What would Will Johnson do about a thing like this?
There was no one to tell Rhodes, and he could learn nothing from looking at Will. If there was any disappointment or bitterness, you couldn’t read it in his face. Will’s gaze was fixed on something far through the lawyer’s window.
“I won’t have it that way,” Rhodes spoke so suddenly that everyone stopped to listen. Even Rhodes felt startled to hear himself speaking so loudly in a room full of grown-ups. “I figure Mom was ill, for a long time, and it was her intention soon as she was well to change that there will. I reckon nobody thinks they’re going to die — and I reckon it was like that with Mom right up to the last — right up till it was too late.”
“What you mean, son?” Lawyer Hall squinted through his glasses.
“Like I said, Mom was ill and hated to think she had to die — and somebody else might have — all that was hers…. I know she was real sick — because just before she died she — said some things to the sheriff that she’d never of said — if she’d been well … I know that. Everybody knows that … and it’s like that about the will — ”
“You can’t change your mother’s will, boy.”
“She would have changed it.” Rhodes took a deep breath. “She talked to me all the time — and one thing I know. She meant to leave half that — that farm to Will.”
“It’s not here in this document, my boy.”
“No, sir. It’s not. But it says there that the farm is all mine, and so I want you to fix up some papers that will give half of it to Will.”
“I could draw up the papers.” The lawyer seemed relieved.
Grandpa cackled. “Never seed no lawyer what couldn’t draw up some papers if’n the fee was right.” But everybody laughed, reading the pleasure in Grandpa’s voice. He was pleased, too that Rhodes had made this decision.
“I’ll draw up the papers then,” the lawyer said, “and you both can sign them.”
Will spoke, voice soft and low. “I don’t think so.”
“Will,” Rhodes said.
“It ain’t that I won’t help you, son. But there are other men in your family who could work for you — and you wouldn’t have to give up any half of your place. Five or six years, you’ll be man enough to run it all alone. I won’t let you give away something there ain’t any sense in you giving away.”
“Will, I want to! I want you out — ” Rhodes stopped. He bit his lip. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted Will out on that farm so he could go on feeling safe and secure and taken care of, the way he always had been. He wanted to go on leaning on Will — as long as he could get away with it, and in his heart he knew half that farm was a small price to pay. “I want you to have it, Will.” His voice was low.
“I know you do, boy. But I been doing a month of thinking in the last few minutes. I’m sure what I want. To get back on my own place — I been a long time away, boy.”
There was a lot of talk, a lot of argument. There was not a Wilkes or a Burris present who could believe any man would turn down half interest in anything. Before they left the office, one of the Wilkes men had agreed to run the farm on shares for Rhodes, and Will had agreed he was the best man in the family.
Rhodes got up and filed out of the office with the others. He went down the musty stairs to the street. Everything was changed and different. Looked like every part of growing up was a new pain, a new kind of loneliness.
He was aware of Will and Grandpa behind him but he did not look back. He crossed the walk to the pick-up truck.
“Reckon has Rosanne got dinner ready?” Grandpa said.
“She’s not there,” Rhodes told him. “She’s moved back to — to Will’s shack.”
“Well, I must say that there ain’t very thoughty of her. How us men folks going to git our vittles?”
“We’re going to do for ourselves,” Rhodes said, “or well do like they do across the river.”
“Doing without — that’s all right for them poor crackers across the river,” Grandpa said, “but my stomach is used to a woman’s cooking, three times a day.”
“Aunt Hettie Wilkes will be there to stay with us soon,” Rhodes said. He got in behind the steering wheel.
“Aunt Hettie Wilkes!” Grandpa spluttered. “That old woman, whining around the house. Boy, what in the world are you thinking of?”
“She’ll cook and clean up for us.”
“Lordy, but we’ll have to look at her, and listen to her after having a gal like that Rosanne on the place — ”
Grandpa got into the truck. He moved over to make a place for Will.
Will started to get in the car. Rhodes said, “Some place we can drop you, Will?”
Will’s head jerked up. He stared at Rhodes. “I reckoned I’d stay on until your relatives could move in.”
Rhodes swallowed hard. His eyes were misty. He stared straight ahead. “We got to get used to — to doing for ourselves, Will … I reckon we can start today.”
Will closed the door, stood looking into the car.
“You sure you’ll be all right, boy?”
“Grandpa and me. We’ll get along. At least we’ll try. You taught me that a man has to rely on himself. There ain’t any use leaning on you — I got to get used to depending on myself sometime.”
“You — don’t want me, boy?”
“You’re sure — mighty welcome to come visit us, Will … anytime you want to.”
Will stepped back up on the pavement. He was still watching Rhodes.
Grandpa said, “God’s fires, Rhodes, I feel mighty lonely in this here truck — already.”
“Shut up, Grandpa,” Rhodes said. He swallowed hard. “Goodbye, Will.” He started the car. “Reckon we best get out to the place.”
Will nodded. “Watch them orange trees, boy. They’ll need a lot of care these next two years.”
“All right, Will.”
“And them Santa Gertrudis. Takes a lot of care when them cows start dropping — ”
“All right, Will.”
Rhodes backed the truck out of the parking place.
Grandpa said, “Boy, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing, Grandpa. I’m standing on my own two feet — maybe I’m the first Wilkes to do that — in God knows when.”
Grandpa was silent a long moment. Finally he said, “I see, boy. You didn’t cling to Will, ‘cause you think he needs to be free? Is that it? You figure that gal is waitin’ at his shack for him. I reckon you’re right. But you and me, Rhodes we’re in for a mighty rough time. But by golly, I’m proud of you.” He touched Rhodes’ arm. “By the way, Rhodes, reckon could you buy me a box of them chocolate covered cherries before we get clear out of town?”
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Mourn the Hangman
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Copyright Registration Renewed © 1984 by Harry Whittington
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This is a work of fiction.
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ISBN 10: 1-4405-4669-X
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