Miss Katie's Rosewood (39 page)
Read Miss Katie's Rosewood Online
Authors: Michael Phillips
Tags: #FIC042030, #FIC042000, #FIC026000
In the end, Katie and Rob's youngest son David and his family moved back to Rosewood. They sold off about half the acreage, as cotton was no longer as profitable a crop as before, and split the proceeds with David's brother Richard and sister Rosalind.
As for the mill, Jeremiah wanted to go back and look at it before making a final decision. He and I took the train down to North Carolina together. By then Greens Crossing had changed so much. The train came through town now too and so we could come straight to Greens Crossing without going to Charlotte. The town was two or three times the size it had been. New homes and businesses were everywhere. Beside the livery stable was a place selling motor cars!
We walked into Watson's Mill, which was one of the buildings that still looked much the same. I can't even imagine the feelings that must have been in Jeremiah's heart to realize that he now owned the very mill where
he had been let go because he was black.
A few workers glanced at us as we walked about, at first not knowing who we wereâjust a sixty-year-old black man and woman looking around. But gradually word spread and we heard whispers and a few comments about “the new owner.”
Jeremiah hardly said a word. It was too overwhelming. We went outside to the loading dock in back. A thin, bent old man was pushing a broom about. He must have been nearly eighty, too old to do any more loading and lifting with the younger men. I had no idea if he was still being paid or was one of those old men who just liked to hang around a place he used to work.
Jeremiah walked over to him. The man saw him and laid the broom against a wall. Jeremiah extended his hand.
“Mr. Jenkins,” he said, “it's been a long time.”
The man stared at him, almost reluctantly taking the offered hand. “You're . . . you're Henry Patterson . . . no, whyâyou're his boy,” said the former sheriff, still looking him over.
“Yes, sir, that's right,” Jeremiah said, nodding. “I'm Jeremiah. My father passed away some years ago.”
“Haven't seen you in a while. Looks like you turned out okay.”
Jeremiah smiled. “I hope so,” he said. “Well, the best to you, Mr. Jenkins.”
Jeremiah returned to where I stood, if anything more overcome with emotion than ever. If the heart is willing, the passage of time always seems to help forgiveness along. What Sam Jenkins was thinking, I didn't know, but I knew Jeremiah felt compassion for the poor old man who had once tried to kill him.
We had come south thinking to sell the mill. But after his visit, Jeremiah changed his mind, at least
temporarily. He saw what an opportunity it presented to give employment to blacks in the community who were struggling more than ever to find decent jobs.
He met with the man who had been Mr. Watson's foreman for the previous ten years.
“I'm going to keep you on as foreman,” said Jeremiah. “The only change I want you to make is in the hiring of young black men who need jobs and who can do the work. I don't want you to show favoritism or prejudice one way or the other, but I want coloreds given a fair shake. When I come back, I want to see colored men working here and telling me they are treated fairly. If they aren't, they will tell me and I'll come to you. I have no reason to either trust you or mistrust you. So for now you have my trust. But make no mistakeâI will replace you if I have to. I want the profits kept up like they have been and the men who work for me treated well. I once got fired from this place because I was black, and I will fire any white man who treats any colored man with less than the respect he deserves.”
While Jeremiah was with his foreman, I took one last walk through Greens Crossing. So much was new, yet so much was still familiar. I went into the bank where I had had my first bank account. Mr. Taylor was long since gone. No one knew me. I walked back outside and continued slowly along.
I didn't see a soul I recognized. I had once been so afraid of these streets. Now there were almost as many blacks as whites walking along the boardwalk.
Behind me I heard the putt-putt-putt of a motor car. I turned and watched as it went by in the street, spewing black smoke out behind it. New times were coming, and old times were fading away before my very eyes. Imagine . . . a motor car in Greens Crossing!
Across the street there still stood the old faded sign that read Hammond's General Store. I crossed the street and walked in. The little bell above the door gave its familiar ring. Immediately I was assaulted with nostalgic sights and smells. Mrs. Hammond had been retired for years, and the store had passed into other hands. A man came out from behind the counter and asked if he could help me. I smiled and said I was just passing the time waiting for my husband.
Then I turned and left.
Back out on the street again I breathed in deeply and slowly sighed. Everything comes full circle eventually, I guess. Here I was back in Greens Crossing. But it wasn't just that. It was who I was . . . who I had become. People come full circle too, that is if they let themselves grow like Katie often talked about. Restoration comes full circle too, if people let it. Some people do, some people don't. I hoped Jeremiah and I were letting the full circle of restoration grow in our lives. I think we were.
Up the street I saw Jeremiah coming out of the mill. I walked toward him. He saw me and came down the boardwalk to meet me.
He saw the melancholy look on my face and put his arm around me.
“Finish your business?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Me too,” I said. “I'm ready to go home.”
E
PILOGUE
:
R
EMEMBERING
. . .
A
ND THAT'S THE STORY
I
PROMISED TO TELL YOU A
good while back when I started by saying that I used to tell my little brother Sammy stories to pass the time when we were slave kids.
That's the story of how Katie and I survived together, how we grew up together up till the time we left Rosewood to start a new life in the North.
It was a long time ago!
Lots of stories . . . lots of memories.
When our children grew up, Katie and I traveled quite a bit. Sometimes Rob and Jeremiah went with us, but mostly they had their own things to attend to at the mill and at the church. Gradually we were getting old, I reckon, but we kept speaking whenever folks wanted to listen to how things used to be. By then slavery and the Civil War were ancient history and folks figured it was interesting to listen to a couple of old ladies talk about it.
Jeremiah retired from the mill in 1919. We sold the mill in Greens Crossing to a partnership of three of our black employees. Our daughter Sephira and her husband took over the Hanover mill, though they're just about getting ready to retire themselves. Jeremiah was happy puttering around the land with our son Hank who was just as fond of horses as his
grandfather had been. Jeremiah went home to be with the Lord in 1932 when he was 83. I cried, and I still miss him, the dear man, but I had a lot of good years with him and I'm so grateful for that. We had a good life together. I still live in our house up the hill from the big house at New Rosewood.
Rob retired from his pulpit in 1914, just as the Great War was breaking out. He was in great demand as a special speaker in churches everywhere, and wherever he and Katie traveled they always drew large crowds. My own personal feeling is that people wanted to see Katie as much as Rob. But that is just one woman's opinion!
Rob lived to be ninety-one and died in 1937. I'm glad he didn't live to see the second great war that was about to engulf the world, for it would have broken his heart.
Rob and Katie's grandson still lives at Rosewood and their granddaughter and her husband live at the Old Farm. Katie's daughter Rosalind lives in the house we still sometimes call Mr. Evans' house with her son and his family.
The hardest part of this whole story is what I have to tell now.
Katie finally left this world where so many loved her just four years ago at the wonderful age of ninety-seven. Her hair was grey, but in my eyes it was the same beautiful, curly blond that it was the day I first set eyes on her. I was at her side at the end as she lay in her bed, surrounded by her sons, daughter, four grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.
She looked around at her family and loved ones, then took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Oh, Mayme,” she said softly, “we shared something special together, didn't we?”
“Yes we did, Katie dear,” I said.
“I've had a good life,” she went on, though her voice was weak. “Thank you, Mayme . . . thank you, all you dears,” she said, struggling to lift her head and gaze around at those of her family who had been able to come. “I am so happy . . . I
think this is the happiest day of my life . . . good-bye, Mayme . . . I think I will go to sleep now. . . .”
And she didâthe sleep that is a waking. We never saw her eyes open again.
Three counties, and those who knew of her all the way across the country to Oregon, mourned the passing of Kathleen O'Bannon Clairborne Paxton. Yes, I have to tell you that I wept for several days. But my tears were for happiness as much as sorrow. For I too am a happy woman.
On that day when I said good-bye to my beloved Katie for the last time, I knew I had to tell her story, and my part in it. I never want anyone to forget her. So that's when I sat down to begin telling our tale.
I'm the last one left from those days. I am over one hundred years old now. That is probably older than anyone ought to be. But I am happy, though weak, and content until the Lord takes me to join my friends of long ago.
Once a week or so, one of my own grandchildren, or Katie's, takes me over to the Old Farm to make sure there are always fresh flowers beneath the granite headstone marking Katie's grave. I miss her. I miss the whole Rosewood family. But I know we will all be together again very soon.
M
ORE
F
ROM
M
ICHAEL
P
HILLIPS
If you enjoyed this book, you will be sure to enjoy the companion series to
CAROLINA COUSINSâSHENANDOAH
S
ISTERS,
the four books about Katie and Mayme and their scheme at Rosewood. The first book in the series is entitled
Angels Watching Over Me.
Don't miss
Dream of Freedom, Dream of Life,
and
Dream of Love,
which follow the work of the Underground Railroad, the history of the Davidson family, and also the Quaker roots from which the Daniels line came. As
Carolina Cousins
continues
Shenandoah Sisters,
in a similar way the series
American Dreams
is also connected to them, though beginning prior to the Civil War. In it you will meet some of the same characters you already know, and many new ones.
You will also enjoy the related series,
THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER,
especially
Grayfox,
Zack Hollister and Hawk Trumbull's story.
For contact information and a complete listing of titles by Michael Phillips, write c/o:
P.O. Box 7003
Eureka, CA 95502
USA
Information on the magazine
Leben
âdedicated to the spiritual vision of Michael Phillips and the legacy of George MacDonaldâwith articles challenging fresh thought in many directions, may also be obtained through the above address.
A P
ERSONAL
C
LOSING
M
ESSAGE
F
ROM
M
ICHAEL
P
HILLIPS
With the completion in 2007 of the three interconnected series, S
HENANDOAH SISTERS
, C
AROLINA
C
OUSINS,
and A
MERICAN
D
REAMS
, I will be taking a prayerful look at the future of my writing.
