And If I Die

by John Aubrey Anderson

Crawford knew that would be true. “Can I come back down here an’ see you?”

  Mose rested his hand on the dog’s head. “Come see us anytime.” The dog and her boy walked their visitor to the street.

  Crawford walked a few steps and looked back to wave. Mose was kneeling, one arm holding on to the dog and one holding his Bible.

  The white boy would likely see Mr. Gilmer before he saw Mose again. He stopped and said, “I was wonderin’ . . . are you sure my angel’s here right now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you ever see yours?”

  Crawford had hit Mose’s weak spot. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. I been lookin’, but I never did. I’ll tell you this, though. My pap an’ the Bible both say he’s here, an’ ain’t neither one of ’em ever gonna be wrong.”

  Mose Washington’s angel was standing at his boy’s right shoulder, listening to the argument for his presence. His counterpart was standing by Harley Crawford.

  When Crawford walked away, Washington’s angel lifted his sword and held it across his chest. I implore You, Lord, in these terrible moments soon to come, that You would grant us the privilege of glorifying Your great and awesome Name.

  His fellow warrior raised his sword and said, For Him Who sits on the throne, and for the Lamb. Amen.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The young man who walked up the street to the Austins’ house was not the same boy who left there earlier.

  As he approached the house, he could see Mrs. Austin rinsing out her wash. Julia stood beside her, wringing out the finished pieces and stacking them in a basket for their trip to the clothesline. The designated guards had abandoned their post under the shade tree and moved to a point down near the street corner. Crawford motioned for them to come back, but they shook their heads and beckoned earnestly for him to come to them.

  When she saw Crawford, Elise Austin straightened, dried her hands, and left her sleeves where they were. A buggy whip was propped against the wall by her wash bench.

  Crawford gave up on his helpers and walked to the porch. He took a deep breath, and said, “Mrs. Austin?”

  Mrs. Austin didn’t bother to reply . . . anger deepened the color in her complexion. She took her time coming down the steps, leaving the whip where it was to keep it out of reach of her emotions. When she reached the bottom step, she spoke without making any attempt to mask her contempt for the boy. “Julia has told me what happened this afternoon, and I’ve chased off those other no-goods. You’re next.”

  Words that would fully express her disgust would never find their way to her lips—she could only say, “Young man, it burdens me to tell you that I find your conduct to be despicable in the extreme. Now, you mark this carefully . . . should you ever speak to my daughter again, your trouble will not be founded in Jacob Gilmer’s quirt. And . . .” she raised a hard finger and spoke her words one at a time, “if, at any time in the future, you are foolish enough to lay your hand on her, you will not live out that day. Do I make myself clear?”

  Well, there it was. Julia had told her mother what happened, and the whole town would likely hear about it. Crawford ducked his head, the hair fell in his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Get off this property.”

  He pushed the too-long hair back and ventured a look at the woman. “Uh . . . Mrs. Austin?”

  “You have nothing to say that I want to hear. Now, you will get yourself out of this yard immediately, or you will take the beating you have already earned.”

  He looked at the ground long enough to take another deep breath. The prospect of having the woman hit him with the whip bothered him less than his failing to do what needed to be done. He looked into the lady’s eyes and said, “No, ma’am. I got somethin’ I need to say.”

  Elise Austin turned to her daughter. Her voice trembled as she said, “Julia, get me that whip.”

  The girl left the washing and picked up the whip.

  Dee and Roscoe saw what the girl carried to the edge of the porch and took off for town.

  Crawford didn’t want the lady to use the whip on him, and it passed through his mind to follow his friends, but he had a job that needed doing. He said his first uncoached prayer—God, I’d appreciate it if my angel wouldn’t let her hit me too many times—and stayed where he was—a man with a purpose. The girl took her time coming down the steps, watching Crawford watch her mother.

  When her mother extended her hand for the whip, Julia held it out of her reach and touched her mother’s arm. When Elise turned her frown on her daughter, the girl answered with a gentle smile and the first two words from one of her mother’s timeworn phrases: “Patience, dearest.”

  The woman took a moment to reclaim control of her choices and reached for the whip again. The girl continued to smile, holding the whip away and completing the phrase. “All in God’s good time.”

  The woman wanted her hands on the whip, but she was too wise to let her anger overrule the girl. She paused to take a longer breath then addressed herself to the boy, “Well, what is it?”

  He thought over what he wanted to say, but getting the words out wasn’t easy. “I need to make an apology to Julia.”

  “Mm-hmm. And what, may I ask, brought on this instant contrition?”

  He thought he could just step up to the porch and say his words to the woman and her daughter and things would be better. His task was getting harder by the minute. “Umm . . . I don’t know what that word means, ma’am . . . the ‘cahtrition’ one.”

  Mrs. Austin sighed then said, “Why have you decided to make an apology?”

  He wanted to look at the ground, but he couldn’t take his eyes off hers. “That colored boy . . .” he pointed back down the street without turning, “uh, Mose . . . he told me how to be a Christian. He read me lots of different things in the Bible, an’ then he told me how to pray. There was a piece in there that said somethin’ about God watchin’ out for what my heart does.” He didn’t have any reason to cry, but the tear came anyway. He brushed at it with his hand and said, “Those words said God would be standin’ behind me if my heart’s doin’ right.”

  “You said he told you how to pray. Did you pray?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you would have me believe you’ve become a Christian?”

  The girl cleared her throat and barely whispered, “Momma.”

  Crawford used his fingers to comb back his hair for the hundredth time. “Mose said nobody could tell but me an’ God. I guess that means I could lie about it. I reckon God would know if I did, though,” he said as he shrugged and expressed his newly found fear, “. . . an’ I reckon He wouldn’t stand with me.”

  Mrs. Austin took her time considering the boy and his words. She and her daughter exchanged a look, and the girl nodded. Mrs. Austin said, “Well, in that case, speak your piece.”

  He faced the girl and pointed up the street. “We done a bad thing back there . . . a shameful thing . . . an’ I’m powerful sorry. I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

  It was the girl’s turn to be ill at ease. Her face turned a pretty pink, and she said, “I forgive you.”

  “I’m much obliged.”

  The woman fanned herself with her apron and watched the youngsters fidget for a moment, then said, “Mr. Crawford, I’m good with a pair of scissors, if I do say so myself.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “If it pleases you, I’d be more than happy to trim your hair.”

  The conversation’s sudden shift caught him off guard. His eyes went to the girl. She gave him the suggestion of a smile and an encouraging nod. He said, “That’d be real nice, Mrs. Austin, if it ain’t any trouble.”

  “If it’s not any trouble,” corrected the lady. “Julia, put up that whip and get my comb and scissors while I finish rinsing out this load of wash.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She turned to the boy. “I’m gonna have a piece of gingerbread. Would you like some?”

  H
e nodded. “That’d be real fine, thank you. I feel like I’m near to starvin’.”

  “Sit here on the steps, then,” she directed. “I’ll be right back.”

  The boy said a proper, “Thank you,” and took a seat.

  Elise Austin looked up when her daughter came back through the door carrying two plates. The girl’s helping was half the size of a deck of playing cards; the boy’s was as big as a skillet. Because the woman had her back to their visitor, she could roll her eyes without offending him. The girl chose to ignore her mother’s rude behavior and sat down to have dessert with her guest.

  The woman stayed at her washtub, rinsing and wringing, humming to herself. The young couple ate gingerbread while the girl chatted and the boy nodded at all the right times.

  Three invisible warriors watched the scene. Waiting patiently.

  One of the guardians said, They have come far.

  The second angel agreed, And their hearts are strong.

  And so shall they need be, for the time is soon coming. The third member of their group looked at the cloudless skies. We would be wise to pray now, while He offers this interlude of peace.

  By eleven o’clock Friday morning the temperature in the school auditorium was ninety degrees and the air was thick with humidity. The men came in wearing collars and ties and blotting at their faces with handkerchiefs; the ladies wore hats and fanned themselves with their fingers—all were praying for short speeches. At one fifteen, the men were dripping sweat, the ladies were fanning themselves with their hats, and the high school graduation ceremony was over.

  Julia and her mother walked out of the school building to find Jacob Gilmer standing by the flagpole with Harley Crawford. Harley had his back to them.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Gilmer lifted the Panama and said, “Ladies.”

  When Harley turned to speak, the Austin ladies, and every other person leaving the ceremony, could not fail to note that he had a brand-new black eye and his lips were swollen.

  Elise understood that boys and black eyes went together, but Harley had walked Julia home from school every day since their encounter with Gilmer—if he was going back to his old ways, she wanted to know about it. “Harley, have you been fighting again?”

  The boy had been steeling himself for the meeting with Mrs. Austin. It hadn’t helped. “Yes, ma’am . . . kind of.”

  “Kind of?”

  Gilmer had already heard the story behind the boy’s battered face. “Call it an altercation,” he prompted.

  Harley shrugged. “I reckon I got in an altercation with Mr. Henry.”

  “Mr. Henry?” The normally unflappable woman was aghast. She looked at Gilmer, then back to the boy. “You got yourself into a fight with a grown man?”

  Harley wasn’t happy about it. “It didn’t seem like a fight at the time.”

  For the last ten days Elise Austin had hoped against hope that the boy wouldn’t backslide into his old ways; his news brought disappointment, frustration, and anger. Julia, however, spent the better part of an hour a day walking home from school with him and observing his somewhat unorthodox attempts to live well; his fervent efforts nourished an unlikely friendship.

  The lady stepped close to Harley and said, “Young man, do you not have any—”

  For the second time in two weeks—and in her short life—Julia rested her hand on her mother’s arm and said a gentle, “Momma.”

  Gilmer underlined the girl’s word with an almost imperceptible headshake.

  Elise turned to her daughter, and the girl’s composure worked itself across the silence and into the woman’s heart. The child had been a chubby three-year-old when her father passed. The man left his wife a small home with a large mortgage and a fledgling business that was worth approximately what it owed the bank; his legacy to the child was his eyes and smile, his wisdom, and his gentle nature—the woman embraced the girl’s interruption. She turned back to Harley and said, “Forgive me, Mr. Crawford, the heat in the auditorium seems to have gotten the better of me. Would you tell us about your altercation with Mr. Henry?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took a deep breath. “Me an’ Roscoe went to see Mose day before yesterday . . . Roscoe was wantin’ to hear about how to be a Christian like me.” If he was concerned that people leaving the school building were eavesdropping on his testimony, it didn’t show. “Dee said he didn’t want to go, but he tagged along anyway. Roscoe ended up prayin’ just like me, an’ it made Dee mad. He said some bad things to Mose an’ started in to whip him. When me an’ Roscoe made him quit, he said he was gonna tell his daddy. Well, Mr. Henry came down to Mose’s house yesterday when just me an’ Mose was there.” The boy was a past master at helping people’s notions get the better of them, and he knew it. In Mr. Henry’s case, however, Mr. Gilmer had already assured him he was innocent of any transgression. He took a breath and continued. “When he started in on Mose, I tried to pull him off an’ he turned on me.” He touched his finger to his swollen lips, remembering. “I reckon he should’a waited ’til that dog wasn’t around. Lady bit him on the back of the leg an’ chased him off.” The boy pointed toward the courthouse. “I saw him up on the square just now an’ he cussed at me a little. He was limpin’ some an’ sayin’ how he was gonna get his shotgun an’ go back out there this afternoon after he closed the mercantile . . . said he was gonna shoot Lady an’ anybody that got in his way.”

  “And Mr. Henry is the one who hit you in the face?” But for the slightest crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the woman’s facial expression was bland.

  When Harley said it was, Elise looked past him toward the town square. “Well, if you gentlemen will excuse us, the church ladies are hosting a small luncheon for our graduates, and Julia and I are on the way to help out.”

  “It happens that I have business at the courthouse,” said Gilmer. “May I accompany you as far as the square?”

  “Please do.”

  When Harley fell in behind the trio, Gilmer stopped and said, “You might not want to cross paths with Henry while he’s heated up.”

  The boy shrugged. “I reckon I can’t let other men decide where I walk.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with you there. At the same time, though, I think it would be wise for you to allow Mr. Henry time to think through his actions.”

  “Yes, sir, that’d be good, ’cept I need to see him before he closes the store. I figure to take the blame for him gettin’ bit, that way he’ll lay off of Mose an’ Lady.”

  Nash Henry was a mouse of a man who allowed his wife to bully him, then took his frustrations out on his store clerks. Gilmer said, “Henry won’t be inclined to listen, son. He’s not a strong man, and what happened with that dog shamed him. He’s likely to blame some of that on you and still seek to penalize Mose and Lady.”

  “I don’t mean to argue with you, Mr. Gilmer, but I got my guardian angel with me, an’ God’s watchin’ to see if my heart’s doin’ like He’d want it to. If I could hear God talk, I think He’d tell me to stand by my friends, black or white.” The boy’s decision to go against the man was a hard one. “You’re a good man, Mr. Gilmer, an’ I’m beholden to you for how you treat me, but I figure God’d want me to listen to Him.”

  During the past week or so, while the ladies were watching the new Harley Crawford emerge, Gilmer had spent his time being astounded by the boy’s rapid transformation. “Well, on those past occasions when I’ve argued against God, I’ve invariably come up a poor second.” He held out the horse’s reins. “Would you be good enough to lead the mare?”

  “Yes, sir,” Harley nodded. The bay wasn’t happy about having a stranger lead her, but Harley won her confidence with a gentle hand and soft words. He and Julia walked in the street, leading the horse; the adults strolled along the sidewalk in front of tree-shaded homes.

  The sky, except for darkening clouds in the southwest, was clear. The sun was warm, the air still. A flock of bluebirds passed over their heads,
hurrying eastward. Mrs. Crayhill stood on the front porch of her big house, overseeing the pruning of her rose-bushes. The banker’s wife interrupted her business in order to note the couple’s passing; her careful observation would lend nothing in the way of accuracy when she recounted the matter. Gilmer touched his hat, Elise Austin nodded. When the couple was out of sight, Mrs. Crayhill hurried over to her neighbor’s house.

  Gilmer and the woman had no reason to be anxious about walking a few blocks together; only the most notorious gossips would comment. Gilmer’s wife fell victim to the fever back in ’85, and he was thirty years older than Mrs. Austin. For her part, Elise Austin had been a widow for ten years, and her reputation was above reproach.

  The gossips couldn’t know that Gilmer watched the young widow from a distance, admiring her ability to meld her no-nonsense attitude with an innate sense of propriety. For her part, she drew pleasure from the company of a Christian gentleman who consistently came down on the side of right; that he was intelligent multiplied his appeal. Between the two of them, they didn’t give a tinker’s hurrah what people might have to say about their choosing to walk together.

  They parted ways at the square. Gilmer went into the courthouse; the ladies went to their church.

  When the others were out of sight, Harley walked across the square and sat down on the bench in front of the mercantile. Almost all of the people in Purvis knew the Crawford boy, and most knew his reputation. While passersby watched, he bowed his head and prayed.

  Across the street, two old men sat on a park bench and scattered crumbs on the sidewalk while they conferred about the absence of the courthouse pigeons. The skies southwest of town were darker.

  Two unseen figures stood by the boy on the bench— one on either side—listening to him ask God to make him brave enough to go into the store and to please make sure his guardian angel stayed close.

  The messenger at the boy’s right hand watched the people going about their business on the square, some staring in amazement at the boy on the bench. He said, The children of this world are too often the leaders. In ten of their days he has discovered more about our Lord than many of these have learned in their lifetimes.