The three looked up in wonder and eased up closer to the house from another century. From a small balcony on the second floor, shots exploded out, booming shotgun blasts. The three dove back into the wagon, out of sight as a shaky but loud voice came from the shooting location, “Get out! You don't belong here...don't make me shoot you.”
Jeff dug around in his shirt pocket for the letter. He waved it out like a white flag and shouted back at the balcony. “Please, I have a letter for Leona Bell LaSalle. We mean no harm.”
The voice came again from the balcony, no person was visible, “That means nothing, lots of folks wrote me letters here to the plantation and I wrote letters back. Who are you? Where did you find the letter?”
Jeff crawled out of the wagon and spoke, looking upwards, “My name is Jeff. I have my son and a friend, a woman with me. We are travelers. Sometimes people give me letters in the hope that I will find their family and can deliver them.” He held the letter up again, “I have had this letter for about two years. We were in Utah and met a man, a tall black man with gray hair. He drew a map on the back of the letter to the plantation and addressed the letter to Leona Bell LaSalle, Pecan Plantation.” He turned the letter to him and then continued, “The name Eugene is written in the return corner.”
Kevin kept the dog quiet but Jeff barely heard the voice drift down, “Eugene?”
“That's what it says,” said Jeff.
The voice, louder again said, “Come to the front door.” The father, son, woman and dog stood at the massive front doors for several minutes. Through the glass beside the door they could see the shadow of someone slowly making their way down sweeping stairs. Finally, the door opened just a crack and an elderly woman no taller than Kevin could be seen. She looked them over, Jeff held up the letter. She swung the weighty door open and said, “Come in, I do not mean to be rude. I am Leona Belle LaSalle.”
“Nice to meet you, mam. I am Jeff, this is my son Kevin and this is our friend, Emily.”
The small woman had a shotgun as big as herself at her side. Her gray hair was pulled neatly back in a bun and her skin, obviously a lovely mixture of races, was deeply lined. She was very old and moved not easily at all. She wore a starched cotton dress with a big white collar, a large and sparkling brooch was at the neck. It was a cavernous foyer and the ceiling towered above them to the second floor, all the once opulent fixtures and furnishings were blanketed in dust. She motioned for them to follow and at the second doorway, they entered a very large room that was obviously a library. On three sides, bookshelves to the ceiling were crowded with books, the third wall was covered with paintings and drawings surrounding a large fireplace. Chairs and a sofa clustered around a large low table in front of the fireplace. A few other chairs and side tables, with lamps that no longer glowed scattered around the room.
On the low table a large oil lantern was lit and she motioned for them to sit, tall windows let in the afternoon light. All the other windows that Jeff had noticed were covered with thick bolted wooden shutters on the inside. He handed the letter to the woman and they all sat down. She just fondled the letter for a moment, looked at every inch it seemed. Crooked fingers opened the letter and she read a one page message through small gold rimmed glasses. When she finished, she neatly put the letter back and though her eyes were moist, she sat up straight and inhaled a deep breath.
“Eugene is my brother. I hope that he was well, when you met him,” she said.
Jeff said, “Yes, he seemed healthy.”
This room was clean and neat, she gazed around the space and said, “You see, these are my letters, in the library files there.” Rows of the bookshelves were filled with leather bound files. “Communications from authors, artists, musicians and friends. These are my books and my art. I loved all of these things and this place was once lively and vital. All kinds of creative people were welcomed and some stayed for months, even years. My mother, the daughter of a servant, married the owner of the plantation. He loved her very much and he doted on me, their daughter. My brother was from an earlier marriage and was not the child of the owner. My father tried very hard to treat him as a son, but my brother never felt like he should be here. He left here as a teen, there was sporadic contact with me over the years. The plantation was left to me and a good inheritance was left to my brother. I married a very good man that did an excellent job of running the pecan business and the plantation. I was free to enjoy the culture and pursuits that I wished.”
She pushed herself up with a cane that rested beside her chair and painfully moved to a set of tall windows that looked out on the back of the house. Jeff followed and helped her open up the wooden shutters. Spreading out from under the trees were orchards of pecan trees, several small outbuildings and cottages dotted the property. Emily joined them at the window. Kevin was fascinated by the rows and rows of books and he tilted his head to the side to read the titles. Mrs. LaSalle continued, “My husband died about five years ago. For nearly ten years after the world changed, we survived quite well here on the plantation. Of course, we had help then. Most of the help had lived here and been with us for years, they were as old as the two of us.” She smiled and said, “I am alone now and the place is dying with me, it will become my tomb.” Catching the sad look on Emily's face, she patted her arm, “Oh, sweetie, don't be sad for me. This has been my heaven, I am thankful to end my days here.”
Emily helped the elderly lady prepare some supper from a pantry that still held lots of food. They ate at the big table in the library. It became apparent that the lady lived right here in her beloved library. An upholstered chaise lounge near the fireplace had blankets stacked on it and other personal items were in a large handmade basket. She told them that even though the house was covered in dust, they could just pick some rooms and spend the night.
The next day, they walked the orchards and gathered pecans from the ground. Pecans in the south, fall from the trees from October until January. Even though the Spring was quickly dissolving into Summer, there were plenty of pecans on the ground that were not rotted. Bell took great joy in showing them her art and her books. She picked up another large basket and told Kevin to pick some books from the shelves. She made some suggestions, such as, “Have you read this? Huckleberry Finn is a great book for a boy your age.”
Jeff and Emily perused the very eclectic collection of art that covered the one big wall. All kinds and manner of paintings and drawings were framed and hanging, abstracts to beautiful portraits and landscapes. Near the big fireplace, a painting that was only about 14”x20” was set in a nice ornate frame. Emily looked closer at the scene, it was a depiction of the house in it's graceful and beautiful days, with small figures gathering pecans in the far distance under the fruit trees. In the corner, LBL was in small script. Bell came up behind them, “You like that one?”
“It's beautiful. Did you paint this, Mrs. LaSalle?” said Emily.
“It's Bell,” she sat in her favorite chair, “You take that one.”
“Oh no, I couldn't do that,” argued Emily.
A weary grin creased the aging face, “Sure you could, honey. I have the house, I don't need the picture.”
The young woman reverently removed the painting from the wall, leaving a square of not faded wall where it had been. She leaned down and kissed the elderly lady on the forehead, “Thank you so much. I will treasure it.”
Early the next day, the wagon and travelers rolled back out of the tree lined entrance. They had books and the painting, pecans and other things that the aging woman had talked them into accepting. Mrs. LaSalle, Bell, had not really needed anything. However, Kevin was insistent that they would trade her something. He had dug around in every one of their bags and at last, he pulled out an old leather bound book. Detailed and softly colored illustrations graced many of the pages and some of the writing was in French. It was a lovely old book and she was very pleased. With God speed, the Pecan Plantation gradually disappeared behind them.
These �
��ships that pass in the night” encounters were interesting and an inevitable part of traveling in this After world. The leavings were not always easy. Emily found herself thinking about being alone again, about having to leave the father and son. She was certainly healed and nearly back to her old self. Nothing had been said about her going her own way. How long would they want her along? Perhaps if she made herself useful to them, they would want her to stay. What would make her a necessity instead of a burden, she was not sure. Those biscuits were not going to be enough, she thought.
***
The map showed a long narrow lake that stretched down the Louisiana and Texas border for sixty five miles. At the northern end where the river fed into the man made reservoir, a small town sat. A bridge would take you across the river, which was not very wide at that point, and into Texas. Jeff determined that they would travel back northwest from the plantation and cross the border at the river town. It would probably take them about three days.
Emily drove the donkeys and Jeff bumped along on the seat beside her. He looked over at her curls springing around and the pretty profile of her face which was nearly clear of any signs of bruising. The weather was getting warm now and she wore a sleeveless top, her lean arms handling the reins with competence. He wondered why he had not given a thought to her leaving them and striking out on her own. Now that the thought crossed his mind, he realized he did not like it. “So, you are feeling better these days?” he asked her.
The road stretched straight in front of them for as far as they could see, she rested her elbows on her knees and let the donkeys trek along. “Yes, I am feeling good, like my old self again,” she turned her head his way and smiled. Their eyes met for a moment and both looked away.
“Well, that's great to hear. You certainly look good,” he gazed at her this time without embarrassment. She didn't meet his gaze, but laughed a nervous giggle.
“I've been thinking, we've been mighty lucky since we left Arkansas, with food sources and not running into trouble,” continuing he said, “Food wise, I think we might ought to do a little hunting today, if we get a chance. You said that you were a hunter. We got a semi-automatic rifle from Caleb's trailer, would you be comfortable carrying that? Or, I have a couple of more rifles, not a 30/30 like you lost but you might like one of them.”
She said, “Caleb's rifle would be fine. I might need to do a bit of practicing to get familiar with it. I haven't hunted or used a gun for a while. I also probably need to check out and shoot my .38.” She looked a bit sheepish, “Guess I have just been depending on you to protect me...sorry.”
“No problem, honestly.” After a while, he said, “I have been traveling enough to know something else. There will be trouble, sometimes big and sometimes just an aggravation. The boy and I have crossed a lot of bridges, some person or group nearly always controls them. It's a place that people are vulnerable, need to have use of the cross over and somebody is damn sure going to take advantage of that. We've met folks that just want a toll, they take their fee and let you pass. We've also met greedy folks that would like to take everything you have and leave you dead.”
She looked over at him again, “You are concerned about the bridge that we will be reaching?”
“I've been giving it some thought.” he said.
“Well, Jeff, I am really not helpless. I made a mistake and got caught off guard. Trust me, I will never do that again. I am very capable of using a gun and I will be with you. I don't have the experience that you have, if you tell me what you think we should do to be prepared, I will do it.”
He felt a bit relieved, “That's good to know Emily. Later, we will do a bit of hunting and practice and we will discuss the plan for the bridge. Kevin is young but he is not helpless either and I always tell him of my intentions and include him in the strategy.”
When the travelers stopped for lunch and let the donkeys rest, they took an extra hour and Emily practiced and familiarized herself with Caleb's rifle. They then traveled about two more hours down the road and chose a thickly wooded area to camp, so they could do a little hunting before evening. Emily shot a squirrel and in no time had it cleaned. Supper was settled.
Around the fire, they talked about the plan for approaching the bridge. Would they secret the wagon away again? Would they all ride in the wagon and hope to get across? Would Jeff go alone at first and check out the situation? Who would go and who would stay? By bed time they had agreed and disagreed and discussed several options. The only decision that got made was to travel on another day, get closer to the bridge and look at their options again. The weather was nice and once again the father and son slept outside, Emily slept in the wagon.
The wagon was not clanging and clattering along, it was making a much diminished alarm as Jeff drove it through what was left of a small town and closer to the bridge. Like everywhere these days, old automobiles were scattered around. Some, parked in front of an old store or home, as if a driver dashed inside and would return. Thousands and thousands more, across the country had been pushed out of the way. They sat like beached whales that would never again swim down the oceans of American highways. Most of the bags and cases that always bounced around on the sides of the cart had been stowed away inside. It had been a time consuming job, a necessary part of their strategy. The flaps at both ends were down. The day before, two or three options of action had been decided on by the three travelers, each based on what the situation at the bridge might be. As the bridge came into clearer view, Jeff saw that gates made from corrugated metal and about four feet tall blocked the cross over on each side of the river. He could see two men with rifles on the far side of the river and two armed men on his side. When he had passed an old building in the town, two women, three children and an elderly man stood out front. They had not spoke, just watched him roll by.
Both men on the bridge wore dirty and raggedy denim overalls, faded to near white. They had long greasy hair, few teeth and one was barefoot. One of the men, rifle under his arm growled out, “Hey thar, plannin' on crossin the river?”
Jeff said, “Yes sir, what's your toll for crossing? I might have something you need.”
The man spat tobacco through the gap in his teeth and laughed, “Oh, I'd say you got lots of stuff that we need.” He looked over at the other man, “Ain't that right, Ned?” Ned stepped up next to the wagon and raised his rifle at Jeff's face. The other man moved to the back of the wagon and jerked the flaps up and back, all of the bags and cases of goods were piled high inside. “Hot dang!” said the man, he rummaged in the bags and dropped some behind him.
Kevin rose to his knees from under a blanket and leveled an AR rifle at the man. The man laughed again, turned and spat, whirled back around with his rifle leveled at the boy. Kevin fired and a bloody stain spread across the man's upper chest, he fell to the ground. At that time, Jeff eased his hand down in his boot, pulled up Emily's .38 and shot the man beside the wagon in his bare foot. He had heard a story about that one time and by god, it worked. The man squealed like a scalded dog and started hobbling back towards the town, one of the women ran towards him.
From a line of trees on the opposite side of the bridge, a dripping wet Emily emerged. She shot one of the men on her side of the river, in the arm, he started moving towards the Louisiana side. The second man was behind him, she pushed hard against the metal gates and they screeched open and one of them knocked the man off the bridge into the river. There was a loud splash and a second splash as a fat alligator slid into the water. The man swam vigorously, trying to reach the bank. Jeff jumped down from the wagon and opened the gates on his side. Kevin had tossed the bags from the ground back into the wagon and ran to the seat, he snapped the reins and yelled, “Go donkeys!” Jeff caught on and pulled himself up as the wagon passed him. The injured man squeezed by the moving cart, holding his arm. Kevin drove the wagon through the opened gates on the Texas side.
Emily pushed the gates closed, just as several bullets pinged off the metal barr
ier. She grabbed on to the back of the wagon and hoisted herself up and over, shouting to the father and son, “Go, go...I am in.”
Jeff lifted the front flap and looked back at the drenched woman, “Are you okay, are you hurt?”
Breathless, she said, “No, I'm good. Just keep moving.”
Kevin spurred the donkeys as fast as they could move for about three miles and they finally slowed and then pulled up. Emily had dug around, found a towel and was rubbing her hair with it, her curls kinking out in all directions. Before Jeff rolled the wagon into town, they had found an old wooden boat, a little up river and out of sight from the bridge, she had put her rifle over in the boat and swam across the river. On the Texas side, she moved through the trees to the bridge. She thought of the alligator just a short time before, she was glad she had made it across.
Jeff got down and watched behind them for a bit, no one seemed to be following. Kevin got the donkeys some water. He had put Girl in a soft canvas bag, afraid she would make a commotion and get hurt. He let the wild licking ball of fluff loose and gave her some water. Emily was crawling over the back of the wagon, Jeff reached up and grabbed her waist and lifted her down, water dribbled down his arms from her blouse.
No Normal Day IV (Travelers) Page 6
