This kitchen, most days it
was still his favorite room in the house. So many of his good memories were
made in kitchens. Whenever he needed comfort, whenever his demons would rise up
to trouble him again, this was where he’d end up, wrapped in the comforting
smells and sounds of the room. Those days he’d steal down the steps and sit at
the big oak table. With his eyes shut he would travel back to the time when he
was a boy and Mama could make everything better. Remembering long ago mornings,
sitting and watching as she baked bread and sang in her gentle Southern voice,
always calmed his spirit.
Silas always seemed to
know when he needed that time to himself, always seemed to know with just a
glance of those liquid brown eyes when he should slip away and let a troubled
soul find his peace on his own. And then, just when the calm would settle
around him once more, the wise old man would reappear to share the day’s
beginning.
“Mornin’, Mr. Heath.”
“Mornin’, Silas.”
“Gotcha’ coffee right
here.”
“You take good care of me
Silas.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Heath.”
“Silas?”
“Yessir, Mr. Heath?”
“Why won’t you call just
call me Heath?”
“If you don’t mind my askin’,
why it bother you so much?” He turned to pull a loaf of raisin bread, hot and
fragrant from the oven. “You let that cool now, Mr. Heath.”
He shrugged, “Just don’t
seem right, is all.”
“How so?”
“Seems disrespectful.”
“Am I so old you feelin’
like you got to treat me like a wise man now?”
“No, no that’s not what I
meant!” A blush crept up from his neck.
“Look at me Mr. Heath.” A
gentle smile crept over the kindly features.
“I know what you meant and I thank you for it.” He continued on
with his work, hands busy with their graceful ballet. “When I was a boy, it was
all Yassuh Mr. Boudwin and Nosuh, Mr. Boudwin.
It wasn’t respect, I said it because my Momma woulda got beat if I
didn’t.” Heath’s eyes reflected his sadness in their blue depths.
Silas continued on before
his young friend could dwell too long on that cross. “When I ran away and made
it here, I swore I’d never call no white man ‘Mr.’ again. Then I met your Daddy
and I knew I could ‘cause he showed me the same respect he’da showed any man,
no matter what their color skin.”
He paused to look directly
at the eyes that watched him so intently. “So don’t you go frettin’ over my
feelings boy. I call you Mr. because I want to. Now eat your raisin bread
before that brother of yours comes down here hollerin’ for me to bring him
some!” He smiled and set the butter keeper on the table.
“I’ll get us some coffee,
Mr. Heath.”
“You take good care of me
Silas.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Heath.”
Part 3
“Mornin’ Silas.”
“Mornin’ Mr. Heath. What
you doin’ down here this early?”
“I always have breakfast
with you!”
“You supposed to sleep
late on your birthday, Mr. Heath.” He filled his voice with mock indignation.
“What’s Mrs. Barkley goin’
ta think if she finds out I fed you early today.?”
“I don’t know about
Mother, but you know Nick. I sleep in and all I’d hear today is…”
“This is a working ranch!”
They said it in unison, then shared a quiet chuckle over the man they both
loved.
The two settled down to
the food Silas served them, eating in companionable silence. When the meal was
done Heath put out his hand to stop the older man from rising. “Silas, I have
something for you.” He turned to the staircase and pulled out two packages that
had been waiting there.
“Mr. Heath, this is your
birthday, why you givin’ me presents?” A blush was visible on the dark,
weathered face.
“Well I reckon that means
I can give a friend a gift if want to, and he has to accept it, ‘cause it’s my
birthday.”
“Boy, you makin’ no sense.
I’m callin’ Mrs. Barkley you keep this up.” The tears in his eyes betrayed his
real feelings.
“It’s not much Silas, just
something I hoped you’d like.”
He opened the paper
carefully, with shaking hands, to reveal a handsome Bible, bound in smooth
black leather with pages edged in gold. It was finely crafted, but simple. It
reminded Heath of Silas. “Why Mr. Heath, this is beautiful. And I reckon it’s a
might bigger than my old Bible. I guess you know my eyes ain’t what they used
to be.”
“Silas, your old Bible…”
Heath looked across at his friend, “You brought it with you from Georgia didn’t
you?”
“That I did. It was the
only thing I had, ‘cept the clothes on my back. Only thing I have from my
Momma. Me an’ that Bible go back a long way. I reckon I’ve read it almost every
day of my life.”
“How’d you learn to read
Silas?” Curiosity had gotten the better of him.
“Oh, my Momma was a house
slave, so Mizzus Boudwin made her learn. Then Mama taught me an’ my sisters.”
“You know where your
sisters are?”
“No, they were sold when I
was just a boy. I never did learn where they went to.” Sadness passed across
his face and lingered for a moment as he remembered the two beautiful young
women. No need to tell this gentle man that they’d been sold to a whorehouse in
New Orleans.
“I am truly sorry.” Heath
paused then drew the other man’s attention to the unopened package. “You best
get to that.”
When the wrappings fell
away, they revealed a dark Maple box, hand-rubbed to warm rich bloom. Inset
into the top was the Big Dipper and near it the North Star carved larger than
the others, shining down on a tree laced horizon. Inside the box was padded and
lined with rich blue velvet.
“Oh Mr. Heath, this is beautiful.”
Intuition guided his words. “What a fine place for my old bible to rest.”
The lopsided grin
appeared. “A special book deserves a place of honor. I surely am glad it gave
you the strength to make it here, my friend.”
“I don’t know what to
say.”
“Don’t say anything.” He
placed his hand on the other man’s arm and gave a squeeze.
“You take good care of me,
Mr. Heath.”
“My pleasure, Silas”