Trouble seemed to settle down over the winter months. But now, with the Night Riders’ raids and the tension building over tobacco prices, he thought that maybe Lynnville was headed for more trouble. He just hoped he could keep Wes and Art and other people he cared for out of harm’s way.
Mark opened the front door and tossed the dregs of his coffee out into the rain. He looked up and down the road and saw that the town was still asleep. Refilling his cup, he walked to the counter in the back of the store, laughing at himself as he remembered being called “Ol’ Five Shot.”
* * *
On the Wilson farm, the work for the day had already started. Even as Jones snoozed in his hotel bed, as Mark sipped his coffee and reminisced and as the farmhands grumbled in their leaky shed, Wes and his boys were tackling the chores that could be done while it rained outside. Inside the house, Zora and the girls worked at cleaning and straightening.
While the family was finishing breakfast, Wes had grumbled out the list of things he wanted the boys to do, clearly still embarrassed and angry at himself. To the others, Wes’s attitude seemed to come from the whiskey, but Anthie knew why his pa was mad, and he’d decided to stay clear of him as much as he could. He figured that doing what he was told and working hard would be safe. He still wanted to see Sudie on Saturday and to carry out his pa’s assignment. So, when Wes told him that he was to work in the pigsty, he nodded and said he would.
Before their pa could change his mind, the boys put on their coats and ran out through the pouring rain. Inside the barn, John Stanley watched his older brothers, hoping they’d say something, wanting them to tell him why their pa was in such a bad mood that morning. Anthie and Connie exchanged knowing glances, but didn’t say a word. John Stanley grabbed the old, dull, flat-nosed spade and a bucket and headed out into the rain toward the coop.
“What’s goin’ on with Pa, Anthie?” asked Connie as soon as his youngest brother was out of their hearing.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“C’mon, tell me. Somethin’s goin’ on, and I wanna know what it is.”
Anthie stared at the tools stacked in the corner of the barn. He started to answer his brother and then stopped. He reached out and grabbed a rake, gripping it tightly, and then turned to face Connie. “When I went to milk the cow this mornin’, Pa was passed out on the bench. He told us last night that we had to keep a lookout for the Night Riders, and he was sleepin’. He yelled at me and almost shot me with the gun. Why’d he do that? Why’s he mad at me? I’m not the one who fell asleep.”
Connie looked at his brother for a moment. “He’s not mad at you. He’s got a lot on his mind.”
“That’s no excuse for almost shootin’ me, is it?” Ready for a fight, Anthie stared hard at Connie, almost wanting him to defend their pa. “He was wrong, Connie.”
“You know how he is when he gets drunk. It’s like he’s blind or somethin’. I don’t mean he can’t see, but maybe he doesn’t know what’s goin’ on around him.”
“What if the Night Riders had come last night? They woulda found a drunk man with a gun.” He took a quick breath. “I think he don’t care what’s goin’ on around him.”
They stood in silence for a little while and then Connie said, “We can’t do nothin’ to change him, Anthie. All we can do is make sure he don’t hurt Ma or one of the kids. One of these days we’ll be leavin’ here, and then he’ll have to take care of the farm by himself.”
“I’m leavin’ as soon as I can,” Anthie mumbled. “And I ain’t gonna be no farmer.”
“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. What else’re you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll work for Uncle Mark. He don’t have to get up early and milk a cow. He don’t spend all day every day diggin’ in the dirt and pullin’ weeds and squishin’ worms.”
“What do you know about workin’ in a store?”
“I’ll learn,” he said and added, “Leave me alone. I gotta get out to the pigsty before Pa comes out here, and I ain’t gonna give him anymore reasons to be mad at me.”
Anthie picked up his tools and left the barn. Connie watched him stride head-down through the rain and thought about his brother’s stubbornness. Except for Uncle Mark, hadn’t the Wilsons always been farmers? Anthie went to school like the rest of them, when they could and when there wasn’t farm work to do, but he wasn’t any smarter than anyone else. Connie knew he was going to be a farmer just like his pa and his Uncle George. That’s what he knew how to do. He liked the work, and he knew that he was good at it. As soon as I can, I’ll get my own place and marry Maud, he thought. Then everything’ll be just fine. He was still gazing out the barn door when he saw his pa step off the porch and head his way. He quickly turned away and walked toward the cow’s stall. He didn’t want to be caught doing nothing.
* * *
So far this morning, Mark only had one customer—the banker had stopped by to pick up a box of pencils—and he’d spent the time straightening out the shelves. Mark believed that folks should be able to find anything they needed in his store. He also tried to supply them with the things they wanted, so he occasionally had new and different items for sale. He thought about heading into Mayfield to see what was on the shelves in the stores there, but he knew he’d need to wait until the rain ended and the roads dried up. He had just about finished working on the shelf of tin pots and pans when the bell over the door jingled.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said to J.D. and Charley as they stepped quickly into the store. “What brings you into town on such a dreary day?”
“Mornin’,” said Charley, trying to sound cheerful. Silent, J.D. sullenly looked at Mark, clearly uncomfortable with the storekeeper’s cheerfulness.
Mark watched as the rainwater dripped off of their slickers onto his freshly swept floor.
“Can I help you find something?”
“No, sir,” said Charley. “Actually, we were hopin’ you might have some work we could do for you today. We can’t work out at Art West’s place, and we don’t get paid until tomorrow.”
“Tell you what,” said Mark. “Why don’t you sit over here by the stove and have a cup of coffee first. You look like a couple of drowned cats, and pretty cold ones at that.” He picked two cups off the shelf and poured boiling coffee into each of them. “If I can’t find something for you to do, you might try over at the hotel. They sometimes need fellas to do odd jobs.”
The farmhands walked to the stove, trailing water behind them. Taking the cups from Mark, they took tentative sips of the coffee, letting the steam warm their cold faces.
“About all I have that needs doin’ is outside work, and it’s a pretty miserable job. My pigsty is startin’ to fill up with all of this rain, and I need a drain trench dug. I’d be willin’ to pay a dollar to get that done.”
“Would that be a dollar each?” asked J.D. Charley looked at the storekeeper, worried that J.D. might have offended him. He started to say something, but J.D. added, “We could sure use the work today. We’re kinda hungry.”
Mark had little interest in working in the rain and mud, and he certainly didn’t want to wallow with his pigs. He noticed the worried look on Charley’s face before he turned to J.D.
“You’re name’s J.D., right?”
“Yep.”
“Tell you what, since my cousin says you all work hard and because it’s so miserable outside today, I’ll pay a dollar and a half for the job if you’ll do it right away and get it done before noon.” He looked at both men, trying to get a sense of their willingness.
Before Charley could get a word out, he was interrupted by J.D. “A dollar apiece would be better, but we’ll do it for less. You’ll pay us cash money, right?”
Mark didn’t like J.D.’s attitude. “Of course, as soon as you’ve finished the job, I’ll give you the money. There are some old
shovels in the shed at the back of the store. The sty is between here and the house. I’d appreciate it if you’d work quietly, since my wife...well, just work as quietly as you can.”
“We will, Mr. Wilson, and thank you, thank you very much,” blurted Charley. Once they’d turned the corner and headed for the back of the store, J.D. slapped Charley on the back of his head.
“How come you talked so nice to him? You sounded like an old woman.”
“You almost made him change his mind. We woulda done all right with a dollar.” Charley knew he needed to calm J.D. down, so he added, “But you got us another half a buck. That’s good.”
“Yeah, I did.”
They found the tools where Mark had said they’d be and walked through the rain to the pigsty. It was definitely flooded and although the pigs seemed satisfied with the situation, the men could see why Wilson wanted the trench dug. The fouled water was beginning to spill over the top and run toward the house. They saw that they’d need to make a cut on the road side of the sty in order to get the water moving in the direction of the ditch.
“Well, let’s get this done,” said Charley. “As bad as it smells, it’s no worse than you after you’ve filled up with beans.”
“Shut the hell up and start diggin’ the trench. I’m gonna go over to the hotel and see if they’ve got somethin’ we can do when we’re done with this job.”
“You’d better come right back. I ain’t gonna do this all by myself.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” J.D. didn’t even turn around as he walked across the muddy road to the hotel.
* * *
The night clerk stopped sweeping as he watched J.D. walk toward the hotel through the rain. He leaned the broom against the wall and put his hand in his pocket, checking again for the two silver dollars he’d gotten from the man in room five.
“Mornin’,” he said as J.D. reached the porch.
“Mornin’, Walter. Is this damn rain ever gonna quit?” J.D. took off his soaked hat and scraped his muddy feet on the recently swept porch.
“I suppose it’ll have to stop sometime,” he said as he looked at the mess J.D. had created. “If it ever does, I might be able to keep this porch clean.”
“You got any ideas how me an’ Charley can pick up some money? We won’t be workin’ today, and we don’t get paid ’til tomorrow.”
“Actually, I do,” said Walter. “I was hopin’ you’d come by this mornin’. I got a guest upstairs who ran out of whiskey last night, and he asked me to get him some. Is there any way you can help me?”
“It’ll take some doin’, but I think we can. Once we finish the job across the road, we’ll have enough to get a big jug from—” he stopped before he gave away the name of his source, “—from this fella I know.” J.D. quickly calculated how they could turn the six bits from Wilson into four or five dollars. “You go up and tell your guest that we’ll have a jug for him in a couple of hours. Tell him it’ll cost him five dollars. If he gives you the okay, get word to me. Once he’s paid us, I’ll give you a cut.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Walter. He saw no reason to tell J.D. that he’d already been paid for his part of the job. “I’ll go right up. You wait here.”
J.D. looked across the road and watched Charley digging the trench. He figured that the dollar-fifty from Wilson would buy the jug, which in turn would earn them five dollars. He only planned to give Walter fifty cents. That would leave him and Charley with over four dollars, which would easily get them through the day. He was still watching Charley through the rain when Walter returned.
“You got a deal,” Walter said, “but the man plans to leave town by noon. Do you think you can get it before then?”
“It’ll be tight, but I think we can. You tell him I want to meet with him. I want to hand him the jug and collect the money myself.”
Walter nodded, shook hands with J.D., watched him hurry across the road and got back to his sweeping. Last night Walter had been down to his last few dollars before payday, but now he was wondering how he’d spend his unexpected fortune. He started whistling as he tried to clean up the wet mud J.D. had left on the porch.
At half past eleven, Charley shoveled the final clump of mud away from the top of the trench, and the smelly water rushed down into the ditch. Despite the still-falling rain, he was drenched with sweat. J.D. took the promised coins from Mark as the three men watched the pigsty drain. Mark went back to the store, and Charley carried the tools back to the shed.
“You get cleaned up and go tell Walter I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get the whiskey. Then we’ll go get the rest of our money.” Without waiting for a response, J.D. ran across the road, past the hotel and down the road to the east.
The clock behind the counter at the hotel began chiming noon just as Jones came down the stairs into the lobby. Walter glanced at Charley and then walked toward Jones. The two men held a whispered conversation at the foot of the staircase. Charley was starting to fret, when J.D. came rushing in from the road, holding a rag-wrapped jug.
“Here are the fellas I told you about, Mr. Jones. Why don’t you all go on into the dining room and take care of your business. I’ve got some matters to attend to, so I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Jones led J.D. and Charley into the next room. The three men went to a table away from the window and sat down. J.D. kept the bundle in his lap. He glanced at Charley to make sure he stayed quiet and then turned to Jones.
“Do you have the money?”
“I do,” he said, “but before we complete our transaction, I’d like to ask you gentlemen a question.” Neither of the others spoke, so Jones continued. “I see that the two of you are quite resourceful. I also assume, because you are able to carry out tasks such as our current business, that you are capable of keeping confidences. Am I correct?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Am I also correct in assuming that you have knowledge of the various activities that go on in this town, that you know the farmers and what they do and what they say?”
“We know a lot, but what’re you gettin’ at?” said J.D.
“What I’m getting at is this. I want to propose an arrangement between us. I am willing to pay you for certain information.”
“What kind of information?”
Jones cleared his throat and looked at the two men. “I need to know if any of the farmers around here who haven’t joined the Association are willing to talk to me about selling their tobacco. I will pay a reasonable fee for every piece of valuable information you bring me.”
“How much?” asked Charley.
“That will, of course, depend on the quality of the information. If, for instance, you tell me the name of a farmer who has shown an interest in selling his tobacco to me instead of joining the Association, I’ll give you a half-dollar. If he subsequently sells me his tobacco, I will pay you another half-dollar.”
“Let me get this straight,” said J.D. “You want us to give you names of people we think might be talkin’ about sellin’ their crops, and then you’ll pay us.”
“That’s right.”
“What if they don’t end up sellin’ their tobacco to you?”
“Then you’ll only get the first half of the money. So you see that you can’t really lose in this arrangement.”
Charley started to fidget and signaled J.D. that he wanted to say something.
“Can you give us a minute?” J.D. said to Jones. “We need to talk somethin’ over.”
“Of course. Why don’t I go take care of my bill with the proprietor? I’ll be back in a moment.” Jones got up and went into the other room.
“I don’t know about this,” whispered Charley. “We’re puttin’ ourselves in a tight spot if we do this.”
“How?”
“We’ll be double-dealin’. We’re already gettin’ paid by the N
ight Riders to go on the raids to get farmers to not sell their tobacco to the Trust. And now we might be gettin’ paid by a fella who works for the tobacco company to tell him about farmers who want to sell their crops. That puts us right in the middle of all of the trouble. We’d be workin’ for both sides in this fight.”
“Yeah, so what? We’d also be makin’ more money than we have in a long time.”
“I don’t know, J.D. I’m worried we’ll end up dead or back in jail, and I don’t ever want to go back to jail. I mean, you burned down your own house. What if they find out about that?”
“Listen, Charley. If we can keep this to ourselves, we can earn enough money so that when the season’s over, we can clear out of here. We can head to Memphis or St. Louis or anywhere we want to go, and no one’ll ever find us.”
“That sure sounds like a good idea, but I’m still scared.”
“It don’t cost us nothin’ to take this man’s deal. All we gotta do is keep our ears open and give him names. That’s the easy part. The hard part is that we’ve gotta keep this to ourselves.”
Jones came back into the room, his slicker draped across his arm. He set his portmanteau on the floor and looked toward J.D. “Well, gentlemen, do we have a deal?”
“We do,” said J.D.
“Then let’s conclude our first arrangement. Here’s the five dollars for the bundle. I’ll be heading up to Mayfield in a bit, and I’ll be gone until early next week. If upon my return, you can deliver some of the information about which we spoke a moment ago I’ll pay you your fees.”
Death in the Black Patch Page 13