The Land (39 page)

I left B. R. Tillman. I went to other bankers, but they pretty much said the same thing. I wasn't ready to accept defeat. I went to see Luke Sawyer, got a couple orders from him for which I already had the wood, and spent the night in his shed before leaving Vicksburg. On the ride back all I was thinking on was how I could still buy the land. Nothing came to me. I bypassed the forty and headed toward Hollenbeck's meadow. I had another day before I had to let J. T. Hollenbeck know if the deal was set. I rode to the pond and let the mule water. Afterward, I rode back to the meadow and settled on the slope where I'd first spent the night. I slid my gear off the mule's back and settled down to look out over the land beside what I now considered my praying rock, and I prayed to be shown a way to have this land. I sat there until nightfall before I finally rolled out my blanket and lay down. I put everything into the Lord's hands. In the middle of the night I woke, took my coat, and by the light of the full moon, ripped one of its seams and pulled out a thin wallet I had made from calfskin. I put the wallet in my pocket, then went back to sleep. The next morning I woke with a plan, and it was that plan I took to J. T. Hollenbeck.

 

“You said you wanted to have all your land sold before you leave and you wanted cash for it,” I said as I sat with J. T. Hollenbeck on his front porch. He had been doing paperwork on the porch when I arrived, and he had invited me to join him there. He had even offered me a seat. Not every white man would have done that.

J. T. Hollenbeck nodded, and puffed on a cigar. “That's right.”

“Well, at your asking price of ten dollars an acre, I'd be figuring to buy two hundred acres of that section we talked about.”

“Thought it was supposed to be four hundred.”

“It was,” I admitted. I met his eyes. “It's two hundred now. But it still includes that meadowland centering near that hillside and the pond.”

J. T. Hollenbeck studied me a few moments, as if deciding whether or not it was worth his while to hear me out. “Go on,” he finally said.

“Now, at ten dollars an acre, I could make you a down payment of twenty-five percent on contracting the land,” I continued calmly, trying not to sound anxious that he might reject my offer. “That would be five hundred dollars on signing, and I could pay twenty dollars a month for the next six months. In the seventh month, I'll pay the rest that's due, thirteen hundred eighty dollars.”

J. T. Hollenbeck stared at me, then smiled slightly. “Now, how are you going to get thirteen hundred eighty dollars in half a year's time? You have yourself a bank loan?”

“Not a bank loan,” I said. “I plan on selling off the forty acres I'm working.”

“But I understand you don't have title on that land.”

“I will by the time your note would be due.”

“What about the remainder of the money? That forty acres won't bring you near enough to pay for my two hundred acres.”

“I understand that. But I plan to plant cotton too. I've already bought my seed, and if cotton prices stay the same as in this past year, I figure to earn about four hundred dollars on the crop. Also, I can have as many orders to make furniture as I can handle from Mister Luke Sawyer up at the Vicksburg mercantile and I figure in the next seven months I can earn two hundred dollars for my work.”

J. T. Hollenbeck slowly shook his head. “That still doesn't seem to me like that'll bring enough.”

I had held back my final source of income. “I also figure to sell my palomino.”

J. T. Hollenbeck studied me and was silent. He drew on his cigar, then took it out. “Six months, you say?”

“Seven months,” I answered, correcting him.

J. T. Hollenbeck's eyes narrowed. “Now, why should I have to finance you for my own land for that period of time? I told you I wanted cash money on this transaction. Could be it'd be better for me to sell outright that piece of land you want.”

I agreed. “But you've got a lot of land here to sell, and I'm willing to buy. You'll have five hundred dollars when we sign. You'll be getting a payment every month, and the land will stand as its own collateral.” I paused. “I fail to make any payment to you on time—monthly or the last one—I'm willing to pay a penalty.” Now, it might not have been very smart of me to volunteer to pay even more money if I didn't need to, but I was hoping to persuade J. T. Hollenbeck of my commitment to pay him his money, and on time.

J. T. Hollenbeck stared at me, then thrust his cigar back between his lips and walked the length of the veranda to the other end and stared out, his back to me. I waited patiently. J. T. Hollenbeck took his time. Finally he turned, took the cigar out of his mouth, and pointed at me with the hand that held the cigar. “The down payment would have to be eight hundred fifty dollars, not five hundred, and that monthly payment would have to be twenty-five dollars, plus five dollars for me carrying you. Seeing that it's already the end of February, payments would begin next month and the final payment of one thousand dollars will come due the end of September. According to what you've said, you should have title to that Granger piece of land by then. If you're smart enough to work a deal with me, then I figure you're smart enough to have found a way to sell that forty acres of yours in time to pay me. I'll give you seven months, not a day more.

“And you certainly will pay a penalty if you default on this agreement. I've given you the lower price on this land because I admire what you're trying to do. Not many men, black or white, would have taken on what you've already done, or been so persistent in what you want to do. I admire that too. I believe in giving people with your kind of motivation a chance. But you'll pay hard if you've been wasting my time. I'll treat all the money you've paid me as earnest money, and if you default, you'll lose it. I figure that's fair, seeing I should be selling that land at fifteen dollars an acre to begin with, not ten. If you keep your bargain with me, I'll take the loss. If you don't, you'll take it. That means you won't get back one cent. Now, can you live with those terms?”

They were some hard terms, all right, and I should have walked away, I know, but J. T. Hollenbeck's land was the land I wanted, and if I didn't agree to his terms, I wouldn't have a chance of getting it. Agreeing to his terms, though, meant I could lose all my savings. Still, I knew that J. T. Hollenbeck was giving me a chance. I also knew that most white men would not have given me such a chance, would not even have talked to me about my buying such a piece of land. It was a bad deal for the person who didn't figure to have the balance of the money. But it was a great deal for the person who figured to have it.

I figured to have it.

So I made the gamble. I accepted his terms and forced myself to keep from shouting my joy. When I'd been doing my figuring, I'd figured high and I'd figured low. I had made my low offer to J. T. Hollenbeck so that I could have some bargaining room. I had savings enough for Hollenbeck's eight hundred fifty dollars in down payment. I had enough money too for some of the monthly payments. What I didn't have, I figured I could get. I wasn't worried about the final thousand dollars. I had the forty and I had Thunder. By the time the seven months were up, I would have orders for Luke Sawyer finished and a crop as well. I might even end up with some money left over. “I can handle it,” I told J. T. Hollenbeck.

J. T. Hollenbeck walked back up the veranda. “Good,” he said. “I'll need to have your eight hundred fifty down before the end of the week.”

I felt the calfskin in my pocket. “If we can do the written work, I can pay it now,” I said. “I've got a blank draft that can be drawn on a bank in New Orleans.”

J. T. Hollenbeck smiled. “New Orleans money is as good as anybody else's. Come on in and we'll write up the papers.”

 

I was jubilant. My head was up there right in the clouds as I headed back toward the forty. Every now and again I laughed, and I even sang, as I rode along on the mule, just thinking on the reality that the land was now going to be mine. There was part of me that couldn't believe it, that I was going to have land just as grand as my daddy's. It didn't matter that the acreage was much less; it was the land I wanted. There was part of me too that wanted to let my daddy know I was going to have this land as grand as his, and I was going to get it for myself, without him. When I thought on that, though, when I thought on my daddy and on my brothers, I felt a sadness, but I refused to let thinking on them spoil my joy. I could hardly wait to get to the forty to tell Mitchell and Caroline the news. I raced that mule the last three miles toward home. I raced him as if I were atop Thunder.

Before I reached the cabin, I saw Nathan running toward me. I figured he was eager to hear my news about the land, and I waved happily to him in recognition. I was grinning wide by the time he neared, but when I saw his face clearly, I knew something was wrong. As always on a workday, dust caked Nathan's face, but today tears had streaked that dust. I leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Mitchell!” he sobbed. “He bad hurt, Paul!”

“What happened?”

“Somebody done shot him in the back, jus' as a tree was 'bout t' fall! Tree done fell on Mitchell and he all broke up inside and bleedin'! We don't think he gonna make it!”

“Where is he?”

“Up at the place.”

I grabbed Nathan's arm and he swung up behind me. I spurred the mule into a gallop once more. Before the mule was fully stopped at the front of the cabin, I leaped down and raced to the door. Tom Bee sat on the stoop, his head back against the logs. He'd been crying too. He looked at me but said nothing. I flung the door open, then just stood there. Mitchell lay unmoving on the bed, and everything seemed to be in blood. Caroline and an elderly woman called Ma Jones sat beside him. Seeing me, Caroline got up. She saw in my eyes my question, and she answered it. “He been waitin' on you.” She added nothing more, just walked past me and out the door. Ma Jones followed her.

I went over to the bed. Mitchell lay so still, I was fearful he hadn't waited long enough. Then he opened his eyes. “So, how'd it go?”

I stared at him. “What?”

“You get the land?”

I nodded. Mitchell closed his eyes and almost smiled. “Um . . . knowed ya would. Course, I never done thought one of them banking men would loan a colored man no money.”

“Didn't,” I said, speaking as normally as I could, about what no longer mattered. “Gave me some advice, though. Talked to me like I was some boy. Told me J. T. Hollenbeck's land was a white man's kind of land and to be satisfied with what I had.”

“Then how'd you get it?”

“Doesn't matter. Save your strength.”

“Wanna know.”

“Already paid Hollenbeck the down payment. I'll pay the rest during the next seven months.”

“You had that much money?”

I nodded mutely.

Mitchell managed the smile this time. “Well, I shoulda knowed.”

I sat down, wanting to take his hand but fearing Mitchell would know my fear if I did. “Nathan said a tree fell on you. How'd that happen?”

Mitchell grunted. “Like t' know that my own self.” His breathing was hard.

“You get careless?”

He looked straight at me. “Coulda done gotten foolish. Ain't never got careless . . . 'specially when somebody firing at me.” Every movement was labored. “Got shot just as the tree was 'bout t' fall. Must've stumbled in front of it.”

“Who shot you?”

“Digger.”

“Digger? You sure?”

“It was him, all right.”

“Well, you forget about Digger Wallace right now. Right now you just save your strength.”

“Got no strength t' save. I ain't comin' outa this.”

“Course you are.”

“Naw, I won't. Don't start lyin' t' me now. We been through too much t'gether.”

“Yeah, we have been, some as bad as this, and we both survived, so I know you'll be all right.”

Mitchell again grunted, closed his eyes, then, as if by sheer will, forced them back open. “That girl Etta you been seeing, you meant what you said 'bout her?”

My lips parted, not sure why he was asking about Etta at a time like this. “What do you mean what I said about her?”

“'Bout you ain't got feelings for her. That's what you said.”

I nodded. “Yes, I meant that. But why—”

“Then good.”

“Good?”

“Then I can ask you what's on my mind.”

“And what's that?”

“Want you t' marry Caroline.”

I gazed at Mitchell, figuring now his mind was going. “What's that?”

“You just shut your mouth. . . . You got plenty time t' talk. . . . I ain't. Can't keep repeatin' myself. Said want you t' marry Caroline.”

I shook my head, not knowing what to say to his rambling. “Well . . . that's not possible, Mitchell . . . you're married to her—”

“Want you t' take care of her for me. Want you t' take care of her and my boy.”

“Mitchell, no . . . I can't let you talk like this—”

Mitchell grabbed my hand, and there was in his grasp an amazing strength. He raised himself up on his elbows. “Paul, you gotta do this for me. You gotta do this! I ain't gonna rest easy 'less you say you gonna do it. You, me, we always back each other up, you know that. So you take care both of 'em for me. You promise me that, Paul. Promise me!” His grip tightened in his urgency, and I could feel the time slipping away.