A Perilous Proposal (31 page)

J
EREMIAH RETURNED AS SOON AS HE COULD WITH THE
doctor. He and Henry pulled the two dead bodies off to the side of the yard, then carried Mr. Daniels into the kitchen.

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

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

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

“You mean he's alive!” Mayme exclaimed.

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

Jeremiah couldn't help wondering what the doctor thought of seeing so many coloreds in the house without sight of any familiar Clairborne face.

“And who is this fellow again?” the doctor 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?”

“Yes'uh—dey's all fine. Where's Miz Clairborne, Miz Mayme?”

“Upstairs,” Mayme answered.

“What about Richard?” asked the doctor.

“Mr. Clairborne's away, sir—he's up north,” Mayme 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,” Mayme 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 was directed to no one in particular. The doctor still didn't seem to know what to make of the fact that he was standing and talking to a room full of blacks, none of whom answered him.

“'Bout dem two bodies, Doc,” said Henry without answering the question. “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.”

“Yes'uh.”

“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 Mayme, “I'm going to need some boiling water. I'm going to see if I can get that slug out of his chest.”

When the doctor returned to the kitchen about a half hour later, his face was grim. He was holding his surgical knife and wiping it with a white cloth. Both were stained with blood.

He cleaned up at the sink, then went back to get his bag and coat. Ignoring the others, he nodded to Henry as he walked to the door. Henry followed him. Mayme stepped next to the window where broken bits of glass still lay strewn all over the floor and strained to listen. Jeremiah stood next to her.

“. . . got the slug out . . .” the doctor was saying. “Doesn't look good . . . hasn't lost that much blood, but . . . too close to the heart . . .”

Henry nodded and said something they couldn't hear.

“. . . did what I could . . .” The doctor went on to say, “but I wouldn't hold out much hope. . . .”

At that, Mayme turned toward Jeremiah and began weeping in his arms.

Somehow the day passed. Henry and Jeremiah drove the bodies to the sheriff's office in Oakwood and returned. For the next several hours Jeremiah did what he could around the place, helping with a few chores—milking the cows and tending the other animals. The girls kept busy in the house, cleaning up the mess of broken glass and other things in the kitchen.

Emma fixed some supper and they all ate in silence, too aware of the man lying near death in the next room to do much talking.

“Y'all want me an' Jeremiah ter stay da night in da barn, Miz Kathleen?” Henry finally asked.

“If you don't mind, Henry,” replied Katie. “At least one
of you. I just . . . we wouldn't want to be alone if . . . you know, if—”

“We's bof stay,” said Henry. “Mr. Guiness an' Mr. Watson, dere biz'ness'll keep, ain't dat right, son?”

Jeremiah nodded. “We be here jes' as long as you wants, Miz Katie,” he said.

What he didn't say was that Jeremiah was a mite puzzled by how Mayme was carrying on. Of course it was hard to see a man get shot, especially Katie's uncle. But was there more to it than that? The way Mayme kept sitting by the man's bed as the afternoon wore on—tending him, crying over him— was beginning to make Jeremiah wonder just what were Mayme's feelings for the man. Wasn't he just an ordinary white man, almost a stranger? Why was she so upset?

The next day brought no change. The doctor came back out, changed Mr. Daniels' dressing, and left again, his face grim. He offered no words of hope, saying only “time will tell” and told the girls to try to get him to swallow a bit of water every few hours.

On the morning of the third day, Jeremiah came into the kitchen, stiff from another night in the barn. He'd slept in many barns before and even out on the open ground, but he reckoned these months on the soft pallet in his father's room had softened him some. He poured himself a cup of coffee as Katie came into the kitchen from the parlor.

“Coffee, Miz Katie?” he asked.

“No thanks, Jeremiah,” replied Katie. “Just some milk, I think.”

“How be your uncle dis mornin'?”

“The same, I'm afraid.” She poured herself a cup of milk to take with her into the parlor. “I'm going back to sit with him.”

“You seen Miz Mayme dis mornin'?” Jeremiah asked.

“She sat up with him most of the night.”

“She sleepin', then?”

“No. She went for a walk.”

As Katie left the kitchen Jeremiah went to the window and scanned the yard. He saw Mayme walking around the length of the field toward the river. He finished his coffee and waited.

Half an hour or so later, Jeremiah left the house. He found Mayme sitting on the bank and watching the river silently move past. Tears were flowing down her cheeks. She glanced up as he came across the field, then stood and smiled.

“How'd you know where to find me?” she asked, standing up as he walked up the bank toward her.

“I watched you go when you lef'.”

Without any more words he took her in his arms. They stood for a minute or two, holding each other quietly.

Jeremiah took Mayme's hand and they sat down together. They sat for some time, just staring into the river, neither saying a word. Jeremiah wanted to ask her what she was feeling, about Mr. Daniels, about
him,
about everything, but he couldn't make the words come.

Finally Mayme broke the silence. “I been sittin' here,” she said. “Prayin' for him. For me too, I reckon. I'm not ready to say good-bye. There are so many things I want to tell him. . . .”

“It's right kind of you, Mayme,” said Jeremiah, “caring for Miz Katie's uncle so.”

He felt her studying him, but kept his eyes on the river.

“That's right . . .” Mayme said slowly. “You were in the barn when he came back, so you didn't hear. Then with all the shootin' and everything . . .”

“Didn't hear what?” asked Jeremiah, glancing over at her.

“Something I've wanted to tell you. But now . . . I'm afraid to all of a sudden. I hope it won't change how you . . . how you think about me.”

“What is it?”

“Jeremiah,” said Mayme slowly, “Mr. Daniels is more than just Katie's uncle. Though of course she loves him. But I . . . I love him too.”

“You . . .
love
him?” he said in a husky croak.

“Well, I didn't right at first, when I found out. At first I was angry. But now I'm afraid I'll lose him.”

“Found out what?”

“You understand, don't you, Jeremiah? I mean, you thought you lost your father, but you wanted to be with him again, so you didn't give up until you found him. . . .”

“Miz Mayme, I ain't sure I . . .”

“My father. Can you believe it, Jeremiah? Templeton Daniels . . . is my father.”

“Your father?” Jeremiah repeated in surprise.

“Yes. I know it's hard to believe, but it's true.”

“You got my head spinnin' round so fast, I don' know what to think,” said Jeremiah. “You bes' start from the beginning.”

“I know what you mean,” said Mayme. “I was plumb dumbfounded myself. Seems my mama and Katie's mama grew up together, friends like, though I suppose my mama worked for the family, though she wasn't exactly like a slave. When Katie's folks came here to Rosewood, my mama came along. And this is where my papa—Mr. Daniels—met her and they fell in love. He wanted to marry her, but Mr. Clairborne, Katie's father, he didn't like the sound of that at all. He got angry and sold my mama to the McSimmons. My papa tried to find her, but never did. He never knew she was expecting me neither, not until he saw me here.”

“I wondered why he looked at you funny!”

“Me too!”

“Well, dat explains it. You must look a powerful lot like your mama.”

“My papa says so.”

“Your mama must have been one fine-looking woman.”

Mayme smiled and looked down, embarrassed.

“You don't mind, then?” she said timidly.

“Mind?”

“About me being half white?”

“You cud be half green an' I wouldn't care.”

Mayme laughed and squeezed his hand. They sat for a few minutes. Then they both grew more serious.

“I don' know. I never thought much about such things. I suppose it can't help but change things some.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mayme.

“Don't you think dis might change things fo you? You got a rich white papa an' I'm jes' a poor slave boy. . . .”

“You ain't a slave no more.”

“I's still poor, though.”

“My papa's poor too,” said Mayme. “Though you wouldn't know it to look at him. I thought he was a dandy when he first came.”

“Me too,” Jeremiah chuckled, then asked more seriously, “You don't think he'll mind effen I court his daughter?”

“You'll have to ask him.”

Jeremiah looked over at Mayme and saw tears begin to fill her eyes again. He knew she was fearing her papa wouldn't live long enough for anyone to talk to again. He released her hand and put his arm around her shoulder.

How long they sat together, Jeremiah didn't know. For a long spell, the only sound between them was the sound of the river. Gradually another sound intruded into his ears. Slowly Jeremiah turned his head and glanced back over the fields.

Someone was running toward them.

“Mayme . . . Mayme!” a voice called.

Now Mayme heard it too. She turned and looked back toward the house in the distance. Katie was running toward them.

“Mayme!” Katie cried again.

Beside him, Jeremiah felt Mayme stiffen, fearing the
worst. He helped her to her feet. Together they hurried down the embankment.

“Mayme!” Katie cried again as she got nearer. “Come . . . hurry. He's awake!”

Mayme flashed Jeremiah a quick look of joy, then turned and dashed toward the house, leaving Katie out of breath and Jeremiah hurrying to catch up.

When Jeremiah climbed the porch steps and made his way into the house a minute or two later, pausing to catch his breath, happy sounds of talking and laughing met his ears. He stopped at the parlor door and peeked around the doorframe.

Mr. Daniels still lay on the couch, but now his eyes were open. Even though he still looked pale—he was a white man, after all—Jeremiah thought he looked a little less white than he had before.

“Where've you been, little girl?” Mr. Daniels asked as Mayme knelt down beside him. “I've been asking everyone where you were.”

His voice was weak, but Jeremiah saw the hint of a smile on his face.

“Oh, Papa!” Mayme burst out. “I was just so afraid. I thought—”

“That I was going to die? Naw . . . I told you that you and I were going to have a long talk. And from now on, I intend to be a man who keeps his promises. I told you, I'm not about to lose you now.”

Mayme laughed through her tears.

“But I am about as thirsty as I've ever been in my life,” Mr. Daniels said. “How does a man get a drink around here?”

Mayme jumped up and ran toward the kitchen. Seeing Jeremiah standing there, she gave him a great smile and threw her arms around him, then hurried to the pump for a glass of water. Seconds later she ran back into the parlor.

“Help me sit up,” Mr. Daniels groaned. “I'm sick of lying here.”

Jeremiah was about to step forward to help, but Mayme was already there, putting an arm behind the man's shoulders and trying to ease him up as he struggled forward. Mr. Daniels winced in pain.

“Aagh . . . ow—it hurts! What happened to me anyway?”

“You got shot, Papa,” Mayme said. “You got shot saving Katie's life.”

“Did I, now? Well, that sounds mighty heroic! Seems I do remember something about chasing her out of the house when suddenly everything went black.”

“If you can sit up a little more, I'll give you a drink of water.”

With Mayme's arm around him, he managed to lean forward enough to reach the glass.