Miss Katie's Rosewood

by Michael Phillips

  Watson nodded.

  “No . . . never,” replied Templeton.

  “For one thing, it’s not ours to sell,” said Ward.

  “That’s not the way I hear it.”

  “It’s Kathleen’s . . . it’s all of ours.”

  “Technically, perhaps, but you two make the decisions,” said Mr. Watson.

  “Don’t be too sure.” Ward smiled.

  “It’s out of the question, Herb,” said Templeton. “We could never sell Rosewood.”

  “What if you can’t pay your taxes? It’ll be sold for auction and you’ll get nothing.”

  “We’ll pay them.”

  “But what if?”

  “If it comes to that, then maybe we’d be forced to consider it . . . are you saying that you’d be interested?”

  “I might be. I’ve thought of getting a small place outside town. This is considerably larger than I’d envisioned, but . . . well, I’d just hate to see you lose everything. Consider my offer. It might be your only option.”

  “What would you do, Herb?”

  “I’d move out and manage the place. I’ve got men who can run the mill. So I’d hire some hands and grow crops and raise some cattle and horses along with them . . . just like you’re doing.”

  “In other words, expanding your holdings at our expense?”

  “Come on, boys, that’s not what I mean and you know it. I’ll give you a fair market price, plenty to set yourselves up somewhere else. This house, your animals, outbuildings, all the land—this place is worth a lot of money. You know, one of the things that might be driving this thing is exactly that.”

  “What?”

  “That this is such a prime piece of property, right on the river, some of the best growing land in the county. Someone else may be trying to get their hands on it.”

  “You heard something?”

  “No, I’ve heard nothing and I’m suggesting no one. All I’m saying is that if you sold to me, you’d get what it’s worth and it’d set you and your people up right handsomely. The house is probably worth five thousand, the land another ten, this year’s crop a thousand or two thousand. Then there’s the stock, the other buildings, that new place Henry fixed up. You’ve got a small fortune here. I just don’t want you to lose it all and get nothing.”

  Ward and Templeton sat silent, still stunned.

  Several seconds later they rose and walked their visitor outside.

  “I know we’ve sounded a little irritable, Herb,” said Templeton. “You’ve got to understand how hard this is for all of us.”

  “I do. It’s a tough situation.”

  “But we appreciate your trying to help.”

  They shook hands. Watson mounted his horse and rode off. They watched him go.

  When they were alone, Ward voiced a question that had been nagging at him.

  “You think there’s any chance that he’s in on it with them,” he said, “that it’s a ploy to get Rosewood himself?”

  “I would stake my life against it,” said Templeton. “Herb’s a fair and honorable man. It sounds like he’s willing to make us an offer that’s more than reasonable under the circumstances. If what you say was true, he could wait till we’re foreclosed on and buy the place for taxes like anyone else. No, I think his offer’s legitimate.”

  “We should talk to the girls,” said Ward, looking toward the fields.

  “You know what they’ll say.”

  “We still have to talk to them.”

  “There’s one other thing,” added Templeton. “What’s that?”

  “Maybe it’s time we’re supposed to do what young Paxton was talking about—ask God what He wants us to do.”

  ROSEWOOD’S OWNERS TALK IT OVER

  51

  We saw Mr. Watson riding away in the distance from where we were working.

  We still suspected nothing of what his visits were about. We assumed it was about the price of cotton or something like that.

  Ten minutes later Papa and Uncle Ward wandered slowly back out toward us, talking between themselves. Again they were somber. Their hearts didn’t seem to be in the picking like before. We could tell something was wrong and it dampened everyone’s spirits. Papa and Uncle Ward kept to themselves all afternoon, talking quietly away from everyone else.

  That evening we finally found out what Mr. Watson’s two visits had been about.

  About four-thirty they called us together. They had already sent Josepha and Aunt Nelda in a couple hours before.

  “We’re going to knock off early today,” said Papa. “Go back and clean up, take a bath, put on some clean clothes. Josepha and Nelda are fixing us a nice supper. Then we have to have a serious talk.”

  Katie and I looked at each other with expressions of question. I could tell Katie was worried. So was I.

  After a quiet supper, the men got up and asked us all to join them in the parlor.

  “You too, Nelda,” said Uncle Ward.

  “But I’m not . . . you know, involved with Rosewood in the way the rest of you are.”

  “Look, Nelda,” said Uncle Ward. “I was the black sheep of the family, remember. I was the one who left. But these folks all welcomed me back and made me feel like part of the family again. If I can be, so can you. You’re in this family now too, right along with the rest of us.”

  Poor Aunt Nelda! Her chin and lower lip started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. Then she rushed over and gave Uncle Ward the biggest hug of his life!

  “You’re a good brother, Ward,” she said. “You were never really a black sheep in my eyes. Thank you!”

  “You too, Rob—whatever concerns Katie concerns you now. And you too, Jeremiah—you and Mayme have to make your decisions together.”

  When we were all seated, Papa began.

  “We wanted to talk to you two girls—and you, Nelda . . . Rob, and the rest of you,” he said. “We are Rosewood’s family now. We have some major decisions to face, and we have to make them together.”

  “What kind of decisions, Uncle Templeton?” asked Katie, her voice trembling.

  He drew in a long breath.

  “About the future of Rosewood,” he said.

  He glanced at Uncle Ward.

  “Go on, brother Templeton,” said Uncle Ward. “You’ve been here longer than me. You’ve got a right to speak for us both.”

  Papa sighed and scratched the back of his head. “The late taxes are no secret,” he said. “We’ve got some financial problems, but they’re not as serious as the two of you faced—”

  He glanced first at Katie, then at me.

  “—back when you were alone. Of course, Ward’s gold helped you out some then. But I think if we keep working hard, we can get out of this fix we’re in. Nelda’s offered to help too, which we appreciate, Nelda—”

  He looked over at his sister and smiled.

  “—but I’m afraid the problems are bigger than just money. If it were only money, we could figure something out. But it’s not just financial. It’s . . . it’s the problems we’ve got in the whole community. It’s everything . . . Sam Jenkins, Dwight Steeves, the Klan. People are against us, and they’re going to keep being against us.”

  “But the cotton—” began Katie.

  “The cotton won’t be enough, Kathleen,” said Papa.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, like I said, the problems we’ve got are bigger than just money . . .”

  Again the two men looked at each other.

  “—because Mr. Watson can’t buy our crop,” Papa added.

  “What . . . why not?” said Katie. The full force of what Papa had said hadn’t sunk in all the way yet.

  “He’s received threats. He can’t do any more business with us at all. If he does, he could be ruined. Don’t forget what happened to the livery. We can’t put him in that kind of danger. He’s been too good a friend to Rosewood.”

  “Can’t we sell the cotton to somebody else?” I said.

  “
There is no one else,” said Papa, looking toward me. “What I’m trying to get you both to see, Mary Ann, is that it’s not just about selling the cotton. Even if we try to take it elsewhere, they will destroy our crop, or steal it, or burn our fields.”

  At last we began to realize how serious a thing it was.

  “Then . . . what are we going to do, Uncle Templeton?” said Katie. “We have to sell the cotton!”

  “But I’m telling you, Kathleen . . . we may not be able to.”

  There was a long silence. Again Papa drew in a deep breath.

  “Mr. Watson came yesterday with a potential solution,” he said after a few seconds. “I don’t like it. Ward doesn’t like it. You’re not going to like it. But it might be the only way out of this mess we are in. The long and the short of it is . . . Mr. Watson has offered to buy Rosewood.”

  The words fell like a silent bomb in the room. Katie and I sat there with our mouths hanging open. We couldn’t believe what we’d heard.

  “You mean . . . sell Rosewood?” said Katie in disbelief. Tears were filling her eyes.

  “I’m afraid that’s what we mean,” replied Papa. “But all four of our names are on the deed. Ward and I have decided that we won’t do it unless all four of us agree. Even if all three of the rest of us say yes, and you say no, Kathleen—we won’t sell. We’re in this together.”

  “But, Uncle Templeton, we can find a way out of this!” insisted Katie, tears flowing down her cheeks. “We always have. We have always found a way before, even when it was just Mayme and me.”

  “Times have changed, Kathleen. We may not be able to work our way out of this. What good will it do if we have a great harvest and they burn us out?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Templeton,” she said, wiping at her eyes, “but there has to be a way. There just has to be!”

  Rob put his hand on Katie’s shoulder, but even he was quiet.

  We all stared at the floor. No one said anything. My insides felt like I’d swallowed a stone and it was sitting in the pit of my stomach. It was the worst blow I’d ever felt in my life since losing my family.

  What made it so unbearable was that from Papa’s voice I think both Katie and I somehow knew that this was a more serious crisis than anything we had yet faced. Papa was such an optimist—his cheerful expressions, his winks and grins. He could always see the good in anything.

  But now he sounded defeated. We sensed not just the desperation in his voice . . . but also the fear.

  And if he was afraid, what else could we possibly be than afraid? If he was worried, then it really must be serious.

  Maybe this was the end after all. As I sat there, I realized I was crying too.

  “I’ll never leave Rosewood!” said Katie after a minute. “This is our home forever. I don’t want to think of such a thing as selling. We’ll never leave . . . and—”

  Katie burst into tears. Rob tried to comfort her by reaching for her hand. But she jumped up and ran upstairs.

  Rob and I glanced at each other. We were both thinking of Katie. Always before I would have been the one to go and talk to Katie and comfort her, as she would have done for me. But now things had changed. I wondered if it was now Rob’s place to go talk to her.

  Rob must have known what I was thinking. As he looked at me, he nodded toward the stairs. I knew he was telling me to go to Katie.

  I rose, left the room, and followed Katie upstairs.

  When I walked into her room, she looked at me with that same look on her face as the first time I saw her. She looked scared and hopeless.

  I walked to the bed and opened my arms and we both cried as we held each other.

  Everyone was quiet after Katie and Mayme left the parlor.

  After a bit, Rob said, “You know, for what it’s worth, I remember something my father always used to teach us when we were young when trying to figure out what to do. He said that there were four things to do. You talk about it with the others who are involved. You pray and ask God what He wants you to do. You look to see if something in the Bible offers any direction. Then you wait for circumstances to indicate what step you should make. He said that God will always speak eventually through your mind, heart, or circumstances to show what He wants you to do.”

  “That’s good advice, Paxton,” said Ward.

  “It seems to me,” Rob went on, “that you’re doing all you can and now you just have to pray and wait to see what He will do through the circumstances that develop.”

  “Well, young Paxton,” Templeton said, “it looks like we need to do just what you were talking about—ask God what He wants us to do and try to figure out what that is.”

  “Then why don’t we ask Him right now?” said Rob.

  Templeton and Ward glanced at each other, but Rob had already bowed his head and begun to pray.

  “Our Father,” he said, “these dear people are stuck in a difficult situation and they need your help. They need to know what you want them to do. I pray that you will speak to them through the circumstances that come in the next days and weeks. Whatever those circumstances are, I pray that you will make your way for them plain.”

  The room was quiet a moment. Then Henry’s voice broke through the silence.

  “Amen, Lord,” he said. “We’s be needin’ a word from you an’ we’s needin’ it right quick, Lord.”

  Then Templeton prayed, and he told Mayme later that it was the first time he had ever prayed out loud in front of other people.

  “It’s like they say, Lord,” he said. “We don’t know what we’re supposed to do. So if you don’t mind, we’re asking you to show us. If you tell us what to do, we’ll do our best to do it.”

  A few quiet Amens came from around the rest of the room.

  FINAL DETERMINATION

  52

  Katie was more determined now than ever to see the harvest in and sell it somewhere.

  I woke up early the next morning and went to the window. I had a feeling I knew what I would see.

  I was right. There was Katie in the distance already in the field we had started three days before, working her way down a long solitary row of cotton all by herself. I had seen it before when Rosewood was threatened. Katie would do everything she was physically capable of to save her beloved home, single-handedly if she had to.

  Then I saw Rob walk out of Jeremiah’s cabin. He walked slowly toward her.

  They embraced and stood a moment in each other’s arms. Then they stepped back, Katie handed Rob a second satchel, and he took up on the row beside her.

  I wondered if even Katie’s determination would be enough this time. Whatever happened, it would happen to all of us together.

  I got dressed, pulled on my boots, and went downstairs and outside to join them. Jeremiah had already followed Rob out. He came toward me and gave me a hug and smiled sadly. There wasn’t much to say. Then we picked up our satchels from where we had left them the night before, and got to work too.

  One by one the others came out too, until everyone was working but Josepha, who was in the big house making coffee and breakfast.

  But nobody was talking. Here Katie and I were with Rob and Jeremiah with us, and both of us were engaged to be married to men we loved, but we were all miserable! This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  The rest of the week was much the same. The cotton was piling up in the barn, we had about a third of the fields picked and packed and ready to sell. We knew the other plantation owners were starting to sell their crops. Mr. Thurston had stopped by once and said that the price wasn’t as bad as he’d thought and that Mr. Watson was giving the growers a good return. I knew we had enough packed in the barn already to probably pay the back taxes. But Papa and Uncle Ward said nothing about trying to sell. We knew they didn’t know what to do.

  We just kept picking . . . and hoping.

  A couple times men rode by in the distance, pausing and watching us briefly.

  “Who was that?” I asked Papa once.

&nbs
p; “I can’t be sure, Mary Ann,” he said. “I think it might have been Dwight Steeves.”

  One other time I thought I saw Sheriff Jenkins. We all pretended not to notice. But one time we knew for sure that the man watching was William McSimmons. None of us had heard much about him since Micah and Uncle Ward and Papa had confronted him.

  But we knew he and the others were watching us and waiting to see what we were going to do.

  One night I woke up in the dead of night. I thought I’d heard a noise. I got out of bed and crept to the window. I saw the light of a lantern down in the yard below. It had been a hot day and my window was open.

  Uncle Ward was walking back from the barn with a lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other. Papa had just left the house and was going out to meet him.

  Uncle Ward handed him the lantern and the rifle.

  “Any trouble?” said Papa.

  “No . . . everything’s quiet.”

  “All right,” said Papa. “Get some sleep and I’ll take it from here.”

  I stole back to my bed and lay down. They were keeping watch all night! Did they really think someone was going to come steal our cotton?

  Or worse!

  THE WARNING

  53

  A RIDER GALLOPED THROUGH THE NIGHT.

  Luckily there was enough of a moon for his horse to see its way along the deserted dirt road. He could not slow down or it would be too late. Many lives, and his own future too, could depend on his getting there in time.

  Something had awakened him shortly after midnight. Suddenly he was awake in his bed, with blackness and silence around him.

  This was no time for sane men to be awake. Yet some inner sense told him that he ought to get up and have a look around. He crawled out of bed, pulled on his trousers and boots, picked up the candle holder, and went downstairs.

  The warnings that had been given him were threatening enough. But had he misjudged their intentions?

  A hurried walk throughout the premises, however, revealed nothing. The whole town was quiet except for the occasional bark of a dog. He tried to tell himself that he was letting his imagination run away with him.