Wes took a moment to roll and light a cigarette. He took a drag on it, spit out a piece of tobacco and turned to his son. To Anthie, his pa’s face looked softer, less angry.
“Before you tell me what you remember about Sunday night on the road, I want to fill you in on what’s happenin’ around here. You know how important tobacco is to our family.” Anthie nodded, his eyes focused on his pa. “It costs a lot of money and a lot of work to get a good crop. We always need to get a good price for the tobacco so we can have the cash money we need to buy the things we can’t grow in the fields and to pay for the farm. Over the last few years, the tobacco buyers have been droppin’ the price they’ll pay us, and the price now is less than it costs us to grow it. You understand this, son?”
“Yes, Pa, I understand.”
“So that makes it hard for me and Art and other farmers to decide what to do. If we hold our crop back with the Association, we don’t know how much money we might get or when we might get it. If we sell it to the tobacco company, we could get raided by the Night Riders. But while the crop is new in the ground, we have time to think and ask questions about what to do. That’s why I need to know what you saw the other night. I want to know everythin’ you remember.” Wes reached across and put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
Anthie tried not to move, waiting for his pa to speak. He swallowed once, licked his lips and started talking. Wes took his hand off Anthie’s shoulder and listened.
“I thought about this all day, Pa. I must’ve gone over it a dozen times. I was scared, and it’s hard for me to remember. After a while, it started to get confusin’, so I quit. But what I remember for sure is that there were ten or twelve men, no boys or women. They were all on horses, and it looked like they’d tied rags around the horses’ hooves. But it was too dark to tell what color the horses were or what the men were wearin’. They were headin’ south, down the road toward the state line. At first they were ridin’ fast, so I hid off the road behind some trees. Before they got to me, they slowed down and then stopped so close I had to keep the mule from snortin’. One of the men must’ve heard somethin’, because he said ‘What’s that?’ or somethin’ like it. Then another man laughed at him and teased him. I think he said the other man’s name.”
“He said his name? What was it?”
“Sorry, Pa. I can’t remember it.” Anthie took a step back, not sure what his pa might do.
“Go ahead, son. Tell me the rest of it.” Wes tried to keep his voice calm.
“Anyway, a third man, I think he was the leader, told both of the others to shut up and to keep quiet. He asked everyone if they knew the plan and if they were ready. No one spoke up that I remember, so they rode the horses on down the road. I stayed quiet until I couldn’t hear them anymore, and then I walked the mule onto the road and headed home.”
“Did you see any of their faces?”
“No, Pa, they were wearin’ masks. Most of them were like Klan hoods, but some of them just had bandanas covering their mouth and nose. Oh, yeah and everyone had a handgun. Some had shotguns, and I think I saw at least one rifle.”
Wes asked him if he recognized any of the three voices he heard. Anthie thought about that for a moment and then said he didn’t recognize any of them.
“Okay, thanks, son. I want you to keep thinking about this for the next couple of days. If you come up with anythin’ more, don’t wait, just come and tell me.”
Anthie nodded, thinking his pa was finished with him. He started to head back to the house when Wes told him to wait.
“Yeah, Pa?”
“There’s somethin’ else I want you to do for me. I want you to go down to the Morrises’ and see Sudie on Saturday or Sunday.”
Anthie was stunned. He couldn’t speak or move. One second he felt hopeful for a chance to see Sudie and the next confused as to why his pa was being so nice.
“While you’re there I need you to talk to her pa. This is important, Anthie. I’ve got to get some more information about what’s happenin’ down there so I can decide what to do about our tobacco. I know this might be hard for you to do, but you’ve got to do it. I want you to spend some time with the girl. But the important thing is to ask her pa about prices, about the Association and about Night Riders.”
“Do you really think I can do that, Pa? I only talked to him once, and he was pretty mad that I was even there. Besides, he thinks I’m just a boy.”
“Maybe he was mad. But if you are respectful and take your time, he might see you’re more than just a boy. He might see that you’re smart and know what it means to be a man.” He let that sink in a bit and then said, “The most important thing to find out is about the Night Riders, but you can’t start out with that. You’ll have to ask the simple questions first.”
“Okay, Pa, but can we talk some more about this before I go down there? I don’t wanna say the wrong things or come back without answers.”
“We can. We still have all of our regular work to do, but if you want to talk about this, we will. Do you have any questions now, tonight?”
“I don’t think so, Pa.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go back in and get some sleep.” Once more, Wes looked at his son and noticed that his frown was gone and his smile was back. Anthie looked into his pa’s face as well and saw lots of things, but anger wasn’t one of them. Not knowing what to think, but feeling better than he had in a while, he wandered back to the porch with his pa and went into the house just as the moon found its way into the eastern sky.
Even after the conversation with Anthie, Wes remained restless. He grabbed the jug from the shelf and walked back out to the porch. The plan should work, he thought. But until he knew a whole lot more, he’d need to keep watch over the farm. He got little rest as he continued to consider his options and to worry about the possibility of danger.
Chapter 7
Wednesday Morning, May 9
It was still dark when Wes woke up on the porch the next morning. He’d barely touched the jug of whiskey, but the taste was still in his mouth. What little light remained from the moon reflected off a huge cloud bank in the west. It was a little cooler than it had been in the past few days but not enough to bring on a storm. He saw the glow from the lantern in the barn and knew that Anthie was milking the cow. It looks like it might rain, he thought. I’m gonna have to get the boys hoein’ between the rows of tobacco today.
He heard Anthie close the barn door and watched him carry the milk pail to the house. His mind shifted from the weather and back to what he learned from Anthie. He knew his son had worked hard trying to come up with more details, and he just wished the boy had been able to recall more. If Anthie could remember the name or even recognize one of the three voices he heard, Wes would know who rode with the Night Riders, and that would be valuable information.
He’d also spent a few sleepless hours wondering about Edwin T. Jones and the American Tobacco Company. Thinking about tobacco prices and the consequences of selling his crop to Jones had kept him awake long after Zora had begun her gentle snoring. Wes chuckled when he remembered John Stanley’s rapid confession about the dime. A brand new silver ten-cent piece was more treasure than the boy had ever seen in one place. To have it in his own hand must have had him dreaming about how he could spend it on himself. Wes was proud of his youngest son and the decision he made to give up the dime. He also had a surprise in store for the boy. He was going to let him keep the coin, but only if he shared his wealth with Irene. She had, after all, helped him burn the weeds and finish his chores on time, and that had to be worth something. Sleep had finally come to him when he realized he’d know more after talking to the buyer.
* * *
Wednesday morning, Art and the farmhands had worked until noon and stopped only when Clarence brought out food and water for dinner. After they’d eaten, Art lay down in the grass and covered his face with his hat and decide
d to take a nap. J.D. and Charley took the opportunity to walk into the woods to have a smoke and a snort of whiskey. When they thought Art was asleep, they started talking, and the more they drank the louder they got. Art wasn’t having much luck getting to sleep, and he was about to tell them to shut up when he heard something that caught his attention.
“That’s the boss’s cousin, you know,” said Charley.
“Sure, I know, but it don’t mean nothin’ to me. If we’re gonna hit his farm, we’ll do what we’re told.”
“Yeah, I know, but ain’t it risky? Especially since they’re cousins?”
“Of course it is. That’s why they pay us,” said J.D.
Charley was quiet for a moment.
“Okay, J.D. So we go early next week, then?”
“Yeah, Tuesday or Wednesday night. Now, shut up and pass me the jug so I can have another drink before he wakes up.”
Art lay still. He knew they were talking about Wes, and that meant the Night Riders were in Lynnville planning a raid on Wes’s farm. That scared Art, and he realized that Wes would have to make a decision quickly. He stood up and yawned loudly. “You two fellas ready to get back to work?” he said, trying to sound calm.
Not looking back, he walked out to the row he’d been working, and they followed. In minutes, all three of them were digging at the crusty dirt with their hoes. Art’s mind was clearly not on the work but on what he had to do next. He needed to ride out to Wes’s right after supper and let him know what he heard. We were looking for information, he thought, but we sure didn’t expect this.
* * *
Right after breakfast, Wes had asked Anthie if he’d remembered any more about Sunday night. Anthie had scrunched up his face and thought for a bit and said he hadn’t. Wes was pleased when his son said that he would keep thinking about it because he knew it was important. Although Wes believed that Anthie’s response was probably influenced by the boy’s interest in seeing Sudie, he thought that his son also wanted to help the family. Maybe there’s hope for that boy yet.
Dark clouds reigned over the county. It was evident that rain was brewing somewhere west of the farm. Wes gathered his sons on the porch and told them they would have to work fast. “We’ll need to finish the whole field before the rain gets here.” His sons hadn’t disappointed him; they were making good progress, and Wes thought they’d easily be done by supper.
While he worked, Wes wondered what Jones might have to say. He knew that the man would want to talk about buying his tobacco and would probably have a price; that was a given. But before he heard about a price, Wes wanted to get Jones talking about the things he was hearing from other farmers in the county. Were they refusing to talk to him? Were they interested in what he’d pay? Answers to these questions would help Wes decide, and as soon as he had this information, he‘d share it with Art.
Wes heard Connie and Anthie laughing and noticed they’d picked up the pace of their work. He turned around to watch them and saw that they were actually racing with one another, trying to see who could finish a row first. He wondered if they might be doing a poor job of digging, but he looked down each of their rows and saw that the work was as good as his own. They laughed again, and Wes noticed Connie looking back at him. This isn’t a race between the two of ’em, he thought, this is a race to beat me. Hunh, he smiled, I can’t let ’em beat me; they’d never let me hear the end of it. Wes took up his hoe, smiled at the boys and joined the race.
By noon they were more than half done. Both older boys had moved far ahead of their brother, and Wes had nearly caught up with him. John Stanley was covered with sweat, and the dust from the ground was turning that to mud. He looked tired, but Wes could see that he wasn’t going to quit. They all needed a rest, and when Wes saw Irene turn the corner by the barn, carrying their dinner in her hands, he knew it was time for a break. He dropped his hoe and let out a shrieking whistle.
“Okay, boys!” he yelled, “It’s dinnertime. Let’s eat.”
None of them needed any encouragement to stop. They dropped their tools and ran over to where Irene had begun setting down the food. Wes caught up with John Stanley and put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. He gave him a little hug and asked, “You tired, son?”
“No, Pa, just hungry.”
They sat down along the edge of the field, each with his back against a tree, and ate the sandwiches and drank the water without saying a word. Wes watched as Anthie and Connie never took their eyes off one another and began to take larger bites of the food, barely taking time to swallow before taking another one. John Stanley noticed as well and did the same. Pretty soon, all three were laughing, wolfing down their food and gulping the water. Within moments, they were on their feet and back out in the field, chopping at the dirt between the rows. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep up with them this day, Wes just sat back and watched. Although he hadn’t forgotten all the things that were on his mind, he at least felt good at that moment, and the smile that cracked his face felt even better.
* * *
As Jones made his way to the Wilson farm, he worked on his new plan. When he left his calling card with the boy the previous afternoon, he’d felt confident that the rest of his day would go well. It hadn’t. He’d made his pitch to two more farmers; one had ignored him, acting like he wasn’t even there. His encounter with the second one was frightening. The man had watched him as he left the road and rode toward the farmhouse. When Jones started to get down off his horse, he found himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun. That, in itself, was frightening. But when the farmer pulled back the hammer and aimed the gun at Jones’s head, he nearly wet himself. It didn’t take him long to spin the horse around and head back to town.
His heart had mostly settled down by the time he’d returned to Lynnville. He decided to stay at the hotel, and at supper, he’d tried to engage in conversation with some of the other hotel patrons, but they, too, seemed to know who he was and were less-than friendly. He’d finished eating, paid his bill and retired to his room. Fortunately, he had a flask of bourbon there, and he found it a lot friendlier than the farmers of the town. In less than an hour, he’d finished the flask and fallen asleep on the bed.
When Jones opened his eyes the next morning, he opened the lace curtains and noticed that the sun was much higher than he’d expected. He had wanted to get an early start on this new day, but sitting on the edge of the bed in his now-wrinkled suit and un-shined shoes, he groaned. Even though his head hurt nearly as much as his pride, he decided he wasn’t going to let a bunch of farmers beat him. He had more than one approach to winning them over and was convinced that he was much smarter than a dozen of them put together. After shaving and working the wrinkles out of his suit, he ate a modest breakfast in the hotel’s small dining room. He also drank a lot of coffee, which usually gave him extra energy. On this morning, however, it simply made his headache worse. Some fresh air might help, he thought. It’ll give me some time to work on my presentation and maybe get a better sense of the townsfolk.
So far he’d had no success in his new territory. He knew that his ultimate goal was to buy as much tobacco as he could at the lowest price it took. The idea of offering a higher price to one or two farmers and then driving the price down later had worked nearly everywhere it had been used. All he needed to do was to come up with a different way to sell the idea. By the time he headed to the small stable behind the hotel to pick up his horse, he was ready. He had an idea, and he knew it would work.
The clouds in the sky had taken some of the heat out of the air, and the ride along the country road was more comfortable than he’d expected. Jones had gone over his new approach to win over the farmers and was now ready to try it out on Wes Wilson.
* * *
Wes helped Irene gather up the mess from dinner and sent her back to the house. The boy’s race to finish the hoeing was picking up speed. For now, John Stanley was kee
ping even, but Wes knew that the youngster would soon fall behind. Still, Wes believed that he wouldn’t quit. Wes was about to join them when he spotted a rider coming down the road. As he watched the tall bay stop at the lane to his farm, he suspected it was Jones.
John Stanley looked up from his work and yelled, “That’s him, Pa.”
Wes leaned the hoe against the tree. Jones had spotted him and was waiting at the entrance to the yard. It wasn’t patience that kept him there, however. Rufus was growling at the man and circling the nervous horse. Wes worked his way through the rows of tobacco and walked toward the buyer, fully aware that being seen with the man put him at risk.
“Good afternoon, sir. Would you be Mr. Wes Wilson?”
“That’s me,” Wes said and shooed the dog away. “What can I do for you?” Wes watched the man’s eyes as he responded.
“My name is Edwin T. Jones, sir, and I represent the American Tobacco Company.” He got down from the bay and stuck out his hand. “I was by here yesterday and advised your son, John Stanley—I believe that’s what he said his name was—I advised him that I’d return to speak with you today. Did your son pass along the message?”
Wes took the man’s hand, shook it and said, “He did,” noticing that Jones’s smile seemed forced and his eyes were empty of any truth.
“Then, sir, I have a few very interesting things I’d like to discuss with you about your tobacco crop. I must say as well that it appears to be a fine one and that your hired hands are working diligently to keep it that way.
Wes wondered why Jones didn’t use regular words. John Stanley was right, he thought. There’s something suspicious about this fella. “Let’s go on up to the porch. I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you before you tell me about these ‘very interesting things.’”
Death in the Black Patch Page 9