Belle City

by Penny Mickelbury

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Even though not a single person seated at the table under the trees in the late-day warmth had ever had a drop of whiskey, the magnitude of what they'd just heard overwhelmed them. As Mack was thinking—wondering—how best to do more than just teach reading and writing, but to introduce his newfound friends and family to the rest of the world, the man who would become his father-in-law put to rest the notion of the dumb country Colored person.

  "I don't believe that makes a whole lotta sense," Big Silas Thatcher said. "Tellin' grown folks what they cain't do is just likely to make them do that thing."

  The nodding of the grown heads in agreement reflected for Mack every argument against prohibition he had heard or read in the last two years. "The same people who didn't believe it would happen, don't believe it will last for that exact reason."

  "If it don't last but a week, it'll be a good week 'cause it got Zeb Thatcher locked up," Beau said, and everybody laughed.

  "Locked up where?" Nellie asked. "They got a jail in Carrie's Crossing now?"

  "It's in Spencerville," Mack said, "and it belongs to the U.S. Government." And again he was stunned by the insightful reaction he information produced."

  "I'm gettin' good and tired of the U.S. Gov'ment," Uncle Will said. "First they start a war, then they take our boys and send 'em over yonder and treat 'em worse than the people they was fightin' against, then they lynch 'em when they come home, and now that same gov'ment wants to tell me I cain't have a drink of whiskey if I want one?"

  "Do you want one, Uncle Will?" Ruthie asked.

  "I didn't 'till just now," the old man said, and joined in the great roar of laughter that his comment produced.

  The entire chocolate cake, an apple pie and half a peach cobbler were devoured as talk of the developments and changes in Carrie's Crossing continued. Though that's where they all lived and called home, it was clearer than ever before that the differences between Colored and white were stark and the putting an end to slavery had not altered that fact. They now not only were isolated by color but by economics: Money was needed these days to survive. Cash money.

  "I still can't get over anybody any kin to Zeb Thatcher hirin' you to work in his store," First Freeman said to Joe, "I don't care if he is in jail." Then he looked at Sue. "And that man who owns the café—when Zeb comes back, he's gonna give that man the devil of a time."

  "Two of Zeb's chil'ren just like him, two just like their Mama," Maisy said, "one girl and one boy. The boy what got killed in the war and the girl what runs the furniture store—they just like Zeb: Mean and nasty and hate all Colored people, 'cludin' those ain't born yet. That other girl, the one what runs the meat market, and the baby boy—"

  "Jonas," Ruthie said. "His name is Jonas. He's my friend and he ain't...isn't...anything like his pa." She looked directly at Mack McGinnis as she spoke, holding him in a direct, steady gaze, and if he'd had any doubt about his intentions regarding her, they vanished in that moment of naked honesty. She knew why he'd been brought to Carrie's Crossing, and teaching school was only part of it. She knew that her entire family wanted her kept away from Jonas Thatcher, and though they didn't think so, she knew why. Mack saw that in the look she gave him, the look that also told him she was smart enough to choose her own friends without apology. He gave her a brief nod of understanding, and she released his eyes, but the hold she had on his heart and mind tightened.

  "That's right. Jonas," Maisy said. "He's a good boy and you right, Little Miss Ruth: He ain't nothin' like his pa; he is just like his ma. Him and his sister, Rachel her name is. And it's a funny thing now I think on it: Those girls married with men like they selves: Esther's husband is mean and nasty like Zeb and Rachel's husband is nice and easy like Miss Corrinne was, rest her soul."

  "So, Mr. Joe, it was Jonas who said you could work at the store?" Little Si asked.

  Joe nodded. "That boy made a lot of changes since his Pa been gone, and he ain't been gone that long."

  "Changes like what?" Little Si wanted to know, adding, "He's my friend, too."

  "One thing he did was say Colored could buy from the stores. We got go to the back door and ring a bell and wait for somebody to come help us, but it's more'n Zeb allowed, and it sure beats havin' to wait a week till somebody comes from Belle City to bring you a bag of flour or sugar or some sewing thread. 'Course they do charge us more than they charge white folks. Still and all, I guess you could say it's better."

  All was quiet for a moment while each considered whether this was, in fact, better. "And somethin' else he did," Joe said, "and Sue don't even know 'bout this. Just happened Friday." He looked at his wife, then at everybody, one person at a time, up and down both sides of the table. "The man what Zeb bought his whiskey from, he didn't know Zeb had got locked up and his bar shut down, and he showed up to sell his whiskey and he got hoppin' mad when the boy, Jonas, told him what was what. 'I ain't drivin' all the way back to Belle City carryin' that load of liquor. I'm liable to get locked up just like your pa.' He was some kinda mad. But Jonas got him calmed down, then, know what he done? He bought the liquor. Paid him just what Zeb woulda paid him. Said he didn't want the man to get locked up."

  "I don't blame the man," First Freeman said. "I know I wouldn't wanna get locked up for drivin' 'round with a load of moonshine."

  Everybody laughed but Joe, whose raised a hand to put a stop to it. "It ain't moonshine," he said. "It's good whiskey with labels and seals and it come from up north somewhere."

  "Now I done heard ever'thing," Uncle Will exclaimed. "Zeb Thatcher doin' bizness with folks from up North."

  "No, sir, Mr. Will, the bootlegger ain't from up North, the whiskey is," Joe clarified.

  "How long they gon' keep Zeb locked up?" Uncle Will asked in the middle of the discussion about the quality of the whiskey Zeb sold, saving Beau from having to ask the same question, though with less a understandable reason for wanting to know.

  "His boy, Jonas, told Mr. Pace for 'bout a year, if not longer," Sue said.

  "Then you know y'all gon' have to leave here in 'bout a year, 'cause it don't matter what his boy says or does, Zeb's the law 'round here," Will said to Sue and Joe, but he was looking at Maisy. "And you don't have to worry 'bout your Ma 'cause we'll take good care of her."

  "I thank you, Will'am," Maisy said, "and I know what you say is true. So, I reckon I'll be goin' on to Belle City wit' them when they go back."

  She was prepared for the surprise she saw on their faces: Her Sue and Joe because they'd begged her to move to Belle City with them and she'd refused, which is why they'd remained in Carrie's Crossing; Big Si and Nellie and Will Thatcher because they knew that she loved the land as much as they did; First Freeman because he didn't think she'd ever leave her birthplace.

  "It's time to go, time to move on," she said.

  "Maisy," Will said, and what she heard in his voice hurt her like physical pain.

  "It's so, Will'am. Things ain't been the same since the flood."

  That was true and they all knew it; they didn't have the words to explain or define exactly what was meant, but they knew it to be true, and the refusal of crops to grow and flourish as they once had and the absence of fish in the creek and fowl in the forest was only part of it. It was a large part, true: Being able to feed themselves literally was what kept them alive. But there was another something that had to do with the improvements that white people were making in their lives that seemed to be missing for Colored people, as if the end of slavery benefited the former masters more than it benefited the former slaves. "I want these grandchil'ren to be able to read and write and know their numbers." She looked at Mack McGinnis. "We surely 'preciate you comin' over here to teach these chil'ren." Then she looked at her old and dear friend. "But I want somethin' for myself, too, Will'am: I want to be 'round them educated Colored people, see 'em livin' in big, fine houses and drivin' motorcars and goin' to college. Even if it's too late for me, Will'am, to have those things, I want
to see Colored people like that."

  "Ever'body ain't got to go to college, Maisy. Ain't nothin' wrong wit' us what ain't been to college."

  "That ain't what I'm sayin', Willie."

  Sue started to speak then, and the gentle softness of her voice stilled the others so that she could be heard over them. "It's like this, Mr. Will: Me and Joe, we get paid for what we do. We get a envelope every week with money in it, but we can't read or do numbers, either one of us, so we don't know if we getting paid right or not. Now, I know I'm a good cook and Joe's just about the best butcher there is—don't neither one of us need to go to college, but we do need to know how to read and write—letters and numbers." She stopped talking and took a deep breath, then she looked at Mack. "We was gonna ask you, Mr. Mack, if you would look at our envelopes and tell us what's what."

  Mack nodded but didn't speak; there was nothing more to be said—by him or anyone else—and as dusk was coming on, the time for talk was over anyway. Will stood up first and walked over to Maisy. He took both her hands in his and held them for a long moment. Both of them understood that when she moved to Belle City, they would not see each other again. "I'm gon' hitch up the mule," he said.

  "I'll do it, Uncle Will, and I'll drive Miss Maisy and them back," Beau said, putting his arm across the old man's shoulders and feeling nothing there but bones where once muscles had rolled and rippled. His younger brothers followed him to the barn while the women cleaned up and put the food away, and his Pa locked the dogs on the porch to prevent them from following the wagon up the road. First Freeman, Maisy Cooper, and Uncle Will stood together in a tight circle, their heads almost touching, and it was impossible to tell whether they were talking or just being together for one of the last times. They had endured perhaps twenty years of slavery—no one knew for certain because none of them knew exactly when they were born—and so far, fifty-five years of freedom, and only those who had shared both experiences knew what that felt like, so none of those who observed those three, no matter how much they loved them, could know what they were feeling in that moment.

  There was no sadness in the good-nights and the thank-yous that ended the evening, only promises to be together again soon, if not all of them at the same time, then Mack certainly with the children and with Sue and Joe; First Freeman, Beau, and Tobias would return the next month, as always; Big Si or Nellie would drive over to check on Maisy; and Sue and Joe would send from the restaurant, as often as possible, some item of food for the Thatcher family—a leftover piece of pie or cake or the butt end of a roast or some fried chicken.

  As he left the lantern light of Maisy's house and turned into the pitch darkness of the road, Beau wished he had the dogs with him, both for company as well as protection. It wouldn't really be an issue if he were going immediately back home, but he wasn't; he was going into the town of Carrie's Crossing, specifically to the back door of what, until recently, was Zeb's bar, and which now was Jonas Thatcher's residence. He had listened carefully to every word that Sue and Joe Johnson had uttered, his war time experience coming in handy: He could close his eyes, hear a topographical or geographical description of a place once, and a map was imprinted on his memory. So, while he was certain that he could find his way in the dark, he wasn't prepared for street lighting. He pulled his wagon off the road and into the woods just at the edge of the town and proceeded on foot, keeping well-hidden, until he reached the rear of the bar, grateful that the town hadn't expanded to the extent that the woods no longer existed, though given what he was seeing, that wouldn't be long in coming.

  When he was certain that he was alone, he darted across the road and up the two steps to the door and knocked, hard. In seconds, Jonas Thatcher opened the door and his eyes widened.

  "You know who I am?" Beau asked.

  "Yessir, Mr. Beau," Jonas said, and stepped back. "You want to come in?"

  Beau hesitated only briefly. Whatever was on the other side of the door was safer than his standing outside—for both of them. "Thank you," he said as he entered, but he kept his back against the door in case escape was necessary. "I 'preciate it, and I won't take too long."

  "Nobody here but me," Jonas said.

  "Good," Beau said.

  They stood looking at each other for a long moment: The Colored man older by three or four years, taller and bigger and thought a war hero by the younger man, who'd grown quite a bit since Beau had last seen him. He looked and sounded like a man. Beau inhaled and told Jonas what was on his mind. He talked for several minutes, saying out loud the thought, the idea that had been forming in his head. He repeated himself several times until he was clear and certain of his plan and his intentions. Then he stopped talking and waited. He'd watched Jonas's face as he talked, watched the boy's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in calculated thought. He asked three questions, all of them good questions. Beau had answers for two of them. Regarding the third, he said, "I'll find a place and tell it to you next month when I come back to see my people. Is that all right?"

  Jonas nodded. "That's fine, and so is your idea," and he extended his hand and Beau took it. "You want to take these two cases with you now? So you don't have to come back?"

  Beau smiled. "You really ain't nothin' like your pa."

  "Except when it comes to business," Jonas said and went into the storeroom to fetch the two cases of bootleg whiskey, with the labels and seals, that Beaudry Thatcher would take to Belle City to sell in the Colored establishments, the beginning of a business partnership that would make a small fortune for the two of them over the next thirteen years.

  ***

  "You have to have a license to drive a automobile, Jonas," Police Chief Tom Fordham told him, "then, you got to have a automobile to drive." And he laughed at his own joke. Since Jonas had neither, the chief thought he could afford a little humor at the boy's expense, despite the fact that, in his father's absence, he was one of the wealthiest men in town.

  "But I will have one, Chief, which is why I'm asking you what I need to do to drive it. I know how much you like for everybody to obey the law."

  Chief Fordham gave him a hard look: Was this boy making fun of him? But Jonas looked like his usual serious self. "Where you getting' a automobile from?"

  "Doc Gray. He bought a new one and he's sellin' me his old one." Jonas couldn't contain his excitement. Doc Gray already had taught him how to drive it, practicing on the paved spaces in front of and behind the doctor's ever-expanding property.

  "What you need with a automobile anyhow, Jonas? You got a gal you want to squire around town?"

  Jonas flushed red, and the chief thought maybe he'd struck pay dirt. He didn't realize he'd made the boy angry. "Somebody's got to go over to Belle City for supplies. Rachel and Esther don't want to drive, and Cory and Clem have to run the stores. I'm the only one who can go."

  Chief Fordham nodded. "I 'spect you right, boy." He turned to walk away, then turned back when he realized that Jonas hadn't moved. "Well, come on. You want that license or not?"

  Jonas was confused. "You got the driving licenses?"

  Chief Fordham laughed. "Who else you think got 'em if I don't?"

  Right then Jonas understood why Beau Thatcher said they'd need to find a location on the outskirts of Belle City for Zeb's bootlegger to deliver the whiskey instead of bringing it all the way to Carrie's Crossing. Certainly it would be easier for the man, since he lived in Belle City, but now Jonas knew why Beaudry had said even if he had a motorcar to get back and forth between the two places, he'd never have a driving license: If Chief Fordham of Carrie's Crossing and all the police chiefs of Georgia handled the dispensing of driving licenses, very few Colored would be legal drivers; they'd be driving mule wagons forever.

  Or riding horses, for that's how Tobias Thatcher and First Freeman traveled from Belle City to Carrie's Crossing three weeks after the big dinner. They weren't due or expected for another week, so when they pounded on the door that Friday night well after ten o'clock, they frightened everyb
ody inside and terrified them when Big Si opened the door them.

  "What's wrong?" he yelled. "What y'all doin' here?"

  Nellie was so frightened she couldn't speak. Tobias grabbed her by the arms and shook her a little bit, kept calling her name over and over until she focused her eyes on him. "Toby," she said, calling him by Ruthie's nickname. "What y'all doin' here?"

  He gave her an envelope. "It's from Eubie, Ma. Look! It's a letter from Eubie!"

  Nellie took it, looked at it, turned it over and over in her hands but without a hint of recognition. Eubie couldn't write so she couldn't recognize his handwriting. She recognized the words, Silas Thatcher but not the. Mr. and Mrs. or the c/o Dr. Renee Jordan at the college. She held the envelope out toward Big Si but he backed up a step, as if the thing were dangerous. Finally, Ruthie took it from her mother.

  "Mr. First. Toby. Where did this come from?" Ruthie asked.

  "From France," Tobias said. "All the way from France and it's for us!"

  Ruthie held the envelope in her two hands, as if trying to equally distribute its weight. "What does it say?"

  The two men looked at her as if she'd said something incredibly ridiculous. "How we know what it says, Ruthie? We can't read. You the one learnin' to read, not me." Tobias really sounded angry. He looked angry, too.

  "The college professor didn't read it to you?" Nellie asked.

  First Freeman said, "We brought it right here to you. We thought Mack could read it."

  Mack! Little Si was out the door in a flash. Mack McGinnis, carpenter by trade, had, in his three weeks of residency, constructed a one room school house on the rise behind the Thatcher house for the Colored children of Carrie's Crossing, where he also lived. He took his meals with the Thatcher family but since it was clear that he and Ruthie eventually would be more than tutor and pupil, he went to his own "home" at night, after dinner, as was appropriate.