Manuel thought that sounded better than anything he could come up with, and agreed. They got in the truck and drove down the road that led from the cotton gin back out to the main highway, without turning the headlights on. When they got to the old grist mill road, they took it all the way down to the mill and parked behind it. They sat there in silence, occasionally checking there watches.
Manuel turned to Ben, “I don’t want you to get caught up in this, Ben. I’m the one that hit him. You were just an innocent bystander.”
“Uh uh, there ain’t no way and don’t you even think about it. You saved my life and I’m the one that threw the pepper sauce in his eyes. We’re in this together. Let’s just wait and talk to Miss Rachel and see what she says.”
*****
Ben snuck up to the huge front porch that ran the entire length of the Winston’s old antebellum house that had been in the family for four generations. Buck, the old hound that belonged to Mr. Winston, had been around Ben for years. He growled a little and let out a couple of short barks, but Ben called his name, patted him on the head and rubbed him behind the ears. Buck walked back over to his place at the corner of the porch and laid back down. The night was still, with only the faint sounds of crickets chirping and the occasional hoot of an old owl down in the woods. Ben didn’t have to worry about boards creaking, because the porch was covered with polished limestone tiles.
Ben walked up to Rachel’s bedroom window and began knocking on the glass quietly. He waited, holding his breath and hoping she heard the knocks. After a minute, he knocked a little louder. A light came on in the room and Ben could hear movement inside. He hoped he hadn’t frightened her and caused her to go get her daddy. Then the drapes started moving and Ben was suddenly staring down twin barrels of a double barreled shotgun. Staring into them and knowing what they were capable of, they looked as big as railroad tunnels to Ben.
“It’s me, Ben, Miss Rachel,” Ben said as loud as he dared to speak.
The window raised and Rachel stuck her head out. Her hair was down and was flowing down past her shoulders and a few strands fell across her face. Ben thought she looked beautiful. Like one of the many princesses he’d read about and seen pictures of in story books.
“Ben? Ben, what’s wrong,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“We got bad trouble Miss Rachel. Can you get out of the house without wakin’ up your daddy?”
“What kind of trouble?” Rachel asked, still rubbing her eyes.
“I ain’t got time to tell you, here. Can you get out?”
“Y..yes. I can get out. Just wait for me down by the tool shed. Let me make sure Papa is still asleep.”
“Bring the key to the cotton gin office with you,” Ben told her.
“Why do we need the key to….”
“Just bring it, Miss Rachel. We ain’t got much time.”
Ben trotted off toward the tool shed. In a few minutes he saw Rachel running across the yard wearing a pair of old overalls.
“Okay, Papa is sound asleep. Now do you want to tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“I’ll tell you while we walk,” Ben said. “We ain’t got no time to lose.”
They left in a trot down the path toward the cotton gin. Ben explained to her what had happened on the way, talking so fast she could barely understand him. When he told her that Ned Higgins was dead, she stopped in her tracks.
“Oh,…. Lord no. Where…..where is he now?”
“He’s still inside the office at the gin. Me and Manuel didn’t move him. We didn’t know what to do.”
“Papa should have known better than to leave Ned to drive Manuel home. He knows what a hot head he can be and how much he despises anybody that has skin darker than his.”
“Well, I don’t know what he planned on doin’ with us, but me and Manuel wasn’t about to give him the opportunity to find out. It was a pure accident that he hit his head on that spike, though. Don’t you think people would understand? Folks who knew him knew how he was about black folks.”
When they arrived at the gin, Rachel took out the key from the bib of her overalls. Manuel had been hiding down in the edge of the woods and came running when he saw them. He walked in the door right after they did.
“Okay, Miss Rachel,” Ben said. “I’m gonna turn on the light. What you are about to see ain’t pretty. Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yes, Ben. I’ve seen dead people before. Turn on the light.”
Despite knowing what she was about to encounter, Rachel still let out a small gasp when the lights came on. Ned was still sitting up, propped against the wall, his chin resting on his chest like he was taking a nap. There wasn’t a lot of blood, due to the small puncture wound.
“I’ve decided it’s best just to tell the truth,” Manuel said. “I won’t have you two getting mixed up in something that I did. I’m the one that struck the fatal blow and Ben had nothing to do with it.”
Rachel looked at Manuel, considering what he’d just said. Under any other circumstance she would agree with him. The sheriff of Jones County was a bigot, just like a lot of people in the county, but he was also a fair man. But it wasn’t the sheriff she was worried about. It was those ignorant and cowardly men who donned white hoods and traveled in packs like wolves. Although the Ku Klux Klan didn’t have a large presence in Jones County, there were a lot of them in neighboring counties and in other parts of the state. They would come from miles around once they had heard one of their own had been killed by a Mexican while a black boy looked on. She knew Ned was a member of the Klan, though he hid it well. She explained this to Manuel and Ben.
“I hate lying with a passion,” Rachel said, pointing her finger at Ned. “But these cowards stick together like peas in a pod. It won’t matter who was at fault, or who started the fight. You two are guilty in their eyes, just by the fact that your skin is a different color, don’t you understand that?”
“Well, what do we do then?” Manuel asked, running his fingers through his thick black hair. “Hide his body somewhere? How do we explain him missing when we’re the last ones to have seen him? We’re still gonna look guilty.”
“I have a plan that might work. It has got to work. Now listen, we have to work fast. It’s already near midnight and Papa is usually up by five-o’clock. Ben, you look in the cabinets over there,” Rachel said, pointing to a small row of cabinets in a little hallway that connected the office from the warehouse portion of the gin. “There are some strong chemicals in there the men use to clean the office and some of the machinery. There should be several hand clothes, too. Clean this blood up and don’t leave a speck. There should be some gloves in the cabinet where the cleaner is. Be careful not to get much of that stuff on your skin. Manuel and I are gonna take the body down the back roads over to Cherokee County. I know a place on the Coosa River where there is a steep bank and the water is deep. We can push the truck down the bank. It’s a remote place, and as deep as the water is there, the truck will most likely never be found. Maybe everybody will just assume Ned stole Papa’s truck and ran off. Manuel, we’ll stop and get your truck. I’ll drive it and you can follow me. Now let’s move quickly.”
Rachel had given orders like a military officer. Ben knew she had an extremely sharp mind, but was very impressed with the way she acted under pressure. And if Ben had ever seen a pressure situation, this was it.
Manuel spoke up, “Miss Rachel, what if……”
“We don’t have time for what if’s, Manny. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Ben waited three days to tell me about what had happened to Ned at
the cotton gin. I couldn’t believe that he told me, even though we were best friends. I’m not sure I would have told him, if the shoe had been on the other foot. He didn’t tell me much that day, but told me to meet him instead the next day and he would give me the details. The place of our meeting was down at the creek about a half mile from our usual fishing spot, at a place where the creek took an almost ninety
-degree turn. When I got there, Rachel Winston was with him. She and Ben, of course, each had books and from their voluminous appearance, I knew any discussion they were having was gonna be way over my head. All I wanted to know about was the events that had happened last Friday night.
Ben and Rachel both greeted me as if they were as carefree as ever.
“Hey, Tom,” Ben said. “We were just catchin’ up on some of our discussions that were interrupted the other night.”
Interrupted, I thought to myself. If that wasn’t an understatement, there never had been one.
“You two got something you want to tell me?” I asked, trying to get straight to the point.
Ben looked at Rachel as if he were getting approval. I didn’t really know why since he’d already told me Ned Higgins was dead and that he and Manuel Cruz were responsible for it.
“Well, I told you Ned was dead and that me and Manny killed him in self-defense. But I didn’t tell you what we did after that. The only people in the world I trust to know something like this are you, Miss Rachel and Manny. I didn‘t even tell Nellie, and I’m not going to. She’s got more than enough to worry about, anyway.
“Well, tell me what happened after that,” I said. “I figured you buried ’im somewhere.”
“Well, I guess you could say that. Only his grave is a watery one. Miss Rachel and Manny run her papa’s truck off in the river with Ned in it.”
I turned to Rachel, “I hope you made sure the doors were shut good and the windows were rolled up. Them bodies will float back to the top.”
“It’s the gasses in the body that cause that,” Ben started, “what happens is…..”
“It don’t matter how it happens. I just know that it does,” I said.
“Manuel and I thought of that,” Rachel answered, as if she were offended that I would even question her on the subject.
“Tom, I need to know from you. Do you think we did the right thing? You know, hidin’ it the way we did and not telling nobody about it,” Ben asked.
“You did the only thing you could do,” I answered. “The chances of you and Manuel getting a fair trial in this county full of ignorant rednecks would be slim and none. You said Rachel left with her daddy, so you didn’t have any witnesses to back up your story.”
“That’s exactly what I believe,” Ben said. “I just wanted to hear it from one more person. I feel bad for Mr. Higgins family, if he has any, and I regret that it happened. But I’m not gonna allow myself to feel guilty when me and Manny were only trying to save our lives. It was an accident anyway. Manny was just tryin’ to get the knife away from him. Now there are four of us who know about it.” Ben sat silent for a minute and then a half smile came across his lips as if he were trying to lighten the mood. “You know what Benjamin Franklin said. Three people can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”
*****
I was sitting at Manuel’s little café, eating one of his famous burritos and some Spanish style rice. My Aunt Mary Kate was a wonderful cook, famous at every church gathering for her fried chicken, but eating the tasty, spicy food that Manuel prepared was a nice change of pace.
It had taken him a week to get around to it, but the sheriff happened to pick the day I was there to come and question Manuel about Ned Higgins’ disappearance. Having the information about Ned’s fate myself, I got nervous when he walked in and asked Manuel if he had time for a few questions. He spoke to me, but I’m not sure if he knew who I was or not. He knew my Uncle Lee and I assumed he’d seen me with him from time to time.
“Mr. Cruz,” the sheriff said, “could I talk to you a minute. I know you don’t need to leave your café, but maybe if we could step outside or in the back somewhere.”
“Sure, Sheriff. We can talk in the kitchen if you don’t mind the heat and all the different smells.”
“Well, I think the smells are pretty good,” the sheriff chuckled, as if he were trying to put Manuel at ease.
The two men stepped into the kitchen and closed the door. Luckily for me, it was a swinging door that left a narrow space between the door and jamb when it was shut. Perfect for eaves dropping. I got up off my stool and tiptoed around the corner, where I couldn’t be seen between the counter and the wall. The sheriff started with some idle chit-chat about how business was going and how he liked Manuel’s food. Then he finally got to his real purpose for being there.
“Mr. Cruz, I guess you heard about Ned Higgins missin’.”
“Yes sir. I have heard talk from some of my customers about it. They say he left town in Mr. Winston’s truck.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the talk that’s goin’ around,” the sheriff said. “But I talked to George Winston and he said he couldn’t figure it out. Said as far as he knew, Ned liked his job and was happy. You know he’d been with Mr. Winston six years.”
“I don’t know,” Manuel responded, “maybe somebody offered him something better and he just didn’t want to tell Mr. Winston about it.”
“But why would he steal his truck? He’s got a pretty nice old car of his own. It just don’t make no sense. No sense a-tall.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Sheriff. Maybe for some reason he just needed a truck. Maybe he was in some kind of trouble and didn’t want to be seen in his car. Who knows why some people do the things they do.”
“Well, accordin’ to Mr. Winston, you may have been the last person to have seen him last Friday night. Mr. Winston said y’all were at his cotton gin and he was gonna give you a ride home in his truck. Did you happen to notice which direction he went in after he let you out? Was he actin’ strange in any way?”
“He never gave me a ride, Sheriff. I walked home.”
The sheriff was silent for a minute, then said with a sigh, “Well, it just seems strange, that’s all. Did you and him have any kind of argument after Mr. Winston and his daughter left the gin?”
“I wouldn’t call it an argument. He made some remarks about me being a Mexican, and he let me know he didn’t particularly like Mexicans, or negroes. But I have gotten used to that kind of talk. I’ve heard it so many times I no longer pay attention to it.”
Manuel was as cool as a cucumber. If the sheriff was trying to rattle him, he was having no success whatsoever. I supposed an educated man like Manuel, who had traveled and worked with some rough characters and spent a lot of nights in the hobo jungles had pretty much seen it all. Especially when you consider that a lot of the men were prejudiced white men, some who had come from places devastated by the dust bowl and had lost the farms that had been in their families for generations.
“Well, Mr. Cruz I appreciate your time, and if you do hear anything…..”
That was my cue. I quickly tiptoed back around the counter and sat back down on my stool. When the two men came out of the kitchen, I pretended to be looking at the newspaper that was laying on the counter. The sheriff nodded to me once again as he started toward the door. As he opened the door to go out, he turned as if he were going to say something, but changed his mind and closed the door.
*****
I asked Ben if the sheriff had been to talk to him yet. Cotton picking had started and I knew it would be difficult to see him except late in the evenings for several days. He told me the sheriff came by and asked him if he’d seen Manuel leave with Ned Higgins in Mr. Winston’s truck. Ben told him that he hadn’t. Then he asked if Manuel and Ned had had an argument of any kind. Ben said the same thing Manuel had said. That Ned made some derogatory remarks about Mexicans in general, but that was about it. I believe the sheriff had come to the conclusion that Ned Higgins had just simply run off. Men who had no wife or children to tie them down were known to do that. As far as that goes, men who did have wives and children ran off. This Depression had caused men to do a lot of things they wouldn’t have normally done.
The sheriff may have concluded that no foul play was involved, but the hard core bigots of the county weren’t about to let it go. They kept pressure on the sheriff, remi
nding him of who was responsible for putting him in office. The sheriff told them he was doing all he could do and that he couldn’t just go out and arrest a man just because they thought he might have possibly been responsible for Ned’s disappearance.
*****
On Friday night, exactly two weeks after Ned vanished from the face of the earth, me, my Aunt Mary Kate and Uncle Lee were coming home from a revival meeting at Antioch Baptist Church. We were all singing hymns as we rode along. My Uncle Lee in his deep baritone, my aunt Mary Kate in her beautiful alto, and me in my off-key voice that had no particular name. I was the first to notice the orange glow in the night sky. I had seen that glow before only a couple of years earlier when Horace Wade’s barn had caught fire from some hay he’d put up that was too green. The hay had gone through a heat and eventually the older, dry hay caught up. The fire spread so quickly with all the dried hay that was scattered around, that the barn became an inferno in a matter of minutes. When I pointed the sight out to Uncle Lee, he immediately put his 1937 Ford, with the flathead V8 to the floor. Within minutes we were in downtown Collinwood. There were people gathered near where the old REO Speed Wagon fire truck was spraying water on Manuel’s café. The firemen’s only concern was to keep the flame from spreading to neighboring houses and buildings. There was no hope for the café.
Manuel, Maria, and their two small boys were standing in the middle of the street, watching hopelessly. Manuel had almost worked himself to death and had lived in an old, drafty barn. He hadn’t spent a dime on anything except enough cheap grub to keep him alive, to earn enough to start his little business that had become so popular for miles around. Now it was all gone. I walked over to where he was standing and put my hand on his shoulder. Other people were walking by, offering their condolences as if we were at a funeral and Manuel had just lost a close family member. I had a sudden thought. I started scanning the crowd, looking at the faces of the onlookers. They weren’t hard to recognize from the bright glow of the flames. I looked back and forth across the crowd several times and finally confirmed my suspicions. None of the redneck crowd who were either overt, or tried unsuccessfully to be secret members of the Klan were present. Some weren’t Klan members, but they were close to the ones who were and had the same sentiments. I knew almost all of them and I didn’t spot a single one.
The Sharecropper Prodigy Page 4