The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart (28 page)

E
MMA MANAGED TO GET
K
ATIE CLEANED AND
into new clothes and put her to bed. Thankfully she was able to go to sleep almost immediately. That was one of Katie’s great blessings—she could almost always sleep.

Emma insisted that I bathe too. But the water from Katie’s bath had a slight color of red in it from the blood, and I just couldn’t get in and use the same water like we usually did.

It took a while to drain it and lug up new water. By then I was about through crying, though I still let Emma mother me. It was a relief to do what somebody else said for a change. As she was pouring water over my head and shoulders and washing me in the tub, Emma said nothing about the whipping scars on my back. Whether she was shocked like Katie had been the first time she saw them, I don’t know. I wondered whether Emma had ever been whipped like I had.

When I was done I got dressed. “Thank you, Emma,” I said, trying to smile. “That felt so good.”

“Dat jes’ fine, Miz Mayme,” she said. “Eberthin’s gwine git better by’n by.”

I couldn’t have slept like Katie. But neither could I go outside where the three bodies were still lying.

A little while later, the doctor came with Jeremiah. I couldn’t help looking out now and then. I was terrified and curious at the same time. He and Henry pulled the two dead bodies off to the side of the yard, then a few minutes later the three of them carried Mr. Daniels into the kitchen.

“Where can we lay him?” asked the doctor, glancing around as they struggled to hold the limp body.

They looked at me. Since Katie was asleep, I reckoned I was the only kinfolk of the Clairbornes left, though the doctor didn’t know it. So I figured it was my place to answer.

“There’s a big couch in the parlor,” I said. “Or there’s beds upstairs.”

“No, we don’t want to carry him upstairs in his condition.” ‘.

‘You mean he’s alive!” I exclaimed.

“Just barely,” said the doctor, “and hanging on by less than a thread. Show me the parlor.”

As I led the way, I couldn’t help wondering what he thought to see so many coloreds in the house without sight of any familiar Clairborne face.

“And who is this fellow again?” he asked as they eased Katie’s uncle down onto the couch.

“Mistress Clairborne’s brother, suh,” said Henry.

“Is he the only one who’s hurt? What about the rest of them?”

“Yessuh—dey’s all fine. Where’s Miz Clairborne, Miz Mayme?”

“Upstairs,” I answered.

“What about Richard?” asked the doctor.

“Mr. Clairborne’s away, sir—he’s up north,” I said quickly. “But Mistress Clairborne’s fine … she’s asleep upstairs.”

The doctor nodded and seemed satisfied.

“Well, as soon as we’re done here,” he said, speaking again to Henry, “I’ll ride over to Oakwood and send the sheriff out for those two bodies. You got any idea who they are, Henry?”

“No, suh.”

“I do,” I said. “The man with the reddish brown beard is called Bilsby.”

“That’s Bilsby!” exclaimed the doctor. “How do you know?”

“Mr. Daniels said he recognized him. I heard him say so just before the shooting started.”

The doctor let out a low whistle.

“Bilsby! This is going to cause quite a stir!” he said.

“They’ve been looking high and low for him. Sheriff Jenkins is going to be mighty interested to hear this! There might even be a reward for all I know. This Daniels fellow shoot him?”

His question wasn’t directed to anyone in particular. The doctor still didn’t seem to know what to make of the fact that he was standing and talking to a roomful of blacks and one little white girl. The rest of us glanced around at each other, but no one answered him.

“ ’Bout dem two bodies, Doc,” said Henry. “Don’t trouble yerse’f—Jeremiah an’ me, we’ll load ’em into one ob Mistress Clairborne’s wagons an’ take ’em ter town ourse’ves. We don’ want dese yere ladies havin’ dem layin’ dere no longer’n need be.”

“Suit yourself,” said the doctor. “Just the same, the sheriff ’s going to want to talk to you about what happened.”

“Yessuh.”

“Bilsby,”
he repeated, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.—All right, I’ll go get my bag. And you,” said the doctor, looking at me, “I’m going to need some boiling water.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, probably a little too eagerly. I had been jumping up and down inside with questions ever since he’d said Mr. Daniels was alive.

“I’m going to see if I can get that slug out of his chest,” the doctor answered.

“How?” I asked.

“How do you think—dig it out with a knife. It’ll probably kill him,” he added, “but if I don’t, close to the heart like that, it’ll kill him eventually anyway.”

The thought of him cutting open Mr. Daniels’ chest with a knife was almost more than my stomach could bear right then. His words silenced me. Emma saw the look on my face and led me away. We went into the kitchen to stoke the fire and get some water heating.

The doctor returned a few minutes later. He walked through the kitchen carrying a small black bag and disappeared into the parlor. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood at the stove watching the water in the pot. But it didn’t seem any too anxious to boil. Water never does when you’re staring at it.

About five minutes later the doctor came back. He wasn’t carrying his bag this time and his sleeves were rolled up.

“He came to,” he said to me and Emma and Jeremiah as we stood there together. “He’s mighty weak. I’m not sure I can do him any good. But he’s asking for somebody called Mary Ann. He says before I start he wants to talk—”

I don’t know what else the doctor said. I was already running toward the parlor with tears of happiness streaming down my cheeks!

W
ORDS
OF
L
OVE

42

S
LOWLY
I
APPROACHED THE COUCH AND KNELT
on the floor beside it. I wasn’t worried about the blood now. Seeing Mr. Daniels’ eyes open a crack and an attempted smile on his lips as he saw me melted my heart. I laid my head on his neck and put my arms around him, sobbing like a baby.

“Hey, little girl,” he croaked, though his voice was barely more than a whisper. “I told you that you and I were going to have a talk together.”

“Oh, Papa!” I said. “I can’t help crying. I thought you were …”

“I know … I thought so too,” he said. He tried to laugh but couldn’t. “But I wasn’t quite ready to go yet… . I had a few more things … that I wanted to say to you.”

Right then I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it! I couldn’t stop crying!

“I’m … I’m sorry I left,” he said. “It was … wrong of me. Always been too independent for my own good …me and responsibility were never much companions … why I kept moving around. When I met your mother … thought I was ready to settle down. But then I lost her … running ever since … running from having to face the memories … felt like I’d failed her… .”

He closed his eyes and I knew the guilt was killing him inside.

“Ran for all those years … tried to forget… . Then to discover I had a daughter … I was so happy … yet terrified. Part of me said I should keep running. Yet the look of your face reminded me of your mama. I’m sorry to say … listened to the first voice … had to sort things out, had to think… .”

“Papa, please don’t tire yourself out talking,” I said.

“All those years,” he struggled to continue, “… consumed with thoughts of your mama … when I found out she had been killed … I couldn’t … more than I could bear … suddenly realized that I had a lovely daughter, Lemuela’s gift … maybe her gift to me.”

He stopped for a moment, breathing in and out slowly.

“Do you know what your mother’s name means, Mary Ann?” he said finally.

I shook my head.

“
Devoted to God …
told me on one of our walks in the woods … I thought of that … realized she had been a gift to me … and you were a gift to us both … kept thinking of your face and your smile … so much like your mama’s.”

He looked away. A tear fell from one eye. His voice was soft and weak. I wanted to tell him to stop, to save his strength for what the doctor had to do. But as hard as it was to see him suffer, I
wanted
to hear it. I wanted to know all there was to know. But his words only made my tears flow all the faster. It’s a helpless feeling to cry and not be able to stop.

“I loved her, Mary Ann,” he said. “I loved her all my life.”

“I know,” I whispered through my tears.

“And now … now at last I’m going to be able to tell her so myself… .”

His words were breaking my heart!

“I’ll tell her that I found you … how beautiful her daughter is … that we didn’t have much time together … but … enough time to know at last that we loved each other.”

“Oh, Papa … I can’t bear to hear you talk so,” I wailed.

“The doctor says—” Again the faint sound of a laugh sounded from his throat.

“The doctor’s a fool if he thinks he’s going to save me,” he said. “That’s his job … rouse people’s hopes … knows as well as I do I’m dying. Look in his eyes … he knows… .”

“Oh, Papa … please!”

“It’s all right, Mary Ann … nothing to fear. I’m at peace. For the first time in my life … because I have you… . Wish we could have more time … wanted to take you to Charlotte … buy you a new dress—”

He coughed weakly and lay back on the pillow and took a few halting breaths, trying to gain the strength to continue.

“I can go to her now,” he said, “and I can ask her forgiveness for not coming to find her.”

“You didn’t know, Papa,” I said, trying to breathe in and steady my voice. “You didn’t know where she was.”

“… could have tried harder … should have forced Richard to tell me. God gave me one of the loveliest of women to love, and yet I—” His voice caught.

“But you did love her, Papa. You said so yourself.”

“Yes, and I’ll be able to tell her now … she’ll forgive me too … kind of woman she was.”

“Yes, Papa … of course she will forgive you. I’m sure she already has.”

“So … so when I’m gone,” he went on, trying with effort to lift his head and turn so that he could look at me, “you try to be happy, Mary Ann, knowing that your father and mother are together … that they love each other … that they both love you.”

“I will … I will, Papa,” I said, beginning to cry all over again.

He closed his eyes. His face was so pale.

“… daughter to make a man proud … Mary Ann.”

He lay back on the pillow, breathing more easily, though it came in such shallow breaths I could tell he was laboring. It was obvious that he was struggling to stay conscious. I was afraid.

After a few more minutes, he said, “And take care of Katie when I’m gone … all she has left … her kin now…”

“I will, Papa,” I said.

“Stay with her, Mary Ann … watch after her … till she’s grown and … some man comes to love her and take care of her.”

“I will.”

“Promise me you’ll take care of Katie, for Rosalind’s sake … and that you’ll remember that I love you … and that I loved your mother… .”

“I will … I will, I promise,” I sobbed.

Again he closed his eyes. When he next spoke his voice was so weak I could just faintly hear him. I had to put my ear up next to his mouth to make out his words.

“… almost forgot,” he was saying, “… my pocket … saved it all these years … reminder of her … Want you to have it … help you remember the father who loved you … get it … vest pocket …”

I reached into the pocket of his waistcoat that the doctor had unbuttoned to get to his chest. Inside I felt something with my fingers. I pulled it out and saw the identical matching cuff link to the one that was hanging around my neck.

He reached out with a feeble hand and took my hand and closed it around the cuff link.

“Mary Ann,” he said, “one last favor …”

“Anything, Papa.”

“Kiss me … want to feel the kiss of my daughter before I go to her mama.”

I wiped my eyes, though my cheeks were dripping, then bent down and kissed him. His lips were cool and clammy.

He smiled faintly.

“… go in peace now,” he whispered, “… love you, Mary Ann … love you …”

“I love you, Papa,” I said softly into his ear.

“I’ll tell … take care of … always remember …”

His eyes had closed again and I knew he had finally drifted out of consciousness. I was terrified he might be dead.

I stood up, wiped at my eyes, but it did no good, and went for the doctor.

T
HE
O
PERATION

43