I pretty much ran the whole way back home. I knew there was no such thing as Soap Sally trying to get me, but there was for sure something out there.
When I got home, I went to my room and placed the picture of Mr. Speed on my dresser in a special place where I would see it first thing every morning.
Darkness had just slipped in when Nolay pulled into the driveway and walked in the house. I helped Mama put supper on the table, and we all sat down. Before Nolay could take his first bite, I said, “I went to visit Miss Evelyn today, and she invited me inside her house. We had a tea party, with real tea cups from China—I mean, china cups. She has a piano and she knows how to play it. And she’s a Yankee from New York. Did you know that, Nolay, that she’s a Yankee and she went to college in New York? And—”
Nolay held up both hands. “Whoa, whoa, pull in them reins a minute. You’re talking so fast I can hardly understand you.”
“Sorry, Nolay, I’m just so excited and I learned so much. Did you know Miss Evelyn was a Yankee? And that Mr. Speed is half a Yankee, and that he’s a war hero, like John Wayne?”
“Well, of course I did. You didn’t know all that? How long you known Miss Evelyn?”
“I guess my whole life. But she’s always been sort of quiet-like, and she spends most of her time in that little room in back of the store. I don’t think I ever heard her say more than a dozen words before.”
“I’ve known her as far back as I can remember, and Miss Evelyn is a mighty fine person. What difference does it make that she’s from New York?”
“You told me all Yankees were bad, that they came here to steal our land and change our way of life. But Miss Evelyn don’t seem to be bad at all. She walks around all elegant, like a movie star. And she looks like Maureen O’Hara, when she played in Miracle on 34th Street. And Mama thinks so, too, don’t you, Mama?”
Mama nodded. “She does resemble Maureen O’Hara.”
Nolay’s face crinkled in thought. “Bones, I don’t recall telling you that all Yankees are bad.” He glanced across at Mama. “Honey Girl, did you ever hear me say such a thing?”
“Never heard you say all Yankees were bad, but you have definitely said some unflattering things about Yankees in general.”
“I might have had a few choice words concerning some Yankees … or outsiders I’ve run across. But you can’t say they are all bad; that would be like saying everybody from Florida is a dumb cracker. And like I’ve told you before, I’m proud to be a cracker, but I sure ain’t dumb.” Nolay munched thoughtfully on a piece of corn bread. “Bones, the world is sorta like a big ol’ pot of vegetable soup. A potato don’t taste like a onion, a green bean don’t taste like corn. Each one of ’em has their own look and flavor. But when you mix ’em all up together, they make a mighty fine-tasting soup. That’s sorta how it is. Every one of us is different, but we can still be mixed up together. You understand what I’m sayin’?”
“Yes, sir, I reckon I do.”
“It’s just that you can’t go judgin’ people by what they look like or where they come from. That ain’t important. What’s important is what’s inside, their flavor, what comes out of ’em.” He cocked his head and said, “Life is full of surprises, that’s what keeps it interesting. You take ol’ Chicken Charlie. Did you know that he don’t come from around here?”
“Mr. Charlie? He wasn’t born here? Is he a Yankee, too?”
“Nope, he’s more what you could call a foreigner, comes from a different country altogether, Germany.”
“Germany? Mr. Charlie is a German? Didn’t we fight them in the war? Aren’t they bad people?”
“Now, there you go again. Not all Germans are bad people, not all of ’em wanted to fight a war. Actually, they had to fight in two wars. The way I heard it, when the first war was going on in Germany, it was pretty hard on a lot of people. If you were different or didn’t agree with what the government said, they just killed you or locked you up. Charlie’s mama and daddy were both killed. Somehow or other, Charlie’s granddaddy and grandma got on a ship and came to America. I wadn’t even born yet when they moved over here.”
“They came all the way from Germany to live here?”
“I don’t know about coming intentional to live here, they were just lookin’ for somewhere new and peaceful to live. Sometimes life has a way of putting you in the place you need to be. Had something to do with their religion. They were Jewish.”
“Mr. Charlie is a Jew, like Jesus was?”
“Something like that, but I don’t think he remembers he’s one. Charlie’s body grew up to be a man, but his mind stayed behind as a child.”
“How did Charlie come to live where he is now?”
“The way I heard it, my daddy showed ’em that little guava grove and told ’em they could clean a spot out and stay as long as they wanted. Well, before you knew it, them people had carved out a nice little space in them guavas and built ’em a little house. They were hardworkin’ people, and eventually my daddy took them down to the courthouse with what money they had and got ’em a legal deed to the land.” Nolay took a deep sigh, looked down at his plate, and said, “Charlie ain’t never done nothing bad to nobody, and I’m gonna see to it that nothing bad comes to him. It makes me madder than a hornet that ol’ Peckerhead was trying to pull a fast one on that old man.”
Nolay looked over at me. “Charlie don’t quite understand what a land deed is, but I’m gonna make sure nothing happens to his land.”
I sat at the supper table and let all this information seep into me. I felt like a cup filled to the brim and spilling out over the edges. Maybe I didn’t really know any of our neighbors or even my own family.
The month of October was quickly chasing itself to an end. The dryness of autumn had stumbled in and hung fully sweet and heavy in the air. The days were shorter and the swamp was almost completely covered in a golden-brown cloak. Huge flocks of squawking ducks darkened the sky as they flew over our house on their way to Lake Okeechobee and the Everglades. Some would stop and rest in our swamp for a couple of days.
Old Snaggletooth’s gator hole shrank to a small bog. Her babies had grown to the size of giant brown lizards. A whole new generation of baby gators scampered around the murky waters of their birthplace. Snaggletooth was always close by, her huge body floating just under the water’s surface, her eyes sticking up like two periscopes. She was constantly on guard for animals in search of a drink or a quick meal of one of her children.
At night, the air filled with the growls, screeches, and snarls of hungry animals roaming the dried-up swamp looking for food and water.
Sunday morning after breakfast and our chores, Nolay announced, “ ’Bout time we went and chopped us a new batch of firewood. It’s gonna start gettin’ chilly in the evenin’s.”
We went outside and climbed into Nolay’s swamp buggy. Mama brought a little straw basket filled with food and sat it on the floor between her feet.
The buggy consisted of nothing more than an old car frame with bloated tires and seats at the front and back. Nolay turned the key, and the engine coughed and rumbled to life. We headed out toward the sandy patch of longleaf and slash pine.
It was like riding a carnival roller coaster. The buggy’s huge tires rolled easily over the tangled mass of palmetto roots. We sloshed through a couple of small bogs and finally entered an area filled with the cool, pungent scent of pine. Nolay stopped and surveyed the area for any dead pine logs laying around. They had to be just the right size for cutting and fitting into our fireplace. He nodded. “Looks like a perfect one, right over yonder.” He sat down, shifted the buggy’s gears, and started forward.
I looked back. Something strange caught my eye: thick gray clouds of smoke snaking up through the clear blue sky. I pointed and exclaimed, “Nolay, looky yonder, what is that?”
Nolay stopped the buggy and stood up in the seat for a better look. “That’s a mighty big fire. And it’s over by the Reemses’, and Charlie’s place. This do
n’t look good. Y’all hang on, we’re gettin’ over there.”
Nolay turned the buggy around, and we bounced back over the palmetto roots. When we reached the county marl road, he gunned the engine, and we raced toward Charlie’s place. The swamp buggy’s bloated tires sent up plumes of yellow dust so thick they blotted out the blue sky behind us.
Nolay slammed on the brakes when he spotted Blue’s old pickup truck parked on the side of the road. You couldn’t miss that truck, because it had so many different colors of paint over patches of rust that it looked like a multicolored leopard. Blue and a gang of colored men stood as if paralyzed by the thick gray smoke.
“What’s goin’ on, Blue?”
“I don’t know, Mista Nolay. We just looked up and seen this here fire. The wind is blowin’ it directly toward Mr. Charlie’s. I done sent some of the womenfolk over to hep him however they can. I done sent Jackson back to the house to get our diggin’ tools. We goin’ to start choppin’ a firebreak between here and Mr. Charlie’s.”
“Sounds like you got it under control, Blue. I’m gonna check on Charlie, and I’ll be right back to help y’all.”
“Yes, suh, Mista Nolay.”
Nolay drove up Charlie’s road and pulled into the front yard. When he turned off the swamp buggy’s noisy engine, we were surrounded by an eerie silence. On one side of the yard the chickens had bunched together like a giant discarded feather duster. They clucked quietly among themselves. The sound of burning trees crackled through the air. A few live sparks and pieces of black cinder floated softly to the ground.
Charlie and several colored women came around from the back of the house; each carried a bucket of water. Charlie’s huge body waddled from side to side as he limped toward us. Water sloshed out of the buckets and painted the legs of his faded overalls in streaks of bright blue. “Nolay, Nolay,” he cried, “they gonna burn my house down. They gonna burn up my chickens.”
Nolay got out of the swamp buggy. “Everything’s gonna be all right, Charlie. You just keep dousing any sparks and as much of your house as you can with that water. Blue and his gang are already cutting a firebreak.” Nolay turned to me and Mama. “Lori, get down to the Last Chance, put a call out to both the volunteer fire stations. Then round up the neighbors. We’ll need every hand we can get.”
Mama slid over to the driver’s seat, and I jumped in front with her. When we reached the Last Chance, she left the buggy’s engine on. She ran inside and told Mr. Ball and the other folks there what had happened. She ran back outside, got behind the steering wheel, and shifted gears, and off we went. Over the rumbling of the engine, she said, “Mr. Ball is going to call the fire stations.”
Soon as we pulled into Little Man’s front yard, I saw him and his two brothers out in their little sugarcane patch. I jumped out and ran over to them. “There’s a fire over by Mr. Charlie’s, and we need help!”
The three of them immediately started for the buggy. As they ran past the house, Earl and Ethan grabbed a couple of shovels and machetes. Little Man already had a hoe in his hand. Miss Melba came to the front door to see what all the fuss was about. “Miss Melba,” I said, “there’s a fire at Mr. Charlie’s, and we need all the help we can get.”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll go tell Cotton, and we’ll be right over.”
By the time we arrived back at the fire, there was an assortment of cars and trucks parked along the road. A black and white human chain of men, women, and children stretched out over the scrub brush. Together, they cut, slashed, and chopped through the thick vegetation. The firebreak looked like a giant snail had crawled over the dense vegetation.
Earl, Ethan, and Little Man jumped out of the back of the buggy and joined up with the rest of the people. Mama said, “I hope the fire trucks will reach here in time.”
No sooner had she said those words than we heard the mournful wail of a siren. The ancient Grant volunteer fire truck came lumbering up the road. Ironhead sat in the driver’s seat, and as he got closer, he reached up and began to clang the bell that hung by the driver’s door. He drove the old truck out onto the firebreak. Several men came up and began to uncoil the hose at the back of the truck. Ironhead cranked open a wheel that released water into the hose. Like a limp gray snake, it sprang to life and sprayed a stream of water toward the orange tongues of fire.
Sheriff LeRoy arrived with red lights flashing and sirens screeching. He jumped out of his car and headed straight in to help with the hose. The air filled with the hiss and sizzle of water fighting fire. Patches of gray smoke began turning into thick black clouds. Like a hungry old toad, the clouds gobbled up the clear blue sky. For several hours we all worked to bring the fire under control. Me and Little Man used our shovels to spread a thin layer of sand over the smoldering coals. Finally, the fire began to dwindle and admit defeat.
Me and Mama followed Nolay back to the buggy. Our clothes were drenched in sweat. Small leaves and black cinders clung to our bodies like leeches. “Honey Girl,” Nolay said, “you and Bones stay here; I got something I need to do.”
Mama crossed her arms and said, “And what would that be?”
“I’m goin’ out to the Reemses’.”
“Nolay, I don’t think that is a wise thing for you to do.”
“I ain’t thinkin’ wise right now, I’m thinkin’ about what I need to do.”
Mama got in the front seat. “Then I am going with you.”
I jumped in the back. “I’m going, too.”
“I ain’t got time to argue with you two hardheads.” Without another word, Nolay got in, and we drove off toward the Reemses’. We pulled into the dirt yard and saw the three boys and Whackerstacker standing under a dismal little tree. If the Reemses were good at anything, it was wasting time. Nolay parked in front of them.
Whackerstacker said, “What you doin’ on my property?”
Nolay eased out of the buggy and stood in front of them. “What in tarnation were you doin’? You tryin’ to burn that old man out?”
“You dumb Indian, you get off my property,” Whackerstacker said.
As quick as the strike of a rattlesnake, Nolay’s fist shot forward and connected with Whackerstacker’s face. Whackerstacker grabbed his nose with both hands and sagged to his knees. Nolay quietly said, “That would be Mister Indian to you.”
Whackerstacker recovered and picked up a shovel and swung it toward Nolay. Nolay jerked his head back. The tip of the shovel slashed across the side of his head. He staggered and fell to the ground. The three boys—Fats, Skeeter, and Smokey—moved in and began to kick Nolay.
Without thinking, I leaped from the backseat and onto Skeeter’s back. I wrapped my arms around his thick neck and bit down on his right ear. Skeeter screamed and began wheeling around like a dog chasing its tail. I saw Whackerstacker with the shovel held high in the air.
The crack of a gunshot pierced the air. A silence fell over us; everyone stood still as sticks, then, as if in slow motion, turned in the direction of the sound. Mama stood on the front seat of the buggy, her little pearl-handled .32 revolver in her hand. It was pointed skyward. She slowly brought it down level with Whackerstacker’s eyes.
Whackerstacker glared at her, dropped the shovel, and stepped backward. I let go of Skeeter’s ear, loosened my grip, and slid off his back. Just as my feet touched the ground, a car slid to a stop behind the buggy. The door flew open, and the huge body of Sheriff LeRoy uncurled from the front seat.
I ran to Nolay and kneeled down. He pushed his body up with his hands and rose to his knees. A thin red gash cut across his right temple and into his curly black hair. Blood trickled down the side of his face, along his neck, and over his chest. Speechless, I stared into his eyes. He looked back and said, “Bones, you all right?”
“Yes, sir, I’m fine. How about you?”
“I’m fine.” He started to unbutton his shirt. “Now, look at this, these buzzards done messed up my shirt.” He took his shirt off, wadded it up, and pressed i
t against his head. He placed his other hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get going.”
Sheriff LeRoy jingled over to us. “You all right, Nolay?”
“Never been better, LeRoy.”
Whackerstacker pointed a finger at Nolay. “Arrest him, Sheriff. He come on my property and threatened me and my kids. He attacked us. Look what he done to my boy here.” Fats stood next to his father, two small streams of blood oozing out of his nostrils.
Mama stood still as a park statue on the buggy seat, her pistol pointed directly at Whackerstacker.
LeRoy turned toward her and said calmly, “Miss Lori, I sure would appreciate it if you would put that gun down.”
Mama looked at him, then at the gun, as if it were the first time she had seen it. Without a word, she sat down and slipped the gun back inside her little straw basket.
LeRoy swung around and gave his full attention to us and the Reemses. “Well now, from what I saw when I first drove up, there must be two sides to this story. And I aim to get to both of ’em.” LeRoy strolled over to where the shovel lay in the dirt. He reached down and gingerly picked it up with two fingers. He asked Whackerstacker, “This yours?”
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
“I gotta take it in for evidence. I’ll bring it back when I’m finished.”
“What you takin’ my shovel in for, Sheriff? It cain’t talk.”
“That’s right, Joe, I’m gonna arrest your shovel. When I’m through interrogatin’ it, I’ll bring it back.” LeRoy walked over to Nolay. “You might want to have a doctor look at that.”
“It would take a lot more than these dumb buzzards to send me to a doctor.”
“Now, Nolay, I want you to get in your buggy and go home. I don’t want to see you over here again.”
“LeRoy, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna stop by and check on Charlie first.”
“Fair enough, I’m headed back there myself. When I looked around at Charlie’s place and saw your buggy gone, I figured this was where I’d find you. Thought I’d better get here before you got yourself into deeper trouble.” LeRoy looked closer at the cut on Nolay’s head. “Looks like I got here just in time.”
Precious Bones Page 21