Aunt Nelda was so funny, all dressed up in one of Katie’s mama’s work dresses and sun hats. She had been a city girl all her life, and now there she was with her brothers, the three of them, going a little slower than the rest of us, looking like they were having so much fun. I found myself wondering what it had been like when they were children playing together. Did Papa and Uncle Ward play boy stuff together while Aunt Nelda and Katie’s mother played dolls and house, or did all four romp about outside and play and get into mischief together? To see them now, you’d think they’d been friends all their lives. And to be able to work side by side on something so important, that draws people together all the more.
No one had been into town from Rosewood in a couple of weeks.
“We’s be needin’ coffee an’ salt an’ a few other things, Mister Templeton,” Josepha announced at breakfast. “Somebody’s gots ter be goin’ inter town one er dese days.”
Templeton glanced around the table, not particularly anxious to lose any of the work crew for half a day.
“How about Jeremiah and I going in for it?” said Rob. “I haven’t seen much of your town, nor met the famous Mrs. Hammond I’ve heard so much about. We’ll be back within a couple of hours—what do you say, Jeremiah?”
“Fine by me,” said Jeremiah, nodding. “What does you think, Mister Templeton?”
None of the blacks had gone to town in probably two months. But there had been no trouble for a long time and everyone hoped that the worst was behind them.
“Sure,” said Templeton, “I suppose there’s no harm in it. But just go into the store and do your business and come home. Jeremiah, I know you’d probably like to see how things are going at Watson’s . . . but don’t. When he’s ready to hire you back, he’ll let us know.”
“All right, Mister Templeton. I understand.”
As soon as breakfast was over, they saddled two horses and galloped off. They arrived at Greens Crossing about half past eight, soon after Mrs. Hammond had opened her doors.
“Mo’nin’ ter you, Miz Hammond,” said Jeremiah as they walked in.
“Hello, Jeremiah,” replied Mrs. Hammond, glancing toward the young man with him.
“Rob, dis is Miz Hammond, she’s a good frien’ ter my stepmama . . . well, I reckon you’s a frien’ ter all ob us, ain’t you, Miz Hammond?”
“I hope so, Jeremiah.”
“Miz Hammond, dis here’s Rob Paxton. He’s from up norf by Baltimore. Lives in Pennsylvania nowadays.”
“I am pleased to meet you, ma’am,” said Rob with a smile and shaking her hand.
“Likewise, Mr. Paxton. Are you, uh . . . visiting here?”
“You’ll neber believe it, Miz Hammond,” said Jeremiah, “but you’s lookin’ at da man dat jes’ proposed ter Miz Katie.”
“Well . . . my goodness! That is wonderful news!” said Mrs. Hammond. “Congratulations, Mr. Paxton. And now I recall your name—you must be the young man who has been writing to Kathleen.”
“Yes, ma’am,” laughed Rob. “I suppose that would be me. I came down to help out with the cotton harvest and . . . well, as Jeremiah said, to ask Katie to marry me. I am happy to say that she consented.”
“I am happy for you both. Have you set a date yet for the wedding?”
“No, ma’am. It has all happened rather recently.”
“Well, that is one wedding I do not want to miss.”
“I will make sure you receive the first invitation to be sent out,” said Rob.
Mrs. Hammond smiled, clearly pleased. “Now, Miz Hammond,” said Jeremiah, “we’s be needin’ a few things an’ we gots ter be gettin’ back right soon. Here’s a list from Josepha. She sends you her regards.”
Mrs. Hammond took the list and within five minutes Jeremiah and Rob were leaving the store with several sacks under their arms.
As they turned up the boardwalk where their horses were tied, they saw three white boys approaching from the other direction.
“Uh-oh . . .” said Jeremiah.
“What is it?” said Rob.
“It’s Deke Steeves,” whispered Jeremiah. “Jes’ don’t say nuthin’.”
Steeves and his two cohorts paused beside the horses and waited.
Rob and Jeremiah walked off the boardwalk into the dirt street and to the backs of their two horses, where they loaded the goods and mail into their saddlebags. Then they went to their horses’ heads to loosen the reins from the rail.
Rob nodded and smiled. “Hello,” he said, reaching for his reins.
Steeves stepped toward him. “Nobody must have told you,” he said. “This is my own personal hitching rail.”
“I see,” said Rob. “No . . . no one told me.”
“Well, now you know. What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t suppose there’s much I can do about it now,” said Rob, “other than to apologize and tell you it won’t happen again.”
“Little late for apologies, white boy,” said Steeves, who was about the same age as Rob. “What are you doing with that nigger trash?”
“I am not exactly sure whom you are referring to,” said Rob.
At the word whom, Steeves glanced at his friends with raised eyebrows.
“If you mean Jeremiah here,” Rob went on, “he and I just picked up a few things in the store, and now we are leaving town.”
“You’ll leave town when I say you can leave town,” Steeves shot back. “Now I asked what you are doing with him.”
“And I told you. But if you really want to know,” Rob added, who, in spite of his calm exterior, was rapidly heating up inside, “he is my friend.”
Steeves laughed. “Then that makes you trash just like him! Don’t it, boys?”
Steeves’ companions laughed with him, although they eyed the two carefully. One of them had tangled with Jeremiah before, and his tall white friend looked more than capable of handling himself.
“You see, boy,” Steeves said, “since you ain’t from around here, you need to learn how things is. And here white folks don’t mix with the likes of him.”
“It is a little different where I come from,” said Rob, smiling.
“You making fun of me, boy?”
“Not at all. I’m a Southerner too, if you want to know. Maryland was my home, as confederate a state as North Carolina. But people in my state believe that the war is over and that it is time to move on. But again, I sincerely apologize for using your hitching rail.”
Rob reached for his reins, but this time Steeves’ hand on his arm restrained him.
“I think maybe you need to learn some manners,” said Steeves. The menace in his tone was unmistakable.
Inwardly Rob sighed, more from frustration than fear. “What do you say, boys?” Steeves went on. “Should we show them both that they ought to stay out of our town?”
At Rob’s side, Jeremiah inched forward. Rob reached out an arm to stop him.
“What’s the matter, white boy? Why don’t you say anything? I think you’re nothing but a coward!”
The next instant Steeves’ fist was flying through the air straight at Rob’s jaw. With a quick jerk of the head sideways, Rob avoided the blow. Losing his balance, Steeves stumbled off the boardwalk into the street. Enraged to look both impotent and foolish, Steeves recovered himself and rushed Rob with a full body blow and knocked him to the ground. The same moment his two friends, whether eagerly or not, rushed Jeremiah. Jeremiah was able to hold his own well enough against the two, and within a minute or two they began to back off. Neither of them were anxious to receive the brunt of his fist in their face. Rob, however, only tried to protect his face with his hands and therefore received bruising blows to his stomach, ribs, shoulders, and head.
Seeing his friends backing away and knowing he was only seconds away from being attacked himself by Jeremiah, a thought he did not relish, Steeves relented in his assault and stood, giving Rob one final kick in the ribs.
“Just as I thought,” he sneered. “You�
�re nothing but a coward. Who else would hang out with nigger trash? Come on, boys!”
Jeremiah helped Rob to his feet as the three walked off down the street laughing.
“You all right?” said Jeremiah.
“I wouldn’t say that,” groaned Rob.
“I wish you’d hab let me gib him what he’s got comin’.”
“It’s better this way. Let him think I’m a coward—it’s better than you and he squaring off. Then he’d have to get revenge and that’s never good. They think we’re a couple of fools and that’s fine with me.”
He felt his head and chest, winced a few times in pain, then brushed the dirt from his shirt and trousers.
“He’s a powerful kid . . . I’m going to have some nasty bruises. But I managed to keep him away from my face. I don’t think anything’s broken.”
SEEDS
47
WHEN JEREMIAH AND ROB ARRIVED HOME, KATIE ran out to meet them. When she saw Rob’s torn coat and the gash at his hairline she halted midstride, with her hand over her mouth.
“I’m all right,” Rob said, but he winced as he swung his leg over the saddle to dismount. Katie hurried to help him, taking his arm and leading him into the house. When he explained what happened, Katie sighed and shook her head.
“Welcome to North Carolina.”
After Katie had bandaged the cut on his head and wrapped his chest to support a couple of tender ribs, Jeremiah came in from putting away the horses and handed her the mail they had picked up in town that day. There was another letter from Micah and Emma. Katie read it aloud that evening at the supper table.
“Dear Katie and Mayme and everyone at Rosewood,
“While we were waiting in Utah deciding which route to take to the West Coast, the most extraordinary thing happened. I saw a man in the distance. He had a grey beard and was, of course, older than I remembered him, but I chased after him and called out the single name, ‘Hawk!’
“The man turned. It was indeed the Hawk of my youth who had stopped me that night on the streets of Chicago and turned my life around.
“His eyes scanned me but for an instant. Though I was now a man and he had not seen me since my youth, as is Hawk’s way, he can see inside people with the most penetrating insight and vision. He knew me almost instantly. We embraced and I scarcely thought he would let go! When we stood back, his eyes were wet. Imagine—tears to see me!
“‘I would like you to meet my wife Emma,’ I said.
“They shook hands and he gazed deeply into Emma’s eyes. She said she felt he knew all her history in an instant and the struggle it had been for her to recognize worth within herself. He simply nodded and smiled. It was enough.
“That is Hawk! He is always looking for what an individual can, and should, become. When he sees true becoming, as he perceived in Emma, he always rejoices. It is what he lives for—to see people grow. He had come west before the war, shortly after I knew him. He had mostly lived in the mountains and wilds among the Paiute Indians. He was in Utah at that time negotiating with government officials on their behalf.
“He was older but, if anything, wiser and even more committed to speak God’s truth into the lives of those God sends to him. Of course, I told him my story and how his influence had set me on the road of responsibility, maturity, and spiritual growth. Again tears filled his eyes.
“Oh, how I wish you could meet him.
“Hawk urged us to accompany him to California. He said if we were determined to settle in Oregon, he would personally take us north from San Francisco or Sacramento. The way is not hard, he said, mostly through dense forests rather than high mountains.
“So when you receive this we will be on our way to California, with plans yet uncertain as to where we will end up. We will winter with Hawk and some friends he has near Sacramento, a man named Zack Hollister and his wife, a Paiute Indian named Laughing Waters—”
“Wait a minute,” said Uncle Ward as Katie read. “Are those our Hollisters, Templeton? Didn’t Drum Hollister have a kid called Zack?”
“I believe you’re right,” Templeton replied. “It’s been a long time, though. You knew them better than I did.” He nodded at Katie and she continued reading.
“Hawk says that Zack and I had a lot in common when he was young. I asked what he meant and he just smiled. ‘When you meet him,’ he said, ‘ask him to tell you his story. I’m sure then you’ll understand.’
“Our long journey will soon be over. Winter will be upon us, but we will be in California. How we hunger for news of you all. But that will have to wait until we have an address where you can write to us. We are very happy, though we miss you. Emma sends you as much love as a letter can contain.
“Yours,
“Micah and Emma Duff”
The following Sunday when we were taking a break from the harvest, Katie and Rob were sitting on the porch in the afternoon. I walked up and joined them. Pretty soon we were all three talking.
“I hope you don’t mind, Rob,” I said, “but Katie showed me your letter—you know, the long one about what happened with that man who was hung.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he said. “It’s part of me. I have nothing to hide.”
“It was . . . not like anything I’ve heard people talk about before . . . wasn’t it, Katie?”
Katie smiled and nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, Rob,” she said. “We’ve talked about it quite a bit.”
“It was a trying and difficult experience,” said Rob. “I learned a lot about God, about myself, about sin . . . about so many things. If anyone else can benefit from what I went through, I will be glad.”
“Ever since Mayme and I have been together,” said Katie, “we’ve talked about the Bible and God and trying to obey Him and live like He wants us to. We’ve prayed together too, haven’t we, Mayme? But I think your letter made us realize how much more there is to it if someone is really serious about living for God. Is that sort of what you were trying to say, Mayme?”
“Something like that,” I said. “I think what stood out to me most was how serious and dedicated you were to doing what God wanted you to do. Besides Micah Duff, I’ve never known anyone who took their faith so personally and deeply.”
“I understand,” said Rob, nodding. “I suppose it is a little unusual. There are thousands of people in church every Sunday, but my guess is it’s a smaller number for whom faith is real and personal and dynamic.”
“I loved what you said about God being a good Father,” I said. “Is that really true?”
“I believe it with all my heart.”
“It’s not how revival preachers talk about Him when they’re trying to scare people about hell.”
Rob smiled. “I know,” he said. “It’s a common problem. Especially for someone like me who grew up as much in church as at home. Now that I have come to know God so differently, and to see how much greater is His unconditional love for humanity than is commonly believed, it breaks my heart to realize that in many people’s minds He is a giant ogre.”
By then Henry had wandered up and was seated on one of the steps of the porch. Uncle Ward and Papa had been listening from the front room and had gotten up out of their chairs and were now standing in the open front door of the house.
“But don’t you think it is because you’re a minister’s son that you know those things and take your faith so seriously?” I asked.
Rob laughed. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he said. “I don’t mean to take your question lightly. But if anything, just the opposite is the case. It’s such a common misperception that some people are cut out to be more spiritual than others. God wants to be active in everyone’s life, not only people who happen to be religious. I am just trying to live like I think He wants everyone to live. I see nothing special or out of the ordinary in it. I do as many selfish things and think just as many selfish thoughts as anyone else. But with His help, I’m trying. I think that’s all God expects.”
“What do you m
ean by God wanting to be active in everyone’s lives?” asked my papa from the doorway.
Rob thought about it a minute. “Maybe I said that backwards,” he answered. “God wants us to actively seek His life.”
“How do you do that?”
“Like I said, He wants us to live the way He intended people—all people—to live. He wants us to actively live that way instead of just taking things as they come. He wants us to be involved with Him, so that He can be involved with us.”
“How does He intend people to live?” I asked. “Do you mean being nice . . . being good?”
“Sure, in its simplest form, I suppose that’s about it.” Rob nodded. “To be kind, gracious, unselfish, slow to speak, slow to anger, giving, considerate, compassionate—to do what Jesus said.”
“But what do you mean . . . involved with Him?” asked Katie.
Rob thought a few seconds.
“To bring Him actively into your life,” he said, “—into your thoughts and your attitudes, into how you treat people and how you make decisions, how you think about things, how you approach everything in life. It means asking God what He wants us to do, when we’re uncertain about anything.”
“You mean praying?” I asked.
“Yes—praying about how to live and what God wants us to do. It’s not really very complicated.”
Jeremiah now came around from the side and sat down on the grass. Before much longer Josepha had joined us from the kitchen. Now everyone was listening to what Rob was saying.
“We’ve tried to do what you’re talking about,” I said. “Henry has helped us a lot too. He always talks about obeying what Jesus said too, don’t you, Henry?”
“Ain’t nuthin’ more important den dat—prayin’ an’ axin’ God what ter do . . . den doin’ it.”
“But I’ve never heard anyone talk like you did in your letter about what was going on inside you,” I said, “about your own sin and wrong attitudes, about what God was trying to do inside to change you. You talked about Him making you more like Jesus himself.”
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