Never Too Late Read Free Page A

EW H OME
    3

    S EFFIE WAS TOO YOUNG TO HAVE TO EXPERIENCE A broken heart.
    Torn away from her mother and the only home she had ever known, could her heart ever heal? Or would a hard scab grow over the wound and prevent her from loving again?
    Mose told her to cling close. He would say she was his sister, and that a master would get more work out of them if they could stay together.
    When Peter Meisner, a wealthy German immigrant, saw the two at the New Orleans slave market, however, it was the girl who attracted his attention. She looked about the right age. She was obviously frightened, but her eyes looked bright and intelligent.
    He walked toward them. The girl glanced down at the ground, but the boy held his gaze.
    â€œShe your sister?” he asked.
    â€œYes, suh,” said Mose.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” asked Meisner, turning toward her.
    â€œHer name’s Seffie, suh,” Mose answered for her. “I’s real good wiff horses, suh.”
    â€œHow old are you, Seffie?” asked the man.
    Seffie glanced up at Mose, too scared to speak.
    â€œAnswer me, girl,” prodded the man.
    â€œâ€™Bout seven, suh,” said Seffie.
    The man knelt down. “Do you know how to read, Seffie?”
    Again she glanced toward Mose and hesitated.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Meisner. “I won’t make you leave your brother. If I decide to buy you, I’ll buy you both. Now . . . can you read?”
    â€œNo, suh,” said Seffie timidly.
    â€œWould you like to learn?”
    Again Seffie looked at Mose, wondering what she should say. He gave an imperceptible nod. Already he could tell this man would be a good master to them.
    â€œYes, suh,” said Seffie.
    â€œGood, then—I will see what I can do.”
    Neither of the two black youngsters knew it yet, but Peter Meisner had come to the slave market hoping to find a companion for his eight-year-old daughter. He and his wife had been in Louisiana for only a few years. Two years before, their daughter Grace had contracted scarlet fever. The long battle for her life left her blind and with a weakened heart. But Grace knew how to read and loved to learn. If she could not read for herself, she could be read to. They hired a governess, but the woman, though a good enough teacher, did not have a nurse’s compassion. Grace graduallyquieted. Her governess grew distant, and the schoolroom became quiet and depressing. Grace’s father had gone to the slave market in hopes of finding a bright young slave girl for Grace to play with and learn with and hopefully bring some cheer back into his daughter’s life.
    It did not take long for both Grace’s parents to realize they had made a wise choice. How different it might have been had Grace been able to see her new friend’s dark brown face, none of them would ever know. As it was, the two girls hit it off immediately. Seffie’s aptitude for learning proved as much a boon for the governess as her presence was for Grace’s spirits. Not that she had been hired to teach a slave girl, but, as she read to Grace, Seffie came in for her own share of the learning. Within six months, and much to Grace’s delight, Seffie was reading to Grace herself. Trying to model her own speech after Grace’s—with occasional correction from the other two—gradually Seffie began to lose some of her slave dialect. Listening and paying attention and asking questions as Miss Walker tutored Grace in the subjects her parents had set, within another year Seffie knew how to write and had begun to learn mathematics.
    â€œAll right, girls,” said Miss Walker one morning, “today we shall practice our sums again. Grace,” she added, “do you think you can visualize the numbers in your mind like we did yesterday?”
    â€œI will try, Miss Walker,” said Grace.
    â€œIt be all right if I’s write—”
    â€œWill it be all right if I write