Benton's Row

by Frank Yerby

  She lay there without moving. There was bitter warfare inside her mind. What she wanted to do, and what she had to, were two different things; not only this night, but for many nights to come.

  Dear God, she prayed, let Clint understand. I can’t come tonight, Clint—I purely can’t. Wade stopped before my door and made good and sure I knew he was going out. He never does that. He overplayed his hand. Lord, but men are stupid! Ten to one he’s waiting out there in the cheniere for Clint to come or for me to pass so he can follow me. He’d never have the guts to stand up to Clint; but then, he wouldn’t have to. All he’d have to do would be to give the word to those murdering cowards in dirty night-shirts, and they’d kill Clint for him. So I can’t go—I just purely can’t.

  She lay there, starkly, terribly awake, the moonlight slanting across her face.

  Suppose he comes here, looking for me? He could. Clint ain’t scared of God nor the Devil. Then Wade would know. Lord God, don’t let him come. Keep him away, God. I’m scairt they’ll kill Clint and then I wouldn’t have nothing to live for—not nothing a-tall.

  She heard the grandfather clock in the hall sounding the hour. She lay there very still, the slow drift of time crawling along her nerves. She wanted, to scream but she couldn’t do that either. There was nothing she could do but wait.

  At three o’clock in the morning she heard Wade’s limping footstep come up the hall. He stopped before her door, stood there. She heard the door creak as he pushed it open. She closed her eyes tight. But she couldn’t control her breathing. That, nor the beating of her heart.

  He stood there, looking at her. Through the open door she could hear the big clock ticking. It grew louder, louder. Then Wade sighed, just once, deeply, and went out again.

  I’ll have to get word to Clint, she thought; got to let him know what the trouble is . . . but how? Can’t sent a note by one of the niggers. Wade would know about that in half an hour. Niggers just can’t keep secrets. Nothing on earth they love more than tale-bearing. Go down there myself, the whole blamed town would know it the minute I went in the office, especially with Ash Henderson talking like that in front of folks. But there’s got, to be some way. There’s just got to.

  But it was after four in the morning before the way came to her finally. And it wasn’t even a good way, at that. It had too many elements of risk in it. It left entirely too many things to chance. She would have to try it, though; there was no getting around that.

  The next morning, when she drove into town, she took the big surrey instead of the small buckboard, taking Luella and the twins along with her. Caleb put the double perambulator in the back and drove the matched roans himself. She stopped first at the store.

  No point in having Wade find out from somebody else I’m in town, she thought. This way, if somebody tell him they saw me talking to Clint I can say it was purely accidental—bumped into him in the street. And it sure Lord won’t look romantic with a nigger woman and the twins along. Main thing will be to get that note to Clint without Luella seeing it. Don’t think she’d tell on me; but what she don’t know, she can’t tell. Better that way.

  She pushed open the door and went into the store. Wade was sitting behind the counter, his face white as death.

  “You going by Ma’s?” he said before she had a chance to speak.

  “Yes,” she said. “Lord God, Wade, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Had another attack this morning. Real bad this time. Pain something terrible round my heart. Mary, go over there and ask Randy to stop by here. I’d go myself, only I don’t feel up to it.”

  “All right, Wade,” Mary Ann said. “But I’ve got the surrey outside. Brought the twins and Luella in with me. Caleb’s driving. If you want, I can take you over there.”

  “Good,” he said; and started to get up. Then he crashed back again, even his lips white now.

  “What is it?” Mary Ann said.

  “My leg!” he whispered. “And my arm! Lord God, Mary Ann, I can’t move them!”

  “Caleb!” Mary Ann called through the doorway.

  The two of them got him into the surrey. He lay back against the seat, groaning. The twins stared at him.

  “Papa hurt?” Stone said.

  “Papa’s hurt, all right,” Wade groaned. “Feels like I’m dead!”

  Randy was out, making calls. But as he had only been gone a few minutes, Sarah sent Buford after him. Ten minutes later he was back.

  The two women waited in the parlour. They talked absently of the children, the weather, the crops. Then Randy came in.

  “Is it bad?” Sarah said.

  “Yes,” Randy growled. “He’s had a light stroke, complicated by his old war wound—just as I said he would. His left side’s paralysed. He may never use that side again, or he may. I’ll know in two weeks.”

  “A stroke,” Mary Ann said; “but, Doctor Randy, Wade’s too young.”

  “Nobody’s too young, child. Wade’s got high blood pressure, as I told you, brought on chiefly by over-eating, but also by worry. I’m going to starve the living hell out of him. He’s got to lose most of that blubber, or—”

  “Or what, Doctor Randy?”

  “The next one may paralyse him completely. Or kill him, which would be preferable, to my way of thinking.”

  “The next one?” Sarah said. “Then you think . . . ?”

  “There’ll be another one? Almost certainly, Sarah, unless we prevent it—if we can prevent it.”

  “Lord God, Randy, you make it sound so hopeless!”

  “It is,” Randy said grimly. “Look, both of you, that boy is going to die. In two weeks, three weeks, three months, three years, maybe even five—I don’t know which. I could keep another man in the same position alive almost indefinitely, but not Wade. Especially not Wade.”

  “Why not Wade, Doctor Randy?” Mary Ann whispered.

  “He’s got a thing on his mind and his conscience that’s eating him alive. I can make him lose weight, for a while, and that will help. But the minute I turn him loose, he’s going to start eating again, because he hasn’t the will-power not to, But even if I could keep him on starvation rations for the rest of his life—and I’d have to, I couldn’t control that blood pressure unless he finally got his mind at ease.”

  “Do you—do you know what’s troubling him, Doctor Randy?” Mary Ann said.

  “Yes, child, I do. But I’m honour bound not to tell it unless he gives me permission to. Even so, the only thing that would do any good would be for him to tell it himself. Sort of like the Catholic confessional. That would do him a world of good. But you mustn’t press him, either of you. He’s got to do it of his own free will for it to have any effect. And, Sarah . . .”

  “Yes, Randy?” Sarah said.

  “We’ll have to keep him here for the next two weeks. To take him out to Broad Acres in a jolting wagon might kill him. Mary can stay here, too, if she wants to. Or she can come every day to visit.”

  “I’d rather do it that way,” Mary Ann said quickly. “I wouldn’t inflict my two cannibals on anybody.”

  “Lord, no!” Randy said. “You keep those noisy little beggars out of here, child. Wade’s got to have quiet.”

  “Can I see him now, Doctor Randy?” Mary Ann said.

  “I think not. I gave him something to make him sleep. When he’s stronger, I’m going to lay down the law to him. He’ll have to resign from being Mayor, and from the Knights. The store—all right, as long as he sits down most of the time. And he has to stop worrying.”

  Mary Ann stood up.

  “I’ll have to be going,” she said. “Those little savages have probably driven Lu mad by now. Have to take them home.”

  “I must say that for a woman with a husband at death’s door,” said Sarah tartly, “you’re mighty cheerful. Still, I don’t reckon Wade would be much of a loss to you.”

  “Mother Sarah!” Mary Ann said.

  “Oh, get along with you, child. You haven’t been happy with my s
on, and I know it. Don’t reckon any woman could be. He’s a mighty poor specimen, even if he is mine. You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I can’t abide dishonesty. But you be careful, you hear? Won’t do to get the whole town talking.”

  “Yes, Mother Sarah, I’ll be careful,” Mary Ann said.

  She went out into the street. The note didn’t make sense any more, but she had to see him. She had to. Mother Sarah’s right, she thought: there’s no point in being dishonest—especially not with yourself. I wouldn’t care if Wade died. I feel sorry for him now, but I wouldn’t care. I’d be free then, and Clint .

  She walked along with Luella, who pushed the twins in their big pram. They sat bolt-upright and stared at the world. A woman stopped, clucking and cooing. Stone regarded her coolly.

  “Silly ol’ woman,” he said clearly.

  “Ol’ damfool,” Nat said.

  “Oh, Lawdy, Miz Mary Ann!” Luella gasped; “listen to them chillun!”

  “I heard them,” Mary Ann said sadly. “Sorry, ma’am, but they ain’t had no home training.”

  “I’ll say they ain’t!” the woman said.

  They passed in front of the newspaper office, moving very slowly. There was no sign of Clint.

  Oh, damn! Mary Ann almost wept. It’s my one chance and now he ain’t here!

  But a block farther on, when she looked back, she saw him coming after them. He was almost running.

  “I was tied up,” he explained; then, bending close: “What happened to you last night?”

  “Shake hands with me, Clint!” Mary Ann whispered.

  He looked at her, his brows crawling upwards. Then he smiled.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Benton?” he said, and put out his hand. “Please forgive my bad manners.”

  “It’s no matter,” Mary Ann said, seeing the little start as he felt the folded paper cool and crisp in his palm.

  He started to draw away his hand, but she tightened her grip. He could feel the tension in her arm, drawing him closer.

  “Tonight,” she said between set teeth. “Midnight. The old Henderson place, as usual. Pay no attention to that part of the note.”

  She was aware that Luella was staring at her. She dropped his hand.

  “Sorry,” she said aloud; “I’m a little upset, Mister Dupré. My husband is very sick.”

  “So?” Clint said. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Benton. What’s the matter with him?”

  Lord God, Clint, she implored him inside her mind, relax! Surely you know enough about niggers to realise how smart they really are. It takes brains to play-act and pretend to be dumb the way they do. Luella’s one of the smartest women I ever met; use your own voice, love. Be natural—the way you’re talking now, so stiff-like, she’ll guess in a minute!

  “He’s had a stroke,” she said quietly; “he—he may lose the use of his left leg.”

  “Too bad,” Clint said gravely. “When did it happen?”

  “This morning,” Mary Ann said.

  “No objection to my running a little item about it in the paper, is there, Mrs. Benton? After all, the state of the Mayor’s health is of public concern.”

  “No objection,” Mary Ann said.

  “Good. I’ll check with Doctor McGregor for the details. Good day, Mrs. Benton.”

  “Good day, Mister Dupré,” Mary Ann said.

  They moved off.

  “Lord, Lord!” Luella laughed; “that man sure do talk fine! What’s the matter with him, Miz Mary Ann? He drunk?”

  “No,” Mary Ann said shortly.

  “Just said that to be polite,” Luella grinned. “Knowed all the time he warn’t drunk. Not with likker, leas’ways. Lord God, Miz Mary Ann, how you do knock ‘em dead!”

  “Luella!”

  “Sometimes I feels right sorry for white folks. Lord, Lord! Handsome man like that—was me, I’d forgit I was married so damn fast!”

  “Luella, for God’s sakes!” Mary Ann said.

  “Yes’m, Miz Mary Ann,” Luella chuckled. “All the same, you’s a young and pretty woman—and now you’s saddled with a sick husband. Let slip a chance like this—tell me, ma’am, how come white folks so smart some ways—and otherwise so dumb?”

  “Luella Benton, if you don’t shut up, I’ll—”

  “Yes’m, Miz Mary Ann,” Luella said.

  That evening, Mary Ann unlocked the cabinet containing the elderberry wine. She drank half a glass, and left the bottle on the table. Then she went out in the yard with the twins.

  Luella’ll think I forgot, she thought gaily. She can’t resist that wine. By midnight a cannon-shot couldn’t wake her up. Strange—all my life I’ve been a decent woman when the chips are down my mind could hide behind a corkscrew. Reckon women are just born crooked. Wonder why? Maybe it’s ‘cause we ain’t got the strength to fight and be direct like men. Always have to figure ways and means.

  The twins were wrestling happily. Since they were exactly the same size and strength, these contests usually ended in a draw. They were hard and masculine and thoughtless, but they weren’t cruel. Person strong enough is hardly ever cruel, Mary Ann thought; that’s a sign of weakness—like Wade.

  At three years old, they were as big as most children are at five. They were beginning to lose their babyish awkwardness. They could run fast and far, and throw stones with deadly aim. Now they stopped their wrestling and streaked away behind the barn. Mary Ann heard the rooster squawking, and started to get up. But before she could do that, the rooster came flying from behind the barn, completely denuded of his tail feathers.

  The twins ran after him, whooping. The tail feathers were stuck in their long hair.

  Mary Ann smiled. Indians again. Well, anyhow, when I cook that rooster, I won’t have to pluck him. By then he’ll be as naked as a jay-bird.

  She heard Luella’s voice from the kitchen, the full, rich contralto soaring up in one of the spirituals.

  “No—body knows—the trouble I see!

  “No—body knows but Jeeesus!”

  The words were sad; but not the tone. Luella sang happily, gaily. Bless that elderberry wine, Mary Ann thought.

  It took a long time to get dark. Mary Ann had to bathe the twins and put them to bed herself, for by that time Luella was useless. She sat in the kitchen, giggling to herself.

  “Yes’m,” she said happily, “I been in the wine, Miz Mary Ann. Your own fault, ma’am; you knows my weakness. How come you didn’t lock it up? Just purely can’t stay away from that wine. Just purely can’t!”

  Mary Ann held the bottle up to the lamp. It was three-quarters empty.

  “Here,” she said, “you might as well finish it, Luella. But take it to your room—or else I might have to put you to bed, too.”

  “Thank you, ma’am!” Luella laughed. “Lord, Lord, but you’s the best, Miz Mary Ann! Don’t never want to work for nobody else!”

  “Nobody else would put up with you,” Mary Ann said. “Get along with you now.”

  She lingered in her bath. It was hard to keep from thinking, but she had to. So easy to shock a man—even Clint. Go running to him and throw myself in his arms like a crazy womanagain, he’s going to get disgusted. But, God, it’s hard not to think.

  After she was dressed she went down the hall to Luella’s room. Luella was asleep, the bottle cradled in her arms. Mary Ann took it away from her. It was quite empty.

  She left the house by the back door. She walked very slowly. It was long before midnight. It was a summer’s night and warm; but she shivered all over like someone half frozen. She had to hold on to herself to keep from running. She couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to get to the old Henderson place all hot and mussed and sweaty. And, above all, she mustn’t think.

  She was passing the pig-pen now, and she saw how the fence barely hung there, so dilapidated that one good push from the hogs inside could knock it over. She seized upon that—this one trifling detail to fill her mind, to erect a barrier against the thoughts she couldn’t, dared not, l
et break through into consciousness.

  Look at that fence! That’s one thing Oren was good for. He kept the place in tip-top shape. This new man, Nelson, ain’t worth the powder and shot it would take to blow him away with. But I’m glad Oren’s gone. Lord God, but he was a pest! . . . I wonder if Mother Sarah knows about that? She must. She goes down to New Orleans often enough. Hasn’t Stormy any shame—making a public scandal like that? Going everywhere with that scoundrel, kissing him in public! It seems to me that she’d—

  She stopped dead.

  I should talk. The only difference between Stormy and me is she’s brave. She just don’t give a damn about people and what they think. But me, I’m scared stiff. If somebody was to find out, I’d purely die.

  She moved off, walking faster now. She was into the cheniere, going faster all the time, when the enormous black shape came upon her. She opened her mouth to scream, but then the moonlight fell upon his face.

  “Buford!” she got out. “Lord God, you gave me a start!”

  “Miz Mary Ann,” he said, “you know how it is. You been in love. I got to see her, ma’am. I just got to!”

  “All right, Buford,” she said, “go ahead. But control yourself. If you give that child a baby, I’ll—”

  She stood there, frowning.

  “Wait,” she said, “I’ll bring Cindy in tomorrow. And Doctor Randy and I will arrange the wedding. That is, if she’s said yes. Has she, Buford?”

  “Yes’m,” he said happily. “Day before yestiddy. Us was fixing to ax you tomorrow.”

  “Good. Go on, then. But, remember—control yourself!”

  “Yes’m, Miz Mary Ann,” Buford said. “God bless you, ma’am!”

  She moved off through the cheniere. Fine chance he’ll mind me, she thought. Niggers ain’t got no self-control a-tall. Better get those two married right away. First thing I know, he’ll get Cindy with child and . . .

  She came to a halt, her eyes enormous in her small face.

  “Lord God!” she breathed. “Dear Lord Jesus!” Then, very slowly, the dilation of her pupils softened, and the corners of her mouth moved upward into a smile.