Now Mister Camp, at the mill store, never did like coloreds coming in unless we had business for our masters. The mill owned the store, and Mister Camp, a Northern man, ran it most days. He didn’t consider being Miss Daisy’s companion as business, so I would stop off across the little dirt lane what went all the way around the town square and sit on the grass and wait for Miss Daisy. Summer had turned hot early, and as I sat whittling at a bit of wood, a wagon pulled up in front of the store. Three boys jumped from the back of the wagon. I knew the driver and two of the boys to be part of the Rucker family from out Lebanon way. The other was Stephen.
Oh, now Stephen stood tall and proud, a nice looking young man. Some might have called him beautiful. He had light yellow-brown skin and dark, curly hair cropped close. Above his lip lay the beginning of a small mustache, and his eyes, as black as a moonless night, shone under eyelashes at least an inch long. He had full lips and white straight teeth. Oh, and he was tall, I remember him being well over six feet tall. But most important I remember his laugh. Stephen did love to laugh.
I watched as he walked over and sank in one slow, graceful move into the grass beside me. Made himself comfortable before he spoke, he did. Looked around admiring the view, he did.
“I be Stephen. I never seed a girl whittle before.”
“I’m Leah. I’m not be a girl. I’m a woman. I do lots of things you might never have seen a girl do before.
“Yeah, like what can you do?” Stephen asked.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish