Crescendo

by Allen Cheney

  Fred noticed his mother’s jaw clench when she said, “Have a good day, sir.” She had barely ushered the man off the porch when young Fred began yet another hymn. From the kitchen, Mrs. Allen whispered a worried prayer as her son’s small voice lifted above the sound of the strings:

  I sing because I’m happy,

  I sing because I’m free.1

  Three

  While some boarders in the Allen house paid a small rental fee, many of the extended relatives were unable to contribute financially due to lack of steady work. Most had costly drinking habits too, so the money never seemed enough, even when Fred’s sister, Novis, eight years his elder, dropped out of school to take her own double shifts at the mill. When the adults were home, they were usually inebriated or asleep. This lack of supervision was not only frightening for such a young boy, it was quite dangerous. Gangs of unsupervised adolescents roamed the village, as did a number of shady adults. The situation was of great concern to Fred’s grandfather, Noah Freeman, a man of Cherokee descent whose extensive knowledge about natural resources had landed him a job teaching botany at nearby Carrollton A&M.

  Noah and his wife, Peg, both valued education and had tried to give ample opportunity to their four children, but the crashed economy had taken a heavy toll on the already-impoverished state of Georgia. That, in addition to the cultural prejudices against anyone with Native American blood, had given Velma and her siblings few options and left them with even less than their hardworking parents had managed to acquire. Like many in that situation, Velma had married young, and her husband, mill worker Grady Allen, a Scots-Irish southerner, brought a toxic mix of dysfunction into the Freeman family.

  When the poor economy resulted in Noah’s job loss, he moved into Velma and Grady’s mill village home hoping to help care for his young grandson, Fred. His wife, Peg, had also lost her job at the normal school—a two-year program designed to educate teachers—and had since moved in with an older, ailing relative who needed her care. Times were tough, and people had to learn to make ends meet, even if that meant married couples separating for a while.

  Despite the Freemans’ education, the Allens did not have the kind of home where bookshelves lined the walls. In fact, the old family Bible was the only book to be found. But Noah had managed to acquire a ragged set of encyclopedias for the Allen household before leaving his college position, so he set out to educate his young grandson with the tools he had at hand.

  During these times, Noah would sit on the small porch with Fred at his side and read aloud from the leather-bound volumes. At four pounds each, the gold-embossed books were a bit too heavy for the preschooler to manage, but he was given the task of turning the flimsy pages as the cross-generational duo aimed to read all the way from A to “Zymotic Diseases,” with forty million words in between.

  When Noah and Fred weren’t reading about some obscure medical experiment or mapping a continent far away, they could be found in the family’s humble yard, where Noah taught Fred the deeper lessons he knew by heart. While LaGrange was notorious for its cotton mills, it also had garnered tremendous praise for its flower gardens. So much so that the owners of the mill would hold gardening contests, and the locals would compete for cash prizes. The mill also provided free seeds, encouraging those in the village to take pride in landscaping their small lots.

  Noah made the most of this opportunity, teaching his young grandson everything he knew. But unlike others who only grew flowers and a vegetable or two, Noah’s knowledge was far more extensive than root-shoot-fruit. Still carrying on his family traditions, he could not only identify the plants that grew wild around LaGrange, he also knew the medicinal uses of each. He quickly developed a reputation as a healer, and many mill workers who could not afford to see a proper doctor turned to Noah for less expensive remedies.

  It was not unusual for Fred to help his grandfather gather roots for locals who wanted to boost their immune function. Noah taught Fred the power of the mullein leaf and often brewed an infusion when Fred showed the slightest sign of a cough. If neighbors complained of sinus trouble, the two would make a tincture using goldenrod, yarrow, or nettles, but their favorite all-around preventative was elderberry syrup, which they sold by the jar. While supplying natural remedies helped supplement the family’s income, it was never enough to keep bellies full.

  One day a client listened to Noah lament about the lack of job opportunities for a man his age. Fred eavesdropped as his grandfather complained. “As bad as it is in the mills, at least those men get paid to work.”

  “True,” the woman said, her southern twang thick on her tongue. Her long hair held a bright pink bloom, visible to little Fred when she bent to inhale the fragrance of the summer roses.

  When she moved toward the poppy patch, she brushed her palms over the vibrant flowers and said, “Seems to me you got all the money you’d ever need right here in your own backyard.” She plucked a poppy from the plot. “Times like these, everybody and his brother be itchin’ for more.” The woman looked Noah in the eye. “Name your price, ol’ man.”

  Fred’s grandfather laughed away the absurd suggestion and turned his attention to the setting sun. “I don’t roll in the mud by choice. No matter how hot the day might feel.”

  “Choice?” The woman looked around at the crowded mill houses. She eyed young Fred, barefoot, with too little meat on his bones. She examined the old man’s threadbare collar and the hole worn through his straw cap. “Seems to me, you ain’t got much choice at all.” Then she lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal a secret pocket. “Trick Mayhayley taught me,” she said with a grin. “Extra-wide seams. Nobody never suspects a thing.”

  From the hem, she pulled a fold of cash and placed two bills in Noah’s hand. “Gimme all you can get. And start plantin’ more. We’ll run through this in no time flat.”

  The old man looked at his hand as if there might be a new lesson written there just for him. Then his tired eyes lifted to his garden, to the woman standing there before him and the grandson left to his care. But then he looked away from her, and to the boy it seemed Noah was trying to take in the whole world all at once.

  After that long, uneasy silence, the old man slid the cash into his faded pocket. “I’ll sell you the bulbs. What you do with them is your business.”

  “I don’t have time for all that. I’ll be back next Tuesday. For the opium.” She stressed the last word to make clear her intentions. Fred reached to hold his grandfather’s hand as the woman walked away.

  The next morning, just after sunrise, young Fred helped his grandfather clip the poppy bulbs, then watched as Noah knifed each of them with the sharp blade of his razor. Throughout the week, drops of thick, white gum oozed from the slash marks. With extra care, the old man then scraped the sticky gum into small glass containers, warning young Fred not to touch this strange new medicine.

  As promised, the woman returned on Tuesday. “That’s as far as I’ll go,” Noah said, handing the client a sack of vials, each filled with milky opium gum.

  “Far as I’m concerned, you’re just sellin’ me remedies.” The woman winked, tucking the bottles into the hem of her skirt. When she walked away, the glass jangled like tiny bells announcing the beginning of something. Or the end.

  As business increased, Fred learned to save the tiny black poppy seeds to keep the crop in full rotation. But word began to spread that the old man in the mill village was a local supplier for the opium dens. Fred and his grandfather were together on the porch, reading encyclopedias, when the sheriff pulled in front of the family’s stoop. Noah was a man who had long refused to take Fred to see the westerns at the picture show, insisting he couldn’t stomach the vicious cowboys slaughtering Indians and the corruption that was too frequently celebrated by gunslingers with a shiny badge on-screen. Now the sheriff’s own badge shone in the sun as Noah rose to greet the law enforcer.

  The sheriff gave Fred’s grandfather a long once-over. “That your garden out there?” He leaned
around the corner of the porch to inspect the well-tended display of blooms that now stretched into the neighbors’ plots on both sides.

  “Yes, sir,” Noah answered. “And this is my grandson, Fred. I’m the one who takes care of him.” He smiled at the young boy, hoping to tap a soft spot in the sheriff’s heart.

  But the sheriff didn’t acknowledge Fred. Instead, he moved toward the garden, eyeing a large patch of stalks where poppies had just been clipped. “Word is, folks come to you for what ails ’em.”

  Noah nodded.

  “You reckon you got anything for pain? I’ve been fighting this toothache for days.” The sheriff drew his hand to his cheek, wincing.

  Noah was suspicious, but he welcomed the sheriff to have a seat on the porch while he went inside to brew a cup of willow bark tea. He was tying the small bag of bark chips when the lawman made his way inside, uninvited. As the tea steeped, the sheriff took a look around the family’s home, studying the rows of mason jars and various herbal tinctures. Sure enough, he spotted the vials of opium gum. “Forget about that tea,” the sheriff said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his hip and telling Noah, “Come with me.”

  Once the cuffs were snapped shut around Noah’s wrists, young Fred began to cry. He chased after his grandfather, yelling, “Papa! Don’t take my Papa!”

  The elder Freeman folded himself into the back seat of the patrol car without resistance. Then he looked his young grandson in the eye and said, “Whatever you do, Fred . . . don’t ever get yourself backed into a corner. Sometimes, there’s no way out.”

  Fred chased the cop’s car down Thornton Street as fast as his little legs would take him. But no matter how loud he yelled or how fast he ran, the sheriff did not stop. And before he knew it, the man he loved most in the world was gone.

  Four

  With Noah in jail for selling opium and a steady flow of boarders still streaming through the house, the safest hours of Fred’s childhood were those spent at the Dunson School. A small building for kindergarten through sixth grade, it was run by a strict but fair disciplinarian by the name of Mrs. Mary Duncan. The school hours passed quickly, so each afternoon Fred was left to survive in a world becoming more dangerous by the day.

  Soon it was time for the kindergarten graduation ceremony, an annual event in which mill families were invited to celebrate their child’s milestone progression into first grade. It was one of the few days when parents were able to leave their hardscrabble lives and attend something special with their children. Like the other kids, Fred was excited to show off his classroom, and as the minutes ticked closer to the ceremony, his anxiety grew. He could hardly wait for Grady and Velma to see his drawing of an elephant. He had sketched it to match the image he’d seen in Noah’s encyclopedia, carefully drafting the oversize ears and curled trunk. His teacher had tacked it on the wall behind her desk where she displayed only the “best work.”

  But sadly, as other parents arrived from the mill to take their places beside their children, Fred sat alone, watching the door with eager eyes. Mrs. Duncan stood protectively close to Fred—it had been no secret that Fred was facing increasing neglect at home, and the principal had made a frequent habit of sneaking him extra fruit portions or dropping a clean pair of socks in his bag. While there was no telling why Velma and Grady didn’t show up that day, the possible reasons were endless. Drugs, alcohol, domestic violence, exhaustion, forgetfulness. Or maybe just apathy. Whatever the reason, Fred sat alone.

  Mrs. Duncan had been friends with Peg Freeman since their days studying together at the normal school, so as Fred began biting his lip and tugging nervously at his shoelaces, she leaned close over the shy young boy and whispered, “Fred, your grandmother told me you’re pretty good on the piano. Would you like to play us a song?”

  Fred was five years old at the time, and he had been strictly warned by Velma never to “show off” his gift. Still convinced her son had been “cursed” by his untimely birth, she greatly feared word getting out that he was carrying his uncle’s spirit. What would the neighbors do if they learned of this ill-fated child? As for Grady, well, he hadn’t given the issue any attention at all, insisting only that Fred “not play that thing” while he was trying to sleep, but he had never been able to quell Velma’s fears, which seemed to be growing by the day. Sensing Fred’s reluctance, Mrs. Duncan gently reassured her timid student that it would be okay, and that “it sure would make everyone happy” to hear him play a song. Then she smiled and looked him in the eye. “You can do it, Fred. I believe in you.”

  With that gentle encouragement, Fred let the principal lead him to the piano. Then she placed her hand on his shoulder, helping the nervous young boy summon his courage. He sat on the bench, closed his eyes, and began to play. Mrs. Duncan probably expected him to perform a simple childhood tune like “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” Instead, without a sheet of music, Fred performed a near-flawless rendition of a classical piece that left the audience in awe.

  Mrs. Duncan, a musician in her own right, shook her head, astounded. “That’s Chopin! Polonaise no. 2.”

  All those present watched in stunned silence. No one could believe what this timid young boy had done. His legs were too short to reach the damper pedal, his fingers too small to stretch the full octaves. But he had nailed the melody, stirring some to gasp as they listened to his smooth tones and emotional delivery.

  The principal’s breathy voice revealed her shock when she asked, “Where did you learn to play such a song?”

  Fred pointed to his heart and smiled.

  The crowd erupted in applause, and Fred beamed.

  Even if they didn’t quite know what to call a child with such rare abilities, the parents now circled the boy, asking him to play another. Sensing Fred’s apprehension, Mrs. Duncan stepped up to offer shelter. “Thank you, Fred,” she said, guiding him back to his seat. “That was a wonderful treat for all of us. You do indeed have a very special gift.”

  For the first time in his life, Fred’s talents were being celebrated instead of silenced. But on the way back to his chair, he overheard one of the men snicker, “Won’t do him no good in the mills.”

  After the ceremony word quickly spread about Fred’s mysterious gifts. Velma began to fear the worst—not only that the mill people would shun them but that perhaps the fates had been tempted and now her son would die an early death, exactly like his namesake, Fred Freeman. Exactly as Mayhayley had warned. This anxiety seemed to progressively overtake her, and she became even more restrictive, refusing to allow Fred to ride a bicycle or roam freely with the other children in the village. Like many people, Velma feared what she could not understand, and her son’s genius clearly terrified her.

  Perhaps these superstitious fears got the best of Fred’s father too, or maybe the uneducated couple simply didn’t know what to do with their son’s unusual talents, or maybe they were too broken and insecure to elevate their child beyond their own low level of living. Or maybe Grady simply grew tired of hearing Velma go on about it all. Whatever the reason might have been, not long after his stunning performance at the kindergarten graduation, Fred was playing the piano at home when Grady stormed into the room and slammed the keys. “Enough!”

  Grady was a kindhearted and gentle man when sober, but like many men in the village, the bottle made him prone to fits of rage. Most evenings, Fred would lay low while his mother kept a detached and silent gaze. By then she had learned to do anything to keep the peace, and there was little left of her spirit as she became an almost absent, voiceless member of the family.

  But that day, as Grady ranted across the house, Velma not only did nothing to defend her young son, she fueled the fire by saying, “It just ain’t right for him to be able to make music like that, Grady. He ain’t even heard them songs. How on earth could he know how to play ’em? People’ve been talkin’. They say it’s magic.”

  Grady stumbled toward Fred, spewing his thoughts through a drunken slur. “Lots better things to do i
n life than magic.”

  Velma pulled Fred, crying, from the piano. Then, together, the couple rolled the heavy instrument into a back corner of their bedroom. Once they had it in its new position, Grady closed the door and locked it behind him, leaving Fred with one final warning. “Stay out of that room if you know what’s good for you!”

  Five

  With his piano now trapped behind lock and key, Fred was starved for attention and affection. Life in the village was changing by the day, and he was more vulnerable than ever in the hours outside of school.

  The Great Depression soon gave way to the surge of jobs needed to support the war. This opened more shifts as Dunson Mills grew to become the largest cotton plant in Georgia. The mill owners had long tried to create a sense of community in the village, constructing the school, playgrounds, and even a swimming pool for local families. They also dedicated an old building to be used as a recreation center, hosting dances into the early morning hours. Soldiers from nearby Fort Benning, who were home on leave, frequently found their way to the village in search of “a big time.”

  While traveling boarders were landing secure jobs now and no longer desperate to rent a cot by the day, a new situation was brewing in the Allen home, one that proved even more confusing and dangerous for young Fred. Many extended relatives continued to share the home, even if for short stays, and a string of random men seemed to drop by frequently for what they called “visits.” Most were drunk, loud, or threatening. And the circle of women, well, Fred suspected not all of them were really his “aunts” as he was now expected to call them. He did his best to steer clear, but as Fred’s aunts welcomed soldiers into the Allen home at night, they were not discreet, and the behaviors that began taking place around Fred exposed him to a world far too dark for any young boy to see.