There Is a River

by Charlotte Miller

  “Or had it done.” Buddy’s voice was the same—so normal, so unfeeling. The face Stephen stared at was unmoved—and they carried the same genes, were so much the same, and his grandfather had done so much for him. Stephen could never repay it all. Never.

  “You know where your loyalty is, don’t you, boy?” his grandfather asked again, his voice low.

  Stephen looked back down at the check his grandfather offered. “Yes, Grandfather. I know where my loyalty is.”

  Buddy Eason smiled warmly at his grandson for the first time that Stephen could ever recall, a smile of acceptance, of something near to respect, what Stephen had longed to see there for as long as he could remember.

  “I knew you would, Stephen.”

  It was the first time the old man had ever called him anything other than ‘boy,’ the first time he had ever used his name. Stephen felt a lump rise in his throat to choke him as he reached out and took the check.

  “Thank you, Grandfather,” he said quietly, swallowing the lump back—so much to repay.

  Elise Sanders sat on the front porch of the house they had rented, watching the sun rise that Saturday morning over the tops of mill houses to the east. When they moved from this village in 1946, she had never expected to watch another sunrise over these quiet streets, had never thought she would go to bed or sleep beneath a roof other than the one Janson had dreamed of for so long—but here she was, watching the sun rise over the Eason mill village.

  She had been restless through the night, tossing and turning in the bed she shared with Janson, until she rose before dawn to keep from waking him, and came out onto the porch to watch for the sun to rise on the day when the land would be auctioned to someone else. She could understand now why Janson had left the county before the auction could take place when he lost the land the first time in 1927—they had met shortly thereafter, their meeting a direct result of his losing the land. So good did come of that loss.

  But nothing good would come from this day. Elise feared what this was doing to Janson, and she worried for Henry and Joanna—Janson had reared Henry on the dream of the land, on the promise of having it back for him, as well as for Henry’s children. Janson had accomplished that, finally.

  But the land would never be regained this time. This was no longer a world where dreams had value. People lived for money now, for having something they believed would appear better in the eyes of someone else.

  She was tired. Old age had given her a reduced need for sleep, but also a feeling of being tired all the time. But there was nothing she had in particular to do this morning, she told herself. She would sit here on the porch and watch the sun rise, then she would go in and begin breakfast for the family, bacon and eggs, because Janson loved bacon and eggs, biscuits and grits, and coffee to which Janson would add milk but no sugar.

  She was surprised to hear the door open. She turned to see Janson slowly step out over the threshold and onto the porch. He was looking at her, slowly maneuvering his way out through the open doorway.

  “I wondered where you was when I woke up,” he said. He eased the screen door shut behind himself to keep it from slamming to wake the remainder of the household, then turned to look at her again. “You’re gonna catch your death, sittin’ out here in th’ cool.”

  “It feels good to me,” she said, rising to go to him.

  “You better come in an’ get dressed. You ought not be sittin’ out here in your nightgown and robe where everybody can see you; you know better’n that.”

  Elise smiled, knowing he was concerned that some man might be looking at her—as if some other man would be interested in looking at a woman on the high side of seventy who was sitting on her porch in a cotton nightgown and bathrobe that covered the worn slippers on her feet.

  “I’m coming in,” she said, taking his arm. He turned back toward the screen door.

  “Could you help me find some clean overalls?” he asked. “I been a farmer all my life. I ain’t goin’ t’ th’ auction today dressed up lookin’ like somethin’ other than what I am.”

  “Janson, you don’t have to—” she said, and stopped to stare up at him.

  “Yeah, I do,” he told her, meeting her eyes. There were lines in his face now that sometimes surprised her, and she reached up and ran her fingers over them, down toward his mouth. “Yeah, I do,” he said again, bringing one hand up to capture hers and hold it tightly.

  His knuckles were swollen, and she knew how painful his hands were now much of the time, and especially in the mornings—but still he held her hand, squeezing it in his own, as he had through the years.

  “I’m too old t’ run away now,” he said, his voice quiet as he stared into her eyes. “I run away back then. I didn’t stay t’ watch th’ land go t’ somebody else.”

  “Janson—”

  But he shook his head, stilling her voice. “It’s no different than leavin’ so you don’t have t’ watch somebody you love die.”

  Elise had to blink back a tear. She did not like hearing him talk like that.

  “I won’t get th’ land back this time—I know that. I’m too old—”

  “No—”

  He smiled. “You are, too.” And she smiled. “I don’t think Henry will ever get it back, or Joanna either—but I’m not runnin’ away this time. I’m gonna see it go. I owe my pa that, an’ my ma, an’ t’ Henry an’ Joanna. I’m gonna see it—”

  Elise nodded, knowing there was nothing else she could do.

  He pulled open the screen door, entering the house before her.

  There were people already on the land when they arrived, cars and trucks, many with out-of-state tags, parked in the drive before the house, along one side of the road, and at the edge of a field that Janson knew he would never see grow a crop again. Henry pulled the LTD up into the yard in front of the barn, and Janson got out slowly, followed by Elise, and Joanna. Olivia had stayed with Katie so the little girl would not have to see this. Children had a right to dreams, not to the knowledge that a lifetime of dreaming and planning could be taken by bad luck, weather, and hard times.

  Elise came around the car to Janson’s side and took his arm. He was glad to have her there, glad for the support she gave him—as she always had.

  “Are you okay, Grandpa?” Joanna asked, coming to stand by him, looking so young, and so much as Elise had looked when he first brought her to live here so many years ago.

  Janson started to speak, but his eyes drifted away, to the house where he had been born, the wide porch, now bare, the windows vacant and staring. So much living had gone on in that house, so many years of watching his family grow and of loving Elise.

  He gently freed his arm from Elise’s hand and walked alone to the front of the house to gaze at the place he had spent so much of his life. For a moment he was certain he heard a voice, felt a touch, saw something just at the edge of his vision. There was the smell of biscuits cooking in an old wood stove, the sound of a man singing an old hymn, the ring of an ax as it rose and fell, and he closed his eyes, feeling that he could hear his mother’s voice calling him—

  Then Elise was there, her hand slipping through his arm again, and he opened his eyes and looked at her—It’s all right, he told her with a smile. I’m all right—and then he turned his eyes to the field where men had gathered to buy his life.

  There were faces he recognized and others he did not. At the edge of the yard stood a group of farmers the Sanders knew well and were known well by, men and women with sun-baked skin and faded clothes and work-hardened hands. Some were in little better shape financially than the Sanders family, a few had already lost farms, others were barely hanging on, waiting for the next act of God or man that might drive them from their own land. There had been talk of trying to block the sale, but Henry had asked that nothing be done. There was no need of anyone getting in trouble trying to block something that no o
ne could stop.

  Janson looked down to the rough ground to be certain of his footing as they reached the field where the auction would take place. After only a few steps, Elise tightened her hand on his arm and said his name softly, bringing his eyes up to hers. She nodded her head in the direction of the people already gathered in the field and to a small group right in their path. Janson followed her gaze. There was Buddy Eason’s massive bulk, and Janson wondered how it was that Buddy had gotten there over the rough ground of the field, then he noticed the heavy-shouldered men adjusting the wheelchair. One bent to lock the brakes on Buddy’s chair. Another reached to adjust the lap robe that had slipped to show the shapeless legs beneath, in their dark trousers, but Buddy slapped his hands away.

  The attendants left, except for one who remained standing at Buddy’s side, a tall young man with curling brown hair and eyes, as Janson drew near enough to see them, that reminded him of Buddy’s. Janson looked down at Buddy as he walked past. He could see himself reflected in the lenses of Buddy’s dark glasses. Buddy was smiling.

  “They picked the right place to hold the auction, didn’t they?” Buddy said in a low voice.

  Janson did not reply.

  “This is the field I burned that killed your father,” Buddy said, staring at him. “It’s just right I take your land from this same field.”

  Janson halted—but he realized that he had already known. Buddy had burned half of downtown Pine decades ago. He had tried to burn the house and cotton in Janson’s first year back on the land. Buddy had been setting fires in Eason County since he was a small child.

  Janson guessed he would be burning in Hell before too long.

  He refused to react, but Buddy’s next words were not directed at Janson but to Joanna.

  “Stephen said you’re pretty good in bed,” Buddy told her, loudly. “Maybe you can find a way to make a living now on your back.”

  Janson noticed Buddy’s grandson tense beside him, and realized why an instant later as Henry’s fist slammed into the boy’s mouth, followed immediately by the other being driven into his stomach, doubling him over. Stephen coughed and gagged, and almost went to his knees—but Henry had him by the hair at one side of his head, drawing him up short, dragging him forward until his face was only inches from that of Henry Sanders.

  “You ever touch my daughter again, you even mention her name or anything about her and I’ll castrate you and feed you your balls—do you understand me?” Henry demanded, hissing in Stephen’s face as he tightened his fingers in the boy’s hair.

  Buddy Eason’s grandson did not respond. He met Henry’s eyes.

  “Do you understand me?” Henry hissed again. When he still did not respond, Henry released him with a shove that sent him back against his grandfather’s wheelchair, rocking it and causing Stephen to almost lose his footing. His eyes moved to touch on Joanna, and then moved away as her father started back toward him.

  “No, Daddy—he’s not worth it,” Joanna said, “and neither is his grandfather.” She had Henry’s arm, pulling him away. Janson was certain that she looked directly at Buddy Eason for a moment, for he saw Buddy pucker his lips as if blowing her a kiss, and then Joanna turned away, a sick look on her face as Buddy began to laugh.

  Other people were open-mouthed around the spectacle. Janson knew they had all heard Buddy Eason’s words.

  “Come on, Henry,” Janson said. Joanna’s cheeks were flame red, torment written on her face as she looked at her grandfather, her eyes pleading for him to do something—anything—that would just get this over.

  Elise had Joanna’s arm now, and Henry’s. Under her firm insistence they moved on, distancing themselves from Buddy Eason and his grandson. Janson followed.

  Stephen stood mutely by Buddy, and Buddy reached up to pat his hand, laughing still, it appeared now only to himself.

  Elise took Janson’s arm when they stopped. Henry turned to stare at Buddy Eason and Buddy’s grandson until Joanna slipped her hand in his and brought his eyes to her instead. Janson watched them all, watched Henry relax slightly, and Joanna take a deep breath as the auction of their land and home began.

  A moment later Stephen Dawes Eason made his first bid.

  26

  Several of the prospective county buyers grew silent as Buddy Eason’s grandson entered the bidding. Joanna watched their faces, seeing their feelings, watching those feelings being quickly masked—they were bidding against Buddy Eason, and they knew it.

  And they all knew the man all too well.

  More fell silent as the bidding continued, seeing the angry looks directed their way by the massive man in the wheelchair, until the bidding was between Stephen and several men Joanna had never seen before, men who must have come from outside the county. They looked to be businessmen, not farmers, men who would break the land up into little lots, or operate it as part of a corporation from somewhere far outside the Southeast—and she found herself praying for one of them to win the final bid to keep the land out of Eason hands. She looked at her grandfather’s face, and found him looking at her. Then Janson Sanders’s eyes moved toward Stephen as the bidding continued.

  Her father’s face had lost some of its color but his jaw was clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. She knew Henry Sanders was keeping his emotions in tight control. Her grandmother was holding her grandfather’s arm, and Joanna wondering which was supporting the other. Tears welled in Elise Sanders’s eyes as she watched the auctioneer—it was gone, Joanna thought. Joanna’s dreams were gone, her father’s, her grandfather’s, even the dreams of the great-grandfather she had never known. All was over. The land, her home, all the years of work—gone for nothing. Everything Elise and Janson Sanders had worked toward most of their lives, and her father for all of his, and what she had planned for as long as she could remember—with the final fall of the gavel, a lifetime, everything, would be gone—and Stephen was doing it. Stephen, at his grandfather’s bidding.

  Which was the same reason he had gone to bed with her. The same—and she hated him for it. Oh, how she hated him.

  When the bidding was complete, a silence fell over the place. People were beginning to leave the field to return to their cars when Stephen walked to the auctioneer to shake his hand, a smile now on his face. She could see the look of triumph on Buddy Eason’s face, that look of satisfaction as he stared at her, at her grandfather, and her father. She wished that she could kill them both.

  The knot of pain rose in her. She felt unsteady on her feet, as if she had been struck, felt her father take her arm, and saw her grandparents’ concerned faces—but I should be comforting them, Joanna thought. Her father and grandparents had lost more today than she could ever know. They had had decades here, a lifetime of memories and dreams that now would be left behind. Joanna felt a tear move down her cheek, and she cursed herself for the weakness, cursed herself for the pain, cursed herself that she had ever cared for Stephen and that she had thought she had to come here to see this happen when she could have stayed away.

  Stephen started back in his grandfather’s direction, the paperwork for his purchase now in his hands—he had bought everything, down to the last piece of equipment they owned. The land. Her home.

  It was over.

  Joanna looked away from him to the red fields, the pines, the land rolling into woods and hills beyond. She had loved this place for so long, and it seemed such a part of her, but she forced her eyes away from it and back toward Buddy Eason and his grandson as Stephen came at last to stand before the wheelchair bearing the old man. Buddy reached out, a smile on his face as he prepared to take the deed to what had belonged to Janson Sanders, and to his family, for so long—the Easons had won. After all the years, all the stories Joanna had heard, all the times that Buddy Eason had come up against her grandfather—and the Easons had finally won. Buddy Eason had won.

  And Janson Sanders was there to see it.r />
  Joanna turned her face away, the tears coming freely now, until she could no longer even wipe them away—she could not watch, could not see this happen. Could not—

  “No—!”

  The loud exclamation filled the silence, drawing the attention of all those still present to the two men. Buddy Eason glared in disbelief up at his grandson. The smile of triumph was gone.

  “What did you say to me, boy?” Buddy asked.

  “I said no, Grandfather.”

  When Buddy responded his voice was high and angry. “You used my money, boy. You—”

  “I used my own money, every cent I had, but it’s mine.” Stephen reached into his pocket and held a folded check out toward his grandfather. When Buddy did not reach to take it, he dropped it on the ground at the old man’s feet. “There’s your money.”

  Buddy stared down at the check, and then back up at his grandson. Rage contorted his features.

  “It’s over,” Stephen said, “everything you’ve done to these people all these years, it’s over. You’ll leave them alone from now on, or you’ll answer to me—and you don’t want to answer to me. I’m your grandson; everything I know, I learned from you.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying to me, boy?” Buddy Eason’s voice was low now, filled with threat. “You’re an Eason—”

  “Yes, I am, partly, and because of that part I owe more of a debt to these people than I could repay in a lifetime.” He met his grandfather’s eyes through the dark glasses, and then turned away.

  Joanna watched in disbelief as he walked to where she stood with her family. He stopped before her and reached out to take her hand, into which he put the paperwork, closing her fingers firmly around it. A scream of rage broke from Buddy Eason behind him.

  “It’s yours,” Stephen said, not turning to look at his grandfather, though Buddy was shaking the wheelchair in fury, trying to move toward them.

  Stephen looked at her for a moment longer, and then released her hands, leaving the paperwork with her as he moved to stand before her father.