A Day To Pick Your Own Cotton Part 3

And when Katie and me were alone at night, after Emma was asleep, we still read and told stories to each other after getting ready for bed. I found myself wondering if we could teach Emma to read too. Black folks had to get started learning how to improve themselves sometime, and maybe if Emma learned to read, then William could grow up reading himself, and by the time he had children of his own, they would take things like reading and writing for granted, just the same way white folks did.

One day I remembered my old diary papers that I'd found under my mattress back at the McSimmons place. I thought that now I was ready to look at them again.

I went and got them out of the drawer where I'd put them and sat down on the edge of the bed and started to read them. I hadn't looked at them once since that day. Now as my eyes fell on the old, smeared, tattered pages, so many feelings swept through me. It was like reading words that somebody else had written. They looked so awkward and crude, like a little child had written them, which I reckon was the truth. I had been a child.

Maybe I hadn't realized how much I'd changed till that moment. All of a sudden, I saw how different my life was now. I guess that was pretty obvious. I was living like a white person! But sometimes you realize something in a whole new way. And even if it's a little thing, the realization seems big and changes you inside. I guess it makes you grow up a little more just in realizing it. And this was one of those times for me.

I had grown up in other ways too. I was thinking about things for myself, thinking about things maybe a little like a grown-up would think about them. It had only been a couple of months. But in another way it seemed like years since I'd run away from the McSimmons colored village, where I'd lived the first fifteen years of my life.

I looked down at the gray writing from a dull pencil in my hand and started to read.

Wee pikt kotin today. Roes a kotin iz soo long. I got whipt cuz I fell down. I tol Rufus a storee bout to foxs chasin chikins. Master kame an lukt at me en stuk his han in my mouf. I lukt at him an hated him, but dint say nuthin. Mamas sik an babys cryn all nite. Had to git up in dark agin to pik at da weeds all day. Im soo tird. Sumtimes I wunder whats gonna happn to me an ef masters gonna mak me have a baby to an ef itl hurt, but I git skeered an don think bout it. Why is white men soo meen. Granpapa got whipt for just wakin to sloo. I hated da man dat dun it, but I lukt da other way so I wudnt see granpapas teers cuz I nowd deyd mak me cry to see em an den Id git whipt fer cryn.

A sad smile crept over my lips and tears filled my eyes and I sniffed a few times. That life seemed so long ago.

Who was the girl that had written these words? Had it really been me? Those years had been so long. I thought they'd never end. One day out in the fields seemed like a year sometimes, every minute going by seemed like an hour.

But then all of a sudden ... it was gone.

Now here I was pretending to be helping to run a great big plantation with a white girl I hadn't even known three months ago and a slave girl who likely wouldn't even be able to keep alive without Katie and me helping her.

How quick things could change!

I couldn't keep from crying as I sat there, even though I was still half smiling too as I looked at my words. Finally I took a deep breath and put the pages away.

Good-bye, little girl of my past, I said quietly. I said quietly. I don't think I'll ever be you again. Whatever my future holds, I gotta look ahead, not behind. Whoever I'm going to be, whoever I'm growing into, it's somebody I don't know much about yet. But it's not that little girl anymore. I'll try to make you proud of me ... and Mama, I'll try to make you proud too, and to grow up to be a woman that's worth something mighty fine I don't think I'll ever be you again. Whatever my future holds, I gotta look ahead, not behind. Whoever I'm going to be, whoever I'm growing into, it's somebody I don't know much about yet. But it's not that little girl anymore. I'll try to make you proud of me ... and Mama, I'll try to make you proud too, and to grow up to be a woman that's worth something mighty fine.

I closed the drawer.

Good-bye, little slave girl, I whispered again. I whispered again.

I turned around back into the room, wiped at my eyes, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

That was my past. But now was now. I would keep those pages as a reminder of that life. Not a good life, but a life that had made me who I was, and even a life I could be a little proud of in a different kind of way. I guess it wasn't only happiness that went into making you who you were. Maybe sadness made better things inside you than being happy all the time. I didn't know. I felt good about who I was anyhow. But I didn't know if I'd read the pages again.

Just looking at my old writing made me realize how much I'd already learned just in this short time. I could read a lot better. I wondered if that meant I could write better too.

I would try. I would get some new paper and start writing again about now, now, about what me and Katie were doing, and about who this about what me and Katie were doing, and about who this new new me was who was changing from the little girl I used to be. me was who was changing from the little girl I used to be.

In fact, I thought, I would try it right now!

I got up and went to find Katie and told her what I wanted to do and asked if she had some paper and a pencil I could use.

"I have something better than that," she said. "I have a journal you can have."

"I don't want to take your journal, Miss Katie," I said.

"It's an extra one my mama gave me."

"But don't you need it?"

"Not yet. I have two others already. I use one for my poems."

"What's the other one for?"

"Thoughts and things I want to write down and remember. But there's not much in it. Here, I want to give you this one," she said. She took a brown book down from a shelf and handed it to me. It looked just like a regular book, but when I opened it I saw that all the pages were blank.

I held it a minute, thinking how beautiful it was.

"I want you to have it, Mayme," Katie repeated. "It will make me happy for you to write in it."

"Thank you, Miss Katie," I said, smiling and trying to keep from crying. "You're too nice to me."

"You'll need a pen too," said Katie, turning and looking over the desk. "Here's one ... and a bottle of ink."

"I've never used a pen like that before," I said.

"I'll show you," she said. "It's a little hard to get used to. Practice on another piece of paper first before you write anything in your journal."

She made me sit down, then showed me how to hold the pen and how to dip it in the ink. I made a mess at first, spilling a big splotch of black over the paper.

Katie and I laughed. But she kept showing me and I moved it around on the paper, pretending to make some words. And slowly I got the hang of it.

That night I sat down at the desk in the room I was using and opened to the first page of my new journal. I sat there a long time thinking what I should say. Finally I dipped the pen into the jar of ink and started writing.

This is what I wrote.

My name is Mary Ann Jukes. People call me Mayme. Im fiften yeers old an I grew up as a slave on a plantashun. But to munths ago all my fambly was killd by some bad men ridn on horses wif guns. I hid an then ran away an came to anoder plantashun calld roswood. I been here about to munths. I met a white girl calld Katie Klarborn. She let me stay an were friens now. I been tryin to read the Bible cuz wen we went back to where I lived before we foun my mamas an grandmamas Bible an Katies been helpin me lern to read. I also ben tryin to pray an G.o.ds ben answerin some to an that makes me know hes takin care of us. Anoder black girl came here to whos in trouble. We helpt her have her baby an theyr stayin wif us. Katie an mes tryin to preten to run the plantashun so n.o.bodyll know were jus three girls an a baby all alone here.

I set down the pen and looked at what I'd written. It wasn't a whole lot better than what I'd written when I was younger. But it was a good start. And right then and there I said to myself that I'd keep writing, and would make this book Katie'd given me the story of my life, whatever came of it.

PUTTING O OUR P PLAN TO W WORK.

8.

AFTER A WEEK OF KEEPING FIRES GOING ALL THE time in the main house and in one of the slave cabins, Katie said to me, "This is too much work. We're going to run out of wood and kindling and matches. Why do we have to keep doing this and putting clothes out on the line if n.o.body's watching?" time in the main house and in one of the slave cabins, Katie said to me, "This is too much work. We're going to run out of wood and kindling and matches. Why do we have to keep doing this and putting clothes out on the line if n.o.body's watching?"

" 'Cause we don't know when somebody might be," I said.

"Why don't we just get it ready, then, and do it when we need to?"

"Because by the time they come, it'd be too late. We couldn't do it after they were already here."

Then suddenly it dawned on me that we had a big problem-what if anyone caught sight of Emma and William in the main house? Then we'd be in a fix for sure! The crazy way Emma carried on, no one would ever believe her for a house slave.

"Miss Katie," I said, "what are we gonna do about Emma if someone comes?"

"Why can't she just hide in the house?" said Katie.

"What if William starts fussing or crying? Or what if Emma gets scared and starts yelling and babbling like she sometimes does and we can't shut her up?"

Katie thought a minute.

"I don't know, Mayme," she said finally. "But you're right-we'll have to do something with her if anyone comes."

Our talk put an idea into my head a little while later. We could set a fire all ready to go in one of the slave cabins and maybe in the blacksmith's shop. Then if anyone came, I'd run down and light it and then come back pretending to be coming from the colored village. If and when Emma got her strength back, she'd be a big help too.

"And we can do the same with a basket of laundry," said Katie. "And let's. .h.i.tch up a horse and buggy outside so it'll look like my mama's fixing to go someplace."

For the next several days we thought of more things like that, making plans and practicing what we would do the next time we had a visitor. We planned and practiced other stuff too, thinking of what we would do when somebody came, how we'd explain ourselves.

"But, Mayme," said Katie after a while, "we're going to wear ourselves out."

"Emma will be able to help us directly," I said.

"Not very directly. She's still so scrawny and weak and needs all her energy just to keep William alive with her mother's milk."

"I reckon you're right," I said. "She ain't likely gonna be much help till we manage to get some meat on her bones, and who knows how long she'll be here anyway with those men she says are after her."

It was a good thing that we'd come up with a few plans, though we still didn't know what we'd do with Emma and William.

One morning I was coming back from the barn and heard a bee buzzing around up in the rafters. Probably a bee's nest, Probably a bee's nest, I thought, looking up wondering where it was. Then the words came back into my mind from the old poem I used to hear the men singing. Pretty soon I was singing it myself as I walked toward the house. I thought, looking up wondering where it was. Then the words came back into my mind from the old poem I used to hear the men singing. Pretty soon I was singing it myself as I walked toward the house.

"De ole bee make de honeycomb, De young bee make de honey, De n.i.g.g.e.rs make de cotton en' co'n, En' de w'ite folks gits de money."

I smiled to myself. I sure wasn't making any cotton or corn, and Katie wasn't getting any money!

"De racc.o.o.n totes a bushy tail, De 'possum totes no ha'r, Mr. Rabbit, he comes skippin' by, He ain't got none ter spar'."

But I didn't have time for any more of the verses.

Because just like we knew would happen, all of a sudden I heard a sound. I looked behind me and saw a covered wagon with painted writing on the side coming slowly, rattling along the road from the direction of town.

Two people were sitting in front. The minute I saw them I forgot all about bees and cotton. I ran straight for the house.

"Who's that?" I said as I ran inside, then turned and looked out the window. Katie ran to my side.

"It's the ice delivery man, I think," she said, squinting to look.

"Will he come to the back door?"

"I think so."

"There's no time for me to get there going out the back," I said. "I'll run out the front where he can't see me and go light the fire down at the cabin. You do like we planned and pretend your mama's upstairs!"

"But, Mayme, what about Emma?"

"Put her somewhere out of sight and tell her to be quiet!"

I turned away and dashed through the parlor.

I was out of the house from the front, a direction where n.o.body could see me, while inside Katie hurriedly hid Emma and then ran upstairs herself. Then she waited for the man in his wagon to pull up and walk to the kitchen door while the boy who must have been his helper sat in the wagon. She had already opened a window looking right down over the kitchen door. When he got near enough, and trying to make her voice a little deeper like her mother's, she called out loud enough so he could hear.

"Katie, Mr. Davenport's here with the ice," she said in the pretend voice. "Will you go down and tell him we need four blocks."

"Yes, ma'am," said Katie, changing her voice back to normal.

Then she ran down the stairs, through the house, and opened the door.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Davenport," she said.

"Good morning, Kathleen. I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it last month. I take it you need some ice?"

"Yes, sir. Four blocks please. You can put it in the ice cellar."

He walked back to where he had parked the wagon next to the ice cellar.

By then I was just getting to the slave cabins. I hurried inside the one we'd got ready and lit the fire we'd set. It only took a few seconds for the smoke to start drifting up through the chimney. I watched and waited about five minutes till the man and his boy had finished unloading the ice and taken them down the steps. When the man was walking back to the house, then I walked that way too. He and Katie were just starting to talk again when I came up. Katie looked toward me.

"Oh, there you are, Mayme," said Katie. "Mama wants to see you. She's upstairs in the sewing room."

"Yes'm, Miz Kathleen," I said, keeping my head down as I walked into the house.

"How much is the bill for the ice, Mr. Davenport?" asked Katie.

"Sixty cents for the four chunks."

"I'll go ask mama about it."

Katie went inside, ran up the stairs, exchanged a look with me, got a few coins, and went back downstairs.

"Here is half of it. Mama wants me to ask if we can pay you the rest when you come next month."

"Tell her that will be fine."

"Thank you, Mr. Davenport."

The ice man took the money, kind of looked about, saw the smoke coming from the fire I'd just lit, seemed to hesitate a second or two, then started walking back toward his wagon.

"Uh, Mr. Davenport," said Katie. "I just remembered. Do you know who might be able to fix our windows ... who my mama mama might be able to get to fix them for us?" she added. might be able to get to fix them for us?" she added.