Authors: Michael Phillips
Never Too Late (15 page)
“You think that'd be easier than starting with a new place?”
“Seems like it to me. I don't much like the idea of my little girl having to live in a slave cabin again. And not that I wouldn't like them to have a big brand new place one day, like we talked about before, out past the barn. But this seems like the easiest to make a start with. Then after they begin having a family, we can make plans for something larger. We'll ask Henry. But either way, we could pay him to work on it when he's not at the livery and to watch over the thing as we go. He knows how to do most anything. I never built a house before. Seems like we ought to start out with something we can handle.”
“I haven't either. That's a good idea. Henry'll know what to do.”
Just then I walked into the kitchen. Papa and Uncle Ward immediately stopped talking
.
“What were you two talking about?” I asked
.
“Nothing, little girl,” said Papa with a grin
.
“Papa!” I said, “I'm twenty years old. When are you going to stop calling me a little girl?”
“When you learn to mind your own business!” he said with a mischievous wink
.
I went about what I was doing, but I always knew from that look on his face when he'd been talking about me and suspected that was the reason for it this time too
.
He was right about Jeremiah and me. Jeremiah was Henry's son and he'd asked me to marry him and I'd said yes. But we were waiting until it was a little safer. A lot of things had happened recently that showed how dangerous things were after the war. Some folks in the community weren't any too pleased with what had been going on at Rosewood, with whites and blacks mixing together. There'd been threats and they'd tried to kill Jeremiah and had killed Emma's boy William. So the danger was real enough and that's why we were waiting
.
But Papa and Uncle Ward didn't wait. They spoke to Henry about starting to work on one of the cabins like they'd talked about. And after making plans and deciding what to do, they got to work on it
.
One day after lunch a couple of weeks later, when Josepha had just finished washing up, she heard hammering in the direction of what used to be the slave village. She stepped to the kitchen door and peered out. All she could see was the outline of a man on a roof against the light of the sun. Slowly and with some huffing and puffing she crossed the yard and walked down to the cabins.
“Henry Patterson, whatchu doin' up dere?” she said, reaching the spot and glancing up, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“I's tearin' off dis ol' rotten roof,” replied Henry. “Didn't dey tell you?”
“Dey don't tell me nuthin' roun' here.”
Henry laughed. “You know more ob what's goin' on roun' here den you let on.”
“Whatchu know 'bout dat?”
“I gots me two eyes,” he said with a grin. “I kin see fo myself. You like ter pretend dat you don't know what you knows well enuff.”
“Well, I swan!” exclaimed Josepha in a huff.
Henry chuckled at her seeming outrage.
“You know's I's right,” he said.
“I don't know no such thing! An' you still ain't answered my questionâwhatchu doin' up dere?”
“An' I done tol' you dat I's tearin' off dis ol' roof.”
“But
why's
what I want ter know.”
“'Cause we's gwine build on to dis place an' make a right fine little house outta it.”
“What fo?”
“Fo Jeremiah an' Mayme is what I figger, though Mister Templeton didn't say so in so many words. An' you can't tell me you din't know all 'bout it.”
“Well . . . maybe I did, but maybe I jes' wanted ter see fo mysel',” said Josepha. She turned and walked back toward the house.
Henry watched her go, still grinning to himself, then returned to his work.
Forty minutes later he glanced up to see Josepha walking toward him again. This time she was carrying something.
She came close to the cabin and set down a basket covered with a red-checkered cloth.
“Dere's you some bread an' coffee ef you gits hungry,” she said up to him, then turned and made her way back again.
Henry watched her go, smiling to himself. He kept working for another five or ten minutes, then climbed down the ladder to investigate. What he found under the cloth was enough food and drink for three men!
He whistled lightly under his breath.
“My, oh my!” he said, chuckling. “Dat's some kind er feast fo an ol' colored boy! What did I do ter deserve dis?”
But it was just about the time of day when a man's stomach begins talking to him. So Henry sat down without any more questions. After all, he thought to himself, he knew what pride Josepha took in what came out of her kitchen.
He didn't want to hurt her feelings!
E
XTRA
H
ELPER
22
T
he weather remained warm and Henry's work on the cabin continued every day he had off from the livery, which turned out to be oftener than he might have thought. Henry hadn't exactly said it directly, but he had the feeling that his boss was being pressured to get rid of him because he was colored
.
Papa and Uncle Ward weren't saying why they were fixing up the cabin. I know they didn't want Jeremiah and me to feel funny or to rush into getting married before we were ready. But after what Papa had said when I'd asked what they were talking about, and from the expression on his face, I suspected the reason. Jeremiah and I talked about it sometimes, what it would be like after we were married. But something kept making us both feel like the time still wasn't quite right. It was like we were waiting for something . . . but we didn't know what
.
Henry always ate lunch with everyone else when he was working at Rosewood. But after that first day,
Josepha lost no opportunity to take coffee or lemonade and bread or cake or biscuits down to him. Sometimes she went two or three times, and gradually stayed longer and longer. When dinner and supper came, Henry never had any appetite left after all the snacks through the day!
“Josepha,” Henry called down one morning when she appeared with the basket that he'd begun to expect almost like clockwork, “I's mighty glad ter see you. Set dat basket down an' gib me a hand wif dat board.”
Josepha did as Henry had asked, then looked up to where he sat straddling the open beams of the roof.
“What you want me ter do?” she asked.
“Grab dat plank dere, dat's leanin' against da wall. See ef you kin scoot it up off da groun' enuff fo me ter git hold ob it.”
Josepha walked over, took hold of the board as low down as she could stoop, and tried to lift it.
“It's heavy!”
“I ain't surprised,” said Henry. “Ef you kin jes' git it up two or three feet off da groun' . . .”
She strained with the board a little harder.
“Dat's it!” cried Henry.
He leaned toward the top end as Josepha inched it a little higher off the ground.
“I almost got it!” he called down. “Jes' a hair more . . .”
Henry reached and managed to grasp the end.
“Now . . . one mo shove on yer end wiff me pullin'â”
The plank slid up another several feet.
“Dat's goodâI got it!” cried Henry.
Josepha let go and stood back. At last Henry was able to swing the board up and leverage it enough to slide it the rest of the way toward him. In another minute he had it up on the roof and in place.
“Dat wuz good . . . thanks, Josepha!” he called down. “You saved me havin' ter go down an' back up dat ladder.”
“Well, now you kin come down anyways an' hab some er dis bread an' lemonade I brung.”
“Maybe I'll do dat all right . . . jes' let me git a coupler nails in dis board ter hold it down.”
Three minutes later Henry scrambled to the ground. He sat on the cabin steps where Josepha had set out the things she had brought almost like a picnic.
“Why dis looks right fine!” said Henry.
Josepha handed him a tall glass of lemonade.
Henry downed nearly half the contents in a single gulp, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Dat hits da spot!” he said with a satisfied sigh. “I didn't know how thirsty I wuz.”
“You really think dat dis house be fo Mayme an' Jeremiah?” asked Josepha.
“Like I said, I don't know fo sho, but dat's what I's thinkin'.”
“How you know how ter do dis, build a house an' put on a roof an' walls?” said Josepha as she poured out another glass of lemonade, and then gave Henry a sandwich.
Henry laughed. “A man picks up things as he goes alongâmostly by watchin' I reckon. How you know how ter cook?”
“I reckon you's rightâI just picked it up. I always liked everythin' 'bout foodâfixin' it . . . an' eatin' it,” she added with a laugh, patting her belly. “An' it always seemed like da kitchen wuz da livliest place in da house. Even when I wuz jes' a girl I liked bein' in da kitchen. But den by an' by I reckon I sort ob discovered dat I had a knack wiff foodâleast dat's what da white men said when dey ate my food, an' by an' by I figgered da kitchen wuz my way er stayin' outta da fields.”
“You gots a way wiff food, all right!” said Henry. “An' maybe it's somethin' like dat fo a man. A boy sees growed men doin' things an' makin' things, an' ter him it's like da kitchen wuz fo you, an' a boy wants ter be aroun' men who's doin' an' makin' an' fixin' an' buildin'. An' when you's a slave you git told ter do things an' you figger out how ter do dem. One time I wuz tol' ter take some water ter a man puttin' a roof on one ob da slave cabins where I lived on da Mississippi. I muster been five or six. I watched him a spell an' pretty soon I wuz up on a ladder handin' him tools an' nails an' watchin' what he wuz doin'. Dat's how you learn anythin', I reckonâwatchin', den tryin' it fo yo'self.”