Authors: Michael Phillips
Never Too Late (28 page)
Josepha was in the general store visiting with Mrs. Hammond when the commotion began. Shots and gunfire brought them both to the front porch of the shop. They saw the first of the smoke rising into the air. With a terrible feeling of dread, Josepha ran back inside the store, looking around hurriedly, with Mrs. Hammond on her heels.
“Where you keep yo guns?” she cried.
“What are you going to do?” asked Mrs. Hammond in alarm.
“Never you mind, I'll pay you fo everythin' laterâwhere's da ammunition!”
A minute later Mrs. Hammond's heart was pounding as she ran from her store trying to keep up as Josepha hurried along the boardwalk as fast as she was capable of
moving, stuffing shells into the chamber of one of Mrs. Hammond's most expensive items of inventory.
They arrived in time to see Mr. Watson pulling Jeremiah feet-first away from the edge of the burning building. He had made a mad dash to try to rescue his father, but the smoke had quickly overtaken him and his clothing had caught on fire. Two other men ran over to help Mr. Watson drag Jeremiah to safety, then helped beat the fire off him. The young man lay on the ground, unconscious, his arms and face singed, his shirt and trousers still smoldering.
Whatever the white-hooded clansmen surrounding the burning livery had expected, it was not the lone black woman now hurrying toward the scene to oppose them single-handedly. Had they seen her coming, armed as she was, any one of them would have shot her dead in an instant without the slightest qualm. But they were so preoccupied with the fire and jesting about young Patterson's fate, that they did not see her approach behind them. They were taken off guard when two quick shots rang out from the rifle she was carrying. By the time they turned around in their saddles, the barrel of Mrs. Hammond's gun was pointed straight at the chest of one of the men, and from a distance of only about ten feet. The gleam in her eyes left no doubt that she would shoot if she had to. From such a short range, the man under the sheet did not like his chances.
“All right, git outta here!” she yelled. “All ob youâgit goin' or I's start shootin'. You kin kill me, but I's take you wiff me, mister,” she said to the man as she stared at him
down the barrel. “Den I'll shoot whatever ob da rest ob you I kin afore I's dead.”
As Ward and Templeton and several others from the mill reached the scene, they saw the standoff. Without pausing to consider the consequences, Templeton ran straight into the middle of it. He grabbed the man's rifle where it hung clutched in his hand at his side, yanked it out of the man's grasp, then turned it toward the others.
“You heard the lady,” he said. “Get out of here!”
A shot rang out from Josepha's gun, narrowly missing the man's head. Whether it had been accidental or intentional, he wasn't sure he wanted to wait to find out.
He swore loudly, vowing to kill them all. Everyone within earshot recognized the sound of Sheriff Sam Jenkins' voice. But Sam was not prepared to die quite yet.
He lashed his horse, and the rest of his gang followed and were soon disappearing out of town.
That's when Katie and I ran up. I was frantic with terror to see Jeremiah lying on the ground. But things were happening so fast I hardly had time to think
.
Josepha had thrown the rifle to the ground and was running straight toward the blaze
.
“Josepha . . . stop!” Papa called after her
.
“I stood watchin' an' did nuthin' da las' time when I wuz jes' a girl,” she yelled back at him. “I ain't gwine lose dis man da same way!”
“She's running straight for the fire!” someone cried out
.
“Get that pump over here!” yelled Uncle Ward, sprinting toward the men who had been pushing the small water tank up the street. “Give me that hose! The rest of you start pumping!”
A few trickles began to squirt out the nozzle. The men rolled the pump to within thirty or forty feet of the blaze, then started pumping in earnest. Suddenly a large stream of water poured out. Grasping the nozzle like he held a snake's head in his hands, Uncle Ward aimed the spray over Josepha as she ran, dousing her head and shoulders and back as it poured against one of the burning walls of the stable. Holding it steady, he managed to extinguish a small portion of the burning wood
.
While Uncle Ward did his best to keep that portion of the wall wet, I grabbed a bucket of water from near the horse trough and ran to where Jeremiah lay, gently pouring some of the water onto his face and arms. He groaned, but did not open his eyes. Every few seconds, I glanced over at the scene behind me
.
What Josepha had been planning to do, no one knew. But now, dripping from head to food as the water continued to spray over her head, she picked up a pitchfork from the ground and set about attacking the side of the wall with a vengeance. The smoking boards broke and splintered and when she had whacked through enough of an opening, she dropped to hands and knees and crawled through, flames surrounding her on all sides
.
“She'll kill herself!” cried someone from the crowd
.
“Josepha!” called out Katie, trying to stop her
.
At last seeing what she was trying to do, Papa darted after her. Before he could reach the hole, the surrounding wall flared up in flame again. He leapt back from the sudden blast of heat
.
“Douse it, Ward!” he cried. “Pour as much water as you can . . . get it through that opening! We've got to keep her from catching fire!”
“Pump, men!” Uncle Ward shouted
.
Again the spray blasted against the wall and within seconds the charred smoking wood around the hole was dripping and the flames beaten back, though the entire rest of the livery was an inferno
.
Uncle Ward then managed to force some of the stream through the hole and inside where Josepha had disappeared. None of us knew whether it would do any good
.
The crowd quieted. All we could do was wait. The only sounds were the roaring rush of flames into the air, the crackling of burning wood, and the spray of the hose water against it. All our eyes were glued to the three-foot hole that Josepha had bashed through the wall that Uncle Ward was now trying desperately to keep wet
.
“Wait . . . hold it a second, Ward!” cried Papa. “I think I see something!”
He ran forward and knelt down and peered inside
.
“It's Josepha! Keep the water coming, Ward . . . all around that hole!”
A black head appeared. Josepha was crawling
and wriggling on her stomach back toward the outside, pausing every so often to reach back and drag Henry's unconscious body after her
.
The instant he was able, Papa squeezed in, reached past her, and grabbed hold of Henry's shirt at his shoulders. Josepha let go and crawled out, her dress smoldering and muddy, smoke pouring from her whole body. Her hair was singed and her dress had burned in spots, but she was soaking wet. Uncle Ward's efforts to keep her doused had no doubt saved her life
.
A great cheer went up from the crowd as she crawled out. Uncle Ward now sent a spray pouring onto her, just to make sure. It knocked her to her knees just as she was trying to crawl back to her feet
.
Papa now wriggled out and dragged Henry free from the blaze. Henry was as smoky and wet and muddy as Josepha, but unconscious. A quick douse from Uncle Ward's hose over both men saw to it that none of their clothing caught fire
.
As soon as Papa had pulled him safely away from the building, Josepha knelt down beside Henry and kissed his face and forehead and cheeks. By then Jeremiah was coming back to himself. While I was relieved he hadn't been seriously hurt, I worried his father hadn't been so fortunate
.
“Don't you die on me, Henry Patterson,” said Josepha, half crying, half praying. “After all I done ter git you outta dere, don't you dare go leavin' me now! Ef I's got ter be da bes' Josepha I kin be, den you's got ter be da bes' Henry you kin be, an' we ain't
neither ob us had da chance ter be dat together yet.”
A few more kisses, then a groan sounded. Finally came a sputter and a cough. It was followed by a fit of coughing, for his lungs were still full of smoke
.
“He's alive!” someone shouted to the onlookers
.
Slowly Henry began to breathe easier, then rolled over and looked up to see a dozen faces, white and black together, staring down at him
.
“Hit's a mighty warm day,” he said, still coughing and sputtering. “Yes'sir, I'd say hit's a mite too warm fo comfort.”
Everyone laughed. But the fire remained dangerous
.
“Let's get the pump to Watson's mill!” cried one of the men. “We've got to get water up on the roof!”
As the crowd hurried down the street to make sure the fire didn't spread, Henry still lay struggling to fill his lungs. He looked up to see Josepha's face about a foot away, beaming with happiness and with tears streaming down her face
.
“How'd I ever git out er dat place?” said Henry. “An', Josepha, what's you doin' lookin' such er mess?”
“She saved you, Henry!” exclaimed Katie, as she, Papa, and Uncle Ward slowly gathered round. “She ran straight into the fire!”
“Dat right, Josepha? You do dat fo me?”
“I reckon I did. I didn't stop ter think 'bout it.”
“Well, den, I'm mightly obliged ter you. I's gwine hab ter fin' some way ter repay you.”
Where I was kneeling beside Jeremiah, I turned
and saw Mrs. Hammond approaching, the only one of the townspeople remaining with the little Rosewood family. The others made room for her beside Henry as he sat up on the wet ground
.
“I, uh . . . I am so glad you are all right, Mr. Patterson,” she said
.
“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Hammond,” replied Henry, slowly kneeling, then getting up to his feet. I helped Jeremiah get up as well and we walked over to join the others
.
“I's sorry 'bout stealing dat gun from yer store,” said Josepha. “I'll pay you fo it when I can.”
“Nonsense, Josepha!” said Mrs. Hammond. “Stealing! Good heavens, that wasn't stealing. You were just running off those ruffians. That was about the bravest thing I have ever seen a woman do in my life.”
“Dat's right kind er you ter say. But I didn't think 'bout being brave, I jes' had ter git dis man outta dat fire.”
We all laughed, then turned back toward the destroyed building, sobered to realize how close we had come to losing our friend
.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Henry's arm slowly reach around Josepha's waist as they stood side by side, wet and smokey and muddy and with some of their clothing singed. He pulled her toward him
.
“Why don't you all come back to my place and clean up,” said Mrs. Hammond. “Kathleen . . .
Mayme, you take them all upstairs while I see if anyone is in the shop. You know where everything is . . . make yourselves at home.”
A
FTERMATH
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