Never Too Late (27 page)

“Did you hear that, Mayme?” whispered Katie as we lay listening. I had been reading in bed with Katie before I went back to my room. But by then our books were on our chests and we were just dreamily listening to the conversation downstairs
.

“What?” I said. I had almost been asleep
.

“They're talking about some place their grandparents used to live, an old family homestead or farm or something. I just heard Aunt Nelda say it was just outside Hanover. That's where Rob might move to!”

I was still too sleepy to understand what she was getting so excited about
.

“I don't remember,” I said
.

“I told you that he wrote to say that Sheriff Heyes was going to move from Ellicott City to take a job as sheriff in Pennsylvania and asked Rob to go with him. Now Uncle Ward and Uncle Templeton and Aunt Nelda are talking about the same town. Isn't that an amazing coincidence?”

“Maybe it isn't a coincidence,” I said, though I don't even know why I said it. “I'm sleepy. I'm going back to my room.”

That's how it was most nights during Aunt Nelda's visit. We never tired of listening to them, but
usually were off to our beds while they were still going strong. It was really wonderful to see them laughing and talking like that. I know everyone was relieved and happy. It's not right when parts of a family aren't together like they ought to be, and this was just like what Katie had said about people growing together. Aunt Nelda had probably been nervous to come too, just like the rest of us had been nervous about seeing her. But everybody had grown together a little bit at a time
.

When Papa finally told Aunt Nelda that I was his daughter, she didn't seem altogether surprised
.

“I wondered,” she said. “I knew that you and Lemuela had been fond of each other. I thought I could see a little of the Daniels look in Mayme's face.”

The evening before she was scheduled to leave, Aunt Nelda said she wanted to talk to Katie and me about something. We sat down in the parlor with Papa and Uncle Ward because we wanted them to hear whatever she had to say
.

“This wasn't really the purpose of my visit,” she began. “I just wanted to see you all and to see how you, Kathleen, were getting on and whether you needed
. . .
”

She paused as if rethinking what she had been about to say
.

“A woman's influence!” said Papa with a grin
.

“Well, you can hardly blame me,” said Aunt Nelda. “I didn't know. You two were . . . different back then.”

“Wild, you mean!”

“Well . . . different. And with Rosalind gone . . . I have wondered if Kathleen needed an aunt. But I can see that you are all happy here and doing well and I have no wish to interfere in any way. However, with you girls—both of you,” she said, glancing toward me, “growing into such fine young ladies . . . I have been thinking . . . well, there are good schools in the North, two in Philadelphia, for young ladies of good breeding. And now,” she added, again looking in my direction, “one of these has begun accepting young Negroes. There are so many more opportunities now than there used to be—good opportunities for education and advancement . . . that it simply seems to me that this might be something for you all to consider.”

“What's wrong with plantation life like this?” asked Uncle Ward
.

“I am not saying that there is anything wrong with it, Ward. The girls have become accomplished and capable young women. It's only that the girls ought to have the opportunity to see more of the world if they want to—to travel and get more of an education and meet people. Then they can decide what they want to make of their lives. Women didn't used to have the opportunities they do today, and it seems that the girls ought to take advantage of some of them.”

She paused a moment
.

“You know, for all your reckless ways,” she went on to Papa and Uncle Ward, “the two of you did see
a lot more of the world than I ever did. I'm not saying it was right or wrong or anything because I don't know. I'm only saying . . . I don't know, it's hard to admit this, but . . . well, in a way Rosalind and I were always a little envious of that. We never saw anything of the world.”

She took in a breath and tried to smile
.

“The girls are young,” she went on, “and these are changing times. They will have opportunities we never had . . . any of us. Just think about it, that's all I ask . . . for the girls' sake.”

She looked around at the rest of us. Papa glanced our way too, then nodded
.

“We'll do that,” he said
.

Katie and I looked at each other and nodded too
.

The next day we took Aunt Nelda back to Charlotte and to the train. The subject of Katie's and my going north did not come up again . . . at least not then
.

A
fter Mrs. Hammond's visit our trips into town were different. We were now eager to stop in and see her. The difference was remarkable. She was so friendly to us now. I'm sure we were changed too. When relationships with people get better it usually is a two-way street. I realized that I needed to try harder too, just like I'd said to Josepha. All of us were changed by what had happened
.

Josepha was a little nervous the first time she went in. But she was determined to see Mrs. Hammond face-to-face and make amends
.

We went in together, Katie and Josepha and me. I saw Mrs. Hammond hesitate slightly as she glanced toward Josepha. But Josepha didn't beat around the bush. She walked straight up to the counter and looked Mrs. Hammond in the eye
.

“I want ter thank you for dem chocolates, Mrs. Hammond,” she said. “Dey wuz wiffout a doubt da bes' chocolates I eber had in my life.”

“Well, thank you . . . uh, Josepha,” replied Mrs. Hammond, a little taken aback at Josepha's unexpected friendliness. “I, uh . . . am certainly glad you enjoyed them as much, I hope, as I did the soup you made for me.”

“An' dere's one more thing I gots ter say,” said Josepha, “an' dat's ter gib you my apologies fo bein' a mite surly when you wuz out ter our place. I reckon whites an' blacks has gotter bof learn dat dere ain't no difference in da color ob dere insides—blacks jes' as much as whites. I'm tryin' ter learn dat myself too. So my apologies. Dat wuz right neighborly ob you ter call like you done.”

“Well . . . uh, thank you,” said Mrs. Hammond, struggling to smile. For someone like her, I suppose receiving an apology was just as hard as giving one. “Think no more about it,” she said. “We'll just consider ourselves friends from now on.”

Katie asked Mrs. Hammond about our mail, and I think both she and Josepha were glad for the interruption. Josepha and I turned and wandered about the store
.

But though things with Mrs. Hammond were better, things were getting worse throughout the rest of town. Henry heard more than one muttered threat at the livery stable, and Jeremiah said that except for Mr. Watson most of the men at the mill refused to talk to him
.

Henry got up as usual at daybreak that fateful morning the following week. When he came in,
the rest of us in the Rosewood family were already talking around the breakfast table about going into town too. It had been nearly a week since we had seen Mrs. Hammond. But as Henry and Jeremiah both had to be at their jobs early, they were the first to ride away from the house about half past seven
.

The rest of us all arrived in town sometime after eleven o'clock and went about our own business. Papa and Uncle Ward went to the bank. Josepha was in Mrs. Hammond's general store picking up Rosewood's mail and a few supplies. Katie and I had gone to the shoe and boot shop
.

The thundering approach of the white-sheeted riders, coming from the end of town where the livery stable was located, didn't at first alarm us or attract the attention of the townspeople of Greens Crossing
.

But inside the livery, the moment Henry heard the angry shouts he sensed trouble. He started to walk outside. Several gunshots at his feet stopped him
.

“Get back inside, Patterson,” called one of the hooded riders, “or you'll be a dead man!”

The livery was quickly surrounded by the horsemen. The first torch landed on the roof and was quickly followed by many more. Within seconds, the small building was completely on fire
.

Henry ran to the stalls where three or four horses already smelled the smoke and were whinnying and rearing in terror
.

With effort, Henry got them loose, then unlatched the rear door and kicked it wide. A blast of heat from
five-foot flames sent him staggering backward. He shouted and kicked and whipped at the terrified horses, until they bolted through the smoke and flame to safety
.

“Don't let him through!” shouted another rider. “Shoot him if he tries to make a break for it!”

The instant the horses stampeded past them, the riders closed ranks, guarding every inch of the perimeter
.

The explosions of gunfire, followed so quickly by a plume of smoke rising from the tinderbox of straw and dried wood, brought everyone running out of stores and homes. Mr. Watson was one of the first men into the street. Glancing toward the livery, he shouted for the fire brigade. Several men ran to where the hose and pump were kept, while a dozen more hurried toward the livery
.

In the bank, someone shouted, “The livery's on fire!” Papa and Uncle Ward looked at each other, then bolted outside
.

At Watson's mill, Jeremiah heard the shouts and was only seconds after his boss into the street. Papa and Uncle Ward ran to join him from the direction of the bank. Jeremiah sprinted ahead of them toward the livery
.

Inside the burning building, the dense, suffocating smoke was so thick that Henry could see nothing. All was blackness about him. He grabbed a bucket of water from near the anvil and doused it over his head and shirt, then dropped to the floor, avoiding the smoke and trying to breathe the little air
coming through what openings it could find beneath the flames. He knew any possible route of escape was gone
.

Flames rose crackling into the sky. The building was too far gone for the makeshift fire brigade, rolling the pump on its wheels along the street, to hope to accomplish much. The men of the brigade slowed as they drew closer, no doubt intimidated by the circle of hooded men surrounding the blaze. All they could attempt to do now was keep the fire from spreading
.

As more and more people reached the scene, no one held out much hope that life would be found inside once the flames began to subside
.