“I sure thank you. I’ll do my best with the warden’s horse and dogs.”
“I know you will, Forrest.”
Forrest went back to the work site, picked up his ax, and began swinging at the scrub pines. As he tried to ignore the freezing wind, he began to pray, just as he had ever since arriving at Cummings Prison. It’s mighty hard to have faith, Lord, but I still believe in You. I can’t do nothin’ for my children in here, so I’m askin’ You in the name of Jesus to take care of them, please!
Lanie’s room was cold, for there was no fire upstairs. She put on an old coat that had been her mother’s but was now too small. It was outdated and the fake fur had mostly fallen off, but at least it was warm. Sitting down at the table she used as a desk, she opened her journal and began writing in it. A poem had been moving around in her mind, and she wanted to put it down.
Lanie could not understand how her poems came to her. She did not deliberately try to make them up, she just had a desire to write in a way that mystified her. Her greatest pleasure had become her work on the series of biblical poems. Each featured one of the individuals Jesus had met and their reaction to Him. She had begun studying the Bible for information for the poems and was amazed to realize how few people understood Jesus.
John the Baptist caught her attention, but it was hard for her to put herself into his character. How can a sixteen-year-old girl know what a prophet who lived so long ago felt? But then she considered that old poets wrote poems about young people, so she had persevered, emerging with a rather long poem that nearly pleased her.
Baptizer
So now the Lamb of God is come, but I,
John Baptist, knew Him not!
Since first Jehovah showed Himself to me
I’ve stood hip deep in Jordan’s silt-brown stream
And plunged the penitents so deep their heads
Almost took root in sand, their flailing legs
Like scrawny weeds of papyrus in a storm!
Sometimes my words cut and nearly stripping
Flesh from bone—even Pharisees
Cried out to be baptized! O hypocrites,
Not Jordan’s water, nor the ocean deeps
Could purify the stench of your foul hearts!
Your fathers slew the prophets; now you come
That I may feel the venom of your fangs.
A thousand days
I’ve stood, and every face I’ve searched, looking for the Lord’s anointed,
But knew Him not when first He came to me.
We look for our desires so hard, that when
They come to hand our eyes are fixed afar.
So yesterday He whom I sought
Stood quietly beside me in the stream
While busily my eyes touched every face
On shore. And then, I gave a sigh and turned,
But as I touched His arm my hand recoiled,
For there, one foot away, I saw those eyes
That I had seen in dreams since God
In deep Judean desert sealed my task.
At first I thought it could not be, for He
Was smaller than my thought of Him—He stood
Beneath my height, His quiet eyes looking up
To watch my face. Confused, I cried inside:
How can I tower over God’s own Son?
O foolish thought! God ever did delight
In unexpected forms to pour Himself!
When heart and earth at last stood still, I asked:
Why do You come to me? O rather plunge
Me by Your hand beneath the cleansing flood!
For deep in muddy waters, I had found
The purity of God’s own righteousness.
He gave command, so deep in watery grave
I buried Him. But then (I know not how)
As He arose, all noises seemed to fade
Like hum of bees in some far distant field.
But out of silence came a clarion call:
This is My Son in whom I am well pleased.
Out of the burning sun there dropped a dove
So white it glittered in the upper air
Like burning snow—until on Him
I held with my arms he came to rest,
And then—I could not see to see.
So now, I’ve seen the Hope of Israel,
The promised one, resting in these hands.
But strange it is that He who made these hands
Should rest in them—that God should trust a man!
A few more days, and then I must decrease.
My task is now to point men to Messiah
As I have ever done. He will increase
Until earth’s very stones will hear God’s call:
This is My Son, in whom I am well pleased.
She shook her head. “It’s not exactly right, but I’ll work on it.” She opened the single drawer to put the journal in, and as she did, she saw the picture of Owen Merritt. It was a newspaper clipping that had appeared in the Fairhope Sentinel when he first came to town. The story was rather simple, giving a little background on the physician come to help Doc Givens. Picking up the picture, she stared at it. It was not a clear shot, but it brought him before her almost as if he were standing there.
She was gazing at the picture when the door burst open, and before Lanie could move, she heard Maeva’s voice, and an arm shot across her shoulder and plucked the picture up.
“Well, look at this!”
“Give that back, Maeva!”
Maeva laughed and held the photo in her right hand behind her back while fending off Lanie’s attempts to regain it. “I knew you was lovesick!” Her eyes were dancing. “I just been wondering which fellow you been moonin’ around about. Now I know it’s Dr. Merritt.”
Though Lanie was a year older than Maeva, she was not as strong. Finally Maeva saw that her sister was upset, so she brought the picture around and said, “Here’s your ol’ picture! No sense frettin’ yourself about it.”
Lanie snatched the picture, put it back in the drawer, and slammed it shut. “Did you ever hear of knocking before you come into somebody’s room?”
“Well, I didn’t expect you’d be actin’ like this. Shame on you, Lanie, fallin’ for an old man like that when you got lots of young fellas chasin’ around after ya.”
“You hush, Maeva, and get out of here!” Lanie was furious and Maeva allowed herself to be shoved out the door. “You’re not foolin’ me, Lanie! You got a bad case of the lovebug bite.”
“You just keep your mouth shut!” Lanie cried. She slammed the door and turned her back against it, her breath heaving and her face red. “She’s nothing but a busybody, that’s what she is!”
The door behind her moved and struck her in the back. She thought it was Maeva and whirled to jerk it open. “I told you—” She stopped, for Aunt Kezia stood there wrapped in what seemed like all the clothing she had, her thin body distorted by a large wool overcoat that had belonged to Forrest.
“What’s all the yellin’ about?” she said. She shoved her way into the room and looked around. “You know I need my rest! I can’t sleep with all that yowlin’ goin’ on.”
Lanie had already discovered, as had the rest of the family, that despite Aunt Kezia’s protests, she could actually sleep through an artillery barrage. “I’m sorry, Aunt Kezia. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Aunt Kezia looked at Lanie and pulled at the old coat, which was unfastened. “You’re poppin’ outta yer clothes, girl” she cackled, and her eyes danced. “You’ll have the men poppin’ their eyeballs at that figure of yours.”
“I certainly won’t!”
Aunt Kezia was a torment at times. “Which one of them fellers that comes callin’ on you do you like the best? I bet it’s the one with the big feet, the one who plays the fiddle.”
“That’s Nelson. He’s just a friend.”
“A friend, my foot!” she chortled. “I seen him a kissin’ you when you two come home after that frol
ic at Geyer Springs. I didn’t notice you fightin’ very hard to get loose.”
“He surprised me.”
“Did he now?” Kezia seemed to enjoy Lanie’s embarrassment. “I heard somebody talkin’ about Merritt. What was you a sayin’?” Aunt Kezia’s eyes were fixed on Lanie, and suddenly Lanie’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, that’s the way of it, is it!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Well, by granny, you done went and fell for that doctor!”
“I have not! You’re just being awful! I wish you’d leave.”
“What are you so stirred up about? There ain’t nothin’ wrong with a girl likin’ a man.”
“Dr. Merritt is courting Louise Langley.”
Aunt Kezia moved closer and whispered loudly, “I’ll tell you how to get him, honey. I could always get any fella I wanted when I was your age.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“What you have to do—”
At this point Lanie simply pushed her aunt out of the room, something she had never done. But even after she shut the door, her aunt’s voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the whole house. “What you got to do is just poke a curve at him and flutter them long eyelashes of yours. Men ain’t got no sense at all when it comes to things like that. You mind what I tell ya, and you can catch him as sure as God made little apples!”
After Lanie regained her composure, she changed clothes, put on a brown dress, and went downstairs. It was a relief to get into the warm kitchen and also a relief that her Aunt Kezia was in the living room listening to The Lone Ranger on the radio. She could hear the announcer say in his rich bass voice, “A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty ‘Hi ho, Silver!’ the Lone Ranger rides again!”
Beau nudged her with his nose, and she patted his broad head. “Beau, I’m sure glad you can’t talk like Aunt Kezia. Two like her and Maeva are enough. Are you hungry?”
“Woof!”
“You’re always hungry.” She went over to the icebox, opened the door, pulled out a chunk of the raw beef she had cut up for a stew, and tossed it to him. He caught it expertly, bolted it, and barked. “No, that’s all you get.”
Beau stared at her in disbelief and then lay down facing the corner where the walls intersected. “That’s right. You just stay there with your hurt feelings.”
Lanie started fixing the evening meal, but she had not gotten very far when she heard a knock on the back door. She went to open it and saw a man standing there, obviously a hobo. He was a smallish man beyond middle age with a seamed face and faded blue eyes. His pants were too large for him, and his coat was too small. His arms stuck out, exposing lean, bare wrists.
“Pardon me, miss, but could I work for something to eat? I can chop wood—anything.”
“I’ll find something. Come on in, and I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Thank you, miss. That’s right kind of you.”
The man pulled his hat off as he stepped in through the door. Gray streaks ran through his black hair. He looked at the stove and said, “That warm stove looks mighty good.”
“Go over and warm yourself. I’ve got some leftovers from dinner.”
“That’d be mighty fine. My name’s Leo.”
“I am glad to know you, Mr. Leo. My name’s Lanie Freeman.”
Lanie at first had been afraid of the hobos that got off the train as it slowed and made their way to the back porches asking for food. Some looked rough and fierce, but this one didn’t. As he held his hands out, absorbing the warmth of the stove, Lanie felt a pang of sorrow for him. She pulled out a plate and opened the warming compartment of the stove. She filled the plate with leftover boiled potatoes, green beans, fried squash, and a large chunk of ham. She piled three biscuits on top of this and set it down on the table. “Here. I’ll get you some coffee.”
The man sat and stared at the food. When Lanie brought him a big mug of steaming black coffee and a knife and fork, he bowed his head and said a silent thanks. The act touched Lanie, and she got herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him. “Go ahead and eat,” she said. “I’ll just have some coffee.” The man nodded, then began to eat. He ate slowly, chewing every morsel for what seemed like a very long time.
“Have you been traveling long?”
“About six months, miss. I worked in a laundry but it went under. After that I worked in the wood yard, but I wasn’t able to do the heavy work.”
“Do you have a family?”
“No, ma’am, don’t have nobody.”
Lanie sipped at her coffee and wondered what it would be like to be one of the hobos. She knew that there were thousands of them all over America. She had seen the pictures of the bread lines in the big cities, people stretched out in a line that seemed to go on forever, cold, hungry men with caps pulled down over their foreheads as they waited for a bowl of soup and a piece of bread.
The man finished his meal, sopping up the juices with a morsel of biscuit. “I got a little piece of apple pie left,” Lanie said. She got it for him, and he ate it in the same thoughtful way, sipping his coffee. “It must be hard riding on the railroad like you do.”
“It ain’t easy,” Leo said. “Sometimes yard bulls catch us, and they carry sticks. I seen a man killed just outside of St. Louis like that.”
“How terrible!”
“We always try to work for money, and sometimes there isn’t any work.” A look of pain crossed the man’s eyes. “That’s all I want,” he whispered, “is to work.”
Lanie’s pity for the man grew, and she fetched him more coffee. “How do you know which houses to go to? Or do you just go to all of them?”
Leo smiled. “No, not all. We have a code.”
“A code? What kind of code?”
“You got a piece of paper?”
“Of course.” Lanie went to the kitchen table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a small tablet. She put it before him, and Leo began to make marks. “You see this plus? If we chalk or cut it into a post, that means it’s a good place for a handout. The next bo that comes along knows what it means. Here, this one means you can sleep in this farmer’s barn. This one, a cross, means religious people.” He smiled slyly and winked. “Be sanctimonious.”
“This one right here means these people will help you if you are sick, and this means a police officer lives here.”
The man went on about his experiences on the road, some of them harsh, even cruel.
Lanie studied the man. What will happen to him? He has nobody.Will it always be like this?
Finally she said, “We don’t really have any work to do, but I’m going to make you up a sack of food to take with you.”
“I don’t mind workin’, miss. I’d really rather work.”
Lanie saw that the man had some pride. “Well, there are a few chores. Come, I’ll show you. And while you’re doing them, I’ll fix you up a sack of goodies.”
Thirty minutes later, Leo, carrying a large flour sack full of food, whispered to Lanie, “If everybody in the world was as kind as you, miss, it would be a good world. God bless you.”
“God bless you. And remember, Jesus loves you.”
“I believe that, miss. Times are hard, but He’ll take care of me.” Lanie watched him walk down the street and then shook her head and went back to cooking. Her mind stayed on the poor man the rest of the day.
At supper that night Lanie said, “I’ve decided something. We’re all going to see Daddy this Christmas.”
“We don’t have any money to do that, do we?” Davis asked.
“It’ll just take gas money, and maybe we’ll have to stay all night in a hotel, but we can’t let Daddy be there at that place all by himself. Not on Christmas. If it takes every dime we got, we’re going.” She looked at their aunt. “Aunt Kezia, we’ll have to get someone to stay with you.”
Aunt Kezia was nibbling on a dill pickle, which she dearly loved. She waved the large pickle as if
it were a baton. “I’ll be dipped if I’m not a goin’ with you!”
“But you haven’t been approved to get in.”
“I don’t reckon it’s as hard to break into a jail as it is to break out. You get that lawyer feller to call the governor. If that lawyer can’t get me in to see my own nephew, why he ain’t worth dried spit!”
“I’m a little bit worried about the Freeman children, Dr. Merritt.” Effie Johnson had stopped Owen in the lobby of the bank. “They’re determined to see their father, and I don’t think they have the money to do it. They made their last payment in pennies and nickels and dimes. They work like slaves to save their place.”
Owen dropped his head and stared at his feet. He was quiet for so long that Effie wondered if she had offended him. But when he looked up, determination filled his eyes. “I’ll see about this. Thank you for telling me, Miss Johnson.” He left, and Effie thought with satisfaction, Well, I hit a nerve that time! I’ll be bound that he’ll do something too.
Owen drove to the Freeman house. He knocked on the door and was greeted by none other than Miss Kezia herself.
“Hello, Miss Freeman,” he said.
“Hello, Doc Merritt. Come on in out of the weather. You out treatin’ sick folk?”
“A little bit of that. What’s going on? It seems like a lot of activity.”
“We’re all gettin’ ready to go see Forrest. Come on in. The kids are in the kitchen makin’ goodies.”
Owen followed the small woman into the kitchen, which was filled with the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. “That smells good,” he called out. “Can a poor doctor get a bite of a cookie?”
“Hi, Dr. Merritt,” Maeva said. “You’ll have to sweet talk Lanie over there.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Maybe if you put your arm around her and tell her how pretty she is, she’ll let you have one of them cookies.”
Lanie’s face flamed. “He doesn’t have to do that! Here, try some of these. They’re fresh out of the oven.”
Owen took one of the cookies and bit into it. “That’s the best cookie I ever had in my life!”
THE HOMEPLACE Page 27
