Read Miss Katie's Rosewood Online
Authors: Michael Phillips
Tags: #FIC042030, #FIC042000, #FIC026000
Miss Katie's Rosewood (32 page)
Everyone was quiet after Katie and Mayme left the parlor.
After a bit, Rob said, “You know, for what it's worth, I remember something my father always used to teach us when we were young when trying to figure out what to do. He said that there were four things to do. You talk about it with the others who are involved. You pray and ask God what He wants you to do. You look to see if something in the Bible offers any direction. Then you wait for circumstances to indicate what step you should make. He said that God will always speak eventually through your mind, heart, or circumstances to show what He wants you to do.”
“That's good advice, Paxton,” said Ward.
“It seems to me,” Rob went on, “that you're doing all you can and now you just have to pray and wait to see what He will do through the circumstances that develop.”
“Well, young Paxton,” Templeton said, “it looks like we need to do just what you were talking aboutâask God what He wants us to do and try to figure out what that is.”
“Then why don't we ask Him right now?” said Rob.
Templeton and Ward glanced at each other, but Rob had already bowed his head and begun to pray.
“Our Father,” he said, “these dear people are stuck in a difficult situation and they need your help. They need to know what you want them to do. I pray that you will speak to them through the circumstances that come in the next days and weeks. Whatever those circumstances are, I pray that you
will make your way for them plain.”
The room was quiet a moment. Then Henry's voice broke through the silence.
“Amen, Lord,” he said. “We's be needin' a word from you an' we's needin' it right quick, Lord.”
Then Templeton prayed, and he told Mayme later that it was the first time he had ever prayed out loud in front of other people.
“It's like they say, Lord,” he said. “We don't know what we're supposed to do. So if you don't mind, we're asking you to show us. If you tell us what to do, we'll do our best to do it.”
A few quiet
Amens
came from around the rest of the room.
F
INAL
D
ETERMINATION
52
K
atie was more determined now than ever to see the harvest in and sell it somewhere
.
I woke up early the next morning and went to the window. I had a feeling I knew what I would see
.
I was right. There was Katie in the distance already in the field we had started three days before, working her way down a long solitary row of cotton all by herself. I had seen it before when Rosewood was threatened. Katie would do everything she was physically capable of to save her beloved home, single-handedly if she had to
.
Then I saw Rob walk out of Jeremiah's cabin. He walked slowly toward her
.
They embraced and stood a moment in each other's arms. Then they stepped back, Katie handed Rob a second satchel, and he took up on the row beside her
.
I wondered if even Katie's determination would be enough this time. Whatever happened, it would happen to all of us together
.
I got dressed, pulled on my boots, and went downstairs and outside to join them. Jeremiah had already followed Rob out. He came toward me and gave me a
hug and smiled sadly. There wasn't much to say. Then we picked up our satchels from where we had left them the night before, and got to work too
.
One by one the others came out too, until everyone was working but Josepha, who was in the big house making coffee and breakfast
.
But nobody was talking. Here Katie and I were with Rob and Jeremiah with us, and both of us were engaged to be married to men we loved, but we were all miserable! This wasn't how it was supposed to be
.
The rest of the week was much the same. The cotton was piling up in the barn, we had about a third of the fields picked and packed and ready to sell. We knew the other plantation owners were starting to sell their crops. Mr. Thurston had stopped by once and said that the price wasn't as bad as he'd thought and that Mr. Watson was giving the growers a good return. I knew we had enough packed in the barn already to probably pay the back taxes. But Papa and Uncle Ward said nothing about trying to sell. We knew they didn't know what to do
.
We just kept picking . . . and hoping
.
A couple times men rode by in the distance, pausing and watching us briefly
.
“Who was that?” I asked Papa once
.
“I can't be sure, Mary Ann,” he said. “I think it might have been Dwight Steeves.”
One other time I thought I saw Sheriff Jenkins. We all pretended not to notice. But one time we knew for sure that the man watching was William McSimmons. None of us had heard much about him since Micah and Uncle Ward and Papa had confronted him
.
But we knew he and the others were watching us and waiting to see what we were going to do
.
One night I woke up in the dead of night. I thought
I'd heard a noise. I got out of bed and crept to the window. I saw the light of a lantern down in the yard below. It had been a hot day and my window was open
.
Uncle Ward was walking back from the barn with a lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other. Papa had just left the house and was going out to meet him
.
Uncle Ward handed him the lantern and the rifle
.
“Any trouble?” said Papa
.
“No . . . everything's quiet.”
“All right,” said Papa. “Get some sleep and I'll take it from here.”
I stole back to my bed and lay down. They were keeping watch all night! Did they really think someone was going to come steal our cotton?
Or worse!
T
HE
W
ARNING
53
A
RIDER GALLOPED THROUGH THE NIGHT
.
Luckily there was enough of a moon for his horse to see its way along the deserted dirt road. He could not slow down or it would be too late. Many lives, and his own future too, could depend on his getting there in time.
Something had awakened him shortly after midnight. Suddenly he was awake in his bed, with blackness and silence around him.
This was no time for sane men to be awake. Yet some inner sense told him that he ought to get up and have a look around. He crawled out of bed, pulled on his trousers and boots, picked up the candle holder, and went downstairs.
The warnings that had been given him were threatening enough. But had he misjudged their intentions?
A hurried walk throughout the premises, however, revealed nothing. The whole town was quiet except for the occasional bark of a dog. He tried to tell himself that he was letting his imagination run away with him.
He turned and made his way back toward his house.
Suddenly a noise disturbed the quiet . . . booted feet clumped along the street half a block away.
Quickly he blew out the candle and crept back against the wall of his warehouse.
“. . . said they'd meet us at one . . .” whispered one of the men as they drew closer.
Cautiously he slipped out to follow them, straining to listen to the subdued conversation ahead of him.
“. . . why tonight?”
“. . . been given enough warnings . . . time for action . . .”
From somewhere a third man joined them. Under his arm he carried something white.
“. . . the horses?”
“McSimmons is bringing enough from his place. Didn't want to wake up the whole town.”
“. . . meet on the north end of town.”
“. . . Sam said . . .”
“. . . same thing I heard . . . through fooling around . . .”
“. . . blood spilled tonight . . . before morning . . .”
“. . . that plantation house . . . smoldering cinders . . .”
The listener had heard enough. He hurriedly retraced his steps to his own place. He knew well enough what plantation house they were talking about. Whether he could get there in time to save it and prevent bloodshed, he didn't know.
Five minutes later he was saddling his own horse in the darkness. He would leave town by the southern road, then circle back around, hoping the others wouldn't hear him. He would probably have a forty-minute lead on them, maybe an hour at best.
How to wake his friends without getting his head blown off was a question he had not considered until he neared his destination.
He rode into the yard between the house and barn, then pulled out his rifle and fired two quick shots into the air.
Amid the howls of a couple dogs and a few whinnies and bellows from the barn, lanterns were lit and yells of alarm sounded throughout the house.
“Inside there,” he called up toward the second-floor windows, where the reflection of a few lights had appeared. “Hey, wake up . . . it's Herb Watson! Templeton . . . Ward . . . I've got to talk to you!”
A window slid open. Ward Daniels' face appeared along with the barrel of a rifle.
“Who's there?” he called down.
“Daniels . . . it's Herb Watson!” shouted their visitor. “Get down here! They're coming . . . they're coming tonight!”
Ward pulled his head back inside and shut the window. Already Templeton was walking out of the barn, where he had fallen asleep on his watch. A minute later both brothers appeared on the front porch, Templeton carrying a lantern, Ward with his rifle still in hand.
“What's it all about, Herb?” asked Templeton.
“I had to get you out of your bedsâthere's no time to lose . . . they're coming. They're on the way. We've got to act fast. You've got to get out of here, all of you.”
“You think it's that serious?” asked Ward.
“I overheard them. They're determined to kill someone tonight, and burn this place to the ground. They said that blood would be spilled and your house in cinders before morning.”