William Henry is a Fine Name by Cathy Gohlke

Author:Cathy Gohlke [Gohlke, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8024-7971-6
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 2006-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

MA AND AUNT SASSY laid Miz Laura out real nice in the front parlor. Joseph Henry had already made the casket weeks before: solid mahogany, polished to a fine sheen and fitted with brass hinges. It was a thing to behold and I realized that they’d all known a long while that Miz Laura wouldn’t last. That morning, as soon as word got around Laurelea, the workers poured through the back door, knelt for prayers and goodbyes around the casket, then spilled onto the front porch and lawn. Thirty dark heads bowed, thirty pairs of hands clasped in prayer, and thirty voices rose and fell in sweet spirituals, singing Miz Laura over Jordan. It was somber, but not sad. Miz Laura was free from pain and had died in her own bed, among her own people. We all knew she’d have a mansion in God’s house.

By late afternoon, word had reached neighboring farms and the houses of other church members. People started coming from as far away as Chesapeake City, from below North East, and even some from Wilmington, Delaware, to pay their respects. Some stayed in the parlor and dining room all night and held a sort of wake, waiting for the morning burial. Aunt Sassy and Ma and the ladies of Laurelea fed everybody. It was good to be together. The lines between color were not so clearly drawn in the Heaths’ parlor. I noticed it more now than I ever had before, and for the first time, appreciated it.

One person I never expected to see at Miz Laura’s burial the next morning was Jake Tulley. He came by just as Pa and William Henry and I finished digging the grave and were going to wash up. William Henry took one look at him and marched away. Jake pulled me aside when Pa walked ahead, and he whispered in my ear, “Can’t you get your darkies to do that dirty work?”

I swiped at the sweat streaking my brow. “Digging Miz Laura’s grave is a privilege; it’s not dirty work.”

“You won’t talk so high and mighty to me when I turn you and your pa in to Sheriff Biggs and watch you dance off the end of a rope.”

I pulled away from him. “Get away from me, Jake. I’ve got no time for you. If you want to pay your respects you’d best go inside. The service’ll start shortly.”

Jake laughed. “Pay my respects?”

My dander was rising. “That’s what this day is about.”

“Not mine. Recognize this?” Jake pulled my gold watch from his pocket and flipped open the case, showing the inscription. “Know where I found it?”

I did not breathe.

“Outside our dog pen, yesterday morning, after our hounds got skunked the night before by some weasel in the henhouse.”

“Give me that.” I reached for my watch.

Jake pulled his arm back and grinned. “I know your pa helped those slaves run t’other night. I know because he took that wagon out you keep locked in the barn. The one with the hidey-hole in the bottom.

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