Angels Watching Over Me (Shenandoah Sisters Book #1) (13 page)

‘‘This ain’t my place.’’

‘‘
Please
don’t go.’’

The panic in her voice stabbed at my heart, but I didn’t know what else to say. I turned and walked outside, still holding the loaf of bread. I had to think. Just when I had got my mind made up, all of a sudden I was confused all over again about what to do.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

‘‘Colored girl . . .’’

I turned around. There was Katie standing in the doorway.

‘‘—please . . . come back,’’ she whimpered.

As she spoke I could see her eyes glistening with tears.

‘‘I don’t want you to go away,’’ she said, then hesitated. A funny look came over her face, a more expressive one than I’d yet seen.

‘‘I’m . . . I’m sorry,’’ she added, ‘‘—I forgot your name.’’

‘‘Mayme,’’ I said.

‘‘Please . . . Mayme,’’ she said, ‘‘—I’m afraid. Can’t you stay a little longer with me? I need you to help me. I don’t know what to do.’’

Now it was
my
turn to stand there staring at her. After a while I moved back toward the house. She smiled a kind of nervous half smile. I knew it was her way of thanking me for not leaving.

I smiled back.

Then together we walked into the kitchen.

R
OUTINE AND A
N
EW
B
ED
17

I
STILL KNEW I’D HAVE TO LEAVE SOMETIME.

A girl like Katie
had
to have some friends or kinfolk who would come for her any day. It was a mite curious to me why we hadn’t seen another living soul all this time—no neighbors, nobody. I’d been pretty nervous that somebody’d see me traipsing around so familiar-like inside a big plantation house. But the fact was, until somebody came, Katie had to learn a few things, since eventually I’d have to go.

That same evening I tried to teach her to milk the cows. That was some chore!

Watching her tiptoeing around, trying to keep her feet out of the manure, and then grimacing as she put her hand on one of the cow’s teats like it was going bite her or something, I could hardly keep myself from laughing out loud.

‘‘Ugh!’’ she exclaimed, snatching her hand back.

‘‘Ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of, Miss Katie,’’ I said after I got hold of myself. ‘‘It’s just a cow—ain’t gonna hurt you.’’

‘‘But it feels so . . . funny. And it smells bad in here.’’

‘‘Just the smell of a barn.’’

Finally she sat down on the stool and tried to squeeze out some milk.

‘‘Nothing’s coming out,’’ she said.

‘‘You gotta squeeze hard and pull down at the same time,’’ I said. ‘‘Like this.’’

I showed her how to do it, and a stream of milk hit the bottom of the bucket.

‘‘Now you try it again,’’ I said.

We switched places and she put her hand out and tried it again.

Finally a little dribble trickled out.

‘‘That’s it, Miss Katie. You done good. Now, just keep at it while I go milk the others.’’

When we were done, she’d managed to get the cow’s bag about halfway empty and, I think, felt some satisfaction about it. I doubt she’d ever done anything like it before. She seemed to perk up a bit after that and kept wanting to help from then on.

The next day we got more of the house put back together, making the kitchen and parlor look pretty normal and probably about like they had been. It was the biggest, nicest house I’d ever been in, and it felt good to get it into shape. We also picked up some of the broken things from outside. Luckily, no major damage was done, so that after a couple of days the outside of the house looked presentable too.

Every once in a while I’d catch myself and think,
What in tarnation you doing, Mayme, you fool colored
girl, moving things around and acting like it’s your own
place?

But then I’d take one look at Katie and remember that if I didn’t help her, it didn’t seem like anybody would.

She was able to help a little more and began to talk some. By the third or fourth day, we were sort of finding ourselves a routine—getting up, fixing a fire, milking the cows and collecting the eggs, then having breakfast and cleaning up and planning what we needed to do for that day to have enough to eat for the rest of it.

I usually got up first and made the fire and started with the cows. By and by she’d wander outside to the barn with her boots on, still looking sleepy. Whether she really wanted to help or was still a little afraid to be alone, it didn’t matter to me. She was doing the best she was able, and was starting to earn my respect.

I didn’t mind the work. But it was nice when she tried to help too. Gradually the firewood in the kitchen ran out, so we had to haul more from the woodpile out by the barn. There was plenty to do. The days seemed to go by fast enough.

Every two or three days I’d bake some bread. I finally got the churn going and made some fresh butter from the cream to go on our bread. We drank what milk we could and gave some to the cats and dogs. But until we started making cheese, there was too much to use, and I still had to pour lots of it out.

I was pretty familiar by this time with the whole place and the pantry and kitchen and all the rest. There was plenty to eat for now. But I could see plain enough that even for only two girls like us it wouldn’t last forever. The flour was sure to run out eventually. Of course I didn’t think too much about that on account of I still figured to be gone before long with Katie being taken care of by her own people.

I wasn’t thinking of anything but each day as it came, one at a time. How long I’d stay—I didn’t think about. Another couple of days, maybe three or four. I wasn’t the kind of person who planned my life out. I’d never needed to. I always just did as I was told. This was the first time in my life I had to think ahead about what to do.

For those first few days I kept sleeping on the floor in Katie’s room. But then one night came when we were getting ready for bed, and Katie asked, ‘‘Why don’t you sleep in a bed?’’

I looked at her, puzzled at first.

‘‘ ’Cause there’s only one bed in the room,’’ I said, ‘‘and that’s yours.’’

‘‘I mean one of the other beds.’’

‘‘The floor suits me fine.’’

‘‘But it’s so hard. Why would you want to sleep on the floor? Why don’t you sleep in . . . my brother’s room?’’

I stared at her a moment, not sure I’d heard her right.

‘‘I can’t do that,’’ I finally said.

‘‘Why not?’’ she asked.

‘‘ ’Cause, Miss Katie, I’m colored.’’

The strangest look came over her face, just for an instant, almost like she’d forgotten our skins were different.

‘‘Oh . . .’’ she said, as if my reluctance at last made sense. ‘‘But . . . I don’t think of you as colored,’’ she said. ‘‘And I want you to sleep in a bed. I’m sure you’ll sleep better.’’

‘‘You
want
me to?’’ I said.

She nodded. I hardly even realized at first what a big thing that was, her making a statement like that. She’d made a decision, taken initiative, by saying something she
wanted
me to do. It was pretty amazing when I thought about it. Up till that time I almost didn’t know if she could think for herself at all. I was real glad to see that she could.

‘‘You won’t be afraid in here all by yourself?’’ I said.

‘‘You can come in again if I get afraid.’’

‘‘All right,’’ I said. ‘‘I reckon I can try it.’’

So I did—that same night. It sure enough was a huckleberry above a persimmon to anyplace I’d slept in. It was the softest, nicest bed I’d ever felt.

I didn’t sleep so good at first. All I could think was that I was in a white man’s bed, and if anyone found me I’d be in for it bad. But after another couple of nights, I started to sleep pretty sound.

After that Katie called it my room. I was a little nervous about that. But I didn’t figure there’d be any harm for another few days.

N
EIGHBORLY
C
ALL
18

T
HE NEXT DAY, ABOUT THE MIDDLE OF THE morning, I was on my way back from the chicken coop with some fresh eggs when I heard the dogs start barking. I looked up and saw a white man on a horse coming toward the house along the wagon road that came from the west.

My heart jumped into my throat and I ran for the house. Katie was inside kneading some bread we’d mixed up earlier.

‘‘There’s a man coming, Miss Katie!’’ I called as I hurried through the kitchen. ‘‘Come with me!’’

I didn’t even stop but ran through and up the stairs, with Katie following me, her hands all caked with flour and bits of dough. A minute later we knelt down and peeked over the edge of the window in the direction of the road.

‘‘It’s Mr. Thurston,’’ said Katie after she’d had a look.

‘‘Who’s he?’’ I asked.

‘‘A neighbor. He’s a friend of my daddy’s. He owns a plantation too.’’

‘‘Where?’’

‘‘I don’t know—two or three miles from here I think.’’

I tried to think for a minute. He was almost to the house by now, the three dogs yapping and running around his horse.

‘‘You go down and see what he wants,’’ I said after a few seconds.

‘‘What should I say?’’ asked Katie nervously.

‘‘I don’t know . . . you’ll have to see what he wants.

Is he somebody who can help you?’’

‘‘I . . . I don’t know.’’ Katie’s voice faltered and she looked scared. ‘‘I don’t know what to do—’’

‘‘Shouldn’t you tell him what happened?’’

‘‘I don’t think so—’’

‘‘Who’s your kin?’’ I interrupted again.

‘‘I don’t know . . . Uncle Templeton and Uncle Burchard, I guess.’’

‘‘Do you want to go live with either of them?’’

A look came over her face that said clearly enough what the answer was.

‘‘Then I reckon we gotta talk later about what to do and what’s to become of you,’’ I said. ‘‘But right now you gotta see what he wants.’’

‘‘Mr. Thurston’s a nice man. He wouldn’t do anything to us.’’ I could tell Katie was trying to sound confident, but I wasn’t so sure.

‘‘He might not do anything to you,’’ I told her, ‘‘but he ain’t about to think well of a colored girl living in your house. He’d tell somebody, and then they’d come and—’’

A knock on the door downstairs cut off what I was about to say. Katie’s eyes got big as plates.

‘‘Go on . . . you got to,’’ I said. ‘‘Tell him as little as you can. If he sees me, maybe he’ll think I’m your mama’s house slave. Go on, Miss Katie. He’s gonna start wondering pretty soon.’’

Another knock sounded on the door, a little louder this time.

Slowly Katie got up and walked out of the room toward the stairs. I crept after her and stopped at the landing so I could hear what they said.

I heard the door open.

‘‘Hello, Mr. Thurston,’’ Katie said, her voice shaking a little.

‘‘Good morning, Miss Kathleen,’’ said a man’s voice. It sounded friendly enough. ‘‘I was beginning to think no one was here. Is your mama home?’’

‘‘No, sir. She’s . . . uh, she’s not here.’’

‘‘I didn’t see any of the slaves out anywhere.’’

‘‘They must be out in the fields. Mama saw to everything before she left.’’

‘‘Hmm . . . all right, then. I just came by to see how she was getting on after all that ruckus last week with Bilsby’s bunch. You all doing fine?’’

‘‘Yes, sir.’’

‘‘Well, I heard they caught and killed a few of ’em on the other side of Greens Crossing, though Bilsby got away. Any word from your daddy when he’ll be coming home?’’

‘‘No, sir.’’

‘‘Well, can’t be too much longer, I reckon.—All right, then, Miss Kathleen, you tell your mama I was here and to let me know if she needs anything.’’

‘‘Thank you, Mr. Thurston.’’

I heard the door close. Quickly I went back to the window and peeked out. The man was walking toward his horse, though real slow and looking around every now and then. I couldn’t see his face, but I had the feeling he was turning some things over in his mind about what Katie’d said, as well as maybe wondering why the place didn’t look as tidy as usual. Luckily most of the broken windows were on the other side of the house. But he kept going, got on his horse and rode away.

I heard Katie’s footsteps behind me. I turned around.