Shades of Black: Crime and Mystery Stories by African-American Authors (11 page)

“Well, do you think that you can help me?” Lana Sue asked, then licked the last of her chocolate milkshake off a straw.

“I don't know. Mr. Phillips keeps to himself. He comes into town less than Mr. Shaw does,” Jessica replied.

“We have to think of a way to get him to attend one of the Armistice Day functions. I guess I'm going to have to tell you girls a secret. This is a secret that you cannot tell anyone, not your parents or the sheriff. Do you want to hear it?” Lana Sue asked.

“We can keep a secret,” Amber whispered. The other two nodded. No one else in the store was close enough to overhear the conversation.

“I was assigned to the boys in the 369th Infantry Battalion, because I was the only colored nurse with any combat exposure . . .” Lana Sue began.

“You were
in
the War?” Robyn interrupted, the girls almost dropped their shakes they were so excited.

“No, I meant I'd cared for severely wounded men in an old Union Veteran's hospital. I didn't cry or fall apart when someone had to have their arm or leg removed. Although it was very difficult with the 369th, because some of the men were younger than my twenty-year-old nephew,” Lana Sue replied.

“Oh,” the girls whispered in unison.

“Mr. Shaw was in the 369th. He spoke at the school and told us all about it. Remember, Amber, you were out with the measles?” Robyn said, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“Yes, but you told me what he said,” Amber replied.

“What did he say?” Lana Sue asked.

“I'm not sure that I remember it all. But I'll try. Mr. Shaw's favorite cousin . . . I can't remember his name, who lived in New York, was drafted and asked Mr. Shaw to join him in the fight for democracy abroad. Mr. Shaw's uncle was a member of the 15th Regiment before it was renamed the 369th, and he wanted to carry on the family tradition. Even though Mr. Shaw was much older than most men being called to serve, the army needed men who were able and willing to help in the War effort, so they accepted him. He was sent to the front, because he has an excellent ear for languages, and he was able to translate many of the French and German words for the company. Once, because everyone was surrounded, he fought alongside his cousin after they reached Belleau Wood in France. Mr. Shaw's cousin was wounded and returned home, but Mr. Shaw remained with the 369th and was with them when they reached the Rhine. He didn't talk much about the actual fighting. Mostly he described how beautiful the countryside of France and Germany was and how much of it reminded him of Poplar Cove, except that the trees were different. He didn't like discussing the War. Mr. Shaw told his story very quickly and didn't wait for too many questions. You know he gets quieter and quieter every year. I overheard Mother telling someone that most of his friends have died.”

“Thank you, Robyn, that was a nice summary. Do you girls know that the 369th was the most highly decorated division in the War? The extraordinary valor of the 369th earned them fame in Europe and America. I'm
sure that your school informed you of the feats of Corporal Henry Johnson and Private Needham Roberts.” Lana Sue paused for a breath.

“We were told that they were attacked by a German unit while on the Western Front, and even though they were wounded, they refused to surrender,” Jessica interrupted.

“Yes, they refused to surrender and fought with whatever they had. They were the first Americans awarded the Croix de Guerre,” Robyn volunteered.

“Very good. You're correct, but they weren't the only Harlem Hellfighters to win awards,” Lana Sue added.

“Harlem Hellfighters? Is that what the French called them?” Robyn asked.

“Yes, that was the division's nickname. A little more than 170 men and officers received individual medals, and the unit itself received the Croix de Guerre for taking Sechault,” Lana Sue added.

“Gosh, and someone from our hometown was part of that. But what does the 369th have to do with Mr. Phillips?” Jessica asked.

“I have to find Mr. David Joseph Phillips. You have to trust me. I think that he would listen to me if I were to meet him with you girls. I've been given some documents that he needs to receive at the Armistice Day celebration. I came here to see Eli Shaw and to give him David Joseph's documents. Then Eli . . . Mr. Shaw said that David Joseph lived on a farm near Marshall Cove.”

“Why doesn't Mr. Shaw get Mr. Phillips to come to the parade?” Amber asked.

“Or, why doesn't Mr. Shaw just give the documents to Mr. Phillips?” Jessica suggested.

“It seems as if Mr. Shaw and Mr. Phillips haven't spoken to each other in over five years,” Lana Sue replied. “I found that out when I asked Eli the same thing.”

“Five years? Why? What happened?”

“Eli won't tell me. Before you ask, I don't think that he'll tell any of you either. He can be a very stubborn man,” Lana Sue smiled to soften her words.

“Then we'll just have to bring them together without them knowing that the other one will be there,” Jessica said.

“Okay girls, let's figure out how to bring these two old War buddies together.”

“I just can't believe it that Mr. Phillips was
in
the War? He's never attended any of the celebrations that I can remember,” Robyn said.

“I thought Mom said that he spent the war in a tuberculosis sanitarium in Weimar. Besides, Mr. Phillips is only about twenty-seven years old. Wouldn't he have been too young to be in the War?” Amber asked.

“I believe that he lied about his age so that he could fight. But that is something that we would have to ask him,” Lana Sue replied.

Two days before Armistice Day dawned cool, with just a trace of the fog that would settle into Poplar Cove by Christmas. Mrs. Lana Sue Barton borrowed one of Henry Du Pree's cars and, accompanied by Robyn and Jessica, drove the fifteen miles from Poplar Cove to Marshall Cove.

“Nurse Barton? It is Nurse Barton. What are you doing here?” David Joseph Phillips asked, as he wiped dust from his tan face. He moved slowly, dragging his left leg and coughing from the dust the automobile had stirred up. He stopped by the morning glory–covered fence that separated his front yard from the dirt road that led to Marshall Cove and extended his hand to open the gate. “Who are your two little friends?” He frowned and walked to the parked car and opened the passenger side door to let the girls out.

“Hi, Mr. Phillips. It's us, Robyn Jones, Homer Jones's daughter—he's the postmaster. And this is Jessica, one of my best friends from Poplar Cove.”

“Pleased to meet you, Robyn. Jessica.”

“David Joseph. I heard that you lived near here, and I have a surprise for you,” Lana Sue said, stepping out of the car and hugging the young man.

“You're all the surprise I can take in a day. Whatcha doing in Marshall Cove?” He asked, standing stiffly with his arms at his sides. He did not return her hug. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and did not
look directly at Mrs. Barton. He spoke to a point a little to the left and behind her shoulder.

“I told you. I came to see you because I have a surprise.”

“What?”

“You'll have to come with me to Poplar Cove to receive it.”

“Where? Poplar Cove? Oh, yeah. There ain't nothin' there that needs my attention.” He said, bending over and absently rubbing his left knee. “I don't know no one there that's worth knowing.” He began to sweat and wiped his face with a dusty handkerchief.

“You know Mr. Eli Shaw, Three's grandfather,” Jessica interrupted.

“Eli Shaw. He ain't no friend of mine. If'n that's what you came here for, you can get back in that automobile and go home.” He coughed, wiped his face again, and turned to his farmhouse, nearly tripping over the two geese that waddled past.

Meanwhile, Amber was walking up the steps of the Shaw's farmhouse. It was late afternoon, and Mr. Shaw was sitting on the porch drinking a glass of lemonade.

“Anna, one of them Triplets is here to see ya.” He turned and yelled through the screen door to his wife, who was in the kitchen.

“Actually, Mr. Shaw, I came by to see you.”

“Me? What for?”

“It's about your time with the 369th Infantry. I have to give a speech at the Armistice Day celebration, and I was ill when you spoke to our school, so I was wondering if you could tell me about your time in France.” Amber crossed her fingers behind her back, sat down on the top step, and took out her school writing pad and pencil. The light from the kerosene lamp in the living room gave just enough light for her to write clearly.

“Uh . . . well. Maybe I have a few minutes. Would you like some lemonade? Anna bring . . . now which one of the Triplets are you?”

“Amber, sir.”

“Bring Amber some lemonade. Let me see it was nearly ten years ago that we came back home. Some things I remember it as if it were
yesterday, others I can hardly remember at all. Occasionally, late at night I can still smell the gun powder and smell the blood.” He shook himself as if to rid his mind of the memory.

“I nearly lost Jamie at Belleau Wood. He was shot, but we got him home. He's fine now. There were some good men there. I got a chance to use my French. We heard a lot of it growing up in Louisiana. Sort of came back real easy when I heard it every day. I learned German too; can hardly speak them anymore. No one to talk to.” Eli paused, remembering the time in Europe.

He told the same story that Robyn had relayed to Lana Sue and Jessica.

“Did Mr. David Joseph Phillips fight alongside you?” Amber asked.

“We don't speak his name in this house,” Eli replied, harshly. “Anyone who thinks that I would betray a trust is not anyone I want anywhere around my friends and family. He'd better stay in Marshall Cove and mind his own business, and I'll mind mine here.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring his name up. I just wondered if . . .”

“If what?”

“If you were in the War together.”

“Not everyone from California fought together. Do you have all the information you need for your report?” Eli Shaw got up from his rocker and walked into the house.

“Yes, thanks. Thanks, for the lemonade, Mrs. Shaw,” Amber said, to the closed door as she got up and began the long walk home.

I hope that Mrs. Barton and the girls had better luck than I did. I didn't learn anything about why Mr. Shaw and Mr. Phillips don't speak,
she thought.

“David Joseph, I'm not leaving until you hear what I have to say. I don't care about your feud with Eli Shaw or anyone else,” Lana Sue said.

“We're not leaving either,” Jessica added, as she and Robyn stepped on either side of Lana Sue. David Joseph smiled briefly for the first time since their arrival.

“Well, I guess I can't leave you standing in the front yard. Come in,”
David Joseph said, opening the front door of his immaculately clean home and stepping inside. He motioned to a brightly patterned overstuffed sofa and a matching chair. Lana Sue sat in the chair, the girls on the sofa. David Joseph sat in a Bentwood rocking chair.

“I want you to know why we came to see you and why it's so important for you to return to Poplar Cove with us.” Lana Sue sat up straight in the chair and opened her purse.

“Looks like this might take a while. Let me get ya some lemonade. We Phillips's have manners, even if others don't,” David Joseph said.

“Oh just show us where the kitchen is, we'll get it. That way you two grown-ups can talk,” Robyn said, jumping up from the sofa. Jessica got up also.

“Okay, thanks, the kitchen's over there.” He pointed to a closed door to the left of the sofa.

“Maybe we can learn why he and Mr. Shaw don't speak to each other if we're not in the room,” Robyn whispered, as the girls walked out of the room.

“David Joseph,” Lana Sue began.

“Most folks 'round here call me DJ. Why don't ya call me DJ?”

“Okay, DJ. I know that you believe that you deserted the army . . .”

“That's why ya came, you and them girls? What's Eli been sayin'?” DJ interrupted, his face flushed with anger.

“Eli doesn't know that we're here, and he hasn't said anything,” Lana Sue continued.

“Well, he's wrong. I ain't deserted the army 'cuz I was never in the army. I have TB and was in Weimar during the War,” DJ said, looking down at his trembling hands and coughing violently.

“You were not at Weimar. You were with the 369th in France. You were wounded, shot in the left leg—the very leg that you favor so much.”

He stopped rubbing his left knee, which he had been unconsciously rubbing since he sat down.

The girls returned to the parlor with a pitcher and four glasses. They poured lemonade for everyone and sat back down on the sofa.

“Girls, maybe DJ and I need to talk a little longer . . . alone. Would you mind returning to the kitchen?”