Never Too Late (29 page)

A
LL OF GREENS CROSSING AND THE SURROUNDING
towns were stunned by the livery fire. The area's blacks were frightened. The clansmen and their sympathizers were emboldened in the knowledge that they could probably get away with anything, and in broad daylight. Everyone knew that the local sheriff and several of the largest landowners in Shenandoah County were part of it. Who was going to stop them?

Times were changing. No one could turn the clock back now. What Abraham Lincoln had set in motion was rolling full steam ahead into the future, and it didn't look like happy times were ahead for the nation's former slaves.

Two days after the fire, Mr. Watson came out to Rosewood to talk to the two Daniels brothers. They knew from the expression on his face that whatever might be on his mind, it was serious.

“You boys know that I admire what you've been doing here,” he said. “I've been pulling for you all along, and I'll keep pulling for you. But I've been getting threats too, on
account of Henry's son working for me. The boy's a hard worker, one of my best. But I just can't take any chances. I've got to let him go. I hope you can understand.”

Templeton nodded. “Yeah, we do,” he said. “These are bad times. We've all got to do what we've got to do. We'll get by. You want me to talk to him? After all, he is going to be my son-in-law one of these days.”

“No,” said Mr. Watson. “It's only right that I tell him. But I wanted you two to know how it was, that it's nothing personal.”

“We understand,” said Templeton.

“I'd watch yourselves too,” added Mr. Watson. “You do know whose rifle you took and turned on that bunch?”

“Yeah, I know. Sam already doesn't like us much.”

“This won't help matters.”

“We'll be careful.”

They rose and shook hands.

“Where can I find the boy?” asked Mr. Watson.

They walked outside and pointed out the way to Henry's cabin.

As Mr. Watson made his way toward the small house, a single-seat buckboard was just leaving Rosewood on the road into the countryside with Jeremiah's father at the reins. Beside him, in her finest dress, sat Josepha, feeling happier than she had ever felt in her life.

From an upstairs window where they had earlier that day helped Josepha get ready for her picnic with Henry, Katie and Mayme watched them go with expressions of youthful glee on their faces. They were almost as excited
for the two older people as Henry and Josepha were for themselves.

“Well, Miz Josepha,” said Henry as they rode, “whatchu think 'bout all dis?”

“All dis what, Mister Patterson?”

“Dese coupler ol' colored folks behavin' like dey wuz still as young as Miz Mayme an' Jeremiah, goin' fo picnics together, goin' ter da river together, goin' fo walks together, da man takin' his lady friend flowers? All dese carryin' ons got tongues waggin' an' wonderin' what dey's gwine do next! So what are we gwine do?”

Josepha laughed. “I don't know, Mister Patterson. Dat's likely up ter you.”

“Dey's all mighty curious what we's up to,” chuckled Henry.

Josepha laughed again. “Dem two girls back at da house, dey don't know what ter do wiff me dese days! So what is we up to?” she added, trying to swallow a giggle.

“I's goin' out fo a ride an' a picnic wiff a lady I's grown mighty fond ob, dat's what,” replied Henry.

“Jes' like a coupler white folks. Who'da thought a black man an' a black woman would hab da freedom ter go out ridin' in an expensive carriage like dis? I neber been ridin' like dis in my life.”

“Not me neither. But times is changin', I reckon fo da better an' da worse in some ways. But dis part ob it's fer da better, an' dat's a fact. Dis shore ain't nuthin' we'd ever be able ter do back in da ol' days. What master would gib us a carriage ter use like it wuz our own?”

A few minutes later, Henry pulled the carriage off the road and guided the single horse across a smooth field of
grass where daisies and a few yellow wild flowers were growing, then reined in.

He got down and secured the carriage, then offered his hand to Josepha. She stepped to the ground, not quite daintily but with a lightness of step that was almost elegant for a woman her size.

“What you got in dat basket?” Henry asked.

“Ef you'll jes' hand it down ter me,” replied Josepha, “we'll find us a place on dis nice grass ter open it an' fin' out.”

“Soun's good ter me,” said Henry.

Two minutes later they were walking across the grass hand in hand, the picnic basket swinging at Henry's side.

Half an hour later, Henry and Josepha sat on the blanket Josepha had brought, quietly talking as they finished up their outdoor lunch.

“I don't know exactly what you's thinkin' 'bout all dis,” said Henry. “I reckon it's a mite unushul, so I thought I oughter explain myself as best I kin. Back in da ol' days, some things wuz simpler. Coupler folks like us, we jes' did what da master tol' us. But now we ain't got nobody ter tell us what ter do, 'cept da Lord, ob course, but His voice is a mite hard ter hear sometimes. So a body's jes' gotter make up his own mind what's right.

“What I's tryin' ter say is dat I don't know exactly
what
we oughter do. You's workin' fo Miz Kathleen in da house, but now all ob a sudden I's outer work an' ain't got but fifty dollers ter my name. Dat soun's like a lot, but it won't go far when no more's comin' in. I don't see much likelihood er getting' no work roun'about here no time too soon. So I's kind ob a man in er fix.”

Suddenly Josepha looked across at him with fear in her eyes.

“Henry Patterson,” she said, “you's not tryin' ter tell me you's leavin' Rosewood!”

The serious expression on Henry's face told her that the thought had crossed his mind.

“I wouldn't be altogether tellin' da truf ef I said I hadn't given dat thought some consideration. A man's gotter hab work, an' it wudn't be right er me ter presume on Miz Kathleen's an' Mister Templeton's an' Mister Ward's good graces. Dey's right generous folks, but a body can't expect other folks ter take care ob him. I's been givin' dem half my wages from da livery fo da little cabin dey let me an' Jeremiah use, an' fo da food dat we all enjoy eatin' together, an' Jeremiah's been doin' da same. Dey don't like takin' our money, but it ain't much, an' it's da right thing 'cause dis is a big place an' dere's lots ob us ter feed an' we all gots ter do our part, jes' like you do in da kitchen, an' it ain't as ef da crops make all dat much money. Da cotton hasn't been too good dese last coupler years. But now wiff me an' Jeremiah bof out er work, things is boun' ter change—an' so we gotter figger out what ter do.”

Josepha's worry was growing. She didn't like Henry's serious tone!

“I reckon it'd be different fo white folks,” said Henry. “Dey could jes' go off an' git new jobs. But who's gwine hire a fifty-year-ol' colored man roun' 'bout dese parts?”

Henry paused and took in a long breath.

“So I had me a little talk wiff Mister Ward and Mister Templeton,” he went on, “an' I laid dis troublesome situation before dem an' asked what dey thought I should do,
since neither me nor Jeremiah got no mo wages comin' in. An' dis is jes' between you an' me, an' you gotter promise ter say nuthin' 'cause he's gotter tell Miz Mayme in his own way, but Jeremiah's considerin' goin' up norf fo a spell ter see what kind er work he kin find, like what you said. Dat's why I said I'd considered da same thing myself.”

Again Henry paused briefly, then continued.

“An' da long an' da short ob it,” he said, “is dat Mister Templeton an' Mister Ward tol' me dey wanted me ter stay right here where I wuz an' dat I'd be workin' fo dem from now on an' dat we'd all git by jes' fine, an' dat wiff three men we'd be able ter git da cotton back ter like it wuz before da war, an' den dey said dat ef I tried ter leave ter fin' work dey'd hog tie me an' keep me here.

“So I reckon I ain't gwine be leavin' anytime soon, an' so dat got me thinkin' long an' hard 'bout you an' me, an' since we's bof here an' I got my situation kind er figgered out, I's finally ready ter ask you ef you'd maybe do me da honor er bein' my wife fo however many years we got lef'.”

Josepha gasped in shock. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this!

“You's always sayin' somethin' ter take my breath away,” she said.

“So what you think? Wiff Jeremiah goin' norf, da little cabin he and I share can be our cabin now. 'Course you'd still have ter go ter da big house ter fix everybody else's meals, but it'd be kind er like havin' our own place.”

“I figgered you an' me, dat we'd jes' . . .” Josepha began.

Her brain was reeling, and words were coming out in a jumble.

“I don't know what I figgered,” she went on. “I's up dere in da house, an' you's . . . but you's down dere in da cabin . . . I jes' didn't never think . . . you . . . you's sayin' you want . . . ter marry
me!”

For answer Henry leaned over and kissed Josepha.

“I reckon it came on me slow,” he said after a moment, “realizin' dat you wuz becomin' mighty special ter me, an' dat fo da second time in my life I knew dat I loved a woman. I hope you don't mind ef you's da
second
woman I kissed.”

“I don't reckon I mind,” said Josepha. “I ain't neber been kissed by a man before you in my life, so I don't reckon I kin begrudge Jeremiah's mama dat you loved her afore me. What wuz her name?”

“Lacina.”

“Dat's a pretty name. She muster been a fine woman.”

“She wuz. But now I reckon dere's room where she lives in my heart ter share wiff you, effen you don't mind.”

“I don't reckon I think much ob a man havin' two wifes at da same time. But I don't mind sharin' her memory wiff you. Dere's jes' one mo thing.”

“What's dat?” asked Henry.

“I'd like it ef you'd call me Seffie. I ain't been called dat in a lot er years, an' it's a special name ter me.”

“So what's yo answer, den, Miz Seffie?” said Henry.

“I reckon, Mister Patterson, dat my answer's yes.”

T
HREE
C
ONVERSATIONS

38