“S’pose we know that already,” said Mitchell.
“Then ya watch out for him!” Tom Bee warned, and walked away.
As he left, I said to Mitchell, “You worried?”
“What ’bout?”
“Digger being back.”
Mitchell just looked at me and laughed. He was being truthful with that laugh. I knew he wasn’t afraid of Digger. But I was.
“So ya back,” said Caroline, smiling at me as she came to the doorway of the cabin holding a stack of plates in her hands. “We was wonderin’ what done happened to you.”
“Yeah,” said Mitchell. “I was ’bout t’ come lookin’ for you. You decided to give yourself a day off, huh?”
I just smiled, and Caroline said, “He work hard ’nough. He deserve his day. Now both of y’all get washed up for supper. I’m ’bout to set it on the table.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Mitchell exclaimed, and grinned at her before she turned back into the room. Then he and I went to the side of the cabin where we kept the water barrel, and poured water into the two washbowls. “Well, you gonna tell me where you gone off to?” asked Mitchell as he lathered with soap Caroline had made while still at her parents’ house. He grinned again. “Maybe to pay a call on Miss Etta?”
“No,” I said. “Better than that.”
“Better?”
Now it was I who grinned. “I went to see J. T. Hollenbeck.”
Mitchell sobered. “J. T. Hollenbeck? Now, just what business you got with that white man?”
“What you think?” I leaned toward him. “The land, Mitchell, the land. He’s ready to sell.”
“And you figure you can buy it?”
“I figure to try.”
“How much he askin’?”
“Was asking fifteen an acre. Got him down to ten.”
“How many acres?”
“Four hundred.”
At another time in his life, Mitchell would have laughed. He didn’t now. He frowned instead. “Four hundred? You got that much money?”
“Figure to get it.”
Mitchell grew quiet, then said, “You plannin’ on askin’ yo’ daddy?”
I met Mitchell’s eyes. “You know better.”
Mitchell nodded. “Then what ya gonna do?”
“Going to see if I can borrow it from a bank.”
Mitchell was again silent before he spoke. “You plannin’ on going up to Jackson and passin’?”
“I’m going to Vicksburg.”
“They know you there.”
“Good, because I don’t plan to pass.”
“Then you can forget ’bout that loan. You think one of them crackers gonna loan a colored man money for a prime piece of land like that?”
“J. T. Hollenbeck said he’d sell it to me. That’s my chance. I’ll get the money somehow.”
Mitchell just looked at me.
“I’ll be heading for Vicksburg before light in the morning.”
Mitchell grunted.
I laughed. “Trouble with you, Mitchell, is you’ve got no faith.”
Mitchell too laughed. “Well, you and Caroline, y’all both carry enough between y’all to carry me too.” Caroline called us in for supper and the two of us went in still laughing.
Much later that evening after the brush had been burned and both Caroline and Nathan had gone inside the cabin, Mitchell and I sat by the outside fire talking, and sipping at some chicory. “You know, Paul,” Mitchell said, as it grew late, “I got me some good news too.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Mitchell grinned wide. “Caroline’s gonna have a baby.”
For a moment I was silenced.
“You heard me right.”
“You? Somebody’s daddy?”
“I know. It’s somethin’, ain’t it?” Mitchell spoke softly, as if awed himself by the fact.
“You’ll make a good one.” Mitchell just looked at me. I smiled. I meant what I said. “When you expecting the baby?”
“Late summer. Right about when we get deeded these forty acres, I reckon. Caroline just told me last night.”
“It’ll be a wonderful beginning, then,” I said. “A baby and a deed to this place.”
Mitchell nodded. “I figure it t’ be a boy.”
“Why’s that?”
“Just do, that’s all.” He looked down at his cup and kept his eyes on it. “It be a boy, you ’spect I’m gonna do him like my daddy done me?”
“Why would you? Boy deserve a whipping, you’ll give it to him, no more than that.”
Mitchell looked up. “I sure deserved some of ’em, ain’t I?’
“Yeah, you sure did,” I agreed.
“Ya know, it’s too bad you ain’t feeling nothing special for Etta or some other young woman, ’cause it’d be good if we had children round this place t’gether. Be good to have yours and mine grow up with one another.”
I smiled. “Why? So they could fight all the time like we did?”
“Yeah, that . . . and so they could watch out for one ’nother too.” He looked over at me. “Maybe you change yo’ mind ’bout Miss Etta.”
“I don’t think so.”
Mitchell shrugged and got up. He tossed the remainder of his chicory into the fire. “Look here, Paul, Miz Caroline’s waiting, but there’s one more thing I need to talk t’ you ’bout.”
I got up too. “What’s that?”
“I was thinkin’, things don’t go like you wantin’ ’bout that bank loan, I want you t’ do what you think best ’bout these forty acres.”
“What do you mean?”
“You figure you can use these here forty acres in some way to get that land you want from Hollenbeck, then you do that.”
I shook my head. “No. Your twenty acres, they stay your twenty. I need to use any of it, I’ll use my half.”
“Look, Paul, I wouldn’t be having the twenty, you didn’t figure this deal with Filmore Granger in the first place. You hadn’t’ve figured this deal, I wouldn’t’ve had no home t’ give Caroline. You need to sell this forty acres to help get that four hundred, then seem like t’ me, there’d be room on that four hundred acres for Caroline and me.”
I smiled in jest. “You expecting two hundred acres, then?”
Mitchell’s face was blank. “No,” he said seriously. “Just my twenty.”
I grew serious too. “It’d be a risk you’d be taking.”
“Done took plenty of ’em before.”
“Not with a baby on the way.”
Mitchell shrugged. “I trust ya, Paul. Been trustin’ ya ever since we got on that train t’gether. You the smartest man I know, and if you want that land, then I figure you’ll find a way t’ get it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded wad of paper, which he handed to me. “Here, take this.”
“What is it?”
“Jus’ my writin’ sayin’ you got my rights to the whole forty and that’s okay by me.” Mitchell grinned. “I wrote it out real good, just like you taught me, and I wrote it on that piece of paper you figured I just had t’ sign when you come out to the lumber camp that time and made yo’ offer to me.” He stepped away.
“You sure about this?” I called after him.
“Said I was. Whatever you gonna do, Paul, I back you up.”
“You always do,” I said.
Mitchell grunted. “Same as you.” He turned with a wave of his arm to me and walked toward the cabin. “See you when ya get back. You come back here with a contract in hand for that land of yours, then we gonna do us some real celebratin’!”
I stuffed the paper into my pocket. “Hope to bring good news.”
“You will,” said Mitchell. He grinned one last time back at me. “And here you and Caroline sayin’ I ain’t got no faith.” He laughed loudly and went into the cabin.
I laughed too, and sat again by the fire.
The next morning long before daybreak and the others were up, I mounted one of the mules and rode to Vicksburg. Afte
r my encounter with Digger Wallace, I had decided it was best to leave Thunder on the forty and not rouse the jealousy of more white folks, especially when I was trying to borrow money.
I didn’t stop to see Luke Sawyer but went directly to see the banker, B. R. Tillman. He seemed surprised to see me, but he showed me into his office. He didn’t offer me a seat. “My wife been raving about that chifforobe you built for her, Paul,” he said as he himself sat down. “Shame you not doing that kind of work full time anymore. You’ve got a gift.” B. R. Tillman glanced through some papers on his desk as I stood hat in hand before him. Finally he turned his attention to me again. “So, now, Paul, why you come to see me?”
I didn’t like standing before this man, hat in my hand, but I said clearly what I had to say. “I’ve come about seeking a loan on a piece of land I’m interested in buying. It’s four hundred acres and located near Strawberry.”
B. R. Tillman straightened in his chair. “That wouldn’t be J. T. Hollenbeck’s land you’re talking about?”
“That’s right,” I said. “It is.”
“Four hundred acres?”
“That’s right.”
He got up from his chair, came to the front of his desk, and leaned against it. He folded his arms across his chest and fixed his eyes on me. “That’s some mighty impressive land.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Yes, it’s good land, all right. Used to be Granger land, one of the finest plantations in this part of the state.”
“I understand that,” I said.
B. R. Tillman looked at me over gold-edged spectacles. “Now here you looking to buy it?”
I knew what he was thinking as soon as he said that, but I figured he could think what he wanted. “Yes, but I’m going to need a loan to do it,” I continued. “The section’ll cost four thousand dollars, and I’m looking to borrow thirty-two hundred of that amount.”
“Thirty-two hundred? What about the other eight?”
I looked straight into B. R. Tillman’s eyes. “I’ll provide that myself.”
“You?” He looked at me with disbelief. “Most colored folks don’t have two nickels to rub together. They’re lucky if they even see a hundred dollars in a year, and here you’re talking about you’ve got eight hundred to put on some land? Just where did you get that kind of money?”
I took my time before I answered. It was true that most colored folks, at least the ones I knew, and white folks too, for that matter, didn’t see a hundred dollars in cash money in a year, and folks sharecropping mostly saw none at all. But I had lumbered and I had trained and raced horses and I had made quality furniture. I had received fair money for all that work, and I had saved the most of it. Adding to that, I had made my deals with Luke Sawyer. I could have told B. R. Tillman all that, but I figured he would still have questioned me more, and I had no intention of disclosing my arrangements with Luke Sawyer. We were keeping that to ourselves. “I saved it,” was all I told B. R. Tillman.
“Saved it?” He smirked. “Young fella like you?”
I just looked at him and he didn’t press me further.
“So, you want to borrow thirty-two hundred dollars. How you expect to pay it back?”
“The same way I earned the eight hundred dollars to put down on it,” I said, maybe too cockily, being a man of color talking to a white man. I attempted to correct myself. “I still will be doing work for Mister Luke Sawyer and I’ll be selling the forty acres I’ve contracted to clear for Mister Filmore Granger down near Strawberry. After the first year, I’ll have crops I can sell. I was figuring cotton, corn, sugarcane.”
B. R. Tillman walked back around his desk and sat down. “So, what are you proposing to me then, Paul? Even if you sell those forty acres of Mister Granger’s for, say, four hundred dollars—and that’s high figuring—that still leaves a lot of money owing. If you want the bank to loan you money to buy this land, what do you have to give us in collateral?”
To me the answer was obvious. I expected it was obvious to B. R. Tillman as well, or would have been if I hadn’t been a man of color. “The land,” I said.
“The land?” he questioned. “The land? And what’s on it? There a house? Crops? What? How will you farm all that acreage? You got money to take on sharecroppers? What other kind of collateral are you offering me besides that land if I make you this loan?”
“A house in one year,” I answered. “Crops in one year. In addition, as you know, I’m a woodworker. Anything in wood anybody wants made, I can most likely make it. I’ve got an understanding with Mister Luke Sawyer concerning that. Whatever I make from my woodworking I can pledge to this bank. When I get my crops in, I can pledge them to the bank as well . . . then, of course, there’s always the land itself. As you said, it’s good land, and I figure it can stand as its own collateral.”
B. R. Tillman stared at me. “Now, why you want four hundred acres of land you can’t afford when you already got yourself forty acres contracted? If you could produce a crop yearly on this here four hundred acres for a number of years and sell that crop at a price equal to pay your debt to this bank, plus all your taxes, then I’d consider making you a loan. But, Paul, I know there is no way in hell that you can do that. I know this payback notion of yours is all in your head. You have no financial record here. You have no farming background here. That four hundred acres is good land, all right, but it’s a white man’s kind of land, too expensive for you. Why, it wasn’t so long ago it was against the law for a negra, I don’t care how white-looking, to even own farmland in the state of Mississippi, and here you are talking about buying Hollenbeck land?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no. It’s too much for you to take on, and we have no desire to have to come take that land from you when you’re not able to meet your payments. If you were talking about twenty or forty acres like what you’re working now, maybe we could work something out. No, my advice to you is keep working that forty acres you got and be satisfied. It’ll make you a good living.”
I left B. R. Tillman. I went to other bankers, but they pretty much said the same thing. I wasn’t ready to accept defeat. I went to see Luke Sawyer, got a couple orders from him for which I already had the wood, and spent the night in his shed before leaving Vicksburg. On the ride back all I was thinking on was how I could still buy the land. Nothing came to me. I bypassed the forty and headed toward Hollenbeck’s meadow. I had another day before I had to let J. T. Hollenbeck know if the deal was set. I rode to the pond and let the mule water. Afterward, I rode back to the meadow and settled on the slope where I’d first spent the night. I slid my gear off the mule’s back and settled down to look out over the land beside what I now considered my praying rock, and I prayed to be shown a way to have this land. I sat there until nightfall before I finally rolled out my blanket and lay down. I put everything into the Lord’s hands. In the middle of the night I woke, took my coat, and by the light of the full moon, ripped one of its seams and pulled out a thin wallet I had made from calfskin. I put the wallet in my pocket, then went back to sleep. The next morning I woke with a plan, and it was that plan I took to J. T. Hollenbeck.
“You said you wanted to have all your land sold before you leave and you wanted cash for it,” I said as I sat with J. T. Hollenbeck on his front porch. He had been doing paperwork on the porch when I arrived, and he had invited me to join him there. He had even offered me a seat. Not every white man would have done that.
J. T. Hollenbeck nodded, and puffed on a cigar. “That’s right.”
“Well, at your asking price of ten dollars an acre, I’d be figuring to buy two hundred acres of that section we talked about.”
“Thought it was supposed to be four hundred.”
“It was,” I admitted. I met his eyes. “It’s two hundred now. But it still includes that meadowland centering near that hillside and the pond.”
J. T. Hollenbeck studied me a few moments, as if deciding whether or not it was worth his while to hear
me out. “Go on,” he finally said.
“Now, at ten dollars an acre, I could make you a down payment of twenty-five percent on contracting the land,” I continued calmly, trying not to sound anxious that he might reject my offer. “That would be five hundred dollars on signing, and I could pay twenty dollars a month for the next six months. In the seventh month, I’ll pay the rest that’s due, thirteen hundred eighty dollars.”
J. T. Hollenbeck stared at me, then smiled slightly. “Now, how are you going to get thirteen hundred eighty dollars in half a year’s time? You have yourself a bank loan?”
“Not a bank loan,” I said. “I plan on selling off the forty acres I’m working.”
“But I understand you don’t have title on that land.”
“I will by the time your note would be due.”
“What about the remainder of the money? That forty acres won’t bring you near enough to pay for my two hundred acres.”
“I understand that. But I plan to plant cotton too. I’ve already bought my seed, and if cotton prices stay the same as in this past year, I figure to earn about four hundred dollars on the crop. Also, I can have as many orders to make furniture as I can handle from Mister Luke Sawyer up at the Vicksburg mercantile and I figure in the next seven months I can earn two hundred dollars for my work.”
J. T. Hollenbeck slowly shook his head. “That still doesn’t seem to me like that’ll bring enough.”
I had held back my final source of income. “I also figure to sell my palomino.”
J. T. Hollenbeck studied me and was silent. He drew on his cigar, then took it out. “Six months, you say?”
“Seven months,” I answered, correcting him.
J. T. Hollenbeck’s eyes narrowed. “Now, why should I have to finance you for my own land for that period of time? I told you I wanted cash money on this transaction. Could be it’d be better for me to sell outright that piece of land you want.”
I agreed. “But you’ve got a lot of land here to sell, and I’m willing to buy. You’ll have five hundred dollars when we sign. You’ll be getting a payment every month, and the land will stand as its own collateral.” I paused. “I fail to make any payment to you on time—monthly or the last one—I’m willing to pay a penalty.” Now, it might not have been very smart of me to volunteer to pay even more money if I didn’t need to, but I was hoping to persuade J. T. Hollenbeck of my commitment to pay him his money, and on time.
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