News got around that night in Babylon, and next morning Grace didn’t even have to blow her horn. Colored people were waiting on their front porches in every direction, and she made only a single stop. The back of the truck was filled instantly. Luvadia and Escue even sat up front with Grace so that a few more could be crowded into the back. So many were disappointed that Grace promised to make a return trip that morning.
For two weeks the pickers came to Gavin Pond, and at the end of that time there was not a single pecan left on the ground or in the trees. Grace gave each of her pickers a two-dollar bonus for having been so thorough. The living room of the house was filled with croker sacks of pecans. With Escue’s help Grace loaded the sacks into the truck and carried them to the pecan wholesaler in Jay and received twenty cents a pound. She saved a sack for herself, a second sack for Luvadia, and took four more to Perdido. Miriam requisitioned two of the sacks, divided the pecans into ten-pound lots, and mailed them to purchasing agents in the North.
Grace’s seven-hundred-dollar profit was modest, and it wouldn’t begin to pay back what she had spent on heifers or the purchase of land or the improvements she had been making on the property—but she was nonetheless proud of her work. She felt encouraged to go forward, and bought pigs and chickens. As soon as Tommy Lee was able to walk, he was given a small sack of grain and was taught by Sammy how to scatter food for the fowl.
The pecan harvest had a secondary effect, unforeseen by Grace and Lucille. It was their means of introduction to Babylon. Their existence was known throughout the black community, and eventually it came to be known in the white community as well. Grace realized that there was no longer any reason for keeping their existence secret, and began to trade at the grain and feed stores. A female farmer was not unknown in these parts, for there had been a tradition, following each of the wars, for widows to take over the running of the farms, and Grace commanded respect on several counts: her success with the pecan harvest, her purchase of so much land with ready cash, and her determined demeanor. Southerners are an easygoing race when it comes to aberrations of conduct. They will react with anger if something out of the ordinary is presented as a possible future occurrence; but if an unusual circumstance is discovered to be an established fact, they will usually accept it without rancor or judgment as part of the normal order of things. To have informed the men who hung about the seed and feed stores that two women had bought Gavin Pond and were turning it into the biggest farm in the county would have brought out calls to repeal the voting rights amendment; but when confronted with Grace, the men were perfectly willing to accept her, her cousin Lucille, and Lucille’s little boy.
The two women and the boy usually all drove into town together on Saturday, Grace at the wheel with Lucille beside her bouncing up and down on the seat with Tommy Lee on her lap. Luvadia, Escue, and Sammy were in the back. Everybody passing them on the road knew who they were and raised a single finger above the steering wheel in silent greeting. Grace and Escue shopped all Saturday afternoon, filling the back of the truck with grain and supplies. Luvadia and Sammy went to the grocery store and bought food for the coming week, and Lucille sat with Tommy Lee at the counter in the drugstore and gossiped. Grace and Lucille reflected on how different their life was here on the farm south of Babylon from what it had been in Perdido. The expectations of their youth had not been filled. Why on earth, Grace wondered, had she taught school when she was so much happier with her cows and pigs and chickens? How, thought Lucille, could she ever have flirted with those terrible servicemen when Grace had been so nearby?
Sometimes, during the week, Lucille left Tommy Lee with Luvadia, and she and Grace went into Babylon to eat a catfish supper and go to the picture show. This soon became a cherished habit with the cousins on Wednesday night, when the bill changed at the theater. People sitting on the front porches would point as the truck rattled by, and say, “There’s Grace and Lucille, on their way to the picture show. They probably don’t even know what’s playing.”
. . .
Winter came to Gavin Pond. A few leaves turned brown, but the mild weather couldn’t persuade them to drop off. Late summer flowers continued to bloom, determinedly ignoring the calendar. Sometimes Lucille and Grace put sweaters on when they went into town on Wednesday nights.
The second Wednesday in January 1946 was a cool evening. Leaving Tommy Lee in the charge of Luvadia, Grace and Lucille put on their sweaters, climbed into the truck, and drove into Babylon. They ate supper at the catfish place on the Ponce de Leon Road, where they were known to everyone, and where their usual meal was served without their ordering. Afterward, at the picture show, they saw a double bill of Dillinger and Dangerous Partners. They were out of the theater by eleven o’clock. The night was now even colder with bright stars. The waning moon would not rise till after midnight.
The Babylon post office closed its windows at five o’clock, but the front door was left open, allowing access to the boxes. Grace pulled up in front of the tiny brick building, went in the front door, walked over to the wall that the boxes were on, and twirled the combination. She pulled out a small sheaf of letters, slammed the little door shut, and returned to the truck.
“What did we get?” asked Lucille excitedly.
“Cattle auction ads for me, seed catalog for you, and a letter from Danjo.”
“Oh, read it here!” Lucille switched on the light in the cab of the truck. After glancing at the German Occupation stamps on the envelope, Grace tore open the envelope and read:
Dear Grace,
I’m writing to you because I don’t want to write directly to James because he might get upset. The reason he might get upset is that I have just gotten myself married. That is wonderful and I know he’ll be happy for me. The problem is she’s German and I can’t get her out of the country yet. I wasn’t even supposed to meet her, regulations against fraternization with the enemy and all that, but I did, and we fell in love. She is the graf’s daughter who owns this castle, his oldest daughter. The graf died last month so we got married. Her name is Fredericka von Hoeringmeister. I call her Fred, so now she is Fred Strickland. She doesn’t have any money and it takes a lot of money to keep up a castle, so she will probably let her sister have it and we will come back to Alabama. That is, as soon as I can arrange to get her out. She wasn’t a Nazi or anything. The graf wasn’t either. But he still didn’t like Americans, and that’s why Fred and I waited until he was dead. Does Oscar know anybody in Congress? Congress could help me get Fred back to Alabama. I don’t know what to do about James. Should I write to him? Will you talk to him? Fred doesn’t mind living with him when we come back, if he doesn’t mind having a German in the house. Fred made my bed every morning, that’s how I met her. There were about fifteen of us occupying the castle. I’ll be out of the Air Corps in six months, then I’ll try to come back. But I won’t come back unless I can bring Fred with me. I’m going to leave all this up to you, Grace. You tell everybody. I can’t be writing ten letters all saying the same thing.
Sincerely yours,
Danjo
P.S. Fred says “hi.”
This letter was surprising, and the object of discussion between Grace and Lucille all the way back to Gavin Pond. Grace dreaded telling her father not only that his precious boy was married, but that because of that marriage, he might be delayed in his long-awaited return to Perdido.
“Cain’t help it, though,” argued Lucille. “James’s got to find out. We cain’t keep this thing secret from the whole family. And if one of them finds out, it’s bound to get back to James, so you might as well tell him straight off. He’ll get over it, especially if Danjo says he’s coming back, and he and Fred will stay in the house with James. I wonder what she’s like. I hope he’s taught her to speak English.”
“Well,” said Grace, turning off the dark road into the even darker forest, “I’m not gone make any decisions in the middle of the night. Let’s us decide in the morning.”
Grace drove
slowly. The truck jolted over the hard ground. Grace leaned over the steering wheel and peered into the night. Lucille bounced up and down and held her pocketbook over her head to keep from getting hurt when she bounced against the roof of the cab.
When they reached the gate to the farm, Lucille got out and pushed it open. Grace drove the truck through, and Lucille jumped on the running board for the short quarter mile to the house.
No lights shone inside the house. “Luvadia must have fallen asleep again,” said Lucille, shaking her head as she jumped down from the running board.
Grace turned off the ignition, and cried, “No! Listen!”
From inside the house—through the open window of their own bedroom—they heard a faint, masculine voice, singing.
“Who in the world—” began Lucille.
“It’s Daddy,” whispered Grace in wonder. She opened the door of the truck quietly, and got out.
“What in the world is James doing out here this time of night?” said Lucille. “And where is his car?”
Grace shook her head. She shivered. The evening was suddenly very cold.
“What’s he doing up there?” said Lucille, and came around the truck, taking hold of Grace’s hand. They stared up at the darkened bedroom window.
“He’s singing to Tommy Lee,” said Grace quietly. “Shhh! Lord! I had forgot that song, he used to sing it to me every night. It’s a lullaby.”
James Caskey’s voice, tremulous and faint, floated out of the window.
“Fly, ladybird, fly
Your daddy’s hanging high
Your mama’s shut in Moscow town
Moscow town is burning down
Fly, ladybird, fly”
At the end of the song, his voice drifted off. All the world seemed silent. In the darkness Lucille and Grace looked at each other, and then they quietly went into the house through the kitchen. They found Luvadia sitting at the table, with her head on her crossed arms, sleeping.
Grace gently shook her awake.
“Miss Grace,” said Luvadia groggily, even before she had opened her eyes.
“When did Daddy get out here?” Grace asked.
“Ma’am?”
“Daddy?” Grace repeated. “When did Daddy get here?”
“Ma’am? Mr. James not here...”
Lucille was already at the bottom of the stairs with her foot on the lowest step.
Grace hurried after her. “No,” she cried, “don’t go up!”
“Tommy Lee...” said Lucille in explanation, and began to mount the stairs to the darkened bedroom.
Grace pushed past Lucille and hurried to the second floor. She flung open the door of the bedroom. A violent gust of wind blew through the room, and the curtains were flung with a whoosh out into the night air.
Grace ran to the bassinet, but even in the darkness she knew that Tommy Lee was no longer there.
She ran to the window, threw her head out, and shouted, “Daddy! Bring him back!”
The light came on in the room behind her.
Lucille said, “Grace! What in the world—”
Grace turned around with agony in her face.
Tommy Lee lay sleeping on the bed, cradled between two pillows. Beside the sleeping infant was a long indentation in the soft mattress, outlining a human form.
Wonderingly, Lucille ran her hand over that depression in the chenille spread. “It’s still warm,” she said.
Downstairs, the telephone rang. Grace snatched Tommy Lee up from the bed and cradled him in her arms. “You go get it,” said Grace.
Glancing back at the tears in Grace’s eyes, Lucille ran down the stairs.
It was Queenie calling, to say that James had had a heart attack and was dead. “I came in just now,” said Queenie, in a wandering, distracted voice, “and I found him lying right across the living room door. If I hadn’t turned on the light first, I would have tripped right over him.”
V: The Fortune
Chapter 58
Assessment
All the Caskeys sincerely mourned the death of James Caskey. Though the man had been old and frail, no one had imagined that he would ever die. He had been the oldest of the clan, though never in any sense its leader. Perhaps if he had been in a more exalted position, everyone would have wondered, Who’ll take over when James is gone? But in fact, with his death there was no reshuffling of state and station, only an acknowledgement of the emptiness he had left behind.
Queenie was the one who felt most alone, and everyone treated her as if she had been a widow rather than James’s sister-in-law. Her son Danjo was now married, but stuck in Germany with his German wife, unable to return because of difficulties with immigration—or so he wrote to his mother. Queenie’s daughter Lucille had turned into the perfect “farm wife” and had no use for a life in town with her mother. Her elder boy Malcolm, whom she hadn’t seen since he ran away in 1938, she presumed to be dead.
The often volatile Lucille, in a sympathetic frame of mind, said, “Ma, come out to the Pond and live with Grace and Tommy Lee and me.” Queenie merely shook her head, and wiped away a tear.
Sister said, “Queenie, come next door and put up in Mary-Love’s old room. I need me some company with Miriam over at the mill all day.” Queenie silently declined.
Elinor said, “You know you’re welcome with us.”
Queenie turned down all offers, and at last ventured a diffident request: “Would it be all right if I just stayed on here? And took care of all James’s old stuff? He loved this house so much!”
After a minimum of discussion, the family decided that it was the perfect solution, and Queenie’s old house a few blocks away, which for a couple of years had been vacant most of the time, was sold.
James’s daughter Grace had assumed that her father would leave the whole of his fortune to her—that was the way of the Caskeys—and she had been trying to figure out how best to distribute portions of that wealth to those who had been dear to her father. She was relieved at the reading of the will to discover that this would not be necessary. Except for some small bequests to his cook Roxie and to the Methodist Church of Perdido, James’s entire fortune was divided equally among Queenie, Danjo, and Grace.
The trouble was, no one knew the extent of James’s fortune. Yet this lack of knowledge proved to be the solution to another Caskey problem. Ever since Billy Bronze and Frances Caskey had got married, Billy had had a great deal of time on his hands, particularly after he was released from the Air Corps. He volunteered his services to the local Veterans Administration office and four evenings a week taught radio and accounting to ex-servicemen who drifted back to Perdido. But most of the time Billy felt useless, left alone all day with the women while his father-in-law Oscar and his sister-in-law Miriam went off to the bustling mill. He had declined an offer to work at the mill because he knew nothing of the lumber business. He understood that Oscar had made the job proposal only out of charity. Miriam, speaking with greater candor, had said: “We’ll be glad to put you on the payroll as long as you promise not to go out and get in everybody’s way.” Billy wanted not only to work, but to work at something useful.
Frances, however, liked having her husband at home all day. She enjoyed the fact that he could drive her to Pensacola for an afternoon movie or down to Mobile for some shopping. But she saw also that he was restless. One morning in the winter of 1946, as Frances and Billy lay in bed together, Frances turned to her husband and said, “Maybe Miriam could find you a place in the office at the mill. I know you don’t know anything about trees, and you don’t like working out-of-doors, but you’re fine with a pencil and an adding machine.”
“No, no,” protested Billy, “don’t do that! Please don’t say anything to Miriam!”
“Why not?” asked Frances, puzzled.
“Just think for a minute,” said Billy. “Just think how hard Miriam works at that mill.”
“She runs it!” said Miriam’s sister proudly.
“That’s just it,”
nodded Billy. “Now what do you think would happen if I suddenly started to show up there every day?”
“You’d help her run it better.”
Billy shook his head. “No, no. Don’t forget that I’m a Caskey now. So if I went to work in that office, people would start coming to me because I’m older—and because I’m a man. Pretty soon I’d have more power than Miriam, not because I was any better than her at it, but just because I was a man. Miriam knows that, and she doesn’t want me there. And I don’t blame her for one minute.”
“You think that’s what would happen?”
“I know it,” returned Billy definitely. “I am not going to interfere with your sister. She has worked long and hard. But,” said Billy, taking Frances in his arms, and pressing her head against his bare chest, “maybe what I could do...”
“What?”
“I could keep books. That’s what I do best.”
“But you just said that you didn’t want to interfere—”
“I’m not talking about the mill,” said Billy, “I’m talking about keeping books for the family, being a kind of personal accountant for everybody.”
“You think you could do that? Daddy says that everything’s so confused.”
“I could do it without giving it a second thought. I inherited that from my father. Keeping books is how he made all his money. He was so good at it. At night he’d go down to his office and look through the books for ten minutes. Next day he’d go out and make five thousand dollars. I never saw anything like it.”
Blackwater: The Complete Caskey Family Saga Page 61
