by Tim Westover
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Didn’t take no time to cross the weevil fields to his shack. Couldn’t rightly call them cotton fields no more since the weevils had staked their claim. Every year, Sarah had made him set land aside for a garden. With her gone, he’d planted cotton all the way to the door. Couldn’t have made a bigger mess if he’d tried.
No cotton meant no money, no credit at Mr. Bob’s store, and no food for the chillun. Same thing was happening all through the county. If it wasn’t for bad luck, seemed like the colored wouldn’t have any luck at all.
His little family waited for him outside on the porch. T-Momma made sure the chillun got a fair amount of sunshine every day. “Don’t want them coming down with the rickets,” she’d say. So she’d sweep the porch free of weevils, and they’d sit a spell. Used to make John feel all kinds of good seeing his little family out there, but instead of his Sarah fixin’ dinner in the kitchen, she lay a-molderin’ in the grave. And the rest of the family . . .
Six-year-old Benjamin sat on the edge of the porch, legs almost long enough now to touch the ground. Pants too short. Face too thin. Fore all this trouble, Benjamin woulda run to meet his poppa. He hadn’t had strength enough to run for quite a spell.
T-Momma rocked in the chair John had made her, two-year-old Addie in her lap. Addie couldn’t stop fretting and fussing. Took her first steps ’bout six months ago. Walked so little now, she might forget how.
Man’s s’posed to provide for his family. That’s the natural order of things. If he didn’t get them some decent food soon, he’d lose them like he’d lost their ma.
The one step twixt the ground and porch creaked when John climbed it. Benjamin’s brown face looked from the bag hanging all limp from John’s shoulder to the weevils. Chile may have been only six, but he knowed nothing when he saw it.
“Heard a shot,” T-Momma said. “Did you get it?”
John laid the gun on the porch. “Wasn’t nothing to get. Thought I saw a sheep. Fine and fat as you please. Thought I shot it dead to rights. Musta wanted it so bad I dreamt it.”
“Wasn’t a black sheep, was it?” T-Momma’s crooked finger traced a circle on her forehead. “With a white spot right ’bout here?”
John nodded to keep the peace. Since what he’d seen wasn’t real, what difference did a spot in a dream make?
“Go on, carry the baby in the house, Benjamin, and y’all take a nap,” T-Momma said. “I’ll come get you when it’s time to eat.”
It hurt John’s heart to see Benjamin shuffle to T-Momma like an old man. After they broke the hold Addie had on T-Momma, Benjamin took Addie by the hand and led her into the house.
“No need getting the baby’s hopes up case I’m wrong,” T-Momma said. “Where did you see this sheep?”
“On the far side of the field.”
T-Momma lifted her hands. “Thank you, Jesus. That sheep will save us.”
Oh Lord, John didn’t know what he’d do if T-Momma had gone addle-brained too. Who would stay with the chillun? “Wasn’t no sheep,” he said.
“Course there wasn’t no sheep. Ain’t nobody round these parts ever have no sheep, let alone black ones. Ain’t nobody round these parts got food enough to make nothing fat. What you seen wasn’t no sheep. What you seen was Railroad Bill.”
Fore she married Poppa and moved to Alabama, T-Momma lived in the swamps of Louisiana and brung everything she learned there with her. Ever since he could remember, she hung a mirror right by the door so the devil couldn’t get in. Made them eat the middle of a loaf of bread first. Said that way they’d always be able to make ends meet . . .
Mirrors hadn’t kept the devil from bringing the weevils, and they hadn’t had no parts of no kind of bread for way too long. Railroad Bill was probably just more of her gris-gris foolishness. John didn’t want to hear it but wouldn’t have nothing like peace until he did.
T-Momma leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. John sighed and settled on the porch praying this wouldn’t take much time. He wanted to get a little sleep fore he went out hunting again.
“First heard about Railroad Bill back when me and your poppa was courting,” she said. “Old Bill rode the rails like lots of colored did back then, ’cepting Bill didn’t just ride the rails, he robbed the rails. Broke into those crates on the freight train, took whatever he wanted, then threw it out on the track so he could come back and get it later. Sold whatever he got to colored folks for little or nothing.
“Well, sir, the white folks pitched a fit ’bout this colored man robbing them, so they sent a posse to try and track him down. Took ’em three years fore they finally got Bill on account of him being a conjure man. Could turn himself into a fox or a bloodhound or that fat sheep you saw.
“One of Bill’s own friends told the sheriff where to find him just like Judas done Jesus, and they shot him dead fore he could change himself into one of his animal forms and get away. The white folks was so proud of themselves they strapped his body to a board and took it to every colored waiting room from Brewton, Alabama, to Pensacola, Florida. Your poppa and me seen it in Montgomery.”
“Since you seen the body, you know he’s dead. A dead man can’t help us.”
“’Cepting he ain’t dead. I seen him strapped to that board, sure ’nough, but that ain’t the end of the story. Not long after that, folks down on they luck started talking ’bout seeing a black sheep with a round white spot on his head. Folks remembered that a sheep was one of the animals Railroad Bill could conjure himself into and started asking the sheep to help them. Folks who asked started getting help. Money to pay they rent. Food to fill they bellies. Railroad Bill showed up when they couldn’t get help from nobody else.”
“Now he done come to save us. You go find Railroad Bill. Lay your gun down—Bill don’t cotton much to guns since they shot all those holes in him—and ask him to help us. Bill will make sure we get everything we need long as you believe . . .”
John nodded off fore T-Momma finished talking about Railroad Bill. He didn’t have time to listen to such foolishness. He needed to rest a spell then go back out and try to find something for them all to eat.
