Momma stood on the porch, one hand holding a dish towel, the other shading her eyes from the sun. “Well, look at you girls. Comin’ home in style, you are.”
We said good-bye to Mr. Stokes and sauntered regally up to the porch.
“Just jottin’ into town,” I said. “You know how us social girls live.”
“Takin’ taxi cabs!” Momma gave a low whistle. “Livin’ high on the hog, ain’t you?”
Gemma sat on a rocker and patted her stomach. “If we ate like that every day, we’d be turnin’ into hogs. I done ate enough to last me a year.”
“So it went okay, then?” Momma asked uncertainly. She hadn’t been too fond of letting us go in the first place, but Daddy had convinced her that we couldn’t hide from everything.
We followed Momma into the kitchen so she could finish her dishes while listening to us tell her about our day. We were in the middle of running down the list of things we’d eaten when Daddy stormed into the house.
“Harley, you’re trackin’ mud into my house,” Momma scolded, but she stopped when she saw his face. “What’s wrong now? Someone get hurt?”
Daddy just stood there, one hand on his hip. Then he said, “Sadie, Jessilyn, Gemma . . . you seen anyone in the back fields of late?”
We all shook our heads.
“What is it, Harley?” Momma asked impatiently.
“Somebody done slashed the tires on my tractor, that’s what. I just got me them new tires, and they ain’t no good to nobody now. And I ain’t got the money to go about replacin’ ’em.” He started to pace the floor, smacking his hat against his leg with every other step. “Who does things like that? Sneakin’ onto a man’s property and ruinin’ the things he works hard for. Who does that?”
Momma sighed and leaned over the sink, staring out the window. After a minute, she said, “Well, what’re we gonna do?”
“I don’t know.” Daddy paced the floor a few more times, and then he looked up at me and Gemma. He could see the worry on our faces, and that made him calm down a bit. He gave us a small, forced smile. “It’ll work out, girls. Ain’t no worryin’ to be done. It’ll get fixed like everythin’ else.”
“But you need that tractor for the farm,” I said. “What’ll you do if you can’t use it?”
“Jessilyn, that ain’t your worry. Like I said, it’ll all work out.” He walked off into the den, and Momma went after him. I could hear them talking quietly as they left.
I sat at the kitchen table, tapping my fingers thoughtfully. I wondered if Jeb had locked me in that shed last night to keep me from seeing him fooling around with the tractor. But then, why would he have told me that he’d locked me in? I’d been wondering about that ever since I found out.
On our farm, we had only five hands altogether, and outside of Jeb, all of them were colored men who had small, worn homes and large families. But Jeb was alone in the world, and he lived an acre away in an old shack that sat on our property. We didn’t even know where that shack came from, but Daddy let Jeb use it for a home, what little there was of it. The lean-to, though, kept some of his personal effects and a few tools he’d brought with him when he came to Calloway.
I believed he’d had plenty of opportunity to lock me in as he’d said, but I couldn’t figure out why it would benefit him to do it. Each time I thought of Jeb, I questioned him even more. And each time I thought of that lean-to, I wondered just what he kept inside.
The week before the start of school, Gemma and I were helping in the fields to take some of the pressure off Daddy. He never liked us doing those sorts of chores. He’d always said, “Girls are delicate and they shouldn’t be doin’ dirty work in the fields.” But I didn’t mind so much unless it was a scorcher, and this day in particular was only eighty degrees, cool by Calloway standards.
We had no more information about the tractor than we’d had the day Daddy found it beat up, and Daddy was spending most of his time trying to patch the old steel wheels he’d taken off for the fancy new tires. They were bent up and tore up the ground they ran across, but he had no choice. A working farm needed a working tractor, and that was all there was to it.
As we worked that morning, I watched Jeb closely. He gave nothing away and seemed innocent as a dove. I couldn’t imagine not being able to trust him, yet that conversation with Walt Blevins kept running through my brain. He’d known about Walt bothering me, and he’d warned him, but I also realized that he’d only warned him for his own benefit, to keep his plans intact. What were those plans? There was no longer any question if Luke was right that Jeb had been hiding something. I had only to wonder exactly what it was that he was hiding. I did nothing but wonder.
By noon, Daddy told us we’d done enough.
“We ain’t but got through two rows,” I told him.
“You shouldn’t be doin’ any rows,” he said. “Look at y’all’s hands. All dirty and rough. You head on in and get some dinner, and if there’s any woman’s chores to be done, you can help your momma. It’ll be gettin’ hotter throughout the afternoon, anyhow.”
Gemma and I trudged up the path examining the beginnings of blisters on our hands. “Shoot!” I said when I found one on the inside of my finger. “The finger next to it will rub it like crazy.”
“Shoulda worn gloves like I done told you,” Gemma said.
“I hate wearin’ gloves; you know that. Keeps me from feelin’ what I’m doin’.”
“Well then, don’t complain about blisters.”
“You wore gloves, and you got a blister comin’ up.”
“Only a small one,” she said in her defense.
“Ain’t no comparin’ big ones and small ones. You got a blister, then you got a blister. Ain’t no difference between the two.” I slowed as we neared the old shed and walked over to the lean-to, examining it as best I could in the bright sun. Then I looked around to see if we had any company.
“What’re you doin’?” Gemma asked impatiently. “Dinner’s gonna get stale waitin’ for us.”
“Just a minute,” I hissed. “You ate two tomatoes while we were pickin’, anyway. You can’t be that starved.”
“Well, what’re you pokin’ around the shed for?”
I stood back. “What’s he got in that thing?” I tried the door of the lean-to unsuccessfully.
“You get your nasty self away from that lean-to,” Gemma said. “That ain’t your stuff. It’s Jeb’s.”
“It’s on Lassiter property.”
“So’s my trunk, but I expect no one goes diggin’ through it.”
I tried the door again, tugging harder this time.
“Jessilyn!”
“I just want to know what he keeps in it.”
“What for? He ain’t done nothin’ to you.”
“Ain’t so sure,” I said seriously.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I ain’t so sure.”
Gemma didn’t get my meaning, and I didn’t expect her to, but all the same I was determined to get a peek inside that lean-to. I found a sort of crowbar in the shed and used it to jimmy the door open, with Gemma flapping at me the whole time.
“You’re gonna break the law,” she whispered, her arms spread out in front of her like an attorney presenting his case. “That’s what you’re gonna do. I ain’t never known you to be a lawbreaker.”
“It’s Lassiter property,” I remarked again. “Ain’t no law breakin’ in that.”
The door creaked slightly as I opened it. The space was so small you almost had to crawl into it, and I bent down and did a sort of duckwalk inside, the sunlight illuminating its contents. Several crates were stacked in one corner and a pallet lay rolled up in another.
Gemma came in behind me. “Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .”
“Would you hush up?” I wailed, my nerves already frazzled enough.
“Can’t help feelin’ the way I’m feelin’. Least one of us has some conscience left.”
“Oh, hush!” I took a furtive look out t
he door, saw no one, and proceeded to work at one of the wooden crates.
“Now you’re gettin’ worse. Lookin’ in a man’s things.
That’s a sin.”
“It ain’t no sin.”
“Sure as sunshine, it is!”
“When you ever seen the Bible say, ‘Thou shalt not look in another man’s crates’?”
“Don’t you make fun of the Bible,” Gemma demanded, her face stricken.
“I ain’t makin’ fun of the Bible. I’m makin’ fun of you.”
“Well, I ain’t gonna let you do it.” She grabbed my hands to keep me from removing the top of the crate.
“Leave me be!”
“No!” Gemma argued. “I ain’t lettin’ you pry into Jeb’s things and feel awful about it later.”
I leaned my hip into her side, trying to shove her away, but she retained a steady grip.
“Quit pushin’ me,” she said, breathless from our struggle. “You ain’t gettin’ me away that easy.”
“I want to see inside,” I grunted, still pushing her with my hip. “Now leave me be.”
“No ma’am! I ain’t raised to do such things and neither were you. Ain’t nice to let friends make mistakes like you’re gonna make.”
“I’ve made lots of mistakes,” I said, “and you ain’t been able to stop me those times, neither.”
“I will this time.” Gemma’s voice was strained as she pushed her weight against mine. “You ain’t gettin’ in this crate.”
We were both breathing hard from fatigue, standing with our feet wide apart, digging our sides into each other. Back and forth we’d lean, one of us giving in for a second before pushing back with all our might. We were grunting and groaning, and the crate creaked under the pressure.
I gave the top another tug, and I could feel it loosen. “I’ve almost got it. Now get off so I can see inside before someone gets here.”
“No, I won’t. I ain’t gonna let you do it.” Gemma clutched my hands more tightly, but her hold only enabled me to pull the lid off, and the two of us toppled to the ground as it released.
Gemma started to sputter at me, but she stopped dead when she got a glimpse at what had tumbled out of the crate. Half hanging out was a mass of white fabric, and we instinctively knew just what that white fabric was. We’d seen it up close and personal.
I jumped up and took a closer look in that crate. I dug around and found a matching hood, hollow eye slits staring at us like a demon. “Klan,” I whispered, my heart dropping with the realization of what Jeb was.
“You mean we got Klan right here?” Gemma gasped. “We got Klan on Lassiter property?”
My ears pricked up when I heard the voices of some of the men on the path. “They’re breakin’ for dinner. We gotta get out.”
Gemma helped me stuff the robe back into the crate and replace the lid. We flew outside, tossed the crowbar back into the shed, and made it down the path and out of sight without getting caught.
Once we were near the house, I led Gemma off the path toward the cover of some trees. “Don’t you tell no one,” I said.
“Tell no one what? What we saw?”
“Don’t say nothin’ about what we saw, and I don’t want you tellin’ what I’m about to tell you, neither.”
“What?”
“Well, do you promise not to tell no one?”
Gemma shrugged like she didn’t think I was going to say anything worth sharing.
“What’s that?” I asked. “That mean you won’t tell?”
“No, I won’t tell. Mercy’s sake!”
“All right, fine.” I took another look around for eavesdroppers. “The other day, when I was goin’ to find Jeb for Momma, I saw him in the woods by the top fields talkin’ to Walt Blevins.”
Gemma looked genuinely puzzled. “What for?”
“Don’t know what for exactly, but he told Walt to leave me alone.”
“Maybe he saw Walt sneakin’ around and took care of him for your daddy.”
“Don’t think so, ’cause he talked to Walt right friendly, like he knows him. He said that messin’ with me would spoil his plans.”
“Plans?”
“He didn’t say nothin’ else. Just said he didn’t want Walt messin’ up his plans.”
“That don’t make no sense.”
“It does if Jeb’s in on all the trouble.”
“You in more trouble than you’re tellin’ me?” she asked with a shake in her voice. I was surprised by the fierce look in her eyes. “You tell me straight.”
I paused and then said, “Gemma, you got enough to worry about. You ain’t got to be worryin’ about me.”
“If there’s somethin’ wrong, I want to know. I been sus-pectin’ you ain’t been tellin’ me all. Well, now’s the time. I want to know.”
Tears started to spring to my eyes, and it made me cringe to feel the way I did. I hated feeling the isolation of being a victim.
“What is it?” Gemma asked anxiously. “Tell me.”
“I think Walt’s gonna hurt me,” I blurted out, all the fear of the past days rushing back full force. “He looks at me like no grown man should look at me.”
“He threaten you?”
“As much as he could without actually sayin’ so.”
“Why didn’t you tell your daddy?”
“Daddy’s got enough trouble. . . .”
“He would want to know.”
“No! I don’t want Daddy knowin’. I don’t want no one knowin’. You promised me. It’s between you and me.”
Gemma didn’t understand me. I could see that on her face. When it came right down to it, I didn’t understand me either. But things were what they were, and I didn’t have any experience in handling such things. We barely said two words to each other on the way back to the house.
“Your daddy and momma would feel badder’n I don’t know what if you ended up dead,” Gemma said as we snapped beans for supper that night.
“Hush your mouth,” I whispered. “Luke’s comin’.”
“Looks like your momma’s beans are on the menu,” Luke said happily as he ambled up the walkway. “And I could smell her honey ham all the way from Miss Cleta’s house.”
“I know,” I replied. “Been makin’ me hungry for the last hour.”
He mounted the porch steps in one stride and straddled an old straw chair. “Give me a bowl, Jessie, and I’ll help you out.”
“There’s other more important ways you could help her out,” Gemma muttered.
I grabbed Gemma’s bowl away from her, making her drop a bean onto the floor, where Duke quickly retrieved it. “Gemma’s gotta go help Momma in the kitchen,” I said with a glare at her, knowing full well that she’d hint enough to have Luke guessing at my troubles if I let her stay out with us. “You can use her bowl.”
She sighed and let the door slam extra hard on her way in.
“She seems right sober,” Luke commented to me when Gemma had gone.
“She gets that way when she’s hungry,” I lied.
Luke didn’t believe me, I could see, but he was used to me and Gemma arguing about things. He likely figured he’d be better off not knowing what our spat was about.
We had an end-of-summer storm that night in late August, and since there wasn’t much nearby lightning from it, Momma excused me from dishes so I could enjoy it on the porch. Gemma volunteered to help Momma since she didn’t want anything to do with thunderstorms anymore. So Luke and I sat on the porch glider while Daddy smoked his pipe on an old rocker.
“Ain’t too many more nights like this left,” Daddy murmured after a particularly long clap of thunder. “Gettin’ on to the end of the season now.”
“Yes’r,” I responded quietly. “Summer’s almost gone.” Most years, I thought summer always went too fast, but I couldn’t say that this summer was one I wanted to hang on to any longer than necessary.
“School startin’ soon, Jessie?” Luke asked.
“Next week.”
“You happy to go?”
“S’pose I’m just toleratin’ it. Ain’t like I’ll be long on friends or nothin’.”
“Now, Jessilyn,” Daddy said with a tone that likely didn’t even convince himself, “there ain’t no tellin’ for sure that you won’t have friends.”
“You been around town lately, Daddy? Ain’t no one wants to be our friends.” I crossed my arms and said with sincerity, “I don’t care none if they don’t, neither. If they got worries ’cause we got Gemma, then they ain’t worth bein’ friends with, nohow.”
“That’s my girl,” Luke said, tousling my hair with a hand that nearly covered the top of my head. His brotherly gesture did nothing to improve my opinion of the current summer.
Another loud jolt of thunder sent Duke cowering underneath the glider with a squeal. Then almost as quickly he came flying back out in excitement as Mr. Tinker’s truck rumbled up our gravel driveway.
“What in the . . . ?” Daddy mumbled. “Ain’t expectin’ to see him tonight.”
Mr. Tinker popped his head out the side window and hollered for Daddy.
“What is it, Otis?” he hollered.
“Got some trouble at the Pollard place, and the sheriff’s out in Sellers County for a meetin’. Could sure use your help.”
Daddy stood and stretched. “What kind of trouble?”
“Same as usual. Old Jeff Pollard’s been into the jug too much today, and his missus swears he’s gonna kill ’em all with his flailin’ and cussin’. You know how she gets.”
Daddy shook his head, handing me his pipe. “Stick this inside for me, will you? And tell your momma where I’m headin’.”
“You need me to go along?” Luke asked.
“Naw, you stay on here.”
“Don’t know, Harley,” Mr. Tinker said. “Might come in handy if Jeff’s all a sight like his missus says he is. He’s no small man, you know.”
“He ain’t so big as the two of us can’t handle him. ’Sides, he gets all tottery when he’s tight. Won’t be able to see straight enough to figure out who to punch.”
“No trouble, if you need me,” Luke insisted.
“Ain’t no harm in a couple more good hands,” Mr. Tinker said.
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