Doc Grasson’s Gift
The sun rose. A foggy mist hung low, drenching the Mississippi world of Johnson grass, morning glories, cotton, magnolias and pecan trees in a wet, dripping blanket of dew. The faithful rooster’s crow carried across the land beckoning the new day.
The rooster’s crow startled Bully from a deep sleep.
Where the hell am I, he thought.
On two consecutive mornings, this question confronted Bully. He struggled to wake. He opened one eye and saw the vague shape of a corn sheller and heard the unmistakable rooting and grunting sounds of pigs. His foot throbbed with pain. He opened his other eye, and a thought occurred: this could be a corn crib. Turning, he focused on fifteen to twenty small pigs. They seized the opportunity of the open door, scooted past Bully and headed for hog heaven; seven hundred bushels of unguarded corn.
Bully’s mind returned to the following day. He remembered the first half well, but the second half blurred. He could remember bits and pieces: an argument with Alice Fae and…
“Oh, shit!” Bully yelled. “I’m supposed to be at Miss Lillian’s at six this morning!”
Bully’s sudden alarm startled the feeding pigs. A fury of porcine mass stampeded for the door. Bully lay in the door. He tried to get up but failed. Five seconds of chaos, followed by a blinding pain from his foot, left him in agony. He teetered on the threshold of unconsciousness but refused the luxury; he needed to make Miss Lillian’s meeting.
Why hogs defecate when excited took on more than an academic curiosity for Bully. Between the pain and the pig shit, Bully knew his day would get better. It didn’t.
Jarvis walked into a hurricane when he stepped into Miss Lillian’s office without Bully. Jarvis thought, I’d rather castrate a two thousand-pound bull than tell Miss Lillian that Bully’s missing. Jarvis entered Mr. John’s office.
Miss Lillian sat at John’s former desk.
“What did I tell you to do?”
Jarvis’s wilted body language told the whole story. Before Jarvis opened his mouth, Miss Lillian answered her question with another one.
“Well, where the hell is he?”
“Miss Lillian, all I know is Miss Alice Fae said he wasn’t there, and she didn’t know.”
Bully walked in.
“Where in Satan have you been?”
Bully washed up the best he could in a horse trough down at the barn and found an empty flour sack to dry himself off. He half limped, half swaggered into the office. Late or not, Bully knew Miss Lillian needed him to oversee the harvest.
“Jarvis, get to the cotton field!”
“Yes’um, Miss Lillian.”
Jarvis winked at Bully on his way out.
Alice Fae didn’t sleep the night of Jessie’s beating. When Jarvis came for Bully, he found her on the front porch swing, fetal like, staring out across the cotton field. She sent him on his way with no recollection of their conversation. She tried to comfort Jessie through the night. A busted lip and twenty to thirty cuts and bruises crisscrossed his back, hips, and legs. All night, Jessie muttered and took the blame. He rocked, talked to himself, and rocked.
“If I hadn’t wanted to take piano lessons, Daddy wouldn’t have gotten mad,” he said.
“Honey don’t talk about it. Just push those thoughts away, far away. Think about ole Rover.”
Alice Fae looked down the drive fearful Bully would return. Rover barked. She jumped.
This is Willard’s fault. Bully’s not mean until he gets with Willard, she thought.
She hated Willard.
After two weeks of being “shut down,” Miss Lillian’s attitude and vision cleared. She decided to take personal charge of the farming empire Mr. John left behind. No “hired hand” deserved or was entitled to the job. To hell with what C.C. Bates wanted. The thought of C.C. Bates lit a fire in the old woman. She rose at four-thirty each morning and everyone on the farm was in the fields by six-thirty. She demanded it.
Mr. John’s office was large. It attached to the equipment shed Bully built. Mr. John placed him in charge of building the most modern equipment shed in the county. Bully took great pride in Mr. John’s trust, and he came through with excellence. People from Mississippi State drove up from Starkville to see it. The folks from Rock City, Tennessee, wanted to paint their sign on the roof. Entering the office door, the beautiful knotty pine paneling impressed. Mr. John filled his backwall with a lifetime of awards and pictures. Mr. John’s pride and joy was his picture with Senator John Stennis. Every democratic candidate who campaigned in Lee County knocked on Mr. John’s door. Along the walls were hundreds of eighteen-inch brown paper tubes with cotton protruding from each end, called cotton samples. A grade was given to each sample, which determined the price paid for each five-hundred-pound bail of cotton. Mr. John’s massive roll top desk sat on the right wall, with scores of drawers, nooks, shelves, and slots. A picture of Miss Lillian and Francina occupied the top on one side. There were several deer heads and one bear head mounted on the front wall; Sheriff Bigelow’s brother-in-law’s work.
“Sit down, Bully!” Miss Lillian said..
He hobbled over to a cane bottom chair next to Mr. John’s desk and eased down with a grimace.
“Bully, I don’t have a lot of time to mess with you this morning,” Miss Lillian said..
“From our little conversation, day before yesterday, you are aware that I don’t care for you that much--never have. What John saw in you is a mystery to me.”
Bully sank lower and lower in his chair with each word.
“Some people think I should turn this place over to you; that won’t happen.” Miss Lillian’s eyes flashed.
“Bully, if you and I are to work together, you will have to go back to zero and work your way into my good graces.”
Bully’s eyes lit for a moment.
“I’ve decided to let you be Curtis’s assistant, working the livestock.”
“Curtis’s assistant! I hate livestock, and Curtis is an idiot!” Bully blurted.
“Until you hear from me, you are not to operate any farm equipment or be seen in the fields. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bully was devastated. He lived, slept, and breathed to be in the fields atop a huge tractor.
“Now, git outta here! And report to Curtis. I’ve got work to do.” Miss Lillian turned away and shuffled through a stack of papers.
Bully stood in shock. Stunned. Within four minutes, he had moved from the heir apparent farm manager to an idiot’s assistant. He hobbled toward the door.
“Bully, you do what Curtis says or you will regret the day. And another thing: no damn field hand is leading us out of this mess John left. I’m doing it!”
Bully slammed the screen door on his way out.
“Mavis! Mavis!”
“Alice Fae, what are you doing out so early?”
“Mavis, Bully went wild on Jessie last night. He and that low life Willard went off yesterday and got drunk. Bully came home last night raising cane and whipped Jessie senseless.” Alice Fae’s voice cracked, and her lips quivered.
“I’ll kill them both,” Mavis said.
“Jessie is like my own. It’s one thing to go off on someone your own size, but not little Jessie. That ain’t right, Alice Fae!”
“It’s that Willard, Mavis. Bully would be all right if it wasn’t for Willard.”
“I got a bullet for that Willard, but no one held a gun on Bully, Alice Fae,” Mavis pointed her index finger.
“No, Mavis. I just need you to help me with Jessie today. Miss Lillian is looking for me right now, I bet.”
“You don’t fret your head ‘bout nothing, girl. Me and Jessie will be just fine.”
“Oh, thank you, Mavis!” Alice Fae hugged Mavis.
“Can he get down here on his own?”
“Yeah, I think so. He’s just real sore.” Alice Fae paused.
“There’s something else I sure need your thoughts on.”
�
��What is it?”
“Miss Francina offered to teach Jessie piano lessons, and Jessie got all excited. When he told Bully ‘bout it, he went off. She wants to talk with Jessie at three o’clock this afternoon. I’m afraid Bully might go off on Jessie again, if we go ahead. What do you think?”
“If that little boy wants to take up piano lessons, I say let him. That’s my two cents on it.”
“You don’t think it might happen again?” Alice Fae replied.
“Can’t go around scared all your life, Alice Fae.”
“Guess you’re right. Will you make sure Jessie gets up to Miss Francina’s?”
“You can count on me, Alice Fae.”
Doc Grasson woke with Bully on his mind.
He’s in trouble with his foot under the best of circumstances. Time’s short. But, why am I chasing all over the country looking for Bully? It’s not my foot. He’s the one refusing to go to the hospital. How did he get injured? Why could I not get a straight answer?
He finished breakfast, grabbed his hat, and headed down to the Watson place.
Alice Fae hurried, got Jessie over to Mavis’s and prayed to avoid hell from Miss Lillian. She felt exhausted. Alice Fae hurried along the road to Miss Lillian’s, deep in fear and thought. A vehicle interrupted. Doc Grasson’s green Chevy appeared around the curved gravel road. He recognized her and slowed to a stop.
“Good morning, Alice Fae. How are you this morning?” She hesitated. One word might start an avalanche of tears.
“Fine, Doc. How are you?”
“You sure, Alice Fae?”
“Yes sir. I’m just a little tired.”
“Where could I find Bully this morning? I’m worried about his foot.”
Alice Fae worried more about his head.
“He’s supposed to meet with Miss Lillian first thing this morning. You might catch him there.”
“Are you headed that way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If that’s the case, get in and I’ll give you a ride.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, Doc Grasson.”
Alice Fae moved around to the passenger side and climbed in. Doc Grasson turned around and drove for Miss Lillian’s place.
“How did Bully hurt that foot, Alice Fae?”
“Your guess is good as mine, Doc. He won’t tell me.”
“Strange. How’s Jessie?”
“Fine.”
“Does he like to read?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” Her voice brightened.
“I’ve got a few books he might like. Next time I’m headed this way, I’ll drop them off.”
“What kinda books, Doc Grasson?”
“Civil War books.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would like that, Doc. He’s such a good boy.”
Doc Grasson occupied the local expert chair on the Civil War. He could extol for days. His grandfather fought with Barksdale’s Mississippi regiment at Fredericksburg. Doc Grasson had walked the battlefields of Brice’s Cross Roads, Gettysburg, Fredericksburg, and Shiloh and made the terrain and stories come alive with his detailed descriptions of the battles. Since his wife, Miss Olga, died in nineteen forty-two, he spent most of his free time studying the great battles and the cast of characters that had decided the ultimate outcome of the epic struggle. He never remarried.
God created Curtis simple. Nineteen years old and overweight, he operated with the brain and personality of a child. Rudy complexion and bucktoothed, his pants forever sagged. His thoughts were concrete and devoid of insight. Mr. John struggled to find a place for him. He tried him on a tractor. Curtis crashed into a cotton wagon and killed a mule before the dinner bell rang. Mr. John worked him at the cotton gin but couldn’t rest with Curtis around moving belts and pulleys. With time, Curtis gravitated to the livestock and found a niche.
Curtis caught the brunt of many jokes contrived by the field hands. Mr. John protected him before his death.
The barn gave Curtis refuge. He spent each day feeding, cleaning, petting, and talking to the animals. Mr. John chastised Curtis for over grooming the animals. He created bald spots on a prize Tennessee Walker’s mane from the sheer amount he groomed the poor animal. Curtis loved animals and he told folks. Even the most understanding and even-tempered person found it trying; Bully possessed neither an even temper nor understanding.
When Bully stormed from the farm office, dust engulfed him. Doc Grasson’s green Chevy came to a halt. Bully turned and started toward the far end of the equipment shed. Alice Fae broke into a sweat at the sight of Bully. Doc Grasson exited the truck and made his way toward the crippled Bully. Alice Fae ran into Miss Lillian’s house.
“Bully, wait up!”
Bully slowed his crippled gait and turned. “Doc, not to be mean, but I’m not having a good day.”
“Well, Bully, it’s not your meanness concerning me. I don’t want you to lose that foot. Sit down and let me see what’s going on.”
“It’s been hurting like hell, Doc.”
“Doc, if Ms. Lillian doesn’t mind, I could ride back with you and take care of it now.”
“Bully, that’s a fine idea. Get in the truck.”
When Doc Grasson pulled on the office doorknob, to alert Ms. Lillian about Bully’s idea, Francina fell into his arms. He caught her and helped her regain her balance. Their eyes met. He tipped his hat. She blushed and went on her way.
Doc Grasson regained his composure and stuck his head into the office.
“I’ll be taking Bully up to the house about that foot.”
“If you haul him off, you better haul him back!”
“And another thing, I saw just what happen.”
Their eyes locked. Tic toc. Tic toc. Mr. John’s old clock permeated the silence.
Doc walked out. He and Bully got in the truck and proceeded to Doc Grasson’s place.
Doc broke the silence.
“Bully, what has life been like without Mr. John around?”
“Well, I can’t explain it. Do you know how one or two logs can cause a whole river of logs to get hung up?”
“Keep talking.” Doc slowed for a pothole in the road.
“Like north is not north anymore?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I felt like that when Olga died. Didn’t want to get outta bed for the longest time. I started doing things out of character.”
Doc thought of his morphine addiction.
“Yeah.” Bully thought about his drinking.
“When are you going to tell me, what happened to that foot?”
“Doc, I shot it while I was cleaning my gun. I thought I told you already.”
“Maybe you did.”
Doc knew a gunshot wound when he saw one. This was no gunshot wound. The gravel clinked against the under carriage of Doc Grasson’s truck.
“Bully, what happened to your mother, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Bully did not entertain thoughts of his mother; it was far too painful.
“Doc, I don’t know what happened to her. I have only heard stories of her. It’s strange never to have met your mother. I always hoped she would appear one day, but she never did.”
They fell silent. The Chevy made its way through the Mississippi countryside over dusty gravel roads.
They passed over the Mud Creek Bridge about five miles upstream from the fjord. They both flashed on the night Mr. John died. Doc Grasson and Bully kept silent.
Bully broke the silence. “Doc, can I ask you a question”
“Sure.”
“Do you know who raped my mamma?”
Doc Grasson recoiled from the question.
“No, son. Some said a stranger raped her. The County Fair set up about that time. Some dogs are better left sleeping, Bully.”
“It bothers me, but I don’t talk much about it.”
Three trucks and a team of mules pulling a wagon awaited the country doctor. Sick kids in their mother’s arms and Joe Hill, who held his hand in a bloody di
aper, waited on the porch. By the time Doc treated everyone and got a cast on Bully’s foot, it was late afternoon.
Miss Lillian’s old chime clock struck three. A faint knock tapped on the green screen door. Jessie appeared through the screen.
Miss Francina greeted him with a warm smile. Her hair blazed in the afternoon light of autumn. She wore a beautiful white blouse with a large cameo under her chin. Her pleated red skirt fell well below her knees.
Beautiful and Miss Francina were one to Jessie. His slicked down hair showed the imprint of his baseball cap, which he held in this hand. He stood dazed.
“Come in, Jessie. I’ve looked forward to our talk all day.”
“Make sure his shoes are clean!” Miss Lillian called from the kitchen.
“He’s fine, Mother,” Miss Francina said.
She cut her eyes in her mother’s direction.
“Let’s sit at the piano.”
They walked into the parlor and took a seat at the beautiful concert Grand Steinway. Jessie’s heart raced. His mother had worked for Miss Lillian since his birth, but Jessie never entered through these doors. He often could hear Miss Francina play while he and his father worked down at the equipment shed. Miss Francina’s gift; making everyone around her feel special. Jessie was no exception. He forgot his cuts and bruises and his busted lip. He forgot the wrath of his father the evening before. Inhaling Miss Francina’s perfume, he lost himself in the moment.
“Miss Alice Fae said you might help me out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jessie said.
“Well, I’ve been away to a wonderful school, and I’ve learned a lot about music. When I got home, I got to thinking about who in all the world would I like to share these new ideas and talents with. Do you know the one and only person who came to my mind?”
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