J.D. handed the wrapped jug to Jones and put the handful of coins in his pocket. The three men shook hands, and then Jones put on his slicker, picked up his bag and walked out the door. Walter came into the dining room and walked up to the others. J.D. handed him a half-dollar, and then he and Charley left the hotel.
“Let’s get back to the shack. We’ve got some thinkin’ to do.”
“That’s for sure,” said a worried Charley as the two men started off through the slackening rain toward their shack.
From the porch of Wilson’s store, Jones watched as the two men rode off into the rain. Then he turned and went inside. He saw Wilson at the counter in the rear of the building and spoke to him for a moment. Jones waited by the counter until Mark returned with a box and handed it to him. He shook Mark’s hand, handed him some money and walked out of the store.
Now if I could only sell that other derby, thought Mark, I’d be a happy man.
Chapter 10
Thursday Afternoon, May 10
As the rain began to let up, Art was doing his best to fix dinner for his family. He was already tired from his morning chores, his children were hungry and his wife was sick, so it was up to him to take care of them. Without making too much of a mess, he’d managed to cut some side meat, make some biscuits and even heat up some corn he’d found in a Mason jar. There was plenty of water, so the children would have something to drink, and he could make coffee for himself. He put Clarence and Thressie to work setting the table, and they’d managed to complete the task without killing each other.
Art stared out the window into the door yard. Seems like there’s just no time to rest, he thought. There’s always somethin’ to worry about. He was very concerned about Mollie’s health—her raspy breathing and coughing and the fatigue that showed in her pallid face. He also worried about how her illness was affecting the children. At the same time, the problem about what to do with his crop kept nagging at him, and he couldn’t forget about the pending raid on Wes’s farm. It seemed to him that the only way to survive was to join up with the Association and hold back his tobacco. But he trusted Wes, and he knew he had to wait and see what more the two of them could learn at the meeting before he would make his decision.
When he finished setting the food on the table, he called the children in and told them to eat. He carried a bowl of corn soup into the bedroom and coaxed Mollie into eating most of it. They talked for a few minutes about the children, and when she finally fell asleep, he brought the bowl back to the kitchen. He sat down and listened to the young ones chatter, all the while thinking about how to solve the challenges that lay ahead.
* * *
By late afternoon, the storm had moved off to the east. The sun was shining, and all over the district people began to wander out of their homes. At the Wilson farm, Wes sat on his porch, the empty whiskey jug clutched in one hand. He pulled the brim of his hat down to keep the sun out of his eyes. Connie came out of the house, looked down at his pa and said, “I think I’m gonna go take a look and see if there’s any damage in the fields.”
Wes coughed and rose unsteadily from the bench. The jug slipped out of his lap and rolled into the mud. He followed his son off the porch and out of the yard.
While Zora watched them from the kitchen window, Mary Lula kept the younger children busy and out of their pa’s way. Still angry and afraid, Anthie also steered clear of his pa and stayed in his room.
“It don’t look too bad, Pa,” said Connie as they stood in the muddy rows between the tobacco plants. The leaves were droopy but unbroken, and the water had mostly soaked into the ground rather than pool up.
Wes didn’t respond, but walked on toward the ditch. Connie followed him, and recognizing his drunken stupor, decided to listen rather than talk. It was clear to him that his pa was drunk and not in a talking mood. The water in the ditch was running like a slow stream. John Stanley’s weed chopping had made it easier for the water to move down the gentle slope to the west. Across the ditch, the road was muddy. Here and there, puddles formed between the wagon ruts.
“Gonna have to let all this dry out for a couple of days,” mumbled Wes, his words mushy. “Let’s go check the corn.”
Staying clear of the young tobacco plants, they walked to the fields on the north side of the farm. A couple rows of the cornstalks were flattened, and maybe a tenth of the crop was under water. It looks bad, thought Wes, but we could lose a little corn and still be all right.
“We’ll have to get out here tomorrow and drain off this water. Maybe we can save some of the corn.”
“All right, Pa. You want me to go check the wheat?”
“No, I want to see it too. I’ll go with you.”
They spent most of the next hour walking around the fields, seeing what had survived. Wes sent Connie to check out the drying barn to see if there had been any damage. When they’d finished the survey, they had a good idea of what needed fixing and knew that they’d all be busy repairing the damage on Friday. Fortunately, there were only a few places where the standing water covered the crops and even fewer where the plants had been destroyed. It coulda been a whole lot worse, thought Wes, but it’s just one more thing I gotta worry about. If it ain’t rain and flooded fields, it’s the Association and the Trust and the damned Night Riders. I don’t know how much more of this Zora’s god thinks I can take, but I’m getting pretty tired of the whole thing. He let Connie go ahead of him and then turned once more to look at his fields.
Back at the house, Zora and Mary Lula were working to put some order to the rooms that had been crowded the past day and a half—picking up, sweeping and moving the children around to keep them out of the way. After he’d been kicked out of three different rooms, John Stanley had had enough.
“Ma, can I go outside?” he yelled. “I’m tired of gettin’ in the way!” He waited only a moment, and when he heard no response, he decided that it must be all right. He grabbed an empty jar from under the counter and ran out the door, heading for the ditch. He had a favorite spot down the road where the ditch was wider just past the fence line between their farm and his Uncle George’s. There were usually a bunch of bull frogs there and an occasional snake. With all of the rain, he figured there might be some pollywogs, and he could always use another pet since Rufus didn’t like to play much anymore.
The smiling boy raced down the muddy lane toward the road, happy to be out of the house again. He made a point to splash into every puddle, laughing as the water erupted into the air. Trying to make a hard turn to the left when he crossed the bridge to the road, he slid in the mud and nearly went down. He regained his footing quickly and headed for the wide spot in the ditch. All of the energy he’d been forced to control for the past few days seemed to burst out of him.
He was nearly out of breath when he got to the wide spot. Bent over with his hands on his knees, he sucked air into his burning lungs and watched the water moving slowly through the ditch. It was at least eight feet wide at this point and nearly three feet deep, but the water only reached halfway up the bank. The excited boy stood up and looked both ways down the road, trying to decide the quickest way to get to the other side of the pond. I could go back to our lane, cross over and come back along the field, or I could go on to Uncle George’s lane and do the same thing. He pondered his choices for a moment and then came up with a better idea. Or I could just wade through the ditch. I’m wet and muddy anyway, so a little more wet and muddy won’t hurt at all, and it’ll be a whole lotta fun.
Clutching the jar in his hand, he walked toward the ditch and stopped when his toes reached the edge. As he thought about how to start into the water, the muddy edge of the bank under his feet gave way. The jar flew out of his hand and ended up in the road behind him, and he fell backward, hitting his head on a rock. He saw stars behind his clenched eyes just before he blacked out and slid down the slimy ditch into the water.
* * *<
br />
When Wes got back to the house, he left his muddy boots on the porch and went into the kitchen. Zora was standing at the sink, but he didn’t look at her. Instead, he just took his other jug of whiskey off the shelf and went back outside. He wiped his hands on his damp overalls, pulled the cork out of the jug and tipped it to his mouth. The whiskey burned his lips and his throat, but he didn’t seem to care. He slumped onto the bench and took another long pull on the jug.
Zora walked out of the open door and stood on the edge of the porch. She looked up at the clearing sky and shaded her eyes against the bright western sun. Turning to Wes, she put her hands on her hips and said, “Well?”
“Well, what,” grumbled Wes, still not looking at her.
“Tell me about the fields. Is everythin’ all right?”
“Hell no, everythin’s not all right. The tobacco’s okay, but we lost some of the corn, a whole lot of the wheat is flat, and we’ve got a half-acre pond where we don’t need it.”
“Can you save the wheat?”
“Maybe, if the rain stops and the sun keeps shinin’.”
When Wes finally turned toward her, Zora could see how drunk and tired he was. His unshaved face was dirty and gray, his brow was wrinkled and his eyes were dull and red-streaked. But even through the mud she could see it was more than the rain damage and the fatigue that was weighing down on him.
“So, what’s your plan?”
“Damn it, Zora!” he shouted. “Right now my only plan is to sit on my damn porch and get drunk. I got too much to think about to sit here and listen to you askin’ me questions. Just go away and leave me the hell alone.”
Zora glared at him and with tears of anger running down her cheeks she rushed back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Wes’s only reaction was to lift the jug and take another drink. I don’t have time, I just need to think. Just too damned much goin’ on, he thought.
Inside the house, the children had heard their pa shout and their ma slam the door. They did what they always did when things got bad. They hid. As soon as her ma came in, Mary Lula lifted Ruthie from the floor where she’d been playing and took her upstairs. Irene went into the room she shared with her sisters and crawled under the bed. Connie slipped out a window at the back of the house and walked off toward the cornfield. In his room, Anthie clenched his jaws and his fists and grew even angrier at his pa.
Zora watched her daughter’s escape from the kitchen and knew that the others had disappeared as well. She walked to the counter and stared at the potatoes she’d been peeling. The tears continued to stream down her face as she picked up a small knife and went back to fixing supper. As she worked, she kept asking God to forgive her for wanting to use the knife on Wes. I’m scared, Lord. It ain’t like him to take it out on me or the children. We’ve been through hard times before and you always took care of us. He’s drinkin’ too much, and the liquor’s only gonna make him madder than he already is and then he might hurt one of us again. Please, Lord, don’t let that happen. Make him pass out or go to sleep.
She stopped peeling for a moment and looked at the knife in her hand. And don’t let my anger get the better of me. She paused and added, Amen.
She put the chopped potatoes into a pot of boiling water and checked to see how the chicken was doing in the oven of the woodstove. Satisfied that the chicken, potatoes and peas would be ready at the same time, she called for Mary Lula and stood with her back to the sink. It don’t matter what he’s goin’ through and it makes no difference to me if he eats or not, but my children are gonna have a regular supper. They’ve been working hard and are afraid to even speak out loud because of him, and it ain’t even their fault.
“You called me, Ma?”
“I did,” she said with a forced smile. “Tell everyone to get washed up. We’re gonna have a regular supper tonight no matter what that...man wants or does. Everythin’ should be ready in a few minutes, so get ’em all started.”
“All right, Ma. Do you need any help in here?”
“No,” she said softly. “You just get them children movin’, and I’ll take care of this.”
Mary Lula headed upstairs to the bedrooms, hoping that everyone was where they usually went when her ma and pa started fighting. She saw that Ruthie was asleep in her crib and found Irene curled up under the bed.
“You come on out of there, sister,” she said. “Everythin’s all right. Ma wants you to get washed up for supper.”
“I don’t wanna come out. Pa’s yellin’.”
“It don’t matter if you want to or not, you just need to do it. Pa’s outside anyway, so there’s nothin’ to be scared of. Now come on out and get your face and hands washed. Be sure to brush off all of the dust that’s in your hair, too.”
Irene slid out from under the bed and stood up. She waited as her sister walked out of the room and then went to Mary Lula’s small dresser. She lifted the delicate hand mirror from the top of the crude piece of furniture and looked at herself. Her hair was messy, and her cheeks were streaked with the trails of dust mixed with tears. She set the mirror down and walked over to the washbowl in the corner of the room. In a few minutes, her hair was nearly dustball free and her face looked reasonably clean.
Mary Lula tapped on the door of the boys’ bedroom. “You all get washed up for supper. Ma says you got a few minutes.”
“There ain’t nobody in here but me,” said Anthie, “and I ain’t comin’ down for supper.”
“Where’s Connie and John Stanley?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll go find ’em, but you better get movin’.” She found Connie standing at the edge of the field smoking a cigarette, but John Stanley was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s John Stanley?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since you all were cleanin’ the house.”
“Well, you see if you can find him. Maybe he’s in the barn. I’ll go look in the house.”
Connie walked to the barn, leaned inside and yelled. There was no reply. He’ll turn up. That rascal doesn’t like to miss any of Ma’s meals. When he saw his pa on the porch, he turned away and headed for the back of the house. No need to put myself in the line of fire.
After searching the house for her brother, Mary Lula went back to the kitchen to see if she could help her ma.
“Ruthie’s sleepin’ and Irene’s cleanin’ up. I told the big boys what you wanted, but I can’t find John Stanley.”
“He’s gotta be around somewhere. Did you look in the barn?”
“Connie’s out there now.”
“Well, that’s probably where he is. You go on and wake up Ruthie. Supper’ll be ready soon.” Zora checked the potatoes and peas as they boiled on the stove. She set a pitcher of cool water on the table next to the plate of chicken and thought about telling Wes that it was time to eat. Then she remembered how he’d sworn at her, and she decided that if he wanted something to eat, he’d have to fix it himself. She walked to the end of the table and picked up the plate she’d set for him. If he don’t wanna listen to me, then he don’t need to eat the food I cook.
Even though Anthie had said he wasn’t going to eat supper, his growling stomach reminded him that he was hungry. He sat up on the edge of the bed and slipped his feet into his shoes. Reluctantly, he rose and opened the door and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Connie and Irene were already sitting at the table, and Mary Lula was holding the baby as Zora stirred the pots on the stove.
“Where’s John Stanley? Didn’t you find him in the barn?”
“He wasn’t out there, Ma,” said Connie.
“Is he in his bed?” she asked, looking at Anthie.
“No, Ma, he ain’t.”
“Did anybody check to see if he was hidin’ in the chicken coop or the sty?” When she got no response, she added, “He can’t just disappear. You boys
go outside and find him. Look everywhere, and when you find him you tell him to get back here pretty quick or he ain’t gettin’ anythin’ to eat.”
The boys got up from their chairs and headed out the door. Connie went back to the barn to take a closer look. Anthie strode toward the coop, wondering why his little brother would want to hide out in a place that smelled so bad. Wes watched his sons walk away and then said, “Where the hell are you two goin’?”
Anthie kept walking, but Connie turned and said, “We’re lookin’ for John Stanley, Pa. Nobody’s seen him for a while, and Ma wants him to come eat.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me it was time for supper?” he growled. But neither of his sons heard him. He tried to get up, but slumped back onto the bench.
Zora stepped onto the porch and glared at Wes. She yelled at the boys to keep looking and then turned back to her husband. Barely containing her rage, she snarled, “Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna go find your lost son? Nobody knows where he is, and while you’re sittin’ around drinkin’, your boys are out lookin’ for their brother. They’re doin’ what you oughta be doin’.”
Wes pushed himself away from the wall. Trying to keep his balance, he stared back at his wife, searching for something to say back to her, to put her in her place, but nothing came. Instead, he began yelling at the boys.
“Look in the barn and the sty!”
“They’re already doin’ that, Wesley,” Zora said, her voice filled with venom. She stepped off the porch into the mud and walked toward the tobacco field, looking for her son. “John Stanley Wilson, you get on home right now!” she shouted.
“You’re all gettin’ excited about nothin’,” said Wes. “He’s probably off playin’ somewhere. I’ll find him.” When he tried to walk to the edge of the porch, he stumbled and nearly went down. Holding on to the support post, he weakly shouted out his son’s name and then sat down on the edge of the porch.
Death in the Black Patch Page 14