by Brenda Woods
The fire that’d been in him minutes earlier when he’d rung our doorbell had completely vanished. And my daddy, Jake Haberlin, embraced him as Mr. Meriwether Hunter sobbed.
CHAPTER 28
“It’s attempted murder!” I told them after Meriwether left. “Lucas can’t just get away with it. You gotta do something. She’s just a little girl. At least you gotta fire him!”
“Go on to bed . . . This was not for your eyes and ears,” Daddy said.
“Why . . . ’cuz it’s the truth?” I asked.
“No, ’cause you’re just a boy.”
“Am not . . . In some places, I’d practically be a man.”
“This ain’t some places, this is Birdsong, South Carolina, and in Birdsong, South Carolina, you’re still a child. I’ll handle this.”
Standing right in front of him, almost eye to eye, I glared. “Hope so.”
“Go on to bed now, b’fore this turns into something it shouldn’t,” Daddy commanded.
Mama patted my shoulder. “Go on, Gabriel. G’night.”
“It ain’t right and it ain’t fair, and don’t tell me it’s just the ways of the South. Y’all ever figure the ways of the South are wrong? Y’all ever figure the ways of the South need changin’? Y’all ever figure—”
“That’s enough for right now, Gabriel. We’re all tired. Got a workday tomorrow and now all this,” Daddy said with a sigh. “G’night.”
Hours later, I was still wide awake, staring into the darkness, questions coming at me, one after the other, unable to find answers.
Was it because of the picture and finding out about Meriwether being a tanker that had made Lucas do it, or had he been planning this all along? Unless he confessed, there was no way to know. Nothing about this was fair or just. How could it be that a man can’t protect his family—and even feared going to the sheriff?
One thing I was certain of was this: if Lucas had had even a sprinkling of Meriwether’s goodness, I’d be sleeping soundly right now. How could anyone do such a thing? Over and over again, I pictured Abigail, the diamondback striking at her with its fangs prepared to deliver its deadly venom, and the image made my body quiver.
* * *
FINALLY, I DOZED off, and it was well after sunrise when the sound of Patrick’s voice outside woke me up. “Gabriel! Gabriel! You awake? I’m here to ride to work with your daddy.”
I parted the curtains and motioned him to the back door. And that was when the front doorbell rang again. Daddy, already up and dressed, beat me to the door. Mama trailed him.
I expected to see Meriwether again, but this time it was Sheriff Monk and his deputy, J. J. Carroway. Because everything about the sheriff was round, especially his belly, and J. J. was a slender man, whenever they were side by side, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Laurel and Hardy.
“Mornin’, Sheriff, J . J.”
“Mornin’, Jake . . . Agatha.”
As soon as Patrick saw them, he joked, “What’s wrong? Someone get murdered or somethin’?”
Sheriff Monk glanced from Patrick to me and said, “We came to have a private talk with your daddy ’n’ mama.”
“In other words, you want me and Gabriel to scram, huh?” Patrick asked.
The sheriff nodded, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile on J. J. Carroway’s lips.
“If it’s about Meriwether and Lucas, I wanna stay,” I told Daddy.
“Did they finally have a fight?” Patrick asked. “’Cuz that day when Lucas spit tobacco on his foot, it sure looked like they were ’bout to, remember?”
That comment seemed to turn on a light inside Sheriff Monk. He and J. J. shared a look. “The boys can stay,” he decided.
Of course, Mama welcomed everyone to the dining room table and offered the men coffee, which they accepted.
“What can I help you gentlemen with?” Daddy asked.
“Not sure I’m a gentleman, Jake, and I know for certain J. J. ain’t, but that aside, we’re here to ask y’all a few questions ’bout a visit I got first thing this mornin’ at the office from Miss Felicity Duval.”
“Felicity Duval?” Daddy asked.
“Found her on my doorstep at six a.m. Said she had a story to tell ’bout somethin’ disturbin’ to her that went on last night on The Other Side . . . with a colored family. Claims someone left a box on the porch for the family’s li’l gal and that the box contained a large diamondback rattler. Not sure how she got hold of it, but she brought me the thing in a potato sack, includin’ the chopped-off head.”
“It was dead, of course,” J. J. commented as he stirred the coffee Mama had given him.
“A diamondback? They’s deadly!” Patrick exclaimed.
“Anyhow, seems Miss Duval gives piano lessons to the gal, name is . . .” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of papers, and searched.
“Abigail,” Daddy told him. “Girl’s name is Abigail.”
“Like I was sayin’, Miss Duval gives her piano lessons now and then, and she’s fond of her and was quite upset about this incident with the diamondback.”
“You said you had questions, Hector . . . and I need to get to work,” Daddy said.
“And me too,” Patrick added. “I need to get to work with him. I’m an apprentice mechanic now.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. “Just wanna know if you have any ideas who the responsible party might be.”
As if to warn me not to speak, Mama gently squeezed my shoulder. “Didn’t Miss Duval say?” she asked.
“No ma’am. That seemed to be the one bit of information she was lackin’, which was a surprise to me, because generally she seems to know folks’ business even b’fore they know it themselves.” The sheriff gave a grim smile.
“If the snake didn’t bite her, isn’t it still attempted murder because that’s what was intended?” I asked.
“You’d be best to try and sell more cars, Jake. Think you might have to send this boy to law school,” J . J. said.
“Y’all certain you don’t have any clues about who might have done such a thing?” Sheriff Monk asked again. “Like to be able to give an answer to Miss Duval and to the colored pastor if he comes callin’, which I’m sure he will.”
“You talked to Meriwether yet?” my daddy asked.
“No . . . Planned to talk to him sometime this afternoon. Thought I’d stop here first b’fore talkin’ to the boy . . . you know, get your impression of things.”
“Can’t bring myself to accuse a man without proof,” Daddy answered.
With that, Sheriff Hector Monk took a big gulp of coffee, pushed away from the table, and stood up. “I’d like to thank you fine folks for your time and good coffee,” he said as he headed for the door. But before he and J. J. reached the door, he stopped in his tracks and turned to Daddy. “Got one more question for you, Jake.”
“What’s that?”
“Lucas and this boy, Meriwether, would you say they get along?”
Daddy replied with his own question. “How well do you know Lucas, Hector?”
“Well enough.”
“Then you already have the answer to your question.”
CHAPTER 29
No sooner had the sheriff and J. J. left than Daddy announced he was going to stop at Meriwether’s on his way to work.
“I’m comin’ too. He’s my friend,” I said.
As if searching for her approval, he gazed at Mama, and apparently he found it. “Get dressed in a hurry,” he instructed me.
“And don’t forget ’bout me, Mr. Haberlin,” Patrick reminded him. “It’s my first day of learnin’ to be an unpaid apprentice mechanic, remember?”
Patrick’s words made Mama smile. Normally something like that would have caused my daddy to grin as well, but his face was awash with worry, and he simply nodded.
The radio was
off, the front car windows were rolled down, and the morning air was already warm. Patrick was in the back seat whistling. Birdsong was just waking up.
“Y’all remember the house?” Daddy asked.
“It’s on Holly Street. I forget the address but I know the one,” I answered.
In no time flat we were parked in front of Meriwether’s house. “Be right back,” Daddy said.
But I already had one foot out the door. I wondered if he was going to try to stop me, but he didn’t. Of course, Patrick was on my heels.
We’d just stepped onto the sidewalk leading up to the house when two colored men who’d been sitting in porch chairs on each side of the door rose to their feet.
“What can we do for y’all?” one of the men asked.
“Here to see Meriwether Hunter,” Daddy replied.
Both men’s faces were sour, and they exchanged a strange look before one of them said, “Y’all got business with him?”
“He works for me.”
“Wait here,” one of the men commanded, and when he went inside, the other man stood in front of the door as if he were guarding it.
Seconds later, the colored pastor, whom I recognized from the station when he came to get gas, was on the porch. “They’re okay,” he informed the men.
Then he said, “Good mornin’, Mr. Haberlin.”
“Mornin’, Pastor Honeywell.”
Daddy and the pastor extended hands, and they shook.
“I’d like you to meet two pastors, one outta Charleston, the other from Orangeburg—friends of mine from divinity school, Pastor Baldwin and Pastor Ellison. Pastors, this is Jake Haberlin . . . He’s a decent man . . . owner of the gas station here that’s listed in The Green Book.”
“The Green Book?” one pastor repeated, then finally smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Haberlin,” the other said.
“This is my boy, Gabriel, and his friend Patrick.”
“Pleased to meet y’all too,” the pastors responded with slight nods of their heads.
“Pleased to meet you as well,” I told them.
“As well,” Patrick uttered.
“We’re here to watch over our folk,” Pastor Honeywell revealed as he scanned the street. The front door was opened, we were ushered inside, and quickly it was shut and locked.
Phoebe, Meriwether’s wife, greeted us. A handkerchief was in her hand and her eyes had that just-cried look. “Mornin’, Mr. Haberlin, Gabriel.” But when she reached Patrick, she stalled.
“Patrick,” he informed her.
“Mornin’,” she said softly.
And we replied, “Mornin’, ma’am.”
On one side of the room, I noticed open suitcases partially packed.
Suddenly, Abigail whirled into the room. “What y’all doin’ here so early in the mornin’? If you came to see the snake, you’re too late, ’cuz Miss Duval already came and got it. And I wasn’t scared, in case that’s what you were wonderin’, but you shoulda seen the way my daddy killed it so quick. And another thing . . . One day I’m gonna write my very own book about Birdsong, includin’ y’all and everything that happened, but mostly it’s gonna be ’bout my daddy drivin’ a tank durin’ the war so that way it won’t be a secret anymore, and even though he didn’t get a parade, everyone’ll still know how brave he was.”
“That’s a ton of words to come outta someone all at once, Abigail,” Pastor Honeywell commented.
A grinning Abigail, who’d obviously considered it a compliment, replied, “Thank you, Pastor.”
“Your daddy drove a tank . . . a real tank . . . in the war?” Patrick asked.
Abigail replied, “Yes.”
But when Patrick opened his mouth to say something else, I gave him a warning nudge and he knew to be quiet.
Abigail’s eyes then landed on her mama. She shrugged and apologized. “Sorry, Mama, but I figure since we’re leavin’ Birdsong today, it doesn’t matter anymore if folks ’round here know ’bout Daddy and the tanks.”
Daddy glanced toward the suitcases and asked Phoebe, “Y’all leavin’ today?”
“Yessir, we’re goin’ north to Michigan. A fella Meri was in the service with has been after him to come north. Claims he can get him a job in no time at the Ford plant, and we’ll have a better future there. Hope he’s right.”
“Considerin’ what happened, can’t say I blame you,” my father told her. Then he inquired, “Where’s Meriwether now?”
The pastor responded, “Don’t know. He drove off just b’fore you got here. Said he’d be back shortly. Claimed he had to talk to someone about an important matter. I assumed he was referring to you.”
“Lucas,” I blurted.
“Y’all ain’t gotta worry. I heard him when he promised Mama not to hurt him. She even made him swear on the Bible,” Abigail revealed.
Tears rolled down Phoebe’s face. “Nuthin’ I could say to stop him . . . Nuthin’.” Her hand clenched the handkerchief, and right then she reminded me of my own mama.
The next thing I knew, Daddy told us, “C’mon!” and headed for the door.
Pastor Honeywell rushed outside with us, whispered something to his two friends, and followed us to the car. “I’m comin’ with y’all. Got an obligation to every member of my flock, and Meriwether’s one of ’em.”
And together, we sped to the station.
CHAPTER 30
Patrick leaned toward me and did something he rarely did—whispered. “You think Meriwether’s gonna kill Lucas?”
“He swore on the Bible,” I reminded him.
“Then maybe Lucas’s gonna kill him.”
Upon hearing those words, Daddy said, “Patrick, that’s enough back there, you hear?”
“Yessir.”
Pastor Honeywell bowed his head and softly prayed.
The quiet allowed a notion to enter my mind: The first time you meet someone, it’s the beginning of a brand-new unmapped trail, so there’s no way of knowing if that path is going to be a short one, a long one, or somewhere in between, or maybe one that takes you in a circle and therefore never ends. Not much time had passed since the day I’d met Meriwether, but because he was so interesting and kind, I didn’t want our friendship to be over yet. But like it or not, it appeared we were close to the end of our road.
I glanced over at Patrick and wondered if ours would be a forever trail. Probably.
Daddy’s driving that day reminded me of the day I’d ridden with Betty Babcock—careless, seeming as if we were flying.
As soon as we careered around the corner to the station, I saw it: the black ’36 Chevy, Meriwether’s car.
As soon as our wheels stopped rolling, I opened the door to get out and fell flat onto the asphalt.
“Gabriel!” Daddy yelled.
I sprang up and sprinted to the garage. And there they were. Lucas was backed up against the wall, and Meriwether was holding a metal pipe up high, prepared to strike. “Meriwether! Don’t!” I hollered.
“Not gonna hurt him . . . Just want him to admit it was him who did it.”
I inched inside.
And right then, Daddy, Pastor Honeywell, and Patrick arrived.
“Meriwether,” Daddy said calmly, and started to walk toward him.
“Y’all stand down! This is between me and him!” Meriwether warned.
I sidestepped closer.
Meriwether noticed and told me, “You too, Gabriel.”
“Put the pipe down, Meriwether. No good’s gonna come of this. By God’s grace, Abigail wasn’t hurt,” the pastor pleaded.
Lucas smirked. “So, father’s li’l delight ain’t dead. What a shame.”
Meriwether glanced at me, and I knew from the look in his eyes that the promise he’d made to his wife was about to be broken.
I’m close enou
gh, I thought as I charged him. The force was just enough to make Meriwether lose his balance and drop the pipe.
For a few seconds, everything was calm.
Then Lucas suddenly howled out, sounding like a sick hound. We watched as he clutched his chest and slumped to the garage floor.
Daddy went to check him. “Lucas?” He shook his shoulder. “Lucas?”
But Lucas wouldn’t budge. His eyes were wide open, staring, lifeless.
Many moments of silence passed. The pastor bowed his head in prayer.
“He’s dead, ain’t he?” Patrick finally said.
“Appears so,” Daddy commented.
“But Meriwether didn’t even touch him. So why’d he die?” Patrick asked.
“Dunno,” Daddy replied. “Dunno.”
For a while no one moved or spoke any words unless you count what was being said with our eyes—mostly disbelief.
Finally, Meriwether leaned against a car inside the garage, and Pastor Honeywell joined him and placed an arm around his shoulder.
Patrick headed over to Lucas and stared. “Seen dead critters b’fore but never a dead man . . . Looks peculiar, don’t he? Heard of people just droppin’ dead, but never believed it ’til just now.”
I really didn’t want to get near Lucas, but I figured this might be the only time I was going to be this close to a dead person, so I went over and stood beside Patrick and studied the eyes of what used to be Lucas Shaw. His body was still there, but his soul was gone. I supposed if he’d been a good person, I would have cried, but seeing as he wasn’t, not a single tear came.
“That’s enough now,” Daddy said. “I’m gonna go call Doc Riley.”
“For what? Doc Riley ain’t Jesus . . . cain’t raise him from the dead,” Patrick declared.
