A Perilous Proposal Read Free Page B

Jake’s speech became like his papa’s. By the time they were seven, little John started bossing Jake around.
    One day he told Jake to pick up a pile of firewood and move it about ten feet away.
    â€œNow why you tellin’ me ter do dat, Johnny?” said Jake. “Dat’s a silly thing ter do.”
    â€œDon’t call me that, Jake,” retorted the white boy. “From now on, I want you to call me Master John.”
    â€œWhy dat?” laughed Jake.
    â€œBecause I said so.”
    â€œYou ain’t my massa.”
    â€œI’m white. That makes me your boss.”
    â€œNo it don’t.”
    â€œIt does too.”
    â€œIt don’t!”
    â€œAnd I tell you it does. Whites are masters and coloreds have to do what they say.”
    â€œBut dat wood dere don’t need ter be moved,” insisted Jake.
    â€œIf I tell you to move it, then you have to move it. You’re a slave.”
    Still thinking Johnny was playing a game on him, Jake started laughing again.
    Angrily “Master John” picked up a long, thin stick from the woodpile and whacked it across Jake’s back.
    â€œWhat you do dat for!” yelled Jake. The game was suddenly over. He grabbed another stick to fight back.
    Before long they were hitting and fighting and yelling and rolling over each other on the ground. In the midst of the skirmish Jake’s papa came by. Immediately he put a stop to it. Expecting to be vindicated, Jake stood up, hot from the battle, with a smile of satisfaction on his face. But he was in for a surprise.
    Jake’s papa sent Johnny Clarkson on his way back home. Then he turned seriously to Jake.
    â€œDon’t you neber fight back, son,” he said. “Fightin’ back ain’t no way ter foller da master.”
    â€œBut Johnny was bossin’ at me, Papa,” replied Jake.
    â€œDat don’t matter, son,” said his father. “When sumbodyfrom da big house duz sumfin ter you, or tells you ter do sumfin, you gots ter min’ what dey say.”
    â€œBut it wuz jes’ Johnny.”
    â€œHe be Mister Clarkson’s son, an’ so you gots ter min’ whateber Master John tell you ter do.”
    â€œBut he tol’ me ter move dat pile er wood.”
    â€œDen you bes’ move it,” said his father.
    â€œBut it don’t need ter be moved.”
    â€œDat don’ matter, son. We gots ter obey what we’s tol’ ter do. Lots er what we’s tol’ don’ seem ter make sense. We gots ter obey neber da less. We’s slaves, an’ da Bible tells us ter obey.”
    Feeling betrayed by his own father, Jake set about moving the wood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Johnny watching from behind a tree with a smirk on his face. Jake didn’t know whom to be most angry at—Johnny or his own papa.
    Instead of trusting his father to know what was best, Jake let himself sulk about it. Then he let it fester in his thoughts and heart. And that tiny seed of anger began to grow inside young Jake’s heart.
    It wasn’t too long afterward, when he was still stewing about what his papa had done, that Jake came home one day from swimming in the creek with Johnny and some of the other children. He came around the corner of the shack and heard something he had never heard before in his life. His mother was speaking heatedly to his father.
    â€œWhy can’t chu be like da other men an’ jes’ keep yo mouf shut?” she said. “Why you gots ter be such a talker? Don’ chu know Massa don’ want none er yer religious noshuns? An’ he don’ want none er yer help wiffen da other men neither, not nohow.”
    â€œI gots ter say what da Lawd gib me ter say,” said her husband calmly.
    â€œEben effen it gits you whipped?”
    â€œMaybe sumtimes dat’s da way it gots ter be.”
    â€œDat soun’s right foolish ter me. Why can’t chu jes’ let