Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage

by Micah Sherwood

  “Maybe they can’t afford meat at every meal, ever think of that?”

  “Whatever, I’m still starving.”

  Tom pulled out a steak meant for breakfast and started cooking it. “You want some Tandy?” He asked.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He placed the meat in the broiler and stood back; a couple of minutes on both sides, and the meat would be warm but still raw. He turned toward Micah, “I have to go to Sylvan tomorrow, and I want you to come. We may be gone for a couple of days.”

  “I’ve never heard of Sylvan. Where is it, and why are you going?”

  “WE are going to Sylvan, and it’s near Paris, about 430 miles from here and near Hugo, Oklahoma. I’m selling some land, and I need to sign the closing papers.” Tom made it clear that Micah was going.

  “Okay, WE are going. You have land all over the place. Why are you selling it?”

  “It was my mother’s land. Her family settled in that area in the 1850s. It’s just too far away for me to manage it, and too small a parcel to make it economical. My cousin has been living on it, but he left and now it’s just setting vacant. It’s a little painful to sell, I spent some good times there when I was young and visiting my grandparents.” Tom looked very sad as he spoke about the land. “Dane will stay here and take care of the animals. We’ll be back late Friday or Saturday. Tandy can come if he wants.”

  “Sure,” Tandy yelled as he went out the door to go home and grab some clothes and get his mom’s permission.

  Tom pulled the steaks out of the broiler and put them on plates. Micah started eating not waiting for Tandy’s return. “I spoke to Dr. Reeves today.” Micah heard the old man but did not respond. “Your sugar level is too low. He asked about your diet. He says you need to start eating more fruits and vegetables—your diet doesn’t support your activity level. Do you feel weak or dizzy?” The boy shook his head no. “He said that low blood sugar could trigger some of your seizures.”

  Tom opened a crisper and pulled out an apple and a banana. “He said you needed to eat fruit every day. He also wants you to see a nutritionist. Will you do that for me?”

  Micah put down his knife and fork. “Of course I will do that for you. I don’t want to get sick again. You think I wouldn’t do it?”

  “Sometimes I don’t know what to think. You can be pretty moody and argumentative.”

  “I don’t mean to be your frustration. I’m trying to be more cooperative.” Micah was pained that he caused Mr. Dorsey to fear. Fear, that is how he read the old man’s emotions, but he also recognized that it was also a signal of Tom’s love.

  The trio pulled away from the Dorsey farm at 4:00 the next morning, and by 3:00 that afternoon the boys were roaming around an old farmhouse in East Texas, about as far east as you could go and still be in the Lone Star State. The countryside reminded Micah of the area around Anadarko, low rolling hills, humid, but with many more trees. The house resembled the old homestead back in Seneca only quite a bit smaller. The barn was about to fall down, and the house was almost hidden by wild grass and weeds. If not for the giant oak tree in the front yard, a person might miss the house altogether.

  The first thing the boys did was open windows to let the bad air out and let some fresh air in. Out the east window was a large stone foundation and across the street was another rocky foundation double the size of the one to the east. A big gray and white cat watched the boys from below the window. Its coat gleamed with health, and the feline was far from skinny. “Meow,” the cat said just before it jumped up to the windowsill to sit next to the boys as they looked around and talked. As Micah and Tandy moved away, the cat followed.

  They retreated back to the front porch to wave at Tom as he drove away to sign the papers, fetch dinner, and return. The boys returned to the parlor and sat on an old Victorian era couch. The cat jumped onto Micah’s lap and started purring; the boy felt compelled to pet the animal though his eyes instantly started swelling, and he began sneezing uncontrollably. He had to go outside for relief from the cat dander.

  After a while, the critter took off toward the old barn, and Micah was able to return to the parlor. He and Tandy did not talk, they were both tired from the long trip, and they started dozing off when something woke them with a startle: talking coming from the east window where the old foundation was located. It was a man and woman speaking, and once in a while there would be the sound of weeping. The words were indistinct and slurred. Micah followed the sound and looked out of the window. The conversation continued though no one was there. Micah motioned for Tandy to come over. “Do you here that?”

  Tandy shook his head yes. “Where are they?”

  Micah led the way to the front porch and pointed for Tandy to go around the house in one direction, and he would go the opposite way, then they would meet at the east foundation and perhaps have the mystery solved. They quietly reconnoitered but found only each other, yet the indecipherable dialogue continued.

  They sat on the stone surface, each closing his eyes, each putting their hands flatly on the old rocky flooring. The words continued but remained indistinct, but Micah sensed boredom, heartbreak, frustration and futility. He stood with eyes open but unseeing as he walked across the old foundation, traversing it several times and stopping on the opposite end from where he started. He looked down at a well-tended flower bed of irises in bloom; their delicately painted purple, yellow and maroon blossoms sent-out a sweet honey like fragrance. Next to the house, red cannas reached upward, higher than the windowsill, and toward the road, the deep green of lilac bushes punctuated with clumps of lavender flowerets added additional decoration to the garden. The drainage ditch along the road was engorged with the orange flowers of a thousand daylilies.

  “What are you boys doing here?” The voice was deep and a little threatening. Micah turned toward the speaker. An ancient black man with a cane stood at the east front corner of the house: his skin the color of midnight, his hair more silver than a half-dollar, and his clothes looked expensive and tailor-made. “Well, you gonna answer or do I need to come and give you a good whacking with my old stick?” He was waving the cane around.

  Micah grinned while Tandy was getting ready to take-off running. “We’re supposed to be here. This is Tom Dorsey’s land.”

  “In one hour it won’t be, it will be my grandson’s house, and I’ll be living here as the master of this land. What do you say to that?” The black man sounded more aggressive than he looked.

  “I say congratulations,” and Micah moved toward the elderly man with his arm outstretched and ready for a handshake.

  The man laughed. “Thankee, I am Mr. Bobo, and you can call me Mr. Bobo.”

  Micah couldn’t stop grinning, and when Tandy saw Micah’s expression, he calmed down a little but was still on the defensive. “You did this garden?” Micah asked. “It is very beautiful.”

  The old man sat on the foundation and motioned for the boys to join him. “I did this garden as a memorial to all of my family who died here. This is where I was born, know that? Yeap, in 1873 after the war and now my family owns it. Unbelievable ain’t it.”

  Micah saw how proud the man was, and that made him feel good also. “So you knew Mr. Dorsey’s grandparents?”

  “I knew his great grandparents even. This foundation and that one over there were the slave quarters before the war, and after we were freed by Abe Lincoln, most of the slaves stayed because what else could they do. But eventually, they all left, and by the 1920s, all the Negros was gone. I never worked on the farm. I got the hell out of here as fast as I could. I went to school, to college. And I opened a jewelry store in town and made a lot of money. I offered to buy this land a couple of times, but they wouldn’t sale it until now. My son bought it for me so I can listen to my people talk. And one day soon, I’ll be chatting with them myself.”

  “You can hear them, too?” Micah asked. “So can me and Tandy, but we don’t understand them.”

  Mr. Bobo looked at the boys.
“Are you tellin’ the truth? You are, aren’t you?

  “Yes sir.”

  “But you don’t know what they’re saying?” The old black man sounded doubtful.

  “No, but I can feel their hopelessness and sadness.”

  Mr. Bobo held Micah’s hand as he spoke. “The slave owner back then was not a bad man; in fact he treated the slaves well and was respected by them. But knowing that you’re owned, that you are nothing more than a piece of furniture to be sold and traded, well that does something to the soul.” Mourning was painted across the old man’s face.

  “Let’s get some water,” Micah led the man to the kitchen, and he started opening cabinets looking for some glasses while Mr. Bobo sat in a chair.

  “You know when Mr. Dorsey’s grand pappy was alive and living here, I was not allowed to come through the front door. I remember coming to visit the garden, and it was a hot, hot day and I was feeling sickly. The grandma saw me and told me to come in for some lemonade. I came through the living room and took this very same seat. Then her husband, the grand pappy, came in and started yelling and almost threw me out the back door and told me never to enter his house again through the front. ‘What if someone saw a nigger come in to my home?’ He screamed at his wife.”

  “Did I deserve that? But you know what’s funny? I was a successful businessman with a bigger bank account than most men in Lamar County. But a slave is always a slave to some people.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Bobo. Tom Dorsey would never do that to anyone.” Micah did not feel that he needed to defend Tom, but he also could not remain quiet.

  Mr. Bobo got up and walked through the backdoor. The boys followed him, and when he reached the end of the old slave quarters he turned, faced Micah and Tandy, and started screaming. “’The sins of the father will be visited upon his grandsons,’ I hear say.” He paused for only an instant. Micah looked at the old black man, and the air around him was angry, beyond anger—murderous. “This is my property, get out of here and don’t come back. I don’t want your kind around,” and he reached down and picked up a clod of earth and feebly tossed it at boys.

  Micah likewise became enraged, and he reached down and picked up a stone the size of a quarter and raised his hand to fling it in retribution; but Tandy grabbed his arm, stopping him from hurling it. “No!” Tandy yelled. “He’s just a crazy old man. Don’t hurt him.”

  Micah felt ashamed at himself for losing control, but he said nothing, only watched as the black man scurried out of his throwing range as fast as he was able. “Sorry, I don’t understand why he attacked us like that, to violate us for no reason.”

  Micah was quiet as he pondered what had happened until he came to a conclusion. “He is living in the past, he can’t let it go,” he spoke to Tandy. Micah had reconnected with Mr. Bobo intentionally in order to understand his bitterness. “In his mind, he was a slave and can’t shake off his history. His anger has latched onto his perceptions of the past, and in his soul the past continues to live. You and I concentrated his fury.”

  “Why us, what did we do?” Tandy was confused.

  “He assumes we are part of Tom’s family; or maybe just because we’re not black. When I defended Mr. Dorsey, it broke his calm and sent him over the edge. In his insanity, he believes that nothing good can ever come from the family that made slaves of his ancestors.”

  The psychic contact made Micah ill, and he laid back on the stone surface, his face pale, his stomach tied into knots. He started his meditative breathing which soon dissipated his sickness bringing him back to wellness. Standing, he wandered into the center of the iris bed and seated himself on a rotted log and inhaled the sweet aromas of the flowers and the grassy scents of the wheat and alfalfa fields that surrounded the old farmhouse. That is where he stayed until Mr. Dorsey roused him from his musings.

  Chapter 20: Clan-Home

  He rummaged through the large antique desk looking for something, anything that would provide the needed information. Micah was tired of waiting, tired of putting his faith in the sheriff’s department or his hope that the whole situation would vanish. Tom Dorsey said that the deputies did get back with him; they had spoken to Harry in New Orleans where he said he’d been since leaving Amarillo in April. Harry was a liar and the deputies were too dumb or too lazy to do anything about it. The man had two days, plenty of time to drive from Amarillo back to New Orleans after the banging incident at the barn. The one thing that Micah relished, the foreman’s ride to Louisiana had to be a bitch with the flesh wound to his ass, and he smiled at this.

  Dane watched his friend go through Mr. Dorsey’s desk, aware of Micah’s anger and cognizant that his story of the drunken Harry was incomplete. He sort of knew what had happened but refused to discuss it with anyone because of its implications. Micah was capable of some very dark actions, something no one would expect of a boy who was naturally quiet and introspective. But he had evolved; they all had, and these soul-changes were not quite as noticeable as their physical changes. Their whole group dynamic coalesced around something arcane and monumental, not second sight but something a little more cunning, a little less obvious. It was not just the empathic abilities, but something else, something as undefinable as the Elders in which they worshipped.

  While Micah and Cory were the masters, Tandy and Dane could intuit hidden and secret things just as well. Dane was not upset or frightened at this. Rather, he was exhilarated but cautious. Micah wasn’t cautious, quite the opposite. He reveled in his talents. His near death experience seemed to birth him into a more aggressive being, unafraid most of the time. Yet Dane could see the youngster in him pop out now-and-then, and when that happened, Micah’s hidden child was terrified.

  Files were flying out of the desk drawers because Micah had to find the information before Tom returned from the store. They had arrived from Sylvan in the early afternoon. Dane greeted them as they pulled into the gravel drive. Tandy headed home, and Dane finished herding the horses into the stable. As soon as Tom drove away, Micah went into the office to start the search; he was in hyper-mode. He was turning page after page at lightning speed then stopped, grabbed a pen and tablet and started writing. He replaced the files and the two boys left the house. “Let’s go riding.” This was more of an order than a suggestion, and Micah bridled Styx and then waited on Dane to finish saddling Jax.

  Micah definitely had a destination as they rode along Hillcrest Drive but he was not sharing it. Once past the creek, they went cross country toward the Krigsman house on Bluebonnet. They stopped at the small barn where Drack was housed. Haze ran into the yard to greet the boys, who hopped the fence and started running and chasing after the coyote. After a few minutes of play, Dane fed Drack while Micah took care of Haze.

  “Follow me,” Micah said, and they left their horses and walked along the fence line to a squat pink stucco house that sat three doors down from Cory’s. The stucco was cracked, and there were large sections where the mortar was missing altogether exposing the wire mesh. Large elm trees encircled the property. There was no grass, no flowers or bushes. The building had a flat roof. An old washing machine decorated the back porch along with a month’s worth of garbage, and several rusty cars were aligned against the chain link fence, one of which pushed against a post upending it.

  “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Micah vaulted over the downed fence and sprinted around to the front yard. After a couple of minutes, he returned. “No one’s home, come-on,” he shouted as he walked to the back deck. Dane stayed-put but watched his friend try the door which opened. Micah did not enter but turned and inspected an outbuilding next to where Dane stood.

  “Okay, what in the hell are you doing. You want to get arrested for burglary or something?” Dane had grave misgivings about his buddy’s behavior.

  “This is where Harry’s family lives. Now I understand why he took off toward the creek when I nicked him,” Micah spoke without thinking, but Dane apparently had already deduced
that there was more to the gunshot story other than frightening a drunk. A truck pulled up and the two boys took off.

  “If he’s going to follow me, I’m gonna follow him. If he’s not around now, he will be. He hates Mr. Dorsey, and he hates me more. I’m going to get this finished one way or another.” Micah’s stance was rigid and hard; he stared into oblivion as he spoke, succumbing for an instant to his anger and loathing.

  Micah released Haze. The two riders mounted their horses and rode back the way they had come followed by the coyote. Mr. Dorsey was home. “We’re riding to the river, so we’ll be gone a couple of days.”

  Tom considered the information. It was not a request for permission. It was a statement of fact. Micah was always determined and headstrong, and as time passed, he became more so. He certainly was not the shy boy he met a year earlier but had grown into someone else; however, so had the other three ‘cowboys.’ The elderly man thought he should feel some kind of affront by the boy’s language and demeanor, but he wasn’t; pleased was a better description. Deep inside he knew that something was going on, a life-and-death fight that Micah was preparing himself for. Unfortunately, he was also preparing the people he loved for his potential loss; the thought of that possibility was crippling.

  “Since you’re asking, you have my permission. Just be safe and careful. I’ll come looking for you if you’re not home Sunday evening. Any particular place you heading?” Tom wanted to grab the boy and tie him up, to put him away in a closet where he would be safe from harm. Confining him would be like killing him, though, and he couldn’t do that.

  “Clan-Home,” he stated as if that were a well-known locale. “We’re headed to the place of the Antelope People,” he responded. Micah had never been there but had pictured it in his mind and through his dreams since a toddler; and he knew exactly where it was, like he pulled the knowledge from an ever-present Oversoul.

  Tom Dorsey and Micah stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity, and Micah surrendered to his fears for a moment, latching onto the old man. Tom hugged him tightly and tenderly; he wanted to say something but words failed him. All he could do was gently tap the boy’s forehead with his lips. The old man felt the same dread and remorse he experienced in the barn on that chilly day last December, the day that Micah was taken to the hospital where he started convulsing, when his heart stopped, when it seemed that the world had suddenly ended.