Never Too Late (17 page)

When I went out to start taking the laundry off the line in the middle of the afternoon, I realized I hadn't seen Josepha in two or three hours. Katie was on the porch reading a letter that had come from Rob Paxton that day. Uncle Ward had just returned from town with it a little while before
.

“What does Rob have to say?” I asked
.

“He's wondering whether to move or not,” answered Katie. “His boss, Sheriff Heyes, is going to Pennsylvania and has asked Rob to go with him.”

“Is he going to?”

“Probably. I think he needed to write it all down, to talk it over with someone.”

“Not just someone,” I said with a smile. “Someone special.”

Katie smiled back. “I suppose so,” she said softly. Then an odd look came over her face
.

“What is it?” I asked
.

“I don't know, it's just . . . this is such an interesting letter. I've never heard Rob talk this way before. I'm seeing a different side of him . . . no, not different—deeper maybe.”

“In what way?”

“His faith in God, I guess you'd say. He says he's not trying
to decide what he wants to do, but is trying to find out what God wants him to do. I guess it struck me because of what he does—being a deputy. I mean, how many men who wear guns on their belts talk about doing what God wants them to do? Don't you think it's unusual?”

“Hmm . . . I see what you mean.”

“I think maybe there is more to Rob Paxton than meets the eye.”

“He still thinks you're special,” I said, smiling again
.

Katie smiled back, then turned again to the letter
.

“I haven't seen Josepha since lunch,” I said. “Do you know where she went?”

“No, I haven't seen her either,” answered Katie, looking up. “Is she taking a nap?”

“No, she's not in the house anywhere.”

“She didn't go into town with one of the men, did she?”

“I'm sure she'd have told us.”

“Didn't I see her packing up a basket to take down to Henry?” said Katie
.

“That's right, now that you mention it. But that was hours ago.”

“I've heard nothing from down there. Usually you can hear Henry banging or singing or sawing away. It is awfully quiet now that I think about it.”

Katie looked at me, then slowly a smile spread across her lips
.

“Hmm . . .” she said, “that is interesting—our cook and handyman running off together!”

“Katie!” I laughed. “I can't imagine it's anything like that!”

“They've been spending a lot of time together. Haven't you noticed . . . and Josepha humming to herself when she's busy making up those baskets to take to Henry?”

“Sure, I've noticed. I think it's sweet.”

“I do too. I think it's wonderful. All I was saying is that . . . well, maybe . . .”

Before we had the chance to speculate further on the mystery, in the distance we heard voices. There was no mistaking whose they were
.

And they were singing!

Jimmy crack corn, an' I don' care
.

Jimmy crack corn, an' I don' care
.

Jimmy crack corn, an' I don' care . .
.

da master's gone away!

Josepha's loud high soprano was unmistakable, and with Henry's low bass mingled with it, they made quite a duet
.

When they came into sight, neither Katie nor I could believe our eyes. They were both barefoot, carrying their boots and the picnic basket. Josepha had two fishing poles slung over her shoulder. And Henry, trouser legs rolled up halfway to his knees, was carrying eight or ten fish strung together
.

They looked like a couple of kids. From the expressions on their faces as they laughed and sang, it was obvious they were having the time of their lives
.

Jimmy crack corn, an' I don' care
.

Jimmy crack corn, an' I don' care
.

Jimmy crack corn, an' I don' care . .
.

da master's gone away!

“Our master ain't gone away,” laughed Henry. “We's da ones dat's gone away an' he don't know where ter find us!”

Josepha howled like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard in her life
.

“Dat's 'cause we's free,” she said, “an' we don't call nobody master no more!”

“You got dat right!”

Katie and I watched them coming with our mouths hanging open
.

“Where have you two been!” exclaimed Katie as they walked slowly up to the house
.

“Fishin',” said Josepha. “Henry took me fishin' on da ribber. Look—we caught our supper!”

“Josepha snagged half ob 'em herself, didn't you, girl!” said Henry with obvious pride
.

“I did at dat,” she said. “I didn't think I cud, but dis ol' Mississippi boy showed me how . . . and I did.”

So we had fresh fish that evening and were in a happy and festive mood. The fun and singing and laughter of Henry and Josepha coming back from the river seemed to last all day and infected the rest of us too. Josepha was so proud of herself. She couldn't wait to get back out to the river to try it again
.

After supper when most of the things were cleaned up and Uncle Ward was sitting in his favorite chair lighting his pipe and Papa sat down with the newspaper, Henry got up to leave
.

“Sit down a spell, Henry,” said Papa. “No sense running off.”

“Dere's a few things I didn't git done on da cabin today.”

“Played hooky, eh!” winked Papa. “Come on—the work will keep. We're in no hurry with that cabin. Besides, you caught us our supper, and mighty good it was.”

By then Katie had wandered in and sat down at the piano and was trying to pick out “Jimmy Crack Corn,” gradually adding chords and bass to the melody
.

“Why'd you think er dat!” laughed Henry
.

“From hearing you and Josepha singing it today,” said Katie
.

“What's this?” asked Papa
.

“They were singing it,” said Katie. “It sounded good too.”

Already Josepha's voice could be heard from the other room and she came in singing and pretty soon we had all joined in. Katie went on from that to “Old Dan Tucker,” then to “Buffalo Gals,” and then from folk song to folk song as we all sang and laughed and clapped while she played
.

As often happened, after several clapping songs, everyone slowly quieted, and Katie soon went into softer music. She could completely set the tone and
atmosphere in the whole house just by the kind of music she played. This time everybody got kind of thoughtful as she played. Before long she was playing the minuet dance that she loved so much. But everyone just sat peacefully listening
.

At last to everyone's surprise, Henry stood up and walked over to Josepha. He reached down his hand. She took it and stood up
.

Then daintily—amazing, I thought, because she was pretty big—she began taking the tiniest little steps on her toes, perfectly in time with the music. We sat watching in complete amazement. Henry didn't know what to do, he just kind of shuffled back and forth. But it was obvious Josepha had done it before. She had a faraway smile on her face and Katie kept playing and playing, not wanting to spoil the moment
.

Finally Josepha seemed to realize that every eye on the house was on her, and got embarrassed and stopped
.

“You've done that before!” I exclaimed
.

“Only once,” she said, “an' only fo a few minutes.”

“Tell us about it.”

“It wuz a stormy night,” Josepha began, sitting back down in her chair, “an' all the white folks wuz havin' a dance an' celebration in da big house an' da garden. A slave boy an' me were watchin' from da dark on da other side ob da garden, an' dat wuz da music dat wuz playing, an' we tried it a little.”

All of a sudden a sob escaped her throat. The
rest of us were quiet and we waited
.

That was the first time we learned about Mose and that, although she didn't tell us just then, it was also the night he had died in a fire and that she was still haunted by it
.

Josepha was quiet after telling us how she and Mose had danced the minuet. It was obvious there was more to the story. But then Henry broke the spell
.

“Tell da others,” he said, “what you wuz tellin' me 'bout yo travels on dat secret colored railroad, an' how you excaped an' woun' up here.”

“Yes, Josepha, do . . . please,” said Katie
.

Josepha took a deep breath and glanced briefly at Henry with a look of gratitude for changing the subject
.

Before long, Josepha was her lively old self again, telling us story after story and keeping us all laughing till nearly midnight
.

Dear Katie
, she read.
I hope you don't mind if I write this letter to you to help me sort out my thoughts
.
A
decision has been placed before me, and I'm not sure what I should do. My boss, Sheriff Heyes, whom you met when you and your uncle were in Ellicott City, has been offered a job in Hanover, a town in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania
.
A
good friend of his, Mr. Evans, who has owned a large farm and property near there for years, and also operates the telegraph office, informed him of it. The current assistant sheriff for York County in Hanover is retiring before the end of his term, and they have offered the position to Sheriff Heyes
.

The decision I am facing is that John Heyes has asked me to go with him as his deputy. It is not such a great distance, only thirty or forty miles. I spent some time in Pennsylvania when I served in the Union Army. But the fact that it is in Pennsylvania, when I have been a Maryland native and resident most of my life, makes it seem a larger
decision than it probably really is. It would be farther from my family in Baltimore, and I would not have the opportunity to see them quite as often. That is, I think, an important aspect of the decision. Because along with this, my older sister Rachel is engaged to be married in a few months. I don't remember if I have told you or not, but I am a twin. My twin sister is no longer living. She went to be with God when we were seventeen—a very difficult and tragic farewell for all of us in the family. Her death—and the circumstances surrounding it—was the major turning point in my life, both spiritually and in the choice of my present vocation. I hope one day I shall have the opportunity to tell you about it in detail
.

Now with Rachel's upcoming marriage, it will mean that my parents will be alone for the first time, and I feel a responsibility to be as near them as I can. They are in good health, and my father has never in my hearing spoken of retirement. But they are in their fifties, and as their only son, and with Rachel marrying, I need to be attentive to the passage of the years and my duty toward them. So a potential move farther from them is something I must weigh seriously
.

My chief concern, of course, is what God wants me to do. I would appreciate your prayers that I would be able to discern His will in this matter. Early in my life, before my sister's death, I planned to follow in my father's footsteps into the ministry. The decision not to pursue the ministry was precipitated by a crisis in my life that actually deepened my faith, not lessened it. I know it may sound strange to say that a deepening of my faith led me away from the ministry, but that is how the circumstances worked out in my life. Now that I am a deputy sheriff instead of a pastor does not mean I am any less a Christian, or any less obligated to
find out what God wants me to do above what I might want to do myself. Dad's wisdom has always guided my growth and my perspective in spiritual things. His common sense in seeking God's will has always been an example to me, and now I am attempting, once again, to find out what God's will is for me through the principles my father always taught our family
.

Well, I do not want to bore you with my dilemma, but I did want to ask for your prayers and, if you have any, your thoughts on the matter. Even if you do not have any pearls of wisdom for me, it is always a pleasure to hear from you. Your life down there at Rosewood, even if occasionally dangerous, from some of the things you have told me, always sounds so much more interesting than mine and I never tire of hearing about it. But we all have to do our best to live faithfully where the Lord places us, and therefore I am very grateful for the opportunities He gives me to do His work wherever I am
.

I am
,

Yours faithfully
,

Rob Paxton