Ben’s face didn’t have the look of fear or confusion I thought it would. His face had the look of someone who was trying to solve a complicated math problem.
“I wouldn’t worry much about it, Ben,” I said in the most positive voice I could muster. “That’s been three years ago. They probably think he just ran off the road or went to sleep at the wheel. They don’t have any reason to suspect you. Mr. Winston knows that Ned was the one with the shotgun that night and you and Manuel were unarmed.”
“Have you heard from Manny lately?” Ben asked me.
“I got a letter from him last week,” I said. “His division is somewhere in North Africa, or it was when he wrote the letter. I wrote him back, but I don’t know how long it will take him to get it. Of course, that was before the truck was found. Manny saved my life and has enough on his plate right now, I don’t think….”
“No, Manny don’t need to know anything about this,” Ben finished my sentence. “He’s riskin’ his life every day, defending this country and tryin’ to stop an evil tyrant from exterminatin’ an entire race of people. Ned Higgins was a trouble makin’ redneck who got what was comin’ to him and wasn’t worth the sweat that comes off the brow of any of those brave soldiers.”
“I agree,” Rachel said. “So let’s just let it go and have a good time tomorrow and at the weddin’ Sunday. In a couple of weeks they’ll let it go and move onto somethin’ else.”
Ben leaned up over the seat and stuck his head between Rachel and me. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life with this hangin’ over my head. There is no such thing as statutes of limitations on murder. They could move onto something else now, and then ten years from now a new sheriff might get bored one day and decide to open up the Ned Higgins file again. I don’t want to be a married man with children, and some investigator walk up to my house one day when I least expect it, with a warrant for my arrest.”
Ben leaned back in his seat. “I’ll wait ‘til after your weddin’. I don’t want to spoil the most important day your lives. But Monday morning, I’m goin’ to Sheriff Tucker and tell him exactly what happened. He can contact the sheriff in Cherokee County. I’ll tell him Manny and me got scared, believing there was no way we could have gotten a fair trial and ran Mr. Winston’s truck off in the river. With Ned’s body in it.”
“Manny and I ran the truck in the river,” Rachel shouted. “If you are gonna tell the truth, then tell it all, Ben. I won’t have….”
“You and Tom are gettin’ married Sunday! You are madly in love and both of you deserve happiness. You are the two best friends I have in the world and I refuse to bring you into this, Rachel. You had nothing to do with Ned’s death. You were only tryin’ to protect me when you and Manny dumped the truck. Now, I’m gonna return the favor and protect you. I owe you more than I can ever hope to repay as it is. Do you think I’d be at Harvard, about to receive a doctorate from the most prestigious school in the country, if it weren’t for you? Please, just let me handle this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Me and Rachel were man and wife. Despite the fact that only a few friends and family were present, Mr. Winston had spared no expense for his only daughter. He had hired women from Collinwood to help Lizzie decorate, and had caterers from Gadsden to provide a meal fit for royalty. Royalty is exactly what I felt like when Reverend McCarroll, the preacher at the Collinwood Baptist Church, pronounced Rachel and me man and wife. I didn’t think it was possible to be any happier than I was the first time Rachel told me she loved me, but this may have topped even that moment. Rachel was really mine, and I was hers. I still felt like I was having a spectacular dream and any minute I would wake up, alone in my bed at my aunt and uncle’s house. Aunt Mary Kate cried like a baby. I even thought I detected an over abundance of moisture in my Uncle Lee’s eyes. As hard as he tried to be the same irascible old cuss he always was, I knew he was proud of me.
Rachel’s brother had come down from Charleston with his wife and kids. He was truly happy for Rachel and seemed to accept me with open arms as his new brother-in-law. He had seen Rachel through the most difficult time in her life and had become very protective of her. He wanted to know what they were going to be paying me at my job in Tennessee and offered to match and eventually exceed it if we ever wanted to move to Charleston. The only family I had was Uncle Lee, Aunt Mary Kate, Uncle Joe and Aunt Jenny, but a few of my friends I had from school were there. I figured somebody would have something to say about Ben being my best man, but everybody seemed to accept him without question. When Rachel’s brother, Bar, found out Ben was about to receive a Ph.D. from Harvard, he monopolized him for most of the afternoon. Bar saw himself as something of a scholar and philosopher. Needless to say, he was astounded at Ben’s brilliance no matter what the topic of conversation was. He exchanged addresses and telephone numbers with Ben and made him promise to stay in touch. He even invited Ben to his house for a weekend, at his expense, anytime he wanted to come. I could tell Ben was having a very good time and was obviously not letting the thought of what he was about to do spoil it. I thought at first he was just putting up a front so he wouldn’t spoil Rachel’s and my big day. But I soon saw that his joy was genuine. For one thing, Rachel had insisted he bring his family along. Ben had bought his momma and Nellie new dresses and his brothers suits. At first they were very shy and timid, but eventually loosened up. I’m not sure about his brothers, but I believe Evergreen and Nellie really enjoyed themselves.
And, of course, there was Abby. There was no way I was getting married without Abby being there. She looked like a beautiful princes visiting from some exotic foreign country, or a star from Hollywood that day. She had arrived the night before and Rachel immediately fell in love with her. I knew she would. They had so much in common, including me and Ben. Abby stayed at the Winston’s house the night before the wedding, and I believe Rachel kept her up almost all night. I don’t think Rachel was the only one who fell in love with her, though. I thought Mr. Winston’s eyes were going to pop completely out of his head the first time he saw her. He waited on her hand and foot after supper the night before, and all during the day at the wedding. I think Abby might have been taken with him, too. They danced several times together and made quite a handsome couple. Their dancing put mine and Rachel’s to shame, too. Of course, I’d never danced more than a couple of times in my whole life. Mr. Winston was probably fifteen years older than Abby, but he was still a handsome man, tall and slim, with dark skin and thick, white hair that made him look very distinguished. I whispered to Rachel once during the reception that we might ought to make sure Reverend McCarroll didn’t leave. We might need him again before the day was over.
*****
I had to do everything I could think of, including threatening Ben with bodily harm, to convince him me and Rachel weren’t going anywhere after the wedding. We had planned on spending a couple of days in the Smoky Mountains for a quick honeymoon. The little resort towns around the mountains were some of the prettiest places on earth, and were not far from Oak Ridge and my new job. But Rachel told Ben it would be over her dead body if Ben went to Sheriff Tucker without our being there to support him. I agreed completely and Ben had no choice but to surrender, once he saw we weren’t budging.
Sheriff Tucker was out helping his deputies serve some papers when we got to his office Monday morning. Irene Woodall, the sheriff’s secretary, asked if anyone else could help us. Irene was one of the biggest busy-bodies in the county. Rachel said she was always listening in on phone conversations on the party line. Irene and her husband had just gotten a telephone a few months earlier, and the party line always provided her with good gossip for her and her friends. Ben told her he would just wait until the sheriff got back.
“Well, I’m sure whatever it is, I can help you,” Irene said, as though she had as much authority the sheriff did. I thought she might have been mad because she wasn’t invited to mine and Rachel’s wedding. Irene didn’t like missing any social eve
nt. There was no better place to hear and spread gossip.
“It’s a personal matter, Mrs. Woodall,” Ben told her. “It’s about an alleged crime and I’m here to clear the matter up.” Ben couldn’t help stoking the fire. He knew Irene would give anything to know now.
“Well, if it’s about a crime, I better notify him on the radio right away,” she said jumping up. “I really need to tell him the nature of the crime, though.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Woodall. There is no criminal at large that he needs to pursue or anything. We’ll just wait.” I could tell Ben was stifling a smile. I was glad he could be so playful at a time like this, when he had no idea if he was about to face some kind of charges.
“He may be a while. Are you sure you don’t want me to contact him? Maybe I’d better call the police chief,” Irene was coming apart at the seams.
“No, Mrs. Woodall. I will not talk to anybody but the sheriff.”
“What do you want to talk to me about, Ben?” Sheriff Tucker had slipped in through the back and nobody heard him walk into the outside waiting area.
“Oh, h…hello, Sheriff Tucker. Ah…yes sir, I need to talk to you if you have a minute to spare,” Ben said, as if the sheriff might have more pressing matters than hearing someone confess to dumping a truck with a dead body in it in the river.
“Sure, Ben. C’mon in my office. Tom, Rachel, I never got a chance to talk to either of you much yesterday, but I enjoyed your weddin’. I wish both of you the best.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Rachel and I said simultaneously. I looked at Irene and saw she was burning up inside. I know she was thinking, how dare they invite the sheriff and not me.
We followed Ben into Sheriff Tucker’s office. I took a seat in the corner and let Ben and Rachel sit in the chairs that were in front of the desk. The sheriff sat down in his high-backed chair that I’m sure served to intimidate anyone on the other side.
“Ben, I hear you’re doin’ very well with your studies. And at Harvard, too. I’ll bet your momma and Nellie are tickled to death,” the sheriff said, trying to break the ice. I’m sure he wondered what kind of business we could possibly have with him.
“We’re all proud of him,” Rachel responded.
“Well, what have you three got on your mind today? I know you ain’t had time to find a whisky still in the woods and Tom and Rachel are already married. Ben, are you wantin’ to tie the knot, too?” Sheriff Tucker occasionally married people when the probate judge couldn’t be found.
No sir, not today,” Ben said. “I guess the best thing to do is get right to the point,” Ben moved around in his chair. “Me and Manuel Cruz are the one’s who ran Mr. Winston’s truck in the river with Ned Higgins body in it, sheriff. He was brandishing a shotgun, pointing it right at us, and meant to do us harm, maybe even kill one or both of us. Rachel, Manuel and I had a little club, we called it a junta, where we would meet most every week in different locations and discuss books we had read or were reading. We had chosen the office in Mr. Winston’s cotton gin that night. Apparently, Mr. Winston either walked or drove by and saw the lights on and thought somebody had broken in. He came back with Ned and Will Henry, who were both armed.” Ben got up and started his signature pacing as if he were giving a lecture.
“When Mr. Winston saw it was us, he was upset with Rachel for being alone with Manuel and me, although he knew nothing out of the way was goin’ on. He just didn’t believe it was appropriate. Anyway, he and Rachel walked home and left Ned there with his truck, instructing him to drive Manuel home. Once Mr. Winston and Rachel were gone, Ned sent Will away, too. He then told us he was gonna teach us a lesson. He said that Mr. Winston had been way too easy on both of us, and he knew what he’d do if he’d caught his daughter alone with a nigger and a Mexican. He told me there was some rope in a desk drawer and told me to tie Manuel up. When I opened the drawer, I saw a jar of pepper sauce inside and got an idea. I eased the lid off the pepper sauce, then made out like I had cut my finger on somethin’ in the drawer. Ned came over and told me to get out of the way. When he was close enough, I threw the pepper sauce in his face. Manuel moved quickly and tried to grab his gun. A struggle ensued, and the gun somehow wound up on the floor. Ned then pulled a knife he had hidden in his boot. He thrust it several times at Manuel, cutting his shirt once. Somehow, Manuel managed to strike a blow that sent Ned reeling backwards and he ran into the wall. His head hit one of the sharp steel spikes that Mr. Winston hangs invoices on. Unfortunately, it buried itself fairly deep at the base of Ned’s skull, most likely piercing the medulla oblongata. Of course, that’s the part of the brain that controls involuntary impulses, like heartbeat and lung function. Ned died almost instantly.” Ben paused for a minute, looking directly at the sheriff, who was speechless.
“Sheriff, that’s the whole truth, so help me God. It was self-defense, and what’s more, it was accidental self-defense. Manuel had no intentions of doing anything but disarming Ned and tryin’ to get him and me away from him.”
The sheriff sat in his chair, rubbing his face as if he didn’t know what to say or do. After a minute he spoke, “Well, I guess I’d better get in touch with Judge Hawkins. I think he has court today here in town. I…I don’t know exactly what to do. Tryin’ to hide a body is a crime, even if it was self-defense. Why didn’t you two come and tell me what happened? Did you not trust me to do the right thing?”
“Sheriff, try to put yourself in mine and Manuel’s place,” Ben answered. “I was a fourteen year old negro boy, who was with the only Mexican who lives in the county. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. But I had no confidence whatsoever that when we got to trial, a jury in this county would take our side over a white man. I still don’t have much confidence, but I’m tired of this thing hangin’ over my head. That’s why I came to you. To tell you what really happened. If I had wanted it to remain a secret, I probably could have. There were no witnesses to say Manuel and I ever did anything wrong. But I thought you and whatever family Ned might have needed to know the truth.”
“I understand, Ben. I don’t know how the judge and the district attorney are gonna react. There will have to be some kind of hearing or maybe even a trial. I’ll tell you what. Do you have any place in town to stay?” “He can stay at my Papa’s house,” Rachel said. “He stayed there for a week nursing me back to health after he saved my life. You can tell the judge and district attorney that, too.”
“Ben, I believe you. But it’s not that simple. It’s not just up to me. I’m not gonna hold you, if you promise not to leave town.”
“I won’t go anywhere ‘til my name is cleared,” Ben said.
*****
If there had ever been a public official who believed in the superiority of the white race, it was Randall Baxter. He had been the district attorney for Jones County for several years and had been chomping at the bits to get in a courtroom full of like-minded, southern bigots, to prosecute Ben’s papa. He was devastated when the lynch mob, many of whom were his friends, had robbed him of something he had been looking forward to like a little kid waiting on Christmas morning. When the sheriff told Judge Hawkins about Ben’s confession, Baxter saw this as his moment of redemption. I he wasn’t able to send old Rube to the electric chair, his son would be the next best thing. This could even be better, he thought. An uppity nigger who believes an education from some Yankee school is somehow gonna make him as good as a white man. You can dress a hog up in a silk suit, but he’s still a stinkin’, mud wallowin’ hog.
Baxter went immediately to Judge Hawkins for a warrant.
“What are you gonna charge him with, Randall?” Judge Hawkins asked, knowing the racist proclivities of the district attorney. The judge also knew that if it weren’t for the poll tax keeping almost all negroes from the voting booth, Randall Baxter would have been retired to his dairy farm several years ago. He was sixty-two years old and had only become harder with age.
“I’m gonna charge him with murder, what else?”
> “The boy said it was self defense, Randall. You’ve got no witnesses to prove otherwise and everybody who knew Ned Higgins, knew he didn’t like nigras or Mexicans.”
“Who says there were no witnesses? That nigger boy? What did you expect him to say? We don’t know if there are witnesses or not. Nobody’s tried to find any.”
“Dammit, Randall. Why don’t you charge him with obstruction of justice or something.”
“’Cause I believe him and that Mexican killed Ned, that’s why.”
“I believe it’s because you didn’t get your chance to convict his daddy,” the judge said. Judge Hawkins had had to deal with Randall Baxter for years. He was a tenacious prosecutor who usually got a conviction on people who deserved it. But he had a feeling this was nothing more than a vendetta against Ben and negroes in general. He’d never gotten to prosecute a black man for anything more serious than stealing chickens or maybe some small item at the grocery store.
“Are you gonna keep me from doin’ my job, Judge?” Baxter asked, as if the judge had slapped him in the face.
“No, Randall. I’m not gonna stand in the way of the law. I just think you might have a hard time getting a grand jury to indict him without witnesses. And what about Mr. Cruz? According to Ben Evans he’s the one who struck the blow that killed him. If Ben Evans is guilty of any crime at all, it would just be helping Mr. Cruz hide Ned’s body. And maybe stealin’ George Winston’s truck.”
“I’ll get an indictment, judge, if you’ll just give me a warrant.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It turned out Ned Higgins had a family. In fact, he had a rather extended family that lived in a little town in Southwest Georgia and it was plain to see that Ned had come by his hatred for anybody that didn’t have white skin honestly. His daddy and two of his uncles had at one time been Klan members. It turned out Ned had a falling out with his daddy a few years before. They had made no effort to contact each other, and if Ned had lived, probably never would have. But as soon as the family heard that Ned had died at the hands of a negro and a Mexican, they were suddenly prostrate with grief, or at least grief is what they went all out to display to the people in Jones County. Their real motivation for traveling so many miles was simple. Hatred. They hated the thought of any white man being struck down by a Mexican and a negro. Love for their long lost kin didn’t even enter into it.
The Sharecropper Prodigy Page 16
