Freedom's Light: Short Stories

by Brad R Torgersen

  “I know it’s only half past two, but since this day was extra special, I’m goin’ to dismiss the class early.” She smiled her pretty smile at us. “Matilda, you are to remain here with me until three o’clock. All other children—class dismissed.”

  We got our books and lunch pails and run out the door. All the way home, I wondered what was going to happen to Mattie.

  When I come in the back door, Clydie was a-crawling across the kitchen floor right toward the woodstove, with Mom a-hollering for her to stop.

  “Clydie! Why, you’ll scare a body to death.” She caught the baby up in her arms. “Adela, take this young’un out on the porch and rock her to sleep,” she cried. “She’s a-goin’ to hurt herself. She’s so smart that she won’t stop lookin’ for trouble.”

  “Don’t cry, Mom.” I took my sister. “You rest a minute. After she’s asleep I’ll come back and help you.”

  “Thank you, honey. I was afeared she’d burn herself.”

  Clydie loved to be rocked, and a little while later she was fast asleep. After laying her in her white-painted crib, I put on my calico housedress and a pinafore. This was my last year wearing pinafores. Mom had promised that when I turned thirteen, I could leave them off for school and wear aprons at home.

  At the supper table, I told all that had happened at school. Daddy shook his head, and Mom didn’t say one word.

  “Daddy, why wouldn’t Mattie’s granddaddy want her to learn? Besides, we already know all there is to know about the War Between the States, to hear some grown folks tell it.” I took a bite of cornbread.

  “Now don’t be sassy, Adela. Them’s your elders and if anyone’s a-visitin’ and wants to talk about the War, we must be hospitable.”

  “I know,” I replied. “But that don’t explain why Mr. Jackson don’t want us kids to learn.”

  Daddy sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s because of what happened to him. Do you want me to tell you?”

  “I reckon. But Mr. Jackson couldn’t have fought in the war, could he? Is he that old?”

  “I believe I heard he’s about seventy-two, but that don’t mean nothing. Boys run off from home to fight for both North and South, and some of ‘em weren’t but twelve or thirteen. Why, Mr. Linch from church fought for the Confederacy, and he was born in 1850.”

  Mom nodded. “My own granddaddy fought for the Confederacy. He was older when he went to the war, but if he weren’t killed at Gettysburg, I expect he’d be with us today.”

  I thought on all of this as I ate my dish of tomatoes, and then asked Daddy to tell me the story. Here’s what happened.

  When Mr. Jackson was a boy, he lived in a cabin in the hills of Watauga County, some miles north of Boone. At the end of the war, right around the time General Lee surrendered, Stoneman’s Yankee Cavalry come over the Tennessee line. And somehow, a Yankee—Daddy said it was a deserter—come upon the Jackson farm, and almost assaulted Old Mr. Jackson’s momma.

  Mattie’s granddaddy’s given name was Perry, and he was only thirteen that day. His own daddy had been missing for two years, having last written from somewhere in Virginia. Perry was the oldest of four children. He and his momma struggled to keep the farm going, so they could eat.

  Perry was coming in from planting when he saw a strange horse tied to the post. Everything was quiet as he snuck up and looked in the window. His brother and sisters were sitting by the fire, crying, so he went around to the back. His momma’s bedroom had a little window, and when he looked in, the Yankee was a-pointing his pistol at Perry’s momma, looking to have his way with her.

  So Perry, he pulled his own pistol. He run through the front of the cabin into the bedroom and emptied his gun into the Yankee. His momma was saved, but before he fell, the Yankee got off a shot. The bullet hit Perry just above the knee, and lodged deep in the muscle.

  The young’uns were told to climb up to the loft and stay away from the window, while Perry, his leg wrapped in a sheet, went with his momma. They drove the horse away into the woods and drug the Yankee two miles to bury him.

  When he come home, Perry was running a fever, so his momma got on their mule and rode through the night to Boone, all the while worrying about Yankees. But by the time she got there they were gone, and she persuaded a young doctor to follow her back to treat Perry.

  Well, the doctor removed the bullet, but Perry’s fever never left him. And back in those days, doctors didn’t take any chances. That doctor stayed in the cabin for three days, until red streaks began crawling up Perry’s leg from the wound. Then, he amputated it. Perry’s poor momma had to help the doctor saw off her own boy’s leg, and according to talk, she was never the same.

  Perry recovered. He whittled himself a wooden leg, and by the time his daddy come home in the fall, he was back to working like normal. But it was said that ever since, he had hated the Yankees. And he hated colored people too, because he blamed them for the war.

  When Daddy was finished, I almost cried. I declared that I felt sorry for Mr. Jackson, having been done that way by the Yankees.

  “Why, he was the same age as Worth,” I said mournfully.

  Suddenly Mom was standing next to her chair, shaking her finger at Daddy and shouting: “Why are you fillin’ the child’s head with such a tale? Never mind what happened to Perry Jackson as a boy. He grew up mean as a spittin’ rattler, and I won’t hear his name spoken no more.”

  She ran off to her bedroom and slammed the door.

  I hunched over in shame, thinking I had made her cry. Clydie’s face was all covered with applesauce, so I went to the sink and pumped some water.

  “Daddy, I’m sorry,” I whispered as I washed the baby’s face.

  “Hit ain’t your fault. Just don’t mention that man again while your momma’s in the room.”

  “Why? Mom don’t know the family, does she?”

  “I cain’t say. You’re too young to hear it. But don’t mention Mr. Jackson again, unless you’re a-talkin’ to me.”

  “I won’t. But can I ask you something? Why... why do people still blame colored folks for that war to this day?”

  “I don’t believe everybody does blame them.”

  “But when we go to town, I see the signs. They all say only white people can eat, or go to the store or the bank. And the colored folks, they don’t walk on the main streets. They’re always over the railroad tracks, walkin’ like they don’t want to be seen.”

  “Adela. You’re a good girl, and smart. But that’s the way things is around here. Do you know there’s some folks that would be angry at you for not callin’ colored people nigras? Why, I’m tellin’ you, some old timers would take offense.

  “As a lawman, I have to do my job. Your momma and I don’t want you to act ugly, or call the colored folks names. Still, we need to be careful about what we say. So don’t speak of this no more. You’ll come to understand it when you’re older. Now please take the baby while I talk to your momma.”

  I nodded and took Clydie from the chair. After she was dressed in her nightgown, I read her some rhymes from the Mother Goose book, until Mom come out of the bedroom.

  “Why Clydie, are you a-listenin’ to Mary had a little lamb?” She smiled. “Thank you, Adela. Why don’t you put Clydie to bed, and run out to the yard? There’s lightnin’ bugs for you to catch.”

  Around midnight I woke up needing to go to the privy. I wasn’t allowed to walk out alone at night, so I kept a pot under my bed for cases of emergency. As I reached to get it, I thought the noise might wake Clydie, and I didn’t want her to bother Mom. So I snuck through the house to the back anteroom, leaving the pot there to dump in the morning.

  As I was tiptoeing back past Mom and Daddy’s bedroom, I heard crying. I wasn’t allowed to eavesdrop, but when I heard the name “Jackson” I couldn’t help myself. I froze in my tracks, and listened through the door.

  Mom was crying over Worth. I couldn’t make out a thing she said until she finally calmed down enough to speak plainly.

>   “You know why he died. Hit’s because of that trouble with Perry Jackson’s son, the one whose girl is disruptin’ the school.”

  Daddy sighed. “You don’t know that for sure, Orie.”

  “Well, look at when it happened. Right after you run that boy off his still. It was away over toward Tennessee. Why didn’t you leave it to the law out that way?”

  “They telegraphed the sheriff and asked him to send a man. He ordered me to go—what should I have done?”

  “I don’t know, Dolphus,” Mom hissed. “But that boy and his crew got clean away before you’uns even got up thar. Now he’s somewhar over the state line, a-makin’ mischief while our poor boy’s dead in the ground.”

  “I don’t regret it. You know where that whiskey was a-going.”

  “Hit was goin’ over yonder to Tennessee. We ain’t got no bizzness thar. A little shine never hurt nobody. My daddy used to have himself a sip or two. It never hurt him.”

  “I done told you once, Orie. The whiskey ain’t the problem. I don’t mind turnin’ my head when it’s just a few boys makin’ a little shine for themselves and their neighbors. But when it comes to folks gettin’ killed, I won’t look the other way.”

  “Are you positive they was a-killin’ black folks over thar?”

  “I reckon I am. And some of them was lynched. Hit ain’t right. That thar whiskey was contributin’ to the violence, gettin’ all those Klukkers drunk. Then they’d go out and do their killing.”

  “But Worth... could hit have been an accident?”

  “Thar’s no tellin’ now. The men were a-takin’ a break. All of ‘em but Worth and Walter Greer was over in the shade, havin’ themselves a smoke. You know Walter was slow. Why, he had the mind of a seven-year-old boy. He mightn’t have known what would happen when he poured that water in the tank.”

  “Why didn’t Worth go with the men? I wouldn’t care if they got him to smokin’ if only he could have lived.”

  “You know how that boy was. Likely he was a-trying to figure out how the engine worked. They was only gone a few minutes when it happened. I told you, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t recall. That day was black as midnight after you brung him home.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you again. Young Arthur Jones, he saw Walter at the water barrel with a bucket, and wondered what in Sam Hill he was doin’. The engine was almost boiled dry and they just shut it down. So Arthur, he started runnin’, a-yelling at Walter to stop. Then everybody run toward the thresher. Worth looked up when Arthur hollered to git away. But hit was too late. Next thing they knew that boiler exploded.” Daddy’s voice broke.

  My breath caught in my throat, and I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Tears were pouring out of my eyes. Daddy had kept the truth from me. I was told Worth had keeled over in the field and died of a heatstroke.

  Mom was still weeping. “I cain’t remember that. I swear, I don’t recall much of anything until Clydie was born.”

  “It’s the Lord’s Providence that you kept that young’un,” Daddy muttered. “Such a shock it was.”

  “Well, that other boy... He’s dead too, God rest him.” Mom’s voice was shaking. “But you know where he worked.”

  “I reckon I do. Walter was a-workin’ for Perry Jackson. He only hired on to the threshin’ crew a few days earlier. I suppose he could have been told to get Worth aside to look at the machine. Maybe he was a-followin’ orders when he dumped that water in the boiler-tank. But thar’s no way to prove it, now is thar?”

  “Thar ain’t,” Mom sobbed. “But I know Perry Jackson killed my boy. He done it out of revenge. It wouldn’t be no surprise if he was the one behind all the killin’. You know the man’s heart is full of hate. I believe he might be a Klansman himself.”

  “He may well be. The Klan ain’t been around here for twenty years or more, but they’re risin’ again, growin’ and spreadin’ their poison. Before long, they’ll make themselves known again in these parts.”

  I snuck back to my room, still weeping. I didn’t know what a Klansman was, nor yet a lynching. All I knew was that I was afeared of Mr. Jackson.

  Mattie stayed away from school for a whole week. That made things brighter. On Monday, Miss Cordelia taught as usual. At half past one, she began history class by giving us our grades. Lottie Ward, Celia, Alice and me all got perfect scores. The rest of the girls, those who had made a mistake or two, got Bs. Miss Cordelia said we were good pupils.

  Then we older girls listened while the little’uns had their lesson, the story of the Battle of Bunker Hill. Afterward, Miss Cordelia told our classes that she wanted us to learn more about Revolutionary battles, including some that were fought in the Carolinas. Then we would move on to read a little about the Constitution.

  So, we studied battles. It was interesting, but I was happy it was only for a few days. All that week when I wasn’t at school, I thought about Daddy, breaking up Mr. Jackson’s boy’s still. I knew all about bootlegging. Things were different when I was a girl. We kids knew that drinkin’ was against the law. Still, people done it, and nobody much cared unless it led to trouble.

  Finally, on Friday, I got my nerve up enough to stay after school and ask Miss Cordelia what a lynching was. And also, what was a Klansman?

  Miss Cordelia looked outside to make sure the other kids were gone, and then she explained. We didn’t talk about what we thought; it was strictly for information. I left that day understanding a little more about Mattie and her family, but I didn’t speak of it to Daddy. I didn’t speak of it to anyone.

  The next Monday, Mattie come back. It was a week into August, and school would be finished in three weeks. I had done pretty well, except for fractions. I had a time with fractions.

  The day Mattie come back, Miss Cordelia began teaching about the Constitution, which was signed in Philadelphia in the year 1787. We were given till Thursday to study on it. Then we were going to be tested on the preamble and the first ten Amendments.

  All that week, Myrtle, Alice and I studied hard, and we each took the book home for one night. I learned as best I could. Thankfully, I only missed two answers on the test.

  Mattie Jackson failed. Everybody knew she had permission not to learn, so we wondered what made her so angry when she saw that her test paper was covered with a big, fancy letter F. There weren’t any answers on it anyway. But she was a-carrying on and making a spectacle of herself, all during recess. And at the end of the day, she flounced off to her car without a word to anyone.

  The next day she come back a-smilin’, and everyone wondered why. We found out during lunch. Mattie announced that her granddaddy was having a party to celebrate her fifteenth birthday, and that all the girls in grades six through eight were invited. The party would be a week from tomorrow.

  She went around the tree we were sitting under and passed out little envelopes to each of us. Finally, all the girls but Celia had their invitations.

  Then Mattie, being the meanest girl in Ashe County, played a terrible trick on poor Celia. She walked right up to the schoolhouse steps, where Celia was eating alone, and pretended to hand her an invitation. And when poor Celia’s eyes lit up at the thought of a party, Mattie snatched the envelope back.

  “Nobody who talks like her mouth is full of cotton is invited.” Mattie laughed and flounced away.

  Poor Celia. She was heartbroken, and for the first time ever, she cried. Miss Cordelia come out on the steps then. She had been watching from inside the door, and had heard it all.

  “Matilda Jackson, you are expelled from school. Please collect your belongings and leave immediately.”

  Mattie laughed at her. “I ain’t a-goin’ anywhere. I cain’t walk five miles home.”

  “You will collect your books and go. Wait down yonder at the side of the road until three o’clock if you don’t want to walk. But get yourself off the school grounds this minute or I will cut a switch and whip you until you do.”

  Mattie was fit to be tied, but she ob
eyed. A few minutes later she had run away down the road toward home. Then Miss Cordelia took Celia inside and tried to make her feel better. But it didn’t do no good. Poor Celia, she left school that day and didn’t come back. I never saw her again.

  Well, right then and there, I vowed to go to the party. I wanted to see Mr. Perry Jackson for myself. That way, I’d know him if I ever saw him again. And if I did, I would run like the devil was after me.

  At home, I didn’t say a word about what happened, and I hid the party invitation in my dresser. I decided to wait a while before asking for permission to go.

  At meeting on Sunday, Miss Cordelia was dressed up real pretty, but she looked like she might have been crying. And at school the next day, she seemed different.

  She wasn’t her usual self, and as the week wore on, she seemed more and more sad. Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, Lottie Ward approached her during recess, to ask what was wrong. Lottie was the best student in school, and we all thought she should do the asking.

  Well, Lottie come back, and told us Miss Cordelia was a-leaving on Friday, one week before the term was over. She was going to make an announcement at the end of the school day.

  Poor Miss Cordelia. She said she had to go home to Jefferson because of family troubles. We would be given our report cards on Friday morning, and school would be dismissed at noon.

  Everybody’s face was a-drooping. But we didn’t ask questions; that would have been unmannerly, so we all just accepted her answer and left for the day. All the way home I worried on it. I knew Mattie’s granddaddy had something to do with Miss Cordelia leaving, but nobody ever proved it.

  After supper that night, while Mom was giving Clydie a bath, I told Daddy everything. He shook his head, and remarked under his breath that some folks thought they run the whole county.

  Then I showed him the invitation, and asked if I might go.

  “No. You’re not goin’ up thar. They’re on the wrong side of the law, a-runnin’ shine over the state line, and God knows what-all up in them hills. Them Jacksons is nothin’ but trouble.”