IWALKED OUT OF THE HOTEL, FEELING THE SCOWL of the manager’s eyes on my back from the counter, where I knew he was watching me.
I came out onto the boardwalk and started back the way I had come. As I retraced my steps from earlier, all kinds of new things to think about were swirling in my brain.
A job!
A real job, a room of my very own … and real money! It wasn’t much of a room, and maybe the ten cents a day wasn’t even half what the white person’s job got. But it would be mine … my own room, my own money.
I could buy things, clothes for myself, a pair of shoes …
I looked down at the white handkerchief I still had clutched in one hand. If I took that job I could buy all the lace handkerchiefs I could ever want. I could buy a dozen of them if I wanted to! With every kind of colored ribbon I could think of!
All at once my future was full of so many possibilities and opportunities. Not only wasn’t I a runaway slave … why, I could be and do anything I wanted to!
I was walking slow, thinking about so many things.
Did I … did I really want to take that job? Even with the gruff hotel manager and lumpy straw mattress and dinky little room.
What a change it would be!
Once I started getting paid, maybe I’d even have to open an account in that bank, just for me, in my own name—a bank account that said Mary Ann Jukes on it.
But then the question came to my mind—did they let black folks have bank accounts? I didn’t know the answer to that. And I was still just a girl, I wasn’t even a grown-up black yet.
Well, if they didn’t … then I’d keep my ten cents a day someplace else. If I worked long enough at that hotel, I could get rich!
My steps slowed, then came to a stop. I had come to the corner again by the bank where the saloon was across the street.
I stopped right at the corner. Down the street past the baker’s and offices and linen store, there was the horse still standing in front of the general store waiting for me.
Still thinking about the money, I looked inside the bank. Just thinking about having a bank account with my own money in it was so exciting a thought!
Then I glanced back down the street behind me at the hotel.
I just stood there for a whole minute or two. I knew I had to decide. It was nobody’s decision but mine. I was free. I could do whatever I wanted. I could take that job if I wanted. Or—
A sound disturbed me out of my daze as I stood there on the corner of the boardwalk next to the Oakwood bank. I don’t know why I noticed, ’cause there were people about and horses and a few buggies clomping and rattling along the street. But in the midst of all the noise and movement and activity, I heard the sound of a man’s voice calling out to a team of horses from the middle of the street coming behind me from the direction of the general store.
I knew instantly that it was a black man’s voice, ’cause there’s a difference and you can always tell. And instinctively I turned around to look.
There was a wagon loaded with hay and some other supplies being pulled by two horses rumbling along the street toward where I was standing. And sitting up on the buckboard lashing the reins and calling out to the horses was Katie’s friend Henry from Greens Crossing!
I don’t know why I didn’t want him to see me. Seeing a familiar face suddenly filled me with the feeling that I shouldn’t be there.
I started to turn away and duck behind the corner wall of the bank building.
But it was too late. He had seen me too.
Our eyes met briefly as he came even with me in the street. I had the feeling he might be about to rein in or say something.
But before he had the chance, I looked away and started walking. I hurried along the boardwalk past the door of the bank and on toward the general store.
I got to where I’d tied the horse. I stopped and looked back. Henry was gone. I could see the roof of the hotel beyond the bank.
I thought again about the job and realized I still hadn’t made my decision.
Money … a room of my own … a bank account with my name on it … and maybe even ten dollars in it someday …
But what did any of that matter?
I had a friend waiting for me. And a friend was worth even more than a hundred dollars!
What had I been thinking? My home was with Katie now! She didn’t care if I was black or white or ugly or smelly. She needed me and looked up to me. So maybe that’s what I was worth—I was somebody’s friend.
I smiled, gave the street one last look, then untied the horse, got up into the saddle, and rode out of town without wasting any more time.
I still didn’t want Henry to see me again, and I didn’t slow down until the houses and buildings had completely disappeared behind me.