The Soldier's Lady

by Michael Phillips

  “Kin you show me how you wud read in dis?” she said, pointing to the Bible, which still lay open on Micah’s lap.

  “All right. I’ll point with my finger to the words as I read them. You can look at the words as I say them. I’ll show you what I was reading.”

  “I’s do dat!” said Emma eagerly.

  “All right, I’ll start right here,” said Micah. “ ‘And he called them unto him,’ ” he read, saying each word slowly, “ ‘and said unto them in parables, How can Satan cast out Satan? And if a . . .’ ”

  He paused.

  “Do you see that word, Emma?—you read it for me”

  “It says ‘house.’ ”

  “That’s right. Now you’ve read something in the Bible. ‘And if a house be divided against itself, that . . .’ ”

  Again he waited, his finger pointed to the next word.

  “House,” said Emma.

  “Good—‘that house cannot stand. And if Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end. No man can enter into a strong man’s . . .’ ”

  “House,” Emma said again.

  “ ‘. . . and spoil his goods, except he will first bind . . .’ ”

  This time Emma hesitated.

  “Do you remember this word?” asked Micah, pointing to the page.

  “Oh, I forgot a minute. It says ‘da.’ ”

  “That’s right—‘he will first bind the strong man; and then he will spoil his . . .’ ”

  “House,” said Emma once more.

  Micah set the Bible down. Emma had a great look of pride on her face.

  “You just read five words out of the Bible,” said Micah. “So you see, it isn’t so hard.”

  “Show me another word, Mister Duff!” said Emma excitedly.

  “Don’t you think those are enough for one day? I don’t want you to forget those two.”

  “I won’t forgit. I’ll learn dem. I promise. Please, Mister Duff, show me two more words. I kin do it!”

  Micah laughed. “All right, Emma,” he said.

  He glanced over the passage.

  “Okay, look at this word,” he said, pointing down at the page. “This is a name. It’s the word ‘Satan.’”

  “Oh, I knows about him!” said Emma. “Dat da debil—dat ol’ rattlesnake!”

  Micah laughed again. “That’s him, all right! Do you see that first letter, the squiggly one? That’s an s. That letter is in ‘house’ too. All the letters get used over and over in different words. They combine differently to make different sounds. It’s like putting foods together in different combinations to make different things. Josepha uses the same flour to make bread one day, flapjacks the next, biscuits the next, and a cake the next. Reading is a lot like cooking. You have to know how to mix the ingredients. There are twenty-six letters—that’s all. There are a lot more foods than that. So you see, Emma, reading is even easier than cooking!”

  “Dat can’t hardly be, Mister Duff!” laughed Emma.

  “But do you understand what I am saying?”

  “I reckon I does.”

  “You have to learn how the combination of letters makes different words. That squiggly s at the front of the word ‘Satan,’ for instance, is the same s that is in the word ‘house.’—Look, do you see?”

  He pointed to the two words.

  “They even sound the same—Satan . . . and house. Do you hear that ssss sound? That’s the s in both words.”

  “It looks an’ soun’s like a snake!” said Emma.

  “You’re right, it does,” said Micah. “It’s squiggly and it hisses, just like a snake! I never thought of that before.”

  “An’ da word ‘snake’ soun’s dat same way. Does it got dat same letter, dat s?”

  “Indeed it does. Very good, Emma. You see, you are catching on to this very quickly. You are a good learner. They all have that same hisssss sound, because they all have an s in them—sssssatan . . . sssssnake . . . housssse,” he said, drawing out the sound of each.

  “Show me another word,” said Emma.

  “All right . . . uh, let me see—how about this one here,” said Micah, pointing again. “This is the word ‘man.’”

  Emma stared down at the page.

  “So there are four words for you, Emma—‘house,’ ‘the,’ ‘Satan,’ and ‘man.’ Do you think you know them?”

  “I think so, Mister Duff, but dey’s startin’ ter run together in my brain. But kin we read it agin? Kin I try ter read dem words?”

  “I’ll read along slowly,” nodded Micah, “and when I come to a word you know, you read it.”

  “I kin do dat!”

  “All right,” said Micah, then returned his gaze to Katie’s Bible. “ ‘And he called them unto him,’ ” he read, saying each word slowly, “ ‘and said unto them in parables, How can . . .’ ”

  He paused.

  “Satan,” said Emma proudly, then added, almost muttering softly to herself, “—dat ol’ rattlesnake!”

  Micah smiled to himself, then continued to read, “ ‘. . . cast out . . .’ ”

  “Satan,” said Emma again.

  “ ‘And if a . . .’ ”

  “House!”

  “ ‘. . . be divided against itself, that . . .’ ”

  “House!”

  “ ‘. . . cannot stand. And if . . .’ ”

  “Satan!”

  “ ‘. . . rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end. No . . .’ ”

  “Uh . . . man!” said Emma after a moment’s hesitation.

  “ ‘. . . can enter into a strong . . .’ ”

  “Uh . . . dat looks kind er like dat man,” said Emma, “but den der’s da squiggles on it. Dat’s a mite confusin’.”

  “That’s right—it is the word ‘ man’ with an s. What is an s supposed to sound like?”

  “Da hiss ob a snake,” said Emma.

  “So say it like that,” said Micah. “Say ‘ man’ and add that sound.”

  “Uh . . . manssss,” said Emma, exaggerating the sound.

  “That’s right—it’s the word ‘ man’s.’ And when you say it quickly, it is, ‘can enter into a strong man’s . . .’ ”

  “House!” added Emma.

  “ ‘. . . and spoil his goods,’ ” Micah now went on, “‘except he will first bind . . .’ ”

  “Da!”

  “ ‘. . . strong . . .’ ”

  “Man!”

  “ ‘. . . and then he will spoil his . . .’ ”

  “House!” said Emma triumphantly.

  “You did it, Emma! You are a fast and excellent student. You will be reading in no time!”

  “Does you really think so, Mister Duff?”

  “Of course. Just look how quickly you learned those words. And you know several letters already, especially the s.”

  “I knows dat one, all right,” smiled Emma, “—dat ol’ rattlesnake!”

  Josepha walked in from the kitchen, unable to contain her curiosity any longer at what she had been hearing.

  “What’s going on in here?” she asked.

  “Emma’s learning to read the Bible!” said Katie enthusiastically. The look on Josepha’s face said that she would need more convincing than Katie’s enthusiasm.

  “Watch this, Josepha,” said Micah.

  Again he picked up the paper and pencil and wrote something down on it. He held it up to Emma.

  “Can you read this, Emma?” he asked.

  She looked at it and her eyes got wide in amazement. She was more astonished than Josepha was about to be.

  “Yes!” she said excitedly. “I kin read it! It says, ‘Satan’s house’ an’ den it says, ‘da man’s house’!”

  She glanced over at Katie and Mayme with a look of pride and accomplishment on her face.

  Even Josepha was impressed.

  “Will you teach me more words, Mister Duff?” asked Emma eagerly, turning again to Micah.

  “I would be happy to,�
�� he replied. “And so would Katie, or Mayme. And unless I miss my guess, there is a book on that shelf over there that you could be reading in no time.”

  “What book?”

  “It’s called a McGuffey Reader.”

  “That’s the one Katie taught me to read with, Emma,” Mayme said.

  “Teach me too, will you, Miz Katie!”

  It was only two or three days later when I came upon Emma and Katie in the kitchen with the McGuffey Reader on the table in front of them. Emma was trying to sound out a few words, with Katie helping her along.

  “Isn’t she doing wonderfully, Mayme?” said Katie.

  “She is. Micah was right, Emma—you are a fast learner.”

  ALTERCATION

  24

  JEREMIAH HAD TOLD MR. WATSON ABOUT MICAH, and Micah had now gone into town several times when Mr. Watson had extra work for a day or two or when there was an especially big delivery to make to one of the nearby plantations. It wasn’t regular work but was enough to make him a little extra money so that he didn’t have to depend on Ward and Templeton, or occasionally a few dollars from Jeremiah on his payday, for everything.

  After his own first payment from Mr. Watson, Micah tried to give the money to Templeton for room and board. But Templeton would hear nothing of it.

  “Son, I told you at the beginning,” he said, “that I would put you to work. You’ve earned every penny I’ve paid you, and if you can earn a little more from Mr. Watson, so much the better.”

  “I am very appreciative, sir,” said Micah. “But it still seems that I ought—”

  A wave of Templeton’s hand put an end to any further discussion of room and board.

  Several days after their discussion, Mr. Watson again asked Jeremiah to bring Micah along with him to work the following day.

  Jeremiah and Micah got up early the next morning to ride to the mill. Henry had risen even earlier and was already halfway to town by the time the younger men were ready to go.

  The two friends stood at the hitching post together, saddling up their horses. Micah’s purebred was broad and black, a good two hands taller than Jeremiah’s horse. The young pinto had the typical brown and white markings of a common “paint” horse and was still easily spooked.

  “That’s a fine horse, Jake.”

  “Not nearly as fine as yers, and you knows it.”

  “What do you say we see about that?”

  “Whatchu mean, Duff?”

  “How about a race?”

  “Aw, Duff. Dat horse er yers is a Union war horse, ’bout da best-trained horse I eber seen. Dis paint is still only half broke, and not full grown.”

  “Come on. From here to the river and back.”

  “Why—whuppin’ me at fishin’s not enuff fer you?”

  “Just for fun, Jake. It’s not about one of us being better. We’re equals. Brothers. And this brother wants to race.”

  “And dis brother wants ter see you eat dust.”

  Micah grinned. “That’s more like it!”

  Jeremiah mounted up and could hardly keep his horse from bolting before Micah had untied his horse from the hitching post. Jeremiah pulled back hard on the reins and the paint reared up on its hind legs. Jeremiah muttered soothing words to the horse and stroked its neck, trying to calm the animal down.

  “Ready?” Micah asked.

  “I’s past ready.”

  “On the count of three. One, two . . .”

  But Jeremiah’s paint wasn’t inclined to wait. Before Micah could shout Three!, the pinto bolted. With a cry of surprise, Jeremiah grabbed at the saddle and clenched the horse’s sides with his knees, desperate to keep his seat.

  “Hey!” laughed Micah, then shouted to his own mount. The big black reared, then tore off after Jeremiah’s pinto.

  Even over the sound of the galloping hooves beneath him, Jeremiah heard the thunder of the great beast in pursuit. He glanced back, face full of excitement and also a little terror at the sight that met his eyes.

  “Git goin’, Paint!” he shouted. “He’s bigger’n you, but we kin do it. Come on!”

  Within seconds, Micah had drawn even. He glanced over at Jeremiah with a grin. The competitive blood in both young men was by now flowing hot. Both lashed and shouted at their horses as they galloped along side by side. Slowly, Jeremiah saw the rump of the black pulling ahead of him, then the great black tail came into view from the corner of his eye, and within another twenty seconds he was looking up at the tail in front of him. An occasional clump of grass or dirt flew up from beneath the black’s hooves into his face.

  “Come on, Paint!” he shouted again. “Don’t gib up . . . we’s git him at da turn!”

  Micah reached the river two or three seconds in the lead. But the size of his horse, and the speed he was moving, caused the big black to swing in a wide arc as he turned. But Jeremiah reined up just as they reached the river, spun his pinto quickly around, and dug in his heels again. And now his paint, whether catching the spirit of the race, or eager to return to the barn in front of him, burst forward with more speed than Jeremiah had ever seen. By the time Micah completed his turn, suddenly he looked up to see Jeremiah now a length and a half—judging by the size of the pinto—in the lead.

  “Hey, how’d you do that!” he shouted.

  But now the pinto’s legs were flying so fast over the ground that they were just a blur of speed, and nothing Micah did could make up the distance between them.

  Inexplicably, the paint knew the finish line as well as he had known to turn on the speed at the river. The instant he passed the hitching post, he slammed his hooves to the ground, stopping so unexpectantly and abruptly that Jeremiah lost his balance. He flew straight over the horse’s head and landed in the mire of the barnyard, still mucky from the recent rains.

  “Jake! You all right?” Micah called, reining in. He jumped to the ground in one smooth motion.

  “Yeah. Jes’ great,” he said, looking up from where he lay.

  “You should be. You won.” Micah held his hand down to Jeremiah.

  Jeremiah grasped his friend’s hand and let Micah haul him up. “Din’t know winnin’ wud feel so good,” he groaned. Gingerly he got to his feet and rubbed his backside.

  Micah again grasped Jeremiah’s hand, this time giving it a congratulatory shake. “What that horse of yours lacks in training it more than makes up for in youth and spirit and determination. Just like you, Jake. Just like you.”

  When their day’s work at the mill was done about four o’clock that same afternoon, they walked up to the livery to see when Henry would be ready to ride back out to Rosewood. Since Henry had been living at the plantation, Mr. Guiness had hired another man for the evening hours at the livery.

  The three left together, then stopped at the general store on the way out of town.

  “Mister Templeton asked me to check for mail,” said Jeremiah.

  They dismounted, tied their horses to the hitching rail, and stepped up onto the boardwalk just as the door of the store opened. They glanced up to see Deke Steeves and his father walk out and head toward them. Henry and Jeremiah stepped off the boardwalk back onto the street to let them pass. But Micah continued on by them at the edge of the walkway, brushing arms slightly with Dwight Steeves as they walked by each other. The two whites stopped, although Micah did not realize it immediately as he continued on toward the store.

  “Hey, boy!” called Steeves behind him.

  Now Micah became aware that he was alone. He paused to glance back to see what had become of Jeremiah and Henry. Instead he saw the two white men glaring at him from two or three feet away. Henry and Jeremiah had stopped and were standing in the street. And now Micah also realized that the words had been addressed to him.

  “You deaf, boy!” now said the younger of the two. “My pa’s talking to you. Ain’t you got no respect for your betters?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Micah calmly. “I didn’t realize you were speaking to me. Is there something I ca
n do for you?”

  Deke glanced at his father in astonishment, wondering what he would do, then back at Micah.

  “You must be a stranger in these parts, boy,” said the elder of the two.

  “That’s right. I only arrived recently.”

  “Why you tryin’ to talk like a white man? You funnin’ with me, boy?”

  “No, sir. This is how I talk.”

  “So you’re an uppity one, huh?”

  “I hope not, sir. I simply try to be myself.”

  “Well, you be yourself and get out of our way.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “When a white man comes along the walk, you get yourself off it to let him pass like a good little nigger boy—that’s what I mean.”

  “Ah, I see . . . there seemed to me to be plenty of room on the walk.”

  “Plenty of room or not, you stand aside when you see a white man, boy. That’s how we do things here.”

  “I did not realize that. My sincere apologies.”

  “But you see, boy,” said Steeves, “it’s too late for that. Apologies are no good now. You didn’t stand aside, and you touched my arm. So you see, we gotta teach you a lesson so you won’t forget what I told you.”

  “Look, mister,” said Micah, still not intimidated. “I offered you my apology. I am truly sorry. There is no need to make more of this than is necessary.”

  “You’re telling me what’s necessary? You’re nothing but a stupid, filthy nigger!”

  He took a menacing step toward Micah. The rage in his eyes was more from Micah’s calm demeanor and refined speech than from anything that had happened. It grated on his own ignorance and arrogance that a black man sounded more educated—and with a Northern accent besides!—than he.

  But now Henry stepped up from the street and between them.

  “He din’t mean no harm, Mister Steeves,” he said. “Like he said, he din’t know no better. I’ll hab a talk wiff him an’ he’ll show more respeck in da future.”

  But by now both Steeves were itching for a fight. Dwight shoved Henry rudely.