Death in the Black Patch

by Wilson, Bruce;

  Wes smiled at Anthie, thinking that he and his son shared the same opinion about church. “But what about your ma. Why’s she so quiet?”

  “I don’t know. She seems the same to me, Pa. Maybe she’s still worried about John Stanley. He was pretty quiet this mornin’, too.”

  “I suppose that’s it,” said Wes. “She gets that way when one of you children gets sick or hurt. My ma was the same way with all of us, especially with me.” He turned from Anthie and looked off at the field of tobacco. “I guess we better get washed up and go see if we can help with dinner, although I wager your ma’ll kick us out of the kitchen rather than have us under foot.”

  Anthie went over to the well and washed his hands and face. Wes waited until he finished and then did the same. Once he was alone in the yard, he looked out at his field again. Somethin’ is up with her, but I can’t figure out what it is. Maybe she’s mad ’cause I didn’t go to church, or that I was sleepin’ when she got home. If that’s it, then there ain’t a thing I can do to change her mind. Besides, I still ain’t talked to her about talkin’ to George. He wiped his wet hands on his overalls and went into the house.

  * * *

  By the time Connie got home, it was getting dark. The last rays of the sun had turned the bottoms of the few clouds in the sky to orange and the tree trunks on the western side of the farm to black. There was no breeze, but the air had cooled some since midday, and Wes and Zora were sitting on the porch. They usually shared the bench at times like these, but tonight Zora was sitting in one of the chairs from the kitchen. They’d managed to keep up the pretense of calmness around the children, but since they were all inside cleaning up after supper, the two adults were silent. Each was unwilling to start a conversation that would likely turn into an argument.

  Wes had seen Connie ride past the house on his way to George’s. When he spotted his son coming across the field from the east he pointed him out to his wife and said, “Here comes Connie. I wonder how his visit with Maud went.” He hoped he could break the tension.

  “I imagine that he enjoyed gettin’ away from here since he ain’t seen her for awhile.” Zora’s words were clipped, guarded and there was little warmth in her voice. “It seems like there ain’t much good news around home these days.”

  Wes watched Zora as she stared off into the yard, adding her coldness to his list of worries. One thing at a time, he thought, I can’t take care of everything all at once. Anyway, why’s she mad at me? I’m the one who should be mad at her for keeping a secret.

  Connie stopped first at the well to wash his hands and face and walked to the porch. “I’m glad you’re both out here,” he said, barely controlling his excitement. “I got somethin’ to tell you and I gotta tell you now.” He was afraid that if he waited, the smile on his face would give him away. “Maud and I are gonna get married.”

  Zora was stunned, but her dark mood quickly gave way to a wide, genuine smile. “Why Connie Lee, you sure surprised me. I thought you was gonna tell us you’d gone and joined the army,” she said as she stepped forward and hugged her son. She’d known that they’d get married someday; she just didn’t think it would be so soon. Connie’s joy made her happy and took her mind off Wes for the moment.

  “Well, well, well,” said Wes, “I guess we’re gonna have to start makin’ plans to find you two a place to live.” He wasn’t as quick to cover his shock, but only Zora saw the hint of concern flicker in his tired eyes. “I’d sure like to know how her ma and pa are takin’ the news.” He looked at Zora and then back at his son. “When is all of this gonna happen? Have you two decided on a date?”

  “We’ve been talkin’ about gettin’ married for quite a while, Pa, but I was scared of tellin’ her folks for a long time.” He grinned and looked at his father’s face. “Her pa’s almost as mean as you, and I didn’t know if he’d run me out of their house and chase me down the road with a piece of stove wood.” He raised his hands in front of his face and feigned a duck and then laughed, “We‘re gonna wait until all the crops have been harvested, so the wedding’ll probably be in October.”

  “Well I think you’d better get on in the house and tell your brothers and sisters what’s goin’ on.” He put his hand on Connie’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You son of a gun, you sure did surprise me.” Wes’s head throbbed in pain, but he set his own worries aside for Connie’s happiness.

  Zora knew that Wes wasn’t as pleased with the news as he let on, but she was glad he’d somehow managed to bury his worries for the moment. She reached up and put her small hand gently on Connie’s other shoulder. “Your pa is right; you better get in there and tell everyone the news. I expect they’ve been wonderin’ when you’d get up the gumption to finally ask her.”

  Connie bent down and kissed his ma on the cheek and rushed into the house. Zora knew Wes was struggling and moved over to stand next to him.

  “Thank you, Wes.”

  “For what?” He turned and looked at her, surprised that she’d finally spoken to him.

  She turned to him, her eyes glistening. “Thanks for showin’ your son that he’s important even when you got a lot on your mind.” And don’t forget about your other son, she thought, because he may not be around much longer. Without asking if he was coming, she stood and said, “I’m goin’ in to see how the cleanin’ up is goin’.”

  Wes knew he should follow her and be a part of the happiness surrounding Connie. He was painfully aware that his absence would send some kind of signal to his son, and worse, to his wife. He took a moment more to get his head together, making sure the mask was in place. Over the next hour or so he laughed with his family, hugged his son and kidded him about the perils of marriage. But inside his head, Connie leaving the farm added fuel to a fire that was growing more dangerous every day.

  When the excitement finally settled down and the rest of the family got ready for bed, Wes stepped outside and looked up at the stars wheeling through the sky. There was no breeze, but the night air was cool and dry. He stepped down into the yard and sat on the edge of the porch next to Rufus. He ran his hand along the dog’s flank and scratched his ears. You’re the only one who understands, ain’t you dog. You know what it means if Connie leaves. He knows farmin’ and hard work. He don’t complain, and I depend on him. Connie’s leavin’ ain’t gonna be a problem ’til after harvest, but I still gotta deal with it ’cause I’ll be losin’ my best farmhand. “So if you got any ideas,” he said aloud, “you better give ’em to me quick, ’cause I can feel more trouble comin’, and I need to know what to do.”

  Wes patted the dog on the head and stood up. He went over to the well and splashed cold water on his hands and face, hoping to ease the pain, but it held on tightly. Just one more thing to gnaw on, he thought.

  Chapter 15

  Monday Morning, May 14

  In the ditch beside Mark’s store, a sandy brown doe stood watch as her spotted fawn grazed on the damp grass that had sprung up following last week’s rain. When she heard a dog bark nearby, she led the fawn out of the ditch and down the road to the woods. The sun filtering through the trees speckled the side of the building as the animals disappeared into the trees. The few clouds overhead picked up the glow of the rising sun, and a gentle, puff-like breeze carried a medley of scents through the slowly awakening town. The aromas of cooking side-meat, brewing coffee and dew-covered roses blended with the rank smells of manure, outhouses and the coal fire of the blacksmith shop.

  The town was the economic heart of this part of the county and the reservoir of all the information that its citizens needed to carry on with their lives. Spring in the Black Patch could be a wonderful time, and on this particular day it seemed that even the most cynical of its residents would have agreed that life was good. J.D. Hooper, probably the most sardonic man in town, was thinking how good this day was going to be. He and Charley had made their list for Jones and were looking forward to sharin
g it with him when he came to town. Plodding along slowly, the two farmhands rode side by side in the middle of the road. Neither of them had spoken since leaving the shack. J.D. was enjoying the silence; Charley, as always, was afraid of saying something that would upset his partner and had spent most of the ride thinking they were headed for trouble playing both sides of the tobacco war. So, when J.D. broke the silence, Charley squawked out an unmanly “Huh?”

  “I said, how come you’re bein’ so quiet? This is gonna be a great day. We’re gettin’ some money from Jones, we’re gonna go over to Art West’s and find out when he wants us back workin’ on his place and then we need to find the captain and see what plans he’s got for any night work.”

  “I know all that,” Charley said. “I’m just worried someone’s gonna find out we’re dealin’ with the Trust and with the Association.”

  “How’s anyone gonna find out? We ain’t gonna tell anybody. Besides, Jones don’t care if we are, and he sure ain’t gonna tell either, is he?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Then stop worryin’. You’re beginnin’ to sound like an old woman.” J.D. was silent for a moment and then added, “If the worst thing happens and the Association finds out, all we gotta do is get outta here. We’ve got these horses, and we’ll have our money from Jones. Hell, we could be in Arkansas in a few days and they’d never find us.”

  Charley looked over at J.D., his face pale-gray with shock. “But they’d hang us for stealin’ the horses.”

  “No they wouldn’t. They’d probably shoot us for double-dealin’ before we ever ended up in court. You know what the Night Riders did over in Christian County. Do you think this bunch would be any different if they knew we’d helped Jones?” J.D. waited while Charley settled down. “So go ahead and fret if you want, but keep it to yourself, and let me do the talkin’ and plannin’.”

  J.D.’s show of confidence did nothing to quench Charley’s agony. When they left the shack that morning, he thought he would enjoy the quiet ride, the singing birds and the warmth of the morning sun. But now he felt like he was headed for a funeral. I just hope it ain’t mine.

  As they passed the Lynnville sign, J.D. spoke up, his voice harsh. “Listen, Charley, I don’t want your frettin’ to mess this up for me. If you want out, then you better do it now. I—we—got a chance to make some money from Jones, from West and maybe even from the Association if they do another raid, and I ain’t gonna let you ruin it. So you need to tell me if you’re in or out, and you need to tell me now.”

  Charley stared straight ahead, silent, brooding. J.D. hadn’t threatened him, but it sure felt like he had. Sweat ran down his back, chilling him, and he shuddered. He heard his own heart pounding beneath his shirt and then swallowed hard and turned to J.D., his face blank. “I’m in.”

  * * *

  Mollie had just finished clearing the dishes after dinner and found a seat at the table next to Art. He said, “I’m glad you’re feelin’ better. I’ve got somethin’ I need to tell you.”

  “What is it, Art?”

  He looked at her across the table, one hand holding hers and the other gripping a cup of hot coffee. He paused a moment to listen to the children in the back of the house and said, “It’s about us—you and me and the children.”

  Mollie squeezed his hand and smiled, her soft lips turning up at the edges. Her cheeks had turned a pale rose color, and her irises were blue again, shaded by her lashes. Art returned the squeeze, grateful that she felt better and amazed that she loved him.

  “There’s been a lot goin’ on while you were sick.” He went on to tell her everything he could recall—about overhearing J.D. and Charley, about Jones and even about the killing in Christian County. Art also told her that he was working with Wes to gather as much information as they could before they made a decision. “But I can’t wait anymore, Mollie, I just can’t. The only way I can protect you and the children is to join. If we got raided because I waited too long, I’d never forgive myself. I’ve got to join up even if Wes doesn’t.”

  “I understand, Art.” She looked directly at her husband. “It’s hurting you to go against Wes, isn’t it?”

  Art shook his head in wonder at his wife’s insight. “It does hurt, because he’s always been my friend and always trusted me.” Then he paused, shuddering a little before he spoke again. “I kept something from him, Mollie. I heard something that I should have told him about, but I was afraid to. I thought that he might do something bad if he knew what I did. Now, if I do tell him, he’ll wonder why I kept the information from him for so long.”

  “But he’ll understand that you have your reasons, won’t he? Isn’t he tryin’ to do the same for his family?”

  “I think so, but some of the things he’s talkin’ about doin’ don’t make sense. I don’t understand why it’s takin’ him so long to decide that joinin’ up is the only way for him to keep his farm and his family and his friends. I just don’t understand.”

  “Art, if you knew everythin’ that was in Wes’s head and heart right now, then maybe you’d wait. If you think you owe it to him to wait until after the meetin’ on Wednesday, then do it. Honor the friendship and give him the few more days.”

  They sat quietly, listening to the sounds from the back of the house. Sunlight filtered through the curtains and the colored glass bottles that Mollie had set on the window sill. The breeze carried in the honeysuckle’s gift, and its sweetness seemed to cover them like a blanket. Mollie kept holding Art’s hand, feeling his strength. “Are you scared of Wes or what he might do?”

  Art flinched at the question and turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I’m just wonderin’ if the way he’s actin’ scares you.”

  “I’m not afraid of Wes, and I don’t think he’ll do anythin’ to harm the people he loves. He just ain’t himself right now.”

  Art wanted to tell her that he wasn’t afraid of Wes or anything. But in his heart he knew that something was going on with Wes, something that maybe was a bit frightening. Besides, he didn’t want Mollie worrying so soon after she’d started feeling better.

  “I love you, Mollie, and I’ll do everythin’ I can to take care of you.” He thought for a moment and then added, “I got to think some more on this, but I’ll let you know what I’m gonna do before I do it.” He pushed the chair back up to the table and stood up. “But now I need to get out into the field to see what needs doin’ and then try to get them boys back here to work.” He walked to the door, pulled his hat off the peg and shoved it onto his head. Art turned to Mollie, smiled and walked out the door.

  * * *

  J.D. figured that Jones would come down the main road from Mayfield. When he and Charley finished their business in town, they headed back north and waited in a shady copse of trees about two miles north of Lynnville. They wanted to stay off the road so they wouldn’t be seen by any of the Night Riders and near their shack in case Jones wanted some privacy before he started calling on the farmers. The leaves and branches of the trees kept away some of the growing afternoon heat, but the puddles of water left over from the rain made the air soggy. Both men were sweating, and Charley was violently swatting at the young, hungry mosquitoes.

  “How long we gotta wait in this god-awful place, J.D.? These bugs are drivin’ me crazy.” Charley emphasized his discomfort with a loud slap on his forearm. “Damned mosquitoes. It’s way too early for ’em to be out. It ain’t even June yet.”

  “Why don’t you just shut up? They ain’t that bad, and besides, we need to stop Jones before he gets into town.”

  “I know, but ain’t there a better place to wait?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said J.D., “why don’t you go out and stand on the road and put up a sign. Then if any of the Night Riders see you, they can just shoot you without askin’ any questions.” He paused to slap at a bug and added, “Better y
et, don’t make a sign; just wait until Jones gets here and then let someone from the Association see you two havin’ a sit-down meetin’. Whatta you think?”

  “Now, come on, J.D. You know I didn’t mean nothin’. I just wanna get this over with and get our money. There ain’t no way I wanna be seen with him by anyone from the Association—members or Night Riders.”

  “Then shut up until he gets here, and if the bugs keep eatin’ on you, why don’t you just rub on some of that sweet smellin’ puddle mud? That’ll keep ’em from chewin’ on that ugly face of yours.”

  Charley sat down on the spongy ground and leaned back against an oak tree. He pulled his hat down over his ears and his hands up inside his shirt sleeves. Crossing his arms, he stopped talking and just mumbled. J.D. lit up the stub of a cigar and blew the acrid smoke on his arms and hands. That solved the problem for him, but he didn’t think it was necessary to tell Charley about the remedy he’d discovered. For the next hour, Charley slapped, J.D. puffed and they both sweated.

  When J.D. finally heard a horse clopping down the road from the north, he peered around the tree he’d been leaning against and spotted Jones. He reached down and picked up a stone and tossed it at Charley. “Here he comes; let’s get out there,” he whispered and started out of the woods. He waited until Jones was nearly alongside them and then walked out onto the road.

  “Mr. Jones,” he said, startling the man and his horse, “Hold up there, we need to talk before you go into town.”

  Jones pulled back on the reins and kept his horse from galloping down the road. “Damn it, man. Why don’t you give a person a warning before you jump out at him like a bandit?”

  “Yeah, well, we don’t need to be seen by anyone from around here. It wouldn’t do you or us a bit of good to get caught talkin’ about tobacco out on the road.”