ONE DAY AFTER WE HAD JUST FINISHED THE milking, we were taking the cows out to pasture. As the two of us were walking along the road I glanced back. There were the eight or ten milk cows following lazily along, stretching out behind us in ones and twos. And I realized that we were doing it, we were getting up every morning and keeping things going. It might not have been much of a plantation, but at least the animals were still alive and we were surviving, although we were sure drinking a lot of milk. It was good for Emma, though. She was starting to fill out a little and was looking a mite less scrawny. And in time I reckoned William would start drinking some cow’s milk directly from a bottle instead of his mama’s breast.
I glanced back again.
The cows behind us didn’t care how old we were. They just went where we led them and ate the food we gave them and let us milk them. They didn’t care if we were black or white or young or old.
A wave of happiness surged through me as we walked. I ain’t sure quite what caused it. But with the sun shining and the cows clomping along and me and Katie just going about the day like it wasn’t so unusual and like we actually knew what we were doing, it was just a good feeling.
I snuck a glance over at Katie beside me. She had a contented, almost happy, carefree look on her face too. She had already changed so much from when I’d first come. I could see it in her expression, just in the way she walked and talked. She was so much more confident already. She didn’t look like a frightened little girl anymore. I think taking care of Emma had matured her more than anything. It made her feel useful and needed. She knew how much Emma and William depended on her for their very survival and that couldn’t help but make a body feel more grown up about things.
“Miss Katie,” I said as we walked along, “do you ever wonder why God let all this happen—our families getting killed I mean?”
“Do you think He let it happen, Mayme?” she said.
“I thought He made everything happen,” I said. “I thought that’s what God’s will was, everything that happened.”
“I don’t see how something as bad as that could be God’s will,” she said.
I thought about what she’d said a minute.
“I see what you mean. I guess I don’t see how it could be either, if He’s a good God,” I said. “But I thought everything was His will.”
“I don’t know,” said Katie. “My mama and daddy didn’t teach me too much about God.”
We walked along a while more. My mind was turning the thing around and around.
“Do you think He is a good God, Miss Katie?” I said after a bit.
“I don’t know. I just thought He was … God.”
“But what’s He like?”
“I don’t know. But doesn’t it seem like He’d have to be good?”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, if He’s God, He’d have to be good, wouldn’t He?”
“I don’t know. I don’t reckon I ever thought about it much before.”
“What else could He be?”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. It just seems that way. I mean, life is a good thing, isn’t it? So if God made it, He’d have to be good.”
“Life ain’t so good if you’re a slave,” I said. “And life ain’t been so good to you and me and Emma. How can life be good when there’s so much killing?”
Katie thought about that a minute.
“Maybe God made things good at first,” she said. “I bet there weren’t any slaves back then.”
“I reckon you’re right,” I said. “It sure don’t seem like God could want one person owning another and being mean to them and with folks of all colors being able to kill each other.”
“So if God doesn’t like people being slaves,” said Katie, “maybe He’s still good, even though people do bad things, like those men who killed our families.”
Again I thought for a minute. It was hard to get my brain to grab hold of the idea all the way. The harder I thought about it, the more it moved around, like the idea was trying to squirt out of my hand.
“But it still seems like He’d have done something to not let it happen, if He’s good like you say,” I said finally. “Why wouldn’t God make good things happen instead of bad things?”
“Maybe He can’t,” said Katie.
“Why couldn’t He? If He’s God, can’t He do anything?”
“I don’t know. Maybe He can’t make people be good if they don’t want to.”
“Hmm … I suppose that could be.”
“Maybe He doesn’t want to make all the bad things in the world go away, things like your being a slave, and those marauder men.”
“I wonder why not.”
“I don’t know,” said Katie. “But I see what you mean—why can so much bad happen if God is good? It seems like He ought to do something to keep it from happening.”
“Yet as much bad as has happened to us,” I said, “God’s taken care of us too. I think He cares about us, don’t you, Miss Katie?”
“Yes, I think He does.”
“So maybe there’s good and bad all mixed together, like it’s been for us. Even though terrible things have happened, God still loves us—at least we’re pretty sure He does. So that part of Him must be good. Though I admit, it’s still a mite confusing.”
We walked for a couple minutes just thinking.
“I wonder how you find out,” I said finally.
“Find out what?” asked Katie.
“What God’s like.”
“Isn’t that what the Bible’s for?”
“I don’t know, I just thought it was stories about olden times.”
“I suppose you could ask Him what He’s like.”
“You mean ask God?” I said. “Like we did before, when we asked for His help?”
Katie nodded.
“But how would He tell you the answer?”
“I don’t know,” said Katie.
“Maybe by how you feel,” I said, “like when I thought He was telling me to stay here. It was a mighty strange but good feeling to think that God was talking to me.”
We were just about to the field by now. We led the cows through the open gate, then closed it behind them. They frolicked for a few seconds in the thick, tall green grass, if something as big and clumsy as a cow can frolic. Then they got down to their business of the day, which was to eat as much of it as they could.
We turned and walked back toward the house. Neither of us said anything more for four or five minutes. We were about halfway back by then. I’d been thinking the whole way about what Katie had said a little while ago about asking God.
“Why don’t we, then?” I said.
“Why don’t we what?” said Katie.
“Ask God what He’s like. We prayed that other time in the house, when we were reading the Bible and asked Him to come live in us. And then I prayed that He’d show me what to do about staying. So it seems like when we pray, He answers, doesn’t it?”
“It seems like it,” said Katie.
“So why don’t we ask Him this?”
“Okay,” said Katie. “I guess if He wants to live in our hearts and answer our prayers, then He’d want us to know what He’s like.”
“I reckon He would at that,” I said.
“God, please show us what you’re like,” said Katie without even a pause. We kept walking, and she just prayed so natural, with her eyes still open. I was always surprised at how natural she was with God, as if He was right there with us and there wasn’t anything to be afraid of or feel funny about by just talking to Him like you’d talk to anybody. But I reckon if you can’t be comfortable and natural with Him, who can you be comfortable and natural with at all?
“I ask you to show me too, God,” I said. “We want to know what you’re like, and if you’re good, even though so many bad things happen.”