As I walked away, I heard Wade say to Nathan, “You get in trouble ’cause of me?”
And I heard Nathan say, “Forget it. He don’t understand.”
I heard that, and I knew unless I talked to this boy about how things were, about how things had been between folks as close as my brothers and me, I knew he would go on trusting folks he shouldn’t, folks he couldn’t. So I went back on what I’d decided earlier about Nathan learning for himself how the world was, and that same night, after the day’s work was done and the brush was burned, I sat with Nathan again at the outside fire and told him about Robert. “You might know this already,” I said, “that my daddy was a white man. Well, my daddy had five children, far as I know. Two of those children were with my mama. That was my sister and me. The other three were boys with his white wife. My daddy raised my sister and me with those boys, and he acknowledged my sister and me, that we were his. He made those white sons of his share everything of theirs with my sister and me, and that included their learning.
“Now, of those boys who were my brothers, I was closest with the youngest because he was the same age as me. The two of us, we did everything together. We weren’t only brothers, we were the best of friends. We couldn’t’ve been any closer. Then there came the time when we were both thirteen, entering our young manhood, when white friends of his from school came to visit. They were boys we’d both despised when we were younger, and we’d stood together against them. But on this visit my brother wanted only to please them, and he turned his back on me to do it.”
I stared out into the black night and felt that old hurt welling up within me again. “He was my brother, my best friend, but he turned his back on me so he could face his white friends. I learned a terrible, painful, hurtful lesson the day he did that, and I keep it with me in remembrance. We weren’t just friends, we were blood. Still, he turned his back, and I learned right then that white folks are going to be white folks, no matter how close a person of color is to them. White folks, they’re going to look out for their own, and that’s other white folks.”
I had said my words, and when they were finished, I sat in silence. For a while Nathan sat in silence too, before he turned to me, his face unaccepting. “Well, that was you,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, it was him, all right!” boomed a voice from the darkness. “And you best take t’ heart what he been tellin’ ya!”
Nathan and I both jumped up and looked out toward the creek. The voice was unmistakable, and I grinned as Mitchell stepped from the night into the firelight. Then I laughed, delighted to see him, and so did Nathan, who clearly idolized Mitchell. “Didn’t hear you come up,” I said.
“I know that. Man, you need yo’self a dog!”
“Got one.”
“Then where he at?”
“Over yonder,” said Nathan.
“Then ya need t’ shoot him and get yo’self another one,” surmised Mitchell with a laugh, and sat down beside the fire. He glanced at our empty supper tins. “Any food left?”
There was a bit of corn bread, but not much else, for Nathan and I, after a grueling day’s work, had eaten the most of what was cooked. We had eggs, though, and collards, and we quickly cooked them up for Mitchell as well as another pan of corn bread as he told us about the lumber camp and about his travel here. But most importantly, he told us about Caroline and the rest of the Perrys. “Seen ’em just yesterday,” he said, “and they sent plenty of love t’ you, Nathan. Got a letter from them too. Caroline wrote it.”
Nathan beamed as Mitchell handed it to him.
“Don’t you read it just yet,” said Mitchell. “I got somethin’ t’ speak t’ you ’bout first. Now, I heard what Paul here was sayin’ t’ you when I come up. He was telling you ’bout his family, his family of white folks. Now, Paul, he ain’t had to do that, but seein’ he done it, you oughtta have the good sense enough to listen to him. He told you all that and done warned you ’bout how white folks’ll be and I heard you say some fool thing ’bout ‘that was you.’ So ya tell me, boy, you figurin’ things gonna be different for ya and any white so-called friend you got?”
Nathan was silent.
“I ain’t talkin’ t’ the air out here.”
“Wade, he’s my friend,” said Nathan stubbornly, not looking at Mitchell.
“Wade, huh?” Mitchell glanced at me, then fixed his eyes on Nathan again. “Well, you jus’ keep on believin’ that, believin’ this white boy Wade’s your friend. You’ll learn on yo’ own one day, and it won’t be easy. Hardheaded folks can’t never be taught nothin’ the easy way. They gotta go learn it for theyselves, and I oughtta know. I was as hardheaded as they come.” Nathan stared out into the night without a word and Mitchell gave him no more mind. Instead, he turned to me. “So tell me ’bout the work here, Paul. How we doin’?”
As Mitchell ate his supper, I filled him in on all the logging, and after that, though we were both dead tired, we talked yet another hour or so. Nathan soon stretched out beside the fire and fell asleep in the night. When Mitchell and I could no longer keep our eyes open, we did the same.
The next morning before the dawn I rose first as usual, woke Mitchell and Nathan, and after a cold breakfast of leftover corn bread and some hot chicory, the three of us set to work. Now that Mitchell was with us, I knew there was no doubt about getting all the trees cut. In the days that followed, Mitchell and I, along with Nathan, put in the longest hours we’d ever worked, even more than the hours we’d worked at the camps. Up long before each dawn, we tended to our morning chores of feeding and watering the mules, then tended to our breakfast. With the fires still hot, we cooked a pan of corn bread along with a pot of whatever vegetables we’d gathered, with salt fatback thrown in for our meat, and set that food aside. It was our dinner and our supper. We didn’t want to waste daylight hours cooking.
By the grayest of light we were at the trees chopping. At midday we took our dinner. Supper didn’t come until after dark and all the animals were watered and fed. But the day did not end with darkness. At night we built a huge fire and burned the branches we’d chopped from the trees. By the time the fire died, it was past midnight, and we often fell asleep still in our clothes. There was not much rest for any of us. We didn’t attend the local church gatherings, and we broke the Sabbath every Sunday. The Lord might have been able to rest on the Seventh Day, but Mitchell and I didn’t figure we could. During the first weeks Mitchell was on the forty, we spent our Sundays working on the cabin and putting together some make-do furniture, as well as laying a bridge across the creek for easier crossing. We also tended to personal chores, like washing our clothes or mending, and I took the time to write my letters to Cassie, do my woodworking, and teach Nathan. After the cabin was finished, we chopped trees on a Sunday too. Christmas came and went and still we chopped. We kept right on working and we didn’t complain. We figured we were young and strong and healthy, and we could do whatever it took to get our forty acres.
Once a month, right on schedule, Filmore Granger would arrive with Harlan, along with workmen to move the timber down the Rosa Lee. We always had his logs stacked and waiting, and Filmore Granger seemed pleased. Once the Grangers had taken possession of their timber, Mitchell would bathe in the creek, put on his other set of clothes, and mounting one of the mules, go off to see Caroline. He would leave on a Saturday, spend his Sunday with Caroline and her family, and return before dawn on Monday morning, ready to work, even without sleep. Sometimes Nathan went with him, and while they were gone, I continued to work. Come sunrise Monday morning, Mitchell was always ready to chop the trees. He never let down on any of his work with me while he courted Caroline, and I had no complaints with him. I even joked with him that he had finally become a church-going man. I didn’t begrudge Mitchell his time away. I knew folks in love needed to be with each other. Still, there was regret in me that it was Mitchell going off to see Caroline and not me. But I didn’t dwell on it, and after a while I became accustomed to his mont
hly trips. Then, late one Sunday night upon Mitchell’s return, he brought back news I hadn’t expected to hear.
“Robert’s been in Vicksburg,” he announced as he sank onto a chair before a low fire.
I turned to him in silence.
“Heard he’d come through Vicksburg last week with a workman.”
“Robert? What was he doing in Vicksburg?”
“Maybe lookin’ for you.”
I was silent; so was Mitchell.
Finally, I said, “How’d you hear about him?”
“Mule threw a shoe, and I had to go to the livery and have another put on. Man there was talkin’ ’bout a fine horse that was brought in by a Robert Logan from round Macon. Said he was deliverin’ it for purchase.”
“You think he’s still there?”
“Don’t know. Got no need t’ think so, though. Maybe he was just passin’ through.” Mitchell glanced over at me. “You gonna go find out?”
I thought on it, then shook my head. “Robert wants to see me, and if he knows where I am, he can come here. I’m not going looking for him.”
Mitchell looked at me with a nod and turned back to the fire.
That night as I lay on my cot, as tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking on Robert. I thought on George, Hammond, my daddy, and, of course, Cassie. It had been so long since I’d seen them, and I wanted to see them. Even with the letters from Cassie telling me about our daddy and our brothers, about Howard and her children, I felt the ache daily of missing them. I longed to see them all, but I didn’t think I could, not yet. I wondered about Robert, if he really had come looking for me. I figured in my next letter to Cassie I’d ask her about it. Robert. I wondered if he’d changed as much as I.
It was early spring by the time I went again to Vicksburg to take the furniture I had made to Luke Sawyer. Mitchell and Nathan went with me. Nathan was eager to be home, for Mitchell had brought back the news on his last trip that Risten had had another baby while he was there and that Callie was expecting. As soon as we reached the store, Mitchell and Nathan unhitched the mules from the wagon and headed off for the Perry place. I declined to go with them, giving the excuse that I had to tend to Thunder, who was still being boarded at Luke Sawyer’s stable, and that I had to see to my orders. The truth was, though, I was not yet ready to see Caroline again.
I figured to spend the night in the shed, and that was fine with Luke Sawyer. As always, he was pleased with my work and he paid me as agreed. I took on several more orders, though not as many as he would have liked. Afterward, I went to the shed to select the wood I would need and read the letter from Cassie that Luke Sawyer had been holding for me. I had written Cassie about Robert and she said, as far as she knew, Robert had no idea that I was in the area. Our daddy had sent him to Vicksburg on some business and that was all there was to it.
I was relieved.
As the next weeks went by, Mitchell began preparing for his marriage to Caroline. He bought himself a suit and a new pair of shoes. He made a bed for the two of them and asked me to build a small cabinet where Caroline could put some of her things. He’d promised Caroline a house and he drew up a plan for it. He picked out the site and together we figured on just when we could build the house. Mitchell wanted it up before the wedding. We figured there to be time for that. But all Mitchell’s plans were soon disrupted by the unexpected arrival of Filmore Granger, who announced to our surprise that he needed more trees. As usual, his boy Harlan was with him. Seems he took that boy everywhere.
“Well, Mister Granger,” I said, after a glance at Mitchell, standing somewhat apart from us, “we’ll have half of this forty cleared before a year of our contract’s up.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” said Filmore Granger. “I need more trees cut a week, more than you been cutting.”
I frowned. We had produced as many logs as we could in a day’s time. There was no way we could increase that unless we took on more help. “How many more?”
“Eighty.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how we could do that, Mister Granger. We’re putting in more than fourteen hours a day as it is to produce the logs we’ve cut so far.”
“I know that, and you’ve done a good job. I had my doubts you could do it, but you’ve done it. Now I’m going to need those extra trees.”
“Well, eighty’s a lot.”
“Know that, but I’ve got a new contract I’ve got to meet, and that contract calls for so many board feet a week. So, that means more trees, and you’ll just have to figure a way to cut those eighty more. You can’t do it, then I’ll just have to get me somebody who can.”
I looked straight into Filmore Granger’s eyes. “Our agreement calls for cutting all trees sixteen inches or more in diameter at the smaller end within two years.”
“And that’s still what it’ll be, just that there’ll be more trees cut sooner rather than later. Course now, that agreement’s only good if you get all the trees cut, and you know now how many I want cut and when.”
I wasn’t fool enough not to know when I was being threatened. We didn’t cut these trees for Filmore Granger, we could lose the forty. “How long would we have to keep this up?”
“’Til I figure I got enough to fill my contract.”
“I need to know how long if we figure to do this.”
Filmore Granger was silent, and his eyes narrowed at my questioning him, but then he gave a little. “Well, let’s just say until you’ve finished cutting twenty of these forty acres. You figure you can do that? Look at things this way. Sooner you get these acres cut, sooner you can get to your plowing and your crops.”
Throughout this exchange Mitchell had said nothing. I looked at him now. “What do you think?”
Mitchell’s eyes were on Filmore Granger, and I think his gaze made Filmore Granger uneasy, for a sudden scowl crossed his face when he found Mitchell’s eyes upon him. “I think,” said Mitchell, “we’ve put months of sweat into this land that’s ’bout t’ go for nothing. It’s up to you, you wanna let it go. I go ’long with what you decide.”
I turned back to Filmore Granger and remembered the warnings both J. T. Hollenbeck and Charles Jamison had made concerning him. Mitchell was right. We had put months of sweat in the land, too much sweat to lose the forty now. “All right, Mister Granger,” I said, “somehow we’ll cut the extra eighty.”
“And another thing,” he added, “I’ll be bringing men in here every two weeks instead of once a month to run the logs down creek. Be sure you’ve got the logs I need.”
“You’ll have them.”
“Good boy,” said Filmore Granger as if complimenting somebody’s dog. I knew how he felt about doing white man’s business with me, and I knew how I felt being treated like somebody’s dog. My mind raged and my blood went rushing, but I held my words. My daddy had taught me that. I wasn’t going to let this man beat me down.
When the Grangers were gone, Mitchell slammed his axe into a tree. “You shoulda done broke his head open for that.”
I gave Mitchell a look. “That’s right, and then have a whole bunch of white folks come snap my neck with a lynch rope?”
“I don’t trust that scound’,” was Mitchell’s reply.
“I don’t either. But I’ve got a written agreement with him, and I mean to have this land.”
“And jus’ how you figure we’re gonna cut and log another eighty trees a week? Good-a choppers as we are, we can’t hardly do that.”
I shrugged. “Sleep less, I guess.”
Mitchell grunted. “Not me. I need what little sleep I get.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
Mitchell looked away for a moment, then back at me. “I know a man by the name of Tom Bee. He done lumberin’ with me up at that last camp I was at, but he done quit that camp ’fore me. He’s a good man. He’s older’n us and got a family, but he knows how t’ chop. Can’t chop good as us, maybe ten, twelve trees a day, but he could help and we coul
d make up the rest between us. Seein’ he got his family down in here, maybe he be willin’ t’ come in with us.”
I frowned. “He’d be wanting cash money.”
“Wouldn’t you?” admonished Mitchell.
I eyed Mitchell and did some figures in my head.
“You got that kind of money?” Mitchell questioned.
“Well, I hadn’t figured on having to pay out cash for workers,” I said. “I had other plans for my money.”
“’Spect ya did,” said Mitchell. “But you wanna give this man Filmore Granger what he want, how you ’spect t’ cut all them trees without some more help? I ain’t got much, ’ceptin’ part of that last month’s pay from the camp, but what I got, I’ll put in. You know I bought my wedding suit already.”
I considered and gave up on my figures. “All right,” I said. “But this Tom Bee, he best be up to working longer hours than he’s ever seen in a lumber camp.”
“Same pay as there?”
I met Mitchell’s eyes and agreed. “I’m not about to cheat any man when it comes to his work. I figure to pay him according to how many trees he cuts, that and meals.”
Mitchell nodded. “All right then, Paul, I’ll go see if I can’t find him first thing come light in the morning. You oughtta know, though, he’s a talker, so don’t go blamin’ me for that.”
Mitchell caught up with Tom Bee, all right, and later that same day Tom Bee showed up ready to work. Problem was, he had a white boy with him. The boy looked to be in his mid teens, and he seemed mighty familiar to me.
“What’s he doing here?” demanded Mitchell as soon as he saw him.
“Name’s John Wallace and he jus’ like my shadow,” said the talkative Tom Bee with the boy standing right in hearing distance. “Come on him ’bout a year ago ’bout t’ drown in swampland when that foolish boy done tried t’ cross it. I come on him and I says t’ myself, ‘Lord have mercy! That boy ’bout t’ drown!’ An’ I ain’t thought nothin’ ’bout nothin’ ’ceptin’ some poor fool was ’bout t’ go down. Ain’t thought nothin’ ’bout no color, nothin’ like that. Lord jus’ done throwed all that out my mind and I gone flyin’ int’ that there swamp and I done dragged that boy out. Boy so grateful, he done been wit’ me ’bout ever since. Come outa Alabama where his folks is, but he left them and met up with a no ’count brother of his round Biloxi, stayed wit’ him awhile, then was headed on up this way when I gone and pulled him outa that swamp. That brother of his, he come round sometime and sometime that boy go off with him, then he come on back. When John round here, where I go, he pretty much do the same.”
The Land Page 25
