Peltier could distinguish nothing unusual until Glen reached up and separated the foliage exposing the heavy central vine demonstrating the canes and their fragile tendrils of shoots. They were in the process of establishing the locus of clusters of new grapes that would ultimately develop into the veraison of mature, plump, sweet and succulent wild grapes as summer ended and delivered them into the fall.
As though a curtain had been lifted, Jordan Peltier saw, knew, and understood what this had been all about. He realized that this was a vineyard yet like no other vineyard ever previously conceived. It was completely hidden from view and no planting had taken place. Anyone could pass through this entire forest and never see or know that this treasure existed. They needed only to tend that which already was and then harvest, crush, ferment, keg, siphon, and bottle a product that could be stored, then sold at almost any asking price. He was staring at McKenna’s Gold! Jordan turned and faced Papa Hailes. His expression fused into one of surprise then into genuine admiration and respect.
He exclaimed, “I want to help you. I also want to participate in your endeavor. I have many friends in Louisiana, each with particular credentials to bring all of your hopes and ideas to fruition. I understand and am willing to accept the attendant risks inherent in so dynamic a venture. In this moment I have already considered the potential benefits and realize that they more than outweigh the possible injuries to be sustained by those risks. In other words, count me in.”
Papa looked up into the smiling face of his son. He grinned back up into the tree and motioned Glen to climb down from his perch. Then Papa replied, “Mr. Peltier, we have a great deal more for you to see and to do in this forest, but the day is growing to a close, and you still have to get back to Quitman. I feel that this has been a most rewarding day that will be a prelude to many productive and mutually beneficial times that we will share.
There are a number of issues that must be considered and mutually agreed upon, however, but these can wait until another day. Let’s go on back to the house and we will fill another fruit jar with peach brandy for you to take back to Quitman to enjoy.”
When they arrived, Papa told Mr. Peltier, “You still have a long hard ride back into town tonight. Would you like for us to make you a pallet on the living room floor so you can rest the night and get up in time to get back in the morning?”
“Thank you for your hospitality Mr. Hailes, but I have a great deal to think about regarding the events of this day and I will do my thinking better in my own bed tonight.” Jordan replied. Jordan continued, “If you have made any projections of costs and financial requirements until the first corkage, I would appreciate your estimates in order to bring us closer to an understanding.”
Papa replied, “I have to be in town on this coming Wednesday. I will bring a comprehensive accounting to your office at the bank that day.”
Jordan remonstrated, “Wait until you have completed everything, and then let me know at the bank. We can meet at the river beneath the bridge just out of town. I just feel that our business would be better conducted outside the confines of the bank, at least in the beginning of this venture.”
One final issue had yet to be resolved before Jordan Peltier saddled up and left Hale tonight. Papa was pleased that it had not been necessary to involve Callie any further. She could now go back to Atlanta and resume her life without additional involvement. She had provided a great service to her family simply by rendering herself as insurance should any portion of this desperate plan have faltered along the way.
Jordan stood on the front porch and emptied a final glass of iced tea. As he took his first step toward Chicago, Papa interceded, “If you will tell me the name of the girl you dreamed about then I am sure that I will be able to help you through any problems that may arise that caused you so much distress.”
Jordan gazed off into the distance for the moment then simply said, “Her name was Callie. That was her first name. I can’t remember her last.”
Papa asked, “Was it Callie Carpenter?”
“Yes, that was her last name,” Jordan answered, puzzled that Papa knew her or at least of her.
Papa soothed, “I know her family well. Leave the details to me. You can sleep well tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Jordan questioned.
“I am very sure.” Papa assured. “Now take your get-go on that big chestnut horse of yours and be very careful riding home. From this day your well-being is very important to me and to my family. You can count on us to keep you that way.”
Before he departed Jordan went back into the house took my grandmother’s hand and thanked her for the dinner and for all her generous hospitality. Then he put the broad brimmed hat back on his head strode out the door, climbed astride Chicago, and trotted back toward Quitman with happiness in his heart. His was not the only happy heart that night in Clarke County either.
The sun had settled upon the western horizon as Chicago walked and lathered along the road. Jordan continued deep in thought as they reached the eastern limits of the Township of Quitman. He pondered all the happenings of this most unusual day in his life and of those of his hosts. He was most baffled by Papa Hailes’ knowledge of Callie Carpenter and his apparently intimate and close relationship with her family.
Papa must have known them very, very well in order to render his calm and confident assurance regarding the delicate situation that Jordan could be facing at this moment. After much agonizing during the hot, dusty seven mile ride back to his home, he finally decided that he should not pursue the matter further. If Silas Hailes could extract him from this morass, then he would be spared any or all of the following: disgrace at least; the loss of all that he had worked for to become the president of a bank, even if that bank were situated in this most remote and impoverished little corner of Southeastern Mississippi; the certain end to the possibility of continuing to ascend toward the summit of financial success in a major banking institution, hopefully in Chicago or even New York City, and the total and final eclipse of an early, yet highly promising and brilliant career; or at worst to be indicted, prosecuted, and imprisoned on Parchman Farm for most if not all of the rest of his life.
He could never withstand the environment of a chain gang and certainly not the amorous attentions of his fellow inmates.
The only logical and pragmatic option that Jordan Peltier could exercise therefore would be to trust William Silas Hailes for delivery to safety. He had no other choice. At that moment he just hoped that he would never encounter Callie Carpenter again, but he knew that would only be a passing inclination.
He also felt a clutch in his heart, however, knowing that he had lost one of the best things that he could ever know in his whole lifetime. He missed her, even hoped that she might have returned to his house before he arrived. He knew that she could have come back and walked directly into his home because he never locked his doors in Quitman.
It had just grown completely dark when he entered the gate to the livery stable that was Chicago’s residence. He was unspeakably tired both physically and mentally as he greeted the stable attendant.
Pearlie Burleson was an old widower that cleaned the stalls, provided washing and rubdowns for his guests along with drinking water, rations of corn and hay feed. He lived in a 100 square foot ‘apartment’ within the stable, and walked them every morning.
Jordan reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a dollar. He handed it to Pearlie and said, “I’m worn out tonight from a ride out to Hale for the day. I’ve got to get home and get some sleep before I put in a full day at the bank tomorrow.” He continued, “If you will, Pearlie, take off the saddle, the blanket, the bridle, and store it all in the tack room.”
He handed Pearlie another fifty-cent piece and said, “Give him an extra ration tonight and walk him a little extra in the morning, because he is surely going to be stiff after today’s workout.”
Pearlie finalized the conversation saying, “Yes sir, Mr. Pelt
ier, you can count on me to take good care of him, and thanks for the extra tip. I can sure use it.”
Jordan walked steadily and briskly along the six blocks to home. He turned into his yard and climbed the porch. The front door opened readily as he grasped and turned the doorknob affording his entrance into a dark and silent house. He fumbled in the blackness and carefully groped an end table situated beside the couch of the living room. He felt the tabletop as carefully as possible in order to avoid tipping over and breaking the exquisite glass base and funnel of the kerosene lamp that he knew would be there in the darkness. He found a kitchen match in his trousers pocket and struck it on the sole of his boot. The phosphorous head of the match ignited from friction as it moved across the rough leather surface, affording a sudden brilliant illumination then quieting to a sputtering pointed oval of light. He lighted the lamp and set it aside on the table. The room was suddenly visible with the stark contrasts of light and darkness cast by the furniture and other objects of the place.
He inspected all of the contents of the room, and then moved slowly into the kitchen and into his bedroom. He experienced an intense mixture of emotions, both of elation that he was alone and a painful disappointment that he found the empty bed in exactly the same disarray that it had been at the moment he walked out of the door en route to Hale that morning. He was indeed alone.
He disrobed entirely, standing naked for a moment. He then turned and entered the water closet next to the bedroom. He would forget once more how he had gotten into his bed for a second consecutive night, but this time for an entirely different reason.
His sleep was interrupted the following dawn by the crowing of a rooster in the barnyard of his next-door neighbor. Shortly after this disturbance, he was pressed into full alertness by the cackling of the hens in the same neighbor’s chicken coop; mercifully, it had been a dreamless night and Jordan was fairly rested.
About the same time a few blocks away Callie awakened. She languished in the bed for a while thinking about the developments that must have surely transpired since her quick departure from Jordan Peltier’s house the previous morning. She knew that he had been out to Papa Hailes’ and had been scared to death by his presumed encroachment and by the potential consequences that his dalliance may have precipitated. He also suffered from a hangover, a debilitating, incapacitating, unmitigating hangover that would have impaired his capacity to think, reason, and figure out just what was happening to him especially after a ride out to Papa’s place.
She did not smile. Rather, she felt a touch of remorse and commiseration with her erstwhile prey. Actually, she had found him quite presentable, entertaining and attractive. Had he not been so completely inebriated, he might have been downright acceptable. She didn’t linger upon it. She had done her obligation and duty to her family, and hoped that she had completed that task. She got up and quickly bathed. She found a fresh print dress, one likely to gain the most attention, selected matching low heeled shoes, and put on a big straw hat and dark glasses. In the hallway she stopped in front of a full length mirror and whirled about gazing critically at the reflected, spinning image. She reached into the umbrella bin beside the mirror and removed a matching little parasol to complete her ensemble. She smiled then frowned, though not with displeasure. She knew that she would stop a few buckboards that day.
Glen Adams, John Hal’s father, had just completed his breakfast and was about to leave through the front door on his way to work at the Coca-Cola plant when he encountered this lovely visage during her self-inspection. He whistled, “My goodness Callie, you’re as bright as a barber pole.” He alluded to a motorized red, white, and blue striped rotating cylindrical column, an icon attached to a doorway that indicated the entrance to a barber shop. He continued, “They’ll have to call out the fire wagons and hose down the boys wherever you go this morning.” He smiled in good nature, and Callie readily appreciated that his remarks were light and well meant.
Callie gave him a petulant little smile in reward for his observations and said, “I’m just gonna take a little stroll downtown for a soda and get some fresh air. I’m not trying to stir up any trouble. I think I’ve done enough of that in the past couple of days, anyway.”
John Hal’s father laughed, “You put it just right, Callie.”
She continued, “Have you heard any news from Uncle Glen or Papa Hailes?”
“Nothing yet,” he answered. “He knows we’re not going to tell anybody and mess up his plan. I’m sure we’ll know something before the end of the day.”
She nodded and signified her intent to leave, moving along the hallway toward the front of the house. Her uncle held the front door open for her as she moved briskly through, twirling the parasol in preparation for her parade through the business district of downtown Quitman.
She strolled along the square viewing the window displays, inspecting the merchandise while surreptitiously looking at the reflections of the passers-by noting their responses to her presence on the street. She knew that she was generating a stir of attention and was enjoying this moment of adulation when a familiar form appeared in the mirror-like storefront glass just behind her.
The man possessed a balding head and was wearing a business suit and tie. He stood near to her. His brow and forehead wrinkled with a complex of apprehension, yet smiling with obvious delight at the discovery of her being there at that particular moment. The image spoke and said, “Good morning, Callie. I’m glad to see you. Have you been all right since the other night?”
She did not need to inquire regarding his name. She turned, smiled and said with considerable reservation, “Well, good morning to you, Mr. Peltier. Your health appears to be considerably improved as well.”
The sober banker did, indeed, look much more appealing this morning on his way to work or lunch or to wherever he might be going at the moment. She thought, “If he asks, then why not?”
He commented, “I don’t believe I have ever seen anything more lovely than you with your dress and that tantalizing little parasol since I came to Quitman, or in all of Mississippi, or even Louisiana for that matter.”
Before she could respond he continued, “Right now it’s 11:45 in the morning. I left the bank for lunch because I have an appointment at one 1:00. Would you be willing to join me for a little something to eat if it won’t interrupt your shopping or whatever you might be doing right now?”
Her countenance brightened. Then she purred, “I’m so happy that chivalry does remain in the South, Mr. Peltier. How can I resist? I certainly accept your offer.” Then she added, “I also appreciate your courage.”
Jordan said, "What do you mean?"
Callie looked directly into his tentative questioning blue eyes and rejoined, “If you haven’t figured that out by now then I will have to subtract a few points for your lack of intelligence. I’m really betting on you, though.”
Peltier paled, he asked, “Have you discussed this with anyone?” He suddenly became wary and very nervous.
Callie giggled, “No, of course not, silly! I like you very much, and I don’t want you to retract your invitation to lunch.”
With that he relaxed a bit and returned her smile. “Let’s get along to Mrs. Billingham’s boarding house for lunch. I haven’t eaten anything since I rode out into the country yesterday at dinner. When I got home I was too full and too tired to look for anything for supper last night. Incidentally, I was quite disappointed that you weren’t waiting for me at my house when I got back.”
“Now I am sure that you have a suicidal tendency Mr. Peltier. You know what would happen if anyone in my family had the slightest inkling of what happened the other night. The thought had occurred to me that I might see you again over there, but I didn’t want you being dragged from your house and raised like a flag from the nearest big tree.” She finished, “Wait another season or two, Jordan. Then we shall see. In the meantime we are standing here and it’s getting awfully warm, and I’m beginning to get very hungry. Just where
is this lady’s boarding house?”
Feeling very foolish Jordan smiled and said, “I’m standing here like a fourteen year old boy wanting and trying to please you, and the more I try the more stupid I become. Just come along with me. I am sure that you won’t be disappointed with the lunch.” He turned and began walking slowly away down the street. Callie followed, but not for long. Within a few steps she overtook and walked beside him. Suddenly Jordan realized that this little stroll could be quite damning if the details of the recent evening became general knowledge. He was walking very close to this little juvenile along one of the most populous streets in Quitman. Instinctively his pace quickened. Soon Callie was racing to keep up with him taking almost two steps to each of his own.
She exclaimed, “Either slow down or carry me on your back. My make-up will be ruined!” She was becoming angry as they moved rapidly past the doorway to the drug store. Suddenly, she turned into the entrance of the pharmacy leaving Peltier standing on the street.
Jordan thought a moment then sighed with relief. This was a solution to his exposure and he might still salvage the moment. He moved quickly into the store and felt the coolness of the vaulted ceilings upon his head. Callie was walking toward the opposite side of the building toward the exit onto Boykin Street. Jordan called her name not too loudly nor harshly but with sufficient volume to gain her attention. “Miss Carpenter,” he soothed, “I apologize for walking too fast for you. I became distracted; I won’t be guilty of it again. Why don't we just have lunch here at the soda fountain? They make wonderful club, roast beef or turkey sandwiches, and besides you might even want a banana split for dessert.”
He knew that the little wrought iron tables and chairs were situated well outside of the main aisle of customer traffic and that exposure to the scrutiny of some of the more diligent keepers of the faith and propagators of reports of his transgressions would likely be substantially diminished. As she sat down in the chair, however, Callie was quick to realize his discomfort and the diversion of his new plan.
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