The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart (18 page)

I hardly noticed that she was a little quieter than usual right after that. Like I said, I was too involved thinking about myself to see how this change might affect her. Katie and I were so happy to find out we were cousins, we could hardly think about anything else. We just figured everybody’d be happy along with us.

And they were, of course. But things like that don’t affect everyone the same way. And we had no idea how Emma was reacting inside to the change, or that there was actually a part of it that made her thoughtful and even a little sad.

She wandered into one of the bedrooms one afternoon when William was napping. Aleta was standing at the window with her back turned.

“What you lookin’ at, Miz Aleta?” said Emma.

“Nothing,” said Aleta. “Just Katie and Mayme out there at the washtub.”

Emma walked over and stood beside her. They stood there staring out at us for a minute. We were laughing and talking and happy—that much was obvious to anybody looking at us for a second. It was just three days after it had dawned on us that we were kin, and we were about as full of joy as any two girls could possibly be. What we’d found out had completely changed everything about our lives.

“Dey’s mighty happy ’bout it,” said Emma after a minute.

Aleta nodded.

“It’s right fine fer Miz Mayme, ain’t it, dat she’s got a daddy after all?”

“I wish I had a nice daddy like that,” said Aleta.

“I wish I had me a daddy at all,” said Emma, “leastways one dat I knew who he wuz. But I ain’t.”

They stood watching us for a while without saying anything.

‘ ‘Dey got each other,” said Emma after a bit. “Dey got each other an’ dey got Mr. Daniels.”

“He’s gone,” said Aleta.

“I reckon dat’s so. But dey know dey got kinfolk—dat counts fer somefin’, don’t it? I ain’t got nobody like dat, Miz Aleta. I ain’t got nobody ter call kinfolk in da whole worl’ ’cept my William.”

Again it was quiet. Aleta was only ten. How much she understood of what was going on inside Emma’s heart right then was hard to say. Emma was a mother too, and becoming a parent grows a person up mighty quick—that is, if they’ve got the humility to see what it means.

“What’s gwine happen t’ us, Miz Aleta, do you suppose?” said Emma. “You reckon dis’ll change things?”

“I don’t know,” said Aleta, still staring down into the yard.

“Whatever happens, ain’t nothin’ gwine happen dat dey can’t git through. An’ effen dere was, Mr. Daniels, he’d take care ob dem now, ’cause he’s kin. But you don’t figger he’d do dat fer us, do you? We ain’t no kin. Who we got, Miz Aleta? We ain’t got nobody. You got yer daddy, I reckon, but I ain’t got nobody what cares fer me like dat, no frien’ like dey is t’ each other. William’s daddy, he’d like ter kill me. An’ now dere ain’t no tellin’ what’s gwine happen. Dat Mr. Daniels, he’s a nice enuff man, but he might come an’ take Rosewood, or maybe take Miz Katie an’ Miz Mayme away t’ wherever he lives. Dat’s what kinfolk does. An’ den what’s t’ become ob us. It’s all boun’ ter change now, Miz Aleta, an’ I ain’t got nobody like dat, an’ what’s gwine happen t’ me an’ my William effen he does? He ain’t gwine want no dumb nigger like me roun’.”

“You’re not dumb, Emma,” said Aleta.

“You’s right kind, Miz Aleta.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that word you said about yourself,” Aleta added. “It reminds me of how my daddy talks. I don’t like to hear it anymore.”

“But you know I ain’t smart like Miz Mayme an’ Miz Katie.”

“You know how to take care of William,” said Aleta.

“You’re about the best mother I’ve ever seen, Emma, except for mine.” “You’s so kind, Miz Aleta! Dat’s ’bout da bes’ thing anybody’s eber said ter me!”

This time they stared out the window watching for a longer time without saying anything. At last Aleta spoke up.

“I’ll take care of you, Emma,” she said. “I’ll be your friend.”

“Dat’s right kind ob you, Miz Aleta,” said Emma. “Yes, sir—dat’s right kind. But you’s jes’ a little girl. How old you be, Miz Aleta?”

“Ten.”

“Dat’s a fine age, all right. But I’m sebenteen—leastways, I think I’m sebenteen, but I ain’t too good wiff figgerin’ numbers an’ like dat. An’ I don’t reckon a ten-year-old can take care ob no seventeen-year-old what’s got a baby. Right now, Miz Katie an’ Miz Mayme, dey been takin’ care ob us and givin’ us food an’ dis place ob deres t’ stay. I reckon we’d jes’ ’bout be dead effen dey hadn’t been takin’ care ob us. Wiffout dem, I don’t reckon I’d know what ter do.”

“But if we stay together, Emma,” said Aleta, at last turning to face her, “if we’re friends like Katie and Mayme, we could help take care of each other. You could help take care of me too.”

Emma turned to face her and looked down at her with a smile. Emma was so tall and thin, she must have stood a foot higher than Aleta.

“I reckon dat’s so, Miz Aleta!” she said. “Yes, sir, I reckon you’s right at dat!”

“Maybe we’ll find out that we’re cousins too, Emma!” said Aleta excitedly.

“I don’t rightly think dat could be,” said Emma.

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause look at my skin. I’m as black as an ol’ coon.”

“Katie and Mayme don’t look like each other either. Katie’s white and Mayme’s black.”

“She ain’t altogether black. One look at Miz Mayme an’ you can see dat dere’s white blood mixed in dere. Don’ you see da difference, Miz Aleta?”

“I never thought about it.”

“Well, one look at me an’ you can see dat dere ain’t a drop ob white blood in me nohow.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Aleta. “If we’re friends, we can still take care of each other. My daddy cares what color people are, and I used to care. But I don’t anymore.”

It got quiet again. Aleta smiled and took Emma’s hand, then they both turned back to the window. They stood together, hand in hand, for several more minutes, until they heard William beginning to make noises in the other room.

T
HE
H
EAVY
L
ANTERN

26

T
HOUGH THE SUN HAD COME OUT BETWEEN ME
and Katie, there was still one big cloud in the sky of our future that loomed as large as Emma’s worries about her own. Katie hadn’t forgotten it either.

A few days later I found Katie seated at her mama’s desk looking at the letter from the bank.

“Uncle Templeton’s visit almost made me forget,” she said. “The loan is still due. We may have only three weeks left at Rosewood.”

I sat down on the other side of the room.

“If we could only find the gold!” said Katie in frustration. ‘

‘Do you really think there’s more?” I said. “Your uncle said he didn’t think there was.”

“I don’t know, Mayme! Maybe I just want to believe there is, because if there isn’t, then the bank will take Rosewood.”

We sat for a few minutes in silence.

“If your uncle had given your mama his gold,” I said after a bit, “where do you think she’d hide it?”

“I don’t know. In the cellar, I suppose. That’s always what I thought. Where else could it possibly be? It’s the most hidden part of the whole house.”

“Why don’t we go down there and look?” I suggested.

“I’ve looked everywhere!”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try again.”

A few minutes later we were standing down underneath the floor beams of the parlor again.

“I’ve looked in all the places I can think of, Mayme,” said Katie, glancing about. “I’m just out of ideas.”

“What about that furniture over there?” I said.

“I looked in all those drawers and inside the cabinet. I’ve gone through every box and everything on those shelves. It’s all just junk, like those old lanterns. Look at them—they’re just old and getting rusty and dirty. There’s no sign of anything valuable. My mama and daddy only put junk down here they wanted to get rid of and had no room for anywhere else.”

“What about that barrel? What’s it for?”

“Just to store a few potatoes in for the winter.”

“Maybe it could be inside there,” I said. “Maybe they took the potatoes out.”

Katie’s eyes shot open. The next instant she was across the floor trying to pry the lid off the barrel.

“It’s stuck, Mayme,” she said. “Come help me!”

But try as we might, we couldn’t get the lid off.

“I’ll get a hammer,” said Katie excitedly. Already she was halfway up the ladder into the house. She was on her way back down in less than two minutes and hurrying across to the barrel.

Two or three whacks from the underside loosened the lid. I managed to get my fingers under one side, then Katie whacked at it again.

“I think it’s coming, Katie,” I said. “Can you pull up on the other side?”

We both struggled for all we were worth. Suddenly the stuck lid gave way and popped off the barrel and fell to the floor.

“Ugh … that stinks!” cried Katie as she jumped back from the barrel. The most foul smell imaginable was coming from inside.

I held my nose and peered inside.

“There’s only about a foot of whatever it was left in the bottom,” I said. “It’s all rotten and squishy and brown.”

“I guess there’s no gold in there!” said Katie, holding her nose too. “Let’s get the lid back on … ugh, that’s horrible!”

A minute later we had the lid back on, though the smell didn’t go away immediately.

“What about underneath it?” I said. “Maybe they dug a hole and rolled the barrel on top of it to hide it.”

“Let’s look!” said Katie.

Rolling the smelly potato barrel to one side was even harder than getting the lid off. We pushed against the top and tipped it a little to one side and then struggled to roll the bottom of it. But we could only get it to move six or eight inches at a time before the weight of it plopped back down onto the dirt. And we couldn’t help being a little timid of it for fear that some of the liquid goo in the bottom was going to splash up and come through the cracks and get on us. It took five or six attempts to get it away from where it had been before. When we did, there wasn’t a sign that the dirt had been disturbed.

By then we had so much invested that we didn’t want to give up without looking. Katie got the shovel from where it was leaning against the wall from the last time she had been down here. Then we took turns digging up the dirt under where the barrel had been. But after fifteen minutes we realized we weren’t going to find anything there either.

“What about under any of this other stuff?” I said.

“I don’t know,” said Katie, getting frustrated again. “Why would it be there?”

“Because maybe they dug a hole and put all this stuff on top of it to hide it.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“Let’s move some of these things out of the way,” I said, “and scoot the furniture back.”

I picked up a small wooden crate and carried it across the floor. Katie grabbed at the old lantern that was beside it. She couldn’t lift it but dragged it across the floor, where the bottom edge of the metal cut a line through the dirt from its weight.

“Why is this old lantern
so
heavy!” she said, straining to tug it away.

“It’s made of brass,” I said.

“But brass isn’t
that
heavy!”

Finally she got it out of the way. We returned to the corner with the stuff in it when suddenly behind us the lantern we’d brought down flickered and began to go out.

“We’d better turn up the wick,” I said.

“No, it’s not the wick,” said Katie. “It’s out of oil. I knew it was low but I forgot to fill it.”

“Should I go up and get some more?” I asked.

Just then the lantern went out and we were left in darkness except for what little light came down from the opening up into the parlor.

“I’ve got some matches right here,” said Katie. “I’ll try to light this old heavy one.”

She took the matches out of the pocket of her dress. But after lighting three or four, she couldn’t get the wick to take. She felt it with her fingers.

“It’s completely dry,” she said. “How can it not have oil when the base is so heavy? I thought it was full of oil.—Here, Mayme,” she said, handing me several matches and the striker. “Strike a match and I’ll look.”

I did, then held the match down toward the large round base of the lantern while Katie knelt and tried to unfasten the lid of the oil chamber.

“It’s stuck too,” she said. “I can’t get it.”

The match I was holding burned out. I lit another.

Again Katie struggled with the lid. “I think I managed to loosen it,” she said, “… here it comes.”

As the lid popped off I heard Katie exclaim in astonishment. But just then the match went out.

“What was it, Katie?” I said as I fumbled to light another. “Was there oil in it?”

“I don’t think so, Mayme,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “Hurry … hurry, Mayme! I think there was something else inside the lantern … something dry and yellow … something that doesn’t burn!”

Another match flashed into fire in between my fingers.

Together Katie and I stared down at the base of the lantern whose top she had just removed. The oil chamber was empty of oil, all right. The oil had been taken out and something else hidden there in its place.