CHAPTER NINE
Sheriff Tucker had shot his pistol into the air so many times the barrel
had gotten hot and he had to go back in his office to get more ammunition. The mob of hooded rabble-rousers had worked themselves into a frenzy like a congregation at a tent revival that was led by a fire breathing, charismatic preacher. The deputies were all scared to death and hoping some of the townspeople would hear the commotion and come to their aid. Preferably armed with shotguns and rifles.
“Git out of the way, Harold. We don’t want to have to come through you, but by god we will,” Boney Bullard shouted out.
Harold, the chief deputy, didn’t know why Boney even bothered donning a mask. Anybody who had been in Collinwood any time at all could recognize his deep voice. Besides that, he was the only man in the county that stood six-foot- six.
“Now, Boney, you know we can’t just let you walk in and take old Rube. We’re all sworn to uphold the law and you know that. He’s gonna stand trial just like anybody else would. That’s his right as a citizen, no matter what he’s done.”
“He’s a damn nigger and he ain’t got no rights after what he done to Rachel Winston,” Bob Samples yelled. “I can’t believe a God fearin’ man like yourself would stand in our way and keep us from doin’ what needs to be done. An eye for an eye is what the Bible says. It’s in there plain as day.”
“So is vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” Harold yelled. He had never actually read that particular passage, but he’d heard it quoted a lot.
“Well, by god, vengeance is gonna be ours today,” another voice shouted. This got the whole crowd going. They all started moving closer together and making their way toward the front door and the deputies. Harold had his pistol pointed right at Boney Bullard’s head, but couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. Where Harold failed, John Roberts succeeded, however. He didn’t shoot Boney in the head, but he did shoot Roscoe Jenkins in his right thigh. The crowd stopped moving for a second to assess the damage. When they saw a crimson stain that was getting progressively larger on Roscoe’s ankle length, snow white sheet, they charged the deputies like a Confederate infantry unit that had just gotten the command. None of the deputies fired again. There was no way to stop the mob of more than forty men, so there was no point in killing or maiming four or five of them and getting themselves killed in the process. The deputies just hunkered down and covered their heads with their hands. Sheriff Collins was trying to get the door locked, but was knocked down and trampled on like he was in a herd of stampeding cattle.
The keys to Rube’s cell were quickly found and the door opened. Rube had heard most of had been going on outside, and was cowering in the corner of his small cell, sobbing out loud. He knew his time had come and there was nothing he could do about it. He only hoped they killed him quick and didn’t drag him down the road behind a horse the way they did his uncle years ago. The dragging began after the poor man had been beaten with a horse whip and then castrated, among other horrific tortures.
Rube was smashed across the back of his head with a baseball bat. When he hit the floor, he immediately had the breath knocked out of him by several vicious kicks to his stomach and ribs. They were stomping him and spitting on him. He was being attacked in so many different ways, he couldn’t tell where he hurt worse.
Boney Bullard’s thunderous bass voice pierced the air and could be heard above the shouts of the rest of the savage men. “Alright, now. That’s enough for now. We gotta save enough of him to hang, boys.”
Boney pushed through the crowd and put his huge hand around the strap of Rube’s overalls, jerking him up on his feet. Rube’s knees buckled and Boney caught him before he could fall again, propping him up against the wall.
“Hold him up,” he shouted to one of the hooded men. The man grabbed Rube by the shoulders and held him while Boney put a thick rope around his neck.
“Now you better walk, nigger. If you don’t we’re gonna cut your balls out and stuff ‘em in your mouth right here and now.”
Rube tried his best to steady himself and stand up straighter. But the hard blow to his head and the cracked ribs wouldn’t allow it. He tried to take a step, but couldn’t get his legs to cooperate. His legs were numb and felt like they weighed a ton. The room was spinning around, causing him to feel nauseous. One man slapped him across the back. “He said walk nigger!”
Boney stopped the man from hitting Rube again. “Just leave ‘im be, boys. I’ll drag his black ass out of here.”
Boney and another man grabbed the rope and started pulling. When the slack was out of the rope it tightened around Rube’s neck and started to cut into his skin. The rope was so rough it felt like it was made from barbed wire. Rube started bear crawling, trying to keep up with the men and keep the pressure of the rope from strangling him. Occasionally, he would grab the rope with his hands and pull some slack to get some relief. But that always resulted in an open handed slap across the face or a fist to the side of his head.
Rube was loaded into the back of Boney’s Ford pickup. Every man that could fit jumped in with him, holding him down with their feet. Boney cranked the truck and pulled away, followed by several other cars and trucks.
Rube was taken down an old, bumpy chert road that led into one of Bob Sample’s pastures. The tailgate was dropped and Rube hit the ground like a boulder that had been dropped. This time they were kind enough to pick him up and carry him instead of pulling him like a mule by the rope that was around his neck.
One of the men took out a large skinning knife and cut Rube’s overalls down the front. He pulled them off and tossed them aside as another man pulled his boots off. Rube had not been wearing any undergarments and was now totally naked. Two men grabbed him under each arm and dragged him over to a giant oak tree. A separate rope was tied to each wrist and pulled around the enormous tree, where they were pulled tight and tied together. Rube’s arms were stretched to the point that he thought they would be pulled completely away from his shoulders.
The man with the knife put the blade up close to Rube’s eyes. He turned it around in his hand several times, making sure he got a good look at it. It had an evil gleam in the bright sunlight, as if it were illuminated from its own power source. The cutting edge was as thin as a cigarette paper and looked sharper than a razor.
“You know what I’m fixin’ to do now, you black bastard. I’m gonna cut off them gonads of yours. But first I’m gonna saw off that black snake that caused all this trouble to start with. Then we’re gonna burn the damned thing.”
Sweat was running from Rube’s forehead into his eyes, causing them to burn. There wasn’t a spot on his entire body that he wasn’t aware of. He felt pain all over. He opened his mouth to plead to the man, but knew that would only make matters worse. When the man started cutting, he got in no hurry. Rube felt like someone was digging his insides out with a tablespoon or some other cold and blunt object. He got a small reprieve when the pain became so unbearable it caused him to pass out.
Rube’s tormentors wanted him to be conscious for the grand finale. They were near Mush Creek, so one of them had gone down and filled a gallon jug up with the cold water. They poured it slowly over Rube’s head until he started moaning.
“I want you awake for this, you filthy son-of-a-bitch,” Boney said, the words spewing from his mouth like venom.
Rube had been put on the back of his own mule. The rope that was around his neck stung like it was covered in fire ants. He knew the end had finally come. He suddenly remembered what his mama had told him when he was a child. Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved. She said it didn’t matter how many bad things you had done, that was all you had to do. He didn’t want the men to hear him. This was between him and God. He quietly said, “Forgive me, Jesus, for all I’ve done.”
Boney took a keen hickory branch and gave Rube’s old mule a hard swat on the tail. He took off like a race horse, leaving Rube swinging in the cool November breeze. His fe
et twitched a few times and then were still.
*****
Ben had heard the news of what was taking place in town, when Billy Walker drove out to Mr. Winston’s house and told him the sheriff needed help. He told Mr. Winston a mob of Klansmen were trying to overpower the sheriff and his deputies and take a black man out of the jail. Ben thought Billy Walker must have either been out of town or living under a rock if he hadn’t heard what Rube had done to Rachel. Of course Mr. Winston didn’t rush into town to save his daughters rapist. But once Billy had left the house and gotten out of sight, Ben started walking toward Collinwood. He had no desire to try and save his papa and knew there would be nothing he could do anyway, but some unknown force compelled him to start walking.
When Ben got to town, the mob had already left with Rube. Ben found out where they had taken him and followed. He had hidden himself on a little ridge east of where Rube had been tortured and hung and watched the whole thing. Ben thought that if anybody had a right to feel sorry for themselves, it was him. He had just watched a gang of hooded devils do unspeakable things to his father. The reason these things had happened to his father was because he had done unspeakable things to the person he loved most in the world, outside of his immediate family. In fact, Rachel felt like she was his family.
Ben sat on the ridge until long after the men had gone. He walked down to the oak tree where his papa was still swinging gently back and forth, the rope making a small moaning sound from the burden of Rube’s weight. He couldn’t decide on whether to cut him down or not. He was wondering why the sheriff or somebody from town wasn’t already here. Did they just not care, or were they afraid of the Klan? He knew the sheriff wasn’t afraid of anybody, yet he was in no hurry to come out to what should be a crime scene. Maybe the man swinging from the rope was the wrong color for this to be construed as a crime.
Ben decided he would walk back to town and remind the sheriff that a man had been hung and was still swinging from the rope just a little over a mile away. While he walked, he tried hard to find a way to feel sorry for Rube. When that didn’t work, he tried to feel sorry for his brothers and sister and his mama. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t find any pity at all. He knew his family would be better off without Rube. The best he could come up with was praying to God that his papa had made his peace with Him before he died. That was the most important thing, anyway. God had unlimited capacity for forgiveness. Ben didn’t. He knew he should have, but he couldn’t make himself feel something that just wasn’t there.
Ben quickly made a hundred and eighty degree turn and started walking in the opposite direction. If the sheriff wanted to let Rube hang there until he stunk, that was his business. He should be with his family now. He was the man of the house.
CHAPTER TEN
Barrett Winston was Rachel’s brother and was fifteen years her senior. Rachel had come along late in George and Pauline Winston’s lives and was, in fact, an accident. Pauline wasn’t supposed to be able to have any more children after the difficult time she had with Barrett’s birth. But after Rachel was born she turned out to be the best accident either of the Winston’s had ever had. By the time the little precocious red head with the rosy cheeks was three years old, Barrett left for the University of Alabama. Rachel was raised the same way Barrett had been. As if she were an only child. When she was eight years old, her mother passed away with a sudden illness. This left George to raise her with the help of Lizzie. Rachel became her father’s whole world.
Barrett, or Bar as most people called him, had moved to Charleston, South Carolina to take a job in a large cotton mill as an accountant after he graduated from the university. Two years later, he became vice-president. In two more, president. Now he owned controlling interest in the mill as well as all its smaller subsidiaries. Bar was smart, ambitious and tenacious, just like his father and his grandfather had been.
George had arranged for Rachel to stay with Bar and his wife until the baby was born and adoption could be arranged. He had already begun inquiries into some agencies that handled that sort of thing. It might not be easy placing a mulatto child with a good family, but despite the terrible circumstances in which the baby was conceived, it was still going to have Winston blood coursing through its veins. The daughter that he loved more than life itself was going to be giving it life. George was determined to make sure the child had a good home and would see to it that its financial needs were met. The subject of abortion was never broached, at least not verbally. George and Rachel were both God fearing Baptists, and besides that, it was dangerous and George didn’t want to put his daughter through it. She had already suffered enough trauma.
The day before Rachel was to leave, Ben spent the whole day with her. Rachel was doing better emotionally, thanks to Ben’s unyielding determination. They spent most of the day discussing books they’d recently read and taking little walks in the cool, late November day.
I drove Uncle Lee’s car over to Rachel’s house to bid her farewell. Though nobody would have ever guessed it, and I had kept it a complete secret, I hated to see her go almost as much as Ben did. At sixteen, my brain still couldn’t process the information it received every time I saw or even thought of Rachel Winston. When I was fortunate enough to be close to her and timidly stole a glance into her eyes, my thoughts became tangled. My tongue did most of the time, too. Like a well worn rope that someone had spent an entire day tying knots in. Her eyes were as blue as any sky I’d ever seen. The best way I can describe them is the color of a robin’s egg. Her hair was dark red, almost auburn, with thick, loose curls that fell indiscriminately across her shoulders. Her complexion was darker than any red head I’d ever seen and her skin tanned easily in the summer, despite the fact that she kept herself covered most of the time for fear of getting freckles. She was as tall as me and slender, with long shapely legs and a tiny waist. But what made her completely irresistible was on the inside. She had the biggest heart and was the most truly kind person I’d ever known. She could get riled easily if you crossed her, like most redheads can, but that added to her charm even more as far as I was concerned. Of course I didn’t deem myself worthy of ever winning her affections and couldn’t imagine myself ever conjuring up the nerve to make my feelings known to her. Even though I had grown up within two miles of her and had been in her class at school since the first grade, every time I saw her always seemed like the first time.
Rachel and Ben were walking through the peach orchard that started where their perfectly manicured back lawn ended. The trees were now bare and the thin braches looked melancholy against the gray sky. It was a blustery day and the cool breeze had a bite to it. At this point, all I knew was that Rachel had been attacked by Rube Evans and that he had paid the price at the hands of the Ku Klux Klan. I had no idea she was carrying Rube’s baby.
Ben and Rachel both had smiles on their faces when I walked up. I could tell right away that the cheerful façade Rachel was trying desperately to display took a lot of effort. Her lips were smiling but her eyes weren’t cooperating. She looked as if she were looking past me. Like there was someone standing behind me who’d caught her attention.
I felt awkward anytime I was near Rachel, but even more so under the circumstances.
“I…uh, I heard you were leavin’ for a while. I just wanted to come and tell you bye,” I said, looking down at the ground.
Then, the most surprising and wonderful thing I had ever experienced happened. Rachel walked up to me and gave me a hug. I reluctantly put my arms around her. I knew I was probably shaking like a leaf. But my fear was immediately replaced with concern. She felt like she was nothing more than skin and bones. Her shoulder blades felt like knots on a tree limb and I could have counted her ribs. I did my best not to let on that I had noticed. The hug was the best thing I’d ever felt, despite the emaciated condition of her body. I wished I could have grabbed her and held her forever and told her everything would be alright. That I would make it alright.
All th
ree of us started walking and making small talk. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome and figured she would be leaving soon, anyway. She had told me she was packed and would be leaving on the evening train. I asked her if I could stay in touch with her while she was gone. She told me that she would like that very much and that she would write to me when she got settled in. I bid her and Ben farewell and walked back to the car, feeling like I was walking on air. Rachel Winston had hugged me and told me she would like very much to stay in touch with me. Suddenly, the cold November air had lost its sting.
*****
Ben received a message from Mr. Winston two days after Rachel left for Charleston. One of his hired hands had come to the Evan’s little shack and told Ben to come to his house as soon as he could. Fearing something might have happened to Rachel, Ben said he could go right now and asked the man if he could ride with him.
When the car dropped Ben off in front of the Winston’s house, he jumped out of the car and ran to the front door. He knocked urgently and stood there waiting, rocking back and forth until Jim answered.
“Hi, Jim. I got word that Mr. Winston wants to see me. Miss Rachel’s alright ain’t she?”
“Fer as I know she is,” Jim answered. “Mr. Winston’s in his study waitin’ on you. Just go on in.”
The Sharecropper Prodigy Page 7
