Which was more than Levi could say for Cora and the boy.
Sure, he’d smacked them around a little, but no visits or letters in three years was unforgivable.
Then there were the things Grover told him last summer about nigras on his farm. He never trusted much of what Grover said, so he wrote a letter to Knight Ben Ingram to see if the story checked out. No response, so he tried two other Saxon County Knights. Again, nothing. In desperation he wrote to Lowell Surratt, aware of how Lowell enjoyed seeing him suffer, but also certain he’d get the truth.
And he did. A letter had arrived the week before with an Adair postmark. Levi kept it under his mattress and read it over and over. Tired of watching Clyde tear into his lunch like a hungry hog, he reached for it again.
There was no opening salutation, no ‘how are you?’ Just a straightforward response to Levi’s questions, written in the same abrupt manner with which Lowell Surratt spoke.
There’s more coons than white people. The darkie farmers are shipping vegetables up and down the river. Your wife’s thrown in with them. She has a colored man overseeing things, others working the fields. The nigra overseer put a whipping on Grover Petty. Shot a gun off about three inches from his face, messed up his hearing. Course, nobody much cares about that. Petty ain’t no better than the nigras, if you ask me.
There’s people trying to buy Arch Mueller’s place, talking about building some kind of farmers’ college, if you can believe that. First time the island floods, it’ll be a college for fish. Still, a school is better than more nigras.
You probably ain’t getting your farm back if you ever get out, so I wouldn’t worry about it.
###
“Almighty God, thank you for the abundance you’ve given us. We remember the sacrifices made by our ancestors and praise you for walking alongside us. Father, today we remember those who aren’t with us anymore, but of whom the memories of those gathered are not dimmed by time and circumstances.”
While reciting the prayer, Harvester opened his eyes just long enough to see the tears. Memories of Aldus Dobson were still vivid three years since his death, mingling with recollections of others who had left the world sooner than they should have. He continued to pray.
“Father God, we’re thankful that you are our shield and our protector, and we will continue to praise you. Now, in the name of your Son, we ask blessings on this meal and those about to partake it. Amen.”
Charlene’s mother Ruth gave him a tight hug.
“I feel Aldus’ presence every day,” she said, smiling through the tears.
“Okay ever’body, let’s eat!” Mr. Cornish’s booming voice sent the younger kids scurrying to be first in line. It was the first time the Grebey Islanders had celebrated Thanksgiving together. The outside temperature was in the upper twenties, cold for Thanksgiving Day, but the temperature in the Cornish’s barn was pushing seventy, thanks to the pot belly stove Dee installed a week earlier. Over forty people were clustered together, enjoying baked, fried, and smoked turkey, dressing, and all the trimmings.
It was Charlene’s mother’s idea. Ruth had received a letter several weeks before from Granville saying he and his family would be coming for Thanksgiving. Aldus’s lynching had devastated everyone, but none more than Granville. Charlene related stories to Harvester about how Granville had talked of forming a band of Memphis Negroes to right the wrongs done on Grebey Island. Ruth finally prevailed on him not to fight evil with evil, but it all proved too much. He had chosen to leave. This was his first trip back.
It was Dee who suggested they use the barn. An idea was born, and this gathering was the culmination of much planning. In addition to the Dobson, Cornish, and Stanley families, several hired hands from St. Louis came down. They brought their wives and children. Most had arrived the night before and planned to stay through the weekend. People were sleeping everywhere and anywhere. On kitchen floors, in barn lofts, wherever there was space.
The decision to invite Cora and Earl Manning was a given. As Harvester’s daddy said the night before, they were as much family as anyone.
“Cora’s one of the few white people I know who don’t see color,” Daddy said. Looking across the barn to where she was eating and visiting with Naomi Depriest, Harvester saw a woman far removed from her past. Once plain and defeated-looking, Cora now had a glow about her. She was strong and confident of her ability to run a farm. Daddy had spoken with pride about the confrontation between Grover Petty and Harry Davis, and about how Cora stood up to the sheriff. He was a bit more cautious when speaking of concerns that something might be developing between Cora and Harry. Harry assured him that their relationship was that of farm owner and overseer, but others noticed the way they looked out for each another.
“Don’t forget for one minute that she’s a married woman,” Lincoln Stanley warned Harry.
Throughout dinner Harvester stayed as close to Charlene as circumstances would allow. The worries she had shared in August, about Harvester finding someone else, seemed sillier now than they had then. There were certainly plenty of available women in Huntsville. Some made it known to Harvester that they were interested. None held a candle to Charlene.
“May I get you some dessert?” Harvester hated to leave his seat next to Charlene; their arms touching still sent shots of electricity through his body. But the aroma of baked pies was too good to pass up after three months of boarding house fare.
“Pecan for me,” she said, squeezing his hand.
Earl was the only person in line for dessert. He had to be nine or ten now, but he never seemed to grow much.
“Little Earl, you better take two slices of pie,” Harvester said, winking at him.
“Sweet potato and chocolate,” Earl laughed.
###
Earl took the pie and headed back to the table. Mama sat across from him, next to Naomi Depriest and one of her babies. Mary Dobson sat beside him. He placed the chocolate pie in front of her. She smiled, but said nothing. That’s usually how it was. Mary was Earl’s best friend, but she was the shiest person he knew. He used to make up for her silence by talking more himself. Over time he realized it wasn’t necessary. Just because Mary didn’t talk a lot didn’t mean she wasn’t his friend. Besides, when she had something worth saying, she didn’t hold back.
Some of the kids at Adair School used to call him names because of where he lived. White Nigra, coon-lover, and the like; things that would have hurt Mary’s feelings if she knew. Over time, the taunts waned, to the point where he almost never heard them anymore. The few times the slurs were still uttered, they came from West-End kids. Lowell Surratt, Jr. was the worst. Earl did his best to stay out of Lowell’s way.
He found himself living something of a double life. He liked his Grebey Island life best, and was always happy when school let out for the summer, even if it meant more work on the farm. Mary and the others were the friends he knew he could count on, and getting to be with them made Thanksgiving better.
“What happens when your Daddy gets out?” Mary’s question three days earlier still resonated with Earl. He could forget his daddy was still alive, not thinking about him for days at a time. Then, something would cause the façade to wane. Levi Manning was still alive, and in a few years he would get out. Earl heard Mama talking to Mr. Davis about something called a divorce, but said she didn’t know if she could get one. From what Earl could tell, divorce meant Levi Manning wouldn’t be around anymore. If that was the case, he hoped Mama found one soon.
TWENTY-THREE
SAXON COUNTY WEEKLY TELEGRAPH
May 25, 1938
GREBEY ISLAND CHOSEN AS COLLEGE SITE
Your Reporter: Richland Rice, Editor
Good news came to Saxon County this week when Your Reporter received word that the descendants of Archie and Rachel Mueller have sold their farm to a group of prominent philanthropists.
The farm has sat vacant since September, 1934 when a late-night fire took the Muellers’ lives. Aldus
Dobson, a Negro farmer who lived nearby, was hanged for the crime.
Your Reporter spoke via telephone with Mr. Charles Wesley Penn, a direct descendent of William Penn. Mr. Penn leads the group that purchased the property with the most noble of plans.
“We’ve felt for some time that an institution of higher learning that provides students with academic and spiritual enrichment was needed in the Midwest. The property in Missouri will serve as the training ground for some of America’s future leaders in the fields of science and agriculture.”
Penn said the island location was ideal, allowing leaders to maintain a high level of control and influence over students.
“The distractions inherent to larger cities like Philadelphia and St. Louis were something we sought to avoid. We want students to live, work, and breathe clean country air.”
Penn said the school will be directed by a group of men representing various religious affiliations and denominations, all with the goal of accepting students regardless of their economic circumstances.
“No young person should be denied an education. We will strive to take all who apply without regard to their ability to finance their education.”
The name of the new institution, which Penn hopes will open in 1940, has yet to be determined.
Other partners in the endeavor include Dr. Howard Mallette, an Atlanta physician, Mr. T. L. Lake, a Philadelphia land investor, Mr. K. Royce Patterson, an industry leader from Ohio, and Dr. Roscoe Fritsche, a Professor of Biology at a prominent Washington D.C. university.
The group has also purchased the Grebey Island Schoolhouse and surrounding land from Adair County for the price of $650. The schoolhouse has been vacant for more than a decade. Mr. Penn indicated to Your Reporter that the schoolhouse would be used as a temporary headquarters until construction is completed on the Mueller property.
Your Reporter is enthusiastically optimistic that this bold move by Mr. Penn and his Associates will spur the type of economic and cultural revival called for in an October 6, 1937 editorial. Please join Your Reporter in making our new neighbors feel welcome when they arrive.
TWENTY-FOUR
“All rise! Court’s in session. Honorable Kenneth Airey Presiding.”
Earl and Cora were seated at a big table facing the platform where the judge took his seat. Mama had her own lawyer. He was going to fix things so Levi never came back to Grebey Island.
His name was Leroy Potter, and his office was across the street from the courthouse. Earl had been there a couple times. It smelled like pipe tobacco and books, not a bad smell really. Earl could picture himself smoking a pipe someday.
Mr. Potter was nice enough. He said that winning would be hard if it weren’t for the letter Daddy wrote to Mama back in the winter. She hadn’t shown it to Earl at first, then when she did, she told him not to worry about it; that she’d talked to Mr. Potter and he thought things would be okay. Earl asked if he would get to say anything, but Mr. Potter didn’t think so. This disappointed him. He wanted to tell the judge how Levi used to hit Mama and him, and about how much better things were since he’d been in jail. Levi would never have taken him to Washington D.C. on the train like Mama did last winter. They’d stayed in a hotel and gone to the Washington Monument, the White House, and Earl’s favorite, the Lincoln Memorial.
What worried Earl most was that Levi would come home and try to hurt their neighbors. Grebey Island wasn’t a lonesome place anymore. Earl and the other kids had bicycles they rode all over the island. When the work was done, Earl, Mary Dobson and the other kids would meet up at the Stanley Farm where they would swim in Grebey Creek, diving from a dock Mr. Stanley built. Levi wouldn’t have liked that.
###
Professor Handy’s letter said he planned to arrive at ten. To be on the safe side, Harvester had his father drop him off at the bridge at eight-thirty to meet his mentor and help him find his way. As always, the professor was right on time, his sporty yellow Buick convertible a style contradiction of the bowtie-clad academic driving it.
It had been a month since Harvester left Huntsville, and both men were delighted to again be in one another’s company. After a few moments of catching up, Professor Handy pulled off his cream-colored hat and fanned himself.
“Not as hot as Alabama, but Missouri does hold the heat well.”
Harvester laughed. “Just be glad you won’t be spending twelve hours a day in a cantaloupe patch.”
“Maybe I will, Harvester. I didn’t come up here to sit around and drink lemonade.”
“Well Daddy’s certainly looking forward to meeting you. Are you ready to see Grebey Island?” Harvester moved toward the car’s passenger side, but Professor Handy waved him back.
“You drive. I want to enjoy the view.”
Harvester fired up the roadster and headed across the bridge. Reaching the crossroads in front of the now-abandoned general store, he turned right, choosing the counterclockwise route that would take them by the Manning farm. Professor Handy had heard the stories of Levi Manning many times, but always wanted to hear them again. Harvester slowed as they passed the farm, hopeful that Cora might be outside, but there was no sign of her or Earl.
###
“Mr. Potter, it’s highly irregular to grant a divorce without the other party being in court to represent himself.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Potter got to his feet. “But I think once you see and hear the evidence, you’ll agree a divorce is warranted.”
“What you think is of no consequence to me, Mr. Potter. Present the evidence and let me make my own decision. And sit down. We’re not in a jury trial.”
Chastened, Mr. Potter returned to his seat. He had warned them that Judge Airey ran a tight court, particularly here in his home town of Adair. If he had his druthers, Potter would have preferred to go before the judge who sentenced Levi four years earlier. Judge Sayer had retired from the bench a year ago, however, replaced by Saxon County’s first representative on the Circuit Court judiciary.
“Please proceed with your evidence.”
Potter called Earl’s mother to the stand. The bailiff and a lady taking notes were the only other people in the courtroom. Earl listened as Potter led Mama through a series of questions about how Levi had treated her. Some of it Earl knew about, but other things surprised and disgusted him. As best as Cora remembered, Levi had beaten her more than thirty times in the nine years before he went to prison. He had broken her nose, her arm, and two fingers, all of which mended on their own. This explained why her nose had a slight bulge and two of her fingers were crooked.
“How can the court be certain that these injuries are real?” In response to Judge Airey’s question, Potter pulled out several sheets of paper and handed them to the bailiff.
“We took Miz Manning to an x-ray laboratory in St. Louis. These notes are from the doctor who completed the x-rays.” The judge examined them for a few seconds before putting them aside.
“Miz Manning, please talk about what happened in March of 1933, when you were with child.”
Cora’s eyes misted over. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a handkerchief.
“Levi got angry that I hadn’t cooked some food as good as he liked it. He’d been mad all day about something or other. Anyway, he pushed me against the stove, then grabbed my arm and started shaking me real hard.”
Earl’s stomach roiled in anticipation of what was coming next.
“Then he shoved me toward the cellar door, telling me to get some taters and cook him something he could eat.” Mama took a deep breath. “I started to go down to the cellar, but he pushed me...”
Please God, help Mama. Please God, don’t let this be harder than it has to be.
“I fell hard. Later that night I started to... I... there weren’t no more baby.”
The courtroom was quiet. Even the lady taking notes looked sad. Earl wanted to rush forward and hug Mama, but he knew he should stay where he was.
When Judge Airey spok
e, his voice was gentle.
“Miz Manning, do you feel you can go on?” Mama nodded. Nothing else was discussed that compared to the horror Earl had just heard. Still, Mr. Potter helped Mama tell a story of a woman married to a man who treated her worse than his work mule.
“And now, can you tell us how Mr. Manning acted toward your son?” Earl felt his face flush. Mama took several minutes to tell of things that had happened over the years; many Earl had forgotten or had been too young to remember.
It was an hour before Cora was excused from the stand. She returned to her seat, squeezing Earl’s hand as she sat down. It was painful to hear everything that came out, but Earl was proud of her. She’d looked and acted so strong up there telling her story. He remembered how things were before, how she kept her head down and spoke so quietly. He knew now, it was fear. And here she was today, doing what had to be done to make sure they never went through that again.
“Your Honor, before we conclude I would like to present one more item of evidence.” Judge Airey nodded for Mr. Potter to continue.
“My client received this letter on April 2 this year. You’ll note from the return address it came from the Missouri State Penitentiary.” The bailiff again served as intermediary.
“I’ll direct your attention to the third paragraph. It’s a little difficult to read, Your Honor, so I’ve taken the liberty of providing a typewritten transcript along with the original missive.
“The third paragraph reads, and I quote, ‘I heard how you’ve thrown in with the nigras that I worked so hard to get rid of. You need to know that I will be coming home someday and if I find out this is true, there will be hell to pay for you and the kid.’” Potter looked up.
“Your Honor, this woman feels she and her son are in danger. Leviticus Manning has a history of violence, and judging from this letter, he’s threatening to inflict more. We feel it to be in the best interest of Miz Manning and her son that the court grant a decree of divorce based upon the threat of bodily harm. We also feel a restraining order should be put in place that prohibits Leviticus Manning from ever returning to Grebey Island.”
Harvest of Thorns Page 10
