The Sacred Place

by Daniel Black

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said boldly. “I’ll find out everything I can.” A hush fell over the crowd as though people expected him to say more, so he added, “You can trust me. You’ll see.”

  Eleven

  THE CROWD LEFT, WHISPERING SOFT SALUTATIONS AS THOUGH suspecting a lurking foe. The search committee sneaked into half the barns in the county before they agreed, long after midnight, to resume the search the next morning.

  “Y’all didn’t find him?” Miss Mary asked Jeremiah, who undressed in the dark.

  “No, ma’am, we didn’t. Ain’t no tellin’ where dey got dat boy,” Jeremiah said, defeated.

  Miss Mary reached for her husband’s hand. His touch was cold, but she was determined to soothe his fretting heart.

  “I feel so …”

  “Shhhhhhh,” she hissed comfortingly and pulled Jeremiah onto the bed. “Just lay right here and don’t say nothin’.” Miss Mary placed Jeremiah’s right hand on her left breast and embraced him fully. “We still got each other, old man. Dat’s how we done made it dis far, and dat’s how we gon make it on.”

  Jeremiah stroked the left side of his wife’s face, loving the wrinkles and grooves as testimony of the longevity of colored love, and he knew at that moment he wouldn’t take anything for the years he and Miss Mary had endured. At one point, years ago, he had hoped she might drop some of the weight that mounted after the birth of each child, but now, staring at her round form, he realized how much more he loved this woman than the one he had married.

  “How’s yo’ wound?” she whispered, touching his side gently.

  “Oh, it’s fine. Still a little sore, but nothin’ to worry about. You fixed me up good, old lady.”

  He kissed her cheek.

  “Jes hold me, old man,” she sighed, wrapping her husband’s wiry frame in her wide, thick, safe arms.

  “Yous all right wit me, old woman,” Jeremiah smiled. “I don’t know how all dis gon turn out, but I’m sho is glad I got you right next to me.”

  Miss Mary met his puckered lips with her own.

  “We jes gotta keep on believin’, old man. I speck I oughta get word to Possum tomorrow. We cain’t put it off forever.” She looked to Jeremiah for confirmation. He had hoped this decision would remain unnecessary, but he knew Miss Mary was right.

  “Dat girl gon have a fit,” he whimpered, shaking his head sadly. “She done sent him down here to stay wit us, and I done let—”

  “You done let?” Miss Mary repeated, sitting up in bed. “I thought we stand together as a family?”

  “You know what I mean, honey,” Jeremiah said dismissively.

  “Naw, I don’t.” Miss Mary’s tone was terse. “Like tonight at de meetin’. Every time I said anything, you looked at me like I wuzn’t suppose to say nothin’.”

  “That ain’t what I meant, Mary. You jes seem to be takin’ over sometimes and—”

  “So I wuzn’t spose to have no opinion on nothin’? I wuz spose to jes grin and agree with everything you said?”

  “No.” Jeremiah joined Miss Mary in the upright position. “But you is spose to be my helpmeet. I’m de husband.”

  “I know what you is, man!” Miss Mary spoke a little too loudly. “But dat don’t mean I’m spose to stop bein’ me. I was jes tryin’ to help convince other folks dat—”

  “I had everything under control, woman. I ain’t mad at you sayin’ stuff, but maybe you shoulda been quiet a little more often so that—”

  “So that what? So people could walk out de barn before they understood anything? That’s exactly what wuz ’bout to happen.” The same wrinkles Jeremiah loved moments earlier now stood in defiance to his words.

  Jeremiah breathed deeply and relaxed onto the feather pillow. “I know. I jes wanted to be de big dog, I guess. I’m sorry.”

  “Now dat’s better.” Miss Mary smiled and kissed his cheek. “I ain’t neva yo’ enemy, man. Neva. Sometimes we don’t see eye to eye, but when you start fightin’ folks be clear dat I’m on yo’ side, even when we disagree.”

  “I know, baby. You done put up wit me near ’bout fifty years, so believe me I know you wit me. Sometimes I git a li’l beside myself, but I’d give my life fu ya.”

  Miss Mary cackled. “You done already done dat, fool.”

  “You have, too, you fine-lookin’ colored woman,” Jeremiah mumbled in the sexiest voice he could feign.

  The two held each other tightly. In their silence, they tried to imagine where Clement was and what Billy might be doing to him. In his mind’s eye, Jeremiah saw several white men beating him as the boy’s blood splattered their clothes. He was screaming, “I didn’t do nothin’!” although to no avail. When Jeremiah heard Clement’s arm break, he shivered and erased the thought from his mind. Miss Mary saw Billy force Clement to his knees and make him do things no child should experience. Then they stripped the boy naked. “Dear Jesus,” was all she knew to say. Both elders feared, although neither was willing to admit, that Clement might already be gone. They had lived far too long in Mississippi to convince themselves that whites had miraculously evolved. Quite the opposite—white folk had been consistent in terms of Black degradation, and they knew that Clement’s youth would only make Billy and the others more anxious to continue the tradition. But, even against the probable, they had to believe. Too many people were risking their lives. Too many were standing with the Johnsons for them not to retain at least a smidgen of hope, Jeremiah told himself, and Miss Mary knew she couldn’t lead others in prayer if her faith were weak. So, against the odds, against history, against Sheriff Cuthbert’s nature, they had to believe. When sleep came in fretful drifts, the couple maintained their embrace, hoping desperately that, indeed, Sunday would bring the resurrection.

  The next morning, the search committee gathered at 6:45 on Jeremiah’s front porch. Hungry for a victory, the men sat anxiously as the Johnsons ate biscuits, smothered squirrel, and fried potatoes. Enoch and Jeremiah emerged, praying that Clement would be found before Miss Mary had a chance to notify Possum.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Jeremiah instructed like a lieutenant headed for battle.

  Enoch wanted the victory more for his father than himself. Having gathered half the colored population of Money, Jeremiah’s reputation depended upon his ability to make such a gathering, ultimately, fruitful. Enoch didn’t want his father remembered as one who had a good idea, but in the end, no power to bring it to pass. For the moment, the other men seemed full of hope and expectancy, but each day promised to drain their adrenaline if Clement wasn’t found soon.

  “Where we gon start lookin’, Mi?” they asked.

  “We gon check out the barns we missed last night,” Jeremiah said. “Then, if we ain’t found him, de Good Lawd gon lead us.”

  Four hours later, at the edge of The Sacred Place, an exhausted Enoch said, “Ain’t nowhere else to look, Daddy. We done checked some barns twice and still ain’t no sign o’ Clement.”

  Jeremiah stared across the clearing. “What they done to my grandson?” he asked, hoping Jerry might reappear and provide the answer. But Jerry never came.

  Several men expressed their sympathy and went home to prepare for church.

  “Come on, y’all,” Enoch said to those remaining. “We may as well go home, too. Ain’t nothin’ else we can do out here.”

  Approaching the shack, Enoch could tell something was wrong. The wind began to blow wildly although there were no rain clouds in sight. The old peach tree in the front yard waved its limbs frantically as though begging the men to stay away.

  “Daddy!” Enoch murmured as he began to run.

  “Wait, boy!” Jeremiah called after him, but Enoch never heard the warning. The other men followed in triangular fashion like migrating birds.

  Enoch slowed when he reached the barn. “Daddy, take two wit chu and y’all go ’round de back o’ de house,” he whispered quickly, “you otha two stay here. Ricky, you and Willie come wit me.”

  The latter thre
e heard white voices as they slithered onto the front porch. “Shhh,” Enoch motioned with his right index finger over his protruding black and pink lips. They lay still and listened.

  “So you fuckin’ niggers think you can kill white men and git away with it?” Cecil cackled. “Well, you’re wrong!” he screamed.

  “Take your time, Cecil,” one of his comrades said. “You don’t want this to be over too soon. Spoil the fun.”

  Enoch raised his head just enough to see the three white men bunched together in the Johnson living room. Sarah Jane and Chop were huddled beside Miss Mary and Ella Mae, but Enoch couldn’t see Ray Ray anywhere.

  “Now,” Cecil said, “it’s important that you know why we gotta kill ya.” He had one eye closed as though searching deeply for understanding. “Y’all jes don’t know how to ’preciate good, decent white folks. We let you work our fields, buy in our store, fish in our rivers—” he paused and shook his head sadly “—and you still don’t recognize how good we are to ya.” He began to pace. “That’s why now”—he raised his gun and pointed it toward Sarah Jane’s weeping eyes—“you gotta die.”

  Enoch, Willie, and Ricky burst through the front door and planted their rifles in the white men’s backs before they could turn around.

  “Praise God,” Miss Mary slurred toward heaven.

  “Drop your guns!” Enoch demanded. The white men laughed. “I said drop your guns!” he yelled louder.

  “No, you drop yours,” said the white men who stepped from behind the front door.

  “Shit!” Enoch murmured. He, Willie, and Ricky laid their rifles on the floor.

  “You didn’t think I was stupid enough to come without backup, did ya?” Cecil laughed. “Of course not.”

  The other white men confiscated the abandoned shotguns and smiled as Cecil continued his speech. “See, that’s what I mean. You people can’t think. And you want to vote? Why? Don’t you see that you’d mess up everything if y’all started makin’ decisions about who governs you?”

  Enoch didn’t hear a word Cecil said. He was calculating how, miraculously, he could free his folks from their seemingly impending doom. There had to be a way, he kept telling himself, but his fury clouded his thinking faculty. As long as Cecil kept talking, he was granted more time to find that solution.

  “The Bible says in the beginning God made Adam.” Cecil stood directly in front of Enoch and demeaned him. “Now how many colored boys you know named Adam? Huh?”

  Just be cool, Enoch told himself. It can’t end like this.

  “That’s how you know the white man was given dominion over everything and everybody. His job is to keep things on earth in order. I don’t like it any more than you do, but now I understand why God set it up this way. You people done gone and killed three o’ my cousins for absolutely no reason at all. We jes wanted to talk to the boy. That’s all. Just wanted to see exactly what he said to Catherine. Nobody was gonna hurt him. But now you done messed up everything. See? Then we white folks are left to clean it up.”

  From the corner of his eye, Enoch thought he saw something flash past the west window. He tried to remain inconspicuous, but his adrenaline was flowing faster than his mind. He blinked several times, attempting to calm himself, then saw Ray Ray peep his head above the base of the window.

  “Oh my God!” Miss Mary groaned.

  She must have seen Ray Ray, too, Enoch thought. Then Ray Ray appeared again, this time with his finger over his mouth, urging his parents to remain acquiescent and to endure Cecil patiently. Enoch couldn’t ascertain exactly what was going on, but he definitely liked it.

  Cecil was too self-absorbed to notice Enoch’s nervous excitement. “You can’t go around killin’ innocent white folks!” he preached. “Everything you have came from us! Your jobs, your homes, your food … everything. Don’t you see? You’re biting the hand that’s feeding you. That’s why we have to take care of you and teach you right from wrong. If we didn’t, you coloreds would fuck up the whole world and nobody, including you, would have anywhere decent to live.”

  Cecil and the other white men began pushing the Johnson family, along with Ricky and Willie, through the squeaky screen door with rifles pointed at them from every direction. They stepped off the porch slowly, trying to give God time to do something, anything to protect them from what Cecil had in mind.

  Midway between the house and the wagon, they heard Jeremiah say, “Wooo there!”

  Everybody froze.

  “What the hell?” Cecil mumbled.

  “I don’t know!” his comrades murmured, searching for the source of the voice.

  “Ha-ha-ha!” Jeremiah laughed as all eyes, black and white, looked for him.

  The white men grabbed the nearest colored victims and pressed the barrel tips of their shotguns against their heads.

  “We’ll blow their heads off, you old nigger muthafucker!” Cecil said. “So just come out slowly and—”

  “Oh I ain’t gon worry too much,” Jeremiah sassed and appeared from behind the house with his arm around a proud Ray Ray. “’Cause see if you kill my folks, you and all yo’ people gon die befo’ de sun go down.”

  By the time Jeremiah finished his statement, colored people appeared like apparitions, armed and ready to fight. Some came from the corner of the old shack, some from the opposite side of the wagon, and several from every side of the barn. The whites were outnumbered at least ten to one.

  “You jes cain’t neva tell ’bout what a colored man might do to save his family. See, dat’s where y’all always go wrong.” Jeremiah was the preacher now. “You think you know us, when really you don’t know a goddamn thing ’bout colored people. You think de colored man ain’t nothin’ but a workhorse. He ain’t got no feelins, so his heart don’t hurt. But one day, and one day real soon, you gon learn dat colored people love they own jes like you do, and we’ll fight a bear to protect our younguns. But for now, jes let my people go, and you can go on home in peace. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Jeremiah smiled, showing his few remaining teeth, and winked at Cecil.

  “Goddamnit!” Cecil muttered. He hadn’t intended to admit failure to Billy—who would surely be furious that Cecil hadn’t obeyed him—but now that admission was imminent.

  “Now ain’t no need in you fellows tryin’ to figure out how to kill us all ’cause it’s a whole lot more o’ us than you. Really, we coulda killed you, but we a God-fearin’ people, and we don’t get no pleasure out o’ destroyin’ nobody.” Jeremiah hobbled on his cane until he stared Cecil Love in the face. The laughter subsided. “Git away from my house and from my people. I got one aim, and dat’s to find my grandson, and unless you ’bout to tell me where he is”—Jeremiah clenched his teeth—“I suggest you git de hell away from here rat now.”

  Cecil’s face flushed bloodred. “You gon pay for this, nigger,” he whispered hatefully. “I swear to God … you gon pay for this.”

  Jeremiah grinned. “My granddaddy used to say ‘Be careful how you treat others, ’cause dat’s exactly how God’s gon treat you—one day.’ Did yo’ granddaddy tell you this, too?”

  The frustrated white men drove away angrily. Before the dust could settle, shouting and hand clapping praised the watchmen who had sent word for others to come the moment they spotted Cecil’s truck in the distance.

  “Daddy, I thought today was gon be my last,” Enoch confessed exasperatedly, patting Jeremiah on the shoulder.

  “Well, I’m sho glad it wunnit, son!” he giggled. Jeremiah grabbed Miss Mary’s hand, and said, “Everybody listen to me for a minute. Don’t let yo’ guard down jes ’cause we won a li’l victory. White folks is too arrogant to let us think we ever beat them, so you gotta be ready when they come back again. But Lawd knows I’m grateful y’all wuz here today. This what happens when colored folk stand together!”

  The crowd smiled.

  “H-h-h-how you know d-d-d-dey comin’ b-b-b-b-back, Gr-rrrrraandy?” Chop asked.

  Jeremiah knelt next to
his grandson, but spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “It’s sorta like what happened when God kicked de devil out o’ heaven, son. The devil been mad about it every since. His biggest problem in de first place is dat he thinks he’s God, but God keeps showin’ him he ain’t. So he git madder and madder every time he try to beat God and lose. He cain’t accept defeat. Dat’s how you know he’s comin’ back.”

  Twelve

  THE JOHNSONS KNEW THEIR VICTORY DID NOT EQUAL THE end of the war, for Clement was still nowhere to be found. Yet the solidarity of colored citizens gave many hope while a more strategic plan was being formulated.

  After church, the family ate dinner in silence. Enoch worried that the earlier display of unity was the exception to the rule of how Black folk stood together in Money, and Miss Mary waited for God to do whatever He had promised. The children, proud and skeptical, theorized that Black folk, for the first time in history, might actually overcome. They dreamed different scenarios of colored liberation although the denouement was the same—coloreds laughing and loving boldly and whites learning to do likewise.

  After supper, Jeremiah sent Enoch to tell the watchmen to be especially alert. The whites were coming, he was told to reinforce strongly, and colored folks couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.

  When Enoch returned, he and the search committee—larger now after people saw its power—crossed the railroad tracks again and continued hunting for Clement. They asked every white person they encountered, “Have you seen him? Were you there?” Most returned slurs and insults, which didn’t deter Enoch, but occasionally a sympathetic white eye gave them hope that someone might talk. They never did.

  Meanwhile, Miss Mary told Ella Mae, “Girl, let’s git dese dishes cleaned up and git on over to town. I guess I betta call Possum and tell her what’s done happened.” She was scraping leftover food particles into the garbage pail. “Dat girl gon have a fit.”