by Brenda Woods
“To determine what killed him,” Daddy answered. “And to take care of his body.”
CHAPTER 31
“Doc’s on his way,” Daddy told us. He’d covered the body of Lucas Shaw with a blanket, and we’d gathered outside the garage.
“God surely works in mysterious ways,” Pastor Honeywell said. “And in this case, expeditiously. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Haberlin?” he inquired.
“I sure would.”
“So there’s likely no need for you to call the sheriff. Would you agree with that as well?” the pastor added.
“No crime was committed,” I said.
“Woulda been, if it hadn’t been for Gabriel,” Patrick noted.
Meriwether sighed. “Spoze we’re even now. I saved you from bein’ hit by that car, and now you turned ’round and saved me from”—he hesitated before continuing—“killin’ a man. What you think ’bout that, my young friend?” He cracked a smile.
I grinned. “I think it’s just fine, and now that Lucas is dead, y’all don’t have to move, do you?”
Meriwether and the pastor shared a look. “I’m ’bout done with Birdsong, and I have a strong suspicion Birdsong is through with me . . . Time to head north to a place that’s rumored to be a trifle more hospitable.”
“What’s that mean, hospitable?” I asked.
“Welcoming,” he answered.
“I think it’ll be better for y’all up there too,” Daddy said.
“Only one way to know and that’s to find out for myself.”
“Now, about the sheriff?” Pastor Honeywell inquired again.
“Like Gabriel said, no crime’s been committed, so I can’t say I see a reason for me to call him, but y’all should be aware that he did come ’round my house this mornin’ askin’ ’bout the snake. Seems Miss Duval carried it over to him and he was fulla questions. Thissa small town”—he glanced at Patrick—“and tales fly fast.”
The pastor chuckled. “Birdsong’s a fittin’ name, then, ain’t it?”
“That it is.”
Old Pastor Honeywell stared long and hard into my daddy’s eyes. “If you don’t have any objections, Mr. Haberlin, I think it’d be wise for Meriwether not to be here right ’bout now. So we’re gonna head on back to the house to check on Phoebe and Abigail.”
“That’d be wise of you.”
Meriwether reached for Daddy’s hand and they shook. “Thank you, Mr. Haberlin. It’s likely I’ll see y’all b’fore we leave.”
“I’m sure of that, Meriwether. Plus, you’ll need those title and registration papers for the car. I’m expecting them in today’s mail.”
Meriwether smiled. “Thanks again, Mr. Haberlin, for everything.”
“Jake . . . The name’s Jake.”
Then Meriwether turned to me and said, “And thank you, Gabriel.”
“Welcome,” I replied. “And thank you too for . . . you know, that day with the bicycle. Sure are a lot of thank-yous around here!”
“I know.”
“Bye, Mr. Meriwether Hunter,” Patrick uttered.
“So long,” Meriwether replied.
And together, Meriwether and the pastor headed to the car. Pastor’s arm was around his shoulder, reminding me of a father with his son.
CHAPTER 32
Daddy sent Patrick and me outside to work, and I was filling a tank with gas when an odd thought popped into my mind. The same way a car stops when it’s out of fuel or something goes haywire in the engine, Lucas had come to his end. But unlike cars and other machines, once our light goes out, there’s no way to ever start us up again.
“You see his eyes?” Patrick asked. “Hope I don’t have nightmares.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Cars rolled in and out as if it was a regular day and Lucas wasn’t lying dead inside the station.
A short while later, Doc Riley drove up with his daughter Rosie beside him.
He politely greeted everyone, and everyone returned his greeting.
“He’s in the garage,” my daddy told him.
Rosie glanced at Patrick and me, said, “Hi, y’all,” and took out a notebook and pencil and began writing.
“Hi, Rosie.”
“How’d he die?” she asked.
“Just dropped, same as a peach from a tree, and died,” Patrick answered.
Rosie jotted something in her notebook, and together we trailed her daddy and mine into the garage.
Doc Riley lifted the blanket from Lucas. “Jake, you said he was clutchin’ his chest?”
Daddy nodded.
“And cried out in pain?”
“Yes.”
“Howled is more like it,” Patrick added.
Rosie peeked at the body but didn’t even flinch.
Doc Riley scratched his head, covered Lucas back up, and said, “So, Lucas Shaw’s luck finally ran out.”
“Huh?” Daddy asked.
“His heart. It was why the army, navy, and marines wouldn’t take him when he tried to enlist. Wondered when it was finally gonna quit on him . . . Just a matter of time. Even the heart doctor I sent him to down in Charleston was in total agreement. Born with it, you know . . . a sick ticker. Nuthin’ could be done. His sister won’t likely ask for an autopsy, with his medical history. I’ll stop over there to deliver the news and call the undertaker.”
Rosie, who’d been busily taking notes, stopped and asked, “Did rigor mortis set in yet, Daddy?”
“No, Rosie—takes at least four hours, remember?”
She nodded and scribbled something else in her tablet.
“My Rosie’s got her mind set on becomin’ a doctor, you know.”
“Jake?” a voice called from outside the garage. “Jake?” Suddenly, Sheriff Monk and J. J. showed up in the doorway.
“Lucas croaked!” Patrick blurted.
The sheriff and J. J. glanced at each other, then stepped quickly over to the body.
Doc Riley lifted the blanket to show the sheriff and J. J. “Heart finally gave out. Surprised it lasted him this long.”
The sheriff and J. J. stared at the body as if they didn’t believe what they were seeing.
“Lucas Shaw done gone and died?” J. J. asked.
“Dropped dead right in front of us,” Daddy told him.
Sheriff Monk tugged at his earlobe, ran his hand across his brow, and glanced around at each one of us before he asked Doc Riley, “No sign of injury of any kind?”
“Not a thing.”
Sheriff Monk’s face twisted with questions and then he asked Daddy, “Where’s that colored boy who works here?”
“Home, I’d suppose.”
With the gentlest nudge possible, I let Patrick know to be quiet. And thankfully, he was.
“You notify his sister yet, Doc?”
“I was going to, and then call Billy McGinty to come pick up the body.”
“And you’re certain it was his heart?”
“I sent him to the specialist in Charleston myself. Remember after Pearl Harbor when he couldn’t enlist? Was because of that.”
Sheriff Hector Monk gazed up at the ceiling, sighed deeply, then proclaimed, “Doc, I know you to be an honest fella. I’ll stop by the Shaw place for you, save you the trip.”
“Thank you kindly. Got some house calls to make.”
A car honked out at the station pumps three times. “If y’all don’t mind,” Daddy told them, “I’ll excuse myself . . . Customer’s waitin’.”
J. J. Carroway shook his head in disbelief. “Cain’t hardly believe it. Lucas Shaw really done gone and dropped dead.”
The sheriff nervously tugged his ear again, and I watched as doubt returned to his eyes. But seconds later, a shrug of his shoulders made it appear as if the investigation was over.
The waiting car
honked again, and Daddy hurried off.
Patrick and I watched from the doorway as the sheriff and J. J. climbed into their patrol car. And when Sheriff Hector Monk spoke into the car’s two-way radio, I knew that the news of Lucas Shaw’s death was about to be broadcast all over Birdsong, USA.
Doc Riley used the phone in Daddy’s office to call Billy McGinty, the mayor-undertaker, and then he and pretty Rosie Riley were gone too. She carried his black doctor’s bag as if it already belonged to her.
Before long, Mama showed up, wearing her most worried look. “Y’all all right?” she asked Patrick and me.
“You wanna see him?” Patrick asked her. “I gotta warn you, though, his eyes is wide open . . . so it’s even scarier than a Dracula movie.”
Mama closed her eyes and shook her head. “Horrible thing for y’all boys to witness.”
Because so many things that summer seemed to be pushing me to the finish line of childhood, I wanted to say, I’m not a boy anymore. But because it didn’t seem to be the right time for that, I didn’t. She placed her hand on my shoulder.
Patrick lifted the Saint Christopher necklace from underneath his shirt and nervously fingered the small round medal. Mama, taking note, said to him, “I can drive you home, Patrick, if you like. It’s been quite a day.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’ma go up front and help out Mr. Haberlin, like it was agreed,” he replied. Then, his hand tightly clutching his medal, he sauntered off.
“Daddy told me everything when he phoned me,” Mama said. “And that Meriwether’s leavin’ town today with his family.”
“Yeah, headin’ north, clear to Michigan. He claims Birdsong’s ’bout done with him.”
Mama gazed off toward the foothills. “Odd the way lives crisscross down here. I’m happy he’s heading north. But I’ll be forever grateful for him bein’ here that day when the car almost hit you . . . forever grateful.”
“Me too. He sure is a true friend.”
A half hour passed before Billy McGinty arrived in his black hearse. “Sad day it is, Agatha and Jake, when the Lord takes someone as young as Lucas Shaw . . . Sad day indeed.”
Daddy, Mama, Patrick, and I glanced at one another, and Patrick said what we were probably all thinking. “He wasn’t very nice.”
No one disagreed, not even Billy McGinty.
“I reckon his time had come,” Daddy added.
“Bad heart, Doc Riley said. Never knew . . . You?”
“He never said a word to me ’bout it.”
Minutes later, Daddy and Billy loaded the lifeless body of Lucas Shaw into the back of the Cadillac hearse.
“It never stops amazin’ me how heavy a dead body can be. Y’all take care, now,” the mayor-undertaker said as he turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened but a clicking noise, and he had to turn it again before it finally started. “I’ll bring it in for service next week, Jake.”
“Might havta wait on that . . . Got no mechanic now.”
“Still got that colored boy, don’t ya?”
“No. He’s leavin’ for a job up north.”
“Thatsa shame. I been hearin’ folks ’round town braggin’ on him.”
“Yes, it’s a shame.”
More goodbye words were uttered and we stood together, staring at the funeral car as it made its way down the street.
Lucas Shaw was really gone—for good.
CHAPTER 33
That night, our house was mostly quiet. Mama didn’t even offer up her usual dinnertime small talk. The windows were open and the radio was off, but outside, crickets were creating music and lightning bugs were making their nightly summertime appearance. The tick of the grandfather clock seemed louder than usual.
“You think he left already?” I asked as I helped with the dishes.
“Dunno,” Daddy replied. “Hope not. I have those car papers for him.”
“What if he forgot?”
“Not likely. Havin’ those papers is pretty crucial, especially since he won’t likely be back anytime soon.”
“Can we drive over there and see?”
He folded up the newspaper. “It’s mighty important to you, isn’t it, Gabriel?”
“Yessir, it is.”
And before I knew it, the windows had been closed, and we, including Mama, were inside the car, headed to Meriwether’s house.
“His car’s still there!” I exclaimed as we drove up. I was so happy, I wanted to cry.
The two pastors were still there too, but they smiled as soon as they saw us. “Evenin’, Pastors,” Daddy said. “This is my wife, Agatha.”
“Evenin’, ma’am,” they replied.
We were all standing on the porch when Meriwether opened the door. His wife, Phoebe, and Abigail huddled in close beside him. Pastor Honeywell stood behind them.
“We were just comin’ to see y’all, but y’all got here first, huh?” Abigail said.
Meriwether grinned, opened the screen door, and welcomed us inside.
“Gabriel was worried that you’d already left,” Mama explained.
“Would never leave town without sayin’ goodbye to friends,” he replied.
“Before I forget,” Daddy told him as he reached into his pocket, “got those title papers for the car in your name, and the registration.”
Meriwether took the papers, examined them, and smiled. “Ain’t this somethin’.”
“Wanna thank y’all for everything,” Phoebe said. “Our time here has ended sooner than expected and certainly not in the way we’d planned, but Birdsong has some fine folks.”
“My wife is right. Thank you, Jake, for the opportunity you gave me . . . and for the automobile.” Meriwether patted my shoulder before continuing, “Gabriel’s very much like you . . . kindhearted and respectful. Y’all have a right to be mighty proud. And sorry to leave you so sudden-like without another mechanic, but Pastor says it’s likely when word gets out about me bein’ at the garage when Lucas died, there’s bound to be trouble.”
“I’ll make out fine . . . Might even be able to lure the fella who went up to Raleigh to come back. Word is his romance didn’t work out,” Daddy told him.
Pastor looked at his watch. “Hate to interrupt such pleasant farewells, but it’s ’bout that time. Y’all got your Green Book, Phoebe? It’s not safe for y’all to travel that far without it.”
“Got it right here,” she replied, and displayed it for him to see. And then the Hunters—Meriwether, Phoebe, and even Abigail—glanced around their parlor one last time.
The ’36 Chevy was packed so full, there was barely room in the back seat for Abigail, but she squeezed in and grinned.
“Likely we won’t cross paths again anytime soon,” Meriwether commented as he settled in behind the steering wheel. “Even though my wife and I still have family in Charleston, Michigan’s quite a drive from Carolina.”
“And cold with lotsa snow in the wintertime,” Abigail said.
“Lotsa snow is something you know a lot about, right?” I reminded Meriwether.
“Sure thing. You remember the story, Gabriel. We had a lot of snow at the Battle of the Bulge.”
“I remember, and you know what I hope?” I said.
“What’s that, Gabriel?” Meriwether asked.
“That one day there’ll be a parade for you and all the other colored heroes too.”
He scanned the starry sky. “My heart wonders if that could ever be, but I’ll hold on to your hope. After all, you were right about me havin’ a car someday, weren’t you?”
I chuckled. “Yessir, I was.”
As he backed the car out of the driveway, everyone waved, and as it slowly disappeared into the darkness, I thought about what he’d taught me about seeing things more clearly when we look at them through more eyes than just our own. I stood there and imagined m
yself peering through Meriwether’s eyes and realized he was heading off to what he hoped would be a better place with a better future. But through my eyes, I was losing a friend.
This allowed me to be happy and sad at the same time.
And that’s why I was smiling when the tears came.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FOR ALL OF the heroic men and women of color who admirably served in the United States Armed Forces during World War II, thank you. You will not be forgotten.
During a 2016 visit to the National WWII Museum in New Orleans, Louisiana, I was pleased to discover the inclusion of the numerous contributions made by African Americans who served heroically in the armed forces. Thank you.
Thank you to Nancy Paulsen for encouraging me to write this story, for her ongoing support, amazing instincts, and editorial skill. Thank you, Sara LaFleur, for all you do. Thank you to the copy editor, Laurel Robinson, and all the people at Penguin Random House who work hard to take the words of writers and create our books. A special thank-you to John Jay Cabuay for his amazing cover art.
As always, I acknowledge the Spirit’s guidance.
Good humans come in all colors.
AFTERWORD
THE GREAT MIGRATION of African Americans out of the southern United States to the North and West during the 1940s and 1950s was prompted in part by the dissatisfaction of soldiers of color with the stifling oppression and cruelty of Jim Crow laws after their return from overseas. Some of these men even returned to take sanctuary in Europe. Many historians cite the maltreatment in the South of African American veterans who had served during World War II as one of the driving forces of the civil rights movement.
The 761st Tank Battalion was an African American United States Army unit that fought on the European front during World War II and saw action at the Battle of the Bulge. This group of brave men spent 183 days in continuous combat. Come Out Fighting was the motto chosen by these heroes. In 2005 a monument honoring the contributions made by this outstanding unit was finally erected at Fort Hood, Texas.