“I'm going to change my plea to guilty, Miz Ora," he said, as if it were the most rational thing he'd ever done.
“Eddie, I can't let you do that." I sounded more tired than emphatic, so I repeated myself. “I just can't let you do it."
“With all due respect, Miz Ora, you can't really stop me. It's the best thing to do and I know it, sho' as I'm sittin' here right now."
“Why do you say that?"
“'Cause it's true. I'm gettin' too old and tired and sick to live like I been livin'."
“But what's that got to do with going to jail?"
“It's the safest place for me. They got a bed and a toilet and three meals a day, and it won't cost me a dime."
It sounded so logical that I almost agreed on the spot. It might not seem possible, but my conscience was wreaking havoc on my heart. Even I had to admit his confession was just too convenient for me. I was willing to risk a trial and hope for acquittal, any small chance that I might not have to admit what I had done for Marcus. I swear though, by all that's holy, if a jury had found him guilty, I'd have owned up to it. I'd have come forward and taken my punishment, whatever it would be.
But I could not let him plead guilty.
“Eddie," I said, and my voice broke. I reached over and laid my hand on his painfully thin knee. “Eddie," I tried again.
“I done made up my mind, Miz Ora, and I really don't want you to change it for me."
“I can't do it, Eddie. You'll die in there."
“Better'n dyin' in the woods, ain't it?"
“I don't know how to answer that question. I just know I can't let you pay a debt you don't owe."
“I reckon I'm the bes' judge of that. Sometimes the debt you pay ain't exactly the one you owe, but it works out jus' the same anyway. Lord knows I done caused my share of heartache in this life."
“Haven't we all?"
“Miz Ora, I jus' want you to sit there and think about it hard now. Let's say you did tell the truth 'bout what you know. What good that go’n do?"
I pulled my cardigan tight around my shoulders and stared at the empty garage in front of me.
“The truth won't bring neither of those boys back to they mama's. Won't bring Grace no comfort. Won't do nothin' for Blanche but cause her more heartache. You know this town won't believe nothin' they hear. They'll believe exactly what they wants to believe. Whites'll take one side and blacks'll take the other, and never the twain shall meet."
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but my neck burned with the effort and tears spilled down my face.
“This is just such a mess. How did I make such a mess, Eddie?"
“I don't reckon it was your doin', Miz Ora. You did what you thought was best. Things was just against us all along. But, now that you mention it, you could be in a heap of trouble for not saying nothin' about Marcus."
“You let me worry about that. I won't have you taking the rap for me, Eddie."
“Ain't tryin' to. I'm jus' tryin' to do the right thing."
“Don't do anything yet. Let me think about it awhile, could you?"
“There's just one more thing I gotta say 'bout this."
I looked up at him and he swallowed hard and continued, “I been tryin' half my life to stop drinkin', but I come to think it just ain't no use. I don't want to go to my grave bein' a slave to the bottle. I just want to talk to Mr. Thatcher and see can he make me a bargain or somethin'."
“A plea bargain?"
“Yeah, that's it. I don't wanna fry in no 'lectric chair. I jus' wanna live in peace, that's all. Think they'll let me do that?"
I couldn't answer. I turned to go back into the house and, as I lifted my head to look where I was going, I thought I saw a flash of white going from the back porch into the kitchen. I left Eddie sitting in the back yard and went to my room, and I didn't come out until time for supper.
The next day, I called Jeffery Thatcher and asked him to meet with Eddie at my house. We settled on a time that afternoon and I concentrated on getting the house ready to receive a guest. Eddie put on a nice suit from Walter's closet. It hung a little loose and the shoes were a size too large, but Eddie shined them up with the little shoeshine kit from Walter's room. He looked downright handsome, if a little stiff, sitting on the edge of my couch.
Mr. Thatcher arrived on time and I left them alone to work out whatever deal they could. I knew, sure as I was living and breathing, that I would say something to mess things up or give my secret away.
I took a walk to calm my nerves. I passed J.C. Penney's and Ezell's Department store. I stopped at the window of Geiger's Dress Shop and watched Gladys Humphrey pick out a new dress for her daughter's upcoming wedding. I poked my head in at Dick Thomas's jewelry store and said hello to Dick and Ellie and their sales clerk, Patty. I went into the Woolworth store and ordered a cherry coke to go. When I finally made it home, Jeffrey's car was gone and Eddie and Blanche were sitting on the front porch, bundled against the chilly winter air.
“Well?" I asked.
“He says he go’n talk to the prosecutor and let me know tomorrow. I reckon he’s worried about the Kornegay family puttin' up a fuss."
I nodded once and went inside. I'd sworn off my meddling that very morning and here it was, not even dinnertime, and I was picking up the phone again. I called Ralph Kornegay and arranged to meet him in the church parking lot the next day.
Twenty-three
Eddie's arraignment was scheduled for January 26th, 1977. That left him a little less than two weeks of freedom and I was bound and determined to make that time nice for him. Chip borrowed his father's pickup truck and went back to Eddie's camp in the woods to pick up his old chair. It was a beautiful thing, despite having been in the open for God knows how long. Eddie came outside to help decide where the chair would go and we chose a cozy spot where the yard made a little alcove beside the garage. He wanted to fix it up though, so we put it in the garage first, right in the empty spot where Walter's car once sat.
“Where in the world did you find this chair, Eddie?"
He chuckled when I asked him that.
“You ain't go'n believe this, Miz Ora, but I only paid ten dollars for that ol' thing."
“You're kidding."
It was hard to believe. The chair must have once sat in a fairly nice barber shop, judging by the ornate scrollwork in the metal base.
“Nope," he laughed “Ten dollars I paid and had it delivered to boot."
“Delivered?"
“Yes'm, out to the woods."
“Good Lord," I said, “How in the world did you manage that?"
“Used to hop me a freight train every now and again, jus' to get away for awhile. Sometimes I'd go all the way to Alabama to see Tressa. Most times I'd just go down the tracks and back. Used to see this here chair, jus' sittin' in the back yard of this man's house. Wasn't all that far from here, just out by the Minute Maid plant."
Not far from Blanche's house, I thought to myself.
“Then one day, when I got my check cashed and had some money to spend, I hopped off the freight car - they always switchin' cars out there, so it goes real slow - and I asked that ol' man 'bout this chair."
Eddie went on to tell how the man said for five dollars he could take it right then. Eddie couldn't figure out how to get it back to the woods, so he offered the man ten dollars if he would get his nephew to deliver it. They made the deal right then and Eddie paid him when they got to the woods with the chair.
Eddie spent the next week fixing the chair up with tools he found in the garage. I found some old red vinyl in my fabric stash, left over from recovering some dinette chairs we had in the fifties, and we recovered the seat and back of the barber's chair with it. That's when we discovered the seat had been stuffed with horse hair, which I knew indicated quality in the manufacturing.
When it was done, Eddie decided he rather liked the chair in the garage and, since there wasn't likely to be another car in that spot anytime soon, I agreed to le
ave it where it was. Eddie spent as much time as possible out there before his court date. If he drank at all, I didn't see or smell the alcohol.
Eddie was clean and sober the day of his arraignment and he went to court in the same suit he wore to talk to his lawyer the weeks before.
The Kornegay family was not in the courtroom. I'm not sure what Ralph said to the rest of his family to keep them away, but he managed it well. There were only a few local reporters and a handful of townsfolk there to witness Eldred Mims plead guilty to the charge of Second Degree Murder. In a deal with the county prosecutor and the Honorable Judge Harley T. Odell, Eddie was sentenced immediately to twenty-five years to life, whichever came first.
Blanche and I sat in the second row, directly behind Eddie. I sat with a straight back, one gloved hand clutching Blanche's bare one. She held a handkerchief in her other hand and dabbed at her eyes throughout the proceeding, but didn't make a sound until they placed the cuffs on his wrists and led him away.
Then she groaned softly and began to mumble, “This ain't right, Miz Ora. This ain't right."
“Blanche," I whispered. “Shhh, now...shhh."
She quieted down, but continued to cry. The bailiff adjourned the court, Poopsie retired to his quarters and we sat until everyone else had left. We were just standing to leave when the good judge appeared in his doorway and motioned us into his office. I shook my head in protest and he came to us instead.
“You okay?" he asked.
“I've been better."
“Anything you want to tell me now? Last chance, Ora. After today, I really don't want to know."
“I believe it's all been said now, Harley."
“Same for you, Blanche?"
She stood and looked him square in the eye and I thought it was all over for us. But she turned without a word and left the courtroom. Harley sighed and gave me a hard, perplexed look. I returned his gaze until I had to look away.
“Good day, Mrs. Beckworth," he said and returned to his office without so much as a backward glance.
It had all been said, as far as I was concerned. Ralph Kornegay knew the truth - the whole ugly truth - and I left it up to him to decide which way the ball would bounce. If he interfered or caused Eddie any further harm, I would tell everything, and I meant everything, including what Skipper did to Grace and what I did to cover up for Marcus. Prison be damned, the town would know the truth.
It hurt to watch the man receive my news. He may have been ignorant; he may even have been a bigot, but he was a father first and his pain was raw. I remember thinking it was odd that Ralph never once tried to deny what Skipper had done. He was silent at first; then he asked one pointed question after another until he had no more to ask.
I gave him the names of the boys who I believed were with him that day. His shoulders dropped with each name I spoke until I thought he would disappear beneath the seat of his patrol car. He never condemned or threatened me. He simply received the news, asked his questions, nodded his acceptance of my terms and drove away. We never spoke again after the day I delivered my ultimatum. Not once. Ralph was dead of a heart attack within a year. His wife survived him by only two years. If he ever told her about their son, I never knew and never wanted to know.
Twenty-four
Eddie was sent to the state corrections facility just outside of town. They took him that very day. Blanche and I returned home from the courthouse in complete silence; neither of us daring to speak a word. I directed the cab to Blanche’s house first, even though the day was barely half over.
She opened the car door, then asked without even a glance my way, “What about yo’ supper?”
“I can manage,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Girls’ll be there off the bus.”
“I’ll call the school.”
“What am I going to tell them about Eddie?”
I knew full well that was not a question that needed an answer, but I forged ahead anyway.
“Tell them Eddie loves them. More than they will ever know.”
She got out of the cab then, and hauled herself up the sidewalk and into the house. I could feel her weight as if it were cast upon my own frame. I had not known sadness to feel heavy before, not even when Walter died. That grief was weightless, almost buoyant, as if I could feel myself floating toward some enormous abyss. It was not a good feeling, mind you. It was more like having been tethered by a lifeline and being cut loose in a gentle, but persistent tide.
This grief pressed down like gravity amplified. The seat of the cab cut into the backs of my legs and my head would not rest squarely on my shoulders, but bobbed uncomfortably between the headrest and my collar bones. I could barely gather myself out of the vehicle when the driver pulled up to my house. I gave him a twenty and did not wait for change.
The first time I visited Eddie in prison, I went alone. I wasn’t sure who would be on his visitors’ list, so I didn’t risk having the children turned away. As it turned out, had I not brought a batch of Blanche’s oatmeal cookies, I might not have been received myself. Seems Eddie decided not to allow visitors at all. Negotiations were brief. The cookies came in with me or went home the same way. Never underestimate the power of baked goods. I was sitting across a table from him within five minutes.
Eddie looked drawn that first visit, but it was only a week after his arraignment. By the time I made my fourth weekly trip, Eddie had already filled out a bit and his eyes had lost their yellowish glaze. Blanche and I visited when we could. We still took treats every now and then and made sure he had books and magazines to read. I waited each time for him to tell me he wanted out of there, but he never did. He seemed happy and healthy and he even gained a bit of weight, which he swore was from Blanche's cookies.
Our visits became less frequent as we focused on Patrice's graduation and all it entailed. We had already measured her for cap and gown when I thought to ask her where she had applied to go to college.
“College?" She seemed almost indignant. “I didn't apply to any college at all, Miz Ora."
“Well, why in the world not?" I asked.
“Because we can't afford college."
“Well, what about scholarships? You made good grades; you're in the National Honor Society, for crying out loud."
“I don't think that's enough to get me the kind of scholarship I'd need. Mama doesn't make much money and...oh, sorry, Miz Ora, I didn't mean any disrespect. I just don't think we can afford it, that's all."
I don't know why I just assumed Patrice was preparing for college. When I was in school, I spent the better part of my junior and senior years researching, visiting and applying to schools I thought I might want to attend.
“Patrice Lowery! You mean to tell me you wrote off college that quickly, with no attempt whatsoever? Don't you want to go to college?"
“Well, yeah, of course I do. I just don't really know how to go about it, I guess."
“What did your guidance counselor say about applying?" I asked.
“She never said anything. She helped me choose courses at the beginning of each year, but we never talked about college."
I could feel the fury rise up in my throat. I wondered how many other promising students were falling through gaping holes in the school system. I wanted to lash out at someone and I almost picked up the phone that very minute. But then it occurred to me that I had done nothing to help her either. Besides, I knew what my meddling had done in the past. I was determined to be more deliberate in any future acts.
“Patrice...honey. Promise me one thing, would you?"
“I'll try," she answered wisely.
“Promise me that, from now on, if you ever want to do anything in your life - anything at all - you'll ask someone for help if you need it."
“Okay," she said vaguely, as if she thought I was a little off my rocker.
“What were you planning on doing after high school?"
“I was just going to work, I guess. Mama needs help with
the girls and I want to buy a car. They said I could go full-time at the grocery store whenever I wanted."
“Okay, that's what you planned. Now, what do you want? If you could make your dreams come true just by dreaming them, what would you do?"
Patrice looked down then, as if she were embarrassed by her own thoughts.
“Promise you won't laugh?"
“Cross my heart and hope to die."
“I always wanted to be a lawyer."
Sweet Jesus, here we go again.
Twenty-five
Walter Beckworth was a planner. His attention to detail and thrift were unrivaled in my book. When he died, I had little to do except open the file marked Funeral Arrangements and follow his instructions. Our caskets, plots and headstones were already purchased, the funeral home pre-paid. There was a page marked “Songs for Memorial Service" with separate columns for Walter and me. We never actually discussed these plans, but under my name he included all my favorite hymns, as if I had chosen them myself. “How Great Thou Art", “In the Garden", “My Jesus, As Thou Wilt" and “Abide With Me" were all listed there in Walter's precise and patient hand.
Of course, in his line of work, Walter was well-insured and I lacked for nothing before or after his death. I lived comfortably and easily continued to pay Blanche a decent salary for keeping my home. Truth be known, however, I had no need for a full-time housekeeper now that I was no longer involved in the day to day business of being Walter's wife.
Patrice's dream changed all that. When I exhausted all the avenues I could take to get financial aid for a bright young black woman who excelled in school, I found that the task was more difficult than I imagined.
And so it was that, at the arguably ancient age of 58, I went back to work. Walter's foresight allowed his insurance agency to continue to run long after his death. His plan was to give me time to sufficiently recover from the loss of my husband before I decided what to do. At that point, I could sell, dissolve or continue to run the company as I saw fit. Quite frankly, when his Last Will and Testament was read, I laughed out loud at that declaration. What did I know about running an insurance agency and what would possess Walter to include such an option? The only questions I have now are: how did he know? And how did I not know my own husband like he knew me?
The Pecan Man Page 13