Together is All We Need

by Michael Phillips

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘You reckon maybe he’s doing what my daddy’s doing— trying to make some things right that he’s done wrong in the past?’’

  ‘‘Maybe,’’ she said.

  ‘‘What if he wants to make it right with you too?’’

  ‘‘He can’t make it right with Mama. She’s dead.’’

  ‘‘No, maybe not. I don’t reckon we can make everything right. But don’t you think you ought to give him the chance to make right what he can?’’

  ‘‘But he yelled at my mama and beat her sometimes.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, those are terrible things. I can’t say how a man makes them right. I reckon that’s between him and God. But it ain’t too late for him to make it right with you . . . or for you to make it right with him.’’

  ‘‘Why should I have to make it right? I didn’t do anything wrong to him.’’

  I heard a sound behind us and looked up. There was Henry ambling toward us from the direction of the barn. From the look on his face, I had the feeling he’d been listening.

  ‘‘Miz Mayme’s right, Miz Aleta,’’ he said, leaning against the wooden fence of the horse corral. ‘‘Makin’ things right’s a two-way street. Mos’ ob da time it ain’t sumfin’ a body kin do all by demselves. Hit may be dat yo papa needs yo help ter make his life right agin.’’

  ‘‘What could I do, Henry?’’ asked Aleta.

  ‘‘I reckon you’s gotter do yer half ob da makin’ right.’’

  ‘‘But what’s that? I didn’t do anything wrong.’’

  ‘‘You may hab dun mo wrong den you know.’’

  ‘‘Me . . . like what?’’

  ‘‘You got sum unkindness in dat heart er yers tards yo papa, an’ dat’s jus’ as bad a sin as whateber he dun hisse’f.’’

  ‘‘But I didn’t hurt anybody.’’

  ‘‘Ah, Aleta, chil’, din’t you, now? You don’ think hatred an’ unkind thoughts kin hurt folks?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ she said softly.

  ‘‘I reckon dey’s jus’ ’bout as hurtful as anything yo papa’s dun. Da way I see it, you’s got a heap er makin’ right ter tend to jus’ like he has—jus’ like we all hab ter ten’ to in our own lives sooner er later.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know what you mean, Henry,’’ said Aleta.

  ‘‘Jus’ dat everbody’s gotter ten’ ter makin’ things right in dere own hearts, not jus’ wait fer udder folks ter do da makin’ right. Miz Mayme’s gotter make things right in her heart, an’ I gotter make things right in my heart, an’ Miz Kathleen’s gotter make things right in her heart.’’

  ‘‘Miss Katie! She could never do anything wrong.’’

  ‘‘Everbody does wrong, Miz Aleta. Dere’s wrong an’ dere’s wrong. Dere’s da kind er wrong yo daddy’s dun, but dere’s wrong dat happens inside dat nobody else kin see, wrong ways of thinkin,’ selfishness, hatred, and the like. An’ dey kin be jus’ as wrong in God’s eyes as da udder kin’. So you see, everbody’s got things in dere heart dey gotter make right, wiff God an’ wiff folks dat hab hurt dem and wiff folks dat dey’ve hurt demselves. Miz Kathleen an’ me an’ everbody.’’

  It got quiet again.

  ‘‘And me too?’’ said Aleta finally.

  ‘‘Dat’s right, Miz Aleta,’’ said Henry. ‘‘You too. You got sum makin’ right ter do wiff yo papa. It ain’t yo business how he makes right da wrong dat he’s dun. Dat’s atween him an’ God. It’s yo business dat you make right da wrong you’ve dun tard him. Dat’s da only way things can git right atween you.’’

  ‘‘What do you want me to do, Henry?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Ain’t me dat wants you ter do anything, Miz Aleta. I’m jus’ tryin ter hep you figger out what you wants ter do yersel’.’’

  Henry paused a few seconds. ‘‘Ain’t you feelin’ a lump er wrongness in yo heart?’’ he said. ‘‘Ain’t you feelin’ sumfin’ inside you dat don’ feel good when you think ’bout yo papa?’’

  Aleta nodded.

  ‘‘Does you want ter git rid ob it?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘You can’t git rid ob it unless you want to yerse’f. I can’t do it fo’ you. An’ you can’t git rid ob it jus’ ’cuz I say so, but only effen you wants ter make it right yerse’f.’’

  ‘‘What do I have to do to get rid of it, Henry?’’ asked Aleta.

  ‘‘Hit’s a mighty hard thing, Miz Aleta,’’ answered Henry. ‘‘Ain’t too many folks got da courage ter do it. Hit’s one ob da hardest things in da whole world.’’

  ‘‘But I want to do it, Henry. I want to get rid of the lump inside me. It doesn’t feel good.’’

  ‘‘Well, den, I reckon dere’s two things you gotter do ter git rid ob it.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘First, you’s gotter ax God ter forgive you fo’ da hateful feelin’s and da unkindness dat’s caused dat lump er sin ter grow in yer heart. You see, Miz Aleta, what yo papa did wuz wrong all right, but you let dat lump er hatred grow in yo heart. Yo papa din’t do dat, you did. Dat’s da wrong in you. Dat’s what you gotter ax forgiveness fo’.’’

  I couldn’t believe how hard Henry was being on Aleta. I glanced up and looked in his face. It was full of love, but it was almost a stern kind of love like I’d never seen him have before, like he knew it was time Aleta faced herself. Even though she was young, he seemed to know now was the time, and it might not come again.

  ‘‘What’s the second thing, Henry?’’ she asked softly.

  ‘‘After you ax God ter forgive you,’’ he said, ‘‘den you’s gotter forgive yo papa.’’

  This time Aleta sat a long time staring down at the ground.

  None of us made a sound. I couldn’t imagine what kinds of things she was thinking. It had been different when I’d had to forgive my papa. He’d never done the kind of things Aleta’s daddy had. But maybe it doesn’t matter how bad the sin is— people still have to be forgiven anyway.

  ‘‘What should I do, Henry?’’ she said finally.

  ‘‘Does you want ter ax God ter fergive you?’’

  Aleta nodded.

  ‘‘Den jus’ ax Him,’’ said Henry. ‘‘Jus’ say, God, I know dis lump er bad feelin’s in my heart’s my fault, not my daddy’s. Hit’s wrong er me ter hate him no matter what he’s dun. I ax you ter forgive me for dat wrong in me, an’ den I ax you ter take care er my daddy in yo own way. Dat’s all you gotter say, sumfin’ like dat.’’

  ‘‘Should I say it now?’’

  ‘‘Effen you want.’’

  ‘‘Out loud . . . with you and Mayme listening?’’

  ‘‘We kin leave effen you want.’’

  ‘‘No . . . I guess it’s all right if you listen.’’

  Aleta closed her eyes. ‘‘God,’’ she began, ‘‘I want to ask you, like Henry said, to forgive me for hating my daddy. I know it was wrong of me. I’m sorry, God.’’

  Aleta began to cry. I reached over and put my hand on her shoulder. At the touch, she began to shake and sob. She cried for several minutes. I sat with her but said nothing. When I next looked up, Henry was gone.

  A CHANGE COMES TO

  ROSEWOOD’ S FAMILY

  11

  HENRY HAD BEEN AT ROSEWOOD MOST OF THAT day working on a broken wagon wheel. After the talk with Aleta, he kept to himself in the barn. I think he knew he’d said what he had to and now was content to just wait and see what came of it.

  It didn’t take long either.

  Henry was still out in the barn when supper came, but he didn’t come in. The rest of us sat down at the table and started eating. Emma was her usual talkative self, and Josepha was carrying on about the food and how she was going to make bread the next morning. I’d told Katie about my conversation with Aleta and what had happened when Henry’d come. I could tell Katie was watching Aleta out of the corner of her eye as we ate.

  When we were nearly done, Emma had turned to William and was tending
to him, and Josepha had a mouthful of food. So it got quiet for a moment around the table.

  When Aleta spoke, her voice was so soft I could hardly make out what she’d said. Katie’s eyes opened wide and she turned toward her.

  ‘‘What was that, Aleta?’’ she said.

  ‘‘I want to go home to my daddy,’’ Aleta repeated.

  Katie and I looked at each other. I knew both of our hearts were pounding with joy, but we didn’t want to seem too excited all at once.

  ‘‘All right,’’ said Katie. ‘‘Do you want to go now . . . tonight . . . or tomorrow?’’

  ‘‘Maybe tomorrow,’’ answered Aleta.

  As soon as supper was over, while Aleta was busying herself with Josepha cleaning up the kitchen, Katie went out to the barn. She told Henry what Aleta had said.

  ‘‘Praise be ter Jesus!’’ he said softly. ‘‘Dat’s good . . . dat be mighty good! Da Lord’ll work healin’ atween dem now fo’ sho’. Dat’s real good!’’

  ‘‘When are you going back into town, Henry?’’ asked Katie.

  ‘‘Wheneber you like, Miz Kathleen. I kin stay or I kin go.’’

  ‘‘Would you like something to eat first?’’

  ‘‘Dat be nice.’’

  ‘‘Then when you leave, would you please stop by the church and ask Reverend Hall to come out tomorrow?’’

  ‘‘I’s do dat, Miz Kathleen.’’

  ‘‘Tell him it’s about the girl he has been looking for. But don’t tell him anything more,’’ Katie added. ‘‘I want to do that myself.’’

  Reverend Hall’s buggy drove up to Rosewood a little after ten o’clock the next morning. For once Katie and I were looking forward to seeing him.

  I think he noticed a difference in Katie immediately the moment she greeted him. She walked straight up to him like she was a grown woman and in charge of the place.

  ‘‘Hello, Reverend Hall,’’ she said as he stepped down. ‘‘Thank you for coming. Mayme and I—this is Mayme,’’ she added, nodding toward me.

  I smiled and offered my hand. He shook it and nodded.

  ‘‘Hello, Mayme,’’ he said. ‘‘I saw you here when I came out once before.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Mayme and I have to talk to you,’’ said Katie. ‘‘Would you come inside?’’

  ‘‘Of course, Kathleen.’’

  Katie led us into the house and we sat down in the parlor. We’d asked the others to stay outside when we talked so that we could be alone in the house, although Aleta was up in her room with the door closed.

  ‘‘I’m afraid I have an apology to make, Reverend Hall,’’ said Katie once we were seated. ‘‘I’m sure you’ve heard all about us, and my family and everything now that it’s all around town.’’

  ‘‘Yes, Kathleen. I am very sorry.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘I was planning to come out to see you. I only heard a few days ago.’’

  ‘‘And so you know what we’ve been doing here?’’ Katie said.

  He nodded.

  Katie went on to tell him about Emma and Uncle Templeton and about finding out that she and I were cousins. Reverend Hall took everything in with interest, nodding and commenting occasionally but mostly just listening as Katie told our story.

  ‘‘I’m afraid I wasn’t honest with you,’’ Katie said at last. ‘‘We do know about the girl you’ve been looking for. She’s . . . she’s here with us.’’

  A strange smile came over the minister’s face.

  ‘‘I halfway suspected as much,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You did?’’

  ‘‘I had the feeling something more was going on than met the eye.’’

  ‘‘Why didn’t you say anything?’’ asked Katie.

  ‘‘I assumed you had good reason for keeping it from me,’’ Reverend Hall replied. ‘‘I knew the truth would come out eventually, and I also knew that it had to come from you. I’m not a man who believes in pushing. Truth, I have always found, is powerful enough on its own to find its way where it needs to go.’’

  ‘‘We weren’t trying to do wrong, Reverend Hall,’’ said Katie. ‘‘Sometimes everything was . . . just very confusing.’’

  ‘‘It must have been extremely difficult for the two of you.’’

  ‘‘We didn’t mean not to tell the truth. But sometimes it just happened and I always felt terrible afterward. Sometimes I got so afraid of what would happen if people found out. And from what Aleta told us about her father, I was afraid for her too. I just didn’t know what was best to do.’’

  ‘‘I understand, Kathleen. I’m sure God understands too.’’

  ‘‘I’ve asked Him to forgive me.’’

  ‘‘Then I know He understands.’’

  ‘‘We told Aleta what you said after your last visit. We tried to get her to go home. But she said she would run away if we made her go back to her father. We didn’t know what to do.’’

  ‘‘Why are you telling me now?’’ asked the minister.

  ‘‘Because she is finally ready. She wants to see her father again.’’

  ‘‘Oh, that is wonderful news!’’

  ‘‘Tell him what you and Henry said to her, Mayme,’’ said Katie.

  I briefly recounted the conversation of the previous day.

  The minister smiled.

  ‘‘That Henry is quite a man,’’ he said. ‘‘If the people of Greens Crossing had any idea what kind of spiritual wisdom is in his heart, they would . . .’’ He began to chuckle. ‘‘Well, I don’t know what they would do!’’ he added. The smile gradually faded from his face. ‘‘Actually, they would probably resent it,’’ he said. ‘‘They would call it uppity. No one wants blacks acting too intelligent.—So have you spoken with the girl about actually going home?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ replied Katie. ‘‘She says she is ready. She says she’ll go with you if you’ll take her.’’

  ‘‘Wonderful. Nothing could make me happier. Hank will be overjoyed.’’

  Again a serious expression came over his face. ‘‘What about her mother?’’ he asked. ‘‘What exactly happened? I assume you’ve not seen her?’’

  ‘‘She’s dead, Reverend Hall,’’ replied Katie.

  ‘‘I feared as much.’’

  ‘‘They were riding away, trying to get away from home, and she was thrown from the horse. When Aleta couldn’t rouse her, she began wandering and that’s how she ended up here. She just appeared one day at the door.’’

  ‘‘And you . . .’’

  ‘‘She took me to her mama and told me what had happened. She was dead when I got there.’’

  ‘‘And . . .’’

  ‘‘I buried her. I can show you where. It’s about three miles from here.’’

  ‘‘I see. This will be a terrible grief to the girl’s father. But I have to say, having heard nothing from them in so long, it is what I expected. I am just glad to find that Aleta is safe.’’

  He drew in a breath and exhaled.

  ‘‘Well . . . this is a dreadful tragedy,’’ he said, ‘‘though no more than what the two of you have had to endure. These can be terrible times. We must just pray that the Lord will bring healing between father and daughter that will allow them to forgive one another . . . and to forgive themselves.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir,’’ said Katie.

  ‘‘I would like to talk to her before we go.’’

  ‘‘She’s upstairs getting ready,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll go get her.’’

  I left the parlor and returned a minute or two later with Aleta.

  ‘‘Aleta,’’ said Katie, ‘‘this is Reverend Hall. He knows your papa.’’

  ‘‘Hello, Aleta,’’ said the minister with a smile as Aleta sat down beside Katie. ‘‘Kathleen and Mayme tell me you would like to go home to your daddy.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir,’’ said Aleta softly.

  ‘‘Kathleen told me what happened to your mother,�
��’ he said. ‘‘I am very sorry. That must have been terrible for you.’’

  Aleta stared down at the floor.

  ‘‘It will be very painful for your father too,’’ Reverend Hall went on. ‘‘He feels bad for the way he used to be. He will need your help, Aleta.’’

  ‘‘My help?’’ she asked, looking up for the first time.

  ‘‘That’s right.’’

  ‘‘How could I . . . help him?’’

  ‘‘By loving him, Aleta. He needs your love to help him overcome his guilt and grief for how he treated you and your mama. Guilt is a terrible burden for a man to bear, Aleta. Only love and forgiveness can give a man the strength to bear up under it. Do you think you can help your daddy? Can you love him?’’

  ‘‘I’ll try, sir.’’

  ‘‘Good. That is all any of us can do. He loves you very much and has missed you. But we will have to tell him about your mother, and he will need as much of our love as we can give him.’’

  Aleta nodded.

  ‘‘Are you ready to go home?’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘Good. Why don’t you go get your things while I have a few last words with Kathleen and Mayme.’’

  Aleta bounded out of the room and up the stairs.

  ‘‘As soon as it is practical,’’ Reverend Hall said when she was gone, glancing toward Katie and then toward me, ‘‘I would like to bring Hank and Aleta out for a visit, perhaps a meal together.’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ said Katie.

  ‘‘I want him to meet you and to know what friends you’ve been to Aleta. And she will need you to continue being her friends. It will be hard for them for a while. She is a growing girl who will need the two of you as much as ever. And, too, I think it will be important for Hank eventually to see his wife’s grave. These things have to be completed in our minds. For full healing to take place in his soul, he will need to see where it happened and make his peace with God about it.’’

  Aleta’s steps sounded again on the stairs.

  ‘‘Thank you both,’’ said Reverend Hall. ‘‘I know you struggled with what to do, but I think everything will work out for the best in the end. You have been true friends to Aleta. I know her father will be grateful.’’

  He rose as Aleta came into the room holding the few things that had come to be hers.