Mags felt a little trepidation as she sat down. The buttery grits stuck in her throat, but she choked them down so she would be properly fed. However, she was reassured to see that Asa’s plate was not as clean as it usually was. “Something wrong?” she asked as she gestured to his plate.
“No, I’m fine.” He seemed a little gruff and gestured to the bowl of peach jam. “Just want to finish this biscuit before we go.”
“Fine. I’ll help Mama clean up.”
Nettie put a hand on her sleeve. “You mustn’t muss your pretty dress. Just go hang up the apron and get the basket ready. I’ll help Mama.”
Mags nodded, not even able to convey the proper thanks to her sister. She did as Nettie told her and when she came back out with the carved basket in her hand, one of the many her father had made, Mr. Thomas came up to help her carry it. “I have it,” she proclaimed.
Would he be able to attend to his cane and carry a basket at the same time?
His eyes met hers. “It’s no problem.”
He had to show her that the basket would be okay. He lifted it to his nose. “Smells delicious.” Mr. Thomas continued out the front door. When she turned, Mags saw that the whole family was watching him to see the same thing.
A frown crossed her brow. “Okay, we’ll be back soon.”
“Take care.” Lona went into the kitchen now that the main show was over. “I know that you’ll trust in the Lord and Mr. Thomas will as well.”
Her father came to her, taking her by the arm as they went out onto the porch. “If I didn’t think you were in safe hands, daughter, I wouldn’t let you go on off with him. You be alright. You got to help him in his work. If there is anything you can do to help get him to that writing for the papers again, help him. That’s mighty important.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she intoned. They were not a family that showed a great deal of emotion or feeling usually, but her father gave her a kiss on the cheek and patted her on the arm. She gave a wave to her sisters and she descended the front stairs to see Mr. Thomas had stashed the picnic basket into the backseat.
“Let’s go.” She got into the car carefully, so she didn’t muss her dress. Feeling more than a little nervous, she wiped her cooling palms onto the sides of her wide dress as he pulled onto the road. She pointed due east and said, “Calhoun is this way.”
And they were off.
The difficult thing about the trip was the fact that Georgia’s roads were thick with red dirt and weren’t packed down very well, so it was a bumpy drive. Fortunately, or unfortunately for the farmers like John Bledsoe, there hadn’t been any rain, so it wasn’t muddy, but the red dust kicked up, surrounding them. He wished he had protective leather aprons on as some motorists wore to keep their clothes clean as they drove on to Calhoun.
The main town square showed little to no evidence of the unrest that had been there the month before. A Negro man swept the porch of a general store but averted his eyes from them. Hmmm. He wished he had not been so open about driving the car right into the heart of the town square. Not many people down here, much less dressed up Negroes would have a car, and as quickly as he could, he turned down a country road where he hoped the site of the lynching was located—if the reporting he had read had been reliable. Fortunately it was, and when they pulled in closer all that remained were the ruins of the church with the intact pastor’s manse just off to the west.
Mags gave a sharp intake of breath next to him and he could barely stop her from jumping out of the car to inspect the burned out hull of the church. “This is terrible. How could someone do this to God’s house?”
She whipped out a handkerchief, and he was surprised to see her use it on the corners of her eyes and to blow her nose instead wiping at the fine layer of red dust covering her lovely brown features.
Asa shook his head. “It didn’t matter, I suppose to those who wanted to show people in this congregation that they should not assume that they could make their own life choices because of the war. That has to be stopped.”
He took out his notebook and scribbled a few notes when he heard, rather than saw, the trigger being pulled on a rifle. The sound caused his heart to pound as if he were on the front line again. He used his body to shield Mags, lowering her on the front seat of the car for safety. He had no idea where his valuable notebook went, all that mattered in that moment was protecting Mags, who did not deserve to be shot. “Be still,” he said, with his face just above hers.
Her beautiful jewel eyes carried shock at his actions. Maybe she hadn’t heard the gun. Was it like being on the front again? Had there been a gun or was it his imaginings? He took a look around them, and saw his imagination was not that good.
A large man with dusty brown skin, dressed in tattered overalls, had a rifle aimed right at his head. “What you all doing here?”
“Name’s Asa Caldwell. This is Margaret Bledsoe and we’re looking into what happened here last month. For the NAACP.”
The man scowled. “We don’t need no help from some such as you. Get in your fancy car and go away.”
Asa was not about to argue with some man who had a rifle in his hand. He sat up and realized with a sinking feeling in his heart that his leg had slipped while protecting her. Easing himself off of her, she moved to her side of the car and he righted himself. Taking great care with his leg, he felt for the straps beneath the cloth of his pants leg and they had, indeed shifted. No.
“We’ll be on our way soon, then.” He kept a careless note in his voice, as if this were not one of the worst occurrences in his life.
“Are you alright?” Mags asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her pitched eyebrows and bitten lips.
He bent down to adjust the straps to put the leg right. A cold trickle of sweat slid down his back. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
“I’m fine,” he tossed over his shoulder in a careless way to the man who still had his gun trained on him—lest he be concerned for Asa as well.
“We just come to help about what happened.” Mags turned away from him to the man, thoughtfully diverting attention away from what he was doing, trying to let him have a moment to deal with his situation. Thank God he had brought her with him. His hands worked quickly beneath the brown broadcloth to get his leg fixed so they could leave. They weren’t staying where they clearly weren’t wanted.
“Don’t want no help. You all coming here looking fancy, makes people think we called you here, makes more trouble.”
“That’s true. We kind of did it this way as part of our disguise. You see, we’re a courting couple out for a picnic.” Mags pointed to the basket in the back seat.
There. The leg went back into the place where it felt good and right. Asa straightened up and opened the door. “I’ll crank her and we’ll get going. No harm done.” With care he stepped out onto the leg and he had it right. Praise you Father God.
Going around in the front, he saw the man had lowered the gun.
He bent down to touch the crank, but the man spoke. “I didn’t mean no disrespect. Gots to be careful round here these days. I’m James. It were my neighbor’s sons who died in the lynch mob.”
“I’m sorry.” He straightened to see Mags’s jewel eyes trained on the large man to the most touching effect. How brilliant she was. Clearly.
He spoke up. “My condolences, sir.”
“It’s a mighty thirsty day,” Mags waved a handkerchief in front of her face. “Do you think we could have some water, sir?”
James gestured. “Park your fancy car over there in the shade. I’ll draw some up from the well. My lady would be glad to talk to you folks. She likes visitors from far way.”
Mags opened the door and stepped out with James’s assistance. Asa stood up from the crank and came around to join her. “I’m from Winslow, Mr. James. Just the next county over.
”
James ran a hand over his head. “You said Bledsoe, right?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“I know of a Bledsoe woman, Ruby.”
“My sister.” Mags nodded. Thank God I brought her. She could do small talk like no one’s business.
“But, she, she was as white as a boll of cotton,” James looked perplexed.
Mags smiled. “Different daddies. She’s been up north now for about four years.”
“She sure was a feisty thing.”
“She’s the one who sent me on here,” he spoke up, seeing that Ruby’s name counted for something. “We’re to gather information for the investigation to let the NAACP know what happened down here.”
James guided Mags over to his house, and he followed, glad to be on the edge of the conversation. It let him observe what was going on. “Did she marry her doctor man? He was mighty light too.”
“She did,” Mags stepped up onto the porch and James guided her to a chair in the cool shade. “They’ve been married almost four years now.”
“He was on the chain gang with me for a couple days. He was bought out quick.”
Mags nodded. “A terrible time for us. We didn’t know if Adam was safe or not.”
“Yep that was his name.” James slapped his thigh. “Small world. Come on sit on the porch. Annie, we have company!”
The concern on her face was clear as Asa climbed the stairs of the porch, trying to see if his leg was okay. He stared over her head and took up his notebook and pencil, having to record some, but unfortunately not all, of what was being said. Dr. Morson had been on a chain gang?
James went to the door of his home. “Annie, these here folks would like some water.”
The porch that James directed them to was much smaller than the Bledsoe’s, but he could see James took pride in his home. He carefully sat himself down on the wooden bench that was provided. Mags took her own seat in the shade. A small woman in a house dress brought out some cups of water that, even though they were small, refreshed him.
“Delicious.” Asa smacked his lips together.
“We gots a spring,” the woman named Annie said. “That’s why we likes it here. Mostly. So hard seeing God’s house looking this way, living right across, but one day, we building it back up again.”
James nodded. “That’s right. Can’t let them burn down God’s house.”
“I wondered about that,” Mags put in. “What caused them to do it?”
“Reverend Gaines’s son’s tried to stop them. They said that they didn’t pay on time for the church’s note. It wasn’t true. They paid all the time.”
“So why would they say they didn’t?”
“One of the sons was going up north, and going to take the other with him. They leave, then the money trickles away. This way, they solve both problems. Warns us not to go up there either—even though they send papers telling about how much you can get paid to work up in one of those other kind of mills.”
“So much, five dollars a week up there.” Mags breathed. Annie nodded as she settled herself next to Mags on the bench.
“And yet, you stayed—even though you were on a chain gang?” he asked, busily taking notes.
James ran a hand over his head again, shaking it. “I promised the man who bought me out a share of my crops for five years. Once I be done with him, we would be gone.”
He noted the determined set of the man’s jaw. Yes, he wanted to go. Terribly. These people needed help. His help.
“Was you in the war?” James gestured to his leg.
“I was injured there while I was reporting for the newspaper.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
James avowed he had not seen the lychings, but he knew who had.
“We could come back next week and talk to them.” Mags fiddled with her cup. “That would leave you all out of it.”
Annie’s eyes lit up. “We’ll throw a play party to raise up the church next week, and invite folks you can talk to.”
“It’s a fine idea, Annie,” James said. “Don’t bring no picnic. They’ll be plenty. Try not to be so fancy. Dress plain. It’s enough you got this here car. We’ll have folk here for you to talk to.”
Asa closed his notebook with satisfaction and tucked it into his vest pocket, resolving to return the next week. He would have never have gotten that opening if Mags had not been with him. She was worth her weight in gold. He could see what a boon it would be to have a life’s companion—she had been so helpful.
Keeping his eyes focused on the road, he waved to James and Annie. What could he possibly wear to be less fancy?
Mags pointed out a shaded place a bit down the road from James and Annie’s that she noticed on the way there. “Let’s eat now. We don’t want the water they gave us to be too warm, and it’s a warm day.”
Mr. Thomas pulled the car over on the side of the road as far as he could and they both went to the brook that babbled on. It would be a cool place for a picnic. She spread the blanket out and they both sat on an opposite corners, to anchor it as much as to be separate from one another. Arranging the picnic items, she tried to make conversation about what had happened. “A shame. They only tried to make their lives better, and they were punished for it.”
“Can you say that something similar would happen if you told Paul Winslow that you were leaving?”
“Let’s pray.” She chose to react to his question this way and they bowed their heads as he blessed the picnic.
Mags said nothing as she thoughtfully chewed on a chicken leg answering him. “Mr. Winslow would find someone else. He found you.”
“I…” he waved his own chicken leg and pointing it toward her, “…only adapted your methods. You’re a most valuable employee to him.”
“Maybe that is the way to make him pay,” Mags tried to enjoy the crunch of her own well-fried chicken, but surprised to see Mr. Thomas eying her as he forked up a bit of green bean salad. “Well, at least in Calhoun, people have their own industry they can engage in. If you live in Winslow, you have even fewer choices. See what happened to Ruby when she tried to choose. And Travis.”
“Who’s Travis?”
Mags marveled at how this man always made her forget herself. “No one.”
They ate in silence.
“That was delicious.” Mr. Thomas stretched out on a spare space on the blanket. “I’m as full as a tick. But once I’ve rested a bit, I’ll find out who this Travis is, Mags. Remember, I’m a great reporter. Someone will tell me about him.”
She ate the last of her green bean salad, not feeling like any pound cake. “Surely. Winslow is a small town and it is easy to find out things in a small town. Unless you don’t live here. Then, you come with secrets that you don’t tell anyone.”
“Like?”
“How you injured your leg,” Mags said. She had been wanting to know and she didn’t want him to ask her anymore about Travis. So she put forward the one thing that she would know would cause him to do something different.
There were a few crumbs of pound cake in his moustache. What would it be like to kiss them off? Shaking the prickles from her fingers, she offered him a cloth napkin to wipe the crumbs with. He took the napkin, but instead began to fold it into a bird-like creature.
“What if I say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and my leg just happened to be in the way?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you’ll just have to.”
“I think…” she wrapped up her uneaten chicken thigh in a napkin, “…that it would be better to talk about how it really happened.”
“That’s your good opinion.”
“Is that the story that you told your family?”
Asa nodded. “Yes. It would be easier for my mother to hear that than the truth.”
“Which is?”
“I could tell you,” Asa started, then smiled, “but then you would have my heart.”
“Would I?” Mags leaned down to brush the crumbs off of his moustache with the tips of her fingers. She couldn’t stand seeing them there anymore. Quickly, he captured her hand in his, leaving her fingertips suspended, and just touched his plump, full lips, his touch made her recall when their bodies had been touching full on pressed against one another in the car. She felt the same electric energy reoccur between them now as she had then. She dismissed it since it was an energy then that she had thought was born of fear, and not attraction. Now, she knew that once that fear was gone, the electricity had remained behind. The pressure of his hand kept her fingers in place against his lips. She tried to pull away, but his strength kept her hand there.
“You would.” Mr. Thomas’s deep voice resonated against her fingertips and she wanted to swoon. “But I warn you. You put your hand there. You’re dealing with a man, Mags, a man who has seen the world. I’m not a boy. Not like Travis.”
“How, how, do you know about Travis?” She tried to pull her hand away again, but he would not let her go.
Mr. Thomas’s intense eyes bore into hers as he spoke against her fingertips once more. “When I was in France, I was asked by a white commander in the Army to pick up some garbage. I told him that I was reporting on the treatment of the Negro troops for a Negro newspaper in America. He took out his pistol and he shot me not just once, but twice in my leg, destroying it completely. He laughed about it, telling me that would teach a smart-mouthed nigger to know his place.” Asa’s lips stopped moving from telling her his terrible truth.
She tugged once more on her hand and felt the smallest kiss on her fingertips before her hand dropped.
Had her hand been on fire? What was he kissing it for? She didn’t know if she should be shocked at his audacity or his story, or his knowledge of Travis.
“I—I am sorry.” She had never been this stirred up in spirit in her life and never this unsure of her words, but this man made her so. Her arm, and her hand felt as if it would never be the same again. “I think we’d better be getting back from this.” She turned and started to put the leftovers in the basket.
A Most Precious Pearl Page 7