Every Preaching Sunday morning, right after services were finished and
we were ready to leave the church grounds, Papa said two things, one to
the mules, the other to Mama.
He'd get Belle and Puddin' Foot unhitched and backed away from our oak
tree and headed toward the main road; then he'd give the mules a light
slap with the reins and say, "Belle! Puddin' Foot! Quit moving like
molasses! There's such a thing as getting home 'fore dark!" Then he'd
look around at Mama and say, "Nannie, looks like on preaching days you
invite everybody and his dog to go home with us for dinner!"
And every single time, Mama would smile up at Papa and say, "Well,
ain't you glad the dogs don't come!"
Then they would laugh, and we'd ride on home. Mama would start putting
all the Sunday good things on the dinner table, and Papa would leave
the wide gate open so the company folks could drive their wagons and
buggies into the well lot, where a long time ago Grandpa Thad had
wedged hitching rings deep into the trunks of the black walnut trees.
And before the company men could unharness their teams, Papa would have
his feed trough filled with fodder and corn.
But the first Sunday after Christmas, I knew Papa wouldn't tell Mama a
thing about inviting dogs to come eat dinner. Our wagon was the last
one leaving the church grounds, and nobody was going home with us, not
even Mierd and Wiley. Jenny Goode had begged Mama to let Mierd go to
her house to eat dinner and spend the evening, and Mama had said she
could. Wiley had gone home with the Hansen boys, and Wallace Goode went
there too.
Papa climbed into the wagon, gave Belle and Puddin' Foot a light slap
with the reins, and told them about how slow cold molasses moves in
wintertime. As usual, they paid no attention.
"You didn't ask anybody to take dinner with us today, Nannie?"
"I asked several, Jodie. But Miss Maime had already invited Vic and the
schoolteacher to go with her and Doctor Elton. And January is always
their turn to take the preacher, you remember."
"Yeah, I bet Doctor Elton's looking forward to that! It'll half kill
the man to sit all evening and talk to Brother Milligan!"
When we got home, I climbed down from the wagon and skipped on toward
the front porch. Mierd's old Nero came around the corner of the house
and met me at the yard gate. When I stopped to pet him, he purred and
rubbed his back up against my legs.
Mama called to me from the kitchen and told me to run and tell Grandpa
and Grandma that we were home from church. "Tell them I'll have
Grandma's tray ready in just a little bit—soon as I can warm up the
chicken and dumplings."
In a few minutes I was back, and I found Mama in the kitchen already
setting things on Grandma's dinner tray.
"Mama, you know what Grandma Ming said?"
"No, there's no telling 'bout your grandma. What'd she tell you this
time?"
"She said if I stand 'hind the door and eat a chicken foot, it'll make
me pretty!"
"Goodness me! I'd forgotten that old saying."
"Can I do it, Mama?"
"You can try it, if you want to. That is, if the old rooster's feet
haven't boiled all to pieces."
I followed Mama over to the cook stove and watched her lift the cover
off the stew pot. White steam whoofed up, but she jerked her head back
before it could get on her face. With a big spoon, she started stirring
through the hot simmering dumplings.
"Here's one foot. Well, here's the other one. You may as well have both
of them. But now, Bandershanks, don't be expecting too much."
Mama put the chicken feet on a saucer and handed it to me.
"Careful now. They're hot."
"Which door, Mama?"
"It won't matter. Try that one."
She pointed to the door between the kitchen and the fireplace room. I
slid myself in behind it and squatted down to wait for all the steam to
float away from the saucer. Then I happened to remember that Grandma
Ming had said if I wanted to get pretty to _stand_ behind the door and
eat a chicken foot, so I stood back up again.
As I got up, one piece of my chicken slid off the saucer and fell to
the floor. That was all right. I just wiped it off good with the tail
of my underskirt.
When I had finished chewing up every last piece of skin and soft
gristle sticking to the bones, I set my saucer on the floor and darted
over to the bureau by Mama's bed. But its looking glass had wavy
streaks, so I ran across the hall to the big dresser in the front room.
After a few minutes I decided I'd have to go back in the kitchen to
Mama.
"Mama, them chicken bones ain't no good! I got to the looking glass,
and it was— It was— It—"
"It was what, hon?"
"My same face!"
"Well, don't cry! You look fine. Sometimes it takes a long time for a
girl to get extra pretty. Some need lots of chicken feet."
"I wish every chicken had a hundred feet!"
Papa called me to come over to the kitchen bench where he was sitting.
"Come on, sugar." He took out his pocket handkerchief to wipe my sticky
fingers. Then he lifted me up in his arms. "You look real beautiful to
me."
While we were eating Sunday dinner, Mama said, "Jodie, I know it'll
make you mad when I tell you what I've got to do this evening. But I
can't help it."
"What're you talking about? We've been married nearly twenty-seven
years, and I ain't got real mad at you yet, have I?"
"Well, it's this— Our Missionary Society voted to take turns carrying
foodstuff over to Ophelia and her young'uns. Today's my turn!"
"You're aiming to take groceries to Ward Lawson's house? Good Lord,
Nannie!"
"It's our Christian duty!"
"Christian duty?" Papa had to grab his glass of water and take a gulp
to keep from choking on the biscuit he was eating.
"We can't let old Miss Dink and Ophelia and them nine young'uns suffer!
Vic took vittles to them Wednesday, and she said they're on
starvation—not a crumb in the kitchen! No bread, no meat, just
nothing."
Papa put down his knife and fork. "Nannie, it ain't my Christian duty
to feed the family of a sorry, no-'count sot who nearly beat me to
death, then burned down my store and kidnapped my baby! And he ain't
through yet! He'll poison our livestock or—"
"But, Jodie! The poor little young'uns! They can't help it! They—"
"All right! All right! I'll hitch up the buggy and take you—this one
time. I declare, womenfolks don't look at things like men do. You see
Christian duty where all I see is plain, hard facts!"
It was rather late when we got to Miss Ophelia's place. We didn't see
anybody on the porch, in the hall, or anywhere. But there was a little
streak of smoke rising from one chimney. Papa hitched Dale close to the
yard gate, and we sat in the buggy to wait while Mama went inside with
her box of eggs and butter and stuff.
We'd been there a few minutes when Papa noticed two people coming up
the trail from Ned's house.
"Looks like two women, Bandershanks."
"It's Shoogie! And Doanie! Papa, lem'me run to meet them!"
"All right."
Shoogie was glad to see me. Doanie, too. When we got back to the buggy,
Doanie asked Papa if Shoogie could ride back home with us.
"Yeah, I reckon so, Doanie. What's going on?"
"Trouble, Mister Jodie. Trouble's pilin' up! Shoogie, she is plum puny.
And now, Huldie and me just got word to go quick and help with a
birthin'. Huldie see'd you pass Ned's house. She said ask, maybe y'all
carry Shoogie back. She just in the way. Huldie said tell Black Idd he
better put her in the bed. She look puny, plum puny!"
"In that case, we'll take her."
Shoogie didn't look puny to me. She was grinning and eating hickory
nuts. She let me have a bite and whispered that she knew where we could
find lots, lots more.
"They's just lyin' on the ground—right down yonder at the field. Wanta
go get some, Bandershanks?"
"Yeah, let's do! Papa, I'm going with Shoogie. We're gonna pick me up
some hickor'nuts!"
"No, no, I don't want you out of my sight."
"It's just right yonder, Papa."
"Where's the tree at, Shoogie?"
"This side o' that rail fence."
"Well, don't y'all be gone long, Bandershanks. Surely your mama will
soon quit talking and come on so we can go home. I declare, this is
nearly 'bout too much!"
There weren't as many nuts lying under the hickory tree as Shoogie had
thought. We found a few. Then we climbed over the fence to look under
two more trees closer to the edge of the cornfield. None there.
"Bandershanks, let's go to them big trees 'cross the field yonder on
that hill. See them? I just knows there's plenty under all o' them
hickor'nut trees. I bet that's where Little Stray and Ned's chillen
picks up their'n."
"Papa won't like it!"
"We'll run and get back quick. Your mama still ain't back to the buggy.
And your papa won't never know we's went. Look at him. He's just
walkin' back and forth. Come on, Bandershanks! We's gotta run fast!"
We did run fast, but it was farther across the cornfield than we had
thought. When we finally got to the clump of hickory trees, all we
could find were a few hulls lying around on the ground, and they were
buried in dried-up leaves.
"I don't see none to pick up, Shoogie!"
"Squirrels has et them all."
"Shoogie, let's go back."
Shoogie caught my sleeve. "Be quiet a minute," she whispered. "I
thought sho' I heerd somebody out in the woods. Yeah! Look! Some man
with his shotgun! Run back in the field! He may be mean!"
"A man? Where?"
"'Tween them 'simmon trees! We's gotta hide, Bandershanks! Quick! Get
behind these bushes!" Shoogie pulled me into some high weeds. "Squat
down behind this big old stump!"
"Shoogie, silly! That ain't a mean man. That's— Ouch, Shoogie! You're
hurting my arm!"
Shoogie grabbed my other arm! "Look, Bandershanks! Yonder, comin' this
way! More mens! Naw, it's Ned and Little Stray! Sylvie, too—just
a-streakin' 'cross the field. Sylvie must be chasin' a rabbit. Lawd,
no! There's a white man chasin' Ned! Who's that white man,
Bandershanks?"
"I can't see nobody! Where?"
Then I saw!
"Don't let him get me, Shoogie! Don't let him steal me!"
"Stop, Bandershanks! Come back here! Don't run! Mister Ward'll see us!
Be still, still. Scrooch way low!"
We huddled closer together. Closer to the stump.
"Don't breathe, nor nothin'!"
We could hear the dry cornstalks popping like little firecrackers as
Ned and Stray and Mister Ward got closer and closer. Shoogie poked her
head up to look. I took a quick peep.
"He gonna shoot 'em! Mister Ward gonna shoot!" Two loud blasts!
Another! Little Stray darted by. Another blast! Mister Ward kept
coming! Shoogie shoved me to the ground! I couldn't see Ned any more.
"Get on your belly and crawl! We's gotta get outta here! To the woods!
No, this way! Through the corn!"
The next shot whizzed right over our heads!
Mister Ward yelled, "O_,_ God!" He was right at us!
Shoogie jumped up, jerked me up, and darted back toward the woods. Then
she whirled to go the other way.
"No, Shoogie! Not this way!"
We ran smack into Mister Ward! It knocked him down! We fell too, but he
didn't reach out and catch at me or Shoogie! He just grabbed at his own
neck, pulled himself up against our hiding stump, and cried "O, God"
again. Shoogie rolled me over so fast my mouth got full of dirt! Before
I could spit it out she had us both down in a gully, up again, and
headed across the field. She was dragging me every step. Cornstalks hit
me in the face. They were hitting her too, but she wouldn't slow up.
"Shoogie, wait and see what they're gonna do!"
"No! We don't care what they gonna do! We gotta get outta here!"
"I can't run so fast, Shoogie!"
"We's gotta get back to that rail fence and that hickor'nut tree!
Bandershanks, pick your feets up high! That's the way to run fast!"
It seemed we were running and stumbling through all the cornstalks in
the whole world, but Shoogie didn't care. She went streaking on.
When Shoogie finally did slack down and turn my hand loose, she began
whispering to me as if she were starting a secret she didn't want even
the high weeds to hear.
"Don't you dare tell Mister Jodie, Bandershanks! Don't tell your Papa
Mister Ward done come back. Don't never let that mean white man's name
roll 'cross your tongue. Not never!"
"Shoogie, my papa—"
"Gran'ma Huldie, she says don't breathe his name! Hit'll get you in
trouble. She says she'll beat my hide iffen I gets in more trouble. And
your papa might beat your hide!"
I didn't want that!
"Iffen Gran'ma Huldie finds out we seen Mister Ward, she'll get me for
takin' you 'cross that field. She still claims hit was me what let
Mister Ward steal you and run off with you. Says I ought not to 'a had
you playin' by the road! Bandershanks, she 'clares iffen I gets you in
bad one more time, she's gonna beat the daylights outta me! And iffen
you tells Mister Jodie, he'll tell Gran'ma Huldie!"
It was taking us forever to cross the field.
When we finally got back to the buggy, Papa didn't say a thing about
beating me or my hide. He hardly noticed us. Mama was there by the
buggy, and they were looking at a big, double-barreled shotgun Miss
Dink wanted Papa to fix.
Papa walked back to hook the chain on Miss Ophelia's rickety gate, and
he and Mama talked on-about Miss Dink being sick in the bed again, and
about Miss Ophelia claiming she hadn't seen Ward since Christmas Eve
night, and about some gunshots way across the field. Papa was more
worried about the shots than about Miss Dink.
"Nannie, it sounded like it was between here and Wes Bailey's house!"
"Quit worrying, Jodie. It was probably them three boys out shooting at
tin cans. Boys like to practice."
"Maybe so, but let's get on home. These days I stay uneasy, 'specially
every time I hear a gun go off."
Papa glanced down at me and Shoogie. "You girls hurry and climb up in
the back of the buggy there so we can go. My, y'all both look like
you've been running pigs in a briar patch!"
"No, suh, Mister Jodie. Me'n Bandershanks ain't see'd no pigs. No pigs
a-tall!"
Mama was surprised to see Shoogie. And she was afraid we had both just
about played our dresses to pieces.
Papa helped Mama up into the buggy, and she held Miss Dink's gun and
the reins till he could climb in.
"Nannie, I doubt if this old thing can be fixed. Just look, both
hammers are rusty as all get-out. What's Miss Dink's idea, anyway?"
"Well, she's sick and worried, of course. The gun belonged to her
husband, and she thinks it'd be some protection—now that her and
Ophelia and the young'uns are by themselves all the time."
"I'll oil it up and see what I can do. But it's not any 'count." I
tried to get Papa to let me look at Miss Dink's shotgun, but he
wouldn't. He said guns were not for girls. He laid it across his knees
and took the reins from Mama.
Papa gave Dale a light slap with the reins, and we drove on toward
home. We didn't even stop to talk to Mister Wes Bailey, even though he
was standing out on his front porch as we passed by. He and Papa just
raised their hands to each other, the way men always do.
Papa had already gone to the store the next morning when I woke. I
rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked over at Mierd's and Wiley's
study table. Their books were gone, so I knew they had left for school.
It was that way almost every morning, no matter how hard I tried to
wake early. The whole family could eat breakfast, and Mama could even
get the milking done and the cows turned out to pasture before my eyes
would open.
I could hear talking. Sounded like Doanie. Yeah, that was Doanie, in
the kitchen with Mama.
Mama was saying, "What colored woman was having a baby yesterday
evening? Mister Jodie told me you and Huldie had to go help with one."
"Law, me and Huldie was up the blessed night! I ain't shet my eyes yet!
Hit wasn't no colored! Hit was Miss Addle Mae!"
"Addie Mae Bailey! Why, didn't nobody know she— I declare to my soul!
She's been visiting off down in Louisiana for the longest!"
"Miss Addle Mae, she come home the day after Christmas, and Mister Wes
and Miss Lida Belle, they makes her hide in the smokehouse so's
nobody'd see her. Then yesterday, when the time come, they won't fetch
the doctor. They sends for Huldie and me."
"That poor girl!"
"Law, Miss, when we gets there, Miss Addie Mae, she's in a bad way.
Huldie tells Mister Wes he ought'a send for the doctor! Miss Lida
Belle, she beg and beg him to go get Doctor Elton. He say he don't want
nobody, not nobody, knowin' 'bout Miss Addle Mae."
"What did—"
"Huldie, she do what she can, and I helps her. Finally, 'bout midnight,
we gets the baby--the biggest baby I ever see'd! But, he was stillborn.
Poor Miss Addie Mae was in terrible shape. Then Huldie see'd de blood
keep a-comin'! She yells, 'Lawd God, Mister Wes! Fetch the doctor!
Fetch the doctor! This girl's dyin'!'
"At that, he tear out for the doctor! Doctor Elton, he rush over and
make her swallow somethin' he call 'Ergot.' Then he tell me to hold
tight 'gainst Miss Addie Mae's bottom stomach with both my fists. That
help. Miss Addie Mae dozed off to sleep. We stays there with her all
night. Just 'fore daylight, the doctor say she gwine t' live."
"Did Doctor Elton see the baby?"
"Yes'm. Huldie, she done cover the baby with her cook apron. The
doctor, he uncovers hit hisself. He say, 'God damn! Ward Lawson's!' He
puts the apron back and walks out the front door!"
"I declare to my soul!"
Doanie and Mama stopped talking. At first I thought it was because they
didn't have anything else to say, but it wasn't that. They came
hurrying into the room where I was to look out the front window 'cause
both of them had heard a horse galloping up our road.
"That's Mister Jodie comin' yonder!"
"Goodness, I wonder what's the matter! He hasn't been gone an hour!"
Mama ran to open the door.
It was Papa, all right.
"Nannie! Nannie!" He started calling her before he even got off his
horse. "What's wrong, Jodie?"
"He's dead! They just found him!"
"Who?"
"Ward! Ward Lawson's dead!"
"Oh, the Lawd have mercy!" Doanie screamed. She threw up her hands and
ran for the back door.
"Doanie! Papa called her back.
Doanie let the door slam and came running back inside.
"Is Sun Boy at home?"
"Yes, suh. He home."
"Tell him to come up here quick."
"Yes, suh."
"I've got to go over to the Lawson place. Miss Nannie will have to go
too. You tell Sun Boy to hitch up the buggy for Miss Nannie, and y'all
help her load up some vittles and stuff to take."
"Yes, suh." Doanie started to leave.
"And, Doanie, send one of your boys to tell Bett to come. She can cook
today for Pa and Ma. Me and Miss Nannie may not get back before night,
so tell Bett for her and Hollis to milk and feed the livestock."
"Yes, suh. I tell her."
Mama was rushing around, gathering up my clothes. She seemed in the
biggest kind of hurry, but she whispered that I ought to look out the
side window to see the icicles.
I was still watching the icicles when Doanie flew out the yard gate,
running as fast as she could go. One corner of her white head rag came
untied before she got as far as the well, but she didn't stop to fasten
it back in place. To keep it from flapping in her eyes, she jerked it
off her head as she disappeared around the side of the garden.
"Jodie, what happened?"
"I don't know yet. Wes phoned me. He'd just heard it. Said Ward was
shot—stayed out in all the freezing drizzle last night. His shotgun was
lying on the ground by the barn fence, and Ned told Wes it looked like
maybe Ward was trying to crawl under the barbed wire when his gun went
off."
I wanted to tell Papa that Mister Ward wasn't even close to a barn or a
fence when me and Shoogie saw the blood leaking out of his neck. But
Shoogie had made me promise not to let Mister Ward's name roll out of
my mouth! So, I just looked back at the icicles.
Mama sat down on the edge of my bed and started pulling my nightgown up
over my head. But I could tell she wanted to talk to Papa, not me.
"Who found Ward?"
"Wes didn't say. 'Course Wes didn't know anything for sure. I tried to
phone you, but never could get you."
"I reckon I was still down at the cowpen."
"He asked me to call into town to get the county coroner right away. I
don't know why he didn't do it himself—he's the new Justice of the
Peace. But I didn't argue with him. I phoned in and explained to the
coroner everything Wes had told me."
"I can tell you how come Wes wanted you to put in the call! He's too
tight to spend a dime on toll charges, that's why! Bandershanks, you be
unbraiding your hair, and I'll help you with your stockings. What time
you reckon the coroner will come, Jodie?"
"He's not coming. First he said that he'd get right on down here; then
he asked me how far the old Crawford place is from town. When I told
him it's around twenty-three or twenty-four miles, he said in that case
Wes could just hold the inquest himself."
"Wes?"
"Yeah, he said that, according to the state law, if a coroner lives
more'n twenty miles from the place where a dead body is found, the
nearest Justice of the Peace can make the inquisition, as they call
it."
"Will Wes know what to do?"
"That's what I wondered myself, but 'course I didn't say so to the
coroner. No need to tell him we've got ourselves a J.P. who can't read
or write. I just said Wes had never held an inquest and asked if there
was any special instructions I ought'a pass on. He said to tell Wes to
get himself at least twelve men and swear them in as jurors—have them
take the oath.
"Then, he insisted that I hold the line while he got down his law book
and read the oath to me. He had me copy it down, word for word, in case
Wes needed it.
"But, Nannie, right after the old fellow had rambled through another
five or ten pages of his state books, he said that if it was plain that
Ward's gun went off accidentally while he was trying to climb a fence,
why, we won't have to hold no inquest."
"I thought you always had to have an inquest."
"No, apparently not. He said that a county coroner is not obliged to
call a inquest if there's no suspicion of foul play."
"What do you figure y'all will do?"
"I just don't know. But I gotta get on over there and tell Wes what the
coroner said. We may have to ride around and get twelve men together.
Hal Goode will be there. I phoned Doctor Elton, and he'll be on as soon
as he can. He'd just come in off an all-night case. Dan's going. With
me, that'll make four. And Old Man Hawk will come."
"Oh, you can soon get twelve men together."
"You know, Nannie, nothing ever shakes the doctor; but when I called
and told him they'd found Ward dead, he sure sputtered. Took me by
surprise."
"What'd he say?"
"He said, 'That son of a—' Ah, Nannie, it won't do to repeat. But, I
declare, I never heard old Doctor Elton cuss so before."
"Who's keeping the store for you?
"Vic's boys. Oh, I almost forgot. Vic sent you word that she'll go on
over to Ophelia's as soon as she can dress a chicken. And she's gonna
get Lovie to help her phone the other women."
Mama reached behind the door and took down Papa's heavy cloak.
"You'd better wear this over your jacket, Jodie."
"Yeah. It's plenty cold out. Nannie, I've had the strangest
feeling—sorta guilty —like I'd killed Ward myself!"
"What on earth do you mean?"
"It's curious. When I first heard he was dead, I'm ashamed to say it,
but I was actually glad! 'Course there's been two or three times when I
wanted to kill that man! It was all I could do to keep from it. Now
that he's dead, why, I've got an odd feeling—"
"You've got no reason to feel guilty. You didn't do a thing to the man.
Jodie, have you got time to step out to your pa's and tell them?"
"Yeah, I'll go tell them. I've got a plug of Brown's Mule to take Pa,
anyway. He may not chew it, but I'm clean outta his brand."
Mama followed Papa to the door.
"Jodie?"
He turned around, and she whispered something to him.
"Nannie! That red-headed devil!"
"Doanie told me, Jodie. And I thought you ought'a know!"
"That explains it!"
"What?"
"Where Ward got money to finish setting up his still and then buy that
high-priced automobile! Wes Bailey forked it over!"
"As hush money?"
"Yeah."
Papa left in a big hurry.