“Come find me if you want, but I’ve made myself a promise.”
“Wha... ?” Slaven’s broken nose made speech unintelligible.
“A promise to never come back to this hateful part of the world again.”
Slaven didn’t respond.
“A promise to never return to a place where people are still judged by the color of their skin.
“Like you, Deputy Slaven. Why do you hate me?
“Is it because my mother was black?”
Slaven breathed hard through his nose, producing bloody bubbles of snot.
“Is there any other reason why people would hate me so much, Deputy?”
As Mutt backed away, their eyes met again. Surprisingly what he saw wasn’t hatred or distaste, looks he had grown accustomed to.
Slaven’s eyes were sad.
###
Counting Miss Bertie’s money, he had six hundred and forty dollars. That would have to be enough. On the west side of Adair, he approached Highway 61 and turned south, past Drake’s Drive-In. Over the noise and rattle of the old Taurus he could hear country music wailing from the drive-in’s speakers. He kept going.
Four miles down the road, Mutt stopped beside a pay telephone at a desolated crossroad. Pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket, he dialed the number of the baseball coach at Western Kentucky. He got an answering machine.
“I appreciate the summer job offer and am on my way.”
Hanging up, he returned to his car and continued south. At the county line, he looked over his shoulder. The Adair and Saxon County water towers loomed on the dark horizon. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the road ahead.
###
Earl pulled open the back door and scanned the night. The weatherman on the Cape Girardeau television station was predicting another gloomy day tomorrow. Those were the worst. Other than tending to things around the barns, there was little to do when it rained, leaving him with too much time to think.
Where was Chan? He was usually home by now, even when his baseball team played miles away. Edgar Ellis made sure he got home safely, but he had passed away, hadn’t he? Then he remembered Chan had a driver’s license. Still, it was ten-thirty. He should be home.
Earl moved from the living room to the kitchen, turning off the lights. He noticed an envelope on the kitchen counter. He remembered seeing it before, but had no recollection of what it was. Opening it, he saw the small picture of Adair High School.
Chan’s graduation announcement.
It was tonight.
The tears came. Earl had promised he’d attend the ceremony. He didn’t go into Adair anymore. Chan ran most of the errands, bought the groceries, and took care of other pressing matters. But this was different. He had planned to start taking the pills again, the ones that lifted the fog enough to help him make the trip into town. Then work caught up with him and he’d forgotten.
Just off the kitchen was a small room that had been a bedroom at one time, before Levi converted it to an office. Earl sat at the old desk and started going through drawers, looking for the pills. Maybe if he took them he’d feel well enough to take Chan out to supper tomorrow night. He owed him that much. The boy did most of the farm work. He cooked meals and kept the house in decent shape. He had, over time, assumed many of the same tasks that Vessie performed before the accident.
Vessie.
Thinking about her brought a heaviness that pills wouldn’t remedy. It was twelve years ago, but the hole in his heart was as large as the day he found out.
The day the world stopped moving.
When he looked at the graduation announcement clutched in his hand, Earl realized it hadn’t. Only he had stopped, barely doing enough to get by, living for the several days each month when he was able to escape Grebey Island for the secret destination known only to him, a place where he could stay in touch with his past. ‘Where do you go, Daddy?’ Chan would ask, but Earl hadn’t been able to tell him, though he knew he should. The boy was scared at first, being left to fend for himself while his father disappeared. By junior high he stopped asking.
As the clock in the kitchen loudly ticked away the minutes, Earl remained at the desk. Scraps of paper were scattered about, notes that held some importance to him at one time, but were long forgotten. He picked them up one-by-one, laboring to decipher his scrawl before tossing them in the direction of an overflowing trashcan. Some were reminders to purchase supplies or fix things around the farm. Others had phone numbers without further identification. It was one of the oldest that caught his attention. A yellowed piece of paper, dated six years earlier, with just a name and phone number. He stared at the handwriting, trying to remember whose it was. These lapses in memory were getting worse. The only way to avoid them was to escape into the past. Earl allowed his mind to drift.
Working the farm with Mama.
Time spent on the levee with Mary Dobson.
Vessie.
The moment when he saw Chan’s tiny hand emerge from the basket.
When he lifted his head, the sun was shining. Perhaps the weatherman was wrong after all. Walking through the house, he saw nothing changed from seven hours earlier. There was no sign of Chan’s car outside. Dixie, the puppy a stranger had given Chan the day of Vessie’s accident, pulled herself up from her spot beside the doorstep. Now old and crippled, Dixie seemed sad that her master wasn’t home. She already seemed to know what Earl was just starting to understand.
He wasn’t coming back.
The baby whose tiny hand had caused Earl to fall immediately in love was gone.
The circle of life, as it was, had closed. Earl felt the darkness starting to press in. Dixie whined.
He had to find his son.
He had to finally be a father, and not some ghost who drifted day to day, scared of what might happen next.
The fog that enveloped him needed to be pushed aside, or he would die out here. Alone.
Was that so bad?
Would it make any difference?
He knew they wanted the land. They’d tried to get it after Levi was killed. They weren’t as strong as they used to be, from what he could tell, but they still made his life a living hell.
Bump Cannon and his late-night visits.
The threatening phone calls that came when Chan was at school or playing baseball.
He thought they might even be messing with his pills. Harley, from the drugstore, would tell him they changed the color, but Earl wondered. There were months when all he wanted to do was sleep; other months when thoughts of smashing himself in the skull with a hammer threatened to become reality.
The sun was well above the horizon when he pulled away from the doorsill. Another two hours had passed. He turned toward the kitchen and realized he was clutching a scrap of paper. It was the name and phone number he had saved from the stack.
Earl glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty. He returned to the tiny office, picked up the telephone, and dialed.
“Penn State University. How can I direct your—”
He quietly cut the connection. He hadn’t expected someone to answer so quickly. Why was he even doing this? It had been too long.
That was silly, he decided. Why would it make a difference? Through the funk and fog, he had been able to figure out one thing: this island was cursed. Generations of Mannings had done their part. Floods chased away others. Those who chose to settle here, like the Stanleys and Dobsons, had left. How could he have ever thought he could find something here? In the end, it cost him his family.
Tossing the scrap of paper into the trash, he wandered through the house. Memories assaulted him along the way. The spot where Grover Petty ambushed him and might have killed Mama had Harry Davis not come along. The tree in the yard where Levi tied and beat him for being in church with his friends, the Grebey Island Negroes. The barn where the Saxon County Knights first met.
Earl climbed the stairs and made his way to Chan’s room, hopeful of finding a clue as to where he might have gone.
The room, Earl’s when he was a child, was sparsely furnished; a bed that was too small, a dresser. In the closet hung a few old shirts. Earl’s throat caught as he considered how little he’d given his son, materially and emotionally.
The dresser drawers were empty, save for a few pairs of socks and underwear. A picture of Chan pitching for his American Legion team was tucked into the corner of one drawer. Earl looked at it and wished he’d been more involved with that part of his son’s life.
You weren’t fit to be a father.
You should have killed yourself when you had the chance.
The boy deserves better, and now he’s gone to find it.
The voices were the worst. They started after Mama passed and increased after Vessie’s accident. Earl could push them out of the way sometimes, other times not so much. He tucked Chan’s photograph into his pocket and started for the door when he spotted something under the bed that jogged a memory.
The old teacher, Mr. Meekins, had given Chan the Bible. It was dust covered now, but Earl remembered Chan reading it the summer before he started school in Adair. He would often ask Earl for help with words, or come to him with passages he wanted to share.
Listen to this one, Daddy!
What do you think this means?
Thankful for anything that helped him connect to his son, Earl took the Bible to his bedroom and was about to place it on the nightstand when he saw the yellowed slip of paper. Opening the Bible, he read the weathered inscription:
To My Last Student, Channing Earl Manning, from your first teacher, Vance Meekins. Never forget the lessons we learned together.
And below that, Jeremiah 29:11.
Earl searched through the Bible until he found Jeremiah. When he started to read, the words came back as if he’d heard them yesterday. He could see his son as a small boy, laboring over the words as his elderly teacher looked on.
I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.
Plans to prosper you and not harm you.
Plans to give you hope, and a future.
Returning the Bible to the nightstand, Earl spoke aloud, “God, you sure missed the boat on this one.
“There ain’t been hope here since Vessie’s accident.
“And now, I’ve lost my boy... and who can blame him for leaving?”
Plans to give you hope, and a future. The words stayed with him as he headed downstairs.
“It’s too late for hope, ain’t it? Too much bad has come to too many people on this old island. Maybe what you want me to do is get away from here, as far away as I can.
“Is that it? You want me to get away from here?”
On the office floor, amid the mound of paper in the overflowing trash can, one scrap caught his attention. He bent to pick it up, smoothing it on the desk top.
Was it the answer? The name and phone number?
There was only one way to find out, Earl thought, reaching for the phone.
PART FOUR
Chan Manning
and the Grebey Island Migrants
FIFTY-NINE
“Paige, sit on the side of the tub and scoot closer to Chan.”
“Like this?”
“Back up a little. The camera needs to see his chest.”
Paige giggled. “My ego is taking a hit.”
“Be strong,” Chan laughed. “You have plenty of years left. I’m the one who has to make hay while the sun shines.”
Paige’s eyes narrowed. “There is no sun. We’re inside.”
The crew’s muffled laughter carried from beyond the bright lights of the set.
“What?” Shielding her eyes, Paige looked around the room. “Why are you all laughing?”
“Don’t worry about them,” Chan said. “It’s an expression. Make hay while the sun shines. It means I need to make hot tub commercials while I still have the physique to pull it off.”
“Ohhhhhhh. Well don’t worry about that.” She pinched his bicep. “You’re still gorgeous.”
“Okay guys, let’s focus. Chan, are you ready?” Tony, the ad agency’s producer was a no-nonsense guy.
“Ready.”
“And… action!”
“With fall just around the corner there’s no better time to have Meyer Spas and Hot Tubs install your custom-made hot tub. Imagine sitting under the stars, sipping your favorite drink, and enjoying the warmth of a Meyer hot tub on a chilly night. Here are just a few of the special deals waiting for you.”
“Cut! Nicely done, Chan. Now, you both get down in the water for the final scene.”
Chan lowered himself into the lukewarm water. Paige slipped in beside him, almost disappearing below the surface before Chan grabbed her arm.
“Sit on this side. The seat is higher.”
“I can’t believe I’m in a hot tub with you. My friends are going to be so jealous.”
“They’ll believe it when they see it. When will this start airing, Tony?”
“First week of September,” the producer said. “Paige, you’re the fourth Meyer girl we’ve had. If things go for you like the first three, you’ll be busy. We know how to pick ‘em.”
“Awesome! I hope so.” Paige threw Chan her best flirty look. “I want to be a full-time model.”
“Let’s get going,” Tony said loudly. “Gotta make hay while the sun shines.”
Paige’s face reddened at the crew’s laughter.
“Okay Chan, and... action!”
“My backyard wouldn’t be complete without my Meyer Hot Tub. Find out what I mean. Stop by one of Meyer’s seven Louisville showrooms and be sure to tell them Chan Manning sent you.”
Twenty minutes and three takes later Chan was lacing up his cross-trainers when he heard a knock on the changing room door. Billy Meyer stuck his head in.
“Hey Billy, did we do okay?”
“Great Chan, just like always. We’ll get some radio spots out too. I want to get the winter season off with a bang. Is everything okay with your tub at home?”
“Larry and Hector came out last week and checked it. We’ll get plenty of use out of it when the weather cools.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ve been thinking about using you in our pool ads next spring. Would you be interested?”
Chan stood up and grabbed his gym bag. “I’m very interested.”
“We’ve moved a lot of hot tubs together over the past five years. By the way, watch out for Paige. After you left the set, she was going on and on about how nice you are. She also asked if you were single. Of course, the guys made sure to tell her you are.” Billy winked and headed for the exit.
Chan made the rounds of the agency before leaving, popping in to say hello to friends he’d made over the years. It was just past five when he reached the reception area. Paige was there, alone.
“What are you still doing here?”
“I was hoping you might give me a ride.”
“What happened to your car?”
“My roommate dropped me off, but she had to go to work.
Paige was nice, if a little scatterbrained. Still, the thought of the two of them alone made Chan uneasy. She’d been a little touchy-feely in the tub. It took one person to start a rumor.
“Oh don’t worry. I don’t want to put you out. I’ll call a taxi.” She had picked up on his hesitancy.
“Where are you going?”
The address she gave was not far from Chan’s home.
“C’mon.” Chan led her to the parking lot, opening the door of his Ford Explorer for her.
###
Rush hour traffic jammed the Watterson Expressway’s eastbound lanes. The going was slow, and Paige did most of the talking, alternating between her life story and the occasional flirtatious remark.
“I appreciate the ride home,” she said as they pulled into her apartment complex. “Why don’t you come in? I can fix you something to drink.”
“How old are you, Paige?” Chan said, putting the car in park.
“Old enough,” she said quickly
. “Nineteen. How old are you?”
“Older than nineteen.”
Paige reached across and stroked the back of his hand.
“Age doesn’t bother me. It’s the connection that’s important. Don’t you think we have an awesome connection?”
Chan gently pulled his hand away.
“I appreciate the offer, Paige, but I’m going to the movies.”
“Awesome. I love movies.”
Uh oh. He knew what was expected next.
“Would you like to go?”
“I’d love to! Thanks for asking.”
“Okay, but we need to stop by my house.” Chan steered the Explorer back to the highway.
“That’s awesome. I’d love to see your house!”
When they pulled into the driveway ten minutes later. Paige’s eyes opened wide.
“Wow, awesome car! Who’s the guy washing it?”
“That’s Lorenzo. I’ll introduce you.”
Chan parked far enough away to avoid spray from the hose Lorenzo was wielding.
“Let me get your door.” He got out and moved around the front of the Explorer. Lorenzo squinted through the sun, trying to get a better look. Chan winked at him as he opened the door.
“I thought your house would be different.”
“You mean bigger?”
“No, I just meant—”
“Paige, this is Lorenzo Wiggins. Lorenzo, Paige is the new Meyer Hot Tub girl.”
Lorenzo dropped the hose and flashed a hundred-watt smile.
“Hey Paige.”
“Hi Lorenzo. Awesome car. What kind is it?”
“Mercedes. SL550. Diamond white. Want to sit in it?”
Turning to Chan, Paige asked, “Is it okay?”
“If it’s okay with Lo, it’s okay with me. It’s his car.”
“Wait a minute,” Paige said, looking from Lorenzo to Chan. “It’s not yours?”
“Why would I be washing his car,” Lorenzo laughed. “He can wash his own. He never does, but he could.”
“But I thought...” She moved closer to Chan, lowering her voice. “I thought he was the gardener or butler or something.”
Harvest of Thorns Page 26
