“I seen the man what run us down,” Isaac volunteered.
“I know,” the sheriff nodded, “but it was dark at night, and your description was only that the truck had a whitewall tire and the driver was bearded. Did you see anything else that might help us?”
Isaac looked down at his feet and shook his head sorrowfully.
For nearly a minute the room was silent; then the sheriff spoke.
“I hope you can see the problem I’ve got here, Benjamin. I’m not saying which is right or wrong, but in the best interest of all concerned I’ve got to accept Deputy Moran’s word. If I was to charge Moran with covering up a crime based on nothing but your word, there’d be an uprising in Bakerstown such as we’ve never seen.”
Benjamin listened, expressionless and stoic.
“But it ain’t right,” Isaac said. “He run down my mama.”
The sheriff gave a sad nod. “Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Unless we can prove something…” He let his voice trail off; the thought was something no one wanted to hear.
Benjamin stood to leave, but Sheriff Haledon rose from his chair and came around the desk. He put his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “What’s done is done,” he said. “Nothing you do is gonna bring Delia back. Maybe this isn’t fair, but it’s the way life is. The best thing for you to do now is take care of your boy.”
Still somewhat expressionless, Benjamin turned and looked into the sheriff’s face; the expression he saw was sincere and honest.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, then reached for the door.
Although Benjamin never heard it, Sheriff Haledon said, “I wish you well, Benjamin, God knows I do.”
When Benjamin left the sheriff’s office he walked with long angry strides, and Isaac had to hustle to keep up with him. Without exchanging a word, they climbed into the truck and headed toward the edge of town.
“Ain’t we going to work today?” Isaac asked.
“Not today,” Benjamin answered.
Isaac saw the tear sliding down his daddy’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Daddy,” he said. “If that sheriff ain’t gonna get Mister Luke, you and me can. We can run him down jest like he run Mama down.”
Benjamin turned to the boy with the saddest smile imaginable. “No, Isaac, we can’t.” He reached over and pulled the boy a bit closer. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna be okay.”
Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the ride home. Benjamin searched for words, but none of them were right. There simply were no words to cover up his shame and anger.
That afternoon they went fishing. It was the first time Isaac could ever remember his daddy going fishing on a workday afternoon. They walked two miles to where the creek was wide, then sat on the mossy bank and dropped their lines in. For a long while they spoke of things that had no emotional weight tugging at them: fishing, school, green frogs, and growing things. Benjamin was comfortable talking about those. He spoke to Isaac the way Delia had, asking questions that made the child laugh and give stretched out answers that more often than not jumped off to another subject.
The sun was low in the sky when Benjamin finally said, “Isaac, what you think about us going to New York?”
“You mean like for a visit?”
“Unh-unh. I’m thinking maybe to live.”
Isaac looked up with a wide smile. “Mama said in New York there’s a toy store six houses high and—”
Benjamin laughed. “I ain’t going ’cause of no toy store,” he said. “But it’s a place what’s got schools close by and libraries with hundreds of good books like them your mama gave you.”
“You told Mama you can’t go to New York ’cause there ain’t no farms,” Isaac said cautiously.
“There ain’t. But there’s plenty a’ other jobs. Jobs what pays the rent and leaves money left over.”
Isaac had a dozen other questions, and one by one Benjamin answered them. They would have to leave the dog behind; he couldn’t say exactly where they would live and what kind of work he would do; and, yes, he would miss the friends they had, but they’d make new friends and build a better life. In the time they talked it seemed to Benjamin that Isaac grew older, more responsible about his concerns. Perhaps too responsible for an eleven-year-old boy.
That night they fried the catfish they’d caught, and Isaac picked the last two tomatoes from Delia’s garden. When they sat at the table Benjamin asked the Lord to bless the food and the journey they were about to undertake. He held back the sorrow swelling beneath his words, lest the boy be frightened.
After dinner they spoke of what they would take and what they would leave behind. Isaac chose the books Delia had given him and a yellow ball. Benjamin said they’d need their clothes and food to eat on the road. The remainder of their things they would leave behind, just as the Barker family had left their three-legged chair.
Once Isaac was sleeping, Benjamin went out and walked through the fields he’d loved. There were no longer rows of corn or anything that resembled a crop. The ground was covered with a tangle of ferns and kudzu. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t leaving anything of worth, but his heart argued differently. This was where he’d grown up; this was where his mama and daddy died, where their baby girl had been laid to rest. This was a place filled with memories. He tried to collect them as something he could carry with him, but the image of Delia lying out on Cross Corner Road was too overpowering. Some things were best left behind.
Benjamin
Last night after Isaac went to sleep I sat on the front porch ’n cried like a baby. All day I been holding back because of Isaac, but sitting there by myself I couldn’t hold it no more.
Never in all my years have I felt so low. I been shamed in front of my boy ’n told my word ain’t worth speaking. I’ve got to wonder what kind of God lets a man be born to a life where he got no chance of fairness. I ain’t lied or stealed. I ain’t never caused nobody harm and I ain’t asked for one thing more than I’m deserving of, but none of that counts. I got nigger skin ’n that’s that.
I been accepting of we got our place and white folks got theirs, but God’s law against killing ought to be the same for both. I trusted it was so, but it ain’t in Alabama. Even when the truth is staring a white man in the face, he looks past and don’t see nothing but the color of skin.
Somebody in Bakerstown knows the truth of Luke Garrett, but nobody’s willing to ask. Not even Sheriff Haledon. I figured him for a fair man, but even he ain’t willing to go up against the hate this town’s got.
When a man comes to where he can’t lift up his head no more, it’s time to move on. Delia spoke the truth. If I don’t take Isaac away from here, he’s gonna one day be sitting right where I’m sitting. I can’t let that happen. He deserves better.
Feeling beat down and shamed is punishment I deserve for not minding Delia’s words, and knowing that’s a misery I’ve got to live with.
Leaving Alabama
The next morning, with Isaac by his side, Benjamin began to prepare for the trip. He drove into Bakerstown and left Isaac waiting in the truck as he went and knocked on the back doors of the people he’d been working for. He offered an apology and explained they were leaving town and he wouldn’t be coming back to work.
Abigail Mayfield, upset because she’d planned on having him trim the bushes next week, said he ought to have given folks more notice and since he hadn’t she was in no way obligated to pay him for the day’s work he’d already done. Herman Kraus, however, wished them well and handed Benjamin five dollars to help out with the trip. A number of others did likewise. There was two dollars from both Tom Porter and Amanda Gray, and a day’s pay or a single dollar from a dozen others. In all Benjamin collected twenty-four dollars before he headed to the hospital.
“I know I got four days’ work yet to do,” he told Mamie Beasley, “but Isaac and me got to leave town. I can pay the four dollars if that’ll square things.”
Mamie gave that great big laugh of hers. “Benjamin, y
ou has more than paid your debt. You ain’t owing a dime.”
“I ain’t expecting charity—”
“And I ain’t giving none,” Mamie cut in. “They been paying you way less than what ought to be, so we’s fine with what you already done.”
She told him to wait then disappeared into the lounge area. When she returned she pressed ten one-dollar bills in Benjamin’s hand.
“The ladies in the back is sending you this going-off present,” she said and gave another big chuckle.
That evening they took the dog and chickens to Bessie Mae’s house and said their goodbyes.
“I ain’t blaming you for going,” Bessie said, “but I sure is gonna miss you.” She hugged Isaac to her chest and whispered in his ear, “You take good care a’ your daddy, ’cause you is all he got.”
“I’s gonna,” Isaac promised.
That night Benjamin tried going to bed, but sleep never came. He tossed and turned for nearly two hours, then climbed from the bed and sat on the porch. As he creaked back and forth in the rocker where Delia once sat, the memories came at him. He closed his eyes and pictured the yard filled with happy and laughing friends, a young Delia carrying Isaac in her arms.
In that long stretch of night he wondered if he was doing the right thing in leaving so much behind. Even with its faults and prejudices Grinder’s Corner was a place he knew, a place where he had friends and people who’d watch over Isaac. The world beyond Grinder’s Corner was a blank, a thick patch of gray fog where the only way you knew what was waiting for you was to move into it; then it was too late.
In the end it was Delia’s voice that convinced him. He could still hear her telling Isaac, “There’s something better out there, a place where you can grow and be anything you want to be.”
~ ~ ~
They started early in the morning. There was not much to take: a canvas bag once used for carrying home groceries now filled with clothes, a box of food and threadbare towels, a few pans, some chipped dishes, the rocking chair, and Benjamin’s tool box. When there was no more room in the truck bed, the remainder of their things were left behind.
As he pulled away from the house the sun was just lighting the sky, and Benjamin turned back for one last look. He’d expected to see his memories, the good ones; instead there was only a sorry-looking house with a dirt yard. It was then he knew he’d made the right decision. No matter what the future held, it had to be better than this.
The first day of driving was slow going. Whenever Benjamin pressed his foot to the accelerator and tried to move past forty miles per hour the Chevy pickup, now seventeen years old, burped steam. He’d left Bakerstown and traveled northeast thinking he could pick up the highway, but thirty minutes after he turned onto the road the truck overheated and they had to pull to the shoulder and wait for it to cool. Once that happened, he gave up thinking about a highway and stuck to the side roads.
They traveled across the state of Georgia, stopping three times: once for gas and twice to let the engine cool down. When Benjamin pulled open the hood and poured water in the radiator, it sizzled like a steam locomotive.
It was near dark when they reached Leesville, South Carolina. They’d been on the road for twelve hours and had gone just under three hundred miles.
“I was thinking we’d be further along,” Benjamin sighed as he turned off the two-lane roadway and onto a smaller road.
He drove until he came to the Oconee River; that’s where they camped. Isaac caught two small crappie in the river, and Benjamin cooked them over an open campfire. They sat by the fire talking late into the night, and from time to time Benjamin heard Delia’s words tiptoeing through the conversation. It was a good omen, something that told him she hadn’t been left behind but was right there traveling with them.
When Isaac grew tired he climbed onto the seat of the truck and fell asleep. Benjamin moved the rocker aside and stretched out in the bed of the truck, his head resting on a bag of clothes. Even though there was no roof over their head, they slept soundly. The river seemed to have washed some of the shame from Benjamin’s skin.
The second day started with a breakfast of apples and bread; then Benjamin got back on the road and headed northeast. It was early afternoon when they crossed the border, and Benjamin turned to Isaac.
“We is now in North Carolina,” he said.
Isaac grinned. “I likes North Car-oh-lin-ah.”
“You don’t know nothing about it,” Benjamin laughed.
“Don’t matter,” Isaac replied. “I likes the sound a’ it—North Car-oh-lin-ah.” He repeated the name over and over again, each time stretching the words out a bit longer. “Why don’t we jest stop and live in North Car-oh-lin-ah?”
“It’s north, but it ain’t far enough north,” Benjamin said and kept driving.
At the end of the day when the truck was spitting steam and they were both road weary, Benjamin pulled off the road in Hollister.
“This still North Car-oh-lin-ah?” Isaac asked.
Benjamin nodded. “I’d hoped we be further along,” he said again.
Not far from where they’d left the road he found an area called Lightwood Knot Creek, and they made camp there. By the time they parked the truck it was late and too dark for fishing, so they ate bread and the pieces of smoked pork Bessie Mae had given them.
With the cost of gasoline, two loaves of bread, and the bottle of soda pop Isaac wanted, Benjamin was now down to thirteen dollars. That was money enough to get them to Maryland, maybe even Pennsylvania. Once they got that far, then he’d figure out what to do.
On the Third Day
The rain started about an hour before dawn. At first it was just a drizzle, but before the light of day settled in the sky it turned to a downpour. Benjamin had spent much of the night worrying about money and hadn’t slept well; now he was both weary and wet. He climbed into the cab of the truck and sat alongside Isaac.
“Maybe we ought to get an early start,” he said. “Could be we’ll run into a spot a’ sunshine and can pull over for a nap.”
Isaac yawned and gave a nod.
The rain continued all morning and was still coming down heavy in the late afternoon when they passed the Roanoke River and started across Virginia. With the roads slick and wipers that did little more than spread streaks of dirty water across the windshield, the going was slower than the previous two days. When the thought of using up gasoline to go thirty miles an hour picked at Benjamin’s mind, he turned to Isaac and said, “Take a look at that map ’n see if you can figure how many miles to Maryland.”
Isaac unfolded the map and started measuring with his thumb. His nose was buried in the map and he didn’t see the accident. Benjamin did.
The back tire of a car fifty, maybe sixty, yards in front of them exploded with a loud bang. The car spun sideways and skidded across the road. For a moment it balanced itself on the two right tires, then toppled over and rolled down the embankment. After three bounces it slammed into a stand of pine trees.
Benjamin gasped. “Holy shit!”
Without considering the danger to himself he pulled to the side of the road, jumped out of the truck, and started down the rocky climb.
The car had come to rest on its left side with the front end folded up like an accordion and sparks shooting from the underside of the chassis. Benjamin had seen enough truck fires to know this one was going to go quickly. He had maybe five minutes. If the driver wasn’t out by then, he was good as dead.
Catching onto the front wheel then pulling himself up onto the crumpled fender, Benjamin reached for the passenger door. Stuck. It was either jammed or locked.
“Grab the hammer outta my toolbox ’n toss it down,” he called up to Isaac.
Isaac climbed into the bed of the truck and pulled the toolbox from beneath a pile of boxes. The flames coming from the underside of the car were now visible.
“Hurry up!” Benjamin yelled, the sound of desperation in his voice. For a split second he thought abo
ut climbing down. He had Isaac to think of, and staying there wasn’t safe.
Before Benjamin could measure the responsibility of saving a life against staying safe to care for his son, the hammer came flying through the air. It landed atop the rear end of the car. He inched his way back and grabbed onto it. Without changing position, he drew his arm back and hit the window as hard as possible. The blow sent a spider web of cracks across the glass. He swung again and again until there was a hole his arm could fit through. Pushing his arm through the open space, he pulled up the lock button and pried the door open. The driver was unconscious. Benjamin tugged the young man from behind the wheel, hefted him onto his shoulder, and climbed down.
Minutes later the car exploded into flames.
The driver was little more than a boy—seventeen, eighteen at the most—and judging by the way his left arm hung loose it was broken. Benjamin moved the young man to a flat grassy spot sheltered by some trees and called for Isaac to bring down a jar of water from the truck.
“Get a few of those towels too,” he added.
“They’s wet,” Isaac hollered back.
“Don’t matter none,” Benjamin said. “Bring ’em anyway.”
Isaac stood to one side as Benjamin rolled a wet towel and placed it under the boy’s head. He was breathing but unconscious. It was a good ten minutes before the boy’s eyelids fluttered open, and another twenty before he could gather enough presence of mind to speak his name.
“Paul,” he finally said. “Paul Jones.”
“From around here?” Benjamin asked.
“Not far,” Paul mumbled. “Wyattsville.”
“You want to go home or the hospital?”
Paul thought a moment. Given his memories of those terrible days in the hospital, he had no desire to be back there. He didn’t remember everything about that day; he remembered walking into the store to apply for a job, remembered lurching into the man with a gun and the sound of shots, but not much after that. He did however remember waking up in the hospital, being handcuffed to the bed and told he was being charged with the robbery.
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