A WEEK PASSED. KATIE WAS REALLY DOWNCAST, like I’d never seen her before. She went through her daily chores hardly saying a word. The thought of us all having to be separated and leave each other weighed her down something dreadful. I think she felt it was somehow her fault because of the loan, and if it hadn’t been for that, everything would be fine.
I was pretty well recovered now and feeling good, though my back still had a lot of scabs that hurt if I twisted the wrong way. But we were still being real careful about watching for anyone coming and had a plan to hide Emma and me if anyone from the McSimmons place came snooping around.
One day I went out to the fields. I was just looking about, not thinking of much in particular. I found myself in one of the fields that had been planted with cotton. Cotton was so familiar that I didn’t think anything of it. We hadn’t been paying any attention to these fields because cotton was of no use to us. But on this day I found myself looking at it. Most of the bolls were bursting open. I recognized the look and knew it was ready to be harvested.
Suddenly my eyes shot open wide. I turned and spun around and around—everywhere I looked, cotton was bursting!
Cotton!
It was the crop that had built all the huge plantations through the South. It was the reason there had been slaves.
They picked it so their owners could sell it! Maybe it could be of some use to us after all!
I turned and ran back as fast as I could.
“Katie,” I said when I got to the house out of breath. “Maybe there is a way we can make some money for that loan with the man at the bank.”
“How?” she asked.
“Pick the cotton,” I said. “Pick it and sell it!”
“Could we, Mayme … could we really?”
“We could pick some of it anyway.”
“Do you know how?” she asked.
“I know how to pick it all right!” I laughed. “I reckon every black person in the South could pick cotton in their sleep! Well, most black folks anyway—I’m not sure about Emma. But I don’t know what to do with it after it’s picked. What do you do then? How do you sell it?”
“I know how to do that,” said Katie.
“You do!”
“Yes—there’s a man in Greens Crossing who buys it.”
“What about baling it?” I said. “That’s another thing I don’t know how to do.”
“I watched Jeremiah and Mathias do it,” said Katie. “You just put it in the baling box, press it all tight, and tie the baling string around it.”
“But the bales are so huge,” I said. “I’ve seen them. They’re as big as a wagon. We could never move them.”
“I’m talking about small bales,” said Katie. “We’ve got a hundred-pound baler box.”
“A hundred pounds is the small size! We couldn’t lift a hundred pounds either. That’s as much as you and me weigh, Katie.”
“We could put the box up in the wagon first and do the baling and tying in the back of the wagon so we don’t have to lift the bales into it when we’re done.”
I could tell Katie was getting excited at the notion.
“And you really think we could sell it,” I said, “that is, if we could pick it and get it into bales?”
“I did it once before,” said Katie. “I took a wagon into town for my mama.”
I pondered the idea some more. There was an objection that had come to my mind.
“There’s one more thing, Katie,” I said. “You’re going to have to let me do the picking.”
“What are you talking about?” said Katie.
“Just what I said. I’m used to it, so I’ll do it.”
“And I’ll help you,” she insisted.
“Picking cotton’s slave work, Katie,” I said. “It’s the hardest, hottest, most tedious work there is.”
“Mayme, we’ve got to do something,” said Katie. “Mr. Taylor’s going to take Rosewood away from us if we don’t find some money for that loan.”
“It doesn’t seem right for you to pick cotton,” I said again. “If it was anything but picking cotton. Maybe Emma could help me.”
“There aren’t any such things as slaves and masters anymore, Mayme,” said Katie. “Everything’s changed. There’s just you and me and Emma and Aleta. We can’t let Mr. Taylor take Rosewood or it’ll be like you told me before—I’ll have to go to one of my uncles or an orphanage or something. Aleta would be taken back to her father, or taken to an orphanage too if she’s not who Reverend Hall was asking about. And they’d find Emma, and what would become of her without us? And what would happen to you? So we’ve got to do something, Mayme. We can’t harvest the wheat to sell. We can’t sell the cows or chickens—we need them. And we couldn’t get more than a few dollars selling eggs. It was a great idea you had. The cotton’s the only thing we’ve got. And it’s my cotton now, Mayme, and I want to pick it.”
“All right, you win,” I said. “I’ll show you how to do it, and we’ll pick it together.”
“What about Aleta?” asked Katie. “Do you think she could help us too? Is it work she could do?”
“I was picking cotton when I was younger than her,” I said. “It’s hard work, but I reckon if you’re going to do it, she could help too.”
“Then maybe it’s time we told her what we were doing, Mayme. Maybe it’s time to make her part of our plan. If she’s going to help us save Rosewood, she’s got a right to know.”
“You should be the one to talk to her,” I said.
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
We both sat quietly thinking as everything we’d been talking about gradually sank in.
“When can we start picking the cotton?” Katie asked eagerly. “There’s no time to lose.”
“Any day,” I said. “I’ll go out and check the fields again just to make sure. Then we’ll start getting things ready this afternoon.”