“Hold on, Art. That’s crazy.”
“No, Wes. It ain’t crazy. We’re cousins and friends. Everybody in that room knows we always work together and talk things through. But tonight I don’t understand you. I don’t even know who you are. I promised to tell you when I’d figured out what I was gonna do. Well, I’ve decided to join up. I’m gonna protect my family and get enough money to get by until my crop sells.” He started to leave and then turned back. “I know you still gotta think about it, Wes, and I hope you make up your mind soon, because what you did in there is just like paintin’ a target on your back.” He walked across the yard toward the church.
“We still got choices,” Wes yelled, loud enough for Art to hear as he walked away. “We don’t have to do everythin’ they say.”
Art heard Wes’s voice and felt the arrogance behind his cousin’s words. But he went into the church and signed up anyway.
* * *
J.D. and Charley stood in the shadow of the trees not twenty yards from Wes. They’d overheard his encounter with Art and waited until they saw him mount his mule and ride away.
“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” said J.D., an ugly grin splitting his face. “It appears that Mr. Wilson’s got him some choices. I wonder what the captain’ll say about that.” He took a quick swallow from the whiskey jug in his hand.
“Maybe he ain’t gonna join up, and it could be that he ain’t gonna do nothin’.”
“Oh, he’s gonna do somethin’. I can feel it. I’ll bet he’s got a deal goin’ with Jones. Maybe he’s already signed a contract. If we tell the captain what we heard right here, that’ll make us look real good, seein’ that we already put Wilson’s name on our list.”
Charley shivered and looked around the emptying churchyard to make sure no one was watching them. “If you’re gonna tell him that Wilson has a deal with the Trust, you’ll be lyin’, ’cause you don’t know that he does. And if you do tell the captain that, I don’t want you tellin’ him that we heard it. I don’t want any part of that.” He walked back into the woods a few paces and then turned back to J.D. “Don’t you think if word got back to Wilson that we gave his name to the Night Riders, he’d come after us? And if he did, do you think he’d just yell at us? Hell no he wouldn’t. He’d put a bullet in us without even thinkin’ twice.”
“You ain’t got any brains at all, Charley. Do you think I’m stupid enough to say somethin’ like that? I’m only gonna tell the captain exactly what I heard tonight. I’ll let him figure out what it all means. Either way, we end up lookin’ good. He might even throw in a little extra money when we raid Wilson’s farm.”
“Who said the Riders are gonna hit Wilson’s place?”
“Nobody’s said it yet, but I’d bet real money that they’re gonna do it soon.” J.D. walked past Charley deeper into the woods and sat on a stump. He lifted the jug and took two large gulps. “Come on, Charley. Have a drink and relax a little.”
Charley walked away from him and stood in the dark. He looked at the church building and wondered how evil things could be talked about in such a place.
The two Night Riders waited another hour before the captain called them over to the church. “We’ve got another job for you two if you’re interested.”
“We’re always interested, if it means we’re gonna get paid,” said J.D. “What do we have to do and how much is it worth?”
The captain looked at J.D. in the faint light from the church window and shook his head. “This ain’t just makin’ a list of names or ridin’ with the Night Riders. It’s a dangerous job. But if you do what’s on this note, you get twenty dollars of gold.”
“Twenty dollars—” was all Charley got out before J.D. shut him up.
“Where’s this note?” he asked. “What does it say?”
Looking around the empty church lot, the captain said, “It’s right here, but you ain’t to look at it until you’re far away from here. If you do the job, you’ll get the gold. It’s that simple.” Ignoring Charley’s pained expression, the captain looked at J.D. “If you decide you wanna do it, you need to let me know before Sunday.”
“We’ll let you know,” said J.D.
When they got back to the shack, J.D. lit the lantern and read the note. He let out a slow, tuneless whistle and told Charlie they’d be leaving town within a week. Charley asked what they needed to do for the money, but J.D. told him not to worry. J.D. lay back on his cot and thought for a while. Before he fell asleep, he already had a plan.
* * *
Connie sat on the porch in the dark, trying to listen past the sawing crickets for sounds of approaching horses. Last week’s moon had shrunk to a heavy scythe, but the light was enough to see night creatures scurrying across the road into the fields. He lifted a cup from the porch and sipped the hot coffee his ma had sweetened with a bit of sugar and squinted as the steam fogged his eyes. He’d set the shotgun against the wall in easy reach of his spot on the bench, but hadn’t touched it in the hour or so he’d been on watch. There was no light in the kitchen behind him, but he was pretty sure that his ma was sitting at the table in the darkened room, waiting for his pa to get back from town.
He watched a dim light move beyond the trees on the eastern edge of the farm and smiled. Somebody at Uncle George’s is headin’ to the outhouse, he thought. Must be Aunt Malinda, ’cause none of the others would take a lantern. He watched as Rufus wandered into the yard from behind the barn and jumped up onto the porch. The dog settled down near Connie’s feet and started gnawing on an old hambone. Even with his ma sitting in the kitchen, he was glad for the company.
Rufus dropped his bone and growled, lifting his head and staring off toward the road. Connie looked in the same direction and reached for the shotgun. He and the dog rose at the same time and stepped down into the yard, watching the road and straining to see who was coming in their direction. “Easy Rufus,” he said. “Maybe it’s Pa.” Connie forced his ears to hear what had spooked the dog. Rufus walked a few yards toward the road and then sat on his haunches. He woofed softly and then trotted off in the moonlight. Connie’s ears picked up the faint sound of hooves on the dirt road, and he spotted his pa as he rode the mule past the western tree line. He knew his pa would be tired and that he could help him by putting the mule away for the night. He walked through the open barn door and lit a lantern, giving the cavernous building a dusk-like glow. He swung back the gate of the mule’s stall and set a half-bucket of oats against the far wall just as his pa led the animal into the barn.
“What’re you doin’ with the gun, Connie? Has there been any trouble?”
“No, Pa, there ain’t been any trouble. I was standin’ guard. Me and Anthie talked it over and thought since you were gone we’d keep watch ’til you got back. We decided we’d take turns.” Connie walked out of the stall and leaned the gun against the workbench. “Here, Pa, let me take care of the mule. I’ll put him up and you can go on up to the house.” He took the reins out of his pa’s hands and led the mule into the stall. After pulling the bridle from its head and the blanket from its back, he carried the tack out and closed the gate.
Wes stood back and watched, pleased that his son had protected the family and the farm while he was in town. He knew he should say something, but his thoughts were still knotted up like a bag full of snakes, and he couldn’t find the words. Connie picked up the lantern and the shotgun and waited at the door for Wes.
“You ready, Pa?”
Wes didn’t answer his son; he just followed him out of the barn and they walked to the house. The kitchen lamps were lit, and the warm light spilled out onto the porch. Zora was standing there, quietly waiting for them. Wes could only see her silhouette, her face hidden from him, but he knew she’d want to know everything about the meeting. Why can’t she wait ’til mornin’, he thought. I don’t wanna do this with her now. I wanna be left alone so I can think.
&nb
sp; Zora moved aside as they stepped onto the porch and walked into the house. Wes stood near the stove, his back to Zora, waiting for her to speak first. But instead, she stepped out of the kitchen and walked to the back of the house. Zora noticed the glow of a candle at the top of the stairs.
“Good night, son,” she said. “Thanks for watchin’ out for us.”
“Good night, Ma. See you in the mornin’.”
When she returned to the kitchen, Wes was sitting in his chair at the head of the table. He’d poured himself some coffee and cut a chunk off the loaf of bread on the counter. He didn’t look up at her until she spoke. Even then, he only threw a quick glance and returned to eating.
“Did you learn anythin’ that’ll help you decide what you’re gonna do about our crop?”
He continued to chew on the bread and sip at the coffee and didn’t respond to Zora’s questions. She thought about asking him again, but she knew he was ignoring her. After pouring herself some water from the pitcher, she carried the cup to the other end of the table and waited for him to respond. I’m not leaving this chair until he tells me what he learned and what he’s decided, even if I have to sit here all night. Our family needs to know.
When the bread was gone and the cup empty, Wes looked down the long table at his wife. Somewhere deep inside he knew he owed her an answer. He had to tell her something. But what am I gonna say to her, he thought, when I don’t have the answer yet. Right now, I’m tired, my mind’s crowded and I don’t feel like I have enough energy left to pretend. But he had no choice. He closed his eyes, and when he finally looked at her from behind his mask, the right words seemed to fall from his mouth. He barely knew what he was saying.
“There was a big bunch of fellas at the meetin’. It was crowded in the church, and we had to wait awhile for the PPA men to show up. When they did, they looked around and counted eight or nine of us who ain’t joined up yet.” Wes watched Zora, looking for some response, but she just stared at him. “Then one of ’em talked a lot about the Trust and how they was cheatin’ all of us by cuttin’ the prices on the tobacco. He said that the only way to beat ’em was to put all our tobacco in Association warehouses.” He never took his eyes off her. “Then he told us that one of the banks in Mayfield was gonna make loans to any farmer who would hold his tobacco back from the Trust. They’d give us enough to cover our costs until the crop sold, and then we’d get the rest of the money.”
Zora sat up a little straighter at the mention of the bank, but then she asked him, “How sure are they that the bank’ll loan the money?”
“That’s exactly what I asked ’em,” he said, surprised that she could even think of something like that. “Then they talked about the killin’ and said nothin’ like that was gonna happen in our county. They said that the sheriff over there called it an accident. After that, the meetin’ ended and we left. Art stuck around and said he was gonna sign up for the Association. Then I came home.” He waited just a moment, hoping this would satisfy her.
Zora rose from her chair and poured herself some more water. She turned toward him and said, “So, what are you gonna do with your crop, Wesley?”
“I still don’t know,” he said, wanting Zora to stop talking and leave him alone. “The choices I have tonight ain’t much different than those I had a week ago—join up or sell; go broke or get rich; save the farm or lose our friends—none of ’em are any good.”
“Look, Wes. I know you think this whole decision is up to you. Well, maybe it is, but I think I ought to at least get to tell you what I think.”
Wes didn’t want to hear what she thought, but nodded at her to continue anyway. Now he had to force himself to listen when his head felt numb.
“I think that the only safe thing for you to do, the only way you can protect the family and the farm, is to join the Association. Even if the bank don’t loan the money, all we gotta think about is makin’ the mortgage payment. We’ll have to tighten our belts a bit and eat a lot of fried dough, but we’ll still be alive. We’ve been through hard times before and survived, and we can do it again. You gotta join up with the others, Wes.”
Wes could feel the heat under his mask. Now even Zora was trying to tell him what to do. He had let her have her say, but he was done listening to her; he didn’t want to hear any more, not even from Zora. “All I can do is think about what you said. But I’m the one who’s gotta decide what to do, and I ain’t ready to do it yet. So just go away. Quit chatterin’ about the damn tobacco and joinin’ and leave me the hell alone. You gotta give me a chance to figure it out by myself.”
“Well then figure it out, Wes. You’ve put this family through enough.” Wes’s words hit Zora like a slap in the face, just like he’d done to Anthie. He’d sat there and listened to her and then tossed her idea away like a piece of trash. She’d held herself back, trying not to upset him, but it was a wasted effort. She slammed the water cup on the counter and looked at him. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall.
Keeping her voice down so she didn’t wake the children and with as much venom as she could muster, she said, “One more thing, Wesley. Unless you clean up and shave and start talkin’ and actin’ like a husband and a father again, you ain’t gonna have a seat at my table or a place in my bed. You are scarin’ your children, and you’re offendin’ me. So, until you decide to be a man again, I’m done talkin’ to you. Now get out of my kitchen and go sleep with the hogs.”
Wes watched her back as she left the room, his body trembling, his heart pounding. The mask he’d worn to appear normal was gone, burned away by his angry pride. In his rage he banged his cup on the table, breaking it into tiny pieces. Then he stood up and rushed out the door, slamming it behind him.
* * *
In the room at the back of the church, Red stood across a small table from his three captains, who were talking about the new members and the good news from the bank. He glanced at J.D.’s list of names and waited until their conversation faded before he spoke.
“It’s all set. We’re goin’ after Wes Wilson Sunday night.”
Chapter 19
Thursday, May 17
Through the window of the kitchen, Zora watched Wes standing in the middle of the yard. The rays of the rising sun trickled between the trees, glazing his face. Rufus sat at his side, the dog’s fur burnished by the same light. A faint, tentative smile surfaced on Zora’s face, and her eyes, weary from the tension, blinked back a few tears. Wes had heard her demand. She folded her hands and prayed that this would be one of the good days.
The door swung open as a troubled Anthie walked in and set the milk pail on the counter.
“Ma,” he said, “Pa’s just standin’ out there starin’ at the field. What’s he doin’?”
“I don’t know, son,” she sighed, “I don’t know. But you never mind now and get that milk set to cool. I’ll have some breakfast ready in a little bit. See if you can get your lazy brothers out of bed and up before your pa starts in on ’em.” She wiped her hands on a rag and patted Anthie on the arm. “Go on now, get goin’.”
Zora turned back to the window and saw that her husband and his dog were still standing in the sunlight. Lord, I sure hope some of that warmth found its way into his heart. She reached up on the shelf for a large bowl and half-filled it with flour and went about mixing her biscuit dough. A small cloud of flour dust floated around her, settling on her cheeks, softening them and mixing with the remains of her tears. While she worked, she hummed a mindless melody, her hands familiar with the routine of preparing a meal.
Ruthie toddled into the kitchen ahead of Mary Lula and wrapped her chubby little arms around Zora’s leg.
“Momma, Momma,” she cooed, reaching up for her mother’s arms.
Zora brushed the flour off her hands and picked up her daughter, giving her a big hug, kissing her pudgy cheeks and nibbling on her neck. “How’s my baby girl th
is mornin’?” Ruthie giggled and touched her ma’s cheek. “I need to make these biscuits, so you help your big sister to get the table set, all right?”
Wes wasn’t quite ready to join the family. During another sleepless night, he’d managed to wash away the filth and sweat from his body and shave away his scruffy whiskers. The gummy sourness had been rinsed from his mouth and his foul-smelling clothes exchanged for fresh ones. But he’d been unable to flush the anger and resentment at Zora’s outburst from his mind. Vivid, eyes-open nightmares had plagued him during the hours his family slept. Frantically moving images of his farm being swept away in a firestorm, of his wife and children lost and wandering and of his own body lying dead on a porch had prevented sleep. In those few moments that the tense dreams slipped away from his thoughts, he wrestled with his feelings about Art’s deception and his own lies and the nagging thought about his tobacco crop.
When he woke up in the early morning light, Wes had one tiny moment of clarity and realized that he might lose his family forever if he didn’t pull himself together. He was determined that his family would see smiles and hear laughter, feel gentle touches and hear calmness in his voice. With the pressure of their fears removed, he might be able to deal with the real problems, but he knew the battle raging inside him was fierce.
Wes shielded his eyes as he stared toward the rising sun, breathing in deep draughts of the morning air. He turned away, dipped the ladle into the water bucket and filled his mouth with cold water, swishing it around before spitting it onto the ground. Bending down, Wes scratched Rufus between his ears and walked across the yard and up the steps into the house.
* * *
Charley had rousted J.D. awake before dawn, and they’d saddled the horses and left for Art’s farm eager to finish the job and get paid. The sun had just peeked through the clouds when they carried their hoes out to the far end of the tobacco field.
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