Death in the Black Patch

by Wilson, Bruce;

  The workday was almost over, and shadows spread across the field when it started to rain. He sent the hands off, saying that the work would have to wait until the field dried. Then, when he was sure they were out of the area, he went into the house, told Mollie what he was doing and left. He didn’t tell Mollie why he needed to ride over to see Wes. He just said that it was important and that he’d tell her all about it when he got back. She pleaded with him not to go and told him she wasn’t feeling well. Art could still hear her sobbing in the back of the house as he’d gone to the barn, saddled his old horse and headed out in the rain to warn Wes.

  Art’s horse was a good animal, but the cold rain and the muddy road slowed her down considerably, and the trip took much longer than he wanted. The rain ran off his slicker, but had soaked his old felt hat until it looked like a rag on top of his head. As cold and miserable as this made him feel, he knew it was important to warn Wes. Waiting until tomorrow would be too late.

  By the time he arrived at Wes’s, he was cold and miserable. A trail of water followed him as he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. From the porch, he could hear footsteps, and when John Stanley’s smiling face greeted him, he asked, “Is your pa home this evenin’?”

  “Sure, he is.” The boy turned back toward the table and said, “Pa, Cousin Art’s come to see you!” He turned back to Art and said, “Do you wanna come inside?”

  “I’m too wet, John Stanley. Could you just ask him to come out to the porch?”

  When John Stanley turned back again, his pa was already out of his chair and walking to the door. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and nudged him toward the table.

  “You go back and finish your supper, son. I’ll talk to him outside.” Wes pulled the door open wider and stepped out onto the porch. He looked at his soaked cousin and then at the sad looking horse in the dark yard. “What’re you doin’ out on a night like this and so far from home? Is somethin’ wrong with Mollie? Come on inside and dry off.”

  “No,” said Art, “I gotta talk to you on the porch. I’ve got some news you need to hear, and then I need to get back home. Mollie’s feelin’ poorly, but she’s all right. I just can’t stay away long.”

  “Well, sit down and tell me the news that has you out so late.”

  Both men looked at Zora as she stepped out onto the porch. She handed a dry cloth to Art and asked him if he wanted to come inside. Art thanked her and dried his face. He started to say more, but was interrupted by Wes.

  “Zora, we’ve got some important things to talk about. Now go on back inside.” When she hesitated, Wes said, “Now.”

  The iciness in Wes’s voice told her that this was not the time to argue with him.

  Art pushed the wet hair out of his face and cleared his throat. “I heard some fellas talkin’, and they said that the Night Riders are gonna raid your place next week.”

  Wes was stunned, not sure he’d heard Art correctly. “What’d you say?”

  “I said that there are Night Riders in Lynnville, Wes, and they’re gonna raid your farm.”

  Wes had heard him clearly this time. “Who’d you hear this from?”

  “I can’t tell you, but they sounded serious. They said it was gonna happen next Tuesday or Wednesday.” Art hated himself for avoiding Wes’s question and not giving him the names. It was the first time he’d ever lied to Wes or held anything back from him, and it gave him a knot in his guts. But he had to protect himself and his own family and thought that this was the only way.

  “But why would the Night Riders want to raid my farm? I ain’t done or said anythin’ that would give ’em a reason to do that. I’ll be damned if anyone is gonna destroy my crop or my farm. I’ll kill ’em first.” He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms pulsing, and he looked over toward his tobacco. “Who told you?” he demanded.

  “I said I can’t tell you, but trust me, they said it. We’ve got to find a way to change their minds. We have to figure out how to let the Association know that you’re on their side.” Art tried to ignore his demand.

  “That’s the problem, I ain’t on their side!” Wes shouted. “I ain’t on anyone’s side but my own. Damn it, Art, this is my farm, and no one, not the Association or their damned Night Riders or even the tobacco company is gonna tell me how to run my life.” He walked to the edge of the porch and banged his fist on the post and looked out to the field.

  “I know, Wes, I know,” Art said, feeling Wes’s rage, trying to calm him down. “That’s why we’ve gotta let ’em think that you’re gonna join up.” Wes turned toward him and Art continued. “Yesterday we talked about goin’ to a meetin’ together, and it seems to me that if they know you’re gonna do that, they’ll hold off the raid.” He glanced at Wes to see if he was listening. “Have you told anyone you’re gonna sell to the Trust?”

  Wes knew he had to avoid the question because if he said too much about what Jones had told him, he could ruin the deal for himself. “I haven’t decided a damned thing, Art. I don’t know if I’m gonna hold out or sell. No matter what I pick, I lose somethin’, and I’m not gonna lose without a fight.”

  “Let’s don’t talk about fightin’ yet. We gotta find a way to let the Association know you’re at least goin’ to a meetin’. Then maybe that rumor will get back to who’s in charge of the Night Riders.” Art paused for a moment, wondering why Wes wouldn’t answer his question. “What’s important is to get the raid called off, and that’ll give you more time to consider all the choices.”

  “That makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is that they wanna raid me. Why me?” Wes started pacing and his voice grew louder. “What have I said or done that makes me a target?”

  As Wes turned, Art stood in front of him, his voice calm. “I thought about that on the way over. People respect you. They know that you’re a good farmer. Most of ’em wanna do things the way you do. Maybe the Night Riders figure that raidin’ you would send a message to the rest of ’em and scare ’em into joinin’ up and holdin’ back their tobacco.”

  “Well I’m afraid too, but I’m also mad as hell about this. If the damned Trust would give us a fair price for our crop, there wouldn’t be any Association. The whole damned thing is a mess, and it’s makin’ me crazy. I feel like I’m fightin’ everybody, and I’m doin’ it alone.”

  Art thought a moment and said, “You’re not alone, cousin. Wes, I gotta get back home. Mollie’s not doin’ well, and I need to be with her. What if I stop off at Mark’s store on my way home? There’s usually a couple of the Association fellas hangin’ out there in the evenin’s. I could tell Mark we were talkin’ about goin’ to the meetin’ and say it loud enough so the others could hear. Then maybe the word’ll get around. It’s worth a try, ain’t it?”

  “I don’t know, Art. I hate this. I hate other people tryin’ to tell me how to run my own life.” Wes stood at the edge of the porch, just out of the rain. He stared into the darkness and then turned back to face his cousin. “Maybe it’s the only way to stop ’em.” He paused and said, “Let’s do it. You put the word out that we’ll be at the meetin’ next week. In the meantime, my boys and I’ll be on guard every night until this is settled. Don’t tell anyone that I’m gonna be watchin’. I don’t want ’em to know that I know about the raid.”

  “All right, I’ll do it.” Art squeezed the water out of his hat again and put it back on his head. “We need to meet again before next week so we can talk more about what the Association is plannin’.”

  “Yeah, we do. How about we get together at Mark’s on Saturday afternoon? If this rain keeps up, I’ll have a mess or two in my fields to work on. So it can’t be any sooner than in the afternoon.”

  “Okay,” Art said. “I’ll keep my ears open, and unless I hear somethin’ new, I’ll meet you at Mark’s on Saturday.”

  Wes looked at Art, wondering why his cousin wouldn’t tell him who me
ntioned the raid, trying to see something in his face that would convince him Art was telling the truth. “Thanks for comin’ over to warn me,” he said. “Give our best to Mollie.”

  “I’m sorry it was such bad news, Wes, but I knew you’d want to hear it. I just hope we can take care of this problem before somethin’ happens.”

  The two friends shook hands, and then Art got on his horse. As the rain continued to fall, he rode off in the darkness. Wes watched him until he disappeared in the storm and then walked back into the house. He’s holdin’ back somethin’.

  * * *

  Up in his room at the hotel, Jones changed out of his soggy suit and muddy shoes. He was cold, and disappointed about the way his day had gone. He knew he needed to get back to Mayfield to check on telegrams from the company, but a trip to the county seat would have to wait until the rain stopped. As long as the storm continued, he couldn’t be out visiting with any more Lynnville farmers. There was nothing left to do but get comfortable and wait until morning.

  Downstairs, the lobby was empty except for a clerk who was standing behind the desk.

  “Excuse me, sir, but I wonder if you could provide me with some whiskey,” said Jones.

  The clerk told him that Lynnville’s laws didn’t allow the sale of alcohol, but that he could probably come up with some whiskey by the next day. Jones gave him a silver dollar and told him that he looked forward to hearing from him in the morning. Then the clerk suggested that with another dollar, he might be convinced to give up his own few ounces of whiskey. Jones handed him a coin, and the man emptied the dregs from a jar under the counter into Jones’s flask. At least now he knew if he was stuck in his room he could entertain himself, stay dry and get some rest.

  * * *

  It was dark and still raining when Art got down from the saddle and walked into Mark’s store. Even though it was getting late, there were a few men in the store sitting with Mark around the stove.

  Mark looked over his shoulder as he heard the jingling bell. Seeing his cousin, he stood and greeted him warmly. “Art, what brings you into town on this stormy night?”

  “I’m just on my way home from seein’ Wes.” He spoke directly to Mark, but was keenly aware of the other men sitting around the stove and knew this was the perfect opportunity to carry out their plan. “We talked about goin’ to the Association meetin’ next week. You know how Wes is, always wants to have all the information before he makes a decision.”

  “That sounds like my brother,” said Mark. He’d spent the better part of an hour trying to discredit Jones’s comments in order to protect Wes, and now Art’s words would add credibility to what he’d been saying. “When you fellas come into town on Saturday, let’s be sure to get together. We can talk about the special service out at Cuba church they got scheduled for a week from Sunday.” Mark and Art both knew that the discussion on Saturday would really be about keeping Wes out of trouble.

  “That’s a good idea. We’ll see you Saturday afternoon.” Tipping his hat to the other men, Art turned toward the door. “I gotta get on home to Mollie. Tell Gertrude that she’s about the same, but gettin’ better.”

  “I will,” said Mark. He walked Art to the door, gave him a quick look and a nod and watched him head down the road. When he lost sight of him in the dark and the rain, he turned back to the men. “See, I told you that Trust buyer was spinning a tale.” He lifted up the jug and poured each of them another shot. He didn’t say anything more, but hoped that at least the Association fellas would see that Jones was lying. The group talked for another quarter-hour and then broke up as each of the men headed home for supper.

  * * *

  But three of the four men did not go directly home. Across the road, under the cover of the hotel’s porch and sheltered from the rain, they huddled in the dark. Each of them was a member of the Association, but only one was involved with the Night Riders. This third man, a round, redheaded farmer, owned more acres of tobacco than anyone in the district and knew everything about the Lynnville Night Riders. He’d formed the group months earlier in order to put a little more pressure on the farmers, and even though he didn’t ride with them on their raids, he directed their activities. The members of the Association knew about the raiders, but rarely spoke of the relationship between the two groups. Red waited patiently for the others to speak.

  “What do you think is really goin’ on with Wilson?” said the shortest of the three.

  “That’s a good question,” replied the other, a tall, bearded man in overalls. “Right now I don’t know what to believe. Why would that Jones fella go blabbin’ about a price deal like that?”

  “Yeah, why would he want anyone to know, especially when that price is so high? Nine cents! I’ve never seen a price that high in my thirty years of farmin’.”

  “You’ll likely not see it again, I reckon,” said the tall man.

  “And it’s only natural for Mark and Art to stand up for Wes, ain’t it? They’re right about one thing, though. Wes does take lots of time to decide what to do about anythin’. I remember the time when he was thinkin’ about buyin’ that old nag from Smith. Everyone knew the horse was on its last legs, even Wes, but he still took a couple of weeks to turn down Smith’s offer.”

  “Let’s get to what we know,” said Red. “We all know that Wes is smart and he takes his time. And, we don’t know much about this new Trust buyer. As far as we can tell, he hasn’t bought a single pound in the county. This deal he’s talking about with Wes could be true. It could also be a scheme on the part of Jones to get some of us to jump at nine cents. We need to let the other members know about what happened in the store tonight. But we also have to be careful not to say more than we heard.”

  “What do you mean, Red?” asked the short man.

  “I mean that if we say Wes took the deal, even though we don’t know that’s true, then we could be setting Wes up for something he doesn’t deserve. Or, if we say he’s going to the meeting, even if we don’t know that he really is going, we might be making some other kind of trouble.”

  “So, you think we should just mention what Jones said and what Mark and Art said and leave it at that?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. If Wes joins the Association, then a lot of the other holdouts will follow him. So let’s hope he comes next week. We can’t do any more tonight, but tomorrow we need to get the word out to all of the members.”

  The others nodded in agreement and, seeing that Red was finished with the conversation, said good-bye and mounted their horses. Red was going to go home as well, but he needed to make another stop first. He had to make sure that the raid schedule for Tuesday got put on hold. Getting Wes into the Association would go a long way toward defeating the Trust, and that, not the destruction of their neighbors’ crops, was the real objective.

  He watched his friends head off in different directions down the road and then mounted his own horse. He didn’t much like the idea of getting wet or getting home any later, but he had to talk to the Night Rider captains before his day ended. He pulled up the collar of his slicker, pulled his hat down tight on his head and leaned into the rain as he kicked his horse into a trot.

  * * *

  Wes sat back down to supper and finished his meal. Zora kept silent. She knew something was terribly wrong to get her cousin to come all the way down here in the rain. But Wes clearly wasn’t ready to discuss what they’d talked about.

  While he ate, Wes decided that keeping an eye on the crop and the farm overnight couldn’t be put off any longer. He knew that it was time to get Connie and Anthie involved. That meant he had to say something to Zora and the boys about Jackson’s situation and the news from Art. As Wes ate, he thought that now, more than ever, he needed to watch his crop day and night.

  Wes had seen the results of a raid firsthand and couldn’t help thinking about Jackson. Some nights he’d been so consumed with
the images of the black farmer’s destroyed field that he’d woken up sweating and gasping for air. A few hours ago, he thought that his problems, although troublesome, were at least manageable. But now, with a substantial offer from Jones on the table and a raid on the farm planned, he knew he was facing one of the most difficult things he’d ever confronted.

  As the children finished eating, Wes asked Mary Lula to get the youngsters involved in cleaning up the kitchen. She nodded her head in agreement and then set about getting John Stanley and Irene working on the dishes. She put Ruthie in a chair next to the wash pan and handed her the wooden spoon. In the meantime, Wes told his older sons and Zora that he wanted to talk to them in the back of the house.

  Zora pulled the door of the bedroom closed, and then Wes looked at each of them. He wanted to make sure that they were ready to listen to what he knew. So, he told them everything, from the visit to Jackson’s farm to Art’s discovery of a raid by the Night Riders and how he’d decided the best thing to do was to go to a meeting with Art and try to learn more. He told them that it was hard to know what was best for the family.

  When he finished, he asked if anyone had a question. Anthie looked at his brother and his mother and then shook his head. The others remained silent, so Wes told them his plan.

  “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” said Wes. “The three of us are gonna start stayin’ up all night. We’ve gotta keep watch on the crop and make sure that we ain’t surprised by the Night Riders. I think the rain’ll keep them away tonight, but I’ll be out on the porch anyway. Startin’ tomorrow night, though, we’ll each spend three hours outside—on the porch, out by the barn, even in the field. We’ve got three guns. I’ll keep the pistol with me all the time, day and night. Whoever’s on watch will have the shotgun; it’s the noisiest and it doesn’t need to be aimed. We’ll keep the rifle in the house. That way, whoever is not on watch will be able to get to it if he hears the shotgun go off. You all need to understand how important this is to keep our family safe and our crop in the field.” He hesitated and looked around. “Don’t be afraid to use the gun if you have to.”