“But, Annie—”
“Don’t you ‘But, Annie’ me! Dr. Morton done tol’ you to do nothin’ but lay in dat bed!”
“But I get so tired of the bed, Annie.”
“Then you go set down in the parlor in that big easy chair. You hear me?”
“All right, Annie, but bring the pecans in. I can crack them for the pecan pie.”
“I ain’t studyin’ no pecan pie! You just get in there and do what I tells you!”
Subdued, Leah moved slowly into the parlor. She had become very fond of Annie Waters and her husband, Merle, who had been on the farm for five years. Merle, a big bruising man and strong as a bull, did the outside work, and Annie did a great deal of it, too. During Leah’s pregnancy, however, Annie had become housecleaner, nursemaid, cook, and all other things. I don’t know what I would have done without Annie, Leah thought as she made her way into the living room. She sat down slowly and carefully in the overstuffed chair and propped her feet up on the hassock with a sigh of relief. She stared down at her legs, which were swollen, and a moment of fear came to her. Dr. Morton had called on her daily during the pregnancy, and often he had waved his thick forefinger in her face, saying, “If you want to keep this baby, you’ll stay in bed. Let Stuart and Annie take care of you.”
Picking up the composition book that she used for a journal, she took her pen and began to write.
November 20, 1904: I had a bad night. Stuart was not home. He went to play for the opening of a new bridge over in Clayton County. He told me he might not be home, but I hoped he would.
For a moment she paused, and a quick memory came to her. She knew if she looked back over her entries for the past year, since the day she and Stuart got married, she would find many similar entries. Stuart gone to play for a wedding. . . . Stuart gone to play for the opening of a new building. . . . Stuart invited to play for the inauguration of the governor.
She sighed at the remembrance of so many nights alone and continued to write:
I try not to feel bad about his being gone so much, but it does get lonesome, especially with the baby coming so soon. I must be patient with him. How many prayers have I prayed, and I pray again. I’ll never quit. I remember reading that George Mueller prayed for two men for over sixty years, and neither of them were saved during his ministry, but they were converted two months after he died. The Lord is good and He will hear my prayers. I know the church is praying for him, and as for Diane, I don’t know of a mother who prays for her son more than she prays for Stuart.
She continued writing for some time. It was a means for her to express her deep feelings, since Stuart was away so much. These past three months she had been a very lonely woman. The first few months of her marriage had been nothing but constant joy. Stuart had stayed with her, and they had enjoyed doing everything together. He had turned down hundreds of invitations, it seemed, to go away and play, but then something had happened between them, and she could not understand what it was. At first he accepted a few invitations to play, and soon he was away more and more.
She flexed her fingers and then wrote:
I don’t want to complain, for I love Stuart and I know he loves me. I had thought he would be saved by this time. He came so close a year ago at that tent meeting with Gypsy Smith, but now he seems to be drifting far away. As for me, I don’t know where I am. I was so happy during the first months of our marriage—and I believe I will be again after the baby is born. But right now I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a bridge and I can’t see either end of it. All I can do is look down at the water and wonder what to do next.
****
Annie turned at the sound of the door slamming and watched as Merle clomped across the floor and dumped an enormous armload of wood into the woodbox.
“Well, is that all the noise you can make?” she said sharply.
“I don’t know how you expect me to put wood in a box without makin’ no noise.” He came over suddenly, and her back was to him. He put his arms around her and squeezed as he lifted her clear off the floor.
“Put me down, you silly man!” she said sharply, but he held her there until she began to giggle. “You hear what I tells you? Now you put me down!”
“Woman, you just get sweeter every year.”
Merle was an enormous man, six feet four and weighing over two hundred fifty pounds. His strength was proverbial in the Lewisville area. He picked up loads no other man could even think of lifting. Once, he picked up a whole bale of cotton and carried it twenty steps just to win a bet. His skin was a glowing ebony and his hair nappy, and a deep inner peace glowed through his warm brown eyes.
“How Miss Leah doin’?”
“She ain’t doin’ no good.”
“Ain’t that too bad. I glad we’s had our chilluns easy.”
“We had our chilluns! Where do you get that we?”
“Well, you had ’em easy, then. Does that make you feel better?”
Merle stood over her, watching as she cooked the Thanksgiving meal, and finally she turned and said, “Where’s Mistah Stuart?”
“Why you ask me that? It ain’t none of my business. Why you always jumpin’ on me for somethin’ I never done?” Merle was peeved, but he saw that Annie was perturbed. “I know,” he said. “It’s bad, ain’t it?”
“She don’t really know what Mr. Stuart’s doin’.”
Merle shook his head sadly. “I guess it’s best she don’t know about his carryin’ on.”
“Well, this is Thanksgivin’, and it’s their weddin’ anniversary. I want you to go find him and bring him home.”
“Me! How am I gonna bring him home if he don’t wanna come? He’s the boss.”
“Knock him on the head and bring him home.”
“I can’t do that!”
“You’re big enough.”
“Where we gonna go after he throws us out?”
“He ain’t gonna do that. He’s guilty as a sheep-killin’ dog.” Annie was filled with indignation. She had grown to love Leah Winslow with a motherly affection, and now she reached out and grabbed Merle’s arm. “We gotta do somethin’,” she said. “You know how he is. He won’t even think about comin’ home until he’s dead drunk. Now you go fetch ’im.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“You go find Mr. Ace. He keeps up with him, and you bring him back. You hear me? Don’t you come back without him.”
“I’ll do the best I can, but how you expect a black man to boss a white man around is more than I kin see.”
“If you can’t do nothin’ else, you go to his mama. She’ll figure out some way.”
“She already done got her heart broke over that man.”
“Well, it’ll just have to be broke a little bit more, ’cause I ain’t havin’ my baby in there without her husband on their first anniversary. Now git!”
****
The sun was high in the sky, almost at the zenith, as Ace Devainy caught sight of the beginnings of Mapleton. He was whistling a tune, as usual, but he stopped abruptly as the first shacks on the outskirts of town came into view. The air had a sharp bite to it, for it was a cold Thanksgiving. “I expect we might get some snow,” Ace muttered aloud. He sat loosely on the seat of the wagon, clucking occasionally at the matched team of bays that paced in a sprightly fashion down the rutted roads. A late rain had come and churned the roads into a red gumbo, and then the cold weather had frozen it again. The frozen ruts caused the wagon to bounce along in time, making Ace swear softly as his teeth clicked together.
Unhappiness scored Devainy’s homely face as he slowed the team down. He pulled his soft wide-brimmed hat off and ran his hand through his yellow hair. His stormy blue eyes reflected the agitation he felt inside, and he muttered once, “I’d rather do most anything than try to drag Stuart away from his fun.”
He sat up straighter as a memory flashed across his mind of the massive form of Merle Waters, who had come to his room earlier. Merle’s black face was embarr
assed, but his eyes were determined as he had explained his mission. “Mr. Stuart needs to be home, Mr. Ace. Annie done sent me to get you and to find out where he is. I got to try to bring him home.”
Ace had understood the black man’s own agitation. Merle was certainly big enough to simply put most men under his arm and walk away, but it wouldn’t do in the south for a black man to behave like that.
“I’ll fetch him back, Merle. You go tell Annie that I’ll have him there before dark.”
“He might not want to come, suh.”
“He’s comin’ whether he wants to or not.”
Now as Ace guided the wagon down the single main street of Mapleton, his jaw hardened and he nodded, speaking to himself, “He’s comin’ all right, whether he likes it or not. Why does he have to act like this?”
He had a fairly good idea of where to find Stuart, so he drew up in front of a saloon on a side street, tied the horses, and went inside. He was greeted at once by an old friend of his, Betty Marrs.
“Well, Ace, look at you!” Marrs was a hefty woman, and she wore more cosmetics than necessary. She came over to give Ace a hug. “Sit down and have a drink.”
“Before noon? I reckon not.”
Marrs laughed. “I’ve seen the time when the hour of day wouldn’t matter to you, Ace. You’re gettin’ old.”
“Reckon you’ve got somethin’ there. A man’s got to grow up sometime.”
The words seemed to disturb Betty Marrs. She heaved a big breath and said, “I guess you’re right, Ace. What are you doing over here?”
“Looking for Stuart.”
“He’s down at Cora’s house.”
“I thought he might be. I hoped I’d catch him here.”
“He’s been in and out, but mostly he’s with Cora. You know what’s going on between those two?”
“None of my business, Betty. I’ll see you later.”
Leaving the dingy saloon, Ace climbed up into the wagon and drove it slowly down the street until he pulled up on the east outskirts of town in front of a freshly painted frame house. “Whoa,” he said, and when the horses stopped, he sat quietly, wondering how he should handle the situation. “I wish it could be easy,” he murmured. “But with Stuart I doubt it. He never did like to be bossed around.” Reaching under the wagon seat, he pulled out a box and opened it. Inside was a .44, a box of shells, and a leather-covered blackjack. Ace had bought the revolver and the shells, but he had taken the blackjack away from a gambler who wanted to argue about the call of a card in a poker game. He had seldom thought of it and never carried it, but now he slipped it into the back pocket of his overalls. Pulling his hat down, he stepped out of the wagon, tied the horses, and walked up to the front steps. He knocked loudly, and for a long time, it seemed no one was there. He banged vigorously on the door and said, “Cora, open the door!”
After another long pause the door opened just half a crack, and a woman’s pale face appeared. “What do you want, Ace?”
“Let me in, Cora.”
“It’s too early. Go away.”
Ace Devainy wasted no time. He shoved at the door, forcing the woman to step backward. She was wearing a pink robe, and her face was rosy with agitation, though puffy with sleep. “You can’t come busting into my house like this! I’ll have the law on you!”
“Sure. You go call the sheriff, Cora,” Ace said easily. He had known Cora Langley for a long time. She had been the most attractive woman in the county. She was still beautiful, but her reputation was not good.
“What do you want?”
“Where’s Stuart?”
Cora’s face seemed to harden. “None of your business! Get out of here, Ace, if you don’t want trouble.”
Ignoring her, Ace simply brushed her aside and walked down the hall. He opened one door and saw a bedroom with the bed made up. He was conscious that Cora was pulling at his arm, but he ignored her. Opening a door on the opposite side, he paused and then stepped inside and stared down at the man in the bed. “Get up, Stuart!” he said loudly.
Cora shoved herself past Ace and turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Ace? What Stuart does is none of your business!”
Stuart heard this last statement, for he had been half awakened by the knock at the door. Now he sat up and shook his head for a moment. His black hair hung down in his eyes, and his mouth had a sour pucker to it. “What are you doing here, Ace?” He was wearing a linen undershirt, and he shook himself and seemed to come more awake. “What’s the matter? Somebody sick?”
Ace had decided on his trip over that there would be no point in reasoning with Stuart. Now he simply stared at him and said coldly, “Get out of the bed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You heard me, Stuart. Get out of the bed. You’re going home.”
Anger flared in Stuart Winslow’s eyes. He was a man who hated to be controlled, and he glared at Devainy’s tall, lanky form. “Get out of here, Ace! I don’t want to hear any more.”
“You can go easy or you can go hard,” Ace said. “Make up your mind. But you’re going one way or the other.”
Anger flashed in Stuart’s dark eyes then. He threw back the covers and stood up, swaying for a moment, for he had a pounding headache. Still he advanced toward Ace and put his hand out and shoved against his chest. “Get out of here before I hurt you!”
Ace knew full well that he was no match for Stuart in a fight. He was tough enough himself, but Stuart’s blows were quick as a striking snake, and he had the muscle to put a man down with one blow.
“It’s time for you to go home to your wife.”
Guilt washed across Stuart’s face, and he shot a quick glance at Cora, who was standing back against the wall, her eyes wide. Perhaps because of that guilt Stuart was spurred to action. He yelled, “Get out of here, Ace! I’ll take care of my own family!” He reached forward and gave another shove, which drove Devainy backward, but his reaction times were slower than he had known. Quickly Ace pulled the blackjack out of his pocket before Stuart started swinging with those quick fists of his.
Stuart yelled, “Hey,” and raised his hand, but it was too late. The leather-covered weight struck him in the temple, and he knew nothing else.
“Stuart!” Cora screamed and came over to kneel beside him.
“If you want to help,” Ace said, “help me get his clothes on him.”
Cora began to curse him, but Ace paid her no more attention. As he struggled to get Stuart’s clothes on, he turned to Cora and said, “If you were a man,” he said, “I’d punch you out, Cora. Stuart’s got a good wife.”
“That’s his business and mine. Not yours.”
“Well, I’m making it mine today. Stay away from him. I thought you were going to marry Carter.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”
Knowing that there was no point arguing with the woman, Ace Devainy simply reached over and pulled Stuart’s legs fully off the bed, then he straightened him up to a sitting position. Taking a deep breath, he stooped, pulled the limp body forward, lifted it over his shoulder, and rose suddenly. He turned toward the door with Stuart’s limp body dangling and left the house only vaguely aware of Cora’s voice screaming at him from what seemed to be a far distance. When he reached the wagon, he simply dumped the limp form of Winslow inside and was not overly concerned when he heard his friend’s head thump the bottom of the wagon. Climbing into the seat, he spoke to the horses, “Get up, Babe! Get up, Hector!” and the two wheeled around, careened sharply, and then moved along practically at a gallop.
As soon as he had cleared the outskirts of Mapleton and was heading back toward Lewisville, Ace slowed the horses down to a brisk trot and held himself against the jolting of the frozen ruts. He was disturbed at what he had done, for he and Stuart had been friends since boyhood. He knew that this could end all that, and a deep regret washed through him. But he shrugged his shoulders and shook himself, saying, “A man’s got to grow up sometime, but it looks like
Stuart won’t ever make it.”
****
The sun was three-quarters of the way across the sky when Devainy glanced back to see Winslow struggling to gain his feet. He had reached as far as his hands and knees and was shaking his head, which had a considerable-sized knot on it. “Whoa, up there, boys! Whoa, up there!” Ace commanded. When the wagon came to a halt, he turned and said, “You want to get in the front seat?”
Stuart slowly rose and stood for a moment in the bed of the wagon. He reached up and touched his head and then winced and looked at his fingers. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Devainy.
“All right,” he grunted. Moving carefully, he stepped over the seat and plunked himself down beside Ace.
“Get up!” Ace commanded, but he kept the horses to a fast walk. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Stuart sat there saying nothing for what seemed a long time. Finally he said, “Are you all right, Stuart?”
“I guess so.”
Stuart Winslow was having a hard time. He had trouble for a few moments remembering what had brought him to this place, and then he turned and said, “You hit me with something.”
“Blackjack.”
“What did you do that for, Ace?”
“Because you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
A dull flush rose on Stuart’s neck, and he could not meet Ace’s eyes. He turned his head forward and saw that they were almost at his farm. “Did she send you to get me, Ace?” he asked in a subdued tone.
“Merle came. I couldn’t let him get into trouble dragging you away from Cora’s house.”
Winslow had no answer for this. A deep feeling of shame flooded him, and he clamped his lips together and held on to the seat. His temples were beating as if someone were driving spikes through them, and he dreaded having to face Leah.
“You ought to know better than to fool around with Carter Simms’s woman.”
A hot answer leaped to Stuart’s lips, but he knew there was no proper response. As he sat there hanging on to the seat, the bile rising in his throat, he thought he was going to be sick and vomit, so he said nothing. Finally the wagon stopped in front of his door, and he caught a quick glimpse of Annie at the window looking out. She disappeared, and he finally managed to say, “Thanks, Ace.”
The Glorious Prodigal Page 5
