The Last Road Home

by Danny Johnson

  She leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, lowered her head, and sounded resigned. “It’s not your fault, Junebug. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything different from him.”

  That night in the bedroom, I lay awake until the sky began to lighten. How could I keep such a secret? When I was little and had to watch things between Momma and Daddy I didn’t want to see, I’d retreat to the little room in my head, close the door, and never speak or think about what I knew again. Doing that didn’t make anything different, but as long as I kept my mouth shut I could pretend.

  * * *

  The next morning, Fancy went home to break the news to her folks about Lightning. Roy and Clemmy walked back with her that night, and we sat in the living room. “Did Lightning say where he might head?” Clemmy asked.

  “All he said was he was going west.”

  “Didn’t you see his ticket?” Roy questioned.

  “I don’t know if he had one, at least I never saw it. I did wait and watch as the buses loaded, and saw Lightning get on one. I couldn’t see the sign on the front that tells where it’s headed, but I followed it a ways and it got on Highway 55 going west.”

  “Maybe he’s going to California,” said Fancy. “He was always talking about how things were better out there for colored folks.”

  I jumped right on that. “You know, Fancy, I bet you’re right. He always was talking about seeing what it was like in California, live by the ocean. Lightning told me one time he’d seen pictures of it and the place looked like a whole other world from here.”

  CHAPTER 40

  By spring Fancy’s shoulder had pretty much healed, a scar the only physical reminder. In April we got the tobacco plants in the field and started on the garden. We planted squash on a sunny afternoon after a morning rain. The air was steamy as the sun sucked back moisture the clouds had dropped earlier in the day. I was bent over going down one row and Fancy walked the one beside me.

  She rose up, swatting around her face. “Damn gnats! They’re about to drive me crazy.”

  I didn’t raise up, just kept walking. “Take off your britches.”

  Fancy spit out one that had gotten in her mouth. “What the heck are you talking about, Junebug?”

  “If you take off your britches, they won’t bother your face no more.” She stood still for a minute, then hopped over the row and tried to tackle me. We rolled around laughing and throwing dirt clods at each other. I’d never been this happy. Our relationship had become as natural as sunrise.

  Occasionally Lightning would show up in my dreams saying, “She’s going to find you out.” There were days I was barely able to get out of bed, not wanting to face the day, not feeling like doing anything but stare at nothing. Even when Fancy was around, I’d find myself watching her and the guilt over Lightning would make me want to go hide my face in shame. But eventually I would convince myself I hadn’t had any other choice. If he’d killed me and couldn’t persuade Fancy that blood was thicker than water, would he have killed her too? No, there was no other way it could have turned out. Now what I had to do was just keep putting one foot in front of the other until it passed.

  Fancy and me had our seventeenth birthdays, hers in May, mine in June. In another year the rest of the world should consider us adults to do as we pleased. But that was bullshit. We would only ever be able to do as the community pleased.

  * * *

  “Junebug, I got to talk to you.” Mr. Wilson cornered me one Sunday in the churchyard. He moved under a big oak and out of earshot of people passing by.

  “Okay.” I leaned against the tree.

  He was swelled up like he was going to bust. “That nigger gal of Roy’s, is she staying at your place all the time?” He started shaking his finger at my face. “I warned you about getting mixed up with her. Folks around the community are starting to talk, saying your grandma would be rolling over in her grave if she knew what you were doing.”

  If he touched me with that finger I’d leave his ass on the ground. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing so I know what you’re talking about, and you best be leaving Grandma out of it.”

  Veins in his neck bulged. “Folks think she’s being a common whore.”

  I glanced at the sky. This was the day I knew might come. “Folks need to worry about their own business and leave mine alone.”

  He got a smirk on his face. “Junebug, my cousin’s girl works in Apex at the courthouse. You know what she does?”

  At that moment I knew exactly what she did. “Can’t say as I do.”

  “She’s in charge of recording deeds and wills and such; that give you some idea?”

  I was sick of him. “Why don’t you just make clear what you got to say?”

  “Says she recorded a will for you; says you’re leaving the farm to Fancy Stroud.”

  “How’s it any of your business what I do with what’s mine?”

  “You’re leaving the farm to a nigger? Boy, ain’t ever going to be no niggers owning property in this community.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ll tell you what I told the lawyer. I don’t have any more family. If something happened to me, the state would sell my land at auction, so I’d just as soon leave it to somebody who deserved it. Fancy and me growed up together, and she’s been there to help me all this time, and I’d want her to have it.”

  Mr. Wilson went from red to blue, like he was about to choke. “If you wanted to sell it, why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Don’t want to sell it, ain’t going to sell it. Mr. Stern told me it could be changed any time, like if I got married, and had some kids. Besides, why would I want to sell it to you?” I moved closer, forcing him to step back.

  Mrs. Wilson started waving at him to come on. He turned toward her, then looked back. “I hope nothing happens to you, Junebug. Things might get ugly around here.”

  I spit on the ground at his feet. “Appreciate your concern.” I hoped he could feel my eyes as he walked away. After that Sunday, I didn’t have to worry about any more visits from Mr. Wilson to be neighborly.

  When I got home, I sat Fancy down. “Mr. Wilson cornered me at church. Said the community suspects about you and me, and he was mad as hell.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Told him what I did wasn’t none of his or the community’s business.”

  “Do you think he would kick Momma and Daddy off his place?” Fancy covered her mouth. “What have we done, Junebug?”

  “He didn’t say it, but you should talk to them in case it happens.”

  “I got to go tell them. If he does, it will be all my fault, and I wouldn’t blame them if they never wanted to see me again.” She started to cry.

  “Not your fault, mine. If it happens, they can come live with me until they figure out what to do.”

  Roy and Clemmy decided they would wait and see. All that happened was Roy got a good cussing from Mr. Wilson, but he didn’t throw them out. It being tobacco season, I guess their cheap labor meant more to him than the way he felt about me. Or maybe he had something else in mind. I wouldn’t let Fancy walk home by herself anymore.

  * * *

  I heard nothing else from Mr. Wilson over the next month, and neither did Roy. By the end of September, putting-in-tobacco season had come and gone. Roy and Clemmy had helped me when Mr. Wilson’s work was caught up, but he piled on plenty of extra, so we had to work late in the afternoons and on Saturdays. I had to let one acre rot in the field because there just wasn’t enough time to do it all.

  It was October and my tobacco was cured and ready for market. Fancy was cooking supper. “Let’s take a load to Durham tomorrow.”

  She grinned big. “Absolutely. I’m ready to get away from this place for a day. Maybe we could stop at a grocery store and get something different to eat for a change.” It had been a tough season, and that night we went to bed early, excited for a day off. I was sleeping sound when Fancy shook me.

  “Junebug! Junebug,
get up. Somebody’s outside.”

  I put on some pants and reached under the bed for the shotgun. I made my way to the back door and looked out. Immediately I saw the flames. “Fancy, get up! The pack house is burning!” I took off running.

  At first I didn’t notice the three pickup trucks at the edge of the yard. A group of men in white sheets stood beside them, watching my tobacco burn. One of them saw me coming. He raised a shotgun from under his sheet. “Stop right there, boy.” The rest of them pulled their guns. I recognized the one talking from his size and the sound of his voice. It was Luther, the man with the KKK tattoo.

  I screamed at him. “You going to let my house and barns burn too?”

  “Rest easy, son,” said Luther. “We’re here to teach you a lesson, not kill you. Decent folks ain’t going to tolerate you laying up with that nigger whore. You want to live amongst white folks, you’re going to act like white folks. You need to get your mind straight.”

  I jacked a round into the gun. “You cross-eyed son of a bitch, how the hell do you think I can live with you burning my crop? I’ve never bothered one soul! All I’ve been trying to do is survive, and now you think you’re going to run me off? I’d rather die right here.”

  “Well, that’s what is fixing to happen if you don’t put down the shotgun.” I recognized Bull Jones’s voice.

  Fancy came running out the back door. “Junebug put the gun down.” She got between them and me.

  I kept yelling. “Shoot me, you chickenshit bastards. You’re real brave hiding under your sheets.”

  Luther spoke again. “If any killing gets started, boy, she’s going to be right after you.”

  “Let it go, Junebug, let it go,” Fancy pleaded, tears running down her face. “Tobacco ain’t worth dying for.” She jerked the gun from me. “Come on.” She grabbed my arm, trying to pull me.

  “That’s a right smart gal, boy. Let her get her ass back home where she belongs, and you start acting like you got some sense.”

  The bitter odor of burning tobacco settled over the yard, stinging my eyes. I studied every one of the men, settling on one standing in the back like he was hiding. The sheet couldn’t disguise his potbelly.

  “Go on in the house now.” Luther motioned with his shotgun. I framed the picture in my brain before I walked away.

  Fancy waited in the kitchen. She put her arms around me, and we stood that way until we heard the trucks crank up and leave. As soon as they rounded the curve, we ran for the pack house. The fire had charred most of the upper level, but the packed dirt and heavy timbers on the cellar ceiling had kept the fire from burning through. I hoped I had time to get to the jars that were buried in the dirt. There was no choice except to try. I crawled inside to stay close to the floor, Fancy right behind me. When I moved the barrel, I went to my knees, hands and fingernails raking into the dirt like a dog digging a hole. As the top of each jar showed, I handed it to Fancy and she tossed them through the door. Fortunately, since they’d been underground, the glass wasn’t hot and hadn’t broken. I counted as I dug, and when I got to the last one we crawled out, choking and coughing.

  CHAPTER 41

  We sat at the kitchen table, exhausted, soot smeared across our face and clothes. “I’m going to kill them, Fancy, every last one.”

  “No, you’re not. This is my fault. I should have kept staying at home and nobody would have known.”

  I pounded my fist on the table. “It’s nobody’s fault except Mr. Wilson’s; he’s the one who turned them on us. That bastard caused this and he’s going to pay.”

  Fancy’s voice was resigned. “Just be glad they didn’t decide to burn the whole place. There’s no way to fight them.”

  “We worked hard for that tobacco, Fancy. They don’t give a damn if we live or die.”

  She sat bent over, arms wrapped around her middle. “We got enough money to make it through the winter.”

  “And what, sit here while they burn us out again?” I felt like a snake full of chicken eggs that discovered the hole he crawled in was now too little to crawl back out. “How the hell do you live like this, Fancy?”

  Fire shot from her eyes. “Junebug, one of these days black folk gonna get sick of this shit, and the blood’s going to run the other way.” She slammed the back door on the way out. I watched her walk in circles in the yard, talking to herself. In a few minutes, Fancy came back inside. “I’m going home, Junebug.”

  “You’re going to leave me?”

  “I ain’t leaving you, Junebug. I love you, but I won’t be responsible for something awful happening.”

  “I’m asking you not to.” I reached for her hand.

  She moved a step backward, her bottom lip trembling. “You’ll find a white woman one of these days and make a life. These people won’t ever let us live in peace.”

  “Look at me and say that’s what you really want.”

  Her eyes were fixed with a stubbornness I’d seen before. “It’s not what I want, but it’s the way it’s going to be.”

  I sat, not knowing what else to say. “I see. Well, guess you better get moving then.”

  She went out the back door and headed toward the woods. I grabbed an ax from the woodshed and headed behind her. Each time the sharp blade sliced a deep cut into a tree trunk, I imagined Mr. Wilson’s neck.

  * * *

  The next two months were so sorry lonesome even I got sick of me. I began to prowl the night, sometimes sleeping next to a tree or waiting for the sun to come up before going home. On a night with a first moon, I walked through the woods, crossed the clover field, eased to the side of Mr. Wilson’s house, and stood in the shadows outside his bedroom window. I watched him pull off his clothes and change to a nightshirt. I fingered the shotgun. It would be easy. I raised the gun to my shoulder. Just then, Mrs. Wilson walked into the room. She was the only reason he lived that night.

  I put new tin on the tobacco barn roof even though it didn’t need it. I pounded nails and worked out a plan to kill Bull Jones, Luther, and Mr. Wilson. At night I got out paper and a pencil and wrote down details, like who I should shoot first, then second. The problem was how to get them together in the same place at the same time. It got to be all I thought about.

  In December I went to Apex to settle up with Lawyer Stern. I told him about Mr. Wilson’s kinfolk telling him what was in my will. He got very angry.

  “What’s done is done,” I said. “Just let it go.” I didn’t bring up the Klan, figuring he probably already knew.

  Late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, dark, heavy clouds scooted quickly from north to south, bringing a cold, stinging wind. I sat on the porch wondering if snow was coming. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Fancy come ’round the curve in the road. She walked slow, head down. A stab of pain went through my chest. I’d missed her so much.

  I waited on the steps. When she got close, her face broke out in a big smile and her eyes glistened wet in the fading light. “Hey, Junebug.”

  “Hey, Fancy.” When she got to me, I held out my hand. “Missed you awful bad.”

  She nestled into me. “Missed you too.” She arched her head backward. “Do you care if I do something?”

  “What?”

  “Kiss you.”

  “I ain’t had much practice lately.”

  She laughed. “Let’s see if we can work on that.” The kiss was long and warming. “Not bad for a redneck.”

  I put my lips to her ear, breathing in her scent. “I’ve been practicing on my hand.”

  She pushed my forehead back and play-slapped me. “I figured you were starving by now, so thought I’d fix you some supper. Come on.” She started up the steps.

  “I’m willing to do without the food.”

  Fancy stopped and put her hand on the back of my neck. “We got all night, Junebug, just you and me.”

  I sat at the kitchen table while Fancy cooked. “Had any trouble from the Wilsons?”

  “Mostly tried to stay away from them as muc
h as possible, but I let Mr. Wilson see me a lot, to know I’m at home.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Fancy didn’t turn around. “Maybe we can talk after a while.”

  We finished supper and went to sit on the porch. Clouds hid the stars. When heavy drops of icy rain started to hit the tin roof, we went to bed. The lovemaking was wonderful, but had a desperate feeling to it.

  Fancy lay under a heavy quilt; the only things visible were her big black eyes and her nose. The room was quiet except for the tap of raindrops. We lay still and listened.

  She broke the silence. “I need to ask you a favor, Junebug.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” I tried to move, but she held me in place with her arm.

  “You need to hear it first.”

  I pulled loose. “Go ahead and say it.”

  She let out a deep breath. “I need you to let me go.”

  I was scared to ask. “Go where?”

  “From here.” Fancy sat up, back against the headboard, and covered herself with the sheet. “I can’t take this life no more, Junebug. Living every day scared to do something that might piss off some white person, knowing there’ll never be a way we can be together. I’d rather die than believe this is the way I’ll spend the rest of my life.”

  I’d never heard Fancy in such pain. As bad as things had been for me, it was only a small part of what she had to go through. “Where will you go?”

  “If you’ll carry me to Durham, I’m going to take the bus to New York. Folks say coloreds can make out okay up north. I want to find a job and live like a real person.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “Have to figure it out when I get there.”

  I stared at the ceiling, remembering how happy I’d been with the two of us working the farm, laughing and playing even when we were exhausted, daring to let myself daydream about a life together. “When you plan on leaving?”

  “Day after tomorrow. That would give me Christmas with Momma and Daddy one last time for a while.”