All three men have been transported to the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City, where they will serve out their terms. Bradshaw was detained for several hours in Warren County, where he was hastily tried and convicted on a charge of producing liquor during Prohibition, a charge stemming from 1931. Judge Crawford Miles added six months to Bradshaw’s sentence.
At the conclusion of the trial, just after sentencing was announced, Grover Petty, 19, a local farmhand, brought Negro Aldus Dobson forward, claiming he started the fire that led to the deaths of local farmer Archie Mueller, 57 and his wife Rachel, 55 on Monday night. Adair County Sheriff Les Belanger told Your Reporter that the accused most likely started the fire as retribution for the attempted arson at his home. Dobson is being held in the Saxon County Jail without bail, pending an investigation and trial.
EIGHTEEN
Harvester had rarely let go of Charlene’s hand since their arrival three hours earlier. He wanted to make sure it was a day she wouldn’t forget.
It took some convincing for Mrs. Dobson to let Charlene accompany him to St. Louis, an hour’s drive from Grebey Island. Thankfully, Daddy intervened on his behalf, promising Mrs. Dobson that Harvester’s month-old Dodge Coupe was more than up to the trip. They left before ten, promising to be home by dark, a non-negotiable requirement. The Dobsons never went out after dark. It held a fear for them that the others understood.
Naomi Cornish’s cousin, Hanford recommended lunch at Simpson’s Dining Room, a colored restaurant a few blocks from a movie theater. Harvester nor Charlene had eaten in restaurants more than a few times, and the linen tablecloth and fancy silverware gave Simpson’s an elegant feel. Harvester ordered grilled salmon and pronounced it the most delicious thing he’d ever had. Charlene’s Swiss steak wasn’t quite as tasty, but the chocolate cake they shared for dessert made up for it.
The interior of the Ambassador Theater was the most ornate either of them had ever seen. After finding their way to the balcony, they settled in to see The Good Earth, a movie about Chinese farmers struggling to make it through difficult times. The love story captivated Charlene. The saga of struggle resonated loudly with both of them.
After the curtain went down, Harvester did some quick calculating and determined they had just enough time to stop for ice cream before returning home. They found a corner table in the rear of a tiny ice cream shop near the theater.
“Two strawberry shakes.” Harvester ordered for them, then gazed across the booth at his girl. The sadness he had grown accustomed to in her eyes had receded somewhat in recent weeks.
He grabbed her hand. “November twenty-first!”
“I’ve got that date memorized.”
“Three months from today. I’m going to drive up to your house, knock on the front door like real company, and say, ‘Happy Thanksgiving! Can Miss Charlene Dobson come outside? She has a guest.’”
“You won’t have to knock. I’ll be on the porch waiting for you.”
Sweet comments like that made him love her even more.
“Just one year, then we can be together again.”
“I hope so, Harvester. Mama’s still pretty uncertain about me going off to college.”
Ruth Dobson’s recovery from the loss of her husband had been a slow process. Harvester witnessed her struggle firsthand, as he had taken over much of the responsibility for the Dobson farm. It was a role Granville should have filled, but the anger of having his father snatched away affected him in a deeper, more sinister way than the others. Seven months after Aldus’s lynching, Granville packed up his wife and two little ones and returned to Memphis. The other families had taken over the planting and harvesting of the Dobson farm until Charlene’s younger brother Thomas became old enough to assume the role. Harvester volunteered and was given oversight of the farm. His success over the past two years had reinforced his desire to pursue a degree in agriculture.
The experience also brought him closer to Charlene. Once a chubby little girl, Charlene as she approached her seventeenth birthday was a beautiful young woman; intelligent, well-spoken, and as much a part of Harvester’s life as his right arm.
“You won’t find yourself some new girlfriend down in Alabama, will you?”
Harvester almost laughed, stopping short when he saw the seriousness with which she asked the question.
“Never.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “I’m coming back for you Charlene Dobson. There ain’t never gonna be anybody else.”
###
Cora opened the screen door, waving in the large burly man.
“Come in, Mr. Davis. We’re just getting ready for supper. Please join us.”
“Nah, Miss Cora. I’m stinkin’ to high heaven. I’ll stay out here.”
“Nonsense. You put in a hard day’s work. We got more food than Earl and me can eat for three suppers.”
Similar conversations had become routine over the past several months. Saturday afternoon was pay day for Harry Davis and the four men who helped Cora tend the farm. Cora usually paid the others at noon. They would gratefully accept their checks before piling into the Mannings’ old truck and high-tailing to their homes in St. Louis for a couple days of rest. Harry, a widower in his late forties, served as foreman. He rarely returned to the home he shared with his sister in a crowded St. Louis tenement, preferring the serenity of an old war surplus tent in the Grebey Island woods and, like today, the occasional invitation to supper.
“It was a good week, Miss Cora,” Harry said, washing his hands in the kitchen sink. “We moved four barge loads of watermelons and a couple hundred boxes of sweetcorn up river.”
“Any more trouble with the irrigation?”
“Hardly needing it this week. That rain we got Tuesday night set us for a week or more. Melons is juicy as can be.”
Cora nodded as she stirred a pot of chicken and dumplings. She had gotten up early that morning to catch up on the bookkeeping. 1936 had been a hard year, with the drought and high temperatures, yet they still made a profit. Much of that was due to the irrigation system she’d paid Mr. Stanley and the other Grebey Island farmers to install. That and the decision to join them in growing and shipping vegetables north to St. Louis. This year, with the weather cooperating, was going to surpass anything she could have imagined. Even after purchasing a new tractor and truck, the farm would return a considerable profit. She hadn’t told Earl yet, but she planned on taking him on a train trip to Washington D.C. in October, after harvest season.
The man taking a seat at her kitchen table had a lot to do with the farm’s success. She’d hired him on the recommendation of Hanford Cornish. It didn’t take long to discover that Harry Davis was a good, hard-working man, displaced by factory shut-downs. Cora had raised his salary each of the last two years, and still didn’t feel she was paying him enough.
“You thought anymore about buying the farm on the west side?” Cora never referred to it as the Mueller farm. Too many sad memories.
“It ain’t gonna happen, Miss Cora. Family got no interest selling to a Negro.”
“Hello Mr. Davis.” As was his custom, Earl had entered the kitchen quietly.
“Hey Earl. You ready to get back to school Monday? Third grade, right?”
“Fourth grade. Yessir I’m ready, but I’m gonna miss helping you and Shemp and them boys.”
“We’ll be okay. You need to do good in school. You gonna take over this place for your mama someday.”
Earl hoped he was right. Mr. Davis, Mr. Stanley, Harvester, all of them were good farmers. Earl wanted to be just like them.
Still, there was that unspoken truth. He tried to forget it, and sometimes he could, for a few days. Inevitably, it returned.
In seven years, Levi Manning would get out of jail.
Earl would be sixteen then. He dreamed about what would happen. By then he would be big and strong from all the farm work. Stronger than Levi. In his dream, he was looking out the window one morning and there was Levi walking up the road. Earl wou
ld go outside and meet him.
“You’re not welcome here,” he would say. Levi would be surprised and scared at the young man Earl had grown into. He might try to get past, but Earl would stop him. If he had to, he’d use a gun. Earl hated guns and, even more, the idea of hurting someone.
But in the case of Levi Manning, he’d make an exception.
NINETEEN
“Looks like everything fit in real good,” Daddy said, gently lowering the trunk lid.
Mama handed Harvester a sack lunch that he placed in the backseat. Despite the early hour on a Sunday morning, both sisters had gotten up to see him off. Now eleven and nine, Harriet and Joy were acquiring Mama’s best features. It hadn’t occurred to Harvester how much he would miss them. He bent over, rubbing at an imaginary smudge on the car, hoping they didn’t see the tears. Mama made no attempt to hide hers. She gave him her biggest hug, reminding him how proud she was. Daddy stood behind her, his pride also evident.
“Dr. Drake told Mama and me that he’d make sure you were taken care of. Remember to go by his house when you get to Huntsville.”
“I will, Daddy, first thing.” Dr. Joseph Fanning Drake was the President of the Alabama State Agricultural and Mechanical College. He and Harvester had corresponded extensively over the past year when Harvester’s lack of formal education slowed down his application. A timely letter sent from Doctor Carver at Tuskegee had eventually cleared the way. Not only had Harvester been accepted, but Dr. Drake penned a personal note to Mama, commending her on the outstanding job she was doing educating her children. That note was framed and hanging in their living room.
Emotions swirled as Harvester pulled open the car door. He was excited to go. Scared to go. Already homesick, but ready to pursue the dream he’d had since meeting Doctor Carver years before. Initially he’d considered Tuskegee, but Doctor Carver’s advancing age was a concern, and the scholarship Dr. Drake offered would take care of everything. It was the right choice.
Daddy placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Harvester had grown taller than the man he most admired. Daddy had him by twenty pounds, but the years of labor had made Harvester rock solid.
“Remember, watch your speed, especially when you get into Mississippi. A colored boy in a new car can run into all sorts of problems if he don’t watch himself.”
“Thank you Daddy, for everything.”
Lincoln Stanley’s smile was sad.
“Let’s pray, then I’ll let you get on your way.” Father and son brought their heads together and spoke quietly. After the amens, Daddy pulled him into a tight hug.
“God loves you, son. I love you too.”
With nothing more to be said, Harvester crawled into the tan Dodge coupe. Daddy came close, gently shutting the door.
###
The guard came close, brusquely opening the door.
“Visitor, Manning.”
Levi jumped. It had been six months since anyone had been to visit.
“Who is it?”
“How do you expect me to know? You think I care who comes to see you?”
Levi followed the guard down a long drab hallway into a small stuffy room. Through a glass door he could see the visitor. Town life must be agreeing with him. He’d probably gained twenty pounds, a lot of it around his jowls and midsection.
The guard opened the door, indicating that Levi should go past. Once he was in, the door was closed and locked.
“Levi, how you doing, old boy?”
“What brings you up to Jeff City?” Levi was immediately suspicious of Grover Petty’s spreading smile. It was a five or six-hour trip from Adair. People didn’t come for social visits.
“I thought it was time to come see my old buddy. Catch you up on things back home.”
The Spartan room contained two chairs. Grover was already seated in one. Levi lowered himself into the other. Through the glass, the guard watched their every move.
“What’s going on?”
Grover puffed out his chest. “I guess you heard I got a job working for the city.”
“Heard something about it.”
Grover grinned. “Started me working in sanitation. People was real proud that I caught that nigra that burnt Archie Mueller’s place.”
Levi never thought for a minute that the Dobson coon had started that fire, but it wasn’t the time for that argument.
“Yep, the Knights are going strong. They made me Grand Knight, you know?” Levi hadn’t known. “We got thirty members now. Gonna get busy real soon, now that things are dying down about the fire and all.”
“Anybody ever figure out who told the cops about our plans?”
“Nah,” Grover shook his head. “People tried at first, but after a while it didn’t matter no more. Most of those old boys quit the Knights, but I replaced them with young bucks who won’t mess up when they’re needed.”
Levi’s head was starting to pound. Grover didn’t come just to brag about how good things were.
“Didn’t I hear something about them making you a policeman?”
Irritation mixed with Grover’s smile, creating an expression bordering on crazy.
“Nah, they cheated me outta that. Said my work record with sanitation wasn’t very good. Said I’m late too much. I told ‘em, ‘what do you expect, I’m doing nigra work. Give me a white man’s job and you’ll see what I can do.’”
Grover’s bad luck made Levi smile. His first visitor in six months was already wearing on his nerves.
“Anyway, I thought I should come up and tell you there’s nigras living and working on your place. Been there awhile, from what I hear.”
Grover had his full attention. Cora hadn’t been to Jefferson City even once. The few folks he did come into contact with from back home didn’t know much about things on Grebey Island. Like always, it was its own little world.
“Yeah, she’s got a passel of coons out there doing her farming. One of ‘em is the overseer. He’s been staying out there. I heard he had a tent in the woods, but I figure by now he’s moved into the house.”
“Boy, that’s my wife you talking about.” Levi rose from his chair, not sure why he felt the need to defend Cora. She’d done nothing for him.
“I know, I know.” Grover raised his hands. “But I also know how she was always trying to get me to stay with her when you was in jail up in Adair. She just about drug me to her bed, begging me to stay the night and take care of her. Of course, I said no, seeing how you and me was tight. I’m just saying it looks like she found her a man willing to take care of her, and he’s a spook.”
Levi was breathing hard, trying to process what he was hearing. He tended to believe only part of it, because Grover didn’t know how to tell more than half the truth. Cora had never shown any interest in other men. Levi had spent a lot of time trying to get her more interested in him, at least when they first got married. Later he just gave up.
Maybe things had changed. It had been three years. Cora wasn’t a strong woman, so she might consider taking in a man who would run the farm and put food on the table.
But a nigra?
###
Harvester was ten miles out of Huntsville when the Madison County Sheriff’s car pulled in behind him, following for a couple miles before flashing him to the side of the road. It was just after six, not quite twelve hours since he’d left Grebey Island. The odometer had 431 miles on it that weren’t there that morning.
He was tired, but had he been speeding? He didn’t think so, but it was Alabama. Facts that didn’t necessarily check out could be made up. Real or not, getting stopped by a sheriff’s deputy was the last thing he needed.
Placing his hands on the steering wheel, Harvester watched in the mirror as a fresh-faced young officer swaggered toward him. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look angry either.
“Hey there. I see you got a Missouri tag on your car. What brings you to Alabama?”
“Going to school down here. Starting this week.”
The officer stepped back, looking the car over from bumper to bumper.
“Awfully nice car. Yours?”
Harvester made eye contact as he answered, “Yes it is. Bought and paid for with money from our farm.” The deputy nodded.
“Got some identification on you?”
Harvester thought for a moment, then pulled out the envelope containing his most recent letter from Dr. Drake and handed it to the deputy.
“You going to the Negro College in Huntsville?”
“I am.”
The deputy looked up from the envelope. His face had brightened. He was smiling.
“Good for you. I wanted to go to college. May still. Trying hard to save the money.”
Harvester was uncertain how to respond. The last thing he wanted was to come across as bragging.
“Sorry to have to stop you. There’s a report from over in Mississippi about a 1937 Dodge stolen from a dealership. Color and everything matched up. Obviously it ain’t you, though.”
Harvester hoped his relief wasn’t too apparent.
“What you gonna be studying?”
“Agriculture.”
“Well good luck to you.” The deputy offered his hand. “Name’s Cy Barner. I live in Huntsville. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Harvester Stanley.”
“Well, good talking to you, Harvester. Sorry to take up your time. Like I said before, good luck at school.”
TWENTY
SAXON COUNTY WEEKLY TELEGRAPH
October 6, 1937
THE COMMUNITY THAT WAS
An Editorial by Richland Rice, Editor
Your Editor recently ventured to Grebey Island for the first time in several years. Memories of a thriving township bustling with activity were dashed soon after crossing the Grebey Creek Bridge.
The area once known as Grebey Township is a shadow of its former self. The schoolhouse, closed for almost a decade, still sets majestically in the middle of an area that was once the heart of commerce and activity. The island church held its last services eight years ago after attendance dwindled to eleven. Two years ago, shortly after the devastating fire that took the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Archie Mueller, Silas Mauck closed his general mercantile store and returned to St. Louis. Of the two-dozen or so houses that used to make up Grebey Township, only three are still occupied. The others have been razed or are in danger of collapse.
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