Never Too Late (20 page)

“Uh . . . uh, no,” he said, “dat's da truf—dere ain't no goin' back.”

“So what 'bout you,” said Josepha. “You wouldn't hab asked a question like dat unless you'd had such notions. So how wuz it dat you thought 'bout havin' yo own house? Dat muster been when you wuz married.”

“No, not den,” said Henry. “We wuz slaves den too, an' freedom wuz too far off er thing ter see back in dose days. But den when I got my freedom, an' den when Mister Lincoln freed all ob us, dat's when I began ter dream ob findin' Jeremiah's mama an' maybe, jes' maybe gittin' enuff money saved ter hab a house er my own. My own papa dreamed 'bout it, but den I thought dat maybe I cud do it. Really do it. I reckon dat's every man's dream. But den when I foun' out she wuz dead . . . it didn't seem ter matter much no more after dat.”

Again it was quiet. Henry looked down at the board beneath his hand and slowly began sanding again, though his thoughts were far away.

“I's sorry 'bout yo wife, Henry,” said Josepha after a while. “Must be mighty hard ter love someone an' lose 'em like dat.”

Henry nodded. “But like you say, dere's no goin' back. All we kin do is look ahead. Life only goes one direction, don't it—dat's forward.”

Josepha took in his words thoughtfully, then turned and began making her way back to the house. Henry watched
her go in silence. They were both full of many thoughts, but for the present neither had anything more to say.

That night Josepha lay awake thinking.

Talking with Henry over the last few weeks, gradually telling him her story, and especially today's talk, sent Josepha's mind back to the past more than it had in years.

Would Mose ever really have loved her . . . as a woman? Or had it only been a friendship of childhood and youth?

She would never know. The years had quickly slipped by, and now . . .

She shook from her mind thoughts of what might have been. Choices were made for her, and then she had made her choices through the years too. It was too late for all that, too late to turn back, too late for regrets. Her life was what it was. No more, no less. Just like she had said to Henry, there was no going back.

Henry also lay reflecting on his talk with Josepha. But whereas Josepha was thinking about what had
never
been and what was too late for her to know, Henry was thinking about what had been and what he
had
known. He thought of his papa and mama, but especially about Jeremiah's mother, Lacina. Not a day went by that he did not think of her. He had lost his life's only love and had never expected to love another.

But these last few weeks he had found himself genuine enjoying the company of a woman his own age again. Everyone else was wonderful to him. Templeton and Ward had become good friends. But there was something
different about laughing and talking and sharing with a woman of your own kind, your own background, who had been through some of the same kinds of things and was at the same stage on life's journey. It wasn't the kind of friendship you could have with another man, or that a black man could have with a white man.

He hoped Lacina didn't mind. He was sure she would understand.

Henry continued to lay awake thinking about the day recently past. He had not expected it, not suspected how slowly and invisibly a quiet affection for the dear lady had snuck up on him.

He smiled to himself as he thought of her. She was different than Lacina. They were as different as two ladies could be. But he wouldn't want them to be the same.

Was
it too late, he wondered—too late for the kinds of strange sensations he felt stirring within him for the first time in more than twenty years?

Or was it ever too late for love?

T
ALK
A
BOUT
T
HE
P
AST

28

“. . . doing in California, Uncle Ward?” Katie had just asked.

“Trying to find gold, little girl—what else?”

“And you did too!” laughed Katie. “But why did you go to California in the first place? Was it only for the gold?”

It was silent a moment.

“I don't know. I was always sort of like the black sheep of the family,” said Ward after a bit.

“I thought that honor was reserved for me!” laughed Templeton.

“Maybe we both were,” said Uncle Ward. “The two girls—your mama and Nelda—did what they were told and we two boys were always in trouble for something. Boy, Pa could black our bottoms with his belt and with that paddle of his.”

“That thing stung like the devil!” said Templeton.

“But God bless him,” said Ward, “he knew right from wrong and was determined to get the difference through our thick skulls. But you were smooth. You could talk your way out of anything.”

“Not with Pa!” laughed Templeton. “He always saw through me.”

“Yeah, but with everyone else.”

“Did it bother you?” asked Templeton.

Ward seemed to think a minute.

“I don't reckon I ever thought about it much,” he said. “I don't think I blamed you about it. That's just the way you were. I knew you meant me no harm. But it did rile me sometimes that everyone else—everyone but Pa, that is—couldn't see past it like I could and that things fell on me instead.”

Templeton chuckled a little sadly.

“I am sorry about that, Ward,” he said. “I was just a conniving little kid who didn't know any better. I suppose I learned early that I could fast-talk my way through most things with a smile or two, and I never stopped to think about what might be happening to you.”

He paused.

“Who am I trying to kid?” he went on. “I did know better. I knew it was wrong. But when you're young you don't see that wrong really is wrong.”

“Yeah, well . . . that was a long time ago. No hard feelings. You were my brother and best friend. Life was always fun with you, but by the time we were sixteen, eighteen, something like that, I figured I'd be better off maybe keeping my distance from you. Maybe I just wanted to be my own man, I don't know. I reckon I'd felt a mite overshadowed by you and maybe I needed to know who Ward Daniels was all by himself.”

“So what did you do, Uncle Ward?” asked Katie.

“I left home and bounced around on what jobs I could get for a few years—”

He stopped. “It was hard on Ma and Pa, wasn't it?” he asked, turning to his brother.

“Your leaving . . . yeah, it was,” replied Templeton. “Ma cried and cried after you left. Pa was just quiet. Back then I always used to think those silent spells of his meant that he was mad. I hated it when he got quiet. Later I realized that he was just hurting inside. He carried his love deep. That was Pa.”

“He cared about us more than we ever knew.”

“Yep, you're right about that. But we were just boys. We couldn't see it until it was too late and he was gone.”

“Where did you go, Uncle Ward?” asked Katie.

“I bounced around from here to there—St. Louis, Chicago, Memphis. If you went west, you could always find work of some kind—pounding nails, digging ditches. The country was spreading west and there was plenty to do. Of course, back in those days St. Louis was a western frontier town. Things have changed since then! I just worked enough to keep traveling about. I saw a lot of country, but now I regret I didn't keep in closer touch. I never wrote home—they never had any idea where I was. By the time I finally went back, Pa was gone.”

He sighed and the room got real quiet.

“I miss him, you know, Templeton,” said Ward at length. “We thought he was pretty hard on us, but he really wasn't. He just wanted us to learn to keep our mouths shut and show respect. He was a good man. Actually, he was a good friend to us when we were growing up. Remember how we used to laugh and play with him? But . . . after I left I never saw him again. I never knew what we had till it was too late. By then Ma was older and I'd hurt her so much by the way I just left without a word that we could never really patch it up. I'm not saying she didn't forgive me. Knowing Ma, I'm sure she did. But I had hurt her too deep. She had the two girls, and it was like we split into two families—the girls and the boys. You ever think of that, Templeton?”

“Can't say I did. But now that you say it like that, it's kind of how it was, all right.”

“Then the news of the gold hit and I was on my way within a week. That was just the kind of adventure I'd been
looking for! Remember how I talked you into going with me, Templeton?”

Templeton laughed. “How could I forget? I thought I would never forgive you during those months on the trail! Indians, sun, rain, draught, snakes . . . weeks and weeks in the saddle! I wasn't cut out for that kind of thing. It wasn't my idea of a good life. But once we got to California . . . San Francisco was something in those days, wasn't it, Ward?”

“A wide-open raucous place!” laughed Ward. “I wonder what it's like now. Maybe we ought to go back sometime, Templeton. We could take the train now.”

“I don't know, brother Ward. Don't you think we're getting a little old for such adventures?”

“Probably. But I'd still like to see the place again.”

“What did you do?” asked Katie.

“Same thing as thousands of other men were doing—we wandered around up in the gold country looking for a place to stake a claim that wasn't already taken.”

“Did you find one?”

“We bounced around some, working the rivers and streams. There was gold too, but it was hard work. We worked a short while in a little place called Miracle Springs—remember that old prospector who helped us get started . . . what was his name?”

“Jones, wasn't it?”

“That's it—Alkali Jones! What a character. But he did right by us and I started doing pretty well.”

“And Drum Hollister and Parish's Mine and Freight—there were some good folks in that town.”

“What about you, Uncle Templeton?” asked Katie.

“The work was too hard for me!” laughed Templeton. “I couldn't get as excited as Ward did about a few little flakes of gold in the bottom of a pan. So I went to Sacramento, and that's when I discovered I had a knack for cards. I think I made almost as much at poker as Ward did in the gold fields.”

“I'm sure you made a lot more than I did,” said Ward. “But you also lost as much as you won.”

“Is that true, Uncle Templeton?”

“I'm afraid that's the way poker is. Your Uncle Ward was a steady worker, I was a flighty poker player. I played honest and I don't think I ever once cheated in my life. But I sometimes played reckless. So when all was said and done, he had stashed away a couple thousand dollars of dust and nuggets, and I had maybe a hundred to my name.”

“And then you came back east?”

“I came back first,” said Templeton. “There was some trouble brewing and that's when Ward and I parted ways.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“There was always trouble in the gold fields, Kathleen,” sighed Ward. “Money doesn't usually attract the best crowd. The lure of wealth is sometimes stronger on men who aren't altogether honest inside. I don't know why that is. Seems puzzling now that I think of it. But it's the way it is. The more dishonest a man, the more he'll go chasing after money, and do whatever it takes to get it. So there were all kinds of bad men out there—and they fought and lied and cheated for that gold, because there was lots of gold in those days. And they killed for it too.”