Harvest of Thorns

by Paul E. Wootten

  “I don’t have to ask anybody.” Lowell, Sr. stood slowly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I was here in those days. Innocent people were killed, innocent white people.” Surratt limped to the middle of the gathering, pointing a gnarled finger at the others. “We got a problem in Saxon County, and I’m telling you boys to slow down and listen to these men, just like your fathers and me listened to the men who came before ‘em. Violence is currency. Too much of it makes it lose its value.”

  Surratt’s words had their intended effect, as the others quieted down. Martin Luther and Lyndon spent the next hour outlining options that, if followed, could rid Saxon County of its ‘problem.’

  FIFTY

  “Any change, Vessie?”

  Vestal held the phone tightly as she considered her response to Jack Schira. Truth was, there was little change. Cora’s death had driven Earl into a terrible downward spiral.

  “He’s getting the daily chores done, Jack, but not much else.”

  She heard his heavy sigh.

  “Have you considered taking him to a doctor? Someone with experience with these types of things. We’ve got some good ones up here in Columbia. I can set everything up.”

  “Maybe. I keep thinking it’ll be just a little longer before he snaps out of it.”

  “Vessie,” Schira said quietly, “it’s been five weeks.”

  “I know... just a little longer...” The words caught in her throat. She felt the kitchen of the old farmhouse start to spin. “We’ll be... he’ll be. .” She stifled the sobs.

  “Miss Cora talked about him sometimes,” Schira said. “About the years after they left the island. She said he was... I think the term she used was, ‘in a bad way’ for quite a while. She thought Earl kept a lot inside, hurts inflicted by Levi that she never knew about. She said she could see it in his eyes.”

  Vestal recalled similar discussions, especially during the dark times Earl experienced early in their marriage. It seemed that those were a thing of the past. Earl’s success in business and, most important, Chan’s arrival, brought stability and happiness.

  “He’s lucky to have you, Vessie.” Schira’s voice was cheerier, more encouraging. “You take care of him and let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you Jack. We’ll keep in touch.”

  “One more thing, Vessie. Did it go okay when you took Chan to enroll at Adair School?”

  Irritation washed over her, as it had the week before.

  “I called them to set up an appointment,” she bristled. “Would you believe they don’t have kindergarten here yet?”

  “Don’t worry too much about it. Knowing you, he’ll be more prepared for first grade than any child in the county.”

  Vestal smiled. “We’ve already started on the alphabet. My Chan’s going to be a smart one.”

  “I have no doubt,” Schira replied. “Now Vessie, watch out for yourself and Chan, especially now with Earl hurting like he is. It’s a big island, and you’re the only people out there.”

  “We’ll be careful, Jack. Thanks for calling.”

  ###

  “It’s a big island, and they’re the only people out there.”

  A late summer breeze stirred the air above the men. Moonlight filtering through the woods cast them in a ghostly pallor.

  “I still think it’s too soon. Has anybody even seen him?” This one called himself Elvis. He said he was from Memphis. His partner went by Jerry Lee.

  “Joe Tyson saw him in Sainte Genevieve on Monday,” a local said. “The nigra wench was driving him around. Joe thought he didn’t seem right. They don’t never come into Adair.”

  “Missing his mama, I’ll bet.”

  Elvis rubbed his neck and glanced around. “Manning and his mama went through a lot together. Her passing probably knocked him down more than people realize.”

  “Lowell Jr. said they got a call at the school, some lady wanting to enroll a child in kindergarten. Sounded colored.”

  “What did they tell her,” Jerry Lee asked.

  “The truth,” one of the locals said. “Ain’t no kindergarten in Saxon County.”

  “Course, next year’ll be different,” another local said. “If Manning comes looking to enroll that half-breed in first grade, there’s gonna be problems.”

  “We’ll take care of the problem way before then.”

  “Seems to be a good time to move forward,” a local said. “Manning is struggling. The nigra wench and the boy are ripe for picking. We need to catch ‘em when they’re down.”

  “Maybe,” Elvis said. “Let us talk to some people and get back to you.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  The decades-old Farmall tractor sputtered to life, reminding Earl that he needed to invest in better equipment if he was going to make a go of it.

  For now, the Farmall would suffice. It was mid-September. The window of opportunity for getting a crop in had long passed. The four months since Cora died were a foggy blur, lifted somewhat after seeing the doctor in Columbia.

  “You’re depressed,” he’d said, jotting an order for some pills.

  Earl pulled the tractor onto the gravel road and headed east. If he squinted just so, he could see the house where Mary Dobson lived. He considered driving over to see how she was doing. Maybe some of the Dobson or Cornish boys could help him clear the scrub brush that Levi had allowed to overtake the land. The families always helped one another. It was the way things were on Grebey Island.

  When he crested the small incline near the property line, he remembered. The Dobson house wasn’t there. The sun, rising on the Mississippi, reflected undulating waves of light over the spot where the house used to be. Earl stopped, shut down the tractor, and took in the view.

  This must be what heaven looks like.

  He thought of a day, many years before. This same spot, looking at the same view.

  This must be what heaven looks like.

  Harry Davis was with him. They were setting off to pick the last of the Dobsons’ cantaloupes. Mr. Davis stopped in the middle of the road, just like this. They sat quietly for a moment before he spoke.

  This must be what heaven looks like.

  They beheld the beauty for a few moments, before continuing on their way. When they arrived at the Dobson house, Mary came out on the front porch and waved. She was barefoot, wearing a plain gray dress, and the feeling Earl had when she smiled was indescribable.

  It was only later, as he tried to sort it out, that Earl realized what it was.

  Love.

  And now, a quarter century later, here he was. Same spot, same time of day.

  But there was no Mary Dobson.

  Maybe if I just drive to where the house used to be, I’ll find her.

  Smiling and waving. Where have you been, Earl Manning? I’ve been waiting for you!

  And if she wasn’t there?

  Earl would drive until he knew one way or another. If Mary Dobson was waiting for him, he’d lift her onto the tractor and take her away.

  If not, he’d drive toward the sunlit beauty of the river.

  I’m here, Earl. By the river. Come! We can play on the levee.

  Earl pushed the tractor’s start button, but nothing happened. Why had he shut it off?

  He crawled down from the seat.

  “I’m coming to you, Mary.”

  I’ll be here waiting for you. There’s so much I have to tell you!

  He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his brow. Behind him, a sound. An approaching car perhaps? One of the Dobsons, or maybe Harvester Stanley. It didn’t matter. He knew where he needed to go.

  He started walking.

  I’ve missed talking to you, Earl.

  Someone touched his arm.

  “Where are you going, dear?”

  He pointed toward the river.

  “What’s over there?”

  Mary Dobson, he wanted to say. He looked behind him. It was another woman. Not Mary Dobson.

  “You
forgot to take your pill this morning. I tried to catch you as you left the house, but that old tractor is so loud.”

  He took the tiny pill from her outstretched hand and slipped it into his pocket with the others.

  “No, sweetheart, please take it now.”

  He pointed toward the river.

  “Take the pill first, please, then tell me about the river.”

  Dutifully, he retrieved the pill, washing it down with water from a thermos she carried with her. They stood there for a few moments, gazing at the beauty of the early morning light dancing on the river.

  “This might be the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen,” Vestal said.

  “Must be what heaven looks like,” Earl said quietly, squeezing her hand.

  Vestal’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard you speak of heaven. Is that what you were thinking about when I pulled up?”

  Earl looked at her and felt fresh love wash over him. The voice he’d heard beckoning him before, while faint, was still audible.

  I’ll be here waiting for you.

  “No sweetie, I was thinking about how I needed to go back to the barn and get my tools. The tractor died again.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  Clearing the land was slow going. Levi’s dilapidated farm equipment was part of the problem. Earl had taken stock of what was available to him among the artifacts in the ragged old outbuildings and found nothing newer than a decade. He had fashioned a working disc harrow from the remnants of three older models. It was ugly, but got the job done. The tractor was a constant annoyance, with a temperament much like Levi himself. There were days when Earl spent more time repairing the tractor than using it.

  Day by day he found his spirits lifting. He was taking the pills again. They helped, but so did Chan and Vestal’s daily presence in the fields. Vestal had learned to drive the tractor. Chan often rode with her or walked along with Earl as he attacked stubborn tree stumps and brush. They worked for hours each day, yet as the early December sun sank low, there was still much more to do.

  “Head over to the fire pile,” Earl shouted over the tractor’s rattle. Vestal engaged the transmission and pulled away gently, making sure not to dump the load of brush and stumps from the flatbed wagon. She was proving to be very good at farm work. Cora would have been proud.

  “Daddy, can I start the fire?” Chan’s enthusiasm for farm life had exploded when he was allowed to participate. Like Earl at that age, Chan was small, but seldom let that get in the way. Earl remembered Levi’s cutting remarks about his stature, and never offered his son anything other than encouraging words.

  There were times when Chan would turn his head just so and Earl could see his resemblance to the little girl at the Howland Sanitarium. He’d often wondered how Chandra did after leaving Kansas City. She would not be a child anymore. Perhaps she was married, with children of her own, Chan’s half-siblings. Did she ever think of the baby she’d given up?

  They had decided it was time to let Chan know about his past. It was a decision he and Vessie debated long and hard, but in the end they felt it was best that their son know the truth. Before he started first grade, they had decided. That gave them a few months.

  ###

  “He’s getting better.”

  “The last thing we want is for them to get that farm up and running again. Nigras will find their way back here just like in the thirties.”

  Four locals and, like always, two out-of-towners. The rules of The Covenant were iron-clad. Local members rarely met as a group. Today’s visitors called themselves Fred and Barney. They listened patiently as the locals pled their case.

  “We’ve waited long enough. It’s been seven months since Manning’s nosy mama passed.”

  “Now that he’s getting better, what’s to stop him from snooping around, trying to find out what happened to the nigras that was there when he was a boy?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” The one called Barney stood as he spoke. The 1890’s-era farmhouse where they met had been abandoned since Axel Hinderliter’s death a decade earlier. The furniture remained, and the six men were gathered at the same kitchen table where Slater Henderliter ate his meals as a boy.

  “Are people in Jeff City still keeping an eye on things?” Slater asked.

  “Nah,” Barney said. “Mizzou’s football team’s playing good. That stupid arch they’ve been building in St. Louis is done. Governor Hearnes has more interesting things to worry about than Cora Manning’s family.”

  “Plus, that Columbia lawyer, Schira, the one that was running interference for Cora,” Fred said. “he’s tied up in a murder trial that got moved way up to Schuyler County.”

  “Seems like the time might be right,” Slater said.

  “We’ll talk to the leadership and get back to you.” Barney nodded at Fred and they moved toward the door.

  “Just a minute, boys.” Slater said. “There’s something else.”

  Barney and Fred turned and waited.

  “We think it’s time for us to take care of some of our own problems.” Slater’s voice was steady and confident. The men sent by The Covenant always took charge, something that had started to grate on the locals.

  “We’ve been part of The Covenant for two decades,” another local said. “Ain’t it about time for us to be more involved in what happens in our own county?”

  The tension grew. Visitors and locals stared at one another. The importance of this moment was lost on no one. Barney, one of the outsiders, broke the impasse.

  “There are people in the organization who know how to take care of these types of things. You know that—”

  “What we know is that we want to take care of our own problems.” Slater’s posture grew menacing. Barney and Fred glanced at each other.

  “What’s old man Surratt think about this?” Barney said.

  “Lowell Sr.’s not getting out much this winter,” a local answered. “He found out last month he’s got liver cancer.”

  “Gentlemen,” Fred said. “If you step out on your own, don’t call us again.”

  Slater rose slowly from the table. The locals had seen the angry blaze in his eyes before and instinctively took a step back. When he addressed the visitors, there was no doubt he’d had enough.

  “Those boys you report to haven’t had no problem taking the money we’ve been sending all these years. You tell them they need to show us something, or we will step out on our own.”

  The few moments that followed seemed like hours. Slater stared down the White Covenant representatives in a way that left no mistaking he meant business. For the first time any of the locals remembered, the visitors backed away, picking up their bags and heading for the door.

  “Six months,” Slater said as they departed. “Tell ‘em they got six months.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  “Son, are you sure you don’t want to go?”

  Chan set his small suitcase on the ground and looked toward the house.

  “Mama might need some help.”

  Earl smiled and patted him on the head.

  “I thought you wanted to see our old house one more time. We won’t get back to Kansas City for a while.”

  Chan rubbed his hands together. He wanted to go, just in case Daddy had one of his spells, but he and Mama had both noticed how much better Daddy was doing. He’d been more talkative; happier too. The melancholy following Grandma’s passing seemed to have lifted.

  With a recent warmup thawing the ground, Mama would be using the old tractor to prepare the twenty acres they’d cleared for planting. A new tractor was on order, but wouldn’t be delivered until the first week of April. What if the old Farmall broke down while they were gone? Mama would have to walk back to the house for tools, or to call Mr. Clopton at the repair shop in Shipley.

  For the first time in months, Mama needed him more than Daddy did.

  “I think I’ll stay here.”

  “What? After I packed your suitcase and made this big lunch for the
road?”

  Chan hadn’t heard her come out of the house, a large paper sack in hand.

  “Looks like you’re gonna have some extra help, Vessie,” Earl said. Then, turning to Chan, he added, “We’ll make a point to go back to Kansas City after harvest next fall. Grandma wanted you to meet President and Mrs. Truman. They’re both getting up in age.”

  Moments later, he was driving away. While in Kansas City, he would sign the papers turning Manning Maintenance over to Dale Bixler. His friend and longest-tenured employee had bought the company outright. In addition to the new tractor, the proceeds of the sale would go toward shoring up the old barn and replacing outbuildings. He also planned to visit with Mr. Turner, his farmer friend. After Earl inherited Grebey Island, Mr. Turner decided to keep farming a few more years. Both seemed happy with their decisions.

  ###

  It was a good morning for the tractor. Mama turned several acres of ground without a minute’s trouble.

  From his perch behind her on the crossbar, Chan marveled at her straight rows. There was beauty in how the plow transformed the soil from the stark gray of winter to spring’s loamy brown.

  “Mama, you’re getting good at this.” He would never say it, but she might be better than Daddy. He tended to get distracted by the surroundings and occasionally drift off course.

  “Your daddy’s a good teacher.”

  They rode in silence as the sun rose high in the sky. Glancing at her watch, Mama said, “Why don’t you ride your bike back to the house and make us some sandwiches for lunch? We can meet at the edge of the woods by the river and have our own little picnic.”

  He was delighted to hop on the blue two-wheeler he’d gotten for Christmas. He’d spotted it in the Christmas Wish Book, a Spyder, Sears called it, with a flashy red banana seat, high-rise handlebars, and a wire basket on front. It was the most beautiful thing Chan had ever seen, and he regularly took time to clean the dirt and dust from it.