Harvest of Thorns

by Paul E. Wootten

  “Baxter Springs, Kansas. I came out to help one of my clients. I’m leaving tomorrow for St. Louis. A certain Lieutenant Governor is considering a run at Senator Long’s seat in Washington. In between, I want to spend time with my family.”

  ###

  “The best way to keep a house in good shape is to live in it.”

  Levi remembered Uncle Flint’s words as he climbed the stairs, a journey he didn’t make more than once or twice a year anymore, and only when he needed something from the attic. Today he was looking for an old Civil War knife that belonged to his great-grandfather, a man who died three years before Levi was born, but who Levi felt he knew through the many stories he’d heard as a boy.

  ‘Great-Grandfather Manning killed a bear with a machete, right near where the levee is today.’

  ‘Great-Grandfather Manning traded two rifles to some Injuns for a year’s worth of salt pork. The rifles hadn’t worked in years, and one of the stupid Injuns burnt his face when he tried to fire ‘em.’

  ‘Nobody could get crops from the ground better’n Great-Grandfather Manning. He was such a good farmer that others came to him for advice.’

  Levi wondered what Great-Grandfather Manning would think of him selling the old knife. It held no value to him, sentimental or otherwise, but when he’d casually mentioned it to Lowell Surratt, Jr., his eyes lit up.

  “If what you got is what you say you got, I’d be willing to give you... twenty bucks for it.” If Surratt was willing to pay twenty, it was probably worth a lot more than that. Levi was going to take it to a dealer in Perryville and find out.

  But first, he had to find it.

  At the top of the stairs, Levi noticed the thick coating of dust on the floors and picture frames Cora had carefully hung almost forty years ago. The three doors off the hallway were closed, and Levi couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened them. A few weeks after Cora and the boy left, he’d set up a cot in the living room. That’s where he still slept. At the end of the hall, a fourth door, smaller than the others, opened to a narrow set of stairs leading to the attic. Levi was headed that way when he stopped in front of the second door.

  The boy’s room.

  He had thought of him often. Scrawny, weak, not unlike himself at that age. Levi, however, had learned to take care of himself. He could tell when he looked in the boy’s eyes all those years before that he’d never be anything but weak, spending his life taking orders from other men, and maybe even women. Certainly nothing like the Mannings that came before him. That was Cora’s blood running through him, her family never did anything more than scratch out a living on that rocky chunk of land they farmed. Sure, Cora figured out an angle back east, but she couldn’t have done it without the money she stole from him. Sooner or later, those Washington types would see Cora for what she really was. He couldn’t wait for the day she showed back up in Missouri, hat in hand.

  But the boy? Helpless dimwit. He’d never be able to find his way back to Grebey Island, even if he wanted to.

  ###

  “Mr. Manning, you want Larry and me to finish up at that colored church tomorrow?”

  Earl looked up from the notes he’d brought outside with him. Dale Bixler had been with him longer than the others, almost three years. He could be trusted to do quality work even when Earl didn’t have time to check on him. At the moment, however, he was sprawled under the oak tree that dominated the small grassy area behind the office. Eight other men were lounging nearby. It was ten minutes before quitting time.

  “Yeah, Dale. How long you think it’ll take? Most of the day?”

  “No sir. Four hours, tops. We can head over and help Daniel in the afternoon.”

  A tall colored man in his late twenties was reclining against the tree. “I can use the help. I’m painting ceilings and my arms is getting worn out.”

  Earl was proud of the men assembled in front of him. Six white, three colored, all willing to help each other. They usually paired up based on the job. Some liked to paint, a couple were good at fixing electrical problems. The pairings were never a matter of color, but of specialties. There had been a couple jobs come up where a shop owner might say he didn’t want coloreds in his place. Earl passed on those.

  Wages were paid uniformly. Each man started at the same hourly rate. Raises came every six months. Laziness wasn’t tolerated, nor was it a problem. There had been that one guy, Mallory, a couple years before. Earl caught him asleep in the truck when he was supposed to be fixing a hospital generator in Grandview. Then there was Cal Dawson. Cal’s mechanical skills surpassed anyone who worked for Earl, but when he heard Cal refer to a co-worker by a racial slur, he’d dismissed him on the spot.

  Earl flipped through his notes. “Looks like next week is going to be full, so be ready. If it keeps up, I’ll have to hire another man or turn down some jobs.”

  “I’ll take some overtime if you got it.” Jimmy Lancaster had three kids at home and another on the way.

  The meeting concluded with three minutes to spare, and by the time Earl’s watch showed five-thirty, the men had cleared out. Having these end-of-the-day meetings outside had become a spring ritual the guys seemed to enjoy. Most stopped by the office to grab a cold drink from the refrigerator and joke a bit with Cindy, who would inevitably complain about their malodorous body odor.

  “Boss don’t pay enough for us to buy deodorant,” they would tease.

  Back in the office, Earl grabbed a soft drink and returned to his desk. It was his favorite time of the day. Cindy left at five-fifteen, and the office was deserted. He took a few moments to review the figures his accountant had dropped by earlier in the day.

  “Things are looking really good, Earl,” Gary Kinder had said. “Your gross profits are up about forty percent from a year ago, and other than labor costs, you’ve kept expenses close to where they were last year.”

  Earl knew this meant a significant profit for Manning Maintenance when the fiscal year ended in a month. More to the point, it meant he would have the money to buy Paul Turner’s farm outright, with enough left over for a new tractor and farm truck.

  And there was the rub.

  He still wanted to farm his own land, but he couldn’t deny that business had taken off far beyond anything he anticipated five years earlier. It had been Mama’s idea, after a friend of Dr. Howland’s asked Earl if he could find another ten hours in his week to do some work at the golf course he ran. Earl had taken on the job only to discover that ten hours became twenty. A chance encounter with the pastor of a large Baptist church in South Kansas City led to another job, then another. Before he knew it, he was working seventy-hour weeks.

  “Hire another man,” Mama said. “Maybe two.”

  He resisted at first, but ultimately took the plunge. Day by day, job by job, he found himself less involved in the work and more involved with the business side of the venture. No one was more surprised than Earl to discover that he was actually quite good at it. He was still the quiet type, not prone to raise his voice, but that approach seemed to work. The men he had surrounded himself with were family men who gave a good day’s work for a good day’s pay. The respect ran both ways.

  Over the years, Earl had also evolved as a person, a change he welcomed. And on a few occasions, when the work slowed down just enough, he found himself wondering what his father would think. Earl hoped that Levi Manning would be proud of the man he had become, a far cry from the timid little boy who’d been tormented by his father to the point where he was glad to see him sent off to jail.

  But thoughts like that would have to wait. At the moment, the most important consideration for Earl was what to do about the Turner farm. Bonner Springs was well outside Kansas City, making it impossible to manage both the farm and the business. Finding a buyer for the business would be easy enough, but did he want to relinquish what he and his men had built?

  The chimes on the clock struck six times. It was meatloaf night, and nobody cooked a meatloaf like Vessie. Just t
hinking of home made him smile. He recalled the anguish they’d experienced years before, the hopelessness when Vestal lost the babies. He would never forget how those feelings were wiped away as quickly as leaves in a gust of wind.

  And he’d never forget the first time he saw that basket, and that tiny hand.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “Sixty-five dollars! You’ve always been half out of your mind, Manning. When did you go the rest of the way?”

  Levi hated the sight of Lowell Surratt, Jr. The pinch-eyed brat hadn’t reached thirty yet, and he was already running the schools in Adair. Daddy Lowell Sr. had seen to that, getting elected to the school board then clearing the path for his son to ascend from middling football coach to school principal. A series of ineffective superintendents were employed the past five years, undoubtedly to ensure that Lowell Jr. would move into that job as soon as he finished his master’s degree.

  “Look, Lowell,” Levi said, holding the knife in front of him. “I took it down to Torgeson’s in Perryville. He said it could easily fetch a hundred in St. Louis. You’re getting a deal at—”

  “We aren’t in St. Louis, Manning. We’re in Saxon County, and thirty-five is what I’ll give for that knife. Now hand it over so I can get back to work.” Surratt spoke like a man who was used to getting what he wanted, a tone developed during a spoiled childhood and perfected during teen years spent driving the best cars, having his way with the cutest girls, and earning below average grades at this very school. It made Levi want to spit.

  Instead, he replaced the knife in its soft leather sheath and returned it in his pocket. He was used to haggling, but knew those tricks might not work on Surratt, who’d learned from one of the best. Now past seventy, Lowell Sr. was still a man you didn’t turn your back on. As he got up to leave, Levi glanced around. It was a mistake to come to Lowell Jr.’s office. Summer break had commenced three weeks earlier, and the only people here were Surratt and his busybody secretary, Polly Wanamaker. It was best to hold on to the knife.

  “You change your mind,” Levi said, “you know where to find me.” He was out the door, nodding a curt farewell to Polly when Surratt spoke.

  “Manning, get back here.”

  Pompous ass barely raised his voice, like he knew it wasn’t necessary. Levi wondered when things had changed. When had he gone from being ‘Mr. Manning,’ a man thirty years Surratt’s senior, to just ‘Manning.’

  Still, something inside wouldn’t let him walk out.

  “Close that door and sit down.” Levi seethed at his inability to control the moment. Doing as he was told, he took the chair across from Surratt. It was lower to the ground, giving the younger man a position of physical superiority he wouldn’t have if they were standing toe to toe.

  Surratt reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a black leather wallet. Levi could see it contained a lot of cash. Surratt pulled out three tens and a five, sliding them across the desk.

  “Here’s your money.”

  “I told you, Lowell, I ain’t taking less than—”

  “Manning, don’t forget who you’re talking to.” Surratt relaxed into his chair like they were two friends shooting the breeze. “I know... things about stuff that’s happened around here. Stuff involving you. Stuff that’s been going on a long time.”

  Levi was silent, his heart beating furiously.

  “They never did close the case on that real estate boy, did they? The one who washed ashore down in Cairo?”

  They stared at each other for several moments before Surratt continued.

  “I heard something about an eyewitness, somebody who’s never stepped forward. You know anything about that?”

  Panic set in as Levi considered his options.

  “Yeah,” Surratt continued, “an eyewitness who was there the night that boy disappeared. Be sad for some people if he came forward, wouldn’t it, Manning?”

  Levi’s face grew hot.

  “Seriously, Lowell, over an old knife?”

  Surratt smiled.

  Emboldened, Levi continued. “Well, I know some things, too. I ain’t the only one around here with secrets.”

  “Maybe not.” Surratt sat forward, his relaxed countenance giving way to an angry stare, his eyes hardened into gray flint. “But you’re the only one stupid enough not to have somebody who can back up what you say.”

  “Oh, I got plenty of backup—”

  “Grover Petty,” Surratt laughed. “That boy’s as nuts as you are. There’s not a person in Saxon County who believes a word the comes out of his mouth.”

  Levi felt a sensation not unlike a large weight on his chest. The sting of being excluded by the White Covenant had been allayed somewhat when they called upon him to help with a number of special assignments. Most involved long rides down dark roads. Some involved bodily injury. A couple ended in death. Now he understood why they had taken him into their trust, and why he couldn’t do a thing about it. Understanding the precariousness of his situation, he pulled the knife from his pocket. The thought of ramming it through Surratt’s chest was enticing, but he knew he’d be in jail before nightfall. Instead, he laid the knife on the desk blotter. As he reached for the money, Surratt pulled it back and put it in his shirt pocket.

  ###

  Nobody loved a birthday more than Cora Manning. Veteran Capitol Hill staffers, jaded by the lack of sentimentality around them, had been moved to tears by the cards and small gifts she sent on their birthdays. Staid congressmen were quick to accept the hugs and well-wishes of a woman who was larger and stronger than many of them. Most agreed, Cora Manning had a way about her. There was nothing phony about the plain-spoken Midwestern woman. Still, the birthday celebrations she threw in Washington were small potatoes compared to the plans she was about to put into motion in Kansas City.

  The address changed three years ago, from the Haskell Avenue duplex to a cramped, but slightly larger bungalow on Wabash Avenue just off Forty-Eighth Street on the Missouri side. Earl and Vestal still rented, but that arrangement would soon change.

  Considering his mother’s parking skills, Earl parked his truck on the street, leaving the driveway wide open. Still, the sound of metal scraping concrete drew him to the window from his worn easy chair. Cora, driving a recently purchased Galaxie 500, had missed the driveway and jumped a curb.

  “Grandma’s here!”

  Chan ran through the living room and out the front door. It had been a long day of waiting for the five-year old, but things were about to pick up in a hurry.

  Earl followed his son, relieved to see that the car had escaped damage. Vestal, who had been out back tending to her tomato plants, came around the house at the same time. All converged at once, but it was obvious that Cora’s attention was centered on the birthday boy.

  ###

  Levi placed the empty beer bottle on a bathroom shelf and looked at his reflection in the hazy mirror.

  Today was his birthday, sixty-three, but nobody knew or cared. He hadn’t remembered it himself until after he’d gotten back from his meeting with Lowell Jr. He’d cursed himself the entire way home for his cowardice and stupidity. Surratt had the knife and the money, and Levi did nothing to stop him.

  Great-Grandfather Manning would have been ashamed.

  Though he never knew him, Levi could hear the old man admonishing him.

  “What kind of Manning are you, letting that skinflint take what belongs to you.”

  “Ain’t never been a Manning ‘fraid of anything or anybody, ‘til you came along.”

  Levi ran some water in the rust-stained sink, splashing it on his face before looking back in the mirror.

  Sixty-three looked closer to eighty.

  Sixty-three years, and what did he have to show for it?

  A once-proud farm, built from nothing by his ancestors, now overrun with weeds, scrub brush, and prairie grass.

  Barns and outbuildings falling in on themselves.

  Only one person, Grover Petty, who was close to being a friend,
and he had to be watched or he’d steal a man blind.

  And this house, the Manning homestead, once full of people and commotion from his great-grandfather to his grandfather, to his daddy. Levi could remember the smells of home cooking and the conversations of several generations gathered around the kitchen table.

  Now it was empty.

  “You ran ‘em off, the woman and your kid.”

  Levi swore at Great-Grandfather Manning, immediately feeling remorse.

  “You deserve to be alone. You ain’t no kind of man.”

  Tears welled up. He tried to fight them back.

  “Yeah, go ahead and cry, you sissy. Ain’t no wonder you’re by yourself.”

  “What do you want me to do, Great-Grandfather?”

  Levi waited for a reply.

  “Go get ‘em?”

  “Get who?”

  “The woman. The boy. Bring ‘em back.”

  “But Great-Grandfather, the boy must be at least thirty-five now.”

  “He’s still your son and you need to get him back.”

  Levi continued staring at his reflection. Thinking. Considering.

  “But first, go get my knife back from that weasel, Surratt. His family ain’t never been nothin’ but a bunch of no-accounts.”

  “And while you’re at it, take the money too.”

  ###

  “I didn’t think he’d ever go down,” Vestal said, returning to the living room, where Earl and Cora were relaxing. “He’s sleeping with his presents.”

  “Mama didn’t have any trouble getting to sleep,” Earl said, smiling. “She’s been dozing off and on since you took Chan to bed.

  “Just resting my eyes,” Cora replied, her weary voice belying her claim.

  Vestal sat on the sofa next to her husband.

  “Hard to believe he’ll be starting kindergarten in a couple months,” Earl said.

  “I’m just glad you live someplace where they have kindergarten,” Cora replied. “Remember back in Saxon County you didn’t have that chance.”