Chase The Wild Pigeons

by John J. Gschwend

  “Thank you, Mrs. Belle. You have been very generous to Joe and me.”

  “It has been a delight having you’uns two here.” Belle looked directly into Peter’s eyes. “Peter, last night I said ye was Joe’s shepherd, and it is true, but at some point ye have to also live ye own life.”

  Peter looked down at the short bundle of a lady. Peter knew she was a store of knowledge. He had learned to always listen to the elderly, as he listened now.

  She looked at the basket and handed it to Peter. “It’s like cooking a coon. Ye have to cook it enough so’s to get it done, but not cook it so much til it falls plumb apart.” She put her gnarled hand on Peter’s arm. “Ye have to know when it is done, Peter.”

  Peter could stay right here with this beautiful woman and be content. He had only known her for a brief time, but he felt a warm love for her. Other than with his own mother, he had never had such a feeling, a feeling you could only have with a mother or grandmother.

  Joe and John came to the buggy.

  “Joe, I reckon ye are ready to see the Valley,” Belle said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Belle, can we have a few of those sweet potatoes in your pit?”

  “Why, of course ye can.”

  “I’ll go with you to get them,” Peter said.

  “I bet you will want some for supper, won’t you, Mrs. Belle?” Joe said.

  “Why, I reckon that would be a grand idea,” she said.

  Joe grabbed John’s arm. “Come on, Uncle John, help us fetch them back.”

  Peter picked up a handful of chestnuts when they went under the trees. He watched Joe march ahead of John, always in the head. The sun was just coming over the eastern hills. This was a beautiful place, Peter thought. If the Shenandoah Valley was prettier, he understood why Joe loved it so.

  Joe stopped at a squash vine and bent down to study a big squash. “Uncle John, grab those sweet potatoes while I pick this here squash.” John lifted the cover over the pit.

  Peter stood by Joe. “That is a pretty squa—”

  John yelled and fell back away from the pit. Peter saw a white blur flapping and squawking go by John’s head. It was one of the white ducks.

  John grabbed his chest. “Lawd sakes alive. That bout put me in my grave.”

  Peter looked at Joe. He was on his knees again, red-faced, and laughing.

  Peter smiled. “You put that duck in there.”

  John went to Joe. “Joe, why you want to do me in that fashion?” He wiped his brow. “I almost messed myself.”

  Joe bellowed laughing.

  Peter shook his head and giggled.

  Joe finally stopped laughing and took a few deep breaths. “Uncle John, remember when you pushed me down when I first saw you?”

  “I’s sorry for that Joe; I done told you that.”

  “Now we’re square,” Joe said as he went to the pit for the potatoes.

  ***

  Joe saw tears on Peter’s face as Peter pulled the buggy onto the road.

  “Get up there, mule,” Peter said, as he snapped the reins.

  Joe waved at Mrs. Belle and the darkies, then turned and pulled the harmonica from his pocket. He struck up Shenandoah. He could hardly wait to get there.

  The mule gassed them, and they both laughed.

  Soon they were settled into the trip. The mule pulled the little buggy easily.

  Joe thought of his pa. Where was he? Was he safe? He had to be safe, had to.

  The farm would be fine, neighbors would see to that. They would probably even have wheat and hay stored for them. They had good neighbors, and everyone looked out for each other.

  A quail ran down the middle of the road, weaving and bobbing, before flying into the woods. There were woods on both sides of the road, not big timber as it was along the Mississippi when they left Helena, but still a thick forest. Joe imagined deer and squirrels a plenty in there. Belle had mentioned turkeys eating the chestnuts. A turkey sure would be tasty.

  Joe looked back down the road. They had made enough turns, that he couldn’t see Belle’s place any longer. “Hey, Peter, I know we haven’t gone but about a mile, but I’m hungry. Want some of that coon?”

  “Hungry already. We just had something a little while ago.”

  “Don’t matter. I’m hungry now.”

  They came to a ford in a stream. Peter stopped the mule at the edge of the water, so the mule could drink.

  Peter handed Joe two tin cups. “Dip us some of that water.”

  Joe took the cups and leaped from the buggy. The stream was clear. No one had crossed it in a long while. The stream was full of rocks, and little fish swam about. Joe climbed upon a big rock and dipped the cups in the stream. It would be a good place for a swim.

  He turned to Peter. “Let’s eat on this rock.”

  “No, come on back to the buggy. I’ve got the food here in the seat.”

  Joe handed Peter the cups and climbed back into the buggy. The coon was good. Joe knew it would be. Old ladies like Belle knew how to cook. What could she do with a turkey?

  A wasp flew into the buggy. Peter swatted at it.

  “It ain’t going to hurt you, Peter. Let it light and we will smash it.”

  Peter swung again, knocking the basket of food to the floorboard.

  “Now look at what you did,” Joe said, as he bent to gather the food.

  Peter bent to help. “I’m sorry. Maybe it won’t get too dirty.”

  “I don’t care how dirty it gets. I’m going to eat it. I can always spit out the dirt. A little dirt never killed anyone, did it? Did it, Peter?”

  Peter didn’t answer, so Joe looked up. Peter was staring toward the stream. Joe rose. Lucius was holding the mule’s nose with his big hand and holding a knife with the other. He looked like Goliath.

  Chapter 2 2

  A sudden memory formed in Peter’s brain like a vivid picture, clear as polished glass: the knife. He remembered the glint of it when they shoved off from the riverbank at Helena. That was Lucius. “Jesus, be with us,” Peter prayed.

  “Well, if ain’t Massuh Joe.” Lucius grinned. “Never reckoned you’d see Ole Lucius, did you?”

  Peter grabbed Joe’s leg, no time for Joe to do something foolish, just wait, see what this crazy man was after.

  “Y’all is come a long piece, ain’t you?” Lucius thumbed the knife blade. “I reckon I has, too.”

  “What are you about?” Joe said. “What business do you have here in Virginia, you damn sorry thief?”

  Peter squeezed Joe’s leg.

  Lucius’s grin vanished. “You is still got that smart ass mouth, ain’t you.” He raised his knife as to throw it. “I’ll take that outta you.”

  Peter saw his chance, snapped the reins. “Heah, mule!”

  The mule lunged forward. Lucius dropped the knife and grabbed the mule. The beast stopped as if it had hit a wall. Lucius squeezed the mule’s nose and pushed. The animal gave ground, backing slowly. “That was the last foolish thing you is ever going to do, purty nigger.”

  Joe rummaged through his bag for the revolver.

  Lucius shot around the mule like a cat and grabbed Joe by the shirt.

  Joe hauled the revolver from the bag, jerked the barrel toward Lucius. Lucius grabbed Joe’s hand. The gun fired into the top of the buggy; stinking smoke engulfed the buggy. Lucius flung the revolver from Joe’s hand; it disappeared into the weeds at the edge of the road.

  “Where is that charm?” Lucius said, hauling Joe from the buggy.

  Peter leaped across, catching Lucius around the neck. They all tumbled to the ground in a heap.

  Lucius kicked Peter away, then grabbed Joe around the neck. He scrambled to his feet with Joe’s feet flailing in air. “I’ll kill this boy if you don’t stand clear.”

  Peter rose slowly to his feet.

  “Now, where is that charm?” Lucius said.

  “What charm?” Peter said. It was happening too fast. Peter couldn’t think.

  “This boy k
now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

  Lucius squeezed, and Joe’s face grew red.

  “Don’t harm him.” Peter said.

  “I’ll snap his neck like a twig. Where is them damn African birds? Where’s the damn Taylor woman’s necklace?”

  “I don’t know what—” Peter said.

  Lucius squeezed. Joe yelled.

  “All right—all right! Don’t harm him,” Peter said.

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Joe groaned.

  “I have it, and I will give it to you. Just let the boy go.”

  Lucius smiled. “So you have.” The smile disappeared. “Let me see it.”

  “All right. I have to get it.”

  Peter moved to the buggy. The memories of Helena flooded to his mind like water through a broken dam. It was clear now. Lucius had followed them to the river at Helena after the necklace. He had come all this way for a piece of jewelry. What was the matter with this man? He could have stolen some valuables somewhere else without coming all the way to Virginia. My God! Peter realized Lucius had killed Dr. Taylor for it. “Jesus, please! Please help me.”

  Peter pulled the Bible from under the seat, slowly opened it, a small price for the boy’s life. But would Lucius leave them alone after he got it? Of course, he wouldn’t. Peter knew he had to do something, or Joe would die.

  “Hid in the Bible. You is a smart boy,” Lucius said.

  “Peter, you stole Uncle Wilbur’s property,” Joe said.

  “Hush, Joe,” Peter said.

  “Give it to me,” Lucius said.

  “First, you let the boy go.”

  “You’re a stinking thief, Peter, just like he is.”

  “I’m fixing to let him go. Now hand me the necklace.”

  Lucius relaxed his grip just enough. Joe pounded Lucius in the groin and slithered from his grasp.

  Peter threw the necklace into the stream.

  Lucius whirled around, and his fist slammed Joe’s face. It sounded like a stick breaking. Joe collapsed to the ground.

  “No!” Peter screamed. His mind narrowed into a single purpose: kill Lucius. He dove into him with all his strength; they crashed to the ground. Peter fought his way atop the Devil. He pounded Lucius’s face over and over.

  Lucius tossed him like a pillow.

  Peter leaped to his feet.

  “I’ll kill you, just like I did the boy,” Lucius screamed. He kicked at Peter.

  Peter caught his leg and drove him to the ground. Peter kicked him in the side. Lucius growled with pain. Peter stomped Lucius in the face, and he lay still.

  Peter looked at the evil man for a long minute, couldn’t believe he felt so much hatred for him—no fear, just hatred.

  Peter remembered Joe, went to him. “Joseph?” He kneeled beside him.

  Joe slowly opened his eyes. They were just slits in his puffy face.

  Peter felt relief as he had never felt before. His eyes burned with tears. “Thank God.”

  “I know you didn’t steal the necklace,” Joe whispered.

  “Dr. Taylor gave it to me.” Peter smiled. “He said I was family like you, Joe.”

  Joe tried to smile, but his swollen face would not allow it. “I said that because I was trying to distract Lucius.”

  Peter felt the love for Joe grow even more, but he was worried about Joe’s face. Blood was still running from his nose and his face was still swelling.

  “Just lie right there. I will get some cool water and wipe the blood from your face.”

  “It hurts Peter.”

  Peter wiped his own tears from his face. “I know it does. I’ll make it better.”

  Peter saw Joe’s eyes suddenly grow wide. He whirled to face Lucius.

  ***

  Lucius swung. Peter ducked. He grabbed Lucius and they tumbled into the stream.

  Joe struggled to get to his feet, but he felt as if a horse were standing on his head. He managed to get to his knees.

  Lucius and Peter thrashed and rolled into the water like two mighty bears. Joe couldn’t get a bearing on who was winning. Suddenly, the thrashing stopped. Lucius had his powerful hands around Peter’s throat. Peter flailed, but it was no use. Lucius plunged Peter’s face under the water.

  “No!” Joe blurted and spit blood. He had to find strength. He scurried for the weeds, had to find the revolver. He spread the weeds, feeling and groping—no use.

  “The African birds is mine!” Lucius yelled like a wild man as he held Peter under the water. “I’ll be a king. Do you hear me? No one will string me up again. I’ll do the whipping from now on.”

  Joe staggered to his feet. He fought the pain. Peter had been under the water too long.

  Lucius let go of Peter and stood over him. Peter’s face stayed under the water. Peter was dead. Joe saw it. Joe quivered with rage. The pain was gone. Everything was gone but the rage.

  Lucius fished in the clear water for the necklace, and like a lucky fisherman, he came up with it. “I have it,” Lucius yelled. “After all of these years, I have it. I am a king! I am a king!”

  ***

  Lucius finally had his history. He had his father’s necklace. He had Africa in his hands. No white man had that over him now. Now he was a king.

  He raised the necklace to the sky. He yelled at the top of his lungs, “I have it. I’ve searched forever, and now I have it.”

  He remembered his mother. He wished she could see him now. No man would ever rule him again. He had his African birds. From this point forward, he would—

  ***

  Joe saw the look on Lucius’s face: jubilation for killing Peter. He hated him. He would pay. Suddenly the look changed to surprise. Joe saw the tomahawk in the center of Lucius’s face. Lucius stood still in the water for a time, a statue. Slowly he folded into the water. He lay on his back with the ax handle sticking up like a horn.

  Joe looked at his own hands. He didn’t remember throwing it, but he had. Somehow, he had found the strength—it found him.

  Peter! Joe remembered.

  He hobbled into the water and grabbed Peter. He pulled with all he had, managed to get him to the bank.

  “Peter?” Joe shook him. “Peter, you can’t be dead.” Joe shook him again. “Peter?” Joe wiped tears and snot and blood from his own face. “Wake up, Peter.” Joe felt the world caving in on him. “Peter, damn you. You can’t die. You haven’t seen the Valley, yet. I want to show you.” Joe shook him. Water drooled from Peter’s mouth. “Peter...Peter...”

  Joe fell beside him. Everyone he cared about died—everyone. He buried his face in his hands, didn’t care if he ever left that spot, just lay right there beside Peter.

  The wind rippled the water and swirled in Joe’s hair. He heard something fluttering. He looked up. The wind was rustling the pages of Peter’s Bible on the ground by the buggy.

  God!

  Joe dragged himself to his knees. There is nothing left, and it is what Peter would do.

  “God, Peter swears you're up there.” Joe blew out a breath. Blood drooled down his bottom lip. “I haven’t been good, but Peter has always been right with you.” Joe looked down at Peter. It was too much; he wept. “God, he once told me the story about Lazarus, and I said he was a liar. Is it true? Can you bring Peter back?” Joe put his hands to his eyes. “Please help me.” Joe pushed at his eyes with his fist. He felt the pain grow numb and saw flashes of white light behind his eyes. “God, please help poor Peter. I’ve let him down so.”

  “Joe!”

  Joe lowered his fist, blinked his eyes. He looked around. It was John and Burt.

  “He killed Peter, Uncle John,” Joe sobbed.

  John slid down beside Joe. “You is hurt.”

  “He killed Peter.”

  Burt rolled Peter over on his belly, pushed on Peter’s back and pressed on his sides.

  “He dead?” John asked.

  “Look like,” Burt said as he pushed
.

  John helped Joe to his feet. “We was coming this here way to snare rabbits and heard the shot. We knowed it was no good.”

  Joe watched Burt pushing on Peter, but Peter was dead.

  John knelt down in front of Peter, grabbed his arms, and tugged. Water spewed from Peter’s mouth.

  Joe watched, but said nothing.

  They pushed and pulled—pushed and pulled.

  Peter wheezed, then vomited water.

  Joe felt his heart in his throat.

  Burt and John kept working on Peter. Suddenly, Peter gasped for air, opened his eyes.

  Joe fell to his knees. “Peter!”

  Burt and John stood.

  Peter fought for breath. “Joe.” He coughed and spit water. “Joe, I thought you were dead.”

  “I thought you were, too.” Joe threw his arms around Peter’s neck. It was a miracle. He felt his chest knot up, then untangle in an instant. He closed his swollen eyes, prayed: Thank you, Lord. I will never forget.

  “Where is Lucius?” Peter whispered.

  “Dead,” Joe said.

  John and Burt pulled Lucius from the river. There was a grinding, sucking sound as John pulled the tomahawk from Lucius’s face.

  Joe and Peter helped each other to their feet.

  “What’s this?” John said as he pulled the necklace from Lucius’s hand.”

  Peter staggered toward him and took the necklace. He looked at Lucius’s body. “It’s just a necklace, a family heirloom, nothing more.”

  “He called them African birds,” Joe said as he took the necklace from Peter. Joe examined the piece of jewelry. He had never really studied it before. “These are two wild pigeons, passenger pigeons. Why would he call them African birds, Peter?”

  Peter looked down at Lucius’s body again. “He was a lost soul, misguided. He followed the wrong spirit.”

  Peter fell to his knees.

  Joe grabbed for him.

  “We best get you two back to Mrs. Belle’s,” John said.

  John and Burt helped Peter to the buggy.

  Joe looked at the wild pigeons in his hand, thought about the massive flock at the Tallahatchie River. Billions of real wild pigeons in the world, and Lucius was chasing after these two. Why? Why had he killed for the necklace? Why had he followed them to Virginia? Joe shook his head, stuffed the necklace into his pants pocket. He looked down at Lucius. Lucius still had a smile on his face. “I reckon you found what you were looking for—whatever it was.”