Nobody Said Amen

  “Now I don’t think that tone is helpful, Sheriff.” Jamie Steinkraus rose from his seat opposite the bar. “I know Senator Tildon takes a lot of pride in the reputation of his town and this county in keeping its composure under all the stress of this Commie provocation. Seems to me, by being resolute, Deputy Lonergan removed a dangerous rogue officer and was a model of courage under pressure. The mayor was just expressing our gratitude. No reason for sarcasm, Dennis.”

  Mayor Burroughs interrupted. “I don’t think the sheriff was being sarcastic, Jamie. We’re all under a lot of stress, with the press on our backs and radicals invading our property. I’m sure the sheriff’s doing the best he knows how. I don’t want to be a Monday morning quarterback, but maybe the best judgment wasn’t used when that Nigra thug, Bronko, was hired.”

  Lonergan suppressed a smile as Haley reddened. Burroughs shrugged. “Must have had a good reason, Sheriff Haley. I’m sure the folks here would like to hear it.”

  Haley drained his glass. “Law and order. The reason I hired Bronko was to maintain law and order, Mr. Mayor. Lot of folks are out there these days questioning the laws we’ve maintained here in the Delta for a hundred years. Not all that easy with the Feds looking under our beds spite of all the good work Jamie’s Senator Tildon is doing in Washington. And that gets us to the order part.” He paused, letting his eyes travel the room. “I get paid by you to see that order is maintained and that the thousands of our dark brothers who we want in our fields are not in our streets. Or in our beds. I found a black man who owed me and seemed to understand that. In the last five years, four black agitators were eliminated by Deputy Bronko. I don’t remember anybody here calling the office and saying your black deputy shouldn’t have done that, Sheriff. With all due respect, if my white deputies had done that, there would have been blood in Shiloh. I don’t think our good senator would have liked that story, Jamie, with an election coming up. The dirty laundry was handled, gentlemen. I didn’t expect thanks. It’s what I get paid for. But I don’t appreciate being made the goat now or at any time. You want a new sheriff? There’s another election coming up. That’s for your White Citizens Council to decide.” He turned his back and placed his empty glass on the bar. “Goodnight, Sammy.” The old man nodded politely.

  “Goodnight, Sheriff Haley.”’ His eyes stayed on Haley as he walked out of the silent room.

  The sheriff summoned Deputy Harold Butler to his office late the next afternoon. “Close the door. Got some private business to discuss. Take a seat.” Butler nodded and settled warily in the chair opposite Haley’s desk. “It’s after hours, Harold. Thought you and I should get to know each other a little better.” When the sheriff took out a bottle from his desk and offered him a drink, Butler’s eyes widened and a relieved smile creased his face.

  “Thanks. ’Preciate it, Sheriff. Been a long, tough day. Lot of shit hitting the fan after the shooting at the Commie meeting.”

  Haley nodded. “Not the best thing that could of happened when the FBI are all over the Delta looking for those agitators. Now the Feds, the reporters, and everybody wanting their name in the paper are kicking up sand. Your buddy Lonergan seems to be riding it full tilt.”

  Butler answered slowly. “Well, Sheriff, I work with Lonergan. Wouldn’t describe him as a buddy, exactly.”

  Haley’s eyes were unblinking. “What’d you think of the shooting, Harold? You were right there. Think it was a just shot?”

  Butler emptied his drink and looked boldly at the sheriff. “I think Lonergan was trigger-happy, Sheriff. Wanted to blow the nigger away and make his mark. End of story.”

  Haley chuckled. “Not necessarily the end. Mayor Burroughs seems pretty fond of your partner. No telling what’ll come of it. Lonergan seems to be feeling no pain.” He leaned forward and refilled Butler’s glass. “I guess you could call killing Bronko a career move.”

  Butler studied his drink. “You don’t mind my askin’, why you sharing this with me, Sheriff? Lonergan don’t mean nothing to me. I’m just the guy who didn’t shoot Bronko, and got no career move.” He looked up, suppressing a smile. “You have something in mind?”

  Haley grinned. “Nothing subtle about you, Butler. You call it like you see it. I like that.”

  Butler crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. His tone was confiding. “People who know me always say that, Sheriff.”

  Haley nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me, now that I’m getting to know you, Harold.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk. “Matter of fact, I know quite a lot about you.”

  Butler watched in silence as the sheriff finished his drink and then walked around to the front of his desk to stand over him. “I know about you and the Klan preacher. I know about you and the Kilbrews. Even know that it wasn’t your Klan unit that took out those three Commies, Goodman, Schwerner, and Chaney. Being a sheriff in the Mississippi Delta means you know a hell of a lot about a hell of a lot.” He slowly returned to his seat. “And I know about the statutory rape of that fourteen-year-old in 1957 when you got busted from the Marines in Manila.” He sat down heavily and refilled the glasses. “A man makes mistakes, Harold. I think we all pay our own dues and I’m not passing judgment. Nothing I’ll ever mention again. Just want you to know that the people I choose to work for me are looked over and looked after.”

  Frowning, Butler licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Like Bronko?”

  “Like Bronko. He was rotting in Parchman Prison before I cut him loose. Then he did what he was supposed to do for the sheriff, and he was taken care of. That Polack nigger was more important to me than you were or Lonergan was. Now my handyman has been blown away by our resolute Lonergan.” He pounded the desk in irritation. “And, goddam, everything has got to be sorted out all over again!”

  Watchful, Butler locked his hands behind his head and eased back in his chair. “And you want me to be your new nigger?”

  Haley’s eyes were hard. “Only if I say so. Then you say, yessir. And when I say jump, your answer is, how high, boss?”

  Butler’s anger rose and his voice was tight. “Yessir.” He wiped his mouth with a stained handkerchief while watching the sheriff. “We’re talking day job or after-hours job?”

  “We’re talking about you being there for me when I’m not there. We’re talking about you being my pickup man, my enforcer, the man who has my back. Anybody who has to know, gets to know that the sheriff’s man is Harold Butler. You’re not going to win any popularity contests. You’re just going to get rich.”

  “And how do I not get dead like Bronko, instead of rich like you say?”

  Haley smiled thinly. “You don’t let killers like Luther Lonergan get too close.”

  It was dusk when Nefertiti walked Z to her car. As Z started the engine, a battered Chevy careened off the highway and skidded to a stop. Harold Butler studied the two women through his dusty wind-shield and then got out of his car. He stared in distaste at Fatback’s Platter, then, turning his back on Z, he said to Nefertiti, “Sheriff says you and I got to talk. Inside.” He turned on his heel and walked into the bar.

  Z frowned. “I know that man, Titi. No black shirt, but a Facisto.” She looked sympathetically at her friend. “You going to be all right?”

  Nefertiti nodded. “I think my silent partner has sent me a special delivery.” She patted Z’s arm and smiled. “Been handling that kind of redneck since I was wearing bloomers, Z. Not to worry. We’ll talk later.”

  Butler was behind the bar, pouring himself a whisky, when she came into the shady room. “No,” she said. “That’s not the way it’s going to be.” Her words echoed in the empty room. She walked swiftly to the bar, picked up the bottle and returned it to the shelf.

  Incredulous, he stared at her. “What the hell are you doing, nigger?”

  She picked up the phone at the end of the bar. “Get me Sheriff Haley.” Her eyes never left Butler. “Sheriff, there’s a honky son of a bitch that has just walked into my establi
shment, drunk my whisky, and called me nigger. That’s right, Sheriff.” She paused. “Butler? Your name Butler, boy? Sheriff Haley wants to talk with you.”

  Butler hesitated, then took the extended phone from Nefertiti’s hand. “Yessir. Yessir.” His face was scarlet when he hung up. “Sheriff wants me to find out what you want me to do.” He swallowed hard. “Then he wants you to call him.”

  “I’ll call him when I’m ready. It’s good we understand each other, Butler. Save a lot of problems for you, for me, and for the man we both work for. But when you’re at Fatback’s, you’re working for me. You call me ma’am. You pay for drinks. You’re not a customer. You run my door and keep it clear and see there are no problems for the sheriff. And after work you get paid by me and deliver a personal envelope to Sheriff Haley. And leave. Any questions?”

  Butler shook his head, his eyes locked on Nefertiti.

  “Fatback’s opens at seven. You be here on time and the sheriff will be happy, something we both want.” She left him and began to set up the tables. It was starting to get dark.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Luke had watched, not daring to believe, as a sooty indigo rim of clouds began to finger the blindingly blue sky. As he squinted in the noon glare, he avidly tracked the ascending veil of gray, and his face cracked into a broad smile when he heard the far, far murmur of thunder that seemed to moan and then hurtle into a booming explosion over the endless rows of parched cotton. The dusty, weary plants bent before the foreign wind that suddenly raked their leaves. A blinding rip of lightning plummeted toward the distant field, and a crashing clap of thunder rattled the tin siding on the weighing machine. The racing storm clouds pell-melled across the sky, drowning the sun and sending gusts of water to pound against the side of the barn. His head back and his mouth open to the blessed water, Luke tore off his drenched shirt and jeans and raced out into the fields, his boots sloshing in the racing currents of water gathering between the rows.

  “Willy! Willy! Come out! Come out!”

  The lightning that suddenly painted the shadowed laundry where Willy Claybourne was folding the linens startled her. When the clap of thunder seemed to explode just outside, she heard Luke’s yell and raced from the cellar to the porch. Breathless, she stepped out into the driving rain and saw Luke dancing, naked as a child, in a puddle. When he spotted her, he screamed, “Come on in!” His laughter was almost lost in the wind. “The water’s fine!”

  Giddy, she abandoned her sodden clothes on the step and went running to embrace him, her eyes bright in the light of the flashing lightning. “Lucas! Lucas!” And they tumbled, hilarious with the wonder of it all, to lie panting on the mud, their eyes turned to the cascading heaven.

  “Thank you, Jesus!” Willy shouted.

  After midnight, she heard the rush of wind fitfully subside and the pelting rain become a steady murmur on the roof. She rolled on to her side and looked at Luke. He slept like a boy, defenseless and nearly smiling. He could sleep through a tornado, she thought, and her gaze moved to the blind, inky window. There is weather, she thought, even in a marriage. Not just because he’s a farmer. She rolled on her back, knowing that sleep would not return. Because he’s his mother Lillian’s boy. Because he’s his daddy’s son. Because he’s laced to this land. Because he married Willy McIntire. And it’s never been just fair weather for us. Never was for me. Maybe never will be for Luke. But, glory be, it’s raining!

  When Mendelsohn drove to the Freedom House it was pouring like he hadn’t seen in the Delta, and it matched how he was feeling. The burned cross had tilted like a drunk in the wet clay and the place looked deserted and sad. Dale Billings met him on the porch and told him Jimmy was on the way. He heated up some cold coffee and they watched it rain.

  Billings was beginning to look at the road ahead, feeling excited but sad. “I’m going back to Washington and law school. But I’m feeling guilty as hell about leaving.”

  Mendelsohn nodded. “You’re not alone. I never felt so bad about wrapping a story and moving on.” Jimmy Mack arrived, slogging through the mud, arm in arm with Eula, soaked to the skin and laughing. It was Eula who broke the news.

  “We’re getting married! Mr. Williams is going to do the honors at the church on Sunday after Rennie finishes her teaching at the Sunday School.” She grinned, “Dale, you’re going to be the best man.”

  Mendelsohn took Eula in his arms and kissed her. It was a nice finish for his story. Or was it a finish? What the hell was it about this forsaken part of the world that grabbed hold so hard and bothered his sleep? He shook his head to clear it and said, “It calls for a celebration! And Max Miller is taking us all to lunch.”

  They drove through the wet to Billy’s Chili. Z embraced Eula and then Jimmy when she heard the news. “Billy, we’re invited to the wedding! We’ll close up after Saturday night. How wonderful!”

  “We’ll bring the cake,” Billy said. “Tell your boss, Max, he’s ordering the booze.” He looked out at the drenched and deserted street, pulled down the shade, and locked the door to close the place. “What do you like to eat?”

  When they finished the ribs, the greens, and the sweet potato pie, Z brought in the Chianti and the toasts were made. Dale Billings raised his glass.

  “To Eula, who must be the bravest or dumbest woman in the world. And to Jimmy, who’s about to find out!”

  Z said, “To Eula and James: Buona fortuna and a buono viaggio for many many happy years! Ciao!”

  Mendelsohn clinked his glass with theirs. “This is the unlikeliest courtship I’ve ever witnessed, and I intend to come back and report on the sequel. On behalf of brother Max and your humble servant, we wish you everything good.”

  Jimmy took off his dark glasses and kissed his fiancée, a very public act for a very private person. Then he stood up.

  “To Eula,” he said, “who’s going to Delta State in the fall and will make us proud, and who’s willing to let me tag along! I’m a lucky guy.”

  It was Eula who had the last word. “To my Jimmy. To our Jimmy. We love you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  By Saturday, the rains had passed, and the whole Delta seemed to breathe deep, watching the steam drifting from the fields. By Sunday, there was no trace in the parched earth that the rains had ever come. Luke haltingly walked the rows with Justin Mack, stooping often to reset the more fragile plants that had been ripped out by the torrents of the past week. Head bowed, Luke continued his desperate vigil, row after parched row, as Willy waited on the step of the porch. She watched as Luke finally left the field with Justin. Together, they stared across the land until the old man turned away, lightly touched Luke’s shoulder, and shuffled toward home. As the light began to fade, Luke made his way to Willy on the porch. He never uttered a sound or raised his head when he settled heavily beside her. It was dark when she gently took his hand and led him into the house. There would be no crop this season.

  The wedding celebration for Jimmy and Eula went on through the sun-embroidered afternoon. Rennie Williams and the ladies outdid themselves, for the last time, with platters of chicken, fried catfish, okra, all the fixings, and gallons of iced tea. For the summer volunteers, it was like the Last Supper, something to be savored and remembered. The tenderness and love being expressed was so naked and unashamed that Mendelsohn wondered if he, the Shiloh families, and the volunteers would ever know its like again. Mixed with the laughter were lingering looks and embarrassed embraces of affection, saddened partings with dear friends they had never known when the summer was borning in Oxford. Their backpacks piled high, the volunteers waited for the Trailways bus that would lead them home to the rest of their lives.

  Sharon clung to Mendelsohn’s legs, trying to keep him from leaving with the students. “Now, you stop that, honey,” said Rennie, blinking rapidly behind the cracked lenses of her glasses. “Ted’s going away for a while, but he’ll be coming back. Ain’t that so, Ted?”

  Mendelsohn nodded, curling the child to his c
hest. “I’m not leaving yet, baby. And when I do, I’ll be coming back,” He watched the kids he had lived with, survived with, for three months on the black side of Highway 49, and tried to remember what they had been like back in Oxford. Who could have known? And who could have known that there were black Shiloh families like Rennie and Percy Williams who would dare so much to shelter and care for them? They had been strangers to his whole American existence, but would now be a treasured part of who he was. It was only after the bus had inched out into the highway that the wedding party reluctantly began to drift away.

  The police cruiser was idling at the curb outside the churchyard. Leaning against the hood, Lonergan and Butler watched the crowd of townsfolk disperse, and remained silent until Jimmy, Eula, and Mendelsohn approached. Lonergan flipped his cigarette away and stepped in front of them.

  “Mayor Burroughs sends his congratulations, Mack. Hopes you’ll have a happy life together. He told me you’re going to be working with the Washington people that are coming soon. Said you shouldn’t hesitate to call on him if there’s anything he can do to help.”

  Eula’s hand tightened on Jimmy’s arm and her eyes widened, but she said nothing. Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. Well, tell Mayor Burroughs thanks, and I’ll be in touch . . .” His eyes flicked from Lonergan to Deputy Butler and held for a beat. “If this Negro needs him.”

  When the police car pulled away from the curb, Jimmy grinned. “Just gave myself a wedding present, Mendelsohn.”

  Ted grinned. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Something to remember.”

  Eula watched the police cruiser move down the highway. Her voice was pensive. “Something for Lonergan and Butler to remember, too.”