Harvest of Thorns

by Paul E. Wootten

  Knights Knox Bradshaw, Gib Reese, and Philetus Birch volunteered to complete the task on Wednesday night, September 5. They will meet Grand Knight Manning at his farm at eleven-thirty that night.

  The Knights will meet again on September 12 at eight-thirty. The location will be the same.

  The meeting was adjourned with the Lord’s Prayer.

  Respectfully submitted,

  Carter Kaley, Secretary

  TEN

  Somehow, Harvester controlled the urge to scream. What he heard made him dizzy enough to fall against the wall of the barn stall, striking his arm against an old pitchfork and taking it down with him. The men heard the commotion, but thought it was a cow rustling in a nearby stall. Nobody even bothered to check.

  Then they used the word again. And again.

  Fire.

  Every instinct told him to run. Get out now!

  But he didn’t.

  He stayed, willing himself to listen and remember every word.

  It was a heated conversation. Some of the men were vehemently against the ideas being tossed about.

  But in the end, they decided to proceed.

  It took every drop of patience Harvester had to wait until they were gone before fleeing across the island. He was a fast, tireless runner, always had been. But that night he ran as if lives depended on it.

  Because they did.

  Daddy and the other men were waiting on the front porch. Harvester needed several minutes to catch his breath before being able to say the word.

  “Fire.”

  Patiently, they pulled the story out of him. Harvester saw their concern as he described the Knights’ plans. When he finished the story, they excused him to go to bed. Usually he wanted to stay, but the evening had left him exhausted.

  “We’ll come up with a plan,” Daddy said. “God will direct us.”

  That was four nights ago.

  Arising on Sunday morning, Harvester knew it was the day their plan was put into action.

  And he grew scared all over again.

  They met in the Stanleys’ front yard just after eight, twenty-four in all. Naomi Cornish had agreed to stay home with the youngest children. The rest were dressed in their very best.

  As it should be.

  When going to church.

  ###

  “Daddy, is this safe?” Harvester leaned forward to look across the seat of the truck. Mama sat between them. His sisters were in the back, with two of the Dobson girls. The Cornishes, and the rest of the Dobson family followed, crammed tightly into two old cars and a truck

  “Son, what did Paul tell Timothy? Second Timothy One.”

  Harvester wracked his brain. He was a long way from having his parents’ recall of the Bible. He looked to Mama, resplendent in her store-bought cream-colored dress. She winked.

  “But God didn’t give us a spirit of fear,” she said, “but of power.”

  “And of love, and a sound mind,” Daddy added. “If we’re going to make a life for ourselves here, we can’t be running scared. We’ve dodged Adair long enough. Some way or another, we need to make our peace with the people who want to hate us. Church is a good first step.”

  “But we’ve already been here two years. It’s not our house they want to burn down.”

  Daddy focused on the road, but Harvester could see he had struck a nerve. It was a few moments before his father replied.

  “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

  “If it were our house would you hope the others would help us?” Mama’s point hit hard. Still, was he the only one scared of what might happen when two-dozen Negroes entered an all-white church? Harvester glanced into the back of the truck. The girls were clapping and singing Pease Porridge Hot, unaware to what might await them in Adair. He had been like that, not long ago. Oblivious. Losing that innocence must be one of the tradeoffs of becoming a man, he thought, unsure if he liked it or not.

  The men were unified in the decision to attend church, to let the white people of Saxon County see their faces and the faces of their wives and children. Setting fire to an empty house was one thing, but when everyone in Saxon County was aware that the house was occupied by a family with small children? Well, even the Saxon County Knights couldn’t be that hard-hearted.

  Could they?

  ###

  Cora demanded that Levi take her and Earl to church every week, even if he refused to go himself. It would have been easy enough to shut her down. A simple ‘no’ or maybe a backhand slap to her ugly face would do the trick, but Levi enjoyed getting off the island on Sunday mornings. This time of year he could drop them off, then head to the Adair city square and stretch out under one of the many oak trees surrounding the Saxon County Courthouse. Usually he brought a jar of Mackey Vaughn’s best bootleg. Between nine and eleven on Sunday the square was deserted. Blue laws kept the stores closed, and people were either in church or sleeping off Saturday night benders.

  Cora had tried to get him to attend church, but that wasn’t going to happen. “Look what it says over the door,” she’d pointed out several times when he was dropping them off: ‘All Welcome.’” Levi would smirk before reminding her that she was lucky he was agreeable to even bringing her to town. He would have liked to beat that pleading look off her face, but he couldn’t have her walking into church with a split lip.

  They got into town earlier than usual, a good twenty minutes before church started at nine. Cora asked if they could drive around for ten minutes, so they wouldn’t be so early.

  “Get out now or we’re going back to the island,” Levi answered as he pulled up in front of the church.

  She and the boy got out of the car and headed for the front door, the one where it said ‘All Welcome.’ There were only three cars in the dusty parking lot. One of them belonged to Pastor Henry Florence. A transplant from Wentzville, up near St. Louis, Pastor Henry had come to the house a couple times to visit. Levi avoided him the first time by staying in the barn, but before leaving the second time, the preacher came out to the barn to see him. Grover was there too. Levi listened to him for a few minutes, partly out of respect, but mainly because he couldn’t think of anyway to shut him up. He was surprised the preacher was as big as he was. Eventually he tired of the Bible verses and promises of eternal life and told the preacher to get out of his barn. Pastor Henry grew still for a second, making Levi think he might want to make something of it. Grover picked up on it too, stepping closer, ready if there was trouble. It wasn’t necessary. The preacher took a deep breath and turned to leave. Levi followed him out of the barn. As he was getting in his car. Pastor Henry leveled a stern gaze at him.

  “You may not want to come to church, but don’t try to stop Cora and Earl.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds before Levi turned away. It was the last time he came face to face with Henry Florence. After that, whenever the preacher was out to the house, Levi made a point to be gone.

  It was three blocks from the church to the city square. Levi parked the Model T and strolled to the northwest corner of the courthouse, cradling his jar of clear liquid like a newborn baby. He planted himself on a spot of lush grass under a shade tree and unsealed the jar. He was taking his first sip when he heard several automobiles approaching from the east. A few seconds later they came into view, two farm trucks and two automobiles, full of nigs. He recognized the driver of the lead truck. It was that coon, Stanley. That fancy boy of his was riding up front with him, with a wench between them. Four nigra girls were in the back, smiling and playing. The cars behind them were full of coons, too. Men, women, and little ones. He pulled himself up and moved toward the street.

  ###

  “That’s him! The Grand Knight!” Harvester raised his arm to point, but Daddy quickly reached over and stopped him.

  Daddy and the Grand Knight made eye contact. The Grand Knight took a few steps in their direction and starting shouting obscenities that Harvester wished the childr
en weren’t hearing. Glancing back, he saw that their games had ceased. They were looking wide-eyed at the Grand Knight, like he was a monster.

  It was over as quick as it started. Daddy continued past. The church steeple was visible a few streets away. Nobody said anything, though Harvester wanted to plead with his daddy to not take this any further. Looking back toward the square, he could see the courthouse clock. Two minutes before nine. They would be arriving just as church was starting.

  ###

  Lincoln Stanley parked in the furthest reaches of the parking lot, leaving space for the others. The church windows were open, and Mr. Cornish raised his finger to his lips, signaling for quiet as they made their way to the front door. It wasn’t necessary, as the spectacle of the Grand Knight had brought a pall over the group.

  The name was prominently displayed on a sign in front of the large brick sanctuary. Open Door Bible Church, but it was the proclamation over the front entrance that had led the men to pick this congregation.

  All Welcome.

  Lincoln Stanley confidently led the way up the steps. Harvester and the others close behind. As they pushed open the red doors, an organ was playing the opening notes of a favorite hymn. About a hundred and fifty people were standing and singing, still only enough to half-fill the large sanctuary.

  Open my eyes, that I may see

  Glimpses of truth thou hast for me;

  Harvester was so caught up in the scene around him that he nearly stumbled into the back of his father. Lincoln Stanley paused to look around, before moving down the back aisle on the right. When they reached the end of the aisle they headed up the side to an area halfway to the front, where they gathered as families. Some reached for hymnals, but most sang from memory.

  Open my ears, so I may hear.

  voices of truth thou sendest clear;

  and while the wavenotes fall on my ear,

  everything false will disappear.

  Every white face was fixed on them. Some appeared concerned, others angry. There were even a few smiles. Not knowing what else to do, Harvester silently prayed.

  Please God, give us protection and guidance.

  While the organist labored through the final stanza, three men hastily exited the sanctuary, wives and children close behind. Harvester recognized two of them as Saxon County Knights. A murmur arose that threatened to drown out the singing, but as they reached the final notes, a large rawboned man rose from his seat behind the pulpit. His wire-framed glasses and bowtie gave him a studious appearance. He looked upon the congregation, waiting for the din to subside. Another man got up and left, tugging his wife along with him.

  “Good Morning,” the man’s voice echoed off the sanctuary’s walls. A few mumbled in return.

  “Good Morning!” His second attempt was even louder. The response, more spirited. Encouraged, the pastor looked directly at Lincoln Stanley.

  “I am delighted that we have visitors with us today. In a moment I’ll ask you to kindly stand and share your names with us. I speak for our congregation when I say welcome to Open Door Bible Church.” The pastor surveyed the congregation before his eyes settled on an elderly man seated near the rear, on the opposite side from Harvester and the others.

  “Elder Roy Buchanan has been a member of this congregation since it came into existence. What year was that, Elder Roy?”

  The old man stood up slowly. He didn’t look happy.

  “Eighteen seventy-nine.”

  “And Elder Roy,” the pastor continued. “Why did the hardworking congregants of this church decide on the name, Open Door Bible Church?”

  Elder Roy appeared most uncomfortable being the center of attention.

  “They chose the name because they wanted everyone to know that the Bible is our final authority on all things.”

  “And what about the ‘Open Door’ part, Elder Roy?”

  Another man stood and strode toward the door. Harvester remembered him from the Knights meetings.

  “It means that our doors are open to saints and sinners alike, but they never meant—”

  “Open Door Bible Church,” the pastor said quickly. “Our doors are open, and today they are open to these guests. Will someone please stand and introduce your family and friends?”

  Harvester’s daddy and the other men stood.

  “My name is Lincoln Stanley. I live and farm on Grebey Island. We’ve lived here for two years.” Harvester’s daddy motioned to his family seated beside him.

  “This here is my wife, Sarah. My children are Harvester, Harriett, and Joy.”

  Each of the men followed Lincoln Stanley’s lead. Harvester was proud at how well-dressed and well-spoken they were. After Granville Dobson introduced his family, Lincoln Stanley stood back up.

  “The Cornish and Dobson families just moved to Grebey Island. They’ll be operating the Markley farm. We’ve been worshipping on our own most Sundays, but felt it was time to become part of a local church. We’d be greatly honored if it could be this one.”

  The sanctuary was stone silent as Lincoln Stanley sat down. The pastor slowly examined his congregation, his gaze moving from face to face. Harvester turned toward the approaching shuffle of a child’s hard shoes on the wood floor. Coming toward him was little Earl Manning. The boy had pulled away from his mother and was crossing the aisle. He sat down between two of Aldus Dobson’s children.

  “Earl Manning, you get back over here.” The boy’s mama sounded more distressed than angry. Little Earl ignored her.

  “I’d like to say something.”

  Archie Mueller was sitting out of Harvester’s line of sight, two rows back. The preacher nodded at him.

  “Have your say, Elder Archie.”

  Mueller stood tentatively and cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Stanley has been farming on the island near me for the better part of two years.”

  Silently, everyone waited to hear what Mueller had to say.

  “Now I consider myself a pretty good farmer, good enough to keep food in my family’s bellies.” Mueller looked at the people seated around him. “You people know more than anybody how hard that is these days.” A few amens were uttered in response.

  “This man, Mr. Stanley, and his son and family, they’ve done things on their farm that have impressed me greatly. They’ve shifted from corn and beans to fruits and vegetables. They’re sending watermelons and cantaloupes to St. Louis every day. They’re successful... More successful than most of us who are judging them.”

  A bearded man stood up. “C’mon Flossie. I ain’t gonna be in no church that welcomes nigras.”

  “You go ahead and leave, Spence. You ain’t done nothing but take up space here since Taft was President.” Archie Mueller looked about defiantly. “Anyone else want to leave, go ahead now.”

  No one moved.

  “Anyway, like I was saying, these are good farmers, but more to the point, they’re good people. Some of you know how my old mule got taken sick last year.” Several men nodded.

  “Had to put Old Hardhead down eventually, but I was stuck with a day’s work and no mule. Mr. Stanley loaned me his mule. Wouldn’t take nothing in return, and I used that mule hard.

  “Then, just a week ago, my truck broke down on the road between Grebey Island and Shipley. Mr. Stanley’s son, Harvester, that’s him right there. He picked me up, took me to get a new tire, then helped me put it on.

  “I was out there on the side of the road for more than an hour, and let me tell you it was hot. A couple people came by in the other direction, but they didn’t offer to help. Too busy, they said.” Mr. Mueller’s tone made it clear that the people he was referring to were sitting in church.

  “That young man, Harvester, he’d been hauling melons all day. He was worn out, but he stopped and helped me. That’s when I realized that I was guilty of some wrong thinking.”

  Harvester turned to find Mr. Mueller looking directly at him.

  “I was judging people based on stuff that didn’t ma
tter, just like my daddy and his daddy. Instead of seeing these people as good farmers and good people I was seeing them as Negroes and nothing more. Well, I stopped doing that recently. I asked God to forgive me for being so close-minded, and I would encourage you to do the same.”

  Mr. Mueller sat back down. When the preacher spoke again, his comments were directed to Harvester’s family and neighbors.

  “Folks, my name’s Henry Florence. I’m pastor here. I want to welcome you and say thank you for holding us to the commitment of those who started this church fifty years ago. We are an open door and open Bible church.

  “You have a home here.”

  ###

  When Levi was finished, they were battered and sniffling. That would teach them to keep secrets from him.

  The boy was easy enough. Levi took him outside and tied him belly first to a maple tree. He’d never done that before, but he was getting old enough for firm discipline. As he took the belt to him, Levi expected him to start bawling, but the little sissy remained silent, even as the welts appeared. It was only later, when he’d gone inside and seen his mama sitting on the couch that the boy showed any emotion. Cora pulled him close, careful not to let the blood seeping from her nose further ruin his Sunday clothes. Levi could see them peering up at him, their eyes as full of fear as the cats he’d terrorized as a kid.

  “You best know I stopped short of really hurting you.” Levi spoke to the boy in a level voice, the emotion of the past fifteen minutes ebbing away. “The next time I hear about you getting close to them Nigras, I’ll put a beating on you that you’ll feel.”

  The boy said nothing.

  “And Cora, you know better than to keep stuff like this from me. You bring these things on yourself. Do you know how embarrassed I was when Knox Bradshaw and them others told me about church? For crying out loud, Cora, I’m the Grand Knight and my own kid is acting like he’s part of their coon family.”