the owner of the Feed & Grain, spoke. “If he’s wantin’ to stay here so bad, why
not let him? I can pay him wages for a few days a week. Give him his dinner on
the days he works for me.”
“I can do the same,” Mr. Sorenson, who owned the brewery and saloon, piped
up.
This led to a chorus of indignant male voices: “Just hold your horses, who
says you get him? ... I got more work for him than you do ... No, you don’t and I
been paying him more than anyone else ... You don’t got no loft he can sleep in .
. .”
Olivia stood on her tiptoes and peeked in the window, just in time to see Mrs.
Brewster grab old Mr. Vance’s cane and pound the floor with it, commanding
silence. “Shame on you all! Fighting over who gets first right to exploit the poor
child. Give him his dinner, indeed. So is he to go without breakfast and supper?
And on Sundays and days when he has no work, he simply will not eat at all?”
Mrs. Monroe spoke up. “If he wanted to learn to help me with the cooking for
my boarders, I could give him a plate out in the kitchen whenever he’s not working anywhere else.”
“And where’s he supposed to sleep?” Mrs. Brewster pressed.
“I could let him stay in that storage shed out back,” Reverend Dixby said.
“Won’t even charge him anything. He can stay there in exchange for a few
simple chores each week.”
Olivia and Mourning turned to look over their shoulders at the windowless
shed. It hadn’t been used for years, had no stove, and looked ready to blow over
in the first good wind.
“That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Carmichael said. “The boy is welcome to
sleep in my office.”
“That wouldn’t be right,” Reverend Dixby retorted. “How could he afford to pay rent?”
“Who said anything about charging him rent?”
“Then what do you want of him?”
“As long as he cuts his own firewood, he is welcome to the warmth of my
stove. I’ll ask nothing of him in exchange.”
“And what if he gets sick?” Mrs. Brewster pressed. “Who’s going to care for
him?”
“Isn’t that what you Christian ladies are good at?” The rowdy voice from the
back broke in again.
“If he’s set on staying, why not give him a chance?” Mr. Carmichael spoke
and no one dared interrupt him. “Those good Negro families in ‘The Bottoms’
aren’t going anywhere. I understand your concerns, Mrs. Brewster, and they are
real ones. I’d like to believe that if the boy fell ill, we would all find it in our hearts to help care for him. If he requires the services of Doc Gaylin, I will commit myself to bearing the cost of those services.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Doc Gaylin said. “There will be no
charge.”
