by Lisa Belmont
I wiped my hands on an old cotton towel I’d brought from the house, not able to make the stickiness go away entirely.
“All that honey will help with the infection.”
I’d smoothed honey and witch hazel all over his back and had to swat the flies that liked the smell of him. I guessed those bees would be mighty attracted to him, too. Honey seemed to help with all kinds of things. Last spring, when Pa got a bad case of hay fever, he just sucked on a honeycomb until he healed right up.
Big Jim put on his shirt and I told him, “I ‘spect you’ll be good as new,” hoping that was true.
When he turned around, he had a tear in the corner of his eye.
“Miss Chloe,” he said, “that felt real good. What you done.”
I put away the towel and tightened the lid to the honey, asking him if he was ready to read.
“Yessum,” he said, taking the plum I’d brought from Widow Jones’ and having himself a good bite. The juice drizzled down his front and stained his shirt, but he didn’t mind. He just smiled real big.
I handed him the easy reader and he took it, real stately like, and set it on his lap. I sat next to him and we looked at the colorful illustration of a smiling boy in a red sweater and brown shorts.
“Dick,” Big Jim read.
“That’s right,” I said, smiling ear to ear like a mother hen. “Keep going.”
He flipped the page and Dick was doing a handstand in some fallen leaves.
“Look, look.”
“That’s it. Keep reading.”
Dick was falling down and overturning a barrel of raked up leaves on the next page.
“Oh, oh, oh,” Big Jim said.
The next page showed Dick with a big grin as he lay down with the barrel of leaves.
“Look, look. Oh, look.”
I patted Big Jim on the shoulder, and he wiped his brow.
“Shore is hot, Miss Chloe.”
“I know, Big Jim, but you gotta keep going. You don’t want to be reading primers all your life, do you?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, flipping the page.
There was a picture of a little girl in a blue beret tying on her skates. Jane, it said. The next page showed her skating down a sidewalk with Dick looking on.
“See, see. See Jane.”
I listened to Big Jim read. It sounded real good to hear him. Like it was a sound I’d never heard before that I was supposed to have known all along.
It got me to thinking about all the times I’d gone to Whitehall Plantation. I’d never seen Hattie Mae once take a step inside the library. Seemed like all them slave cabins must’ve done something to her. Made her think she’d gone about as far as she could go to work up at the big house. That was Whitehall Plantation, all right, about as tied to a way of life as you could get.
Wasn’t anything like me and Big Jim out here at the tree fort. We’d get to singing late into the afternoon and chewing on the gum I’d take from Caleb’s drawer. The gum he kept with all his baseball cards. Big Jim would sound out all the words I’d give him. Bell. Jar. Duck. Cat. He’d say them real good, and I’d get to thinking that I wouldn’t take anything for our little ramshackle fort.
Yes, I reckon that little tree fort was about the most peaceful place I’d ever known. That was, of course, until we heard the twig snap.
Doing nothing for others is the undoing of ourselves.
Horace Mann
Chapter Nineteen
Summer dragged on with nights so hot I thought we’d all fallen into the pit of hell. I’d take my sheets and douse them with cold water, hoping that’d cool me down so I could get some sleep, but early in the morning, Pa would wake me up and tell me and Caleb to work in the garden.
Most of the time we had plenty of vegetables, but it didn’t make Pa any happier. He was torn up over his job at the sawmill and liked to have a fit when Joss told him it was gonna close altogether. Course, Joss was certain he was gonna get the job as foreman at Whitehall, so he wasn’t near as worried as Pa.
“What’ll happen to all those jobs?” I’d asked last night in the kitchen.
Caleb was playing his banjo on the porch, and the katydids were chirping up a storm.
“There won’t be no more jobs. There’s some work in Charleston and more up North if you don’t mind Yankees,” Pa’d said. “But I ain’t going where they don’t fly the Dixie flag.”
Momma was kneading biscuit dough, and I knew she was figuring up the hours she’d need to work to make up for Pa.
“You mean there’s work up North? For carpenters and such?”
“There’s always work for carpenters,” Pa said. “Jacob Daniel’s boy got a job in Pennsylvania making furniture. He started as an apprentice, and now he darn near owns the place.”
I got to thinking that if what Miss Lilly said was true, if Negroes were treated better up North, then maybe Big Jim would have a shot as a carpenter. He could go to his Uncle Burr’s and stay in Vermont. It was a long shot, but after getting whipped, I thought Big Jim might consider it.
The following afternoon I met Big Jim. It was hotter than all get-out, so I was grateful for the swamp. It stayed cooler than most places with all them trees.
I hurried through the tall grass, letting it wave me on like feathery fingers until I could see the rope ladder hanging from the fort.
I climbed to the top and immediately scolded Big Jim.
“Didn’t I tell you not to leave the ladder down? What if Pa saw it?”
“Sorry, Miss Chloe. I forgot.”
“Well, you can’t be forgetting things like that. Pa’s all riled up cuz the mill’s closing. The last thing we need is to get discovered.”
“Yessum,” he said, looking out the window.
I could tell he was perturbed, but I didn’t let it bother me none.
“I brought more honey.”
That eased him up real good. He took off his shirt and turned around so I could apply a thin layer to his back. His welts were starting to heal, and I told him it wouldn’t be no time before he could start sleeping on his back again. I knew I was being overly optimistic, but I thought that’s what he needed. A little encouragement.
I opened my satchel and took out a small metal box that Pa kept stashed under his bed. The green paint had rusted over, and the hinges squeaked when you opened it, but I figured it’d do for what I had in mind.
“Big Jim, you got any money saved up?”
“Yessum. Widow Jones been real nice after I fixed up her barn.”
“Yeah, and what else did you do? Worked at the sawmill for a spell, right?”
“Yessum, and built Widow Jones a hog house, a chicken coop so them foxes can’t get in, and a corn crib,” he said, counting them off on his fingers.
“Well, that’s real good, Big Jim. You must’ve saved up some money along the way.”
“Shor’nuf. I got me twenty-three dollars hid in a drawer.”
“Twenty-three dollars? Is that right?” I said, trying to hide how disappointed I was.
If Big Jim was gonna go to Vermont, he’d need more than that.
“Big Jim,” I said. “Can you bring your money to the tree fort next time? I want to hide it in this metal box.”
“You want to hide my money? What for?”
“We’re gonna put it in the hollow tree. To keep it safe.”
“The hollow tree?” he said, his eyes getting big.
“Yeah, don’t you see? Nobody’s gonna bother it there.”
“Nobody but them ghosts.”
“Them ghosts don’t want your money.”
“How come you want to hide it anyway?”
“Because I’ve got a plan for you to get out of Mills Hollow.”
“Who says I want out of Mills Hollow?”
“Don’t you want to go live with your aunt and uncle in Vermont?”
“Don’t reckon so.”
“But, Big Jim, this ain’t no kind of life. Pa and Joss always scaring you and making you w
ish you weren’t a Negro. It just ain’t any good.”
He looked out the window and, from my perspective, he looked like a caged animal.
“Don’t know nothing but Mills Hollow.”
“I know, but folks are mean here, Big Jim. It ain’t right.”
“Maybe it ain’t right, but it’s all I know,” he said, looking at me downright mad.
I set the metal box on the floor between us. “It’s $12 for a train ticket from Charleston to Burlington, Vermont.”
“I ain’t going.”
“Big Jim, you ain’t safe here.”
He got up then, like he was in a hurry, and climbed down the rope ladder. He left without even saying goodbye.
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
Benjamin Franklin
Chapter Twenty
Three days later, Big Jim came to the fort. He didn’t say anything about what I’d said, and I didn’t mention it. I expect it was awful strange to think about leaving your hometown, not to mention your momma. I just didn’t want to see him dead and buried before he ever got to living.
He sounded out them little words in the picture books, and I told him he’s real smart. He got tickled at that and said he wished I taught over at the colored school on Ashford.
“Maybe if I coated myself in some of Momma’s molasses, they’d take me for a mulatto.”
He laughed at that and said, “Yessum, you teach real good.”
“Big Jim, you think we’re the only two who think this is a good idea? Me teaching you to read?”
He nodded, real slow like and said, “I ‘spect so.”
I thought of Pa coming down the trail with Joss and hated to think that I was putting Big Jim in danger. One look and Pa might see me sitting up in the window of the tree fort. Or Big Jim, moving his lips to the words I’d taught him. Of course, I doubted they’d see us up so high, what with the leaves and all, but come winter I knew we’d have to figure something else out.
When I got home that night, Pa liked to have a fit.
“Where have you been?”
“Drawing out by Widow Jones’. Rufus ran away, and I had to chase him a spell.”
“I don’t want you drawing at Whitehall no more. That nigger likes to hang ‘round there. Besides,” Pa said, nodding to my Dick and Jane easy readers, “it ain’t right to be keeping them books. I want you to return ‘em next time you see Widow Jones.”
“Yessir,” I said, feeling utterly discouraged. What was Big Jim supposed to read now?
I tried not to look too pitiful when Momma had me peel potatoes and mix up the chicken gravy, but she kept eyeing me funny. I knew she didn’t believe my story about drawing cuz she kept giving me the same look she gave Caleb when he told her he’d seen the old slave’s ghost down at Foxhole Swamp.
“Just make sure you’re back at the smokehouse tomorrow to help Pa,” she said.
“The smokehouse? What for?”
“Your pa’s going hog hunting.”
That was one thing Pa loved more than anything. He’d go deep into the swamp and track down one of them big wild boars. They liked to come at him real mean like, and Pa would aim right for their heads. He’d kill them quick, and we’d have smoked pork all winter.
Caleb was always saying he was gonna get one of them big tuskers, but Pa was the one who always ended up shooting them. I think Caleb was scared, but I wasn’t gonna tell him that. Them ivory tusks were sharp as all get-out, but at least he’d help Pa string up the hog and skin it real good.
The following day I returned the books to Widow Jones like Pa wanted. On the way back, I met Big Jim at the tree fort.
“Guess what?” I told him, trying to paint a real enthusiastic look on my face. “You’ve graduated.”
“Graduated?”
“Yes, you’re such a good reader that we’re moving onto the Good Book.”
“The Bible?”
“The one and only,” I said, pulling out the Bible that Pa kept on the little table by the front window. He never read it so I knew he wouldn’t notice it was missing.
“You ever heard of the Psalms?”
“Yessum.”
“Okay, I’ll read the words out loud and then you can read it back to me.”
“Yessum,” he said, as I laid the book between us.
“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want,” I started off reading until I’d finished the entire Twenty-third Psalm. “Okay, Big Jim. You see what you can do now.”
“But Miss Chloe...”
“Just do your best.”
“Yessum,” he said, looking down at the words. He looked at them real hard, like he was trying to decipher them. I didn’t want to say anything to make him nervous, but I got a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that he couldn’t read a lick of what it said. He looked out the cutout window and I followed his line of vision to a butterfly flitting through the leaves. I’d never seem him look so serene.
“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want,” he said. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”
“Big Jim,” I said, looking at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world. “You memorized the 23rd Psalm.”
“Yessum, I guess I have.”
“How come you know it so good?”
“Momma made me recite it at bedtime. Said it’d help me get through some tough times. I ‘spect it has.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” I said, getting a real big smile on my face. “What else you memorized?”
“The Lord’s Prayer and a few other Psalms.”
“Lord, Big Jim,” I said, marveling at how he’d memorized more of the scriptures than me and Caleb put together. “You ain’t feebleminded. You’re smarter than a whip.”
“You think so, Miss Chloe?”
“Why, sure. You’ve got a real good memory. Ain’t nothing I wish I had more than that when Miss Lilly gets to doing them spelling bees.”
It wasn’t like Big Jim to get a big head, so I just went on praising him. I flipped to the Book of Exodus and asked, “Has your momma ever taught you about Moses?”
“Yessum. He freed his people.”
“That’s right. Them Hebrews were slaves, too.”
“Yessum,” Big Jim said. “I ‘spect they were right glad to get out of Egypt.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They got out of Egypt, didn’t they?”
I don’t know why, but the picture that Miss Lilly showed me of a black man in New York came to mind. His name was Samuel Jesse Battle and he was the first Negro police officer in the city.
“Imagine that,” I told Big Jim. “A black man arresting white men. Ain’t that something?”
“That’s something.”
And there was a picture of a Negro working on a tall building. He looked to be framing it up, and I told Big Jim he could do that, too.
“Yessum.”
“But it wouldn’t be like here, Big Jim.”
“They use a different kind of hammer?”
“No, I mean, folks ain’t so particular about who’s who.”
“You mean ’bout who’s white and who’s black. That what you mean?”
“Yeah, that’s what Miss Lilly says. Things are different up North.”
The leaves rustled around us, like our own symphony of nature, and I got to thinking Big Jim would find it real peaceful up North. The kind of peace the swamp couldn’t give him.
I tried to put it out of my mind as I told Big Jim to keep reading. “From verse one. I’ll help you sound out the word
s.”
“Yes, Miss Chloe,” he said, real confident like.
I think it was because Big Jim had such a mind to read that even if he stumbled over them words, he’d find a way to smooth them out. Pretty soon he was reading about not just Moses, but Joshua and Daniel. Daniel was his favorite. Anyone who got put in a lion’s den and came out alive was all right with Big Jim.
“God shut the mouths of all them lions,” Big Jim said. “So they couldn’t eat Daniel. I wonder if he could do that for me?”
“You planning on visiting some lion?”
“No, I just mean trouble. You think God could keep me from trouble?”
“Sure, God can do that, Big Jim. He’s God, ain’t he?”
“I ‘spect He is,” he said, looking out the window so that his gap-toothed smile got to shining brighter than a lantern.
The birds started chirping in the tree, real loud like, when we heard the twig snap. It was one of those unnatural snaps like something wanted through the brush real bad.
I looked out the little cutout window and saw Pa wading through the woods with his shotgun. He was hog hunting. I put my finger to my lips and prayed Big Jim didn’t have to do one of them big sneezes.
Rufus started barking and, lo and behold, one of them wild hogs came out of the brush. It had curved ivory tusks and a hairy back that looked like bristly wire. Course, Pa raised his gun and, before it got within ten yards, he shot it dead.
I motioned for Big Jim to duck down as I kept my eye on Pa.
Caleb came running up the trail. “Pa, you got one!”
“Big son of a gun, too,” Pa said.
I didn’t know how much that wild boar weighed, but it looked like close to 300 pounds.
“Get the cart, boy,” Pa said.
Caleb ran home and, within a half hour, he came back trundling a wooden cart. Pa took a rope and tied the hog’s feet together. He and Caleb strung it up on the branch of the nearest tree, grunting and groaning the whole time. I kept thinking they were gonna see me and Big Jim, or at least our fort, but they never did. They were too busy tying up that hog and hanging it from its feet. I watched as they took the Achilles tendon and cut a straight seam before pulling the skin back. I kinda felt sorry for the hog, even though I knew we needed pork. I think it was the way Pa took his knife and stripped that hog clean that gave me the willies.
