“I’ll do that, Dan. If I hear anything, I’ll tell you.” Mark wanted to get Cleary out of the store so he could think about all he’d heard. He stood up, hoping that Dan would get the hint, but the large man stayed in his chair. “Well, I gotta get ready for my customers, Dan. They’ll be comin’ in soon, and I need to be ready. You go ahead and finish your coffee, but I need to get busy. Thanks for comin’ by to give me the news.” Mark walked to the back of the store.
Cleary watched him go and then drank the last of the liquid from his cup. He set it back down on the table and stood up. “You let me know if you hear anythin’,” he said. At the door, he looked back at Mark, hitched up his pants, straightened his hat and left the store.
* * *
Art was exhausted as he rose from the chair next to the bed and lifted the cooing baby from Mollie’s arms. Holding the infant close to his chest, he crept out of the room, remembering to take a clean diaper from the top of the dresser. After coughing most of the night, Mollie had finally fallen asleep just before dawn, and Art didn’t want to wake her. Leaving the door ajar so he could listen for her, he carried the baby into the front of the house and put the clean diaper on him. After wrapping Ben back up in his blanket, Art laid him on a padded chair and walked over to the window. He pulled the flour-sack curtain to the side and gazed at the sunlight peeking through the trees.
With little sleep over the past two days, he’d fixed meals, changed the baby, washed dishes and tended to Mollie’s needs. There was simply too much to do, and he knew that it was his responsibility to take care of the family until she improved. At night, as he watched his wife sleep fitfully, he thought about the rest of his problems. He’d done what he could for Wes on Wednesday night and hoped things had settled down after his stop at Mark’s store.
Now, looking out the window, he wondered if he’d still be able to meet with Wes and Mark in the afternoon. It was important, but so was Mollie’s health. He decided he’d have to wait and see how she was doing before he’d leave her alone again. If she slept for the rest of the morning, he thought he’d probably be able to go into town. When he heard a sound from the back of the house, he picked the baby up from the chair and carried him into the bedroom.
* * *
Wes stood in the doorway of the upstairs room shared by his sons, watching Zora as she fussed with John Stanley’s covers. She tucked and smoothed the blankets around her son, as if each wrinkle might be too much weight for him to bear.
“How’re you feelin’, son?”
“My head still hurts on the inside,” he said, “and it itches where the doctor put in them stitches.”
Zora gently grabbed his wrist as he reached his hand toward the back of his head. “He said the itchin’ would go away when the stitches come out, so don’t you go pickin’ or scratchin’ at ’em.”
“When can I get up, Ma? I’m tired of bein’ in this bed, and I wanna go outside.”
Zora said, “Would you like it if your pa carried you out to the porch?”
“Would you, Pa? Would you take me downstairs?”
Wes looked down at his son. “Maybe it’d be better if you walked downstairs.” He saw the frown growing on Zora’s face and added, “I’ll help you do that, and we’ll see if you still get dizzy.”
“Thanks, Pa.”
Wes pulled the blankets off John Stanley, reached under the boy’s arms and gently helped him stand. Concerned, Zora stood to the side and watched her son’s face for any signs of discomfort as he placed his feet on the old wooden floor. But if he was in pain, it didn’t show. She picked up the pillow and one of the blankets and followed Wes and John Stanley out of the room and down the stairs. Wes held his son up, one hand under the boy’s arm and the other on his shoulder, as he cautiously navigated each step. All Zora could see was the wide smile of a happy boy.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Wes asked him if he still wanted to go out to the porch. John Stanley nodded and kept moving, pulling his pa with him. Zora stepped around the two of them and went quickly to the door. She held it open as they walked out onto the porch into the bright sunlight.
“Does the sun hurt your eyes?” she asked the boy.
“Only a little, Ma. I’ll just keep ’em closed.”
Wes helped his son sit down on the pillow and fussed with him a little, making sure he was comfortable and wouldn’t fall over. Zora sat next to John Stanley on the bench and covered him with the blanket. She looked at Wes and smiled, and he responded with one of his own.
“I’ll sit right here with you for a while,” she said. “You enjoy the fresh air and watch your brothers work. You just tell me when you’re ready to go back upstairs, and I’ll help you.”
The morning sun bathed the porch in bright sunlight, and even though his eyes were tightly closed, the boy was smiling and breathing in the fresh air. Wes relaxed a little and looked out at the yard.
“There’s some stuff I need to get done before takin’ off for town,” he said to Zora. “Can you handle things here for a bit? If not, I’ll stick around while you go fix this boy somethin’ to eat.” He paused and looked at his son. “What do you say, rascal? You want somethin’ to eat?”
John Stanley looked through the narrow slits of his eyelids and smiled at his pa.
“Yes sir, Pa. I’m hungry.”
“All right, then. Your ma’ll fix up somethin’, and I’ll sit here with you. Maybe we can talk about them pollywogs you were in such a hurry to put in a jar.”
Zora gave up her spot on the bench to Wes and went into the house. She had a cautious smile on her face as she began putting some jam on a biscuit and pouring a cup of milk for her son. Zora grappled with the change in Wes. She hoped it was real, but she wasn’t sure that it was. She whispered a prayer and walked out to the porch.
* * *
Anthie leaned against the woodpile behind the barn, looking at the tobacco plants as they caught the morning sun. He felt satisfied that all the hard work they’d done before the rain came had paid off. After he’d milked the cow and brushed down the mule in anticipation of his trip to Sudie’s, he went to look for a quiet spot to think about the things he was supposed to ask Mr. Morris. He’d need to talk with his pa one more time before he left. Then he heard Irene yelling his name and watched her run across the drying yard toward the edge of the tobacco field.
“Anthie, where are you? Pa wants to talk to you!” Her whiny shouting interrupted his thoughts.
“I’ll be right there,” he said mostly to himself as he pushed away from the split logs and headed around the barn to the house.
“How come you’re wearin’ your good clothes? It’s Saturday. We ain’t goin’ to church today.”
“Never mind, runt. It’s none of your business.”
“I’m not a runt! I’m gonna tell Ma you called me a runt.”
Anthie didn’t say any more as Irene darted ahead and ran up the porch into the house. He knew she’d complain to his ma, but he had too much on his mind to be concerned about what his ma might do. As he reached the house, he looked at Rufus lying in the sun at the edge of the porch and thought how easy a dog’s life was. All they gotta do is eat, sleep and chase rabbits. Sometimes I wish I’d been born a dog. Then I wouldn’t be havin’ to talk to Sudie’s pa. Before he walked into the kitchen, he smiled and thought, But I’m glad I wasn’t born a dog, because I get to see Sudie today, and she wouldn’t be interested in no scruffy dog.
Wes was sitting at the end of the table, drinking coffee and thinking about his plans for Anthie. He motioned for his son to sit next to him. Anthie felt uneasy being so close to his pa. The scab on his lip was too harsh a reminder of the beating he’d had, so he chose a seat across the table. With mock anger, Wes asked, “Did you call your sister a runt?” As Anthie tried to come up with a respectful reply, Wes grinned at him.
“Yeah, Pa, I did. I gu
ess I shouldn’t have done it.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, but don’t worry about it now. We’ve got some more important things to talk about. You want some coffee?”
Surprised that pa was being nice and a little anxious to get going to Sudie’s, he nodded. He waited while pa went to the stove and poured what remained in the coffeepot into a cup. Wes slid the cup across the table toward Anthie.
“Have you been thinkin’ about today?” Wes asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “but I just can’t come up with a way to ask him the questions.” The words rushed out of his mouth as he scooted his chair back a little. “He’s probably not gonna be too happy to see me anyway, Pa, after I showed up last week without asking permission to see Sudie. I could tell he didn’t like me too much. He sure didn’t seem to want me around.”
Wes chuckled and said, “Your great-grampa used to treat me the same way when I showed up at his farm tryin’ to see your ma. It’ll take a while, son.”
“I know, Pa, but it ain’t easy.”
“I know it ain’t, but I need you to find out how he feels about these other things. I need to know what he’s thinkin’ and maybe even what he’s gonna do. Do you understand?” Wes glared hard at his son, waiting for his response.
Anthie nodded and took a sip of coffee, looking away from his pa. Wes watched him for a moment and then said, “Listen to me, son. I’ve got some things I need to say and I want to make sure you hear them.”
When he was certain he had Anthie’s attention, Wes continued. “I know things around here have been rough for the past week. And I know you wish they coulda been different. But today I need you to be a man. I need you to think about how important these things are to your ma.” He looked into his son’s eyes and added, “Can you do this for your family?”
Anthie said he could, and Wes believed him. He waited until his son left the table, and then he rose, put on his hat and walked outside. He stood on the porch for a moment and glanced at the sleeping dog. Staring at the rows of young tobacco plants, he wondered how long he was going to have to deal with all the problems. Inside his head, a storm was raging, loud and violent and dangerous, and it was hard to think clearly.
While Wes had spent the night standing guard over his tobacco field, he’d felt weak and vulnerable. He needed the strength of his family and wanted them to trust him, to believe in him. Each time he got drunk, the mental storm became more twisted and the liquor gained control over his mind. He realized that if he was going to do what was expected of him—what he expected of himself—he was going to have to stay sober. Knowing that if he lost his family, he’d lose everything, Wes also had to find a way to hide his anger and anxiety so he could regain the respect of his children, especially Anthie.
But, even though he was fully aware of the risks and afraid that his worst nightmare might come true, Wes wasn’t sure he could stop drinking.
* * *
When Anthie got to the spot on the road where he’d seen the Night Riders the week before, he stopped and got down from the mule. He saw the tree where he’d hidden and had no problem remembering how afraid he’d been. He let the mule nibble on some of the fresh grass at the edge of the road and stepped behind the tree, hoping to recall something, anything that would help his pa. If I could only remember that name, he thought, maybe that would be enough. But his thoughts were as silent as the tree, and in the few minutes he stood there, nothing new came to him. He walked back up onto the road, mounted the mule and rode on.
Throughout the ride on the lumpy roads, Anthie tried to prepare himself for the discussion with Sudie’s pa, but every time the mule navigated around a hole in the road or he heard a bird call, his thoughts turned to Sudie. I hope she’s glad to see me. I hope her pa’s in a good mood. Will they even be at home?
Anthie was relieved when he turned down the Morrises’ lane and saw that all the children were outside. The younger girls were playing with a couple of puppies while the older ones, Sudie and her big sister, Hattie, were hanging wet clothes up to dry. Anthie’s heart trembled, and a rash of goose bumps spread across his arms when he saw her. Oh Lord, he thought, please make Sudie happy to see me.
The worn out, sweaty mule came to a stop at the porch and snorted loudly, trying to clear the dust from its nostrils. Sudie glanced toward the house, and when she saw Anthie, she nearly dropped the shirt she was pinning to the line. She turned quickly to Hattie, giggled and then ran over and stood next to the mule.
Looking up at Anthie, she smiled. “I didn’t know you were comin’. I’m so glad you did. Can you stay for a while?” The words rushed out of her mouth like a creek following a storm. He heard her speak but was so focused on her face and her smile that he couldn’t reply. His own words were lost in the noise of the barking puppies and the screeching little girls; Sudie had to shout to be heard.
By this time, Sudie’s ma had come to the front door to see what all the fuss was about. What she saw was a pack of yipping puppies and squealing girls, a snorting mule and two young people staring at each other. She looked over to see Hattie watching as well, and the two of them shared a smile.
“All right, girls, that’s enough. Get them puppies away from the mule and get out of your sister’s way. Go on now, get goin’.” The youngsters tried to catch the puppies without success, so Sudie helped gather them up and, followed by the little ones, carried them around to the side of the house. Anthie tied the mule’s reins to the porch and turned to Mrs. Morris.
“I hope it’s okay if I came by today,” he said. “I wanted to visit with Sudie.”
Sudie came flying around the corner of the house like a delicate flower caught in a windstorm and stood close to Anthie. She looked at the scab on Anthie’s lip, reached up and touched the fading yellow bruises on his cheek and then turned to her ma, trying to gauge her mood. When she saw the smile on her ma’s face, she grinned and took Anthie’s hand and led him over to the clothesline. Anthie was relieved, grateful for Sudie’s strength.
“Hattie, can you help me in the kitchen? I need to...uh, I need your help doin’ somethin’ in here,” Mrs. Morris said, turning and walking back into the house.
“I’m comin’, Ma,” Hattie said as she handed Anthie a couple of wooden pins. “Here,” she said, “you’ll need these.” Then she smiled at her sister and ran toward the house.
Anthie was speechless, and he couldn’t move from where his feet had become rooted to the ground. It’s happening again, he thought. Every time I stand next to her my brain and my voice stop workin’. He held out the clothespins as if they were delicate treasures.
“You know how those work, don’t you?”
“Huh?”
“I said you know how those work, don’t you? The clothespins. You know how they work?”
Sudie laughed when he didn’t respond. She saw the look of confusion on his face and was warmed by the effect she was having on him. Her own heart was fluttering, and yet she had no problem talking to him. In the half hour it took to finish hanging the clothes and bed sheets, she chattered like a bird. She told him about how they’d survived the rain, how cute the puppies were, how her ma had made a pie and that her pa and brother were down in Dresden getting supplies. Anthie was relieved and especially glad that Mr. Morris wasn’t home. Guess I’ll have to face her pa sometime. Just not yet.
Tossing the remaining pins into the clothes basket, she pulled him by the hand toward the porch. “Maybe we can have a picnic today. We can sit over there under the tree.” She stopped and looked up at him. “Anthie, did you leave your tongue at home?”
“No,” he said, “I…no, I didn’t.” He stood facing her, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching one of her smaller, fragile hands. He looked toward the house and then back at her. “Is your pa gonna be mad because I’m here? I don’t wanna get him mad.”
“I don’t think he’ll be mad. He was in a good mood w
hen he left with Odie to go get supplies.”
“That’s good, ’cause I don’t want him to chase me off when he gets back. Do you think your ma cares if I’m here?”
Sudie spent the next few minutes chattering away, trying to set his mind at ease. As she walked him out to the big tree, she convinced him that no matter what her folks thought or felt about him, she was glad he’d come to see her. Sudie stared straight into his eyes and sweetly said, “Anthie Wilson, I hope you can stay here all day.”
“I can’t stay here all day,” he said, returning the smile, “but I’ll be here until someone tells me to leave.”
* * *
Charles Morris and his twelve-year-old son, Odie, rode their wagon into Dresden with a long list of supplies to pick up at the general store. The ride south from the farm had been uneventful, and Odie spent most of the time daydreaming about what he might see in the county seat while his pa was focused on more important things.
The streets in Dresden were crowded with wagons and people. A lot of them had come because it was market day, and they, like Morris, needed supplies. He set the brake on the wagon and took the small bag of tobacco out of his shirt pocket, rolled himself a cigarette and lit it with a match he struck on the edge of the wagon seat. Odie stood in the back of the wagon, watching all the activity on the busy street. He was fascinated by the brick buildings and the fancy carriages.
“Pa, can I get out and walk around? I’m tired of bein’ in the wagon. Can I?”
Morris took a drag from his cigarette and turned to his son. He thought about it a moment and then said, “Sure, but don’t go far, and stay outside where I can see you.”
“Thanks, Pa, I will,” he said and climbed down off the back of the wagon. Looking both ways, he ran across the street and jumped onto the board sidewalk. He waited while a woman with a baby walked past him and then stood staring through the large glass window of a drugstore. He saw a cabinet that was filled with jars of candy, and his mouth watered just looking at the colors and shapes of the treats.
Death in the Black Patch Page 16