Egad! I am back. I took a necessary “Pause” and now I am ready to write about Trevor’s and Catherine’s adventures in Chapter Six. The question remains, however, are you?
Catherine liked his manners. The freight car continued to rattle its way south through the Carolinas of 1908. She carefully observed their new passenger, actually, they were the new ones. Trevor, Joann, Ross and Catherine had jumped into his world. She wasn’t naive enough to think Mr. Newsome was necessarily better than sliced bread. That compliment is reserved for Trevor, she smirked. “Mr. Newsome, why does the law want your company?”
“You’re a brave lass. Well, young lady, I’ll answer your question if I could have your name, for proper addressing.”
Trevor interrupted, “I am Trevor Coffman, Mr. Newsome.”
Catherine could not stop her grin. Trevor’s defensive attitude reminded her of Killer Chicken.
“This young lady is Miss Catherine Randolph of Charleston and she is already spoken for. To my right are Mr. and Mrs. Garrett.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Coffman. You are a fortunate young man. Although, I noticed the surprised expression on your intended’s face. You might want to inform her of your proposal soon.” He laughed and then nodded to Ross and Joann, “Mr. and Mrs. Garrett, my pleasure. Now, to answer your question, Miss Randolph, the law is read differently in various regions of our fair land. In some parts of this country my Jewish heritage and practices are a thorn in the side of the law.” He sat down on the heavy blankets he had used and wrapped one around his shoulders. “Presumptions are often vicious. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Garrett?”
Joann had been sitting on the floor next to Ross. She turned her head from the group and buried her face against his chest in a hunt for protection.
“Listen here, Mr. Newsome, you’ll not insult my wife.”
“No insult intended, Mr. Garrett,” he held up his hand in a peaceful gesture. “I only meant to inquire on the well-being of a fellow sufferer.”
Trevor leaned forward to question Ross, “Is why the cook insulted her, because she’s African?”
“No, my friend,” Newsome answered before Ross could, “without knowing the cook of which you speak, I can tell from your delightful accent that you’re English and you and your countrymen are found of variety, more tolerant than most Americans, especially the back-wood type. That cook probably didn’t see her beauty. Only a few appreciate African or Jewish culture. Am I right, Mrs. Garrett?”
“She’s my “half-and-half” and I love her for it.” Ross protectively hugged her.
“Indeed, you do, my good man. Now folks, allow me to sooth this discussion by offering my meager supplies. Mr. Garrett, please explore that box you’re resting on. I’ve hidden some dried meats, cheese, carrots, and turnips. Help yourselves. I’ve already dined.” He leaned back and rested as the train rattled their bones toward Charleston.
Egad and Enough (for now)
Eleanor Tatum 