin’ about. Grace, you git down to the root cellar and fetch some potatoes, maybe some yams, too.” Hattie pulled an apron from a hook and tied it around her waist. “And you can ferget about goin’ out in them fields. You’s gonna be helping me and Nellie with the cookin’ today. I figure the other women will be bringin’ their share even though you didn’t bring no food to Effie’s.”
Grace frowned. “But I worked in the fields as hard as any of the men.”
“That’s jest it, Grace—you ain’t no man. You needs to be tendin’ to womanly duties here in the house. ’Specially now that Jarena’s gone over to Hill City. I sure do miss that chil’. What you hear from her anyway?”
“You want me to fetch the potatoes or tell you about Jarena?”
Ezekiel gave her a frown. “You’s sounding right sassy, gal. You best watch how you talk to yo’ elders. Go fetch the potatoes and
then
you can tell Miss Hattie ’bout your sister.”
Miss Hattie nodded her approval and poured herself a cup of coffee. “How you an’ Grace been farin’ with Jarena gone?”
Ezekiel smiled. “We’s getting along, but I ain’t denying I miss her cookin’.” He jumped to his feet at the sound of approaching wagons.
“Sounds like the others is here.”
While Grace and Effie Beyer peeled the huge mound of potatoes, Caroline Holt and Mildred Kemble snapped beans, occasionally sending their young daughters to fetch water and scrub the boards they’d set up for the noonday meal table.
Effie picked up another potato and began peeling. “You read that piece in the paper about all them Exodusters still pourin’ into Topeka?
Sounds like the only place for them to stay is penned up in some kind of barracks over to the fairgrounds. That story in the paper said the tools and lumber was stolen so’s they can’t build more housing for them.”
Mildred nodded. “Them white folks don’t want no more of them barracks built unless they’s at least a mile out of town. Now ain’t that jest something!”
Miss Hattie continued kneading a batch of dough. “Calvin says Topeka’s full to overflowin’ with all our folks migratin’ from the South.
He says the town cain’t handle no more.”
Effie frowned. “Cain’t or don’t wanna? They did all that advertisin’ about comin’ out here, and now they don’ want us.”
Grace leaned back and continued peeling as she listened to the women talk about the huge number of colored folks pouring into the state. She’d thought much like these women until Moses had explained that it wasn’t the Kansas legislature that issued the call for folks to come—it had been men like Pap Singleton, who dreamed of a utopia where freed slaves could enjoy the same independence as white folks. He’d traveled extensively and expounded upon all the land and abundance Kansas had to offer. Of course, the land promoters had encouraged the migration, too. But now the capital city was faced with a daily influx of families migrating to what they hoped would be a better life, only to be greeted by worse conditions than they’d left behind.
Grace quartered the potato and dropped it into the kettle. “Maybe we should send a letter to the new governor telling him to send some of those Exodusters out here to Nicodemus.”
All of the women looked at her as though she’d suggested an outrageous proposition. It was Miss Hattie who pointed her finger and said, “You gone daft in the head, gal? We can’t be bringing folks out here if we ain’t got nothin’ to offer. We’s jest now beginnin’ to get settled ourselves.”
“Tha’s right,” Mildred agreed. “Last thing we be needin’ out here is a band of settlers who gots even less than we do. Why, we’d find ourselves back to askin’ for handouts like we did that first year when we come out here.”
Miss Hattie wagged her head. “Um, um, I don’t never want to go back to dem days again. Nope, that ain’t no kinda idea, gal.”
Grace didn’t reply. After all, Miss Hattie had spoken—even if Grace thought the older woman was wrong. Grace had lived through those tough days not so long ago. She’d struggled right along with the rest of them, going to bed hungry, nearly freezing through the winter, having to seek aid from others in order to survive. But they’d put all that behind them when they voted to end all appeals for help back in the spring of 1879. Surely they were now strong enough to lend other new settlers a hand up. After all, wasn’t that what the Bible taught? She’d speak with her father instead of these women—she could trust his reasoning to be sound.
But when the men returned for their noonday meal, they were engrossed in their talk of crops and the weather—and Herman’s reduced yield due to the drovers running cattle through his fields. Mr. Kemble infused his anger into their conversation at every opportunity. But who could blame him? With each field the men harvested, Herman was reminded he would have less yield than the others, especially wheat and corn. At least his sorghum remained in good condition, and perhaps he would be more pleasant during the fall, when the men harvested the cane. Then again, maybe not, since Grace didn’t think he had planted more than one small field of sorghum. Each time Grace approached her father, he’d motion for her to remain silent or Miss Hattie would call out a command for her to fill the bowls or water glasses. Grace would be happy when the work crew moved on to the Holts’ place, where she could go back to working out in the fields. She would talk to her father tonight.
By the time sundown came and the men finally stopped for the night, her father downed his supper and fell into bed. As she slipped between the sheets herself, she decided she’d speak to her father the next day. Rather than using her nightly prayer time to talk with the Lord about what to do about the Exodusters, or give thanks for daily blessings, Grace filled the time with pleas for help with Miss Hattie and her domineering attitude. As far as Grace was concerned, Miss Hattie needed her comeuppance. And God was about the only one big enough for that job.
Unfortunately, God didn’t intervene the next day—and Miss Hattie didn’t change her ways. When Grace mentioned the unfortunate Exo-dusters, Miss Hattie shushed her, and while they baked bread, peeled potatoes, and boiled ham hocks with beans, Miss Hattie steered the discussion toward the temperance movement, which was a topic near and dear to her heart.
Grace sighed. The women were always attending temperance meetings and rallying behind the cause as though liquor were available at every corner. “Why do you spend so much time talking about temperance, Miss Hattie? Liquor isn’t a problem in Nicodemus. All the families have signed the prohibition petition.”
Miss Hattie looked up from the kettle of beans she was stirring. “Don’t mean whiskey ain’t still a problem, ’specially in other towns where they ain’t voted against liquor.”
“With the legislature’s amendment coming for a vote in November, all the taverns and dramshops will be closed. That’s what Moses told Pappy. Moses said he’s going to be doing some articles for the newspaper before election time comes around.”
Miss Hattie swiped a shirtsleeve across her forehead. “I know you think that law’s gonna take care of ever’thing, Grace. But I done lived a lot of years, and I can tell you it won’t make no difference. Liquor gonna
always
be a problem. It’s the devil’s brew, that’s a fact.”
Grace widened her eyes. “If it’s the devil’s brew, how come doctors give it to sick folks?”
Miss Hattie pointed her dripping spoon in Grace’s direction. “You’s just beggin’ for an argument, ain’t ya? You’s wantin’ to show us how smart you is, but you best be rememberin’ that pride’s a sin—almost as bad as drinkin’ that devil’s brew.”
Grace slumped in her chair. Her prayers had gone unheeded.
J
arena settled in the buggy beside Moses. She had hoped to move back home before the Fourth of July celebration, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Perhaps she’d be home for good before the Emancipation Celebration the first of August. Well, at least she’d have a few hours to visit with Pappy and Grace today after church.
“I don’t think Pappy’s going to be happy about Truth’s prolonged absence,” she said as Moses pulled back on the reins and brought the buggy to a stop in the churchyard in Nicodemus.
“Nor do I, but let’s wait until after church to tell him.” Moses held out his hand to assist her from the buggy. Jarena waved as her sister raced to greet her.
Grace giggled as she pulled Jarena into a tight embrace. “I was hoping to see Truth in the buggy, too, but I suppose it’s too soon for her return, isn’t it?”
Jarena glanced at Moses. “Yes, I suppose so.” She hugged her father and then took Grace by the hand. “Do sit beside me in church. I’ve missed you.”
“You’re coming back to the house for a visit afterward, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I thought I’d have a chance to see how much your cooking has improved.”
“You’ll be disappointed. Miss Hattie doesn’t think I’m much account in the kitchen. We didn’t get on so well when the men were over to help Pappy with the wheat. I sure hope you’re home before it’s time to harvest the corn.”
The two sisters walked into the church and scooted across a wooden pew. Jarena leaned close to Grace’s ear. “I’m sure you did fine.
Miss Hattie’s more bark than bite. She likes to keep everyone on their toes.”
“She’s bossy and disagreeable. She argued with me about everything from the food to the Exodusters and the temperance movement. She doesn’t agree with me about anything.”
Jarena placed a finger to her lips. “We’ll talk after church.”
The limestone church that had been completed in early spring was soon filled with the sounds of a lively spiritual, and Jarena drew comfort from the familiar strains. It was good to be in her own church again. Though she attended Sunday services with the Boyle family in Hill City, she found the experience foreign. Much too stiff and formal. No one clapped their hands or shouted praises to the Lord—and the preacher delivered his message in a dreary monotone voice—nothing like Reverend Mason, who took pleasure in marching back and forth while waving his arms to make a point. She settled into the pew and wrapped herself in the warmth of her surroundings. She longed for the morning to last forever. But today it seemed as if the singing ended much too rapidly and the sermon was shorter than was the custom. Before she knew it, they were out of church and on their way to the farm.
Unwilling to be separated for the ride home, Grace squeezed into the buggy with Jarena and Moses. “I do hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to talk to both of you about the Exodusters in Topeka. Pappy says you likely know more about them than most folks.”
Moses flicked the reins and encouraged his horse into a trot. “What is it about the Exodusters that’s captured your interest, Grace?”
She proceeded to explain her conversation with Miss Hattie and the others. When she had finished her lengthy summary of the heated conversation, she said, “So what do you think? Which is more important— temperance or the Exodusters?”
Moses pushed his hat back on his head. “They’re both important issues, Grace. The others are likely more interested in the temperance issue because they’ve struggled with it in their own family and have suffered through the devastation caused by the abuse of liquor.”
Grace nodded. “But they’ve suffered through the hardships of moving to a new state and nearly starving to death, too. I thought they’d feel compassion for the Exodusters. Instead, they’re thinking only of themselves—not wanting folks coming out here unless they’ve already got the finances to establish themselves.”
Moses stared into the distance as the horse trotted onward. “I think what you’re hearing is fear.”
