Read Online A Day to Pick Your Own Cotton by Michael Phillips - Free Book Online Page B

were saying. Even when I was a slave, nobody said those kinds of things to me. Maybe the white folks were mad to think that I was now free just like they were and could walk anywhere I wanted, even right through a town full of white folks.
    I passed a baker’s shop, and for the first time almost wished I hadn’t spent the nine cents on the handkerchief. There were some mighty good smells coming from inside!
    But I kept going and came to a store with some equipment in it, then walked past some offices, and then a bank. Across the street was a saloon with music and loud voices coming from the open swinging doors. I had no interest in getting too close to it, so I turned at the bank and went along the walk in the other direction from it.
    People kept staring at me and sometimes saying rude things. I still hadn’t seen any other coloreds. Maybe I was the only black person in this town. Maybe that’s why none of them seemed to like me being there.
    Up ahead I saw a hotel and restaurant. There were people walking in and out of it. I started to turn around, but then I saw a notice in the window and for some reason it drew my attention. I walked toward it, curious to see if I could read it. I stopped in front of the window and slowly tried to make sense of the words. I was surprised at how easy it was. It only took me a few minutes before I knew what the whole thing said:
    Wanted: white maid, 25 cents a day plus room and board.
    Wanted: colored girl for cleaning, 10 cents a day plus r & b .
    I turned and slowly started walking away on the boardwalk back in the direction of the bank. But the words from the sign kept repeating themselves over and over in my mind.
    Wanted … colored girl … ten cents a day …
    What if—my brain was spinning around and around with the thought of it!—what if I was to … could someone like me really get a job? One that actually paid money? That was more than Josepha got in a day. If I took a job that paid ten cents a day, would that be what I was worth?
    All of a sudden I found myself turning around and walking back, and then I was walking into the hotel, walking right past the white ladies in fancy dresses and hats, and past the white men in black suits. I walked up to the counter and stood waiting there till the man behind it noticed me. I reckon the work dress I was wearing wasn’t none too pretty, and maybe I did smell, for all I knew. But I didn’t care. They weren’t asking for somebody who smelled nice and was dressed pretty, but for someone who knew how to work. And that’s something I knew how to do all right.
    Finally the man looked over the counter at me. He just stood there and stared.
    “I … I want to ask about that sign you got in the window,” I said, “saying you’re wanting a colored girl.”
    “I’ll get the manager,” he said, then turned and left.
    My heart was pounding, but I stood there and waited and tried to calm my insides down.
    A minute or two later the same man appeared again from through the door where he’d gone. He was followed by another man, a little older and half bald and kinda fat, though nowhere near as large as Josepha. He was wearing a shiny black vest and a funny-looking thin string tie around his neck and down the front.
    “What’s your name, girl?” he said when he got to me. He was just like all the white people in this town—he didn’t seem to know how to smile.
    “Mary Ann,” I said.
    “Mary Ann what?”
    “Jukes.”
    “Where you from? Who was your master?”
    “Master McSimmons, sir.”
    The man nodded.
    “You still living there?” he said.
    “No, sir.”
    “Where, then?”
    “Uh … somewhere else … where I went after I left Master McSimmons,” I said.
    The man looked at me a little suspicious. “Well, I don’t suppose that matters. You know how to work?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You know how to keep your mouth shut and mind your betters?”
    “Uh … yes, sir.”
    “And do what you’re told?”
    “Yes,