A Far Piece to Canaan (13 page)

“It won't be good,” I answered. “She's just gettin' over th' trot line thing.”

Fred sighed. “Hit's a bugger.”

On the way back home, I got to thinking about my duck. A pretty wood duck under a plank floor was no fun. I might as well not have it. On the other hand, one more big lie to the folks that they figured out was a lie was going to be bad, especially if I had to tell about the Blue Hole. The more I thought, the more it was plain that if I was going to get my duck into the house, it had to be done honest. I wudn't going to tell about Ben though, no matter what. I'd give up the duck first. The only thing to do was go man-to-man with Dad about secrets and see if a boy had the right to keep one, then let him take it up with Mom. If he said yes, everything was okay. But if he said no, I didn't know what I was going to do.

That afternoon, Dad and Bob went into the living room after dinner and left Mom, Naomi, and Debby washing dishes. That was about as clear a chance as I was going to get. When I got in the living room Bob was reading a book and Dad was in his easy chair and had just finished filling the bowl of his pipe from his Prince Albert can.

“Dad, do you think it's okay for somebody to keep a secret from even people in his own family?” I asked.

Bob looked up from his book for a second, then started reading again, but Dad kind of looked at me funny.

“Well . . . I haven't really thought about that. Never came up before. What kind of secrets we talkin' about?”

“There's a Christmas present I got and I don't want t' tell who gave it. Everybody's gonna ask so I want t' know before bringing it in th' house. Th' person who gave it don't want me t' tell who they are.”

“You're goin' to open it here, huh. We all get t' see what it is?” and he was looking at me suspicious like and I was getting more nervous.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and swallowed.

Dad lit his pipe and I could see that he was thinking while he did it. “Well . . . if it isn't somethin' that we don't approve of, I don't see why not. I'd never ask you to break your word,” and he started puffing and picked up his newspaper. “Fine with me under those circumstances. Wha'd Mom say?”

My heart sank. “I . . . didn't ask her. Thought maybe you would for me.”

“I think you should,” he said, turning a page.

He had me. Now, I wudn't ever going to get my duck in the house. The tears started coming into my eyes, and I fought back crying.

Dad blew out some smoke, then looked at me again. “Your mom's a fair woman, Samuel. If you'd come forward instead of tryin' t' get around her, you'd find that out.”

I nodded, but I didn't say anything. After a while, I wandered out to the lane and threw rocks at the fence posts. Finally, I went to the barn and took out my duck. It was the prettiest thing I ever owned and I wudn't going to get to keep it. It was my duck, and I had a right to keep it. I was going to tell her that too.

Mom, Naomi, and Debby were all sitting at the kitchen table when I come through the door. “I want t' keep my duck, Mom,” I said. “It's a present, and it's mine, and I don't want t' tell who gave it t' me.”

“Your what?” she asked, and everybody stared at me.

“My duck. He was a Christmas present, and it's not right not lettin' me have it.”

Mom's face was a blank. “I didn't say you couldn't have a duck,” she said slowly. “It's okay by me. Why are you so upset?”

“I'm not upset!” I shouted, almost crying.

“Then why are you yelling at your mother?” come a voice, and there stood Dad behind me, his eyes turning pale blue and his temples starting to beat. “From now on when you want something from your mother, you ask, young man. And you do it in a decent tone of voice. Now go put your duck in th' backyard with th' chickens. After you apologize t' your mom! And don't worry, nobody cares where you got it. I'll tell you something, though. A duck won't live alone with chickens unless it's raised with them,” then he went back into the living room and rustled the newspaper.

I stood there for a while trying to hold back the tears, but it wudn't any use. Mom put her arms around me and pulled my face against her chest and talked soft while I held on and sobbed. When I quit crying she said not to worry. If we fed the duck well, it might be okay.

“It's a wood duck,” I said.

Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, a wild duck. Well, still, if we treat it well, maybe . . .”

“No, no, it's made out of wood. It's carved.”

“Carved!” Naomi yelled, and everyone started laughing, including Dad and Bob in the living room.

“I'll go get it,” I said, and went racing out the door. You should have heard 'em, oohing and aahing and running their hands over it and saying how beautiful it was. Nobody asked where I got it and that was one thing nobody was ever going to find out.

The next morning drug by slow. I spent a lot of time with my duck, learning the little grooves and bumps and feeling the beady eyes. After dinner, I asked about taking off if I got back in time for chores. There was no problem, because Mom didn't want my feelings hurt again.

By 12:30, I was at the edge of the Howards' oak grove, circling downwind to keep the dogs from catching my scent. That brought me to the barn's back door. Inside, it was just like all the other tobacco barns in our parts, with a big center driveway. From there, it was forty foot straight up to the coxcomb roof. There were sheds on both sides about as wide as the center but not as tall since the roof had a steep slope.

Everything was sectioned off into fourteen-foot squares by twelve-by-twelve oak beams, which reared clear up to the roof. Crossbeams of the same size were stacked one above the other every five feet inside the big squares. From the crossbeams, wooden two-by-fours were spread apart, and it was on these that the tobacco was hung.

Most of the Howards' tobacco was stripped except for half of one shed. I climbed to the highest spot where unstripped tobacco was still hanging and sat on one of the beams. I was starting to get cold and lonesome when there were sounds of the front barn door being pushed on its slide. I slipped between the hanging tobacco. The door slid shut again, and LD come into view in the center of the driveway.

“Fred . . . Samuel . . . y'all here?”

I snickered, but I didn't answer.

“Anybody here?”

I stayed still.

“Whoa . . . Fred . . . Samuel . . . huh, ain't nobody here yet,” and he walked over to a cultivator and sat down on the seat.

I whistled softly, and he jumped.

“Fred?”

I didn't make a sound, except to giggle.

“All right now, y'all come on out. I know you're here. Fred?”

Just then a ventilator panel opened. It was Fred and Lonnie.

“LD, that you?” called Fred.

“Yeah, hit's me. Old Samuel's here, too, but he's a-hidin' somewheres.”

“Samuel,” Fred called soft.

“Lookin' for me?” I said, and stood up on the crossbeam.

They laughed, and I said I'd be right down.

“Naw, stay there,” said Fred. “Hit's a good place t' hide if anybody comes.”

Pretty soon all four of us were sitting on a big beam talking. For a while we just talked, then it turned quiet. It was Fred who got down to business.

“Well, boys, what we gonna do?”

Nobody said anything until LD choked a little and said, “About what?” and I almost fell off the beam laughing.

Fred didn't laugh. “About what we know . . . th' Blue Hole 'n' all.”

LD shrugged his shoulders.

“You think we ought t' tell, don't you?” I said, looking at Fred.

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Whata you think?”

“I think so too. We wait 'n' that crazy man might kill somebody.”

LD stiffened on the beam and stared at me. “Crazy man!” he shouted, and Fred went, “Shhh, somebody'll hear you.”

“Reckon they will,” LD went on. “Day before yesterday, Samuel was a-sayin' hit was th' Devil. T'day hit's a crazy man. If I'm tellin', I want t' know what's goin' on. What made you change your mind t' hit bein' a crazy man, Samuel?”

He had me. I couldn't think of a thing. “I just changed it,” I said. “A body can change his mind, can't he?”

It got quiet for a while, then LD said, “What good's hit gonna do t' tell if hit's a crazy man or a devil? Ain't nobody goin' t' do nothin' about it. Everybody's scared t' go around th' Blue Hole. If hit's a crazy man, he don't hurt nobody but what goes around th' Blue Hole. Ain't ever hurt anybody we for sure know. Killed one or two old bucks. If he is a crazy man, somebody will see him one of these times and shoot him. If hit's th' Devil, then you know dang well nothin' we say's gonna make a difference.” LD looked around at Lonnie and Fred, then said, “Ain't no reason t' tell.”

“We don't tell and hit is a crazy man, he might hurt somebody,” said Fred.

“Don't nobody know that,” said LD, shaking his head. “Folks been tellin' about him for years and ain't anybody but old man Hackett seen him. Nobody believed what old Hackett said. He was out of his head half th' time. Everybody knows that.”

“That old crazy man's movin' inland from the river,” I said, kind of hot.

“He comes out one time,” said LD, “and you don't even know if hit was him. Hit could've been anybody makin' hit look like a crazy man. I don't want t' get tore up for nothin'. What about Lonnie if we tell? You know what his pa might do t' him?”

“We don't have t' say Lonnie was with us,” said Fred.

“Yeah,” I said, “we can say it was just th' three—”

“Aw sure,” yelled LD, and it sounded like he was starting to cry. “My pa asks me was that so, and hit'll mean I have t' lie some more. I won't just get a lickin'. My pa can beat just like Lonnie's when he's mad, and he don't have t' get liquored up.”

“My pa don't beat!” come a hot voice. “Y'all can do what y' want far as I care. But if'n hit's really that much of a bother t' LD, I'm ag'in tellin'!”

It was Lonnie. In the argument we clean forgot he was there.

LD calmed down after Lonnie spoke and we just sat there, Fred and me wanting to tell, LD and Lonnie not and them with the most to lose.

Fred kind of shook his head. “Supposin' he kills somebody, then we'll have t' tell. We'll really be in trouble.”

“We don't never tell!” said LD. “We just forget about hit. If we hadn't gone fishin', we wouldn't have seen th' dog or cave or nothin' and he'd still be comin' out just th' same. That would be just like us knowin' now and not sayin' nothin'! Wouldn't it? Wouldn't it?”

LD's face was set hard and he kept looking back and forth from Fred to me, then said loud, “Well . . . wouldn't it?”

Fred scraped his no-heel on the beam and muttered, “I reckon.”

I didn't say anything. After Fred spoke, LD quit looking back and forth and just looked at me. His eyes felt like they were shoving me off the beam.

“Supposin' he does kill somebody,” I whispered. “It would be our fault.”

“He ain't a-gonna kill nobody,” LD said. “He ain't ever that we know of for sure and ain't no reason why he should now.”

“He . . . he's . . . all hate,” I said, and I was choking on the words.

Fred had been eyeing me suspicious since LD started in on me. He knew I wudn't telling everything and it bothered him. “How d' you know that?”

This was it. I had to tell about Ben or give in. Since we had been on Berman's I had heard several people say they wondered why Ben was like he was, why he didn't let anybody in his cabin and only come out to take your money for melons or go to the store for supplies. He didn't have a mailbox. He was a loner and lots of folks didn't like him. If I said what I knew, everybody would be down there in no time and I didn't know what they'd do to Ben.

It was dead quiet, everybody waiting for me to say something. I had promised Ben. Given him my word. He had saved my life and was my friend and all he asked from me was not to tell I knew him. No real man would tell after that. Dad would never do that, or Fred, or Lonnie. I started shaking so bad I almost fell out of the barn. “I just know's all,” I whispered.

“Then why don't you say?” barked LD. “You know so much whyn't you tell us!”

“I can't!” I answered loud. “I won't!” I straightened up on the beam, reached one hand around a two-by-four, and began swinging down. “Don't say nothin'. I wanta keep it a secret.”

F
or the next few weeks, things were kind of cool between the four of us. I was uneasy being around Fred because I always figured he was wondering where I got my information. LD never asked again either, and he really didn't seem to care now that he got his way. Lonnie . . . well, Lonnie was Lonnie. He wudn't going to worry about nothing until he had to. No more sheep got killed, and people seemed to forget about what happened. I started thinking about why I was still sore and decided that what was bothering me was LD won the argument fair and square and done it so well even my best friend sided with him. After that, I done all I could to make us all friends again and it worked.

It had been an easy winter, and it was going to be an easy year. You could tell by the signs. The rains come early, the grass followed soon, and the cows began pouring milk. In the fields, volunteer crops started growing anyplace that had been planted the year before. That was the big sign. When the croppers saw that, you couldn't keep the smiles off their faces.

We had some luck too. During the winter, Dad bought three sows. They had twenty-five pigs and only one of them was a runt. By May, the pigs were on their own so we shipped the sows to market and they brought a big price. Dad said if hogs just stayed around twenty cents a pound until we were ready to sell the pigs, we'd make enough money to keep a lot of sow pigs for breeding, and if the price anywhere near held for pork we would have a few thousand bucks coming in two years down the road and be able to buy a real place instead of just a little rock pile. Every day he'd call the hogs at slopping time: “Whooee, pig, pig, pig. Come here you sweet-smellin' down payments,” then he'd laugh like crazy. Mom was happy too. It was the same thing each night. They'd go over newspapers that advertised land sales and Mom would see one that said things like four bedrooms with two baths and shower and built-in appliances, and Dad would look and say things like “Yeah, and it's got a thirty-foot silo that could let a man really feed and do it cheap.”