The Chair Falls At Night

by Chris Vaughn

  "I ain't scared. I prayed for him last night."

  "You what?"

  Joy continued, “I’m gonna pray for him tonight too. I feel sorrow for him, he ought to go on to Heaven but he can't."

  "How'd you know that?" Jackie's eyes widened, but Joy couldn't see her eyes in the dark.

  "It must be. Why else would he still be here?" Joy said.

  "Cause he killed himself. Mama says that ain't right and there's hellfire and damnation."

  Joy eased herself up, and looked at the chair in the moonlight. It sat right where she left it; tonight she had put the chair against the wall right under the window where she could see it easier, and she thought a harder place to fall over. Seeing that it hadn't fallen over, she laid back down. "I don't know about that, but I know Mama says Jesus loves us and Jesus loved him. I just know this... he ain't or whatever it is, it ain't gonna hurt us."

  "I hope you're right, Joy. I'm scared." Jackie laughed with realization and said, "But this is fun."

  They both talked and giggled trying to maintain the sound of whispers, especially after Mr. Hand had to walk to the bottom of the stairs at least twice more to inspire fear that they needed to go to sleep. Time accomplished more than Mr. Hand’s threats and the girls began to drift off to sleep.

  BUMP.

  "Did you hear it?" Jackie asked.

  "What?"

  "You know what?"

  "I did. You look?" Joy asked Jackie.

  "I ain't lookin'."

  "Let's look together."

  Joy and Jackie joined hands and bent their necks up to see over the wrought iron bed to look for a chair against the wall. It wasn't against the wall, but was in the middle of the room turned over on the floor. Neither Jackie nor Joy said a word at first but laid back down on the feather pillow. Their adrenaline rush was more than they could take, but neither one moved. They weren't sure what moved the chair, or how it had fallen over, but it had. They were afraid of Mr. Hand though coming upstairs.

  "Goodnight, Jackie."

  "Goodnight, Joy."

  They held each other’s hand and finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  A familiar site in the '50's was a lone man hitchhiking or walking from town to town in search of work. Veterans of the war, stragglers, and loners were constantly looking for work, along with the drifters of the south. In 1952, people would often reach out to someone down on their luck and pull over and give them a lift, or take them home for dinner. Those who were down on their luck often worked chores for their good Samaritans as a form of payment for their goodness and to repay their kindness. Some men were truly down on their luck as they wandered from one town to another county not having a home or family to build roots and others used the goodness of strangers as the fields of opportunities.

  The goodness of the hearts of some people in South Georgia didn't extend to the vigilance of the local police officers that patrolled the highways and back roads of their counties. They watched with diligence the people they didn't know as locals and those they deemed undesirable as they walked unattended through their towns and counties. Officers had to deal with the day in and day out actions of those who roamed and fleeced the goodness of the residents of their town and their friends so their patience with the unknown hikers was never long. These men, and rarely women, were often accused of petty crimes and thefts in small towns and often darted off the road when the sight of a police car came into view.

  In Jasper County, which was much like its county neighbor of Chester a few counties over, one of two patrol cars lumbered down the back dusty roads as its driver was in search of adventure, and more importantly a hidden location for his occasional nap. Spring and summer brought out the lonesome men in search of work in greater numbers and Jasper County this day was no different for the lone deputy. The road the deputy was on was flat and without much in the way of hills as his patrol car bounced slowly down the road and stopped on top of the slight hill.

  "This is Mickey. Yeah I see a vagrant or someone out on Millstead Road, not sure just yet. He's way off in the woods here headin' out of county if he keeps walkin'. Just checkin' in, and I'll check on him." The radio barked back a few comments from the chief back at the office and the deputy drove down the road slow to watch the man a little while longer and see if he'd run for the woods. A run for the woods was a definite sign of trouble a foot for any police officer.

  The hitchhiker, or vagrant, never stopped his pace, and never turned to act as if he noticed the sound of the approaching police car. A knapsack over his shoulder, jeans or coveralls under a coat, work boots that were worn, and an old hat was the basic description the deputy saw as he approached from behind, although this was the same description of almost anyone in the South, of a male walking on a back road.

  The officer didn't like the fact that his presence was never acknowledged, and he let his presence be known by the tap of the siren as he sped up and pulled his car in front of the man, followed by a quick exit from the car.

  "Boy, don't you think you ought to check out when someone is coming up from behind you?" The officer asked.

  "Maybe," he answered.

  "Where you headed?"

  The man answered quickly like so many others in his position, "Just walkin' through."

  "I asked you a question, boy... where?" The officer asked again, and took his toothpick out of his mouth, and placed his hand on his revolver for a small show of force, which did little as the officer was still behind the car and the man couldn't see anything but the head of the officer above the roof of the car.

  "I'm on my way to Chester County. Got some family three...."

  "Family?"

  "Well not really family, just seems like family, on my way to help them farm for the summer." The man replied to the quick questions of the officer.

  "What's their name and address?"

  "Well, I don't know the address, see they just moved."

  "Boy... good gosh, another drifter who never has an answer," the officer said firm, and stepped away from the car. He approached the man even though the man was a number of years older than the young police officer he continued with calling him boy. "Boy, now you listen to men, I asked a question and if you don't answer my next few questions quick, I'm gonna lock you up for anything I think of and maybe just for the fun of it."

  "Sorry, sir, I don't mean to be no problem,” he said with an accent on the word sir.

  "Is that liquor I smell on you?"

  "Well, I did have some last night in another county before I started walking to Chester or should I say I had some spilled on me, I ain't drunk, it spilled on me."

  "Well, I know there ain't a wet county around here, so it must be shine you’re drinkin'? You say you are going to see people in Chester County? What's their name, I'll just make sure to let the sheriff know."

  The man answered, "Buddy Hand."

  "Where's he live?" The officer asked.

  "I'm not sure, they just moved, they had a house fire."

  "Well, you stand right there and don't you move or even break wind." The officer flicked his toothpick onto the road as he slumped into the seat of his patrol car. He called back to headquarters and asked the chief to contact the Sheriff of Chester County and confirm a Buddy Hand and if they'd had a fire. The conversation took a bit, and the officer never took his eyes off the man as he talked into the microphone, although the man did move around in small circles.

  "There is a Buddy Hand. He does live in Chester. Check. I got it. He's moved where? Dang, you say? There? Didn't believe anyone would move there." The officer kept his vigilant eye on the man as he continued this long process of decision as to the truthfulness of the man. He finally ended the conversation and stood back up out of the car.

  "Here's the deal, boy. You walk through my county and you get yourself to Chester County. I've got too many other issues to handle here in Jasper like gambling and shine and I don't want to deal with you, especially today, but here's th
e thing. If I see you again, and you ain't got someone in Jasper to vouch for you... I'm gonna lock you up, and put you to work this summer on the County Pea Farm," The officer grinned and continued, "plus I'll tell you where to go in Chester, dang must be the talk of the county. Your friend moved into the Old Snyder Place where a boy named Clevon hung himself... now you best get down the road. I don't like the looks of you," he said this more by habit than any intuition.

  The man spit on the ground with a tinge of sarcasm and then wiped his mouth. "I'll be doing just that."

  The officer sat down in his car and waited for the man to walk around the car and start his way on down the road. When he got a few hundred feet in front of him, he pulled back up beside him. "One more thing, just in case we run into each other."

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't get it earlier, what's your name?'

  "Frank. Frank Little." He tipped his hat and walked on down the road.

  Chapter 5

  "Help. Help." Joy and Jackie cried out together.

  "Dear Lord, girls, what on earth have you done!?" Mrs. Hand screamed out as she ran into the back room of Henderson's General Store in Chestnut.

  The back storage room was clean and neat with everything in an ordered fashion. Bolts of cloth and housing items on one side, with canned goods, beans, and all of the grocery items on the other side. All the way in the back of the storage room was farming equipment, seeds, fertilizers, and such with all the big quantities of those items outside in the storage area. On the right side of the storage room, the grocery section, was Joy and Jackie. Jackie was looking at Joy, as Joy's feet were stuck inside a large lard can. The lard came half way up her leg, and looked like she was standing in snow. Stuck like she was in quicksand and no one could see her feet for the lard, she stood there helpless to remove herself from the predicament she had jumped into.

  Mr. Henderson, owner of the store, and his help came running into the storage room, and with one look they all started to laugh. Once they saw the stark face of fear and the tears coming down Joy's face, they quickly hushed.

  "Boys, get back out front. Don't want the whole store robbed blind while we are back here taking care of little MissHand here." He walked over to Joy and Jackie, knelt down and looked at Joy's face. "Now don't you worry one bit about this. I'm sure there is a perfectly good reason all this happened."

  "Joy, answer the Mr. Henderson," Mrs. Hand told her daughter even though he hadn't asked a question. She wasn't happy with her daughter and God and everyone knew it. Joy never had time to answer Mr. Henderson as Mary Hand continued, “Mr. Henderson, we'll pay for the can of lard, and goodness her new play shoes, how will I ever get those clean?"

  Mr. Henderson looked for a moment and said, "Joy, why don't you sit down, and let me try to pull that can off of you and your shoes."

  Joy sat down as Jackie stared at her best friend, and Mr. Henderson grabbed the lard can with two hands as both Mrs. Hand and Mrs. Fryar both were whisperin' “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” under their breath. With his first tug, Joy started to slide off of the can she was sitting on.

  "Ladies, if you wouldn't mind holding her."

  Both of the mamas got on each side of Joy and held onto her shoulders. Mr. Henderson gave several strong tugs and with each tug more and more of the lard can would start to slide but not by much. Each pull of the can also was met with a slight cry of pain from Joy.

  "Mama, it hurts." Joy said.

  "Hush now, it won't hurt near as much as when I tear your tail up when we get home," Mary told her daughter.

  Mr. Henderson took a firm hold and prepared for the continued struggle. "I think we are close ladies. Let's count to three and I'll tug real hard, y’all hold on, and I think we've got it."

  The mothers braced themselves, Joy closed her eyes, and Jackie stood back and held her breath to help. Mr. Henderson counted, "One, Two, Three!" He grunted as he pulled for the last time, the force of his pull made him fall on his bottom as well as Mrs. Hand and Mrs. Fryar falling on their bottoms. All at once a cloud of dust went into the air.

  Jackie was the first to notice and she pointed at Joy's feet which were bare. "Joy. Joy, your shoes done come off your feet, and your socks too."

  "Well, little Missy, I think we got the can off of your feet, but your shoes didn't come with you. Let me see if I can dig them out." Mr. Henderson started to turn the can around to dig the shoes out of the lard along with a pair of socks when Mrs. Hand interrupted.

  "Don't you dare pull those out, Mr. Henderson! She can walk home barefoot, and wear her old shoes for a while."

  "Well, I can get you a new pair from the store, and put them on your account?" Mr. Henderson asked.

  "No, I can't do that. We owe you too much already and with the fire, well, we'll have to find some other way. Thank you much, but not today."

  "Mrs. Hand, I hope you don't mind, but I've got to find out." After addressing Mrs. Hand he turned his eyes to Joy and asked, "How did you get your feet stuck in a can of lard?"

  Joy looked around for some help from someone, and saw Jackie smile and start to giggle. Joy giggled too as both of the girls looked up. No one had taken the time to figure out where the lid of the can was. The girls looked back at each other and started to laugh, as all three of the adults looked at each other. Mr. Henderson sitting on his behind looked up and started to laugh too.

  "Now, I've got to know what happened," he said when he could stop laughing.

  Mrs. Fryar and Mrs. Hand both looked up not knowing what Mr. Henderson or the girls were laughing about, and that is when they saw the lid of the can stuck to the roof of the storage room.

  Joy was still laughing but started trying to tell the story of how she and Jackie were playing Tarzan. They had imagined in their mind's eye all sorts of vines that hung all around as they pretended to swing from tree to tree they jumped from can to can. "I guess, Mama, the can's lid wasn't on tight and it popped up."

  They all laughed for a moment more and then Mrs. Hand said, "Mr. Henderson, we are so sorry for this."

  "Not a problem at all, Mrs. Hand. I'll have more fun telling this. In fact, you get Joy and Jackie some candy on the way out, on the house."

  "No thank you, sir." Mrs. Hand grabbed Joy's hand as Mrs. Fryar grabbed Jackie's hand. They walked out of the store as quick as they could and got into the Hand's truck. The girls got in the back of the truck and sat down.

  "Joy." Mrs. Hand had that tone in her voice that Joy knew all too well when she had gotten into trouble as she turned her head towards the girls in the bed of the truck.

  "Yes, mam."

  "Don't you go Tarzanin' on the way home and swing out of the truck now."

  "Yes, mam." Joy looked at Jackie and couldn't help but grin as Jackie grinned back.

  "We don't have another pair of shoes for you at home, you think about that as we ride home." Mrs. Hand slid into the truck and slammed the door.

  "Mrs. Hand, I'm sure Jackie has an old pair of shoes Joy can use." Clementine slid into the truck and closed the door.

  "Clementine, yall've done too much now."

  "Forget talk like that, Mary. You'd do the same for Jackie, wouldn't you?" Mrs. Fryar placed a hand on Mary Hand's shoulder. Mary Hand broke down and started to cry as tears streamed down her face; Clementine slid over and cried with her, the sadness of broken dreams of childhood all too real to both women.

  "It's not just that, Clementine. It's that house too. I never thought we'd have to move into just any old house to have a place to live in, and now to have to live in that house."

  "Mary, there ain't nothing wrong with that house. It's big, nice, and though it hasn't been lived in a while, it's a nice home."

  Mary stared off into the distance, and could hear Jackie and Joy in the bed of the truck as they laughed and talked. "It ain't that, Clementine. I'm used to being poor, and know that people talk about Buddy. He calls it government work to hide the truth of what he does sometimes, but I know it’s the pulp wood mill, or worse
, he'll moonshine, or gamble, or some kind of work he don't want to talk about. He always makes a way, but I don't ask questions."

  "Mary, what is it?" Clementine sat back and rubbed the back of Mary's hand. "I wish I knew what to say, Mary."

  "There isn't anything to say. It's not all that, it's that house. I know you don't like Jackie spending the night." Clementine pulled her hand back with a shocked look on her face. "I don't blame you, I don't like it myself. Funny thing is for some reason Joy doesn't mind. She's got a way about something. To be honest, I feel safe there too in a way, but... but I know everyone talks about it. The truth is, Clementine. There's something there. Every night I make sure Joy's room is neat and picked up and you know what? When I put her to bed, I make sure everything, and I mean everything, is in place; I'm lying in bed and listening, I hear something, and every morning that chair is knocked over on the floor."

  Clementine pulled her hands to her face, and gasped, "Help me, Jesus."

  Chapter 6

  Buddy Hand’s day started early before the sun came up and wouldn't end till after it went down. He'd work all day every day, except Sunday. Mary wouldn't allow that as that was Church day, and even though Buddy didn't always go with her, he respected the tradition. Everyone in the South respected the tradition if for no other reason as to have a day off.

  Today was no different than any other, Buddy had left early to tend to his fields and see how the tobacco was doing, and if they would need to be 'topped' soon. Mary had her hands full with Joy and Jackie as usual. They played outside and their house was beginning to finally feel like a home. Even a house with strange peculiarities could become a home when you got used to it, and people were no different. People could be that way too, especially old friends and family; Frank Little had always been that type of person.

  Uncle Frank knocked on the door of the house, "Buddy! Buddy, you home?!"

  Mary put her cooking down and left the kitchen to answer the front door. She took her time though not giving any attention to how long it took her to clean her hands and wipe up. She spoke through the screened door, "Frank, how are you? Buddy's not here right now. You can come back later."