The Soldier's Lady (24 page)

I glanced beside me. Emma was trembling. She didn't have a look of happiness on her face but one of fear.

All of a sudden she stood up. But instead of going down to the river to join the preacher like I expected, she turned in the opposite direction and walked back to the house. I glanced at Jeremiah and he shrugged—knowing no more of what was going on with Emma than I did.

After another minute or two, Jeremiah stood up. I looked up at him.

“I wants ter be baptized,” he said.

He walked down toward the river. By now Reverend Smithers was standing out in the water up to his waist, and there was a line of people waiting to reach him. On the shore everyone was singing and praising and praying, and great shouts of praise sounded every time he raised the next man or woman out of the water with shouts of “Praise Jesus!” and “Amen!”

Suddenly it dawned on me that I had never been baptized either. It didn't take me long to decide that I wanted to be too.

I got up and followed Jeremiah to the river. He was several people in front of me in line and never looked back once. But after Reverend Smithers lowered him down in the water, and he came up dripping—I heard Henry and Josepha both shouting, “Praise da Lawd!” from the shore.

Jeremiah saw me behind him and smiled at me. I took his hand as he walked by and gave it a big squeeze. Then a couple minutes later it was my turn.

When Reverend Smithers raised me up out of the water—and this time I heard Jeremiah's voice shouting praises along with Henry's and Josepha's—Jeremiah's wasn't the first face I saw. It was Emma's. She was marching down toward the river with a look of determination on her face. At her side holding her hand was four-year-old William. They stopped long enough to take off their shoes, then walked into the river and toward the preacher at the end of a line of three or four others.

“I want you ter baptize my son,” said Emma when she reached him. “Dis is William.”

“Well, William,” said Reverend Smithers. “Does you believe in Jesus for da salvation er your sins?”

“Yes, sir!” said William, though I'm not sure he realized what was coming.

The next instant the preacher took hold of him by the shoulders, put his hand over his nose and mouth, and two seconds later, William was sputtering
and struggling out of the water, shouting for Emma. She scooped him up and turned and walked out of the river where she joined the rest of us.

“I din't want dose ol' fires er hell ter be lickin' dere lips at my William!” she said as they sat down.

By that evening, everyone was gone. Reverend Smither's salvation wagon was rumbling away toward some other harvest field of salvation. Rosewood was returning to normal—except for the fact that for an hour that evening we all excitedly told Katie and Papa and Uncle Ward all about the day's events.

One thing puzzled me, though. For as wholeheartedly committed to God as he was in his life, I couldn't understand why Micah Duff hadn't gone to the baptism, or why he said almost nothing that entire evening.

A C
ONVERSATION TO
R
EMEMBER

22

T
HE MAY SUN HAD RISEN HOT, AND THE GROUND
was soft and moist and perfect for planting. The three Rosewood young women had been in the vegetable garden most of the morning hoeing and raking the warm earth into furrows. Half the garden had already sprouted hundreds of green shoots that would become potatoes, turnips, carrots, beans, and peas. Tomorrow they would plant beans, peas, pumpkin, and seasonal varieties of squash.

Katie had gone in to help Josepha with lunch. Mayme had gone with her to the house to take down the morning's laundry from the line. For the last fifteen or twenty minutes Emma had been working alone. The others had noticed how quiet she had been for several days. And now, alone with her own thoughts as she methodically hoed the ground, Emma's eyes slowly filled with tears.

Many new feelings had been swirling around in her brain and heart in recent days and weeks. She didn't know
what to do with them. Why did they make her cry?

Why was she happy and sad and afraid all at once? She never remembered crying much before in her life. She had not been whipped much like other slaves. She had had a relatively easy existence as a slave. But last night she had cried herself to sleep . . . and for no reason.

And now here were the hot, unsought tears overwhelming her again.

All at once something made her glance toward the house.

Twenty yards away sat Micah Duff on the ground watching her.

Emma drew in a surprised breath and wiped unconsciously at her eyes with the back of a dirty hand.

“I'm sorry, Emma,” he said, smiling and getting up from the ground where he sat. “I didn't mean to startle you.” He walked toward her.

“How long you been dere, Mister Duff?” said Emma.

“Only a few minutes. I was trying to decide whether to disturb you or not. You looked lost in thought.”

Emma glanced away, strangely embarrassed. There came the tears again!

“What is it, Emma?” asked Micah softly as he came forward and stood in front of her. She continued to stare down at the ground. The hoe in her hand was still.

“I don't know,” she said with a mournful tone. “I's jes' feelin' all mixed up, dat's all.”

“Mixed up about what?” Micah probed gently.

“I don't know . . . God an' hell an' everythin', I reckon.”

“What about them?”

“I don't know . . . I reckon I wuz jes' thinkin' dat I oughter been baptized mysel' when dat preacher wuz baptizin' my William.”

“Why didn't you ask to be baptized, then?”

“I don' know,” wailed Emma, “I knows I shoulda. Jes' like my William. I ain't neber been baptized neither, but I wuz . . . embarrassed an' afraid. . . .”

“Why do you think you should have been baptized?”

“Cuz I felt dat fire er da spirit in my heart dat da preacher wuz talkin' 'bout. I felt da urge, but I didn't do it, an' now I's feared even more.”

“Afraid of what, Emma?”

“Dat I ain't been baptized, an' dat I's go ter hell an' burn in dem fires forever effen somefin' happens ter me.”

Micah smiled, but it was a smile mingling sadness with obvious tenderness.

“You will not go to hell, Emma,” he said.

“How kin you be sure, Mister Duff? I ain't neber been baptized an' I's a terrible sinner, I knows dat, an' dat preacher, he say dat wiffout bein' baptized, dose fires er hell, dey'll burn yer soul fo eber an' eber.”

Hearing such words hit almost like a visible pain as Micah heard them.

“Come, Emma,” he said, taking the hoe from her hand and setting it on the ground. “Let's you and I go for a walk.”

He led her away. Like a compliant and hungry child, Emma followed.

Micah Duff and Emma Tolan walked for several minutes toward the woods in silence.

Emma's countenance was quiet, but her heart was pounding. What was this most unusual man walking alone with her about to say? Unconsciously, she glanced back at the house, wondering if anyone was watching them go off together.

What would Mayme think!

“Emma,” said Micah after a few minutes, “do you mind if I ask you a very important and very personal question?”

“I don't reckon so, Mister Duff,” replied Emma, suddenly more nervous than ever. What kind of a question was he going to ask!

“All right, Emma,” Micah went on, “here it is. Why do you think you're such a terrible person?”

“Oh, dat ain't a hard one ter answer,” said Emma, almost relieved. “Everybody always told me I wuz a bad girl—ain't dat what a sinner is, Mister Duff?”

“I am not so sure it is, Emma,” smiled Micah. “What other people think and what God thinks may be very different things.”

“But I ain't never knowed anythin' 'bout God, so I figger other folks knows more den me.”

“Well, maybe it is time you learned about God for yourself, Emma . . . and learned what
He
thinks of you, not what other people say about Him, or what
they
say about you.”

They walked on.

All of a sudden the words that came from Emma's mouth, more unexpectedly to her ears even than to Micah's, revealed that she had slowly been absorbing more than either of them realized.

“Mister Duff,” she said, “does you really mean what you tol' me before, dat dere's good in everyone?”

Micah turned and looked at her deeply as they walked. Emma felt as though he was looking all the way inside her.

“It isn't only that I
think
so, Emma,” he said. “There
is
good in everyone because we're made in God's image. God himself said so.”

“Even in a lame-brain dat can't read an' dat folks say ain't too bright an' who's a bad sinner like me?”

“Oh, Emma—you are not a lame-brain. It grieves me to hear you say such a thing. Yes—there is wonderful good in you.”

“You really think so, Mister Duff?”

“Yes, Emma . . . yes! If I can see good in you, imagine how much more God sees.”

“But He ain't lookin' fer good, is He? Ain't God only lookin' fer sin?”

“Where did you hear a lie like that, Emma?”

“Ain't dat what dey all say—dat preacher an' folk like him. Ain't dat what hell's for, ter punish our sins?”

“Even though God might have to deal with our sins to help us get rid of them, He isn't
looking
for our sins. He is mostly looking for the good in us that He put inside us when He created us as His children. It's the good in us that helps Jesus get rid of the sin in us. Without that good, Jesus couldn't help us become more like Him.”

“But I's a terrible sinner, Mister Duff. I's sure ter go ter hell. God couldn't love me da way He does you er Mayme er Miz Katie.”

“We're all sinners, Emma. You heard me tell what I was like when I was young. But God saw good in me, just
like Hawk did. And realizing that Hawk valued me and that God valued me as a person also helped me recognize my sin and then begin to overcome it. We can't properly deal with sin in our lives until we realize that God is our Father and that He created us with good in us too. It won't do you any good to be baptized just because you are afraid of hell. Baptism won't save you from hell, Emma.”

“What will, den?”

“Recognizing that God loves you, that you are His precious child, and then living as His child just as Jesus did. That's why Jesus is called our Savior, because He saves us and shows us how to live as God's children, and then helps us.”

Again it was quiet.

“I don't know, Mister Duff,” said Emma. “Dat's all a mite hard fo me ter understand. I din't neber hab a real father, so I neber heard dat God wuz dat. I thought God wuz a big fearsome giant like a white man dat sent sinners ter hell.”

“Do you think God
wants
sinners to go to hell, Emma?”

“I figgered He must.”

“What if He doesn't? What if God is doing everything He possibly can to
prevent
people from having to go there?”

“Dat don't soun' like folks say, Mister Duff. Dat ain't nuthin' like dat preacher said.”

“No . . . it surely isn't,” said Micah. “But what if it is true?”

“You mean dat God's tryin' ter keep folks
out
er hell?”

Micah nodded.

“I don't know, Mister Duff—den God, He'd be different den I thought. I don't know what ter think 'bout dat. Den . . . den who
is
God anyway, Mister Duff?”

“He is your Father, Emma. He wants to help you because He created you and loves you and because you are special to Him. That's who He is, Emma.”