Harvest of Thorns

by Paul E. Wootten

  “I’m sure you did.”

  Cora nodded. “I took him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him off that train. Never saw him again. It was one of the best days of my life.”

  ###

  It was half past midnight when Cora rested her head on a pillow in the duplex’s tiny second bedroom. She knew that her daughter-in-law looked upon her as a heroine of sorts, something that both touched and troubled her. She had become very successful over the past two decades, a result of hard work and a few lucky breaks. Still, she hoped Vessie understood that she was the fortunate one. Cora noticed the lingering glances that passed between her son and daughter-in-law. Mixed-race marriages were often doomed, either by society’s scorn or the loss of family support. Cora could see these two had made it past those roadblocks. It was a marriage blessed by God.

  Despite her successes, Cora knew she would trade it for the type of relationship her son and daughter-in-law had forged. She almost had that once. Harry Davis was a good man. When she allowed herself to have dreams, they included the two of them working side by side, continuing the success they had operating the farm.

  Levi Manning never appeared in those dreams. It was as if he never existed.

  But exist he did, and his early release from prison had caused everything to come crashing to earth.

  But still, a woman could dream.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Saturday was the one day of the week when Earl had misgivings about his job. Weekdays were filled with routine. School, chores, and other daily tasks. On Saturday, however, those girls who could afford it were allowed to leave the grounds to go shopping downtown.

  And those who couldn’t were left behind.

  Earl’s Saturday routine was an abbreviated version of Monday through Friday. He started at seven and worked until noon. The house was already buzzing with excitement when he arrived, as girls scurried around preparing to catch the city bus just outside the Howland grounds. They would ride twenty blocks north to Kansas City’s downtown shopping district.

  By eight-thirty, twenty girls with rounded bellies were gathering on the back steps, chatting and anticipating their time away. Few bothered to acknowledge Earl, busily touching up window trim nearby. This was no surprise. The girls who left the grounds came from families of influence. Their parents regularly sent cards containing cash. These were the girls who occupied the semi-private rooms on Howland’s first and second floors. Though close in proximity, they were far removed from the girls living in the four- and six-person rooms in the clammy basement and on the stifling-hot third floor.

  The class system bothered Earl. Even though life in Washington had been traditionally middle-class, he remembered the days on Grebey Island before Levi went to jail, when dinner consisted of whatever they pulled from the Mississippi River. He recalled the scorn and ridicule he endured at school because of his father’s incarceration. More important, he remembered the acts of kindness. Sometimes it was a teacher or another student. More often it was the kindness and generosity of their neighbors on Grebey Island, people who, though scorned themselves, treated Earl and his mother with love and acceptance. Watching as the girls primped for their day downtown, he remembered when Mary Dobson first approached him on the Grebey Island levee a quarter-century earlier.

  ‘Come play with us,’ she said. He had, and it seemed like a door opened, casting a warm pleasing light on a lonely and fearful existence. Mary Dobson and the others, the Grebey Island Negroes the big-city newspapers had called them with utmost respect, had become his second family. It was the saddest day of his life when he and Mama left. He promised to never forget the lessons they taught him, and he hadn’t. Even in life’s most difficult circumstances, he tried to serve others with a spirit of love and friendship.

  It hadn’t been easy. He remembered times in the Army when his small stature led to getting pushed around. Difficult times, indeed, but nothing compared to the reactions some people had toward his union with Vestal.

  As he watched the girls make their way to the gate that would take them away from Howland for a day of shopping and dining, Earl thought of the girls who would be staying back, the girls for whom Saturday was just another day.

  “Mr. Manning, are you daydreaming again?” Chandra had a way of always sneaking up on him.

  “Good morning, Miss Chandra. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is! I’m gonna help with laundry this morning.”

  Earl had worked at Howland long enough to know what that meant.

  “You needing to make some money, Miss Chandra?”

  The young girl looked at the ground. “Yessir. My one good shirt got ripped pretty good, too much for me to fix on that old sewing machine.”

  Earl felt his throat tighten.

  “It’ll be alright,” Chandra said brightly. “Three Saturdays and I’ll have enough saved up. I should have remembered to bring more than two shirts.”

  It was more than forgetfulness. Earl was certain of that. Chandra’s parents had probably scraped and borrowed all they could to afford the train ticket to Kansas City. An extra shirt was probably out of the question.

  ###

  “Of course it’s okay, Miss Manning.” Dr. Howland’s tone was deferential, almost awestruck. “I know well of your reputation.”

  Earl’s workday was nearly over when Cora pulled into the driveway at the rear of the sanitarium, taking up three of the parking spaces in the cramped visitor’s area. Dr. Howland pulled in shortly after.

  “I’m just glad Earl called me, Dr. Howland. He said he’s grown close to the girl, so I thought it was the least we could do.”

  “Mr. Manning has been a blessing indeed, ma’am. Will it be just you and the girl?”

  “I’ll ask Earl to drive us when his work is done here,” Cora said. “We’ll pick up my daughter-in-law.”

  “Perfect, Miss Manning. We typically ask that the girls be back by six, but for you we can make an exception.”

  ###

  Cora took an immediate liking to the guileless country girl with the expanding belly. She had wondered how Chandra would react to meeting Vestal, and sensed Earl’s nervousness as well. They needn’t have worried.

  The streetlights were just taking effect as they returned to Howland.

  “Miss Cora, Miss Vessie, thank you so much!” Chandra clutched two shopping bags containing a half-dozen assorted blouses, skirts, and other items.

  “It was our pleasure, Chandra,” Cora replied, reaching across the seat and giving her shoulder a squeeze.

  “I just hope my baby gets a mama and daddy as nice as you and Mr. Manning,” Chandra said, hugging Vestal tightly.

  After Chandra was safely inside, they headed home. Vestal rode in front with Earl.

  “What a beautiful child,” she said.

  “I can’t believe she ate two plates of spaghetti,” Cora said. “The Italian Gardens is good, but my gracious, that poor girl must be starving.”

  “They feed them well, Mama. I eat lunch there every day.”

  “Yes, but still, it’s not the same as a nice dinner out.”

  “Honey, how much do you know about Chandra’s background?” Vestal asked, moving closer and patting his knee.

  “Only what Dr. Howland told me. She ran off with some boy from a carnival. Seems so unlike her, doesn’t it?”

  “She didn’t run anywhere,” Cora snipped. “She was attacked. She made up the story to save her parents a lot of anguish.”

  “There were three of them,” Vestal said. “She didn’t even know their names. They promised her a free ride on the Ferris Wheel after the carnival closed for the night.”

  Earl listened intently as they shared Chandra’s story, shocked at what she had endured, angry for what was done to her. All because the child wanted to ride a Ferris Wheel.

  “When did she tell you this?”

  “While we were taking a break in the Jones Store Tea Room,” Vestal said, shaking her head. “I asked how her pregnancy
was going and the dam broke.”

  “It did her good to get it out,” Cora said, “and Earl, don’t let it change the way you treat her. She looks up to you.”

  Vestal smiled. “I think she has a crush on you.”

  “But... will she be okay?” Earl was still coming to grips with what he had learned.

  “She’s got a mama and daddy back home who love her,” Cora said. “She’ll put this behind her and become a strong woman. Eventually, she’ll make some man a good wife.”

  Suddenly exhausted, Earl numbly made his way home. They were almost there when Cora broke the silence.

  “I’m getting back on the road tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s only been five days, Miss Cora,” Vestal said. “Please stay a bit longer.”

  “Vessie, sweetie, it’s time. I got to spend a few hours with the President and Mrs. Truman and their grandbabies. I had good barbeque, and best of all, I got to see my son and daughter.”

  “Maybe you can come back again before winter,” Vestal said.

  “Definitely. I didn’t tell you that I’m starting a new job next week.”

  Earl glanced in the mirror. “What about your job in Senator Symington’s office?”

  “It’s time for something different, Earl. The Senator has been encouraging me for months to step out on my own. It’s something I’ve been doing for years, but now I’ll get paid for it. All these men running for office from the Midwest, mostly rich city boys, hardly any of them know how to talk to the people back home who elected them. That’s where I come in. I help them reach country people.”

  “Mama, can you make any money at that?”

  Cora laughed. “You better believe it. Those hotshots have been asking for my help for years. Now they’re going to pay for it.”

  They listened as Cora described her new venture, happy she would be spending more time in the Midwest. Earl wished he could tell her how proud he was of her, and how much he loved her, but expressing his feelings had always been impossible. Maybe someday, he thought, he would put the words down on paper and send them to her. Words of thanks for helping him survive a childhood of abuse at the hands of an angry father. Words expressing respect for the things Cora Manning had accomplished in Washington. Words of love for everything else.

  Glancing at Vestal and his mother, Earl couldn’t imagine how he had become such a lucky man. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was probably as close as he would ever get.

  Only two things were missing.

  First was a baby. He and Vestal never spoke of it, but they had been trying to have a baby since they married. He very much wanted a child he could dote on from cradle to adulthood.

  And the second was to someday return to Grebey Island, to see the old farm, visit with the Dobson and Stanley families, and stand on that Mississippi River levee where he had first made the acquaintance and friendship of the Grebey Island Negroes.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  A brackish, fishy smell assailed his nose. It had to be the river. The bumpy road they’d travelled bounced him around the back of the pickup like loose cargo. He tried to work his hands free to pull the musty pillowcase from his face, but the bindings were too tight.

  Focus! Listen and feel for clues that will tell you where you are. His hands told him the pickup was one of those older late ‘40’s or early ‘50’s models with rounded wheel wells. The truck bed was small and narrow. He could feel rust on the floorboards. This would be important information he could share with the police.

  He listened intently for any sounds other than the clatter of the engine. Were those birds or squeaky springs? An owl shrieked nearby. A symbol of death, he remembered someone saying.

  He considered shouting for help, but decided his chances were better if he remained silent. What if one of them was waiting for him to make a noise before knocking him in the head again? There had been two of them, right? He saw one of them briefly, a figure in the dark, waiting for him by his car, a small man with breath like fire. There had to be another one, though. Somebody had struck him from behind.

  No words were spoken, so he didn’t have voices to go on. They hadn’t said why they were there, but he was certain he knew. He’d heard about them. Then he’d received the letter. Should he have taken it more seriously? No, he decided, they weren’t going to intimidate him.

  But he had to admit, he felt pretty intimidated.

  Panic threatened to take over. No! Stay cool. His thoughts were jarred as the driver made a quick right turn onto a pothole-filled trail, then proceeded on a downhill trek. They were in a wooded area. He could hear tree branches and brush rubbing against the truck. Several minutes later, the driver stopped and killed the engine.

  Now he could hear them, the birds of the night, their squawks echoing from every direction. The air was cool for May, and damp.

  A pickup door opened, then closed. Just one? No, two. Two for sure.

  “Get up.” He knew that voice. But from where? He’d met so many people since moving to Saxon County six months earlier.

  “This isn’t neces—”

  “Get up!” The voice was more forceful, leaving no room for debate. He pulled himself into a standing position before a set of hands grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over the side of the truck to the soft muddy ground. He landed heavily on his right shoulder. It hurt, but not like it would on a hard surface.

  “Why are you doing this?” The only response was the unmistakable feel of cold metal against the back of his head. This was real.

  Someone gripped his left arm brusquely, pulling him from the ground and leading him forward. The ground leveled out, giving way to a wood surface. A dock of some sort, a long dock. Five steps, ten, twenty. He did the math. They were at least fifty feet out. Now he could hear it clearly, the river, its current drifting at a brisk pace in front of him.

  The pillowcase was snatched away. He found himself staring eastward into the pitch-black night. Across the inky stretch of water, he saw a familiar sight: the Illinois State Penitentiary, its spotlights scanning the horizon in every direction.

  Behind him, someone took a deep breath. He tried to turn, but the gun pressed deeper into his neck. A pistol, he thought. I’ll remember that. The sheriff will add it to the clues I’ve put together and nab these guys.

  “Warnings aren’t given twice, Beckwith.” That voice again. Where had he heard it before?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You tried to sell Saxon County property to some St. Louis nigras.”

  “Nobody can tell me—”

  “They already told ya, Beckwith. You’re another stupid city boy who didn’t listen.”

  There was no mistaking the intent of the unsigned letter. ‘Saxon County land won’t be sold to coloreds.’ He’d laughed it off, even after Burleigh Spotts warned him to take it seriously. He remembered the stories Burleigh told about colored people buying farmland, about fires and hangings and innocent people disappearing in the night.

  But that was what? Twenty years ago? More? Things had changed since then, hadn’t they?

  “I hear what you’re saying,” he stammered. “There won’t be any more showing property to them.”

  A chuckle. “That’s what they was hoping you’d say, Beckwith. Now we’re gonna let you go, but you gotta promise to forget what happened here.”

  “I’ve forgotten already,” he said quickly, licking his lips, glad his adversaries were behind him and unable to see the full extent of his fear. If only the second one, the one holding the gun, would say something. He knew he would never forget the voice of the first.

  “That’s good to hear, Beckwith. Are you ready to head back to Adair? Feel like you’ve learned your lesson?

  He nodded and started to turn, but stopped when the gun was pressed harder against his skull.

  “Don’t do that, Beckwith. You ain’t going back the way you came.” That laugh again, followed by a shove sending his closer to the end of the dock. “You go
ing home that way.”

  Reality set in. They were pushing him off the end of the dock. That was okay. He was a good swimmer. Even if they didn’t untie his hands he could float with the current. Eventually he’d reach land. Then these two would pay.

  “Okay, we’re gonna count to three and you’re gonna jump in. You ready?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “One.”

  He glanced downriver. He knew at some point the river turned slightly east. That was where he would make it to land. He just had to stay afloat and let the current do the work.

  “Two.”

  I’ll see you crackers sooner than you think, maybe before morning. Rusty old pickup. Location along the river across from the jail. That voice.

  He barely noticed the tug on the back of his belt.

  “Almost forgot, Beckwith. You gotta take these with you.” The heavy thud startled him. Glancing down he saw them, two bricks attached by a rope to his belt. Not big bricks, probably no more than six or eight pounds each.

  But they would make a difference.

  Too much difference?

  In an adrenaline-fueled flash, he spun to face his adversaries, but they were ready for him. The pistol made contact with his jaw, causing him to tumble backward.

  The water was cold, but not too cold. He felt more buoyant than he had expected. Floating on his side he was able to look up and see both of their faces as he started to drift. More important, he recognized them. There would be no problem with identification and arrest. These two would be going to jail.

  The one doing the talking picked up the bricks.

  “You forgot these, Beckwith.” He laughed as he tossed them into the dark water. For a moment there was nothing. Then, the downward tug. It seemed bearable at first, as he continued floating along. He had made significant progress, maybe fifty or sixty yards, when the long rope holding the bricks reached bottom.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Earl whistled a happy tune as he pulled out of the bank parking lot. The nineteen dollars and fifty cents he deposited brought their account to just under three thousand dollars, only a few hundred away from what he would need to close the deal on the place out in Bonner Springs.