Parker laughed at her. “Happy anniversary.”
“How long will it last?”
“Hopefully, for several more anniversaries.” Her husband was not surprised that a key person was absent. “I thought I told Henry to drive you.”
Virginia Parker stepped back, held one arm out, and parodied a fashion model’s pose. The duster she wore fit her like a tent—the bottom six inches drug the ground, the tips of her fingers were peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves. “I’m the driver now, ’cause Henry’s a scaredy-cat.” She was laughing with every breath. “I can walk faster than he makes it go, so he can just stay at home.”
The young woman’s husband enjoyed the sound of her happiness. “You’re the boss.” He looked toward the new automobile. “Who’s with you?”
“Evalina and her baby. I’m taking them by the doctor’s.” She wrapped her arms around one of his and started back to her new car. “You want me to come back by and give you a ride to the house?”
“Better not.” He pulled out a gold pocket watch. “I’ll see you back at the lake—probably after dark.”
She mounted the seat, blew him a kiss, and laughed again. “Your loss.”
Parker did not think of himself as a romantic, but when he looked at his wife, he knew why men wrote poetry. He watched her wrestle the vehicle into a turn, narrowly miss colliding with a cotton wagon, experiment with the levers and controls until she could make it go backward, then experiment again to get it moving forward. She grinned throughout the entire maneuver.
She waved and drove off; the expression on her face was a mixture of stern concentration and childish delight.
Parker thought, They ought to tell men that if they buy their wives an automobile, everybody in the whole house will be happy. They could sell hundreds.
He turned to mount the steps and his eyes fell on Mose. The boy sat with his dog by the wagon wheel; the child was as sad as Parker’s wife was happy. He made a detour, and the boy and dog both stood as he approached.
Parker picked up Mose’s stick and dropped it in the wagon. “Time’ll pass fast enough, Mose. You’ll be drivin’ plenty.”
“Yessuh.”
The man put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a penny. “This might help. You can go to the store an’ get you some striped candy. It’ll help you grow faster.”
Mose backed a step. “I’m much obliged, boss, but I reckon me an’ Pap’ll be makin’ some m’lasses candy this fall.”
Parker was mildly surprised by the boy’s response. He nodded and was turning away when Mose’s Bible caught his eye. “Is that Preacher’s Bible?”
“No, suh. It’s mine.”
“Aren’t you a little young to be readin’ a Bible?”
“I don’t know, boss.” If he wasn’t old enough to drive the wagon, Mr. R. D. might want him to stop reading. “You want me quit readin’?”
“No, no, boy.” Parker smiled and picked up the tattered book. “I was just askin’ if you’re old enough to know how to read.”
“Yessuh. I been readin’ for long as I been rememberin’, just like everybody else.”
Seven-year-old colored boys who were able to read were a rarity, and Parker decided a test was in order. “How about readin’ me a verse?”
“A verse, boss?”
“Mm-hmm.” Parker let the Bible fall open and handed it to Mose. “Read me one of those verses.”
When Mose looked at the page without saying anything, Parker misread his hesitation and smiled. The boy kept his eyes on the page and asked, “I can just pick the one I want, boss?”
Parker said, “That’ll be fine.”
“This here is one of my favorites; it’s Ephesians, chapter six, verse twelve.” The boy held the book close to his chest and followed the small print with his finger. “ ‘For we wrestle not against flesh an’ blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of the world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’ ”
Parker had been wrong—and he surprised himself by feeling relieved. The little boy was smart, and old Preacher Washington was teaching him well. “Well, Mose, it sounds like you might be plannin’ on goin’ to war against those rulers of darkness.”
Mose didn’t know the man was kidding him. He said, “We already in the war, boss. The Book says it real clear.”
Parker smiled down at the boy. “An’ you’re plannin’ on fightin’?”
“Already am, boss— every day— everybody is.”
“Well, I guess you might have to fight for both of us then, ’cause I’ve got my hands full with this gin.” Parker had wasted enough time with the child. He waved a casual finger at the boy’s stick and spoke as he walked away. “If you get the chance, throw in a good lick for me.”
While Mose was reading to the white man, Pommer was watching Virginia Parker drive down the street and stop in front of the doctor’s house. When the woman climbed down from the Packard, he watched every move she made. She stood by the automobile and removed the too-big duster; beneath it she was wearing a white blouse with lace at the throat, tan jodhpurs, and polished riding boots—and she was beautiful. A black woman carrying a baby got out of the back of the car and followed the white woman up the gravel path. The man would not be interested to know that the visit to the doctor was to confirm something the woman already suspected.
When they were inside, the man stood looking at the doctor’s house and thinking of the woman. He wondered what the high and mighty gin boss would think if he found that pretty little wife of his with her throat cut. The man took his time and walked around the car, looking at it up close. Minutes later he was on his way out of town, walking south on the lake road, becoming more sober and more determined with every step.
The next hour or two went slow for Mose. He read his Bible, and he and the dog dozed. When they finished getting his cotton into the gin, he took the ticket and turned the mules toward Cat Lake. The trip home would be faster; the wagon was lighter, and the mules knew they were on their way to the barn.
Trees on the west side of the road shaded the wagon and its crew. Mose had the reins across his arm and held his Bible in his lap. The noisy motorcar passed him when he was a couple miles south of town; otherwise, traffic on the road was sparse. The late-afternoon temperature was warm; a red-tailed hawk drifted aimlessly on the last of the day’s rising air. The rhythmic crunch of the mules’ hooves on the gravel and the jingling from the harness eventually lulled the boy to sleep. The boy’s angel stood near, watching, guarding—waiting for the appointed moment.
The wagon was nearing Cordy Brake when the angel leaned close and whispered to the dog. The dog sprang to her feet and growled, waking Mose in time for him to watch her spring from the seat and land on the red mule. In the blink of an eye, she nimble-footed her way down the length of the mule’s back and launched herself at a point out in front of the team. Mose looked past the dog and saw two women about two hundred yards down the road. It was Young Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Evalina Daniels; they were pulling a log out of the road so their car could pass. The women got the log out of the way and straightened.
Mose was trying to figure out why the dog would get so excited, when Pommer stepped out of the woods between him and the women. The man was facing the women, holding his knife behind his back; he was moving slowly, sneaking closer to the women when they saw him. At that same moment Mose clicked at the mules and said, “Hup, there, Red! Hup, now!”
The mules started to jog. Mose watched the three people near the car. The dog was sprinting toward the man, raising a small trail of dust, straining for more speed.
When the man with the knife reached in the car and took out a small bundle, Evalina Daniels covered her mouth in an effort to stifle her cry. Her reaction made the man laugh. The dog was mere seconds from the scene, running hard and quiet.
Mose could hear Pap saying, “If the trouble’s bad enough for you to pull out that stick, don’t be holdin’ back. Un
derstand?” He got a hand on his club and slapped the mules hard with the reins. “Yah, mule! Yah!” The mules began to run.
Pommer stooped over and put the bundle on the ground. He straightened in time to see the women’s mouths drop open—they were looking at something behind him. He turned in time for a tricolored blur to ram into him, hitting him just above his belt buckle. The man’s explosion of breath mixed with his yell, and the dog’s momentum carried them to the ground in a tangle of long ears, flailing arms, and angry sounds. Evalina Daniels scurried past the fight to get her child; Virginia Parker was turning in a tight circle, searching the ground desperately for something she could use for a weapon.
The boy’s club felt heavy in his hand, the mules were galloping, and the man was getting the better of the dog. He didn’t close his eyes, but he prayed, “Lord, please take care of my dog, an’ just help me to make You proud.”
In the next instant, he hurled himself off the wagon—leading with his bare feet—and crashed into the fight—temporarily disarming the man and knocking him off the dog. The boy rolled and skidded in the gravel. When he gained his feet, he had his stick back, ready to strike.
It was hard to tell who was getting the worst end of the fight. The dog bayed and yipped and growled; Pommer was snarling and yelling cusswords. The man had his hand on his knife when Mose hit him in the shoulder with the club—the blow didn’t faze him.
Pommer left trying to pin the dog and was on his feet in the next instant, crouched and moving in on Mose when the dog came in from the man’s left, snapped at his arm, and got his sleeve. The man twisted his hand, caught the dog on the back of the neck, and pinned her to the ground, yelling, “Gotcha!”
Mose Washington was going to be a baseball player when he got big enough. The club he was holding was his practice bat, pitted and nicked from the thousands of pebbles the boy had tried to knock across Cat Lake. From the edge of the water in front of their cabin, it was three or four hundred feet across the lake, and Pap said Mose was “gonna knock enough gravel out there for folks to walk from one side to the other on dry ground.” The youngster hadn’t hit any rocks as far as the middle of the lake yet, but he came closer every day.
R. D. Parker left the gin early, and, in an effort to get home before dark, he was letting his horse have its head; the gray had been corralled for three days, and he was moving along well. They were north of Cordy Brake when something on the strip of road through the brake attracted the man’s attention. As he watched, a person jumped from the seat of a fast-moving wagon and landed on something in the road. The wagon kept traveling, giving him a clear view of the scene. His wife’s car was stopped in the middle of the road. He could make out his wife standing by the ditch on the left; people who looked to be fighting were rolling around near the car. He kicked the horse with his heels and spoke once. In three strides the big gray was stretched out, and Parker was leaning out along the horse’s neck. “C’mon, boy, we need to be gettin’ there.”
Evalina was whining with frustration. She couldn’t leave M’Virginia to handle the man by herself, but there was no safe place for her to put the baby; the baby had gone from crying to screaming. She watched the boy’s club bounce off the man’s shoulder and came to the realization that the three of them would all fight together or the man would kill them one at a time.
“Lord God in Heaven, save us!”
She put the baby on the ground by the car and went back to the battle.
Young Mrs. Parker watched Evalina put the baby down and move toward the man holding the dog down.
The young colored boy had a long stick, but he was no match for the man. The man pinned the dog and raised his knife.
The boy squared himself at the man, spread his feet apart, and took a batter’s stance. The dog was yipping and growling, fighting desperately to escape the man’s grip. The baby was screaming in the background.
Parker could see the knife suspended over a form in the road. He wanted to yell, but he was too far away to be heard.
Pommer held the knife poised over the struggling animal; the two women and the boy froze as he looked up—grinning and triumphant—making sure they would see what he was going to do to the dog. He leered at Virginia Parker and said something that was drowned out by the dog’s yelping—but the woman read the message in his eyes. When Pommer turned to face the young black boy, the hoe handle was already closing on its mark.
An angel can move across the universe in the time it took for the slender baseball bat to travel those last few inches. Pommer managed to turn his head.
The gray was back on its haunches, sliding to a stop, when Parker left the saddle, running when he hit the ground.
His wife was on her knees by the side of the road. He ran to her and knelt to take her by the arms. “Are you all right?”
The woman seized him and held on, pressing her face against his chest, clinging to him. Both were out of breath; Parker couldn’t tell which of them was trembling. “Are you hurt?”
She managed to shake her head. “I’m not hurt.”
He pried her loose and held her at arm’s length so he could look at her. She was too pale.
She said, “I need to sit down.”
He took her hands and stood up. “Let’s get you to the motorcar.”
She shook her head and stayed on her knees. “Not there . . . here. I just want to sit here.”
He helped her sag sideways until she was sitting with her feet tucked next to her. She looked past his shoulder and said, “See about them.”
Parker stood up and surveyed the scene around him.
Evalina had followed her mistress’s lead and was sitting in the roadbed. She was rocking back and forth, cooing to the baby; her face was wet with tears. The baby’s cries were subsiding.
The cotton wagon had slowed some, but its team was still headed for the barn.
Ced Pommer was splayed on his back in front of the automobile.
The boy was kneeling in the road. He held his dog close, whispering to her—the hoe handle was near his hand; when Parker looked at him he stood. Parker moved in their direction and the dog took a step forward, positioning herself between her boy and the white man. When Parker kept coming the hound growled.
Parker stopped. “What’s her name?”
The little boy rested his hand on the dog. “Lady, boss.”
The man squatted down and held out his hand. “C’mere, Lady. Nobody’s gonna hurt anybody here. C’mon, girl, everything’s okay now.”
Mose nudged the dog, and she sniffed at the man’s hand.
When the dog was placated, Parker looked at the boy. “How’re you doin’?”
Mose was looking at Ced Pommer. “I guess I ain’t doin’ too good, boss. I ain’t ever hit nobody with a stick before.”
“You had it to do, Mose.” He waved a hand behind him. “I could see it from back yonder. If you hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve killed somebody—maybe everybody here. Lady would be dead for sure.”
“Yessuh, he sho’ would’ve done that.” Mose sank slowly back to his knees, and the dog moved closer to him. “Sorry, boss. I reckon my legs was gettin’ weak.”
“I understand.” Parker looked at the body behind him then turned back to the boy. “Mose?”
“Yessuh?”
“We’re the only people who know what happened here.” Parker motioned with his hand. “I’m gonna tell my wife and Evalina to keep this all a secret, an’ I’ll talk to Preacher. Can you keep it a secret till we get this sorted out?”
“Yessuh.”
“This is the most serious thing that’s happened around here in a long time, Mose. Don’t even tell your best friend. Okay?”
“I understand, boss. I won’t tell nobody.”
“Good.”
R. D. Parker left Mose and leaned over the man by the car. Ced Pommer had a depression an inch deep in his left temple. Parker said, “Small loss,” and drug the man’s body off the road and several yards into the woods.
When he got back to the others he started giving directions to get people into the car. Evalina Daniels and the baby went in first. The boy hesitated before putting his foot on the running board and asked, “Can Lady ride with me?”
Young Mrs. Parker offered him a weak smile and answered, “Lady is welcome to do whatever she likes.”
Parker walked his wife to the car. “Are you gonna drive home?”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “Let the gray go by himself. I’ll show you how to drive.”
Mose rode on the back seat with Miz Evalina and her baby; Mr. R. D. and his wife sat up front talking quietly. At one point, when the white lady leaned close and whispered in his ear, Mr. R. D. came close to running the automobile off the road.
Preacher Washington came out on the red mule and met them when they were almost to Gilmer’s Grove. Parker got the car stopped and said, “Everything’s fine, Preacher. Follow us on up to the house, an’ I’ll tell you what happened.”
Old Mr. Parker joined them when they got to the backyard of the big white house.
The two white men and Pap visited; Mose and Lady sat in the grass under one of the big oaks; Red was content to crop grass along the lake bank. Every now and then, one of the men would turn and look at the quiet boy. While the three men conferred, Evalina Daniels came out the back door of the Parkers’ house and brought Mose a big ham sandwich, a piece of apple pie, and a cup of cold milk. The dog was served the finest plate of scraps she’d ever eaten.
The sun was dropping behind the trees and the katydids were starting to sing by the time the men finished talking. R. D. Parker walked with Preacher to where Mose and the dog waited. They both stood up, and Parker said, “Mose, I just told Preacher you’re man enough to drive your mules to our gin any time he wants you to.”
And If I Die Page 10