Death in the Black Patch

by Wilson, Bruce;

  “I hope West brings us somethin’ to eat. I’m starvin’.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before we left the shack,” said J.D.

  “I did think about it, but there weren’t nothin’ left. We ate the last of the salt pork before we went to the meetin’ last night. I see you didn’t forget to bring that jug of liquor you got hangin’ on your saddle horn.”

  “Well, at least we won’t go thirsty.”

  They stopped at the tree line and split up. Charley started digging at the weeds in the middle of the row and moved toward the western edge of the field. J.D. took a quick sip from the jug, picked up the hoe and started chopping in the other direction.

  * * *

  From the kitchen window, Art watched the two farmhands chop weeds in the tobacco field. They’d put in a good day’s work yesterday, and at the rate they were working, he figured they’d be done by dark. He knew if he joined them, the job would get done sooner. But he had something else to do today, and it was important to get it done early.

  He sat at the table while Mollie fixed him a plate of bacon and beans. She poured him a cup of coffee and set it on the table next to his plate. Then she eased into a chair across from him.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Art?”

  “I’ve got to, Mollie,” he said between bites of the hot food. “Wes is family, and I need to apologize to him for what I said last night. Besides, I gotta try one more time to convince him to join up before somethin’ bad happens.”

  She reached her hand across the table and touched his face. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll be pushin’ him too much?”

  “That’s always a risk with Wes. He don’t like to be pushed into anythin’. But things are gettin’ serious, Mollie.” He set down his fork and picked up the coffee cup. “I can’t leave things like they are right now; he’s been too good to me.” Art swallowed some of the dark liquid and put the cup down.

  “All right, Art, if you think that’s best.” She stood up and smiled at him, adding, “Now finish up that food. I won’t have you headin’ out on the road still hungry.”

  He pulled the plate back and ate some of the beans. “Send Clarence in here, Mollie. I gotta tell him somethin’.”

  Mollie walked out onto the porch and saw the boy chasing one of the chickens. She spoke to him briefly, and he rushed into the kitchen.

  “You wanted to see me, Pa?” said Clarence as he walked into the room.

  “Yeah, I did, son. Come on outside.”

  Clarence followed his pa out the door and stood beside him on the porch. Art pointed out to the tobacco field and said, “See them two men out there?”

  “Yes, Pa. I see ’em.”

  “I want you to stay out here this mornin’ an’ keep an eye on ’em. If you see ’em leavin’ the field or just standin’ around, I want you to tell your ma, okay?”

  “Sure, Pa. I can do that.” The boy shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his overalls. “I’ll watch ’em good.”

  “I’m countin’ on you.” He looked down at his son and smiled. “Now get on in there and eat your breakfast. A workin’ man can’t do a good job on an empty belly.” He patted Clarence on the head, and the boy went into the house.

  When he pulled the horse out of the barn, Mollie was standing on the porch. He dropped the reins and walked up to her. She looked out at the field and then back to Art.

  “Why do you want Clarence to watch those fellas?”

  “I’m just bein’ cautious,” he said. “I wanna make sure they keep workin’, so when they’re done I can send ’em off for good. I don’t want ’em around here anymore after today.” He stepped up on the porch and put his hands on her shoulders. “If he comes in and tells you they ain’t workin’, you sit here on the porch and keep an eye on ’em. I don’t think they’ll do anythin’, but if you don’t feel good about ’em, lock yourself and the children in the house.” He watched her face grow stern and said, “You know where the gun is and how to use it.”

  Mollie nodded her head and kissed Art on the lips. He hugged her tightly and walked to the horse. Pulling himself up onto the saddle, he waved at her and rode off to see Wes.

  * * *

  “Wonder where he’s goin’,” sneered J.D.

  “Ain’t none of our business,” said Charley. “All we need to do is get rid of these weeds, not talk about the man who’s payin’ us to do it.” He never lifted his eyes from the chore, but chopped at the stringy plants, moving away from J.D.

  “Maybe it ain’t our business, but until he gets back, I don’t plan to work so hard I get sore,” said J.D.

  Charley stopped in mid-swing and said, “We don’t get paid until we’re finished, and I wanna get done before dark if we can. So let’s keep workin’, okay?” He turned back to the task and moved quickly down the row.

  J.D. saw the boy on the porch watching them. Then he uttered a curse and got back to work.

  “I got an idea,” J.D. said when he and Charley met at the next row.

  “C’mon, J.D., your ideas usually mean somethin’ bad for us. Can’t we just keep workin?”

  “Just shut up. I’ll tell you about it later. You don’t even have to be a part of it, but you gotta keep quiet and let me do all the talkin’. I don’t want you messin’ things up.”

  Charley glanced quickly at the house and then faced J.D. “That’s fine with me; just wait ’til we get paid before you say somethin’ to him. Otherwise, your idea might backfire, and we’ll end up tired and broke.”

  “Don’t you fret, Miss Charley,” he said to Charley’s back as his partner walked away down the row and out of hearing. “I’m not stupid enough to throw money away. Don’t you worry one little bit.”

  * * *

  While the family ate breakfast, Wes laughed and played with his children. As Zora watched him, she thought he looked like a happy man, and she’d already thanked God for that a dozen times this morning. The younger children had easily warmed up to their pa, but she could tell the two older ones were being cautious. Perhaps they just weren’t sure that the change in him was genuine. A quick look at Anthie, however, left her with an uneasy feeling. It was clear by the icy look on his face that he wasn’t convinced that his pa had truly changed. He must still be upset about last week, she thought. Wes’s change has to be real. If it ain’t, we’ll know soon enough.

  Wes looked down the table toward the boys and said, “I guess we better get outside and start on our chores. This day ain’t gonna get any longer.” He stood straight up from his chair. Ruthie was tucked under his left arm like a sack of corn, and Irene hung around his neck. “But first I gotta get rid of these two pretty little girls.” They giggled as he walked around the table, dragging his feet and acting like they were a heavy load. When he got to where Mary Lula was sitting, he put Ruthie in his daughter’s lap and slipped out of the hold Irene had on his neck. “I’m sorry, girls, but your pa and brothers have got to get to work,” he said, smiling and poking at them. Irene started to protest, but a stern look from her ma stopped her.

  “You girls let your pa go now,” said Zora. She rose and carried her plate to the counter. “Go on, now, get the table cleared and push in your chairs. We got lots of things to do around the house today.”

  Connie and Anthie left the table and walked out to the porch to wait for their pa. The sun had just cleared the treetops, and the yard filled with light. The front of the faded barn reflected the light like a dusty mirror. Rufus walked across the porch, and Anthie squatted down to scratch the dog’s ears while Connie rolled and lit a cigarette. As Wes joined them, Anthie stood up, looking first at Connie and then at his pa.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Wes said. He stepped off the porch, and they followed him out to the tobacco field. When he got to the first row, he turned around and looked at his sons. He started to speak, but afraid of the words
that might come from his angry heart, he stopped and thought for a moment. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was rusty but calm.

  “I know things ain’t been easy around here for the past few days. There’s a lot goin’ on that I’ve had to think about, and I know you two have been workin’ hard to keep the family safe.” Wes paused, his thoughts grinding against one another. “I think your idea of sharin’ the guard duty is good, so I’ll watch tonight; Anthie, you get tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, Pa,” he said, his words flat, emotionless as he kicked at a clump of dirt.

  “We’ll figure out a new schedule on Saturday,” Wes said, looking out at the field of tobacco. The green plants had grown half a foot in the two weeks they’d been in the ground. “These here plants,” he said to his sons, “are what keep our family out of the poorhouse. We gotta protect ’em and take care of ’em. You both know there’s people out there who’d like to pay us less than it costs to grow ’em. But we ain’t gonna let that happen.”

  He turned back around and looked at them. What should have been easy for a man to say to his sons, Wes had to conjure from out of the jumbled mess of worries and pride that had taken over his mind. From the deepest part of his soul, his spirit groaned in pain as he said, “Thanks for watchin’ over things.”

  As Wes laid out plans for the day’s work, Connie puffed on his cigarette and watched his pa. He could tell something was different, but he wasn’t sure that anything had really changed. Just have to wait and see how things go the next few days, I guess. He dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it with his shoe, anxious to get to work.

  Anthie heard the words coming out of his pa’s mouth, but he wasn’t listening to them. After hearing the sounds of the argument the night before, he’d not slept well and he was tired. Trying to hold back a yawn, he turned his head back and forth, feeling the bones of his neck crack. Nothin’s changed, he thought. He watched a flock of birds soar low over the field and then turned back to the conversation, watching his pa through sallow eyes.

  “I guess we’ve done enough talkin’,” Wes said, “so let’s get to work.” They walked in silence toward the barn, feeling the sun on their backs. As they reached the water pump, Anthie spotted Art turning off the road onto the lane.

  “Pa, Cousin Art’s comin’.”

  Wes looked up, surprised to see Art, wondering why he’d come. “You boys get started. I’ll go see what he wants.” Wes turned away from the open barn door and walked up the lane toward his cousin.

  “Mornin’, Wes,” Art said as he dismounted, pleased to see that Wes had cleaned up since they last met.

  “Good mornin’ to you, cousin. What’re you doin’ all the way over here so early?”

  “I’ve got a couple things to say about last night. Let me water the horse first, and then let’s find a place to talk.” They walked down to the well, and Art threw the end of the reins over the pump handle. Wes watched as he filled the bucket with water and set it in front of the animal.

  “Might as well sit up on the porch,” Wes said. “You want some coffee? I think there’s still some left from breakfast.”

  “Sure, I’ll take a cup of coffee, but can we go somewhere private?”

  Wes stepped into the kitchen and returned in a minute with two cups of tepid coffee. They walked around the corner of the house, past the barn and out to the cornfield. Wes stopped at the first row of young plants and turned to Art.

  “This is about as private as we’re gonna get around here,” he said. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Art knew what he had to say to Wes. He’d spent the entire trip thinking about how to say it, but now, standing in front of his cousin, the words didn’t come easily. He sipped the barely warm coffee, grateful for the wetness in his throat.

  Wes watched Art struggle for words, wondering what he’d hear.

  “First thing I wanna say is that I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I know I shouldn’t have just rushed off when you weren’t finished talkin’.” Art took a shallow breath and continued. “I was afraid I’d say somethin’ wrong, so I just went inside and signed up. I had to for my family’s sake.”

  Wes nodded, lifted the half-empty cup to his lips and took a drink. He wasn’t surprised that Art had joined the Association, but the apology was unexpected. Wes mentally adjusted his mask. “It’s all right, Art. I probably deserved it anyway. It ain’t my business to tell you what to do with your family. If you joined up to protect ’em, you did what a man’s supposed to do.” But deep down, Wes was angry with his cousin.

  Art looked into his cup, poured the dregs on the ground and sighed. Now comes the hard part, he thought. He looked at Wes and said, “There’s somethin’ else you need to know.” He felt the beads of sweat start to run through his thick hair and down the back of his neck. He regretted pouring out the last of the coffee because he could sure use it now for his suddenly dry throat.

  “I been thinkin’ about what you said in the meetin’ last night—especially the question you asked about the bank and the money.” Art could see a shadow growing on Wes’s face.

  “What about it?” Wes said, feeling the millstone weight of the mask, fearing it would crumble away.

  Art could hardly breathe as he tried to say the words he knew would get Wes stirred up. “I heard what them fellas who were standin’ next to us said, how they thought you might be onto somethin’. I also watched the Association men. It was pretty clear they didn’t like what you said, and I seen ’em writin’ on their papers. It looked like they was real unhappy that you’d asked the question and even madder that you might’ve got some other folks thinkin’ the same way.” He waited to see what Wes would do, but his cousin’s face was empty. “I’m scared, Wes. I think they might decide to get word to the Night Riders and send ’em after you if you don’t join.”

  Wes nodded, but the dip of his head was almost invisible, like a heavy leaf nudged by a gentle breeze. Wes’s body didn’t move—no clenching jaws, no quivering lips, no tightening muscles. Art had expected more of a reaction and wondered if Wes had even heard the words. When his cousin finally spoke, Art was stunned.

  “Have you heard somethin’?”

  “No,” he said, the lie flying out of his mouth. “I ain’t heard nothin’,” the pain of his untruth squeezing his heart like a vise.

  “It don’t make sense they’d send the Night Riders out here just because I asked a simple question,” Wes said, but the malice he was feeling was still there. Barely able to say the words, knowing that Art was keeping something from him, he added, “But thanks for lookin’ out for me. What’d they make you sign?” he asked, not even aware he’d spoken.

  Glad that Wes had changed the subject, Art said, “It was a pretty simple thing to do. All I did was agree to not sell my crop to the company and to support any other farmer who did the same thing.”

  Neither of the men spoke for a while. They looked out over the tops of the corn toward the trees. The damp morning air was beginning to warm up, and Art’s thoughts started gnawing at the crust of an idea. What if Wes has already made a deal with Jones? Maybe that’s why he ain’t joined up. But if he has made a deal, then why won’t he tell me?

  “We could stand out here all day,” Art said, “but I need to go home and get to weedin’ my tobacco.” He looked at Wes. “I ain’t gonna bother you with this anymore, but I sure wish you’d consider doin’ what I did. You won’t get rich joinin’ up, but bein’ a part of the Association will be one sure way to keep the Riders from destroyin’ your field.”

  “That fella in Christian County was ready to join too, and look what it got him,” his words were bitter. Wes felt like someone had fired up a lantern in the dark corners of his brain. Why’s he pushin’ me so hard? he said to himself. Does he think I’ve made a deal with Jones? Why else would he be wonderin’ about my choices? “I’ll be makin’ a decision soon, pro
bably by next week. But I gotta ask you one more time. Are you sure you ain’t heard anythin’ new from anybody about them raidin’ my farm?”

  “I’m sure,” he said, and once again he felt the gripping pain of lying to his best friend. “I gotta get goin’, Wes. I left Mollie and the kids alone at the house, and I got them two farmhands workin’ the weeds. I don’t wanna be gone too long.” Neither of them spoke as they walked back across the yard to the pump. Art pulled himself up onto the saddle and set his feet in the stirrups. “I hope you join up, but whatever you do, you know that I’m still family and I always will be. I’ll see you later, cousin. Maybe Saturday at Mark’s.”

  “All right, you be careful and give our best to Mollie.” He waved at Art as he rode down the lane and turned toward home. This thought—that Art might know about his dealings with Jones—just added another rabid beast to the pack of circling, snarling demon dogs that fought for control of his mind.

  * * *

  When Art turned his horse off the road, J.D. and Charley were still working the field, and Clarence was proudly standing lookout on the porch. Art smiled when he saw the pile of throwing-rocks at his son’s feet. “Hey, boy,” he said. “Is everythin’ all right?”

  “Yes sir, Pa. Everythin’s fine. I been watchin’ them two, and they ain’t stopped workin’ since you left.” He stepped down to stand by Art as he slid out of the saddle. “Ma came outside a little while ago and brought me some water. I told her that I was keepin’ watch and she should get on back in the house ’cause that’s what you wanted.” The boy’s steely voice and grim face were youthful, but serious. Art thanked him, man to man, for keeping watch.

  “I think we should both go in now and check on your ma and the children, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, Pa. We’re done out here for now.” He kicked the rocks off the porch and picked up the empty water cup.