When they were finally alone, Sudie reached over and held his hand. Still speechless, Anthie turned toward her. Earlier he’d been afraid to speak because he wasn’t sure what Mr. Morris might do to him. Now he was afraid of not knowing what to say to this beautiful girl. All of the clever things he’d thought of during his sleepless night simply vanished from his mind. Even if he’d found the words, his throat was so tight no sound would come out, and his mouth was as dry as a week-old biscuit. But the words eventually came as he grew more relaxed. The two young people sat and talked as the sun disappeared, and they became washed by the light that spilled onto the porch from inside the house.
“Sudie?”
“Yes, Mama?”
“It’s time for the young man to go, now. You need to say good-bye and come in the house before your daddy gets mad.”
“All right, Mama,” she said. “I’ll be right there.” Sudie heard her mother walk away from the window, and then she stood up quickly.
Anthie rose and stepped down into the yard, towering over her as she stood on the porch, facing him.
“I don’t want to go,” he said, “but I guess I’d better.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go. But I’m real glad you came. Don’t be afraid of my daddy, though. He sounds mean, but he’s really not.”
“Sudie, I, uh...” Anthie looked into her eyes, not knowing what to say or how he truly felt.
“Me too, Anthie,” she blurted out. Then she put her hands on his shoulders, leaned up and kissed him quickly on the cheek, spun around and ran into the house.
Anthie was stunned. He stood rooted to the ground, unable to move. He only stirred when the oil lamp inside the house was extinguished, and he was left standing in the dark. The boy looked up at the stars that were just beginning to show and walked over to his mule. He untied the reins from the porch rail and led the animal out to the road. The moon hadn’t risen yet, so he walked the mule down the unfamiliar road until he could see better. He reached his hand up to the place on his cheek where Sudie had kissed him. He couldn’t feel anything different with his fingers, but the skin felt warm underneath. His lips curled into an easy smile.
“I got me a girlfriend, mule,” he said, still grinning, and walked on in the dark.
Chapter 3
Sunday Night, May 6
Wes sat on the porch bench, staring out into the darkness; the shotgun lay across his lap, and the nearly empty jug rested at his feet. Not his anger at Anthie or his fear of what might have happened to him or even the energy he’d generated pacing along the edge of the porch had dulled the effects of the whiskey. Zora had talked him out of walking down the road to look for the boy, reasoning that it was still early enough for Anthie to find his way home. Wes had snapped at her and sent her into the house, but stayed on the porch, seething with a mixture of rage and fear.
If anything happens to that boy, I’ll kill him, he thought. He rose unsteadily with the shotgun in his hands and staggered down into the yard. He stopped halfway to the barn and checked to see if the gun was loaded; it was. “Where the hell are you, boy?” he muttered.
* * *
The light from the rising moon hadn’t yet reached the dark road between the trees where Anthie trudged along leading the mule. That little kiss from Sudie had put him in a trance, and the song of the crickets seemed to carry his daydreams along like a gentle stream. Yet, thanks to the mule, he was at least heading in the right direction.
Anthie’s fantasizing was interrupted by a distant rumbling. The mule stiffened and its ears twitched. Anthie stopped in the middle of the road and looked up at the clear sky and saw nothing, but the ground began to shake, and he sensed that galloping horses were coming in his direction. He pulled on the reins of the mule and jerked it off the road and into a ditch behind a thick stand of trees. Then he stood next to a large oak and looked out into the dark night.
Whoever was coming had slowed down. The thundering was gone, replaced by the distinct sound of walking horses, snorting to clear the dust from their noses. Anthie wasn’t sure how many riders there were, but he didn’t have to wait long to find out. As he watched from behind the trees, a dozen riders came into view. Heavy rags had been tied around the hooves of each horse, which muffled the sound of their movement. They stopped in the middle of the road, and the night became quiet as the horses rested. The moonlight had just reached the tree line on the other side of the road, and Anthie could see that the riders were masked and carried guns. His curiosity quickly turned to fear when the mule snorted. He reached up and put his hand over the animal’s snout, hoping that the men hadn’t heard the sound.
“What’s that? Sounds like another horse,” said one of them as he pulled up not ten yards from where Anthie was hiding.
“What’re you so spooked about, Charley,” said another man. “We’re ridin’ horses, ain’t we?” He began to laugh a little.
“Shut up, both of you, and no names,” said another man gruffly. “We’ve got some serious work to do, and we don’t have time for foolin’ around. Everybody knows the plan, right?”
Some of the men responded, but most stayed quiet.
“Remember, I’ll do all of the talkin’. You just spread out and let him see your guns. Don’t say or do anythin’ unless I tell you to. Got it?” The leader waited for some kind of response and getting none, said, “Okay, then, check your masks and let’s go. Keep it quiet.” He turned his horse away from the group and headed down the road. Once they were all moving, he kicked his horse into a trot, and the gang followed.
Anthie stood frozen in fear. He could barely breathe, and his heart pounded harder than when Sudie had kissed him. When the mule finally shook Anthie’s hand off of its snout and snorted again, the boy quickly led the animal out of the brush onto the road and pulled himself up onto its back. He stared down the road in the direction the riders had gone. All he could see was the dust from their horses. Kicking hard on the mule’s side, he said, “Let’s get home, mule.”
Anthie was glad when the trotting mule slowed to a walk. Now he could think again about Sudie, but the encounter with the riders kept interrupting those sweet thoughts. Who were they and what were they gonna do?
Anthie knew he had a bigger problem—what was going to happen when he got home. It’s late and it’s dark. I took the mule without Pa knowin’ about it, and he’s gonna be mad. He just don’t understand. The thoughts kept tumbling around in his head like a pot of boiling stew, and they didn’t let up all the way back home. Maybe I can tell him I was late because I ran into some bandits and had to hide on the side of the road. Pa can’t blame me for bein’ careful. Having decided what to say, he nudged the mule in the flanks. The animal moved quickly toward the farm, much more eagerly than the boy on its back wanted him to.
Sitting on the bench in the shadow of the porch, Wes saw Anthie stop at the head of the lane and get down off the mule. Through his whiskey-weary eyes he followed the boy as he led the animal across the yard and into the barn. He lifted the jug to his lips and turned it upside down, but got only a small drop for his efforts and threw it into the yard. Anthie came out of the barn and headed for the house, his chin on his chest and his hands in his pockets. Wes rose unsteadily and leaned against the porch post, the shotgun cradled in his arms.
“Where the hell you been, boy?” he rasped.
Anthie stopped quickly, paralyzed by the anger in his pa’s voice. He looked toward the porch, trying to find him, to see his face, but sensed from his pa’s tone he was in deep trouble. No good excuse, no meaningful words would come out of his suddenly parched mouth. He took a step back, looking for an escape, but knew it was pointless. He had to say something.
“I, uh...” was all that came out of his mouth before Wes stumbled down the steps and, with all the force of his rage, hit Anthie across the face with the back of his open left hand, knocking the boy to the ground. Anthie ended
up flat on his back, blood flowing from his split lip and his battered nose. He fought to get up, but Wes put his booted foot on the boy’s chest. Trying hard to catch his breath, Anthie tried again to sit up, but his pa pushed him down and said, “Don’t move,” and stood over the boy, shaking with rage.
Anthie looked up, but all he could see in the moonlight was a dark silhouette. Wes’s own chest was heaving, his body was rigid, and the shotgun was clenched in his right fist. He leaned down to his son, putting more weight on the boy’s chest.
“Answer my question, boy,” he snarled. “Where’ve you been, and you’d better not lie to me.”
“Pa,” he said, wiping his arm across his bleeding face, gasping for enough air to get the words out. Blood and snot ran out of his nose and down across his chin. He coughed once, turned his head and spit a glob onto the dirt and tried again to say something. “Pa, I can’t breathe,” he groaned and coughed again. He grabbed his father’s ankle with both hands and tried to push the foot off his body. Caught off guard, Wes tottered back for a moment. Then, enraged by his son’s resistance, he reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling the boy’s face up to his own. Wes’s bloodshot eyes bored into Anthie’s as he squeezed the collar tighter. Sweat dripped off his face, and he grunted through his clenched teeth, his body vibrating with anger. Anthie grabbed his father’s wrist and held on.
“Pa, I’ll tell you,” he pleaded, “just let me catch my breath.” Anthie fought back tears as he struggled to force air into his lungs. I don’t wanna cry, he thought. I can’t cry, I won’t cry. Believing it was his only chance, he let go of his pa’s arm and looked directly into Wes’s eyes. “Please, Pa,” he croaked.
Wes continued to stare deeply into his son’s eyes, and then he let go of the boy’s shirt. Anthie fell back to the ground and began coughing and gagging. He rolled over, spitting blood and gasping for air. Wes remained standing over Anthie, his posture no less threatening. He hadn’t let go of the gun.
Anthie sat up and swiped his sleeve across his mouth and nose again. He stared down at the blood on his shirt and then looked up at his pa. What he saw in his eyes gave him no comfort. He had been whipped by him before, but never beaten, never hit so hard that he’d drawn blood. Something was very wrong; without hesitating, Anthie blurted out the whole story.
“I went to Sudie’s, Pa. I took the mule and went down to the Morris farm. I didn’t mean to be gone so long. All we did was talk, and when it got dark I knew that I’d better get home. I woulda been home sooner, but I had to hide from some bandits or Klan, I’m not sure what they were.” He stopped to catch his breath, but before he could continue, Wes interrupted him with a shout.
“What’d you say?”
“I said we just talked and it got dark—”
“No. What’d you say about the Klan?” Although his words were still slurred, Wes’s voice was strong. He straddled his son, looking out into the darkness. “Where’d you see ’em?
“It was just this side of the line. I heard ’em comin’ and pulled the mule off the road and hid in some brush.”
“What were they doin’?” Wes shouted as he looked quickly toward the road then back at Anthie. “Did they see you?”
“No, they didn’t see me. I was hidin’ real good. But they stopped right in front of me. There were maybe ten or twelve of ’em wearin’ masks and all of ’em were on horses. Some of ’em had guns. One of ’em, I guess he was the boss, talked about some kind of plan. He told all of ’em to be sure to show their guns. I don’t know where they were goin’, but they were up to no good. I was scared, Pa, really afraid.” Anthie’s story spilled out. His throat was dry and sore, and he could still taste the blood in his mouth.
Wes stepped away from Anthie and, like a hungry wolf, began circling him. “You listen to me and listen good. You disobeyed me and I’m gonna punish you. But I gotta think about what you just told me, so I don’t have time to worry about you right now. Now get out of here.”
Anthie stood as quickly as he could and ran to the pump. He splashed water on his face and arms, and then he turned and raced up the porch and into the house. Wes watched his son until he closed the door behind him. Then he turned and headed up the lane. He looked both directions on the road and listened, his ears searching for the sound of Riders. Satisfied that the night was quiet, he strode back to his seat on the porch, kicking the empty jug out of the way.
* * *
Zora wiped Anthie’s bloody face with a cloth she’d dipped in cool water. She looked deeply into his sad eyes and, hugging him gently, told him to go up to bed. She returned to the window in time to see Wes step up onto the porch. She’d watched and heard the struggle in the yard and had wanted to run outside and protect her son. But she was afraid that getting into the middle of the conflict would only make things worse for the boy. Wes had punished his children before, but Zora had never seen him beat one of them. Anthie was a strong boy and would heal physically, but she wasn’t sure if or how soon he would get over the emotional injury of his pa’s anger. At least now she knew what was bothering her husband. He’s afraid, she thought. He’s afraid of the Night Riders and what they might do to his tobacco, and he don’t know what to do about it. She believed deep in her heart that they could find a way out of this trouble, but realized now was not the time to confront Wes. That would have to wait until he was sober.
Chapter 4
Monday, May 7
From his seat on the porch, Wes looked at the sky as it began to brighten over the top of the trees. He had spent the night thinking about the Night Riders and the fight with his son. He knew he had overreacted by hitting Anthie, but he was still mad at him. Yet, he had a much bigger problem than worrying about the boy’s bloody nose. He’d be making a lot of trouble for the family if he sold his crop to the Tobacco Trust and didn’t join the Association. Wes got up from the bench, picked up the shotgun and walked out to the tobacco. It isn’t much land, he thought, but for Black Patch tobacco it’s plenty. Now that the Night Riders were in the county and causing trouble for farmers like Jackson, he knew that the possibility of losing the crop was a huge problem. But this was his farm, and he would make the decision about selling his tobacco. It wasn’t anybody else’s concern how he handled his business. If they’re looking for trouble, they’ll find plenty of it right here.
Wes started walking between the rows, but was interrupted when Anthie closed the barn door. He turned and glared at his son. With just a quick glance at his pa, the sulking boy looked away and carried the full milk bucket straight to the house. Shaking his head, Wes wandered out into the field, still angry about Anthie’s decision to take the mule without asking.
Zora was cooking breakfast and turned to meet Anthie as he came into the house. She waited until he’d set the milk bucket on the counter and then stepped in front of him. Placing her hands on his broadening chest, she looked up into his eyes and reached toward his damaged nose and lips.
“Don’t, Ma, leave me alone.” He started to move, but she stepped into his path. She put her hands on his bruised cheek and looked deeply into his eyes.
“You hush a minute and listen to me.” She paused. “What happened between you and your pa wasn’t really about you or what you did yesterday. You’re hurtin’ right now and you may not believe it, but so’s your Pa. He knows what he did to you was wrong, but he was drunk and angry and worried about a whole lot more than whether or not you had permission to take the mule or go see Sudie.”
“You’re wrong, Ma. He wasn’t gonna use the mule yesterday, and if I’d waited until he got home to ask him, it would’ve been too late to go. He’s just mean. He didn’t just whip me, he beat me, and he knew I wouldn’t hit him back. He don’t care about me and I sure don’t care about him.”
Anthie tried again to move around his ma, but she held onto his shirt. Knowing that her son needed tenderness rather than strong words, she ge
ntly shushed him.
“No, son, you’re wrong. He cares about you more than you know. I know you’re hurtin’ and you’re confused. Your face’ll get better, but I’m worried about your heart. That’s where the hurt goes deeper and takes longer to heal.”
Zora let go of his shirt and patted him on the shoulder. His face looked hard in a way she’d not seen before. As he turned away from her and walked into the back of the house, she wondered how long it would take before he would see that his pa does care for him and for all of them. She walked out onto the porch and saw Wes far off at the back of the tobacco field. He was just standing there, staring at his crop. Maybe the heat and sweat and sore muscles of hard work’ll get his mind off the trouble.
Zora went back into the house and up the stairs. It was time to get the children up and moving. “Connie, Mary Lula, you all get out of bed. The sun’s almost up and it’s time to get to work. Come on, now, everyone up. I’ll have some biscuits and bacon ready in a bit.” She went back to the kitchen to finish up the breakfast, and while she worked she wondered about her family’s future. We’ve been through tough times before and this is no different, she hoped.
* * *
Wes sent John Stanley to the barn with instructions to muck out the stalls of the cow and the mule. Once he finished that chore, he was to get back out to the cornfield to help Connie and Irene. The corn was nearly knee high, but with last week’s rain, the weeds had started to pop up, and Wes wanted the entire field cleared so the corn would have a better chance of survival.
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