by Lisa Belmont
Puddingtate got to singing again, something deep and sorrowful. He and Big Jim ambled to the creek. I couldn’t help but feel the cold, oppressive stare of night as I looked back at the trail. I felt exhausted just thinking about going back the way Big Jim and I came. Owls would be out in no time, hooting up a storm like they were trying to drag every ghost they could find from the swamp.
Smoke rose from chimneys in the Negro section, and waxy lights came on in the windows. The smell of grease filled the air and, for a moment, I wished I could crawl inside Big Jim’s river shack and listen to the water lull me to sleep.
Night was closing in on the trail and I wondered if I could make it back. There wasn’t much more I was afraid of than the dark, but I knew I couldn’t give into fear. Not when Pa was probably waiting at home, ready to beat the tar out of me for coming in late.
I cannot trust a man to control others who cannot control himself.
Gen. Robert E. Lee
Chapter Fourteen
Some things you gotta give thanks for, and tonight it was moonshine. I had about ten million excuses I’d thought up for coming home late, but Pa and Joss were drinking from a jug of moonshine and couldn’t see straight.
Pa lifted the jug and said, “Here’s to you, Blackie Sullivan.”
He didn’t notice when I stepped onto the porch. He was laughing so hard at something Joss said that he fell out of his chair and knocked over a kerosene lantern. I thought he was going to start a fire and burn us all to hell. I would’ve liked to spit on them both, but I thought better of it and made a quick beeline for my room.
Momma came in sometime later, asking me where I’d been for supper.
“I was helping Miss Lilly sort out her books.”
“She still doing that?”
“Yessum. She’s got all kinds of books.”
It was true, Miss Lilly had stacks of books in her classroom. I couldn’t even imagine reading them all, but Momma said it was good my teacher was so educated.
“All right,” she said. “I guess that’s good you’ve been helping your teacher. Just be home for supper next time, you hear?”
That’s one good thing about never having been in trouble. Folks don’t expect you to lie. They think every word that comes out of your mouth is the gospel truth.
I went to bed real happy that Pa had gotten drunker than Cooter Brown. The legend of Cooter Brown was famous around these parts. His house was on the dividing line between the North and South, and he had kinfolk on both sides. When The War Between the States broke out, Cooter couldn’t decide which side to fight on, so he just stayed drunk for the duration of the war.
I could’ve kissed Pa’s moonshine the next morning. I felt of my backside, realizing the only reason it wasn’t torn to shreds was because of that jug of white lightning.
Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.
Henry David Thoreau
Chapter Fifteen
The katydids were singing real good in the pine trees the next evening. Momma scattered breadcrumbs on the porch for the chickadees while Pa paced up and down. He lit his pipe and blew smoke in a great haze until I thought he was gonna smother the birds that hopped beneath his feet trying to catch a crumb. He’d been real restless lately, like he had to get something off his chest.
Momma went to bed and Pa told me to go on, too. I didn’t want to, but he called Caleb outside and they got to rocking on the front porch like they were ready to have a man-to-man conversation.
I went inside, hovering by the open door. I knew it wasn’t right, but doggone it, I never got to hear no secrets.
“Want a smoke?” Pa asked.
Caleb got real worked up like he’d just been handed a baseball signed by Babe Ruth. He took Pa’s pipe and got to puffing real good ‘til he started coughing up a storm. Caleb handed Pa his pipe back and Pa got to chuckling. I figured the two of them were gonna have a real long chat.
“You ‘bout near a man, Caleb. I reckon it’s time you heard how I got this scar.”
That perked my ears up. I looked toward Momma’s room to make sure she wasn’t getting out of bed.
“I was only nine years old,” Pa said, letting the words float out in little puffs of air. “Must’ve been November cuz I remember all them red leaves on the ground. We had a little house tucked back in the woods and I was late for school. I didn’t want to get paddled, so I took a shortcut through the creek.”
Pa took a deep inhale of his pipe and Caleb sat there, kinda mesmerized Pa was telling him all his deep, dark secrets.
“I wasn’t on that path long before I passed them Negro shacks. They’d painted them haint blue to keep the evil spirits away. They’re root workers, some of ‘em, casting spells and such. Well, I guess they cast their Gullah spell on me cuz out stepped the biggest, blackest fella I’d ever seen.”
“Blacker n’ Big Jim?”
“Made Big Jim look like George Washington.”
“No kidding?”
Pa stopped rocking. “Had one of them long Bowie knives. Liked to scared me to death when he held it up. I tried to run, but he cornered me against a tree. Big son of a gun pushed me down and straddled me. Held the knife to my face so I could see how sharp it was.”
I put a hand over my mouth, debating if I should go to my room.
“He held me down good. I kept seeing his wide grin, how he liked taking his time with the knife, cutting me real slow like. He started at my middle and went all the way down to my ankle. I ain’t never felt pain so bad. I got to whimpering at first, then outright screaming to high heaven. Lord, if that didn’t get him real happy.”
“A black woman came out on the porch and I was scared she was gonna do a root on me, but she got to hollering at him. ‘Sullivan, get back in the house,’ she said. I thought he’d leave me then, but he ended up cutting me real bad. Nearly took away my manhood.”
“The woman hollered again, and he got up, spitting on me. Left me for dead under that tree.”
All was quiet except for the rocking of chairs, the wood boards creaking something awful. I wanted to run to Pa, to tell him I was sorry and hug on him real good, but I couldn’t move. I think I was too afraid of what he’d said. Too afraid of what that one moment in time had done. How it’d formed our family legacy, whittling us down and leaving us disfigured.
“Never did know his first name,” Pa said, taking a puff of his pipe. “Blackie Sullivan, I call him.”
Caleb balled up his fist and said, “I’d like a crack at him. Damn bastard.”
If Pa said more, I didn’t hear it. I went straight to my room and curled up in bed. I clutched my pillow and got to crying until I drowned out every last one of them katydids.
I think there’s many a slaveholder’ll get to heaven.
They don’t know better. They acts up to the light they have.
Harriet Tubman
Chapter Sixteen
The following Sunday, Pa dressed early for church. I’d never known him to be early for anything but supper.
Course, all I could think about was his story of Blackie Sullivan. How scared Pa must have been. Maybe he had the same look in his eyes that Big Jim had down at the swamp. Lord, it gave me the willies just to think about it.
“Mr. Iverson preaching on something special?” I said, putting on my gloves and hat.
It wasn’t but a half-mile to church, but that path got awfully long when it was hotter than Hades.
“Don’t know,” Pa said. “Just wanna get there, that’s all.”
It was a small miracle that every Sunday Pa would go without his red hunter cap, but there he was, pressing through that tall grass in his black suit and tie like he was leading us all to glory.
I remembered what Momma told me once when I saw Charlie Watkins on his knees in church. Everyone in town knew he’d stolen a bag of boiled peanuts and a bottle of ginger ale from Uncle Hickory’s store.
“Sometimes a man does something he regrets and needs to make it ri
ght with God,” Momma’d said.
I figured that’s what Pa was doing. He had something he needed to get out of his system.
We arrived at the church on Mulberry just as the steeple bell started ringing. The church was painted white and had stained glass windows that depicted scenes from the Bible. Jesus was healing the lepers and raising Lazarus from the dead on one side of the church. On the other, God was parting the Red Sea and sending manna down from heaven.
I looked up at all them stained glass windows, wondering if God could do something about Pa. That’s what I wanted more than anything.
Course, Caleb looked up at all them windows and got the shivers. Mr. Iverson made him scrub every single pane last winter when he found out that Caleb was the one putting gum under all the pews.
Caleb fidgeted with his collar and kept checking the steady stream of folks entering the door. I knew he wanted to find Emma Kate. I didn’t blame him. He had on his Sunday best and looked real good. Course, neither of us could help sweating up a storm. I was glad I had my little fan.
Joss and Alma met us on the church steps. Joss had his arm around Alma’s waist and said, “Give me some sugar before I have to go inside and behave myself.”
Alma lifted her head and Joss bent down to kiss her. It was one of them long, slow kisses and I looked away until they were done.
Joss fished in his pocket and pulled out a couple pieces of saltwater taffy. He held them out and I just stared at them for the longest time, thinking I should throw them at him for what he did to Big Jim.
“They’re maple, Chloe. Your favorite.”
Pa got to eyeing me and I took them. I figured I’d just cause a ruckus if I refused.
Joss smiled real big and patted me on the shoulder. He was wearing the deer tooth that always hung from a leather cord around his neck. It was on a hunt with Carlton Jones, Widow Jones’ late husband, that Joss had shot the buck. Word was he’d cut the tooth right out of its mouth.
Carlton was like a father to Joss, always inviting him up to Whitehall, telling him he could use the property any time he wanted to go hunting or fishing. Yessir, they’d been real close.
The church bells got to ringing loud and Widow Jones came up the steps. She was wearing a finespun powder blue dress and had on a wide-brimmed hat in the same shade. Everyone turned to look at her. Seemed like most folks in Mills Hollow gossiped about Widow Jones no matter what she did. Course, the way Joss was looking at her only sparked more gossip.
“You’re looking especially fine this morning, Mrs. Jones,” Joss said, holding out his arm.
He showed her all the way to her seat and fanned her with his hat. I knew Joss was trying to get in real good with her cuz she was looking to hire a new foreman, but Alma didn’t look none too happy about Joss fanning her so good. Course, Joss thought he deserved the job since he’d been such good friends with Carlton. It was better pay than the sawmill, and it’d mean Joss would get to oversee all of Widow Jones’ property. Lord, talk about moving up to the big house.
The church grew quiet as the choir stood. Joss joined Alma in our row, and everyone started to sing.
I hear the Savior say,
“Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in Me thine all in all.”
Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.
I started thinking about the words and looked over at Pa. He was singing real good, and I wondered if he was thinking about what he did to Big Jim down at the swamp.
The preacher, Mr. Iverson, was a blond man in his early forties with a perpetual flushed look to his face. He went to the pulpit and, after a couple announcements about bake sales and needing volunteers to paint the church, he started preaching. We opened our Bibles and stood while Mr. Iverson read from the Holy Scriptures.
Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.
That was one thing Mills Hollow understood real good. Sowing and reaping. Why, if we didn’t plant those spinach and collard green seeds, we wouldn’t have nothing to go with our supper.
Course now, Mr. Iverson started talking about how what we sowed could have great consequences. “We’re not islands living unto ourselves,” he said. “What we do affects everyone and everything around us.”
Lord, didn’t I know it? Everything Pa was doing was affecting me real bad.
I kept looking up at Mr. Iverson as he took off his coat. I didn’t know how he could preach when there wasn’t any air conditioning, but he kept at it. I liked the sound of his voice, too. It was deep and kinda smoky like he’d just come from the pit of hell and was trying to deter us all from going there. I just hoped he could deter Pa and Joss from doing any more harm to Big Jim.
“If you yield to your own sinful desires and carnal cravings, they will lead to destruction.”
Pa usually sat in his pew like he was about ready to fall asleep, but this morning he sat straight up and hung on every word Mr. Iverson said. I clasped my hands together and prayed that some of what the preacher was saying would get through to Pa. After all, didn’t Pa know that God didn’t take too kindly to him acting mean and hateful to Big Jim?
“Seeds can be small things, like showing kindness to a stranger or offering a helping hand when someone is in need. When we sow these kinds of seeds, we are acting according to our divine nature rather than our carnal instincts.”
This was always the part of the sermon where Mr. Iverson loosened his tie and sometimes tossed it on the altar. I wasn’t sure if it was the heat or the Holy Ghost.
“Let me ask you,” he said, peering into the crowd like we were a bunch of heathen sinners. “Do you want to consort with the devil and do his bidding or do you want to honor the God that died on a cross for you?”
That liked to get the congregation riled up all right. Some folks jumped to their feet and started clapping and dancing. A few women waved their hankies. I looked over at Pa and Joss, wondering if any of what the preacher was saying was getting to them. Didn’t seem like it. Joss sat with his arms crossed while Pa stuffed a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek. Seemed like neither one gave a lick about what they’d done to Big Jim.
Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves.
Abraham Lincoln
Chapter Seventeen
The following evening after supper, Pa and Caleb went outside on the porch while Momma and I cleaned the kitchen. I rinsed the dishes and stacked them real good before Momma told me to go outside for some fresh air.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she said, slicing up the bananas she’d give to the coons.
There wasn’t anything better than a crisp night when the lightning bugs got to glowing. They were a sight. You woulda thought they were plugged into a socket the way they lit up.
I leaned over the porch rail and said, “Caleb, I bet Emma Kate’d be mighty impressed if you gave her a jar of lightning bugs.”
“You sweet on Emma Kate, boy?” Pa said, looking up from his Li’l Abner comic strip.
“Tell Pa about the squirrel.”
“Hush up, Chloe.”
“Well, you’re what, seventeen now, boy? ‘Bout time you started thinkin’ of girls.”
“Yessir.”
“Chloe’s right. If I gave your momma a jar of them lightnin’ bugs, she’d jump on me like Daisy Mae on Li’l Abner.”
“You really think Emma Kate’d like ‘em?” Caleb said.
“Sure would,” Pa said, rocking real slow and easy.
Caleb grabbed the arms of his rocking chair and looked right at me.
“I bet I can catch more than you can.”
“You wish.”
We raced to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of mason jars from the pantry. Outside, we held our jars open while the lightning bugs glowed up a storm. I wondered if I talked to them if they’d kn
ow it was safe to come close, so I started saying, “Here, li’l lightnin’ bug. You sure are pretty.”
Caleb laughed at me, but sure enough, I held out my jar and caught a flickering lightning bug in no time. I put the top on the jar and hollered so loud that Rufus got up from the porch and started barking.
Pa tipped his hat like I was a real good lightning bug hunter. Course, Momma dropped her broom and came running over.
“Chloe Jane. You can’t keep that little bug bottled up,” she said, unscrewing the lid.
“We were gonna let ‘em go,” I said, as I watched the lightning bug fly into the night. “Caleb just wanted to collect some for Emma Kate.”
“Emma Kate?” Momma said.
“Caleb’s sweet on her,” I said, turning to him. “Ain’t ya?”
Apparently, he’d heard enough about his love life. He took off for his room and slammed the door.
“Emma Kate don’t want no lightning bugs anyway,” Momma said, heading up the porch steps. “Women like roses. Them real pretty yellow ones like Widow Jones got.”
Pa didn’t look up, he just kept reading his Li’l Abner. He got a big grin on his face and laughed out loud as Momma sighed and headed indoors. Lord, I would’ve gotten them roses for Momma myself if Widow Jones wouldn’t tan my hide for taking her prize-winners.
The words of kindness are more healing to a drooping heart than balm or honey.
Sarah Fielding
Chapter Eighteen
It was three days later before I met Big Jim at the tree fort. I’d stopped by Widow Jones’ the day before to pick plums with Momma. Widow Jones told us we could have as many as we could pick, so Momma and I brought our baskets out to the orchard. It was close to ninety-five degrees and humid as all get-out. We got to sweating real good, great trickles of water running down our backs. Momma went inside to get a couple glasses of water, and I felt like I could lie down right under all them fruit trees and have myself a nap.
