A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton (22 page)
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,
God 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
.
“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,
“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.
Oh, Lord, I want … two wings to veil my face.
So the devil can’t do me no harm.”
“That part’s the chorus,” I said.
“I know it … I know it, Miz Mayme!” exclaimed Emma.
“Good, then you help me teach Miss Katie and Aleta.—Now here comes the verse, so everyone’s gotta help.”
“My Lord, did he come at the break of day?”
I sang and Emma joined in with me.
“Now you shout, ‘No!’—I’ll sing my part again—”
“My Lord, did he come at the break of day?”
Katie and Aleta shouted,
“No!”
“My Lord, did he come in the heat of noon?—No!
My Lord, did he come in the cool of the evening?”
“Now the answer’s yes!” I said.
We all shouted
“Yes!”
And as we came to the last line, I quieted way down so that Emma could sing it herself.
“And he washed my sins away!”
“Let’s do it again!” said Aleta, laughing. “Please … can we do it again!”
“Wait … sing a little again, Mayme, Emma,” said Katie. “Let me see if I can find the tune on the piano.”
After a few minutes of experimenting, Katie was playing the whole song, but in what she called a different key, which made it so that I had to sing it a little higher than before. I had a pretty low voice compared to either Emma’s or Katie’s, so when I sang the words “two wings,” it was about as high as my voice would reach. But with Emma’s voice along with me, it was just right. Then we all sang it together.
“Oh, Lord, I want … two wings to veil my face.
Oh, Lord, I want … two wings to fly away.
Oh, Lord, I want … two wings to veil my face.
So the devil can’t do me no harm.
My Lord, did He come at the break of day?—No!
My Lord, did He come in the heat of noon?—No!
My Lord, did He come in the cool of the evening?—Yes!
And He washed my sins away!”
With Katie playing along on the piano and with two white voices and my low black girl’s voice and Emma again singing harmony, it was just as pretty-sounding as you could imagine!
“Can we do the minuet again?” I asked Katie when we finished. “I really liked that last time.”
“Yes, and we’ll teach it to you, Aleta.”
“What’s a minuet?” she asked.
“A French dance,” said Katie.
She played it through once, then got up from the piano.
“Now watch, Aleta, Emma,” she said. “We will show you how it goes.—Do you remember it, Mayme?”
“Not all of it.”
“Emma, why don’t you set William down on the couch where he’ll be safe? Then you join us.”
“Yes’m, Miz Katie.”
We all took hands and Katie led like before. Pretty soon I was remembering how it went, and we danced all around the room like we were a French prince and princess or something, though I don’t know which one of us was which!
“Come, Aleta,” said Katie, taking Aleta’s two hands in hers. “I’ll show you.—Emma, you and Mayme sing the tune while we dance.”
We did, while Katie went through it once with Aleta, then went back to the piano.
While she played, now Emma and I took each other’s hands. I couldn’t remember it perfectly, but we tried it with Katie playing and calling out to us what to do, and gradually we got better.
Pretty soon we were all four laughing and dancing and taking turns dancing with Katie at the piano, or Katie dancing while we sang, and having more fun than we’d had since being together.
W
E WERE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF SINGING
and dancing and had been making so much noise that we hadn’t known anyone else was within miles.
All of a sudden we heard a knock on the front door.
We all froze. Katie’s hands looked like they were stuck to the piano. The sounds of the music died away. I glanced over at her, wondering if I had just heard what I thought I’d heard, or if she’d kicked the piano or something. But the look on Katie’s face told me instantly she’d heard it too.
Then the metal knocker sounded again on the wooden door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
it echoed through the house.
“There’s somebody at the door,” said Aleta. “Aren’t you going to see who it is?”
Whoever it was had come to the front door rather than the back at the kitchen, where most folks came. So it must not be someone who came regularly.
“Quick, Aleta,” said Katie, jumping up from the piano stool, “run upstairs to my room and be as quiet as you can.”
“Why?”
“Never mind why. I’ll tell you later.”
Luckily Aleta didn’t argue about it and ran for the stairs.
Katie glanced at me, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing—what to do with Emma!
“Emma,” I whispered, “pick up William and come with me as fast as you can.—But,” I added, quickly putting my finger to my lips because I saw that she was about to start talking, “—don’t say a word. We can’t make a sound.”
I think she saw the danger from Katie’s and my reaction to the knock on the door, and by now a terrified look came to her face and she did what I said. A few seconds later me and Emma, with William in her arms, hurried from the parlor into the kitchen and out the back door to go light the fire in the slave cabin, hoping we’d be good and out of sight from the front of the house.
When we were both gone, Katie tried to calm herself and walked to the door. There stood a man she had never seen before.
“Good day, miss,” he said. “I’d like to see the mistress of the house.”
“Yes, sir … my mother’s not here.”
“Will she be back soon?”
“Uh … probably not, sir.”
“Well, I need to inform her of a serious disease that has infected the colored folk of this region,” the man said.
“With all the changes after the war and all, and with the coloreds moving about looking for work and going up North, we’re trying to get word to everyone, especially plantation owners, to be on the lookout for any coloreds with newborns.”
Katie tried to stay calm, but at the word “newborn” her eyes shot open wide.
“Why is that, sir?” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling.
“Because the disease affects only babies. You ain’t got any blacks with infants here, do you?”
“Uh … no, sir. But how do you know what to look for?”
“We’d have to see it for ourselves. But what do you care … you sure you ain’t seen no colored babies? Nobody’s come by asking for help, nothing like that?”