A Peach For Big Jim

by Lisa Belmont

  I got back to the house late that night. The candles in the jack o’ lanterns were burned down low, and Pa was on the front porch.

  “Where in hell have you been?” Pa said, holding a lantern so that it made a waxy light between us.

  “Caleb and I got separated.”

  Pa got to staring me down, and I nearly told him the truth when Caleb came out of the woods, panting real hard.

  “There you are, Chloe,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Whatever moments we’d shared coon hunting or spitting watermelon seeds off the back porch had paid off.

  Caleb put his arm around me and said, “It was real dark out, Pa. Chloe thought she knew a shortcut and we got separated.”

  Pa looked from Caleb to me. “Is that right? What happened to your costume?”

  “It got tangled in some shrubs.”

  “That’s one of Momma’s sheets. How come you didn’t go after it?”

  “I didn’t want all them thorn pricks.”

  I knew Pa was skeptical, but he didn’t have any other answers, so he shrugged and told me to get inside.

  Caleb stepped on the porch and Pa brushed off his shoulders, telling him he was proud that he’d kept General Robert E. Lee’s uniform so pristine looking.

  I didn’t even feel jealous. I was too grateful that I’d gotten to see Big Jim.

  I went to my room after kissing Momma goodnight. She told me not to be taking no shortcuts next time.

  “It’s dangerous at night, Chloe. Never know who’s out on Halloween.”

  She was right. I never expected in a hundred years to see Big Jim.

  Adversity, if for no other reason, is of benefit, since it is sure to bring a season of sober reflection.

  People see clearer at such times. Storms purify the atmosphere.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The next day there wasn’t any school, but there was plenty of harvesting to do. Pa sent me and Caleb into the garden first thing after breakfast. We gathered butternut squash and parsnips and tossed them in Momma’s wicker basket. She told us to leave the rotten squash for the birds.

  I glanced at Caleb a couple of times, knowing he was pretty upset about having to lie for me. But, by the way he bit his lip and cut away at them vines, I knew that wasn’t all that was troubling him.

  “Emma Kate’s just trying to make you jealous, Caleb.”

  “Well, it worked.”

  “Don’t pay her no mind. Girls like that always wanna see a couple of boys fighting over them.”

  “I reckon.”

  “But I’m glad you didn’t do nothing to Jonas Fairfax. He ain’t worth it.”

  “No, she ain’t worth it,” Caleb said, throwing a squash in the basket. “Best thing a person can be is loyal, Chloe.”

  He stared at me real good, and I felt what was coming.

  “Did he really save you?”

  I looked at my brother, wishing he could see things like I did.

  “He ain’t like you said, Caleb. He’s real nice.”

  Caleb just looked at me, like he thought I ought to be committed.

  “He’s been spying on Miss Lilly.”

  “He was wanting to read her books. That’s all.”

  “If that’s all you think it was, then you’re dumber than a signpost.”

  “I know that’s what it was cuz I’m helping him.”

  “Helping him what?”

  “Learn to read.”

  “You’re teaching him to read? That’s what you’ve been doing when Pa’s been thinking you’re off drawing somewhere?”

  “That gator would’ve had me for sure. It’s the least I can do.”

  Caleb grabbed the rake and went at them leaves, putting them in a big pile.

  “This ain’t right, Chloe.”

  “No, you ain’t right, Caleb. Ain’t right to hate folk for their color.”

  “I don’t hate him.”

  “Then what do you call it?”

  He just shook his head and went at them leaves. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re just going along with what Pa says cuz you’re afraid. Afraid and ignorant as all get-out.”

  I never knew if I was getting through to him, but at least he looked at me for a minute, trying to figure out what happened to the little sister he used to go crawdad fishing with. We’d launch out in his canoe and paddle out in the water, letting the sun warm us while we lowered our traps.

  He held the rake handle to his chest and looked at me real good. “I can’t say nothing for Big Jim, but I guess I’m glad he saved you.”

  The trees got to rustling and Caleb started back in on the leaves. I wasn’t sure, but from the way he grimaced, I think he was giving some thought to what I said.

  It wasn’t until Pa came out to check on us that I started feeling whatever bond we were making was broken.

  “How’s it coming?” he said, putting his hands on his hips like he was overseeing a whole field of cotton.

  “Real good,” Caleb said, pointing to the basket full of squash.

  “Good,” Pa said. “And Chloe, you help Caleb with the raking when you’re done.”

  “Yessir.”

  Pa went over to Caleb and slapped him on the back. “I’m real proud of you, boy. Real proud. Who knows? If you keep your grades up, you might even go to The Point someday.”

  West Point was the pinnacle of success for Pa. It meant you were following in the footsteps of Stonewall Jackson and Jeb Stuart. Briscoe Mason and Robert E. Lee. It meant you were gonna be a fine soldier and a true gentleman.

  I just got to wondering what Pa would’ve thought if he knew Briscoe Mason had an affair with his house slave, Ruth. If he knew Ruth had carried Briscoe Mason’s bastard child, Martha, and that she had Hattie Mae. And that, just like in the Bible, all them begats led to one name. In this case, it was Big Jim.

  Pa went inside, and Caleb raked some more.

  “I can’t do it, Chloe,” he said, finally.

  I gathered up the basket, ready to carry it inside. “Do what?”

  He stopped raking and looked at me, the pile a great mound of crimson, orange and yellow.

  “Don’t see him no more, Chloe. If you do, I’ll tell Pa.”

  I think it better to do right, even if we suffer in so doing, than to incur the reproach of consciences and posterity.

  Robert E. Lee

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The following day, Caleb and I walked to school together. There was a thick layer of leaves on the path that he got to kicking pretty good. It had rained the night before, so they didn’t get too far. They seemed weighed down with the same heaviness I was feeling.

  Caleb didn’t mention Big Jim again, and I was glad for it. I had enough on my mind. This morning Miss Lilly was going to teach about General Robert E. Lee during history. All I could think about was how he wanted them Negroes to stay in their place. For them to be whipped on the cotton fields from morning to night.

  Pa even told me before I left the house that morning to “listen up good to what Miss Lilly has to say.” That was a first. He said he might even quiz me himself when I got home.

  The old cast iron bell rang as Caleb and I got to school. Every morning Mr. Hartwell, the janitor, would hold out his pocket watch and at eight o’ clock sharp, he’d yank down on the rope. The bell would clang so loud that you’d think you were late for church.

  I didn’t dillydally around but hurried to Miss Lilly’s. I took out the little writing journal she’d given us at the beginning of the year and tried to look like I was real interested in today’s lesson.

  Miss Lilly was wearing a pink wool sweater, that I bet she knit herself, and a pretty black skirt that showed off her pencil legs. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought Big Jim was spying on her. She was real pretty.

  Miss Lilly turned around, and I looked at the board. She’d written things like General Robert Edward Lee, born and died in
Virginia (January 19, 1807 – October 12, 1870). Graduated second in his class at West Point Military Academy in 1829. Married Mary Custis, the granddaughter of George Washington in 1831. Fought in the Mexican War in 1846. Joined the Confederate Army in 1861 when his home state of Virginia seceded from the Union. Surrendered in 1865 to the Union Army at Appomattox Court House.

  I could practically fall asleep in this class. There was no way Miss Lilly knew more than Pa about Robert E. Lee.

  “Chloe,” Miss Lilly called me to the front. “Would you mind passing these out?”

  She handed me a thick stack of papers with quotes from Robert E. Lee. Each packet had at least four or five pages. I handed them out, row by row, to each student in class.

  When I got back to my desk and sat down, Margaret Wilcox whispered, “Teacher’s pet.”

  I told her to hush up and got to scouring through all them quotes, looking for the ones that said things like “black folks are evil” or “them darkies are likely to torch your house down if you turn your back.”

  I got to scratching my head when I didn’t find any.

  “Miss Lilly,” I said, raising my hand. “You sure these are quotes from Robert E. Lee?”

  “Yes, Chloe,” she smiled at me. “They’re compiled from historical articles written about his life. You can rest assured they’re his quotes.”

  I put my hand down slowly, feeling like the room was starting to sway.

  On the first page, it said:

  So far from engaging in a war to perpetuate slavery, I am rejoiced that slavery is abolished. I believe it will be greatly for the interest of the South. So fully am I satisfied of this that I would have cheerfully lost all that I have lost by the war, and have suffered all that I have suffered to have this object obtained. (May 1, 1870)

  I flipped to the next page.

  What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world.

  I looked up at Miss Lilly. She was going on about Robert E. Lee’s early childhood. His father died when he was eleven and, as a dutiful son, he became responsible for the running of the household. He took care of his ailing mother with the compassion of a nurse, bringing her medicine and carrying her to her carriage.

  I looked over at Chester. Joss idolized General Lee the same as Pa, and I wondered if Chester was going through what I was, but one look at him told me he wasn’t. He’d rolled up the paper like a telescope and was looking through it at Margaret Wilcox. When he got tired, he put down the telescope and flicked a pencil at her. It jabbed her in the arm, and she screamed bloody murder.

  Miss Lilly put her hands on her hips and said, “What’s wrong, Margaret?”

  “Someone threw this pencil at me,” she said, rubbing her arm where the point had jabbed her.

  Miss Lilly cocked her head and looked around the room. Chester was stifling a laugh.

  “Chester Bleekman,” she said. “You come up here and write 100 times I’m sorry and will never disrupt Miss Lilly’s class again.”

  “Yessum,” he said, going to the board.

  Margaret stuck her tongue out at him when Miss Lilly handed him the chalk.

  I’d never felt so isolated in all my life. I listened to Miss Lilly go on about how Robert E. Lee was a hero. Just not the kind that Pa talked about. Why he had so many quotes on character and morals that I started thinking he wanted to be a preacher man.

  He said things like, “My trust is in the mercy and wisdom of a kind Providence, who ordereth all things for our good.” And, “My chief concern is to try to be a humble, earnest Christian.”

  There was nothing about hating Negroes or fighting to keep slavery in the South. I wondered what Pa would think if he knew Robert E. Lee had said these things. If he realized that maybe Robert E. Lee didn’t think about the South the way he did. It got me riled into thinking I might just leave the paper out next to Pa’s shotgun and see if he picked it up.

  That night, Momma and I fixed sweet pork and cornbread. I made sure them Robert E. Lee quotes were on the mantle and, sure enough, Pa got to cleaning his gun and picked them up.

  “Is this what Miss Lilly’s been teaching you?” Pa said, looking over at me.

  “Yessir. Them quotes are from Robert E. Lee himself.”

  “Quotes?” Pa said, putting on his reading spectacles.

  I was stirring the cornmeal and buttermilk, real easy like, and looked over at Momma. She was checking on the pork, making sure it was tender, and I bit my lip. I felt like I was waiting for dynamite to explode right in our little shotgun house.

  It seemed like Pa had made up his mind about everything there was to know. Nobody, and I mean nobody, was gonna tell him that Robert E. Lee didn’t think slavery was a good idea.

  “Chloe,” Momma said. “Help me with this tater salad.”

  “Yessum,” I said, pouring the cornbread batter in the pan when Pa liked to have a hissy fit.

  “What in the heck is this?” Pa said. “These ain’t no quotes by Robert E. Lee.”

  He flipped to the second page and the third.

  “I raised my hand in class, Pa,” I said. “Miss Lilly told me he said those words.”

  “Well, she’s just plain wrong, ain’t she? Listen to this,” Pa said, “here’s a gooden. In this enlightened age, there are few I believe, but what will acknowledge, that slavery as an institution, is a moral and political evil in any country.”

  He looked up from the paper like he was ready to break out laughing. “Robert E. Lee owned slaves on his plantation in Virginia, Chloe. That’s a fact.”

  He tossed the paper in the hearth so that the flames curled around it. I watched it turn to ash as Pa said, “If these schools ain’t gone to pot, then my name ain’t Tucker Ray Mason.”

  Miss Lilly didn’t say nothing about Robert E. Lee owning no slaves. I wondered if it was true.

  I peeled the last potato as Pa got out his jug of moonshine. He started going on about his leg acting up and propped it on a stool. I wanted to talk more about Robert E. Lee, but it seemed like Pa had an answer for everything.

  “Blackie Sullivan’s having his way tonight,” Pa said.

  He got to caterwauling real good, and Momma fixed him a warm towel to wrap around his leg. I cut up the peeled potatoes and put them in a bowl, trying to drown out the sound of Pa’s singing.

  “Ol’ Blackie Sullivan, you tried your best that day. Tried cutting off my leg, but it wanted to stay. Now I’m laid up for good, my leg swellin’ and gettin’ bigger. But I’m not near off as bad as you, you six-foot-under nigger.”

  As I got to mixing up the potato salad, I realized something. Something I’d never thought of before. It was a strange thought, but it took hold way down deep.

  Blackie Sullivan was Pa’s friend. Oh, I know, it was a strange thought at first, but when I really got to thinking on it, I realized that Pa would conjure up his ghost every chance he got. He’d serenade him like an old friend and raise his jug of moonshine to him. In fact, when truth be told, Pa paid more attention to Blackie Sullivan than me and Caleb put together.

  It’s a matter of taking the side of the weak against the strong, something the best people have always done.

  Harriet Beecher Stowe

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I lied to Caleb and told him I wouldn’t see Big Jim anymore. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t have any other choice.

  Big Jim’s leg was healing up pretty good. Good enough to get up the rope ladder anyway. That’s why we decided to meet at night. Pa was getting too suspicious for me to go wandering around the swamp during the day. He might get to looking up in them trees and figure out that I was with Big Jim. But, at night, I knew nobody would even notice I was gone.

  The only thing I hadn’t counted on was how long it took Pa to go to bed. I’d told Big Jim I’d meet him a
t eleven o’ clock on Wednesday night, but the trouble was, Pa was outside on the front porch, rocking in his chair.

  “If this don’t beat all,” I said, peeking out from my room.

  Momma and Caleb had already gone to bed. I could hear Momma snoring through the thin wall and realized I’d have to sneak out my window.

  I lifted the sash and waited. I didn’t hear anything but the sound of Pa’s chair creaking and a few katydids deep in the woods. It was now or never, so I grabbed the satchel and climbed out the window.

  I held a lantern in my right hand, letting it cast a path of light. I knew my way pretty well, but I went real slow, hoping I wouldn’t trip on a rock. The woods crowded around me and the chorus frogs went at it like it was a summer night.

  I lifted the rusty lantern and prayed it wouldn’t go out. It shone a path across the trunk of the swamp oak, and I could’ve died with relief. The rope ladder was down, and a hazy light was burning at the top.

  “Big Jim,” I hollered.

  “Miss Chloe,” he said, sticking his head out the window. “You done made it. I was getting worried.”

  “I brought the books,” I said. “Lots of ‘em.”

  “Yessum,” he said, as I grabbed ahold of the rope and climbed up. I juggled the lantern and my satchel, all while holding onto the rope, but I didn’t care. I got to the top of that ladder and came face to face with Big Jim. We couldn’t talk for staring. It seemed like the cat had got both our tongues.

  I set the lantern on the floor and let it sputter.

  “I didn’t think I was gonna get to come. Pa’s rocking on the front porch.”

  “How’d you get away?”

  “I snuck out the back window.”

  “Miss Chloe,” Big Jim said. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. What if your pa catches you? He might whip you like he did me.”

  “No, he won’t find out,” I said. “He drinks that ol’ moonshine and can’t see straight for days.”

  It was a bit of a stretch, but I hoped it’d put Big Jim at ease.

  “Okay,” he said, as I put a book in front of him and shoved the lantern next to it.

  “Let’s see how many of these words you can read.”