A Day To Pick Your Own Cotton Part 20

"Do you think ..." I began, then hesitated.

"Do you know what I'd like more than anything?" I said again. "I'd like to put this money in the bank. Do you think they'd let me open a bank account of my own?"

"I don't see why not," said Katie.

"That would make me feel real proud, like a real person, not a slave."

"I think it's a good idea, Mayme.-I have something else for you too," said Katie.

She got up again and went to the bookcase. She pulled a sheet of paper out of a book where she'd hidden it. She came back with a serious look on her face.

"I wrote a poem for you," said Katie. Her voice was quiet now as she handed me the paper.

This is what I read:

"To My Friend.May I tell you of something that is better than gold?It will still be with you long after you're old.It's a treasure that increases the more of it you spend.I'm speaking, of course, of love for a friend.When you discover that treasure, what will you find?If you're seeking true friends.h.i.+p, look for this kind:A friend is someone who knows about you what you yourself don't know.A friend sees your faults and still likes you, and helps you grow.A friend is someone you can talk to about things you wouldn't tell another soul.A friend is someone you like to be with because they make you feel whole.A friend is someone you can laugh with, cry with, and is always true.A friend is someone you know who loves you, and that you love too.Now let me tell you about my special friend,Who came and helped my heart's grief to mend.She lifted my spirits, though our past lives were dead,Now we're trying, like sisters, to look ahead.When He sent this wonderful person to me,G.o.d gave me a gift that turned I into we.If I had the riches of the whole world to spend,It wouldn't compare with having you for my friend."

I was crying long before I finished reading it.

"Thank you, Katie," I said. "That's the most beautiful thing anybody's ever said to me in my life. I won't ever forget this."

It was quiet a minute. I sniffed a few times and wiped my eyes. The next voice I heard took me by surprise.

"I don't have anything that nice to give you, Mayme," said Aleta softly. "But I made you this."

She now handed me a paper too, with a pencil picture on it. It was of four girls walking along, two white, two black. They were all holding hands. On the bottom it said, Four Sisters Four Sisters.

"Did you draw this, Aleta?" I asked.

"Yes. I made it for you, Mayme."

"Oh, Aleta-thank you," I said. "It's wonderful. It is just as special to me as Katie's poem. In fact, I think they should always stay together, don't you? You have made a picture of what the poem says."

"I'm sorry I was mean to you before," said Aleta, looking into my eyes and then starting to cry. "Katie was right," she said. "You are nice."

I opened my arms and she came to me and we held each 206 other for a minute.

Katie looked away, tears filling her eyes.

"I din't make you nuthin', Miz Mayme," said Emma. "I'm sorry. I don' know how ter make nuthin' wiff my hands like Miz Katie an' Miz Aleta does."

"What are you talking about, Emma?" I said. "You made me that delicious candy. That was a wonderful present."

"Dat's right, I guess I did at dat."

"And maybe I'll just ask you to make me some more when it's gone!"

"Oh, I kin do dat!" said Emma with a big smile of pride. "I's make you mo as soon as dat's all gone."

Slowly Katie got up and went to the piano and began playing quietly. Pretty soon she was softly singing.

"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, when fond recollection presents them to view."

Aleta and I smiled at each other, wiped our eyes, and walked over and stood by the piano as Katie continued to sing. Pretty soon Emma was humming softly and rocking William gently in her arms where she stood.

"The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood, and every love spot which my infancy knew.

The wide spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it.

The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell.

The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it, and e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.

The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket.

The moss covered bucket that hung in the well."

The nostalgic tune made us all quiet for a few seconds as the music and Katie's voice faded away. But Aleta was full of energy and immediately clamored for another song.

This time Katie started playing fast and lively.

"I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee, I'm g'wan to Lousiana, my true love for to see."

"Sing with me, Aleta!" she said.

"Oh, Susanna, oh, don't you cry for me.

I've come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee.

It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry.

The sun so hot I froze to death, Susanna, don't you cry."

Now Aleta and I joined in.

"Oh, Susanna, oh, don't you cry for me.

I've come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee."

"That's silly!" laughed Aleta when the song ended.

"It's not supposed to make sense," said Katie. "You teach us one now, Mayme."

I thought a minute, then I started singing. My song was slower and more sad-sounding than Katie's had been, especially without the piano. My voice was lower than Katie's too.

"Sing with me, Emma," I said, "if you know it."

"We planted this cotton in April," I began, I began, "on the full of the moon. "on the full of the moon.

We've had a hot, dry summer. That's why it opened so soon.

Cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, Cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, gonna pick all over this field."

By now Emma was joining in and I was amazed. Her voice was beautiful. Before we were done, she was already wandering all around with harmonies I never even knew the song had.

"Boy, stop goosin' that cotton, and take better care.

Make haste, you lazy rascal, and bring that row from there.

Cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, Cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, gonna pick all over this field.

"Hurry up, hurry up, children, we ought to have been gone.

The weather looks so cloudy, and I think it's goin' to storm.

Cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, Cotton needs a-pickin' so bad, gonna pick all over this field."

"That was so beautiful!" said Katie. "How did you learn to sing like that, Emma?"

"I din't learn it no place, Miz Katie. It jes' comes outta me, dat's all."

"Well, it's just about the prettiest music I ever heard.

The two of you sounded like a choir, didn't they, Aleta? It makes me feel almost like I was out in the fields picking cotton myself."

"Be glad you're not," I said. "It ain't fun at all."

"Can we sing another one?" Aleta asked.

Katie turned the pages of her songbook. Here's a good one-do you know it?"

"She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes.

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes.

She'll be coming round the mountain, she'll be coming round the mountain, she'll be coming round the mountain when she comes."

"Let's do it again," said Katie. "This time you both sing with me."

She started playing and we repeated it twice more.

"Now it's our turn again, Mayme," said Katie.

I stopped to think a minute.

"All right, here's one," I said.

"Oh, Lord, I want ... two wings to veil my face.

Oh, Lord, I want ... two wings to fly away.