accept some of those scallions as payment. I'm very fond of scallions, and those are beauties. Peter"—Mr. Devon looked up—"would you get some warm water and the first-aid kit, please?"
Peter went for what was needed, then leaned against the veranda railing and watched while his father dressed Zackie's leg again. The Jamaican boy would not let Mr. Devon take only one bunch of scallions in payment, though. He emptied the whole basket in search of the two largest bunches and some handsome carrots, as well. "I did grow all these meself, Mr. Devon," he said with pride. "Until today, nobody ever did help me."
"And you sell your vegetables to the higglers?"
"Yes, suh. But me need more money than me can earn from a garden, Mr. Devon. Would you— You suppose you could have a job for me?"
"A job?" Mr. Devon was obviously startled. "What kind?"
Zackie looked thoughtful, and then shrugged. "Me nuh know, suh. Me can do most anything the coffee workers do, like weeding or pruning or spraying. Or me can run errands, or look after the tracks."
With deep frown lines on his face, Walter Devon seemed for a moment to be waging a silent war with his feelings. "Well," he said at last, "let me talk to Mr. Campbell. Can you come see me in the morning?"
"Yes, suh! Thank you! Because me truly need more money, Mr. Devon!"
To go to Kingston , Peter thought as the Jamaican boy said good-bye and, with the basket again balanced on one shoulder, went down the steps. To go to Kingston, where they wouldn't be seeing each other again.
Peter went downstairs to return the kettle and basin to the kitchen. Miss Lorrie had been there when he went for them, but was gone now. As he turned to go back upstairs, he heard her voice and realized that again she had stepped out to intercept Zackie as he went down the path.
"You not to go home!" he heard her say. "You daddy is looking all over for you, to make you tell where the pig is. Him is already full of rum but wants the pig money for more."
Peter could not hear what Zackie said in reply.
"No, no," the housekeeper insisted. "Him will not let you help him, Zackie. Not drunk and mean like him is now. What?" There was a pause while the Jamaican boy again said something that Peter could not quite hear. Then, "No, no!" Miss Lorrie said again. "You must keep away till him over this. Go to my house instead. You can stay with me for a while."
Zackie must have come closer. "But me can't go-a your place," Peter heard him say. "Him know me stay with you sometimes. Him might look for me there."
"Oh, Lord, that is right," the housekeeper said. "So where will you stay?"
"Don't fret about me, Miss Lorrie," Zackie said. "Me will think of someplace and see you in the morning."
Peter heard footsteps then, and a single small bark from Mongoose as Zackie and his dog went on down the path. Not sure he should have been listening to such private talk, he turned quickly and went upstairs.
Later he realized he might have solved Zackie's problem by asking his father to let the boy stay with them, as he had wanted to do after helping Zackie with the pig. But then again, Dad was still so locked up in his own private world, he might have said no.
FIVE
W hen Peter awoke the next morning, he heard talking in the yard. The afternoon before, Mr. Campbell had not returned from the government coffee nursery in Portland early enough for the workers to do any planting. Now they had come to plant the young coffee trees he had brought.
The potted seedlings were still in the truck, Peter saw on stepping onto the veranda. The men were taking them out and placing them on shallow wooden trays, made at Kilmarnie for just that purpose. Then, as each man filled a tray with eight of the plants, he lifted it to his head the way Zackie had carried the vegetables, and strode off with it.
At Kilmarnie women did the actual planting. The men still carried the potted seedlings to the fields, though, because even eight of them on a wooden tray
Peter went for what was needed, then leaned against the veranda railing and watched while his father dressed Zackie's leg again. The Jamaican boy would not let Mr. Devon take only one bunch of scallions in payment, though. He emptied the whole basket in search of the two largest bunches and some handsome carrots, as well. "I did grow all these meself, Mr. Devon," he said with pride. "Until today, nobody ever did help me."
"And you sell your vegetables to the higglers?"
"Yes, suh. But me need more money than me can earn from a garden, Mr. Devon. Would you— You suppose you could have a job for me?"
"A job?" Mr. Devon was obviously startled. "What kind?"
Zackie looked thoughtful, and then shrugged. "Me nuh know, suh. Me can do most anything the coffee workers do, like weeding or pruning or spraying. Or me can run errands, or look after the tracks."
With deep frown lines on his face, Walter Devon seemed for a moment to be waging a silent war with his feelings. "Well," he said at last, "let me talk to Mr. Campbell. Can you come see me in the morning?"
"Yes, suh! Thank you! Because me truly need more money, Mr. Devon!"
To go to Kingston , Peter thought as the Jamaican boy said good-bye and, with the basket again balanced on one shoulder, went down the steps. To go to Kingston, where they wouldn't be seeing each other again.
Peter went downstairs to return the kettle and basin to the kitchen. Miss Lorrie had been there when he went for them, but was gone now. As he turned to go back upstairs, he heard her voice and realized that again she had stepped out to intercept Zackie as he went down the path.
"You not to go home!" he heard her say. "You daddy is looking all over for you, to make you tell where the pig is. Him is already full of rum but wants the pig money for more."
Peter could not hear what Zackie said in reply.
"No, no," the housekeeper insisted. "Him will not let you help him, Zackie. Not drunk and mean like him is now. What?" There was a pause while the Jamaican boy again said something that Peter could not quite hear. Then, "No, no!" Miss Lorrie said again. "You must keep away till him over this. Go to my house instead. You can stay with me for a while."
Zackie must have come closer. "But me can't go-a your place," Peter heard him say. "Him know me stay with you sometimes. Him might look for me there."
"Oh, Lord, that is right," the housekeeper said. "So where will you stay?"
"Don't fret about me, Miss Lorrie," Zackie said. "Me will think of someplace and see you in the morning."
Peter heard footsteps then, and a single small bark from Mongoose as Zackie and his dog went on down the path. Not sure he should have been listening to such private talk, he turned quickly and went upstairs.
Later he realized he might have solved Zackie's problem by asking his father to let the boy stay with them, as he had wanted to do after helping Zackie with the pig. But then again, Dad was still so locked up in his own private world, he might have said no.
FIVE
W hen Peter awoke the next morning, he heard talking in the yard. The afternoon before, Mr. Campbell had not returned from the government coffee nursery in Portland early enough for the workers to do any planting. Now they had come to plant the young coffee trees he had brought.
The potted seedlings were still in the truck, Peter saw on stepping onto the veranda. The men were taking them out and placing them on shallow wooden trays, made at Kilmarnie for just that purpose. Then, as each man filled a tray with eight of the plants, he lifted it to his head the way Zackie had carried the vegetables, and strode off with it.
At Kilmarnie women did the actual planting. The men still carried the potted seedlings to the fields, though, because even eight of them on a wooden tray
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