Nobody Said Amen

by Tracy Sugarman

  “Stop that!” Her eyes were bright with anger, and her smile had gone. “That’s not fair.” Her words were level. “It wasn’t like that. I’m a woman that a lot of men tried to take advantage of. I know how to handle a Luke Claybourne. When I had to, I damn well did!”

  “Come on, baby. He never tried to get you in bed with some help on the college tuition?” The words were biting, “How close did Mr. Charlie get? I’ve often—”

  Eula raised her hand and closed her eyes tight. “Jimmy, stop right now.”

  But Luke’s words cascaded, unable to cease: “Wondered what would have happened if Miss Willy hadn’t come home.”

  “What do you mean, what would have happened? How dare you?”

  He stepped closer, his eyes fastened on hers. “How dare I? Listen, Eula, lots of women—”

  Furious, she slapped his face, and then stepped back, appalled. But the words poured out. “Damn you! After all our years together, you’re still wondering?” Jimmy could only stare at his enraged wife. “I’m not lots of women. And if you don’t know that by now, you never will.”

  “You think that’s an easy question for a man to have to ask his wife? For me to ask you? It’s heart-breaking.” He shook his head, trying to shake a scene he had never anticipated. “Too damn many scars . . . too many nightmares.” His voice was desolate. He began to leave the room, then turned to face her. “Baby, I never should have asked. I’m sorry.” He opened his arms and tried to embrace her. “I love you, and I trust you beyond anything.”

  Eula angrily pushed him away. “No, you shouldn’t have. You sure as hell should apologize.”

  “I do. From the bottom of my heart, I do.”

  She leaned back, her elbows resting on the stove. “It’s time you get over it, lover.” Her voice was steady. “If you don’t know me better than that, maybe it’s time to rethink the whole thing.”

  Shocked, Jimmy stared at her. “Don’t ever say that, baby.”

  “Scars and nightmares,” her voice faltered, “on both sides of the bed, Jimmy.” She held out her hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Luke took out his wedding suit and brushed the lint from the dark lapels. He was married 13 years ago. Jesus, 14! Didn’t have to worry how I looked, they were all gaga lookin’ at Willy. His calloused hand ran over the fabric, making him smile. Willy looked good enough to eat that Sunday. Couldn’t keep my hands off her. Gladsome gave me a look and whispered, “Not yet, Lucas. I haven’t finished the ceremony yet!”

  Luke chuckled and struggled into the trousers and then the jacket. A little tight around the shoulders, but not too bad. He walked to the mirror. He’d gotten thicker, but that was okay for 33. He showed his teeth to his image, then frowned and turned away. It’s too good a suit to wear to Parchman but it’s what I got. “Still looks fine,” Willy said at the church for Benny’s christening, Alex’s christening too. It doesn’t say a hell of a lot about our social life, Willy girl.

  Already sweating, he kissed Willy goodbye and very slowly drove the 13 miles to Parchman. The fields still haven’t come back, he noted, and the rains keep coming. Gladsome Neely’s God sure hasn’t paid me any mind. Two years of drought and then two more years of flooding rain? Fucking biblical.

  Not my goddam problem anymore.

  The parking lot was still baked tar. He edged the jeep next to the main building. His mouth felt dry, and he hoped there was some water inside. You’ve got to talk, Lucas. And you’ve got to talk good. He pulled open the heavy door and took a very deep breath of hot, stale air. Be there for me, Daddy.

  The long hall was deserted, his steps echoing ahead and behind, confirming his sense of isolation. His black Sunday suit felt as funereal as it had when he wrestled to button the white shirt with his calloused fingers.

  He paused at the barred window overlooking a barren and deserted prison yard, seeking some solace from the sterility of the endless corridors. Beyond the wall with the guard standing sentinel, he could see the beginning of the prison farm, still a pale green carpet. In the glass’s reflection, he nervously adjusted his sodden tie and wiped away the sweat that was soiling his collar. A door at the end of the hall swung open, and a uniformed guard stepped out and lifted his chin.

  “Claybourne?” The sound reverberated. “You Claybourne?”

  Luke nodded. “Yeah, I’m Claybourne.”

  The guard squinted, watching closely as Luke approached. “I know you? You look familiar. You related to the folks at the Claybourne place over in Shiloh? My brother used to truck some of their cotton down to Gulfport, and I’d ride with him sometimes.”

  Luke returned his gaze levelly. “Nope. Must be another Claybourne.”

  The guard shrugged. “Must be, you say so. But I seen you someplace.” He stepped back, holding the door. “Sergeant will see you now.”

  Luke entered the office and hesitated. A woman with her back to the door was concluding a conversation on the telephone. “My appointment just walked in. See you at seven.” Eula turned in her chair and stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. “Well. Mr. Claybourne.”

  Relieved and surprised, Luke laughed aloud. “Eula! Eula May! Hot damn. If that ain’t something! So this is what happened to our Eula. We heard you went on to Delta State after you left the plantation. But then we lost track of you.”

  “The governor picked me out of the graduating class. Needed a smart black woman from the Delta.” Her voice was cool. “Please sit down, Lucas.”

  Luke grinned appreciatively. “Couldn’t have picked better, Eula honey. You ought to see the boys now.” He fumbled at his wallet, extracted a picture of Willy and their sons, and handed it to Eula. “Alex is almost as tall as Willy.”

  Eula smiled and silently returned the photo. Luke cocked his head and smiled at her. “You’re sure still lookin’ fine. It’s good to see you, Eula.”

  “It’s good to see you, Lucas. And how is Miss Willy?”

  “Willy? Well, you know Willy, she’s fine. Keeps on keepin’ on.”

  Eula leaned back in her chair, examining Luke’s application. “When they sent along your request for a job interview, I thought there must be some mistake.” Frowning, she placed it back on the desk and looked frankly at Luke. “I thought maybe it was a Claybourne I never met. But it really was you.”

  “Yeah,” Luke cleared his throat. He felt parched and irritable, eager now to get the interview over. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, Eula. It’s great seeing you again. Wait till I tell Willy!” He forced a smile. “She missed you, girl, since the day you left us. Now I’m supposed to talk business with the sergeant. Is he in?”

  “Lucas, I am the sergeant. Sergeant Eula May Baker. I still use my maiden name. You didn’t know?”

  “You’re sergeant—Hey, this some kind of joke, Eula?”

  “Not a joke, Lucas, though I thought it might be when I saw the job application from an L. Claybourne. And if it wasn’t a joke, I wasn’t sure we should be having this meeting. And right now, I’m less sure than before.”

  Unblinking, Luke returned her gaze. “Why not?”

  “Because the man I hire is going to be working for me. And if it’s a white man I hire, he’s going to be surrounded by black men who will hate his guts because he’s a white man, and he’s holding the key. And he is going to have to take orders from a black woman.” She eased back in her chair and regarded him calmly. Her voice was dry. “If memory serves, Mr. Claybourne, I find it hard to believe that you can do that, take orders from a black woman who will be your Supervisor. And I’m not at all sure I want you working for me.”

  Luke stiffened. “Well, that sure as hell makes two of us.” His voice was cutting. “You? My boss? Jesus, wouldn’t my daddy howl at that! How many years were the Bakers workin’ for Claybournes? More than either one of us wants to remember.”

  “I’m not interested in remembering,” she said dismissively, and stood up behind her desk. “So you want to cancel this meeting? That’s okay with me. I ne
ed a new guard, but I don’t need to import a headache from the bad old days.”

  Glowering, he looked up. The insulting nerve! This hectoring black woman was Eula? “Would I like to cancel this meeting? You’re goddam right I would. But the truth is, if I had the balls my daddy had, I’d have been out of here by now. I can just hear him, Your colored maid gonna be your boss, son? Jesus!”

  “Why are you here?” Each word was like a pebble striking the wall. “You didn’t come all this way just to be insulting. What is the reason?”

  He sat motionless, his eyes pinched closed. Then the words spilled out, surprising him. “Because I’m losing the plantation. Because I’ve got a wife and two kids to feed. Because I’m a planter with no place to plant, and no hirable talents that I know of. Because I need a job.” He stood up and his voice filled the space between them. “Because I need this job, Eula. I need it.”

  “Simple as that, huh?”

  “Not simple.” His voice faltered. “Just as plain as I can say it. I hate havin’ to ask for the job. I hate havin’ to ask you for the job. But it’s the truth, Eula May.”

  “I believe you, Lucas. You never lied in all the years I knew you. You took advantage. You sure as hell took advantage. But you never lied.” She sat back down, her elbows on the desk. “So let me be just as straight with you. If you come to work here at Parchman, I’m Sergeant Baker, only Sergeant Baker. And I will be your supervisor. And you will be Officer Claybourne, only Officer Claybourne. Eula May was left in Shiloh when I moved on.”

  “For God’s sakes, Eula . . . ”

  “And Mr. Luke and Miss Willy are names I remember with a lot of fondness. But I left them in Shiloh, too. You’d be well advised to leave that baggage before you seriously think about working here. Parchman Prison is a serious place, but a very long way from the Claybourne place. Parchman and Mississippi have both moved on.”

  He remained seated, staring at the woman across the desk, shaking his head in disbelief. Silently, he rose and moved to the office door. He reached for the knob, hesitated, and then dropped his hand to his side, his head bowed in resignation. Humiliated, he remained motionless.

  “I need a strong man to work with the violent men I have to be responsible for.” Her voice was quiet. “And I need an honest man who can recognize dishonesty when he sees it. These men will dissemble any chance they get in order to get an advantage. And any advantage can lead to violence. And I won’t tolerate that.” Her eyes met his when he slowly turned to face her. Her voice was unsparing. “And when an inmate calls the white explantation owner guard a mother-fucking honky son of a bitch, I’ve got to know that that guard is a grown-up who knows himself well enough not to strike back. I’ve got to know that with absolute confidence. His job, and more important, my job, depend on that.”

  “And you think I can take that?”

  She studied his face and nodded. “I think you can. Prove me right. If you work as hard at that as you did at keeping your tenants from starving, yes. I think you can.”

  Embarrassed at finding his eyes misting, he wiped his perspiring face. “Can I sit down for a minute?”

  “Of course. Let me have the guard get you some water.”

  “Thank you.”

  He paused. Only the noise of the mower moving across the sere lawns outside filled the room. Luke’s eyes met hers. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Chapter Forty

  The call had shaken Emily Kilbrew. In her dreams, Willy’s life as Wilson Claybourne was the one she desperately wanted for herself. Claybourne plantation was what the good life was, what it looked like, what it felt like. Willy McIntire’s life had been magical since she came to Shiloh, and the plantation was a wondrous place where gentility and generosity had a permanent home. And now Claybourne’s was to disappear? In all the years, she had never heard Willy so distraught.

  When Emily pulled up to the entrance of the house, Willy was sitting on the steps, looking for all the world like a motherless child. When Em got out of the car and settled beside her, Willy dropped her head, her shoulders shaking. When the storm subsided, she impatiently wiped tears away and embraced Emily. “I’m glad to see you. I needed to see someone from my real life.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know, Em. Every single thing I thought was so seems to have pulled loose. I’ve never felt so lost.”

  Emily’s arm tightened around Willy’s shoulders. “Parchman? You said Luke is looking for a job at Parchman?” Her voice was incredulous. “My God, what next? My poor brother is sitting in a federal prison waiting for trial, and Lucas Claybourne is going to Parchman Prison, lookin’ for a job? It’s madness, Wil!”

  “Been madness for a long time.” Willy’s vacant eyes searched the withered expanse of the cotton fields beyond the drive. “You remember when they blew up the black Sunday school and killed those four little girls? We were teaching at church school, and we said it must have been done by somebody crazy?” Her troubled eyes sought Emily’s. “Then it turned out that it was the Klan. Be honest, Em. Was either of us really surprised?”

  Emily took her hand from Willy’s shoulder and stood up. “Bobby Joe swore to me that it wasn’t the Klan.” Her voice was brittle. “You can’t believe everything you hear, Wil. Just because they say it’s the Klan doesn’t mean it’s so.” Her eyes were pleading. “It’s been them against us for so long, it’s hard to know what’s real—hard to know who they are.” Her voice broke. “To know who we are. I hate it, Wil! I love what we have. I love that we are special, that we have a tradition, that we aren’t mongrel and common. And I hate their arrogance, their superiority. And I’m sickened by their mingling! Don’t they have any racial pride?”

  Willy frowned and her words were level. “When those three civil rights workers disappeared, you and I and Luke and all our friends agreed that they didn’t get murdered, they just ran off to Cuba. And then the FBI paid off Bobby Joe’s friend, and we find out it was the Klan that murdered those kids.” She stood and faced Emily. “Madness, Em? It’s not madness, it’s murder. Thou shalt not kill!” Emily’s eyes widened, but she remained silent. Willy’s voice rose.” Children being butchered in a Sunday school for what? Those three civil rights kids going to investigate why someone burned down a poor black church, a Christian church, and they get lynched? For what?” She reached out and brought Emily to her. Her sorrowful voice was like a child’s. “Are we crazy, Em?”

  “Maybe. You turn on the TV, you look at the national magazines, and you feel like you’re in a zoo and the whole country’s laughing at you. And their heroes are nigger preachers grabbing the spotlight and scruffy beatniks walking on our town green, just asking for it, making us do things we never wanted to do.”

  Willy stared at her friend. “Things we never wanted to do? You believe that? You knew, and I knew, and everyone I knew believed that the Klan would take care of it, purge the devils, scare off the Communists. Protect ‘our southern way of life.’ We just agreed to not look.” They sat in silence, feeling words had disarmed them.

  When Emily finally rose to leave, she said, “Mama’s been beside herself ever since they took Bobby Joe away. Four years ago, and to her it seems like yesterday. So I took her to hear the tent evangelist over in Shaw, a wonderful preacher, Wil. He’s going to be there for ten days. And he made us feel so much better. He told Mama, ‘Christ lets you in whenever you want to come in, You can start over,’ he said. ‘You can get born again.” She knelt beside Willy. “Maybe Jesus does have an answer.”

  Willy took her hand. “Remember the passage from Mark we were teaching the kids at the church school? ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of God.’ You think God knows about Mississippi? If He does, maybe that ‘s why everything is coming apart. Maybe this is our punishment, Em, for being deaf and being blind.” Her voice was resigned. “There are none so blind as those that will not see.’”

  Emily shrugged. “Sounds like an Old Testament God, Willy dear. All about punishme
nt and eye for an eye. You and I were teaching about the love of Jesus. You and Luke never harmed a soul. I’m sure Jesus loves you.”

  “Heaven’s not a free lunch. If Luke gets a job at Parchman, he’ll be paying plenty. But what about Willy McIntire Claybourne? How does she find a way to pay back?”

  Emily said, “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll come with Mama and me to Shaw next Friday and meet the preacher. He did say Jesus is the Light and the Way.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  From her desk, Eula watched the unexpected shower that was darkening the scattering of dry brown leaves along the prison road. Frowning, she turned to the report that lay next to her phone. Damn it. What a rotten present this was.

  When the call came from the infirmary, her voice was sharp and impatient. “And prisoner Marlow? Good. Keep me advised after you conclude the procedure. Yes. Immediately. Thank you, doctor. Have Officer Claybourne report to me when you’re done.” The rain was spattering the windows, driven by a rising wind, and she worried about the drive home later. But first was this near-disaster in the mess hall.

  When Lucas knocked, she told him brusquely to come in, and eased back in her chair. He paused, then stepped briskly to her desk, removed his hat, and stood at attention. Eula stared at the bandage on his cheek in silence.

  “Officer Claybourne, do you know why you are here?” “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Her voice was metallic.

  Lucas flushed. “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “And how long have you been a corrections guard at Parchman, Claybourne?”

  “Five months, three weeks, Sergeant.”

  “After five months no guard of mine should have the problem that you have right this minute. The problem that I have right this minute.” She held up the report. “What happened in the mess hall today will not happen again, Officer Claybourne. Not ever on my watch.” She returned the report to the desk. “Not ever while you are in my charge. Do you understand?”