Miss Katie's Rosewood

by Michael Phillips

  “I suppose we shall have to figure something else out, then. It’s no secret that I am very fond of you, Miss Clairborne. I’m just trying to figure out what’s best . . . what’s best for you, for everyone. Just be patient with me . . . can you do that?”

  “I can. I trust you, Rob.”

  He took her in his arms and she returned his embrace. They stood a long time holding each other in contented silence.

  They did not need to know times and seasons and timetables. Their hearts had become joined as one. And for the present, that was enough.

  GOOD-BYE TO THE NORTH

  42

  Katie’s twentieth birthday party at Aunt Nelda’s was festive and fun. Aunt Nelda and I baked a big cake and she had been teaching me about cake decorating and I decorated it with frosting and whipped cream and all sorts of little colored candies. It was beautiful, if I do say so myself. We had a gay time eating and laughing and singing to Katie.

  But in another way, there was an undercurrent of sadness too. We knew that we would all be parting soon. We might never be together again in the same way like we were right then. Maybe birthdays make you pensive too. I think so. We told everybody about the first birthdays we had celebrated together at Rosewood. I think everybody felt sorry for us. But Katie and I remembered them with a quiet peace and joy. Katie’s birthday reminded us, along with everything that had happened, that we were growing up . . . suddenly very fast. Maybe the sadness came from knowing that life continually brings changes and that you can’t always tell what they’re going to be ahead of time. Some of them are good changes. But life brings pain and hurts with it too, as we knew all too well. So even in the midst of the celebration, we knew that partings and change would come sooner than we wished they would.

  Those partings started the very next day.

  Rob, who had just come for the day, left early on the train back to Hanover.

  Katie cried.

  That afternoon, Jeremiah left to return to his job across the river in Delaware.

  “You tell my papa an’ my stepmama dat I’ll be back next munf,” he said. “By den I’ll hab a good little bit saved away.—An’, Mister Templeton,” he added to my papa, “I’ll be dere fo da cotton harvest.”

  “We appreciate it very much, Jeremiah,” said Papa. “It will be the most important harvest Rosewood’s ever had.”

  “My papa tol’ me dat in a letter. So you kin count on me bein’ dere. We’ll git dat cotton in, Mister Templeton, don’t you worry.”

  “Thank you, Jeremiah.”

  “When you come, you be careful you don’t sit in a car that comes unhooked from the train,” said Uncle Ward.

  “I’s try, Mister Ward.”

  He and I hugged each other and had a few private words together. Then I watched him go.

  And then I cried.

  The next morning Katie and I and Papa and Uncle Ward set off for the long trip back to Rosewood. It’s funny how they’d been missing us, and we’d been missing them. Yet now the four of us were together again and something seemed missing. Even together, something was incomplete. I knew what it was. For Katie it was Rob. For me it was Jeremiah. We weren’t alone anymore. Our lives were intertwined with theirs and whenever we were apart, it didn’t feel complete. The family we had known was growing. I think Papa and Uncle Ward felt it too, maybe more toward Aunt Nelda than Jeremiah and Rob. After all the years, all kind of going their own separate ways, the bonds of brothers and sister had grown deeper in all three of them. None of them were married. Aunt Nelda had been but was now alone. For so long they’d had so little to do with each other. Yet now as they were getting older, they realized how deeply they loved each other.

  But sometimes brothers and sisters don’t know how to talk about those kinds of things so well. So as we stood on Aunt Nelda’s porch saying good-bye, they just hugged and said things like, “Well, you take care of yourself.” But what they were really saying without saying it was, “I love you.”

  Katie and I hugged Aunt Nelda and she kissed us both.

  Then we loaded into the carriage. We no longer just had uncles, we had a dear aunt and a new woman-friend. We would miss her.

  As Uncle Ward called to the two horses, Aunt Nelda turned back into the house.

  Now it was her turn to cry.

  The first day of the trip was quiet. We were all lost in our own thoughts. By the second day we began to talk, and by the third we were talking and laughing like our old selves. It wasn’t that we forgot Rob and Jeremiah and Aunt Nelda, we just were able to have fun being together—the four of us—again.

  It took us six days to get home.

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense any longer,” said Papa one day.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Are you two going to move north to go to that girls’ school?”

  Katie and I looked at each other.

  “I don’t think so, Uncle Templeton,” said Katie.

  “Didn’t you like it?”

  “It was all right. But . . . I don’t know, it seems that wherever we go, there’s no place we fit in. It was like when we were on the train—when we’re together, people look at us different. People don’t seem to like to see a black girl and a white girl being best friends. Not that I wouldn’t love to study history and geography and literature and music. But after all Mayme and I have been through together, learning etiquette and about how to dress and how to place silver for a fancy dinner just doesn’t seem very important.”

  Papa nodded, then glanced over at me.

  “I think what Katie is trying to say,” I said, “is that after our visits we both realized that Rosewood is our home and that we’re happier there than anywhere.”

  Papa and Uncle Ward had brought camping things and we camped and cooked along the way. Especially the way our money was right then, we couldn’t afford hotels! Our train ride up to Aunt Nelda’s had cost more than we could afford too, but they had insisted. But from now till the harvest, we would have to watch every penny.

  “What did you mean, Uncle Templeton,” asked Katie as we went, “when you told Jeremiah that this is the most important harvest Rosewood has ever had?”

  He and Uncle Ward looked at each other. It was almost a look that said, “Should we tell them?”

  “It’s just that the finances are tight, Kathleen, that’s all,” said Papa after a minute.

  “You mean because of the taxes.”

  “Yeah, that’s mostly it.”

  “But we’ll pay them off with the cotton.”

  “Possibly. But prices could be down. And . . . we’re not completely sure Mr. Watson will be able to buy all our cotton.”

  “Why not?”

  “He may have too much. Everyone is having a huge crop this year. It’s just that there are a lot of things to think about and a lot that could go wrong.”

  “You’re frightening me, Uncle Templeton. You sound so serious.”

  “I’m afraid it is serious, Kathleen.”

  He paused and took in a deep breath.

  “Remember how it was when I first came, with Rosewood’s debts?” Papa asked.

  Katie nodded.

  “It’s crept back on us again.”

  “I know there are a few bills, but it’s not that bad . . . is it?”

  “I’m afraid so, Kathleen. Debt creeps up slow, but then it can eat you alive. The long and the short of it is that everything depends on this harvest. If we don’t have a good one, I don’t see how Rosewood can survive.”

  His words sobered Katie and me. We had no idea it was that bad.

  “And that’s why we’ve got to work hard to get the whole crop in,” said Papa, trying to sound cheerful, “and make sure we beat the rain and make it the best harvest ever.”

  “We will, Uncle Templeton. I know we will. Rosewood’s been in bad trouble before and we always find a way out of it, don’t we, Mayme!”

  Papa and Uncle Ward didn’t say too much more about it. I could tell the
y were thinking. But I didn’t know what.

  HARVEST TIME

  43

  We arrived back at Rosewood.

  It was so good to be home. Everything looked great. The crops in the field looked real healthy. I’d almost forgotten how much I loved the place. I could tell Katie felt the same way. It was great to see Henry and Josepha again too and give them each a hug for Jeremiah and to be able to tell them that he would be home before much longer.

  One of the first things Katie and I did was sit down at our writing desks and start letters to Jeremiah and Rob. We were so anxious to tell them everything that by that night we both had ink stains on our fingers.

  July came and the summer advanced and the cotton and wheat put out their heads and the sun warmed the earth.

  Jeremiah returned to Rosewood around the first of August, to everyone’s rejoicing, especially mine! For the first time in a long time he spoke openly to me about marriage. But we didn’t talk about it with anyone else. I didn’t even talk to Katie about it. It wasn’t exactly a secret, it was just something Jeremiah and I had to decide for ourselves. We had waited for so long—it seemed that way anyway!—that we didn’t want to make a big to-do about it until we knew for sure. So it remained between us.

  We began thinking that after the harvest might be the best time to get married—after all the uncertainty about Rosewood’s future was finally over and the bills were paid and everyone was content and relaxed again. Jeremiah said he had made enough money that we could pay to live in the cabin he and Henry had lived in before and fix it up some and buy whatever we needed for at least a year, maybe more. Then if he needed to he’d go work in Delaware again for a few months.

  The end of August came and Papa and Uncle Ward and Henry were out in the cotton fields every day inspecting the ripening crop to see when we should start picking. Henry was still the most experienced and they were waiting for him to say, “It’s time.” They had the wagons and packing boxes and space in the barn for storage in case it rained. Everything was ready. We just had to wait for the cotton itself to be ready.

  There were visits to the bank too, and we could all tell that Papa and Uncle Ward were feeling stress and pressure about the money. But they kept promising Mr. Taylor that the harvest would take care of it. On top of that, tax time kept getting closer and closer too.

  Then came a surprise to all of us. Suddenly Aunt Nelda arrived for a visit! She had taken the train to Charlotte and rented a horse and buggy to come the rest of the way to Greens Crossing and Rosewood. She looked different somehow. I don’t know how to explain it, like she was determined about something. And we found out soon enough what it was when she sat down and talked to her two brothers.

  “I know you’ve been having some financial struggles,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about me knowing because I know, that’s all. I could tell from things you’ve said and the girls said, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You are all the family I’ve got. So whatever happens, I’m part of it too. So I’m here to help with the harvest like everyone else. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never picked cotton in my life. So you’ll have to show me how. But an extra set of hands is bound to be some good, even if it’s just fixing meals. I don’t mind having a few blisters on my hands if it saves Rosewood from financial difficulties. You’re my family, after all.”

  The three of them were alone in the parlor talking. But when they came out a while later, it was the closest I’d ever seen Uncle Ward come to crying. He was brushing at his eyes and they were red. What Aunt Nelda had done meant that much to him. From then on the three of them—the two brothers and their sister—were as close as the best of friends. There was nothing any of them wouldn’t have done for each other. After all their years apart . . . it was so beautiful to see!

  “And one more thing,” Aunt Nelda said when they were talking, though I didn’t find out about this until later. “I’m not wealthy by any means. When Horace died, there were some debts and I barely managed to keep the house and one small investment. Along with that, and taking in sewing work, I have managed to pay off the debts and the mortgage and to live comfortably. But before I left I took what I had in my bank account. I think you need it now more than I do.”

  She opened her purse and pulled out some bills and set them on the table.

  “It’s only a hundred and fifteen dollars,” she said. “But it’s yours.”

  The two brothers sat and looked at her stunned.

  “After as lousy as we’ve been,” said Uncle Ward, “—leaving and everything, never helping with the folks, not keeping in touch . . . you’d do that for us?”

  “There are no perfect families, Ward,” she said. “But families forgive and stick together. Yes, I want you to have it.”

  Aunt Nelda took her two bags up to what had been Josepha’s room, and for the rest of the time it was her room.

  Katie wrote Rob a long letter that same night telling him as much as she knew and why Aunt Nelda had come to help with the harvest. I don’t know exactly what she said to him, but she must have told him that the situation was bad—like it had been before when she and I had almost lost everything because of the bank loans—and that we were all going to have to work hard to get the cotton crop in.

  September came.

  It was hot. Papa and Uncle Ward went to visit Mr. Thurston and he was planning to start picking with his men that same week. When they returned they said that Mrs. Hammond was there visiting, which was interesting. Papa had that sly grin on his face that said he suspected something.

  Then finally the day came. Henry announced at supper that the cotton was ready. We would start the next day.

  When I woke up and looked out the window, though the sun wasn’t yet up, there was Papa walking in the fields one last time. Uncle Ward and Henry were hitching a team to the first wagon to take it out into the field to be ready as soon as we all finished breakfast.

  And then the harvest, which Papa had said would be Rosewood’s most important, began.

  MORE SURPRISES

  44

  ROB PAXTON SAT IN THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE IN Hanover reading over the letter in his hand for the second time.

  Sheriff Heyes walked in.

  “What you got there?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Rob in a thoughtful tone. “It’s a letter from Miss Clairborne. It’s harvest time down there and . . .”

  He paused and drew in a breath, still thinking hard.

  “Tell me, John,” he went on, “you ever picked any cotton?”

  “Never in my life. Why?”

  “I don’t know . . . I’ve just got the feeling that they may need help. I think I may need to take another leave of absence.”

  “For how long?”

  “A month or two. How long does it take to get in a cotton harvest?”

  “You got me. But if you want the time, I’ll give it to you, especially if that’s what it takes to keep you. I don’t want to lose you. It’s been slow around here lately anyway. In the meantime, take this telegram to the telegraph office for me, would you?”

  Rob rose and left the office.

  “Hello, Mr. Evans,” he said when he walked through the door of the telegraph office a few minutes later. “Any luck selling your property?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for the right buyer.”

  I suppose we should have grown accustomed to surprises by this time.

  But when the horse and rider approached Rosewood during our third day of picking, all of us were stunned. Papa was the first to see him, though Katie wasn’t far behind.

  She shrieked with joy as she ran outside and nearly knocked him out of his saddle.

  “Rob . . . Rob!” she cried.

  “I would say she is glad to see you, young Paxton!” laughed my papa, walking up behind her.

  Rob dismounted and grabbed Katie in his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Katie excitedly.

  “I have an item of b
usiness . . . actually two, to take up with various members of Rosewood’s family. I thought they would be best handled in person.”

  “Oh . . . I can’t believe it!” Katie kept saying.

  “One of them was that I thought you might be able to use another set of hands with your cotton. From the looks of it,” he added, glancing around, “I would say that I’m already too late.”

  “Not by much,” said my papa.

  “We only started three days ago, Rob,” said Katie.

  “Well, it’s a right kind offer of you, son,” said Papa. “I hardly know what to say. My sister came down too—you met Nelda.”

  “Yes, right . . . she is here?”

  “Came down to help with the harvest too. Jeremiah’s home. With you—let’s see . . . that will make . . . nine in all—that is if we get Josepha out in the fields! But nine pickers—goodness, this harvest will fly by! We’ve never had so many!”

  “Well, great. I’m glad I can be of help.”

  “What do you think, Kathleen,” said Papa, “—shall we put him up with Jeremiah?”

  “Oh yes!” cried Katie. “Oh, Rob . . . oh, this is too wonderful.”

  “Well, come on inside. We are just getting ready to have some lunch before we get back out for the afternoon. You can join us, then Jeremiah can show you around and where you’ll be staying. You ever pick cotton before?”

  “Never in my life.”

  “Neither had most of us until a few years ago. Now we’re all experts, eh, Kathleen?”

  “I don’t know about that, Uncle Templeton. Henry still picks more than any three of the rest of us . . . well, except for Mayme. She’s fast too.”

  Katie was beside herself all afternoon to be picking Rosewood’s cotton with Rob at her side. Now she was the old experienced field hand showing him what to do, just like I had taught her.

  Jeremiah and I worked together, Katie and Rob worked together, Henry and Josepha worked together, and Papa and Uncle Ward and Aunt Nelda worked together, every little group talking amongst themselves, Papa and Uncle Ward delighting in showing Aunt Nelda what to do, like Katie was with Rob, as if they had been picking cotton all their lives.