‘‘It means that Burchard Clairborne will be given guardianship over the plantation known as Rosewood in his brother’s stead.’’
‘‘But what about my mother, sir?’’
‘‘She has ninety days to contest the action. That is why I must see her. If she does not contest it, the court will grant Mr. Clairborne’s request and award him guardianship.’’
A bewildered Katie stood blankly trying to absorb his words. The lawyer turned and walked down the stairs and back toward his buckboard.
‘‘Uh . . . Mr. Sneed,’’ called Katie after him.
He paused and glanced back.
‘‘Could I, uh . . . could I contest it for my mother?’’
A confused expression passed over the man’s face. Then slowly he began to laugh.
‘‘You?’’ he said.
‘‘Yes, sir.’’
‘‘Don’t be ridiculous,’’ he replied, still chuckling. ‘‘How old are you?’’
‘‘Sixteen, sir. But I’ll be seventeen in a month and a half.’’
‘‘Then you are not even of age, or anywhere close to it. The court wouldn’t recognize anything you did. I need your mother’s signature and no one else’s in order to stop this injunction from taking effect. So tell her it is imperative that I speak to her.’’
He got into his buckboard and rode away.
THE TRUTH FINALLY GETS OUT
6
IRAN UP TO KATIE, WHO WAS HOLDING THE PAPERS with tears in her eyes.
‘‘I think it’s over, Mayme,’’ she said in a sad and defeated, though strangely relieved, tone. ‘‘Uncle Burchard isn’t going to give up. Did you hear what that Mr. Sneed said? Uncle Burchard’s filed some kind of legal thing to take control of Rosewood.’’
‘‘What’s a guardianship?’’ I asked. ‘‘I heard him use that word.’’
‘‘I’m not sure,’’ replied Katie. ‘‘All I know is that without my mama’s signature, the man said Rosewood will become Uncle Burchard’s.’’
‘‘What about Papa?’’ I asked.
‘‘He’s not here,’’ said Katie. ‘‘But I don’t think he could do anything anyway, since he’s not blood kin to my daddy like Uncle Burchard is.’’
‘‘Maybe you should look at the papers and read what they say,’’ I suggested.
Katie nodded. We went inside and sat down.
But after a few minutes looking at the papers, Katie just shook her head. ‘‘I can’t make heads or tails of it, Mayme,’’ she said.
‘‘Is it written in another language or something?’’ I asked. ‘‘Didn’t I hear someplace that lawyers use a different language for saying things?’’
‘‘No, everything’s written in English. I just can’t make anything of what it means. It sounds like nonsense.’’
‘‘Should we show it to Henry?’’
‘‘Henry can’t read as well as you, Mayme. If I can’t understand it, he couldn’t. I wish Uncle Templeton would hurry. I’m sure he would know what to do.’’
I didn’t say anything. What could I say? She wasn’t just talking about her uncle. She was talking about my father. I wished he was there too.
It was pretty somber around Rosewood for the next several days. We’d had a lot of close calls and a lot of visitors who were suspicious about what they saw. We’d even had to cope with Mrs. Hammond’s hawk eyes looking us over like we were up to something . . . which we were. But she had never found out. No one had ever found out.
But Katie was right. There didn’t seem any way around the fact that our scheme was about over now. Her uncle Burchard was going to find out. If we didn’t get separated, at the very least we’d both be working for him before long, and it seemed likely that he’d run off Mr. Daniels just like Katie’s own father had years before. The idea of all that didn’t seem altogether agreeable to either of us. I started thinking about paying jobs again, wondering if a sixteen-year-old white girl and a seventeen-year-old black girl could live on their own if they didn’t have a house like we’d had for the last two years.
And what about Aleta, Emma, and William!
The days went slowly by, and Papa didn’t come back. He’d now been gone about two weeks, and even though he said he might be gone four, we couldn’t help starting to look down the road, hoping he’d ride in and solve everything for us. But he didn’t come.
Katie’s uncle Burchard came around again, and then a few more times. After the lawyer’s visit he didn’t even bother trying to talk to Katie. The first time we saw him riding out in the fields, just riding about looking at things, and then after a while he was gone. One morning we got up and saw his horse tied outside. When I went out to gather the morning’s eggs and start the milking, there he was in the barn. He was writing things down on a paper, looking about, inspecting everything, looking the equipment over. Then he went out to the stables and spent a good while looking over the horses. He took no notice of me, and we both went about what we were doing, paying no attention to the other. It was a mighty peculiar feeling.
After another hour he got on his horse and rode away.
‘‘What was he doing, Mayme?’’ asked Katie, who had stayed in the house all the time he was there.
‘‘I don’t know,’’ I said. ‘‘Just looking at everything. He was writing something down on a piece of paper.’’
But there was no doubt that things were different already. Katie’s uncle felt comfortable coming and going like Rosewood was already his. And it seemed pretty likely that before long it would be!
Gradually he took more and more liberties. He even came into the house a time or two, mostly just to get something to eat or get a drink of water. But he was always looking around. And it was obvious he didn’t like what he saw, especially if he saw Emma or me inside. He looked at us all, even Katie, with an expression that was anything but nice. Aleta, especially, cowered whenever he was around. I wondered to myself if he was thinking that he couldn’t wait to get rid of us all. He seemed to despise Katie just as much for being nice to us as he despised Emma and me for being colored.
One afternoon Katie and I saw him out by the graves, just standing there. He kicked at one of the bales we’d put there and rolled it back, then just kept standing looking down. I glanced over at Katie. Her face went white.
A few minutes later, as we were lugging the cheese press off the porch to let it drain, we heard footsteps behind us. Katie turned. There was her uncle staring at her with a serious expression. We set down the press and just stood there. It was quiet a long time as he looked back and forth between us. Somehow as he did, I had the feeling that he was putting everything together in his mind.
‘‘You been lying to me all along, ain’t you, Kathleen?’’ he finally said. ‘‘Your pa ain’t never coming back, is he? He ain’t up north. He’s dead, ain’t he?’’
Katie’s eyes filled with tears. I could see from the expression on her uncle’s face that he knew he was right whether she answered him or not. He began to nod and the hint of a knowing grin came to his lips.
‘‘I figured it all along,’’ he said, then paused. He got real thoughtful again.
‘‘And your ma’s dead too, ain’t she?’’ he said after a bit. ‘‘That fourth grave out there ain’t Jason’s, is it? He died in the fighting. There was only three of ’em that came back from the war . . . but there’s four stones over there. Something happened, didn’t it—something bad that you ain’t told nobody? That fourth grave’s your ma’s, ain’t it?’’
Katie couldn’t take it anymore. She burst into tears, then turned and fell sobbing into my arms where I stood next to her.
Her uncle just stood there. He didn’t show any tenderness like my father did when Katie told him. He just kept standing there with a look of impatience waiting for her to stop crying. When she finally managed to take a few breaths and release herself from my embrace and turn to face him, he spoke again.
‘‘That’s what this is all about,’’ he said, ‘‘
these coloreds and that kid . . . that baby the talkative fool’s carrying around— ain’t nobody here, is there? That’s why the place is a mess and it don’t look like no work’s being done—because there ain’t. You just been playacting all this time.’’
Katie struggled to keep from crying again. ‘‘They were all killed, Uncle Burchard, all but me. Men came, after the war. Men with guns . . .’’
‘‘Was it that Bilsby’s gang I’ve heard tell about?’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’
‘‘Well, your little charade’s over, missy,’’ her uncle said, and I was shocked at how unfeeling the man was. ‘‘You should have come to your kin first, right when it happened. Maybe then I could have helped you. But lying to me, pretending your folks was still here . . . ain’t much I can do for you now. ’Course I’ll take care of you. Kin’s kin. I ain’t going to throw you out. All I’m saying is you should have come to me first. Meantime, these darkies’ll have to go. And I want you getting rid of that girl too. I’ll have no kids or darkies around the house. I’ll be bringing my own people in now.’’
Still Katie stood speechless.
‘‘Well, speak up, girl. You’re standing there like an idiot. Don’t you have nothing to say for yourself?’’
‘‘No, sir,’’ Katie whimpered.
‘‘I’ll warrant you’ll find your tongue soon enough once the work starts. Your kind always does.’’ He glanced over at me, then back at Katie. ‘‘Just get rid of the rest of them, you hear?’’
He walked back to his horse and rode away, leaving Katie and me in stunned silence.
Burchard Clairborne went straight to Oakwood and to the office of Leroy Sneed.
‘‘You might as well cancel those other papers,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve just learned that they’re dead—the whole lot of them . . . my brother, his wife, his sons, all but the dimwitted daughter. They’re all buried there, all but the son who died in the war.’’
Sneed nodded as he listened. Things immediately began to make sense.
‘‘I don’t know how she escaped,’’ Clairborne went on, ‘‘but she’s alone. That makes the place legally mine. We don’t need to bother with guardianship—I want you to file papers claiming full ownership on my behalf.’’
‘‘Do you know if there is a will?’’ asked Sneed.
‘‘How should I know? If there is, it’s sure that fool girl of his knows nothing about it. You’re the only lawyer for miles— you know anything about one?’’
‘‘No, but he could have filed in Charlotte.’’
‘‘What difference would a will make anyway? She’s not of age.’’
‘‘Yes, right . . . I see what you mean.’’
‘‘The place is finally mine and I don’t want to fool around with niceties any longer than necessary.’’
‘‘It would just make matters simpler with a will,’’ added the lawyer.
‘‘In any case, Richard would have left it to his wife. And she’s dead. The sons are all dead. The girl can’t make a legal claim, can she?’’
‘‘Not until she’s twenty-one. Even then, it’s possible your claim would take precedence.’’
‘‘Good, then file the claim. I don’t want to wait five years. I want that place now.’’
On his way back to the boardinghouse in Greens Crossing, Burchard Clairborne stopped at the general store to pick up a few things. In the exuberance of his discovery of that morning, he was a little freer with his tongue in the presence of the shopkeeper than was his normal custom.
The result was that within two days everyone for miles around knew of the Clairborne massacre and what Katie and I had been doing. Mrs. Hammond confessed herself scandalized at the thought of a black girl and white girl living alone together all that time. Mostly, though she did not admit this openly, she was irritated at herself for having been duped along with everyone else. There were others, however, who professed a grudging admiration for the Rosewood girls and their scheme.
Mrs. Hammond, of course, made it clear that she had suspected the truth all along.
RUMORS SPREAD
7
WE SAW NO MORE OF BURCHARD CLAIRBORNE after that—for a while at least. And during those first few days we didn’t know that Mrs. Hammond was busy spreading news about ‘‘little Kathleen Clairborne and that darkie girl of hers’’ all over town. We didn’t know it in fact until Jeremiah’s next visit.
‘‘The two of you’s ’bout the mos’ famous people in all Greens Crossing!’’ he said with a big grin as he walked up to where I was working.
‘‘What do you mean?’’ I asked.
‘‘What you mean what do I mean? Jus’ dat everyone’s talkin’ ’bout you, dat’s all.’’
‘‘They’re talking about us!’’ exclaimed Katie, walking over from the washtub. ‘‘Who’s talking about us?’’
‘‘Everybody . . . mostly dat grouchy storekeeper lady. She been spreadin’ news all roun’bout ob you two bein’ all alone wiff a couple strays. I kep’ yer secret fer more’n a year, but dat busybody’s spreadin’ it everywhere!’’
‘‘Oh no!’’ exclaimed Katie.
‘‘But how did she find out?’’ I said.
Katie and I looked at each other. We always seemed to think alike and both realized the answer at the same time.
‘‘Uncle Burchard!’’ said Katie.
Immediately we knew that the biggest danger wasn’t to us.
‘‘What are they saying, Jeremiah,’’ began Katie in a lower voice, ‘‘about the others? Do they know about Aleta and Emma? I’ve got to know.’’
‘‘Dat dey do, Miz Kathleen,’’ replied Jeremiah. ‘‘Not by name dat I heard. But dey’s sayin’ you got a white kid an’ a dimwitted colored girl an’ her baby wiff you.’’
‘‘Oh no!’’ said Katie a second time.
I wish Emma hadn’t heard. But she had ears too big for her own good sometimes. She’d been so used to being called names—I reckon all black folks are used to that, but that doesn’t mean it sometimes doesn’t hurt—that she didn’t even seem to notice what he’d said about a dimwitted colored girl. But she had heard well enough that folks were talking about us . . . all of us.
‘‘Dey know ’bout me an’ William!’’ she shrieked, running toward where we were talking. ‘‘Dey know my baby’s here! He’s gwine fin’ out! It’ll be da death ob me fo’ sho’!’’
And we had to admit that whatever Katie’s troubles and mine, they weren’t so bad as Emma’s. What were we going to do to keep her safe? We had Henry and Jeremiah to help us, and maybe, if it came to that, Katie’s uncle Burchard too, for that matter. Not that he’d lift a finger for Emma. But knowing another white man was around might make William McSimmons think twice before he tried to do something bad. He couldn’t just come and kill us all without someone finding out.
Although maybe he could, for all I knew. Killing blacks wasn’t regarded as much of a crime. There were blacks being killed all over the South as a result of the resentment and hatred that sprung up after the war. No one around Greens Crossing would likely raise a ruckus if one little black baby was dropped in the river in a sack full of rocks . . . or if Emma and I disappeared one day and were never heard from again.
Now more than ever Katie and I began desperately watching the road in hopes of seeing Mr. Daniels riding back to Rosewood.
By now it was getting close to three weeks since he’d left. But still there was no sign of him.
NEW BOARDER AT ROSEWOOD
8
LUCKILY FOR ALL OF US, BY THE TIME THE NEWS from Mrs. Hammond’s wagging tongue widened to encompass the McSimmons plantation, the rumors had changed enough to make them hardly recognizable. And Mistress McSimmons did her business at Oakwood and rarely went into Greens Crossing where she might have heard more.
As it was, when William McSimmons’ wife caught wind of what was being said, she heard nothing about the Clairborne estate, only rumors of a fatherless colored baby being hid somew
here with a houseful of urchins, mostly black, who had managed to keep from being detected, some said, since the war.
Thinking that her troubles from her husband’s promiscuity were behind her, and probably made worse by the fact that she had yet been unable to give him a child herself, Mrs. McSimmons went into a rage at the news. She took it out on the nearest and most convenient person she could, whom she still suspected of knowing more about the affair than she let on, and whom too she never once suspected of having the gumption to resist her.
The tirade so caught Josepha off guard at first that she hardly knew its cause. She had heard the rumors too and of course did know more than she was telling. But why Mistress McSimmons would direct such venom toward her, she didn’t understand.
‘‘No need ter git riled at me,’’ Josepha said in an irritable voice. ‘‘I don’ know nuthin’. Why wud I know what you’s talkin’ ’bout?’’
‘‘You fat old sow!’’ the lady shrieked. ‘‘I’ll teach you to talk back to your betters! Maybe the sting of the whip will put some respect into you, and loosen that lying tongue of yours!’’
Three quick strides took her to the wall where her husband’s riding whip hung. She grabbed it and turned on Josepha.
Josepha had had her fair share of whippings during her forty years or more as a slave. But she had not felt the lash since learning that she was a free woman. As a result it stung all the more keenly.
Three or four sharp blows to her arms, shoulders, and back were sufficient to rouse all the proud indignation of her race against its oppressors.
She put up her hand, trying to ward off the blows and grab at the whip.
‘‘How dare you raise your hand against me!’’ cried Mrs. McSimmons, preparing to begin a new volley more violent than the first. But suddenly Josepha stepped toward her, fire in her eyes, and latched on to the lady’s wrist with fingers as strong as a vise. Her hand stopped the whip in midair and shocked her mistress into a fuming silence.
Together is All We Need Page 3