off no longer. “Mary, I’ve got something to tell you, and I don’t know exactly how to begin.”
Mary quietly stopped her cleaning and sat down. “Mister Haskins, just tell me what’s on your mind,” replied Mary. Tm a good listener.”
“Mary, I must leave Savannah. If the British take the city, my life could be in danger.”
Then he told her his dilemma and that since his business would be closed, she would be without a job.
“Mister Haskins, what am I going to do?” she breathed, as she slowly stood with fingertips on her temples and the palms of her hands over her eyes. Then she ran her fingers backwards through her unbounded hair and said, “How will I support my boys?”
Mister Haskins reached for Mary’s hand and gently held her. “Mary, you can go with Mrs. Haskins and me to the Carolinas where my oldest son lives. We’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you, Mister Haskins, but I can’t do that. You have your own family to support. We would be just an extra burden to you. I’ll trust the Almighty God to take care of us.”
Mary was eventually forced to give up their comfortable home and move to an apartment near the Savannah River docks, a section far from respectable. To support her family, she worked during the day at a textile mill; and during the evenings, she was employed to cook and help maintain a kitchen in one of the local taverns located on River Street. Even though the food was the best in the neighborhood, the establishment often became a roughhouse late at night.
Meanwhile, the years passed quickly, and the family managed. Mary kept her job in the tavern and even found satisfaction in cooking there.
One day, a rare surge of cold weather dropped the temperature below freezing, but the kitchen of the High Step Tavern, was warm and comfortable. The tavern was called the High Step Tavern because of the steep steps that led up to the front door off the main street. These steps were an immense hazard to the intoxicated.
This day, Mary stood over the woodstove stirring some of her savory stew listening to the murmurings of people enjoying their meals, but with each passing minute the restaurant’s patrons became more lively and boisterous.
“Mrs. Wilson, we need four more servings right away!” shouted Ed Jenkins, the tavern’s owner. “People are waitin’ and are hungry!”
“It’s about ready, Ed. Be patient,” exclaimed Mary.
Lott, Mary’s oldest son and now a young man, was sitting near the wood box laboring over his schoolwork. Hearing Mister Jenkin’s tone of voice, he slammed his book to the floor in anger and hurled his pen at the door barely missing Mister Jenkins.
“Mother, how can you stand to put up with these people and their rude behavior? I hate this place. Why don’t you quit this filthy work? We don’t need the money that much.”
His mother stopped what she was doing, carefully placed her stirring spoon down, and angrily addressed Lott, “Young man, we do need this job if we are going to survive. Without the money I take in, you ladies couldn’t stay in school. I don’t want to hear any more about it. You just keep studying.”
She turned quickly from Lott and looked around the kitchen. “Where is your younger brother? He is supposed to be doing his work, too.”
“Mother, you know Jeremiah doesn’t like to do schoolwork. He hates school. He’s probably in the big room entertaining the men. They like to tease him and make him do silly things. He likes all that rough house and racket in there. His language is getting as profane as theirs. Some of them men think it’s funny to hear him cuss.”
“Son, you go get him out of there right now and make him do his work. I don’t want him in there with that crowd. You keep him out!” ordered Mary as she returned her attention to getting the food ready.
“Yes ma’am. I can get him back in here, but I can’t make him learn,” Lott said, as he stomped toward the door in defiance and, in a few moments, returned dragging Jeremiah by the collar.
Once again, Mary stopped what she was doing to address her boys, “Jeremiah, I don’t like for you to be around those men when they are drinking, and I don’t want you in there. You hear me, young man? And that cursing has got to stop.”
Jeremiah looked up at his mother and with a smile that could charm the Queen, reassured her he would never do it again.
“You boys settle down and get to work. We’ll be going home soon. Your schoolwork is important. One of your late beloved father’s dreams was that you boys would be educated, no matter what the cost.”
“Mother,” interrupted Lott, “Professor Johnson wants to talk to you.”
“What about, Lott? It’s hard for me to get to the school and work at the same time.”
Once again Mary stopped what she was doing. “It’s Jeremiah, isn’t it? What trouble is he in now?”
Suddenly their mother’s face turned red in anger, “Jeremiah, who have you been fighting with now? Has it been those McCarley boys again?”
Jeremiah hung his head and in a whisper said, “No Ma’am, I haven’t fought in a long time, Mamma. I don’t know what Mister Johnson wants.”
Mary took great pride in the fact that her boys were able to attend school. Very few boys in the backwoods area could read and write and most of the boys in Savannah were unschooled. With the help of her Presbyterian minister, she arranged for Lott and Jeremiah to attend their church school for boys.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Mister Jeremiah Wilson. We will get to the bottom of this by tomorrow afternoon, and you had better not be in serious trouble.
The following afternoon as soon as Mary finished her work at the factory, she hurriedly made her way to Saint Andrews School for Boys and Mister Johnson’s office. A secretary opened the door and directed her to a seat next to a large desk positioned in front of the most massive windows Mary had ever seen.
“Mister Johnson will see you soon. He is up the hall taking care of a problem. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
It wasn’t long until Mister Johnson, a tall thin man in his early thirties, came storming down the hall and entered the room unaware of Mary’s presence.
“This old heating system and these rowdy youngsters are going to get the best of me,” he mumbled, as he walked past the desk and peered through the window that overlooked the campus below. “Why do I stay in this profession?” he sighed.
Mary cleared her throat.
Mister Johnson quickly turned in surprise to see who had witnessed his moment of aggravation. “Oh, please excuse me. This has been a most difficult day. You must be Mrs. Wilson.”
“Yes sir, I’m Lott and Jeremiah’s mother, and I’m here to talk to you about Jeremiah.”
“Lott and Jeremiah,” He seemed unable to remember the exact intent of his appointment. “Oh yes, I know now. It’s Jeremiah, not Lott, that I’m having some trouble with. Actually, I’m having a lot of trouble with that young man.”
“What kind of trouble, Mister Johnson?” questioned Mary, as she quietly pulled her chair closer to his desk.
“Mrs. Wilson, you have two very different sons. Lott loves to study and is always reading and completing everything assigned to him and he is especially sharp in mathematics. But Jeremiah is quite a different story.”
“What do you mean, Jeremiah is a different story?”
“Mrs. Wilson, I’m going to be honest with you. Jeremiah doesn’t seem to like school, and he doesn’t seem able to sit still long enough to perform his school tasks. His mind wanders off to fantasy lands or somewhere, and he simply is not passing his work. In fact, he’s not passing anything.”
Tears began to ease down Mary’s cheeks. “Mister Johnson, I can help Jeremiah do better.