Fleetingly, as she saw the truck beginning to slow down, she thought how different it was in the South. Northern people were somehow less approachable. Since she had been in Tennessee, she had been fascinated by the slow drawls of the people. They had smiled more quickly, and this surprised her for some reason. She had heard somewhere, or read, of southern hospitality and had marked it off as simply the remark of one who was proud of his origin and wanted to promote his home country. But there was something to it, she decided, and she waited until the truck stopped and then walked up to the side where the woman stuck her head out. “Are you going far?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Why, it’s rainin’ already and fixin’ to pour something fierce. Get in, dearie.” The woman was in her sixties, Kefira surmised, and by stooping she could see the man was approximately the same age. The truck was old and battered, and the radiator seemed to hiss like a teakettle, but the engine chugged along evenly enough, though somewhat noisily. The woman opened the door, and Kefira tossed her blanket roll in the back and sat down.
“My name is Kefira,” she said.
“Kefira! What a beautiful name! My name is Anna McKinney, and this is my husband, George.”
“I’m pleased to know you, missy,” Mr. McKinney said, nodding. He wore a felt hat pushed back on his head, and his eyes were warm and friendly. “It’s startin’ to come down now. You was fixin’ to get wet.”
“I guess I was. I sure appreciate the ride.”
McKinney urged the truck forward, and it responded with a series of jerks and then maintained a steady pace. Kefira knew that these two were curious about her. She waited for them to ask the inevitable question, What’s a young girl like you doing hitchhiking on the road? And finally it came.
“Are you a long way from your home, Kefira?” Mrs. McKinney asked.
“I don’t really have a home anymore, ma’am. I come from the North. It’s so bitter cold up there that I wanted to head south. I’m going all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. I want to see the beaches there and the warm water.”
“Why, I been down that way myself. Down to Pensacola, Florida.” George McKinney nodded. “You’ll get warm there. Not right now, of course, but in spring and summer you’ll heat up. I got sunburned until I looked like a boiled lobster.”
Suddenly Kefira began to cough. She yanked a limp handkerchief out of her side pocket and buried her face. The coughing struck her hard for a moment, but finally she caught her breath and cleared her throat.
“Why, dearie, you got a bad cold there!”
“I guess I do have a little cold.”
“You don’t need to be out in weather like this.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right. I’m very strong. It’s only a cold.”
The rain began beating down, making a pinging noise on the radiator and the hood and the top of the truck. Anna McKinney cast covert glances at the young woman, and something seemed to pass between her and her husband. She asked no more questions, but when the car turned down a side road, Kefira said, “Oh, you can let me out here.”
“You can’t get out in this. It’s raining buckets,” the older woman said. “You can stay at our house until the rain quits.”
“Maybe you’d let me work. I’m very strong, and I can do anything.”
“Why, of course, there’s always plenty to do at our place,” Mrs. McKinney said cheerfully.
Kefira breathed a deep sigh of relief, for she was tired. Life on the road was harder than she had dreamed, and she had slept little since leaving the train. The nagging cough had kept her awake, and now as the car pulled in front of a rambling house painted a rather startling shade of green, she was relieved to know that at least for a while she had to make no decisions at all.
“You come on inside, dearie.”
Glad enough to heed Mrs. McKinney’s instruction, she followed the woman in. The house was warm, and Kefira looked around as she pulled off her cap and ran her hand through her damp hair. The house was cheerful looking, with gleaming oak and walnut furniture, and yellow-and-white wallpaper that added a homey touch. She had yanked her bedroll out of the truck and now stood there holding it.
“Why don’t you use one of our spare rooms,” Mrs. McKinney said. “You might want to lie down and rest a bit while I fix something to eat.”
“Oh no, ma’am, I want to work!”
“Well, come along. You’ll want to put on some dry clothes anyway. You’re soaked through and through.”
Kefira was glad enough to do this. She followed the woman to a room off of the hallway, and Mrs. McKinney waved her hand, saying, “This was our daughter Sara’s room. She’s married now. You can change clothes, then come out, and we’ll see what we can find to eat.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. McKinney.”
As soon as the door was closed, Kefira unrolled her bedroll. She had learned to keep her clothes dry by wrapping them in oilcloth, and she quickly shucked off her shoes and skimmed out of her coat, shirt, and men’s trousers. She then dried herself off as well as she could. The clean clothes felt good against her skin, and when she was dressed, she went out into the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”
“I’m just going to heat up leftovers. We had company last night, and I always cook too much, and the fire’s still hot in the stove. You sit right there.”
“I’d really rather work, ma’am.”
“We’ll find something for you to do later. Do you like hot tea?”
“Why, yes I do.”
“Let me fix you some. It’s my own special blend.” Mrs. McKinney stared at her. “As a matter of fact, with that cough you’ve got, I’d better fix you up some of my special hot toddy.”
Five minutes later Kefira was sipping Mrs. McKinney’s “special hot toddy.” She did not know the contents of it, but it bit at her throat. She could taste lemon and spices and something stronger. She gasped but grinned and said, “I’ve never tasted anything like this.”
George McKinney had come clomping in with a load of firewood. He laughed and said, “That special toddy will set you free, missy. I think it’d raise Lazarus.”
“Don’t you be sacrilegious, George!”
“Why, I’m not!” George came over and said, “Let me have one of those toddies.” There was a certain mischievousness in the man that Kefira spotted at once.
“You’re not getting any toddy because you’re not sick! Here, you help me set the table.”
“I’ll do that.” Kefira got up, and despite Mrs. McKinney’s protests, she helped set the table.
“We’ve just got a few leftovers here,” Mrs. McKinney said, “but we’ll make out.”
Anna McKinney’s idea of a “few leftovers” was pork chops, thick chunks of round steak, black-eyed peas, mashed potatoes, and a strange item called pickled okra that Kefira had never heard of before. The food was heated until it was steaming hot, and when Kefira sat down without preamble, the other two bowed their heads, and Mr. McKinney said firmly, “Lord, everything we have comes from you. This food comes from you, and we thank you for it. We ask you especially, Lord, to bless this our guest, Miss Kefira. Watch over her, Lord, and keep her safe. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Kefira tried to eat daintily, but she was famished. She sampled the pickled okra and blinked with shock.
“It’s got a little of my special peppers in there,” Mrs. McKinney said, “but in weather like this it tastes good. Nothin’ like spicy pickled okra to set a body up when the weather’s turnin’ dicey.”
Kefira ate until she was ashamed of herself, and then Mrs. McKinney brought out a plate covered with a cloth. She whipped off the cloth and said, “I didn’t do too good with this apple pie, but maybe you’d like to try it.”
Kefira ate a generous slice of the pie and then took a cup of the scalding hot coffee. “I’ve never had as good a meal in my whole life as this, Mrs. McKinney,” she said. “I’m ashamed for eating so much. You must let me work to pay for it before I leave.”
George McKinney stared out the window. Rain was coming down in sheets now, and he shook his head. “It looks like when the flood came and the ark got lifted up.” He turned back and nodded firmly. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere in that downpour, Miss Kefira. You’d look like a drowned rat.”
“You look tired, dear. Why don’t you go take a hot bath and then lie down in Sara’s room, cover up, and just rest.”
“Thank you,” Kefira whispered, “I’d like that.” She suppressed a cough, but the older couple caught it.
“You come along, now. I’ll show you where the towels are. We’ll heat some water, and George can carry it up. One of these days we’re going to get us a fancy hot-water tank, but right now we’ll heat it on the stove.”
Kefira was as tired as she had ever been in her life. The huge meal had stultified her, and she went without argument to the bathroom, where she was handed a big fluffy towel and a washcloth, and Mrs. McKinney said, “I made this soap myself. It’s better than any store-bought, I say.”
Kefira took the jar and touched the creamy soap. “Mmm, it smells so good!”
“I always put somethin’ sweet smellin’ in it. Lilac water, I think this is. George will pour your hot water pretty soon. Then you lie down and sleep as long as you want. You look so peaked. You probably ought to sleep all afternoon and all night.”
“Oh, I won’t do that!”
Kefira went back to the bedroom and looked at the sodden clothes. They were dirty and grimy, and she thought, I bet they wouldn’t mind if I washed my clothes, but I’ll do that after I take a nap.
Ten minutes later she was soaking in the hot tub and had never felt such luxury in all of her life. George had made several trips up the stairs to fill the tub to the brim for her. The homemade soap was like nothing she had ever touched before, and she lathered freely, reveling in the feeling of cleanness. She actually fell asleep in the tub, awoke with a start, then laughed at herself. She got out, dried herself off, and slipped into the soft pajamas and terrycloth robe Mrs. McKinney had loaned her, and then went down to the room. Mrs. McKinney had turned back the covers, and laying the robe aside, Kefira got in between the sheets. They also had a fresh lilac smell, and when she lay back, she gasped at the softness of the bed. She had never felt a mattress like this. She sank down deep into it until she felt as though it had swallowed her. The pillow was also soft and yielding and molded itself around her head. She had time to see that the quilt over her was sewn into a fantastic pattern of colors—reds, yellows, blues—but she knew no more, for she sank into a deep, untroubled, dreamless sleep.
****
When she awoke, Kefira was startled to see morning sunlight streaming into the window. She had slept all night! The storm had passed and the day promised to be a beautiful one. She was even more startled to see piled on top of the dresser all of her clothes—laundered and neatly ironed. Mrs. McKinney must have been up half the night scrubbing and drying her grimy, mud-splattered clothes.
Coming out of the room fully dressed in her clean clothes, Kefira caught the smell of meat cooking and of biscuits baking. She entered the kitchen, and when Mrs. McKinney turned to her and greeted her warmly, Kefira shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe I slept all afternoon and all night! When I woke up I didn’t know where I was.”
“Well, you needed the sleep, dear.” Mrs. McKinney was standing before the stove with a pan of fresh biscuits she had just taken out of the oven. “Just in time for breakfast. George,” she called out, “come and eat!”
Mr. McKinney came into the kitchen and nodded. “Good mornin’, lady. You got your beauty sleep, I take it.”
“I really am embarrassed. I ate like a hog and slept the clock around.”
“Reckon you needed it,” McKinney said kindly. “Have a seat there.”
Kefira wanted to help, but Anna McKinney waved her aside. “It’s all ready. Just sit.”
Once again George bowed his head, thanked God for the food, then, in a way that warmed Kefira’s heart, called her name and asked a blessing on her. Kefira protested at the plate that was put before her containing three eggs and biscuits almost as big around as a saucer. “I can’t eat all this!”
“Do the best you can. That’s all a mule can do.” McKinney grinned. “And try some of these grits.”
“Grits? What are grits?”
“Oh, don’t ask. Just eat ’em. Put some butter and a little salt on ’em. You’ll like ’em.”
Kefira did indeed like the grits, as she liked everything else. She had a queer feeling of safety as she sat there with the McKinneys. The two talked about the little things that made up their lives, and she found herself wondering if there were many people like this in the South. She suspected there were.
“Do you know anybody down on the coast, dearie?” Mrs. McKinney asked.
“No, but I’ll be able to get work there, I hope, and I’ll make friends.”
“You come from New York?” George asked curiously.
“Yes, sir. I’ve lived there all my life.”
“What’s it like there? I’ve seen pictures and seen it in the movies, and I think it’d scare me to death to live in a big place like that.”
Kefira began to tell them about New York City. The two sat there listening intently and asking questions. Anna asked, “What kind of a church do you go to there in New York? Is it big or little? We go to a little church ourselves.”
Kefira hesitated. “Well, actually, Mrs. McKinney, I don’t go to a church. I go to a synagogue, or a temple as it’s called sometimes.”
“Oh, are you a Jew, then?” George asked, leaning forward, his eyes bright with interest.
“Yes, I am.” Kefira braced herself. She had unpleasant memories connected with her Jewishness. She did not know what to expect, but all she saw in the simple faces of the two before her was interest. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a real Jewish person before,” George said simply.
“You should come to New York. You would meet plenty of Jewish people there.”
“What’s it like in a temple? I mean, I don’t want to be nosy, but we don’t know anything about the way you people worship.”
Kefira told the couple about the services in the synagogue. They listened avidly, and then Kefira realized with a start that they had been talking for almost an hour, and she laughed awkwardly. “Please, ma’am, let me do some work for you. You’ve done so much for me.”
“Well, all right, if you insist. You can help me make bread.”
“I’ve never done that before, but just show me what to do.”
“You’ve never made bread?”
“In New York, there’s a bakery on just about every corner. I never needed to make it myself.”
Mrs. McKinney mixed up the ingredients, then showed Kefira how to knead the large lump of dough. Then she set the bowl of dough in the warm oven to rise.
“We’ll make two loaves and should have plenty left for some nice rolls for dinner.”
Kefira quickly learned how to handle the sticky dough and to shape the rolls. The task was simple and pleasant, and the two women listened to the radio while they worked. Finally, after the loaves and rolls were in their pans, Kefira washed the bowl and utensils and wiped down the table while Mrs. McKinney covered the pans with clean dish towels. Kefira asked, “What will you do with them now?”
“We’ll just let them rise once more and then I’ll bake them. Thanks for your help, dearie.”
Kefira looked out the window and saw George splitting wood with an ax and said, “You’ve been so kind to me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” She began to cough again, and this time the violence of it shook her.
“You’d better have some more of my special toddy. Are you troubled a lot with your lungs?”
“No. I did get wet a few days ago, though, and didn’t get dried out quick enough. I expect it’s just going into a chest cold.”
Anna shook her head. “I think we’d better doctor you up a bit.”
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“No, I’ll have to be going soon. The rain has stopped now. I’d like to work some more to make up for what I’ve eaten, though.”
“Oh, don’t be foolish, child! That was nothing.”
Suddenly the older woman turned and put her eyes on Kefira. “You mind if I ask you a real personal question?”
“Why … of course not.”
“Have you ever read any in the Bible?”
“Your Bible? The Christian Bible? No, I haven’t.”
“But you’ve heard of Jesus.”
Instantly Kefira grew cautious. “I’ve heard of Him, yes, especially around Christmastime and Easter.”
“What do you think of Him? I just can’t understand what people think of Jesus who don’t know much about Him. My daddy was a Methodist preacher, and all I ever knew was about Jesus. I was converted when I was seven years old, and I’ve served the Lord ever since.”
Actually Kefira did not want to discuss Jesus, and her discomfort must have shown on her face.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to me. I don’t mean any harm,” Anna said quickly. She changed the subject and Kefira was glad.
When George came in, Kefira asked, “Is there anything I can do outside, any yard work, Mr. McKinney?”
“Why, bless you, girl, not a thing. But it looks like it’s cloudin’ up again and is goin’ to rain a bit more. Hadn’t you better wait it out here? We’d be glad to have you.”
“Thank you, but I need to be heading south.”
Both tried to persuade Kefira to stay, but she was determined. The McKinneys also insisted on loading her down with what food she could carry. Kefira did not offer them what little money she had, for she knew that would not be right. Finally she was ready to go. “Good-bye,” she said simply. She wanted to do more, and finally she came over and gave her hand first to Anna and then to George. “You’ve been so good to me. I’ll never forget you.”
“We’ll be praying for you, Kefira,” Anna said simply. She handed the girl a small book and added, “I’d like for you to have this New Testament. I’ve about wore it out. You might like to look into it.”
Beloved Enemy, The (House of Winslow Book #30) Page 11