J. T. Hollenbeck stared at me, then thrust his cigar back between his lips and walked the length of the veranda to the other end and stared out, his back to me. I waited patiently. J. T. Hollenbeck took his time. Finally he turned, took the cigar out of his mouth, and pointed at me with the hand that held the cigar. “The down payment would have to be eight hundred fifty dollars, not five hundred, and that monthly payment would have to be twenty-five dollars, plus five dollars for me carrying you. Seeing that it’s already the end of February, payments would begin next month and the final payment of one thousand dollars will come due the end of September. According to what you’ve said, you should have title to that Granger piece of land by then. If you’re smart enough to work a deal with me, then I figure you’re smart enough to have found a way to sell that forty acres of yours in time to pay me. I’ll give you seven months, not a day more.
“And you certainly will pay a penalty if you default on this agreement. I’ve given you the lower price on this land because I admire what you’re trying to do. Not many men, black or white, would have taken on what you’ve already done, or been so persistent in what you want to do. I admire that too. I believe in giving people with your kind of motivation a chance. But you’ll pay hard if you’ve been wasting my time. I’ll treat all the money you’ve paid me as earnest money, and if you default, you’ll lose it. I figure that’s fair, seeing I should be selling that land at fifteen dollars an acre to begin with, not ten. If you keep your bargain with me, I’ll take the loss. If you don’t, you’ll take it. That means you won’t get back one cent. Now, can you live with those terms?”
They were some hard terms, all right, and I should have walked away, I know, but J. T. Hollenbeck’s land was the land I wanted, and if I didn’t agree to his terms, I wouldn’t have a chance of getting it. Agreeing to his terms, though, meant I could lose all my savings. Still, I knew that J. T. Hollenbeck was giving me a chance. I also knew that most white men would not have given me such a chance, would not even have talked to me about my buying such a piece of land. It was a bad deal for the person who didn’t figure to have the balance of the money. But it was a great deal for the person who figured to have it.
I figured to have it.
So I made the gamble. I accepted his terms and forced myself to keep from shouting my joy. When I’d been doing my figuring, I’d figured high and I’d figured low. I had made my low offer to J. T. Hollenbeck so that I could have some bargaining room. I had savings enough for Hollenbeck’s eight hundred fifty dollars in down payment. I had enough money too for some of the monthly payments. What I didn’t have, I figured I could get. I wasn’t worried about the final thousand dollars. I had the forty and I had Thunder. By the time the seven months were up, I would have orders for Luke Sawyer finished and a crop as well. I might even end up with some money left over. “I can handle it,” I told J. T. Hollenbeck.
J. T. Hollenbeck walked back up the veranda. “Good,” he said. “I’ll need to have your eight hundred fifty down before the end of the week.”
I felt the calfskin in my pocket. “If we can do the written work, I can pay it now,” I said. “I’ve got a blank draft that can be drawn on a bank in New Orleans.”
J. T. Hollenbeck smiled. “New Orleans money is as good as anybody else’s. Come on in and we’ll write up the papers.”
I was jubilant. My head was up there right in the clouds as I headed back toward the forty. Every now and again I laughed, and I even sang, as I rode along on the mule, just thinking on the reality that the land was now going to be mine. There was part of me that couldn’t believe it, that I was going to have land just as grand as my daddy’s. It didn’t matter that the acreage was much less; it was the land I wanted. There was part of me too that wanted to let my daddy know I was going to have this land as grand as his, and I was going to get it for myself, without him. When I thought on that, though, when I thought on my daddy and on my brothers, I felt a sadness, but I refused to let thinking on them spoil my joy. I could hardly wait to get to the forty to tell Mitchell and Caroline the news. I raced that mule the last three miles toward home. I raced him as if I were atop Thunder.
Before I reached the cabin, I saw Nathan running toward me. I figured he was eager to hear my news about the land, and I waved happily to him in recognition. I was grinning wide by the time he neared, but when I saw his face clearly, I knew something was wrong. As always on a workday, dust caked Nathan’s face, but today tears had streaked that dust. I leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Mitchell!” he sobbed. “He bad hurt, Paul!”
“What happened?”
“Somebody done shot him in the back, jus’ as a tree was ’bout t’ fall! Tree done fell on Mitchell and he all broke up inside and bleedin’! We don’t think he gonna make it!”
“Where is he?”
“Up at the place.”
I grabbed Nathan’s arm and he swung up behind me. I spurred the mule into a gallop once more. Before the mule was fully stopped at the front of the cabin, I leaped down and raced to the door. Tom Bee sat on the stoop, his head back against the logs. He’d been crying too. He looked at me but said nothing. I flung the door open, then just stood there. Mitchell lay unmoving on the bed, and everything seemed to be in blood. Caroline and an elderly woman called Ma Jones sat beside him. Seeing me, Caroline got up. She saw in my eyes my question, and she answered it. “He been waitin’ on you.” She added nothing more, just walked past me and out the door. Ma Jones followed her.
I went over to the bed. Mitchell lay so still, I was fearful he hadn’t waited long enough. Then he opened his eyes. “So, how’d it go?”
I stared at him. “What?”
“You get the land?”
I nodded. Mitchell closed his eyes and almost smiled. “Um . . . knowed ya would. Course, I never done thought one of them banking men would loan a colored man no money.”
“Didn’t,” I said, speaking as normally as I could, about what no longer mattered. “Gave me some advice, though. Talked to me like I was some boy. Told me J. T. Hollenbeck’s land was a white man’s kind of land and to be satisfied with what I had.”
“Then how’d you get it?”
“Doesn’t matter. Save your strength.”
“Wanna know.”
“Already paid Hollenbeck the down payment. I’ll pay the rest during the next seven months.”
“You had that much money?”
I nodded mutely.
Mitchell managed the smile this time. “Well, I shoulda knowed.”
I sat down, wanting to take his hand but fearing Mitchell would know my fear if I did. “Nathan said a tree fell on you. How’d that happen?”
Mitchell grunted. “Like t’ know that my own self.” His breathing was hard.
“You get careless?”
He looked straight at me. “Coulda done gotten foolish. Ain’t never got careless . . . ’specially when somebody firing at me.” Every movement was labored. “Got shot just as the tree was ’bout t’ fall. Must’ve stumbled in front of it.”
“Who shot you?”
“Digger.”
“Digger? You sure?”
“It was him, all right.”
“Well, you forget about Digger Wallace right now. Right now you just save your strength.”
“Got no strength t’ save. I ain’t comin’ outa this.”
“Course you are.”
“Naw, I won’t. Don’t start lyin’ t’ me now. We been through too much t’gether.”
“Yeah, we have been, some as bad as this, and we both survived, so I know you’ll be all right.”
Mitchell again grunted, closed his eyes, then, as if by sheer will, forced them back open. “That girl Etta you been seeing, you meant what you said ’bout her?”
My lips parted, not sure why he was asking about Etta at a time like this. “What do you mean what I said about her?”
“’Bout you ain’t got feelings for her. That’s what you said.”
I nodded. “Yes, I meant that. But why—”
“Then good.”
“Good?”
“Then I can ask you what’s on my mind.”
“And what’s that?”
“Want you t’ marry Caroline.”
I gazed at Mitchell, figuring now his mind was going. “What’s that?”
“You just shut your mouth. . . . You got plenty time t’ talk. . . . I ain’t. Can’t keep repeatin’ myself. Said want you t’ marry Caroline.”
I shook my head, not knowing what to say to his rambling. “Well . . . that’s not possible, Mitchell . . . you’re married to her—”
“Want you t’ take care of her for me. Want you t’ take care of her and my boy.”
“Mitchell, no . . . I can’t let you talk like this—”
Mitchell grabbed my hand, and there was in his grasp an amazing strength. He raised himself up on his elbows. “Paul, you gotta do this for me. You gotta do this! I ain’t gonna rest easy ’less you say you gonna do it. You, me, we always back each other up, you know that. So you take care both of ’em for me. You promise me that, Paul. Promise me!” His grip tightened in his urgency, and I could feel the time slipping away.
“I promise you, Mitchell,” I said, and I felt as if Mitchell had squeezed the words right out of me with his final moments of strength, for once the words were spoken, the promise made, he fell back flat and his hand slipped away.
“Good. Knowed I could count on you, Paul. Knowed I could. You won’t be sorry. I promise you that.”
They were Mitchell’s last words to me. He closed his eyes again and this time he made no effort to open them. His breathing grew even more halted, and he did not answer when I called to him. For some while I gazed down on my friend, thinking on all we’d been through together, on the unreality of his lying there, on words that needed to be said but maybe not. I squeezed his hand, then I went to the door, opened it, and called Caroline.
She came quickly and glanced at me, and I went outside. Tom Bee was still sitting on the stoop. “It was that Digger Wallace, ya knows that, don’t ya?” he said to me. “It was Digger shot that boy. No ’count scound’! Shot that boy and yo’ horse too!”
I turned as if in a sleep. “What?”
“Yeah. Thunder, that there fine horse, he lying dead in the pasture out yonder. That no ’count scound’ shot Mitchell, then the horse. I done seen him do that, shoot the horse, I mean. Ain’t seen him shoot Mitchell, but I done seen him shoot that horse. Why you ’spect he done that, Paul? Shoot that horse like that?” Tom Bee looked up at me, searching for answers. “That horse, he ain’t been hurtin’ nobody.”
I just shook my head, with no answers to give, and left Tom Bee. I walked past Nathan, who was standing with the mule, and without a word to him headed up the slope with an axe. I walked to the cutting line and began to whack at a tree. With each whack of the axe I thought of Mitchell: of Mitchell standing on my daddy’s land facing Hammond and George with an axe, ready to use that axe on my brothers and on me; of Mitchell beating up on me every time it moved him to do so until we came to our understanding; of Mitchell hitting that white man to get my race money; of Mitchell and me under the seats of that train. I couldn’t think on Thunder, only Mitchell. I whacked at that tree until it fell. Then I started on another one.
About dusk Caroline came and got me. “You needs t’ be there, Paul-Edward,” she said as she hugged her arms to her body. “You leave these here trees be. You his family. You needs t’ be down there with him.”
I nodded, left the axe, and followed her down the slope. With Nathan and Tom Bee, Caroline and I sat the night through at Mitchell’s side. That next morning, just before the dawn, Mitchell died. My friend, my brother, was gone.
Family
I made a coffin for Mitchell. I had some good, strong plank oak-wood that I’d gotten from Luke Sawyer to make a cabinet on order, but I figured to worry about that cabinet later. Right now I needed the best wood I had to bury my friend. All day I worked on that coffin, and Caroline with Nathan’s help washed Mitchell’s body in scents and herbs. We dressed Mitchell in his wedding suit, put his boots beside him, and lined the coffin with a quilt Caroline had made for their wedding bed. As the sun set, we buried Mitchell under an oak tree and marked the spot with a cross. We said our prayers over him, and then we left him to his rest.
Right after the burial I asked Tom Bee to make the ride over to the Perry farm and let Caroline’s family know about Mitchell. “Tell them I’ll be bringing Caroline over when she’s ready,” I told him. Tom Bee said he’d set out first thing the next morning.
When Caroline, Nathan, and I were back in the cabin and all the folks who had gathered were gone, I said to Caroline, “I’ll take you and Nathan home whenever you say.” Caroline looked at me and was silent. We were seated at the table, and what food folks had brought, Caroline had set before us, but only Nathan was eating. “I know it’s been a long day and you haven’t had much rest, so you just think on it and let me know.” I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so I finished off the coffee I’d been sipping and got up.
“Ain’t you gonna finish your plate?” she asked.
“Not much hungry,” I said. “I’ll just cover it and put it in the food safe.”
“Leave it. I’ll take care of the food.”
“No,” I said, finding a clean cloth. “You don’t have to wait on me. I’m used to doing for myself.”
“Then suit yourself,” she said.
I put the covered dish away, wished both Caroline and Nathan a good night’s rest, and turned to go. “Paul-Edward,” Caroline said as I opened the door, “I’m stayin’ here.”
I looked back at her. “What was that?”
“I said I’m stayin’ here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“Well, we can wait a while,” I conceded. “It’s just that I thought you’d want to go back home to your family.”
“This here’s my home now.”
I shook my head. “There’s no home here.”
“Mitchell told me I get his half of the forty.”
“Well, you do, but—”
“Then I got a home here.”
“No. You can’t stay.”
She got up. “Who say I can’t?” She eyed me, waiting for an answer, then began to clear the dishes.
“I wasn’t expecting you to stay, not with Mitchell gone.”
“You figured ’cause-a that I’d be gone too, huh? Well, ain’t gonna be that way. I’m stayin’.”
“But I told Tom Bee to tell your folks I’d be bringing you home.”
“You ain’t oughtta told him that. You oughtta done asked me first.”
“Maybe so, but I didn’t figure you’d want to stay.”
“Well, I am.”
I took a deep breath. “What about Nathan?”
Nathan stopped eating and looked over at his sister. “You hafta ask him,” Caroline said. “But he stay or he don’t, I’ll still be here.”
“Now, that wouldn’t be right,” I protested. “A man and a woman not married here on the same place, it just wouldn’t be right.”
“I said I’m stayin’. I’ve got a baby comin’, and I plan to have somethin’ for this here child. Part of this land belong t’ Mitchell belong to his child now. His daddy worked right ’longside you t’ get it, and now you got some seven months ’til the time’s up t’ do all the work need doin’ for us t’ keep it. I’m gonna work right ’longside you now, Paul-Edward, jus’ like Mitchell done, ’til this land be truly ours. I done promised Mitchell. ’Sides, how was you plannin’ on doin’ all this work by yo’self?”
I didn’t know what to say to her. Tell the truth, I was just too drained and tired to argue with her about it at that moment. I hadn’t slept, and my mind was no longer clear. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Nothin’ else t’ talk ’bout.”
I just looked at Caroline. She looked at me, and I left.
&nb
sp; That night, despite my weariness, I couldn’t sleep. I had my mind on Mitchell and on Caroline too. I passed part of the night in restless thought, then finally rose and lit a lantern and settled down to writing Cassie to tell her about Mitchell. I wrote a second letter as well, to Mitchell’s mother, and enclosed it for Cassie to deliver. Before the dawn broke, I stuffed the letters in my pocket, took up my shotgun and my shells, and headed up the slope where Mitchell was shot. I found the fallen tree and the ground soaked red with Mitchell’s blood. I placed my hand upon the bloodstained earth, then slumped upon the ground, and for the first time I cried for my friend. I remained there until the sun was high, then I took my shotgun and my letters and headed across the forty. I passed the spot where Tom Bee and Nathan had buried Thunder, but I didn’t linger there. Tom Bee hadn’t understood why Digger had killed the palomino, but I did. Digger was a little man who had nothing. Out of his own meanness he had killed that magnificent animal because he had belonged to me, a man of color. He had killed my horse and he had killed my friend. I left the forty and kept on going. I was planning on hunting Digger Wallace down.
I headed straight for Tom Bee’s place, which sat on the farther-most edge of the Granger plantation. Even though I knew Tom Bee wasn’t there, I figured what with John Wallace having stayed there, Tom Bee’s family would know something of the Wallaces and their whereabouts. They said John Wallace had already gone to Vicksburg and they had only heard about Digger being back. I thanked them and asked that they let Caroline know I’d be gone for a while, then went on my way again. I asked every family of color I came upon about the Wallaces, and they all had the same to say. They hadn’t seen them. I took caution and didn’t ask any white folks directly about Digger. I didn’t want them to see me with my shotgun. What few colored folks I put faith in, I asked them to inquire about Digger and they did that, but the word they brought back to me was that Digger was nowhere around, and neither was John.
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