“Mine’s Lucky,” Emerson Bridge told him. “I mean that’s his name, Lucky.”
The boys giggled.
Then something spilled forth from LC. He threw his arms around Mrs. Creamer, who hugged him back just as hard. She didn’t smell like his mother’s peppermints.
Then he took off running home. He ran among the late autumn colors, the oranges and yellows and reds of the leaves, and it occurred to him that, just before their death, they become their most bold.
…..
“It’s dumbfounding, actually,” Merritt told Luther as they stood outside Luther’s lot where his boy’s steer was eating a bale of hay.
Luther had had Uncle place the bale against the far fence, the best spot to show off the steer’s growing body. “Yeah, dumbfounding,” Luther said and admired the weight gain on the steer, which he figured was close to seventy pounds since Merritt had seen him the month before. Luther had been imagining that the county agent would say, “Now, there’s the one to beat,” but he would take “dumbfounding.” And he had done it without Charles.
“Yeah,” Merritt said, “I never thought it’d be possible with their inferior conditions to put meat on that steer’s frame. But, God help them, they’re doing it.”
Luther wanted to hit him. Merritt was talking about that Creamer boy’s steer.
“Like I’ve said, he’s got the right frame for feeding out. Just a matter of getting it on him.”
“They poor as mud,” Luther said. “You know they can’t afford to keep it up. And he’s not even on full feed yet.”
“Full feed is next month.” Merritt now was walking towards his truck. “Better get on to the next boy.”
“What you mean get on? You ain’t gotten to mine yet.” Luther looked for LC. “Hey, boy!” LC was supposed to stay out there with him after he’d helped Uncle run the hammer mill early that morning, but he was nowhere in sight.
Merritt opened his truck door. “There’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t know, Luther.”
“Hey, boy! Get yourself out here. Mr. Merritt wants to brag on your steer!”
Merritt slammed his door shut and cranked up.
Luther held up his arm to signal for the man to wait, but he pulled away. But not Merritt’s words. They stayed behind with Luther. There’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t know. Merritt thought Luther was smart. He wished his boy had been there to hear that.
“LC!” Luther hollered again. His boy had been minding him. This wasn’t like him.
Luther picked up a stick and began whipping it in the air above him, moving it in a circle like buzzards when they find something dead.
LC came from behind the barn. He came in a slow walk.
“On the double!” Luther called out, but the boy kept the same pace. Luther went towards him, swirling the stick and slapped it against the boy’s arm. “I called for you, and you didn’t come. You know how that makes me look? Like I’m a nobody. Is that what you think I am?” Luther hit LC again.
“No, sir,” his boy said.
Luther noticed LC’s shirt was wet. “What you doing back there?”
“Washing that automobile.”
“That Creamer woman’s?” Luther shoved the boy’s shoulder.
“It was dirty.”
Luther brought his hand up to the boy’s face. “You touch that thing again or don’t come when I call you, and I’ll knock you to kingdom come. I’d do it now, but you got a show to win in five short months, and I don’t need you to be recovering from nothing.”
His boy’s lip was quivering. That made him even more mad. He balled his fist up.
But then it came to him that this was good. Luther had broken him. Now he could begin to work with him. “You ain’t started trying to put a halter on it yet, have you?”
“Mr. Merritt hasn’t—” the boy tried to say.
“Mr. Merritt nothing. I’m the one that knows how to build a champion. He said so himself just then. You missed it by not being here. Now go start getting a halter on him, for God’s sake.”
LC ran towards the barn. Luther walked to the automobile. The top and back half carried a high shine. He gave the back panel a good kick. If he had a hammer and nails, he’d slam them in and imagine they were slamming into that steer. It needed to die.
…..
“I’ve come back to ask you to hire me on as your hired hand on the mighty Dobbins cattle ranch.” It was Mr. Thrasher. He’d come to see Luther the day before, and Luther had run him off.
But this day Luther wouldn’t do that. He didn’t need a hired hand, but he sure could use a hired mouth. Luther had just come from cranking the woman’s automobile, letting all the gasoline run out. A brilliant move, he was thinking. The sound of the engine would drown out Luther’s words and keep his boy, who was standing thirty feet away with his steer, from hearing.
“This is your lucky day,” Luther told Thrasher.
The man jumped into the air.
“But you got to keep it quiet,” Luther leaned in and whispered. “There’s another fellow who’s been wanting the job. Not nearly as strong as you. Don’t want to disappoint him, if word gets out.”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t want that, either. When do I start? Today?”
“No.” Luther’s voice was loud now. Merritt made his visits on Saturdays, so the next work day after that would be Monday. He started to say only the Monday after Merritt’s monthly visits, but that would be too obvious. “Just need you on Mondays. Report at 8 A.M.”
“Yes, sir. Mondays. Got it, Mr. Boss Man.”
“Don’t mean to rush off,” Luther said and made a couple of steps but made sure his words were not rushed. “I need to go pick up my boy’s mixed grain feed at the FCX.” Luther was certain Thrasher didn’t have enough sense to know that Luther ground his own feed and had no need to buy it. “Got to hurry before they close at noon and get a heap of bags of it. Time for full feed, you know. But I’m sure you’re already on top of that, being the cattleman that you are.” Luther studied him hard for any sign that he’d heard the words Luther had planted on purpose.
Thrasher adjusted his hat. “Yeah, I’m on top of it, all right.”
“On top of what?” Luther quizzed him.
“On top of the feed.”
“What kind of feed?”
“Full feed.”
Luther realized he might be smiling too much. He made himself pull back a bit.
The man leaned in and said, “You really think I’m a cattleman?”
“Think it? I know it.”
What little chest the man had swelled out, and he began working his mouth such that a big spot of white bubbles landed beside Luther’s boot.
Luther could do better than that. He gathered as much saliva as his mouth could hold and sent it forward in a straight shot like a bullet. It overshot the man’s.
If only his boy had been there to see it.
…..
Ike Thrasher stopped by the FCX and looked for his boss man’s truck but did not see it.
“Hello there, Mr. Allgood,” Ike said to the young man behind the counter. “I need the back of my cattleman’s truck out there filled with as many bags as you can of y’all’s mixed grain.”
“This is for the Creamer account, Route 2, right?” the man asked.
“One and the same,” Ike told him and used his deepest voice.
“That account is closed. Pop says it’s got to be paid down before I can put any more purchases on it. Y’all still owe $20.50.”
Ike had gone by the bank the afternoon before and withdrawn a twenty dollar bill to buy the boy his own Rider shirt and jeans, which he had surprised the boy with earlier that morning. The two of them were going to the State Theatre to see Roy Rogers’s new movie, South of Caliente. This would be their first cowboy picture together and the first meeting of the Roy Rogers Riders Club. The outfit had cost most of five dollars. Ike would need a dollar for the picture show and refreshments, which left him with $14
.02. Mr. Dobbins had not discussed his pay, but Ike was sure it would be quite hefty, given his new boss man’s stature in Anderson County, the beef capital of South Carolina. Ike took his billfold from his back jeans pocket and took the ten and four ones and from his front pocket, the two pennies and put the money on the counter. “This is all I have.”
The man adjusted his glasses and spoke in a soft voice, “Forgive me here, but in full swing, it’s going to cost y’all upwards of $70 a month to feed your steer, what with the mixed grain, linseed meal for sheen, and bales of hay.”
“Don’t you worry none, I’m Lu—,” Ike started, but he told himself a promise is a promise. “I’m lucky. Real lucky and you’ll have your money.”
Mr. Allgood looked around like he was trying to spot something, then took a fifty-cent piece from his pants pocket and his own billfold from his back pocket and laid the coin, a five and a one alongside Ike’s money.
Ike could feel little shakes breaking out all over his body and wondered if this is how his parishioners had felt when they talked of the Holy Spirit visiting them, an experience Ike had never known. He had always told them, “That’s our Lord saying ‘I’m right there with you.’” Ike told himself those words now. The acts of kindness that day came before him, getting hired on with Mr. Dobbins and Mr. Dobbins giving him the knowledge about full feed and now Mr. Allgood’s assistance. “I want to thank you, kind sir,” Ike told the man and tipped his hat towards him.
Mr. Allgood told Ike to pull around back for the feed and then added, “How’s that mama cow doing?”
Ike wondered how he knew. Maybe the Creamer ranch was becoming the talk. “Doing good,” he said. “Real good.”
Before Ike turned into the Creamer driveway that morning, he stopped in the road just out from his father’s place and stretched across the seat and hollered, “Almost, Daddy. Almost. I’m a hired man now on a real cattle ranch.” And then he imagined the steering wheel as reins and turned up the drive and found Emerson Bridge ready in his Roy Rogers outfit by the side porch.
“Howdy, partner!” Ike told him when the boy climbed into the truck.
“Look, Mr. Ike.” The boy held up both hands.”Got my Roy Rogers Riders Club pin and card in the mail with that dime you gave me.” He sported a smile as big as the western sky.
“Swell! You’re a real cowboy now.”
“And I’ve already memorized the Roy Rogers Riders Rules. But I got a favorite.” He closed his eyes like he was concentrating hard. “Be kind to animals and care for them,” he said, giving each word its own space. Ike thought the boy could be a preacher one day, if he wanted to.
Ike’s belly flipped just thinking about the surprise that was waiting for Emerson Bridge. When a new boy joined the Roy Rogers Riders Club, the owner, Mr. Sanders, called the boy up on the stage and put the pin on the boy’s shirt. Ike was itching to tell him, but he made himself wait.
Instead, he motioned with his head towards the back of the truck. “Hey, look at the grub we got for our herd.”
The boy followed his lead. Ike leaned over and whispered, “I’ve got some secret inside knowledge that we need to go ahead and get our Mr. Lucky started on what’s known as full feed.”
The boy smiled and brought his hands up to his mouth like he couldn’t believe it. Ike wanted to keep going and tell him the rest of his good news. He even felt his lips quivering like they were Trigger, ready to get going. But he pulled back on his reins and stayed quiet and spun the truck around in the yard and shouted, “Come on, Trigger! Take us away!”
Emerson Bridge giggled, and he giggled loud. This pleased Ike more than he ever imagined. What a day this was. He wished he could turn a big mason jar upside down on it and capture it like he used to capture butterflies when he was a boy, pretty ones with brilliant colors of blue, especially.
…..
As soon as Emerson Bridge left with Mr. Thrasher, Sarah drove to see Mrs. Dobbins. For almost twenty-four hours now, all Sarah could think about was her name. She needed to finish the dress she was making, but she also needed to know who Sarah was in the Bible, and the only person she knew to ask was Mrs. Dobbins.
Sarah parked and hurried to the front door and knocked.
When Mrs. Dobbins answered, Sarah told her, “I don’t mean to barge in, but I know you to be a good Christian woman, and I was wondering if you know who that woman Sarah was in the Bible? Her heart, I mean, what kind of heart she had.” Sarah had left her manners at home. She’d not even said hello. “And I meant to say, Hello, Mrs. Dobbins.”
“Why, hello back, Mrs. Creamer. Please come in.”
They sat on Mrs. Dobbins’s couch, surrounded by the smell of something fried and corn and biscuits. Mrs. Dobbins had skipped a buttonhole at the top of her dress, making some of the material billow like a sheet on the clothesline when the wind gets up.
“Why, dear, I’d say Sarah had a generous heart.”
Sarah fixed on the woman’s words like an iron to a garment.
“Because she put up with a lot.” Mrs. Dobbins took her Retonga from her apron and held it in plain sight. “The first thing Sarah had to put up with was being called her husband’s sister. Sarah was so beautiful that her husband, Abraham, feared he’d be killed because all the men would want her.” Mrs. Dobbins took a big swallow.
Sarah knew she couldn’t claim beauty. In fact, most people would say she was ugly. Her mother didn’t give her that name on purpose. She knew this now. She’d wasted Mrs. Dobbins’s time. Sarah moved to stand, but Mrs. Dobbins pulled her back. “But the biggest thing was Sarah was barren and Abraham wanted a baby, so she offered up her girl servant to her own husband for the girl to conceive and give her husband a child.”
Sarah leaned back on the couch.
“But then Sarah regretted doing that and became angry at the girl and banished her from the house. Then God told Sarah she would conceive, but she didn’t believe it, because she was ninety years old and her husband was one hundred.” Mrs. Dobbins turned her bottle up to her mouth.
“So Sarah had a child?” Sarah brought her body forward.
“A son, Isaac.”
Sarah felt a warm flush move all through. She had heard of people wanting something so much, they called it into being. She wondered if she had called Emerson Bridge into being.
Mrs. Dobbins was tapping Sarah’s arm now and holding out the bottle.
But Sarah did not take it. All she wanted to do was thank her mother. Sarah had sent her a letter soon after Emerson Bridge was born, but it went unanswered. She had never tried to telephone her and didn’t know if her mother even had one. “I know it’s long distance and that costs good money, but is there any way I could ask you if I can try to call my mama?”
Mrs. Dobbins rose immediately and went to the hallway, to the telephone. Sarah gave her mother’s name and address, and the operator got Sarah’s mother on the telephone. This was a miracle. Sarah held onto the receiver with both hands.
“Hello, hello,” she could hear her mother in there saying.
“Mama, it’s your girl, Sarah.”
“Ain’t got no girl,” her mother said. “She up and left me.”
“You do, Mama, me. You know I got married.”
“I know she up and left me, almost fifteen years ago to the day.”
“I sent you a letter, Mama. In June of 19 and 44.”
“Then you sent it to a wrong address.”
“It never came back to me, Mama.”
Mrs. Dobbins stood beside Sarah and held onto the spindles in the staircase.
Sarah backed up to the wall and took a deep breath. “I was calling to thank you for giving me a Bible name.”
“Bible name? I didn’t pull from no Bible.”
“Sarah, Mama. Sarah’s from the Bible. Abraham’s wife. Had a boy named Isaac. You know Sarah.” She wished she was in private. She put her back to Mrs. Dobbins.
“What about them other names, then? That Clementine Florence Augusta I give you. You
seen them in there?”
Sarah swallowed. “No, ma’am.”
“I just pulled them out of the air. Sarah don’t mean nothing. None of them do.”
Sarah let her arm holding the receiver fall down her body. She let go of it. It hit the floor. Her mother was still talking, her voice faint, even scratchy like a radio station whose signal was fading.
Mrs. Dobbins picked up the receiver and slammed it back into the holder and opened her arms.
Sarah laid her head on the woman’s shoulder.
Mrs. Dobbins did not take her arms away.
Mrs. Dobbins told her, “My name’s Mildred.”
“Mine’s Sarah, but you already know that.”
“I do, and it’s from the Bible.”
My mama named me four girls’ names. She named me Clementine Florence Augusta Sarah. She said she did it, because she wanted to get rid of all the girls’ names that popped in her head. She didn’t want no girls, Mama Red. She wanted boys. Only boys. After my mama had me, she didn’t have no more babies. Said she was afraid she might have her another slittail. That’s what she called girls, slittails. I sure hate to say that word around you, girl. In y’all’s world, girls are thought a whole lot of, because they can grow up to be mamas, and that’s a good thing. Maybe the closest to my mama’s Jesus anybody could ever be.
The first time she called me that was about a month before I was to start to the first grade. It was the Sunday after that mama dog come and got took off. I was upstairs in my room, looking out my window towards my mama’s big church across the road. I was trying to spot me some children about my age, some I might be going to school with, maybe even one or two I might could make friends with. I didn’t have no friends.
I was waiting on my mama to call me to breakfast, but she never did that morning, so I went on down there myself. Mama and Papa were sitting at the eating table, her on one end and Papa on the other. I always sat in the middle, but that Sunday, there wasn’t no place set for me.
One Good Mama Bone Page 14
