"I'm helping Katie and Mayme," answered Aleta, her forehead crinkled in a scowl of uncertainty.
"Ah see ... dat so?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Don' I reckernize you from ober Oakwood way?"
"I don't know, sir."
"An' what 'bout you?" he said, now looking toward Emma. "Who you be?"
Emma glanced toward Katie with big eyes of question. Katie nodded for her to speak up.
"Dat's right," said Henry. "You kin tell me. I'm jes' a colored like you what ain't gwine hurt you nohow"
"Emma," said Emma. "My name's Emma."
"Emma ... I see. So dere's Miz Kathleen, Miz Mayme, Miz Emma, an' Miz Aleta all workin' out chere togeder, sometimes wiff a boy called Jeremiah helpin' 'em, ain't dat right. Mighty strange situashun it 'peers ter me."
There was a long silence. None of us knew what to say. Every now and then I'd try to sneak a look over at him. Then gradually I saw a grin come over his face.
He paused and looked up, shielding his hand from the sun peeking out from the clouds.
"Gettin' kinder 'long tards da time mos' folks take er break from dere work," he said. "You ladies knows how ter fix a man somefin t' eat?"
"Uh ... yes, sir," said Katie.
"Den I say we go t' yer house an' git somefin t' eat an' drink."
Without asking us any more questions, Henry straightened his back and stood up and started walking out of the field toward the wagon. Katie and I looked at each other, both of us silently saying, What do we do now!
Slowly we followed him. He dumped the cotton out of his satchel into the wagon, then walked off toward the house. Emma retrieved William from the buckboard and hung back behind the rest of us. Still not saying anything, we followed him and gradually he slowed down so we could catch up.
"An' a young'un too," he said as he saw Emma. "My, oh my ... yes, sir, dis indeed be some kine er mighty un- ushul situashun."
I saw Henry glance over at the four graves as we approached the house. He sat down on the kitchen steps. Katie asked him if he would like a glass of water. Henry said he would. Katie went inside and pumped him out one and came back out to the porch and handed it to him and asked him if he'd like to come inside. He hesitated for a second, then stood up and followed the rest of us in, but just stood standing until she told him he could sit down. Finally he sat down at the table with the glass and took a long drink from it. The rest of us just kept standing there.
"Now, Miz Kathleen," he said, then looked over at me, "an' Miz Mayme, ah seen dem stones markin' what looks ter me like graves out dere, an' ah got me an idea. But ah'd rather hear you tell me 'bout it yo'selfs."
He kept looking at us. Then slowly Katie started to cry.
I walked over and put my arm around her.
Henry waited patiently.
"Yo mama and daddy's lyin' under dem stones, ain't dey, Miz Kathleen?" he said quietly after she calmed a little.
"Yes!" she whispered softly.
Henry got up from the chair and ambled toward us. He took Katie in his arms now and held her as I stepped back. Seeing how much he loved her made me realize he hadn't been trying to be mean with all his questions.
"It's gwine be all right, Miz Kathleen," said Henry. "Da Lord's watchin' ober you, an' He ain't 'bout ter ferget none er His chilluns-white, black, or any udder color."
Again Henry waited till Katie had calmed down. Then he looked over at me.
"What 'bout you, girl?" he said. "Yo mama an' daddy dead too?"
I nodded.
"Was dey Rosewood slaves?"
"No, sir ... I lived at the McSimmons place."
"Ah see," he nodded. "Dat esplains why I seen you ober t' Oakwood dat day."
"Yes, sir."
"An' you, little girl," he said to Aleta, "yo mama an' daddy gone ter be wiff da Lord too?"
"Just my mama," said Aleta, taking a couple steps back, still not sure what to think. She'd got used to me by now, but a big black man like Henry was another thing. The look on her face said that she was intimidated by him, with a little of her old anger toward blacks coming back to the surface too.
"An' you?" he said to Emma.
"I don' know 'bout my mama and daddy," she said. "Dey wuz sold an' I wuz sold an' I don' eben hardly 'mem" ber dem. I ain't got no notion where dey is."
"Wha'chu doin' here?"
"I got myself in a heap er trouble an' I ran away an' Miz Katie an' Mayme, dey helped me."
I see ... well den, come here all er you," he said, opening one of his hands toward me and Aleta and Emma. "I reckon dese ole black arms is big enuff ter hol' all er you at once.
I went forward and he drew me toward him. I felt Katie's arm go around me too, and the two of us stood there for a few seconds in Henry's wide embrace. Emma followed and started blubbering like a baby.
Aleta hadn't moved but kept standing back. I think she was afraid of Henry.
Gradually we stepped away. Katie and Emma and I were wiping our faces and sniffing. It was such a relief having Henry hug us, not lecture us. He wasn't mad at all, like I'd expected him to be. I don't know why, but he was as compassionate as could be. Then Henry went back to the chair where he'd been sitting.
"What happened, Miz Kathleen?" he said.
"Some terrible men came, men on horses ... they were shooting and killing."
"Where was you?"
"In the cellar."
Henry nodded. "I heard 'bout dem marauders, dey was called. How 'bout you, Miz Mayme?"
"The same men killed most all the slaves at the McSimmons place," I answered.
"When all dis happen?"
"Last April," said Katie.
Henry nodded again, then looked at Emma.
"Emma ran away from where she was," said Katie, answering his silent question. "There were people trying to kill her because of her baby. And Aleta's only been with us a couple of months. Her mama got thrown from a horse and hit her head. Aleta walked here to Rosewood and we didn't know where she belonged and so we tried to take care of her."
Henry nodded again and then it got real quiet for a minute or so. Henry was thinking and we were wondering what was going to come next.
"Are you going to tell on us, Henry?" said Katie. "Are you going to get us in trouble?"
"Well, I don' rightly know," he said. "Tell what? What is it dat you's so feared er folks findin' out dat y'all gotta sneak roun' town pretendin' an' carryin' on like y'all been doin'?"
"We're ... we're trying to make people think my mama's still alive," said Katie.
"Why's dat?"
"So they won't put me in an orphanage and take Mayme away."
"What 'bout yo kin?" he asked. "As I recollect, yo papa's got a brudder somewheres?"
"Yes, sir," said Katie. "But I'm not sure exactly where he is, and I don't like him. Mayme said if he found out, I might have to go live with him."
Henry glanced over at me.
"An' so Miz Mayme, she been tellin' you what you oughta do, dat it?" he asked, looking back to Katie.
Katie shook her head. "She tried to get me to tell somebody and maybe to go live with one of my uncles," she said. "But I told her I wouldn't. She was going to leave if I didn't, but I made her stay."
"An' what 'bout dat man who's been yere da las' few days? Looked ter me dat he was some kind er kin."
"You saw him?"
"I been watchin' an' waitin'. So's my boy. He ain't said nuthin' but I know he's been watchin' too."
"That was my other uncle," said Katie, "my mama's brother."
"I see ... an' he knows too, does he?"
"I told him everything," answered Katie.
"An' what's he gwine do 'bout hit?"
"Nothing, I don't think. That's why he left."
"He ain't comin' back?"
"I don't think so."
"Hmm ... seems a mite strange ter me, seein' he's kinfolk."
Henry glanced back and forth between us all again, seemed satisfied for the time being, and sat for
a minute or two thinking.
"All right den," he said after he'd taken another drink of water. "I reckon da nex' thing's figurin' out what's ter be done 'bout all dis, 'cuz somefin's gotter be done, dat's fer sure, dat is, effen yer uncle ain't comin' back."
"Please don't tell anyone, Henry," said Katie.
"Who you think's gwine get you in trouble?"
"I don't know. Mayme thinks someone would try to take the plantation away if they found out my mama and daddy are dead, and make us all go away."
"Hmm ... well, she may be right," he said, kind of mumbling and nodding his head, still thinking. "Yep ... she may be right 'bout dat, though I cudn't say fer sure. But dis uncle er yers who was here, you ain't feared er dat from him?"
"Uncle Templeton's different. He's not like most white men. He liked Mayme," said Katie, glancing toward me. "And he was nice to us all, wasn't he, Mayme?"
"I reckon so," I nodded.
I finally got up and got us all some milk and cheese and bread and butter to eat. Nobody said too much. We were still anxious to know what Henry was thinking, and Henry just kept thinking and hardly saying a word.
After we had finished eating, he rose back up to his feet.
"Well, I got me some work I gotter tend to back at da livery," he said. "But I reckon I cud spare anudder couple hours er pickin' some mo cotton, dat is effen you's headin' back out dere."
He looked around the table at us.
"I guess we're going back out, shouldn't we, Mayme?" said Katie.
"I reckon," I said, standing up. "It's gotta be picked."
"An' why's it gotter be picked?" he asked.
"Because my mama owes Mr. Taylor at the bank a lot of money," said Katie.
"Ah yes ... I sees now why you's been workin' at hit so hard. Den we's gotter git it picked all right, an' soon. I'll sen' Jeremiah out ter help y'all termorrow, an' come out myse'f evenin's effen I can. Don' you worry, Miz Kathleen, we's git yer cotton picked."
He walked slowly toward the door and we followed him outside.
"What are you going to do, Henry?" Katie asked again as we walked. "Are you going to tell on us?"
"I don' rightly know yet, Miz Kathleen," he said. "Who wud I tell, an' what wud I tell 'em? But afore I do anyfing, ah needs ter spen' some time ruminatin' an' prayin' an' axin' da Lord what He thinks 'bout dis whole thing. 'Cuz it's da Lord who tells me what I'm ter do an' not ter do. So I got ter fix mysel' on what His min' is on hit-den IT know what I'm ter do."
We watched him go, but didn't talk much amongst ourselves after he was gone either. Like she was with her uncle, I think in a way maybe Katie was relieved that Henry finally knew.
And Henry did pray too, just like he said. Back in town, he was thinking and praying long and hard about what he ought to do about us.
He went back to the livery stable and finished up his day's work. But he said he couldn't hardly sleep that night for thinking about us.
"Lawd, show me what I'm ter do 'bout dese chilluns er yers," he said he prayed over and over. "Dey's in some kine er pickle wiffout dere mamas an' papas, an' some kine er danger too, but maybe not so much as effen folks knew. An' since I'm da only one roun' 'bout dat does, I reckon I gots ter do what I can fer 'em, but you gots ter show me what dat is, Lawd."
F THERE'S ONE THING WE LEARNED TO DEPEND ON about Henry, he was true to his word.
As sure as he'd said it, the next morning we'd hardly finished breakfast and milking and getting the cows out when Jeremiah appeared walking into Rosewood from town.
He gave me a big smile when he saw me and my heart fluttered a bit.
"My daddy tol' me everything dat's goin' on here wiff you and Miz Katie," he said. "An' he said you's needin' mo help wiff da cotton."
Half an hour later we were out again in the field. It was so nice not having to pretend anymore. Katie was in especially exuberant spirits, and Jeremiah was more talkative than he'd ever been.
But the clouds hadn't gone away and it was chilly and windy. Dust was flying about, getting in our hair and eyes, and every now and then Jeremiah would look up into the sky and shake his head.
That evening Henry came out again. With him and Jeremiah working, the cotton mounted twice as fast. I don't know how they managed it, but the next day they both came out a little before lunchtime, and we finished the field where we had begun a month ago and got started on another even bigger one a little farther from the house. We had one wagon full of five hundred-pound bales sitting by the barn before we were done that evening, and another started. It had filled up in no time compared to before.
All the while as we worked that day it got chillier and chillier and windier, until finally Emma and William had to go back to the house. About an hour later Katie sent Aleta inside too. She was just too tired and cold and wasn't doing much good anyway and we didn't want her getting sick. Henry kept picking faster and faster and was mumbling to himself as he glanced up at the clouds swirling above us.
Gradually I began to feel the moisture in the air so thick you could smell it. We kept working almost frantically now, nobody saying a word. We were all thinking the same thing. I don't think Katie fully realized the danger, but she knew we couldn't keep picking in the rain and so she was working as hard, if not harder, though not so fast, as the rest of us.
Another hour went by. We were emptying our satchels into the wagon faster than ever and the loose cotton was piling up. But we didn't stop to stuff it into bales.
Suddenly the wind stopped. The air became calm and still and heavy and warm. We all felt the change and paused, glancing around.
Henry looked around in every direction, sniffing in the air and still muttering. He looked worried.
"Hit's comin'," he finally said aloud. "Hit's comin' fo' sho'.-Jeremiah!" he called. "We gotter git dis yere wagon hitched up!"
Jeremiah looked at me and without another word we both started running for the house to fetch a horse.
Suddenly a terrific blast of thunder exploded above us.
"Hurry, Jeremiah-we ain't got no time ter lose.-Miz Kathleen," he called to Katie, "come wiff me ... we gots ter git dat udder wagon under cover!"
Within seconds a few huge drops of rain began to fall on my face. Jeremiah and I reached the barn well ahead of Henry and Katie, who were hurrying as quickly as they could. Jeremiah glanced around. I grabbed his hand and led him to the corral. Three minutes later we were racing back to the field with horse and harness. At the same time Henry and Katie were just beginning to hitch up another horse to pull the full wagon of cotton we'd already baled into the barn and out of the rain.
As Jeremiah and I fussed with the harness, already my face was wet. Then another clap of thunder sounded and all at once the sky seemed to open. I jumped up onto the seat and grabbed the reins. Jeremiah leapt up beside me. I yelled at the horse and off we clattered toward the house as the rain poured down in torrents. By the time we flew into the wide-open doors, Jeremiah and I were soaked to the skin. My dress was clinging to me and water was dripping from my hair and ears and chin. The two horses were in a frenzy of excitement from the rain and sudden exertion and the close quarters of the barn. It was all we could do to calm them down and prevent them from hurting themselves, or one of us. Henry hurried quickly to them and began talking to them and stroking their noses one at a time while Jeremiah and I unfastened the harnesses and got them free from the wagons.
Ten minutes later the two horses were back in their stalls munching on some oats. Katie had just run back from the house with a handful of towels and we all dried our hands and faces. She was exuberant and flushed with the excitement of it all, still not aware of the danger.
After wiping his hands, Henry was leaning over the rail of the wagon of loose cotton, running his hand through it, reaching down to the bottom and pulling out handful after handful to feel how wet it was. Gradually Katie began to realize how serious Henry's expression was.
"It's all right, isn't it, Henry?" she asked.
"
I reckon we got it in time though we shuldn't a waited so long," he said thoughtfully. "Effen dere's one thing cotton don' like it's gettin' too wet an' gettin' full er mildew. But dis is loose an' AT dry up. An' fer dese bales," he said, now walking over to the other wagon and running his hand over the edge of one of the bales, "hit's tight enuff to a kep' much rain gittin' to it. I reckon Mr. Watson'll take it-he's a good man."
He sighed and glanced around, then walked to the big open doors and took a couple steps outside, where he stood under the overhang of the roof and stared out. The rain was pouring down in sheets so hard you could barely see the house a hundred and fifty feet away.
"Unforturnat'ly, Miz Kathleen," he said as he stood staring out into the storm, "hit ain't dis yere cotton I'm a wor- ryin' 'bout."
"What do you mean, Henry?" asked Katie, walking up beside him and glancing up into his face.
"I mean hit's da cotton still out dere in dem fields dat we gotter be worried 'bout"
"Why ... can't we just pick the rest of it when the rain stops?"
"Effen da rain stop soon, I reckon we might at dat," said Henry. "But it's gotter stop real soon, Miz Kathleen-real soon. Effen it rain like dis fer jes' anudder hour er two an' dat cotton goes down, den it's no good an' da whole crop be los'."
"Lost!" gasped Katie.
"Effen it gits soakin' wet an' full er mud an' hit's jest layin' dere in da dirt, ain't dat cotton no good ter nobody. Hit can't be picked den, Miz Kathleen-not when hit's down."
"But . . . but what about all the other plantations around? What about everyone else?"
"Dey mostly had dere cotton in an' under cover or sol' ter Mr. Watson weeks ago. Dat's why I been wonderin' what's goin' on at Rosewood when I seein' you bring in dem scrawny little bales so slow an' I'm wonderin' ter myse'f, What dat Mistress Clairborne wastin' so much time fer-don' she know dat she's gotter beat da rain? Dat's why I come out. But hit 'peers I was jes' a mite late 'cuz here's da rain an' dat cotton's still on da stalk."
The four of us stood there silently staring out as the water poured down. Beside me, I felt Jeremiah's fingers, then slowly he closed his big hand around mine. A tingle went through me. It made me feel warm inside, even though I was soaking wet. On the other side of me I glanced toward Katie.
The Color of Your Skin Ain't the Color of Your Heart Page 4