Death in the Black Patch

by Wilson, Bruce;

  “So I told him you were still thinkin’ about what to do and you hadn’t decided yet. He didn’t ask me any more questions about the crop, but he wanted to know about our family and where we lived.”

  “Did he say anythin’ more about the Association?”

  “He didn’t say anythin’ more to me about it, but Pa, I was sittin’ on their porch by a window, and I heard him talkin’ to Sudie’s ma.” Anthie squirmed in his chair, his joy at having news for his pa was tempered some by having eavesdropped. “I feel bad about listenin’ to ’em, but if I’d moved they mighta heard me.”

  “It don’t matter, son. Now just tell me…Tell us what you heard.” His words snapped from his mouth.

  “Sudie’s pa told her ma that when he was in town he heard that a farmer up in Christian County was murdered by the Night Riders.”

  Zora gasped and reached across the table to touch Anthie’s hand. She looked at Wes and started to touch him as well, but his look stopped her.

  “Tell us exactly what he said, son, word for word if you can. I gotta know what he heard about Christian County.”

  “He said that the Riders went to the man’s house and whipped him with a thorn branch.” Anthie closed his eyes, trying to remember the words he’d heard. “Then they killed him with a shotgun in front of his wife and children. He said that if the Night Riders could do that in Christian County, they might do it in Tennessee.”

  “What else did he say?” he said quickly. “Try hard to remember.”

  “He told Sudie’s ma that the only safe thing to do was to join the Association. They talked about how they’d done all right with their other crops last year and would be okay without their tobacco money for a while. Sudie’s ma was mostly worried about the children and said no crop was worth harm comin’ to the family.”

  Wes looked at Zora and then turned to Anthie. “Is there anythin’ more that you can remember, anythin’ important?”

  Wes watched and waited so he wouldn’t interrupt the boy’s thoughts.

  After a moment, Anthie spoke. “I’m sorry, Pa, but I don’t remember any more.” He looked across the table at his ma and then added, “But when Sudie’s folks were talkin’, they were real serious, almost scared.”

  “Wes, I don’t know—”

  “—Wait a minute, let me finish thinkin’.” Zora frowned at the interruption, but remained quiet, watching her husband ponder the news. When he finally spoke, his words sounded strong, but to Zora the look on his face told her he was angry about something.

  “Mark told Art and me the same story this mornin’. We talked about it and decided we don’t know if the man was killed for not joinin’ or for some other reason. But I think we all know the real reason. Art’s likely gonna join the Association because he’s afraid of gettin’ raided and what that’d do to Mollie’s health. He did say he’d wait until after we go to the meetin’ on Wednesday. Then Mark told us about somethin’ that happened Thursday night.”

  Wes looked around the table and saw that the others were focused on him. Then he went on to tell them everything that had happened on Thursday. He talked about who was there and what was said; he left out nothing.

  “Does Mark think they believed Jones?” asked Zora.

  “He’s pretty sure he convinced ’em Jones was lyin’ and just tryin’ to stir things up. All three of us agreed we still need more information. We’re gonna meet at the store for a while on Monday night and talk over everythin’ again. Once I tell ’em what Anthie learned, I think Art will definitely choose to join up, but I believe he’ll wait ’til after the meetin’ to do it.”

  Wes rose from his chair and paced around the kitchen, circling the table. The others stayed silent, knowing he hadn’t finished talking.

  “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll keep standin’ watch and takin’ care of our crops. I think we have time before I gotta decide what to do, but it won’t hurt to be careful. I’ll stand guard tonight, and you’ll all go to church tomorrow. I’ll stay here with John Stanley.” He looked at his family. “Connie, I still think you should go over to Maud’s tomorrow. Anthie, you did good findin’ out what the Morrises’ are doin’, but I’ll need you to take your ma and the girls to church.”

  Sensing that he was done speaking, the boys rose and walked toward the back of the house. Anthie turned toward his mother as he reached the door and just nodded. Zora waited for Wes to say something else to her. When he stayed silent, she got up and followed the boys.

  * * *

  While the last minutes of Saturday quietly ticked away, Wes sat on the porch bench, looking out into the dark night. The moon hadn’t yet risen, but its glow showed dimly off to the southeast. The stars spread across the blue-black sky like crystal raindrops on a dark coat. The crickets kept up their pleasant sawing, and an occasional night-bird called, but Wes wasn’t aware of them; he listened for more ominous sounds. The soft night breeze blowing across the fields did little to cool the nerve-driven sweat that oozed out of his pores. Wes sat quietly, but he wasn’t resting. He stared into the night, listening to the sounds in the woods surrounding his farm and struggling with his demons.

  Wes was growing weary of wearing his mask of control. He knew that it was necessary, that he had to appear calm and alert if he was going to keep his family’s trust. But the battle in his mind was so intense he feared that the mask was slipping away and that Zora and the others could see how angry and bitter he’d become. The things that bothered him—the killing, the raids, the Association, the secrets—gnawed and chewed at every corner of his mind. A few days ago, these things had felt like a pack of wild dogs, but tonight they seemed more like demons, poking and screaming and circling him, looking for a weak spot. But they ain’t gonna get me. I ain’t gonna let ’em. Like a blacksmith pounding on an anvil, the thoughts kept repeating in his head: It’s my farm; nobody’s gonna tell me what to do. It’s my family; nobody’s gonna hurt ’em. It’s my decision, my decision, my decision.

  * * *

  In the room in the back of the house, Zora was on her knees, her face buried in her hands on the rumpled blanket spread across the bed. The battle in her mind was different than Wes’s. She was afraid if she pushed Wes too hard with her words and attitude that she might lose him to madness. But, if she didn’t speak up, his pride might lead him to do something rash or worse. Her only help, her only solace had to come from a belief that God wouldn’t let them down. So she prayed quietly, undisturbed by the crickets outside.

  Alone on the porch, Wes growled like a mad dog, “I hate what this is doin’ to all of us.”

  Chapter 14

  Sunday, May 13

  By Sunday morning, Anthie’s bruises were gone, but as he lay in his bed, listening to his brothers sleeping, he thought about the question his ma had asked the day before. Do you still hate him? she’d said. He listened to the last of the serene night sounds and searched for an answer to the question. It ain’t easy, he thought, but a couple of days of bein’ nice don’t take away the pain of what he done. I know Pa’s worryin’ about lots of things. He reached up and touched his cheeks, knowing that the bruises had faded and his broken lip had almost healed. But it weren’t right for him to beat me. I deserved a whuppin’, but not like he did.

  He heard the cow’s bellowed complaint through the window and sat up on the edge of his bed and whispered, “Time to milk that silly old cow.” Anthie pulled on his pants and an old shirt and made his way to the kitchen. Before opening the door, he looked through the window out into the dark morning to see if his pa was still on the porch. If Pa’s sleepin’ on the bench, he thought, I sure don’t wanna wake him.

  He struck a match to light the lantern and spotted his pa standing by the well, looking out toward the road. Wes held the shotgun by the barrel, the butt resting on the ground by his feet. When he heard the porch creak, he turned toward his son.

  “Mornin’,
son,” he said.

  “Mornin’, Pa. I’m gonna milk the cow.”

  Anthie hesitated, wondering if he should stop and stand with him for a while. But when his pa picked up the gun and walked off toward the tobacco, Anthie headed to the barn. The chatter of the crickets stopped when they sensed his movement, but the cow must have heard him coming because she bawled again. Hold your horses, I’m comin’, he thought as he reached the barred door. Then he smiled, wondering how a cow could hold its horses. He lifted the bar of gnarly wood from its slot and pulled the heavy door open. Inside, the smell of the mule and the cow reminded him how much he hated this chore. He set the lantern down on the hard-packed dirt and went over to the cow’s stall. I hope you don’t give me no trouble this mornin’. I’m tired and I wanna get back to sleep for a while. He picked up the stool and bucket and opened the gate, pushing the animal against the far wall. The cow bawled once more, and Anthie got to work, filling the bucket with her warm milk.

  Wes walked a dozen rows into the tobacco field and stopped. Through the gaps in the green-black tree line, he glimpsed the first rose-colored glow of the sunrise and felt the muted breeze as it tickled the tops of the young tobacco plants and chattered through the corn in the field behind him. The air felt cool against his sweaty forehead. As the sky brightened, he could see the green shoots had already grown a few inches after only a week in the ground. He kicked at the dirt, and a small cloud of dust rose and settled on his boots. Cradling the shotgun in his arms, he stared off toward the woods and spotted the glowing eyes of a coon as it scurried through the weeds at the edge of the field. He lifted the gun, but didn’t shoot.

  Wes was tired from thinking about the problems that swirled around in his head. There seemed to be no stopping the endless chatter. His head hurt, not from the voices in his head, but the essence of them. Even his eyes burned, and the screeching cricket sound in his ears would not go away. The few swallows of liquor he’d snuck during the night had left him with a sharp pain in his stomach and a sour taste in his mouth. He hawked and spit some of the nasty-tasting phlegm into the dirt at his feet. The battle against the snapping dogs in his head had worn him out, but he couldn’t let his mental fatigue keep him from looking strong and in control. All I need is some time and the right information. Once I know everything, I can make a choice, and then all of this trouble will be over. He looked down at the shotgun and thought, Nobody’s ever gonna say I quit like my pa did; never.

  Wes heard Anthie close the barn door and turned to watch his son carry the milk bucket back to the house. He’s a good boy. I just wish he wanted to be a farmer. He shouldered the gun and called for Rufus. The dog ran out from under the porch and looked around. Wes whistled once and the dog turned toward the field, spotted Wes and raced toward him. Rufus is smarter than most people, thought Wes. He knows how to stay between the rows. The dog followed Wes until he saw that they were headed into the woods. Then he bolted ahead, running through the brush, sniffing the ground. Wes wanted to walk around the perimeter of his farm to see if anyone had been hanging around where they shouldn’t have been. If there’d been someone in the woods watching the house, Rufus would know.

  By the time Wes walked up to the porch, the sun was shining over the top of the trees. Rufus stopped and drank from the tub of water, scratched at a couple of fleas and crawled back under the porch. The smell of fried bacon wafting out of the kitchen caused Wes’s stomach to growl.

  Zora looked at him as he came into the house, but didn’t speak. She focused on the eggs in the cast-iron pan on the stove. Stirring them, she made sure that they were totally cooked. She knew Wes would get upset if there were the slightest bit of runny, uncooked egg on his plate, and she didn’t want him upset this morning. Mary Lula poured a cup of coffee for her pa, picked up Ruthie from the floor and put her in a chair.

  “You sit still now,” she said. “It’s almost time to eat.” She smiled at her pa and walked toward the back of the house. At the foot of the stairs, she called up to the rest of the family to get moving or they’d miss out on breakfast.

  Zora scooped the fluffy eggs out of the pan into a large bowl and set it on the table. She wiped her hands on a towel and then turned to Wes.

  “Did anythin’ happen last night?” she asked.

  “It was quiet,” he said.

  “Are you still plannin’ to stay home with John Stanley?”

  “Yeah, I am. Somebody’s gotta do it if all of you’re goin’ to church. Besides, I’m tired, and I gotta get some sleep.”

  “I think the boy is well enough to go with us,” Zora said, as Connie, Anthie and Irene walked into the kitchen. They sat in their chairs without speaking, not wanting to interrupt the discussion. “I’m gonna go up and check on him.”

  All of the children tensely watched their pa. He stared down at his empty plate, and as best he could, he forced a smile onto his face and looked up at them. “You all gonna eat or is this all for me?”

  Mary Lula filled plates for her ma and John Stanley and set them on the table just as the two of them came into the kitchen. Wes greeted his son as the boy found his seat and sat down to eat. Zora looked at her family and felt the light mood in the air. She glanced at Wes and saw that he was smiling and knew it wasn’t real; she could see in his eyes that something was different.

  Zora sat down and picked up a slice of bacon. She bit off a piece of the crispy meat and chewed it delicately. “My,” she said to no one in particular, a forced grin on her lips, “they certainly have a great cook in this house. The food is delicious.”

  For a moment, nothing happened, but then the happy sound of the younger children talking drove the tension out of the air. Wes and Zora watched them, but didn’t look at each other. They’d each given up something of themselves to make things easier on the family, and they both knew that they were in trouble.

  * * *

  We gotta get a horse, Wes thought as he watched Connie head through the field to George’s farm. He stood on the porch, his hands in the pockets of his overalls, wondering when his brother was going to get tired of lending out his horse. I hate owin’ anybody a favor almost as much as owin’ money, but a promise is a promise, and Connie ain’t seen Maud for more than a week. He’d thought about Jones’s offer throughout his restless night and knew that taking it would be the end of any kind of relationship with his oldest brother—and any other family as well. If I take his offer, we could buy that horse and maybe find a place in Missouri or Arkansas and start over. Wes knew it was all just a dream. No one in the family would want to move away from Lynnville. Connie and Maud were probably going to get married soon. Even though no one had been calling on Mary Lula, she was at a marrying age, so it wouldn’t be long until she was gone as well. Anthie was only sixteen, but he was spending a lot of time thinking about Sudie.

  Wes sat down on the bench and rested his weary head against the wall, glad that everyone was gone. He closed his eyes against the glaring sun and felt the tepid breeze on his sagging cheeks. Somewhere in his head he heard the clicking of the dog’s nails as he drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Rufus barked and bounded into the yard when he saw the wagon turn down the lane toward the house. The racket startled Wes awake from where he’d been lying on the bench. “What?” he yelled as he rubbed the grit from his eyes and tried to figure out where he was. When the dog barked again, Wes stood up and held onto the porch’s corner post. He shaded his eyes from the blinding sun and watched his family as they got down from the wagon.

  Wes walked over to Zora and helped her from the wagon seat. There was sweat on her cheeks, and what little of her hair showing beneath her bonnet was damp and curly. When her feet touched the yard, she didn’t linger, but headed into the house without saying a word. Lord knows what’s got her upset, Wes thought as he went around to the back of the wagon to help Mary Lula.

  “Thank you, Pa,” she said, handing R
uthie to him before sliding off the wagon bed and onto the ground. “I’m not sure this little girl is gonna stay awake long enough to eat dinner, so I’d better get inside and help Ma get it ready.” She smiled at her father and lifted Ruthie up onto the porch and led her into the kitchen. Mary Lula was beautiful; she reminded Wes of her ma, and he thought about how much she looked like Zora when she was younger.

  When the wagon started moving, Wes turned to Anthie and reminded him to wipe down the mule and give it some oats. He stepped back from the wagon and watched his son.

  “I won’t forget, Pa,” said Anthie back over his shoulder. He’d seen his pa struggle to get up from the bench and hoped he wasn’t drunk. If he is, the boy thought, this day ain’t gonna be a good day. Taking the animal by the bridle, he led it into the stall and set a bucket of oats and fresh water at its feet. Then he checked the cow to see if she was ready for her afternoon milking. She wasn’t, and he was glad. When Anthie walked out of the barn after wiping down the mule, he heard his pa yell.

  “Come over here a minute, son.” Wes sat down and patted at a spot next to him.

  Anthie walked over to his pa, a little anxious, not sure what he wanted. He could see in his pa’s eyes that he hadn’t been drinking, at least not recently, and when his pa opened his mouth to speak, Anthie couldn’t smell liquor.

  “What happened at church?” Wes said. “Your ma is awful quiet.”

  “Church was the same as it always is, Pa. We didn’t do much but sing and pray and listen to the preacher. I thought for a while that he was gonna preach through dinnertime all the way up to supper. He must’ve got tired of listenin’ to himself, so he finally quit. It was a good thing, too, because as soon as he was done, everyone ran to the outhouse. It ain’t often we see a line to the privy at church.”