The Soldier's Lady (4 page)

“I think the man's wondering who all these people are,” laughed my papa.

“And wondering whose house this is!” laughed the young man. “It looks to me like a mighty big and fancy house, and all I see is several blacks and what looks like a working man, meaning no offense to you, Mister . . . Daniels, was it?”

My papa laughed again. “Yes, Daniels, it is—and you're right, I don't look much like a Southern plantation gentleman!”

“It's not yours, is it, William?” said the man to William.

“No, it ain't my house. It's Katie's.”

More laughter came from my papa at William's words.

“It's all of ours,” said Katie. “We're a family here. And now that that's settled, why don't you come inside. We should see how badly you're hurt.”

As Henry and Papa helped him toward the house, they sensed his hesitation.

“I know the war's over,” he said, “but this is still the South not the North—whoever's house it is or isn't. I can't . . . go in there.”

Henry laughed. “I tol' you dat dis was some kind ob unusha place. Why, son, dere ain't no colors in dis here place—jes' people dat care 'bout each other.”

He glanced at the white man beside him, wondering if what he'd just heard was true.

“Henry's right, son,” said Papa. “We may look a little mixed up, but we're a family like Katie said, and you're welcome wherever any of the rest of us are.”

They continued on toward the house. The young man glanced over at me and smiled in appreciation. It was such a pleasant smile, even in the midst of his pain and the newness of being surrounded by folks he didn't know . . . it was almost like he already knew me, and knew that we were going to become much better acquainted soon.

R
EUNION

4

T
he black man who'd come with Henry was hurt worse than he realized. The wound on his right shoulder and chest and upper arm hadn't healed like it should and was pretty badly infected. By the time we got him inside and seated, Uncle Ward was back from Mr. Thurston's and everything had to be explained all over again.

When they got his shirt and jacket off, Josepha took one look at his shoulder and exclaimed, “Dis boy's hurt bad,” she said. “We gots ter git him ter bed! But he needs him a bath first,” she added, not one to keep from saying whatever she was thinking. “He don' smell too good.”

A few glances and smiles went around the room.

“I think he needs something to eat too,” I said.

“Ward and Henry and I will take him out to the washtub outside and take care of the bath,” said my papa. “You ladies boil some water on the cook stove so we don't have to take time to build a fire.”

“You scrub dat shoulder real good, Mister Templeton,” said Josepha, “an' pour some whisky on dat wound.”

“Kathleen, why don't you fetch us some clothes of your daddy's or brother's,” added Uncle Ward.

“I'll go down to the cabin,” I said, “and make a bed—where do you want to put him, Henry?”

“I reckon on da couch dere in da corner ob da big room. I reckon dere'll be room fo us all.”

Within the hour, the poor man must have thought he had walked into a tornado of activity! Here he was being waited on hand and foot by two white men, a black man, a black lady, a white girl called Katie, who everyone acted like owned the place just like William had said, and another black girl—me. Henry had said a mouthful when he called Rosewood “a most unusha place!”

By suppertime, every inch of his body was clean and he was wearing fresh new clothes, with Josepha fussing over the bandages and poultices she was trying to apply amidst the comings and goings of everyone in the house. Everyone had been so busy over him that it wasn't till Josepha had the supper on the table that we all looked around and realized that dusk was falling and we still hadn't seen anything of Emma and Jeremiah.

We sat down and my papa prayed and we started to eat. We had just gotten started when the door opened and Jeremiah and Emma walked in. They were laughing and talking and still sweating like they'd been halfway across the county. Their faces
were aglow like they'd had the time of their lives.

“Where have you two been!” exclaimed Papa.

“Dose blamed cows ran us halfway ter Oakwood!” laughed Jeremiah. “Didn't dey, Emma?”

“Dey's 'bout da dumbest creatures under da sun, dat's fo sure!” laughed Emma.

“Finally we had ter git clean on da udder side ob dem,” Jeremiah went on, “an' dat took some runnin', an' den we made a racket ter git dem turned aroun', but den—”

Suddenly Jeremiah stopped. He had just pulled out a chair to sit down. All of a sudden he realized there was an extra person at the table. His eyes shot wide open.

I glanced over at the stranger out of the corner of my eye. His face had almost the same expression as he stared back and forth between Jeremiah and Emma. I wondered which one of them had gotten his attention like that. Then his eyes came to rest on Jeremiah as the two young men stared at each other in shock.

“Why dat's . . . dat really be,” Jeremiah said, trying to find his voice. “Dat really be you, Micah Duff!”

Hearing his name and the familiar voice, a huge smile spread over the newcomer's face.

“It's me, all right, but I don't believe my eyes! Is that you . . . Jake!” he said.

“Whatchu doin' here, Duff!”

“I met this man in town and—of course . . . Patterson!” he exclaimed, now looking back and forth between Henry and Jeremiah. “I didn't put the two
names together before now. I can't believe it!”

“You two knows each other?” said Henry in surprise.

Already Jeremiah had taken three great strides around the table as the stranger stood up. And now the two embraced in true affection. Tears flowed from both sets of eyes. But Jeremiah felt Micah wince and then first realized his weakened condition. Suddenly their former standing with one another was reversed. It was Jeremiah who was strong and Micah who needed care.

They both stepped back, eyes glistening as they continued to behold each other with shakes of their heads and smiles of wonder.

“Dis is Private Duff, Papa!” said Jeremiah. “He's da man I tol' you 'bout who saved my life—twice!—an' wuz such a good frien' ter me when I wuz wiff da soldiers.”

“Well, effen dat don't beat all!”

“How you come ter be here, Duff?” asked Jeremiah again.

“A long story, Jake. I guess it goes to show what the Good Book says, that sometimes the Lord is guiding your steps when you least know it. I hadn't a notion you were anywhere within a hundred miles.”

“Maybe now we kin return his kindness ter you,” said Henry. “He's in need ob some help dat maybe we kin gib him.”

Jeremiah sat down, his shock and excitement not enough to disturb his appetite, and within moments he and the man called Micah Duff were talking
away furiously, both catching up on the years since they had seen each other and reminiscing about all they had been through together during the war. All the rest of us listened in amazement.

“You've grown and changed, Jake,” Mr. Duff was saying. “From a distance I don't know if I would have recognized you.”

“I's five years older, Duff,” laughed Jeremiah. “I wuz jes' a kid back den, an' a pretty mixed-up one a lot er da time, which I reckon you recall well enuff.”

“Everybody's got to grow up in their own way, Jake. But it's more than that too. I can tell.”

“I reckon you's right. I suppose I've changed more on da inside den da outside.”

“That's good, Jake. That's the best kind of growth.”

“I had a friend who tol' me some things I didn't like hearin' too much,” said Jeremiah with a curious smile. “But his words got down in dere an' did dere work in my heart, an' I finally started gettin' my grain growin' a little straighter den it wuz before.—Ain't dat right, Papa?” he added, glancing toward Henry.

“I reckon so. We both done a heap a growin', ain't we, son?”

“Well, I am happy to hear it,” said Duff.

He smiled at Emma, seated across from him. But Emma kept her eyes on her plate. All through the meal, Emma had been uncommonly quiet, though William had inherited enough of her talkativeness to make up for it! She kept hanging back as if having a stranger around made her feel
uncomfortable. It reminded me of how she'd been at first when Aleta had been with us.

I reckon I was a little quiet too. I couldn't help stealing a glance now and then at the stranger who had come so suddenly to Rosewood but who wasn't a stranger anymore. I felt a feeling of thankful admiration to finally see the man who had saved Jeremiah's life.

“You remember dem Dawsons?” asked Jeremiah. “Dat place we stayed when I got laid up?”

“How could I forget that place!” laughed Micah Duff. “We were lucky to get out of there alive.”

“Everybody didn't git out ob dere alive,” said Jeremiah in a serious tone.

“What do you mean, Jake?”

“I went back later, but I wuzn't in time ter save dat fool Mister Dawson's life. His anger got hisse'f killed.”

“Why did you go back?”

“Kind ob like you comin' here. I jes' wound up dere wiffout plannin' it.”

“What happened? You get into a fight with Dawson?”

“No, not me,” answered Jeremiah, shaking his head. “But dose two ladies—dat fool girl an' her mama—dey wuz in a heap er trouble. A couple bad niggers had come an' dey killed Dawson an' would likely hab killed dem
too
ef I hadn't come along when I did. I heard dem screamin' an' I crept up an' managed ter git da women away from dem. But I wuz
too
late fo Dawson.”

Jeremiah went on to explain what had happened.

The story sobered us all. But just as quickly Jeremiah and Micah Duff continued on, each telling the other what they'd done and where they'd been after parting, and Jeremiah telling about coming here and finding Henry.

“Well, we sure appreciate what you did for Jeremiah, son,” said my papa after they were pretty much caught up, though Micah Duff still hadn't told us much about the incident that had got him hurt like he was.

“Everybody's got something to give everyone he meets,” he said. “We can all learn and grow from everyone else. Jake and I just happened to be together at a time when maybe he needed to hear some of what I had to say. I'm just glad we were there for each other. And now here you all are at a time when I suppose I need more help than I realized.”

We were all done eating now and it got quiet. Again Micah Duff glanced around the table at us all one at a time. He came to Emma and paused. Gradually the most peculiar expression came over his face. She giggled and looked away. Then he kept looking around at the rest of us.

“But I'm still more than a little confused about how you all fit together,” Micah Duff said. “You're calling him Papa,” he said, now looking over at me again, “but you're black and he's white.” Then he glanced back toward Emma. “And where do you fit into it, Emma—are you two sisters?”