Embracing Darkness (30 page)

Father Poole nodded his head slowly. “But, Arthur,” he replied. “We can’t just go down there and accuse this boy’s parents of abuse and neglect. I mean, we’d need proof. Everything you’ve described could have come from anywhere.”

Nichols was quick to retort. “No, Father Poole. The boy’s father is a giant of a man. I saw how the two of them interacted with one another. The boy seemed terrified of him, and the father dominated him.”

Stroking his chin and deep in thought, Father Poole listened attentively.

“He doesn’t go to school,” Mr. Nichols continued. “I checked the day I met him. I went to Wheelwright Academy, and there are no coloreds registered there.”

Father Poole walked toward the door and opened it. “When I go over there to the rectory, walk in, and tell Sister Ignatius that I have a new condition to add to our compromise, she’ll react. I don’t know exactly how, but I’m sure I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Yes, Father,” said Arthur Nichols. “I know I’m putting you in a difficult position. Believe me, as I said before, I would take him if I could, but I can’t. The boy’s presence in my house would be as obvious as a New York Tory at an independence convention in Faneuil Hall. You know how people in this town can talk. Then I’d have to worry about the boy’s father trying to kill me, or I’d be arrested, or both.”

Father Poole thought that Arthur Nichols was taking advantage of his generosity, but after further reflection while the two men went upstairs to check on Jessica, and after seeing her peacefully asleep, the prospect of saving another child was the only right thing to do.

Charity
to
all.
Turn
away
no
one
in
need
, thought the priest.
I
gave
my
word.
I
promised
that
I
would
do
so
until
the
day
I
died.
As quickly as it had wandered, his mind returned to the present. “But what will
she
say?” Father Poole commented, pointing in the direction of the rectory.

Arthur Nichols, who was slowly beginning to believe that Father Poole was ready to help, replied, “We’ll chew that food when we have to. Right now we need to find that boy. I remember he told me that he lived above ‘The Watering Hole.’ We’ll most likely find him in that area.”

Ezra Hodges put his boots on and headed out the door. “You be good now, hear?” he said loudly to Jonas from in front of the boy’s curtain partition. Wilma was in the hallway by the stairs hanging wet laundry over the banister. Ezra kissed her goodbye, just as lovingly as he had before his violent episodes. Since gaining steady employment at “The Watering Hole,” he had slowly gone back to being the man he was before the family’s luck turned sour.

He arrived at the bar at just after four. They’d be opening the doors in less than an hour. Ezra pulled down the chairs, opened the piano’s keyboard cover, and polished the top of the bar. The booze was locked up and well hidden from any suspicious out-of-town strangers not on Mayor Aberfoyle’s payroll.

The bar opened at 5:00 sharp, as usual, but something was different on this day. A man no one ever expected to come in, let alone pay for his own drink, walked through the doors. It was Heathcliff the pickpocket, and evidently his ship had come in at last.

A few days earlier he had attempted to rob a wealthy young couple from Hampton who were visiting family in Holly. It would be an understatement to say that his efforts had failed. Mrs. Augustine Chandler, whose husband was often away on business, feared being left alone in their big house by herself. So she asked her laundry man, Wang He, to teach her the martial arts. She had only gotten as far as learning how to flip someone over her back, but this was sufficient for the likes of Heathcliff.

The pickpocket’s greatest mistake was coming up to the young couple from behind. Mrs. Chandler immediately elbowed Heathcliff in the gut, causing him to fall forward and clutch his stomach. She then grabbed one of his arms, brought it over her shoulder, bent forward, and flipped the unlucky thief onto his back.

Heathcliff began crying like a child after hitting the ground hard and smacking his head against the wooden planks. In fact, to say that he was crying would have been to sugar-coat it. He was blubbering. Being a failure at the one thing he was trained to do was too much for him to handle, and that hurt him more than landing hard on his back.

Mr. Phillip Chandler, whose hair was so neatly combed that not one strand seemed out of place, bent down and extended a hand to help the man to his feet.

“Are you mad, Phillip?” Augustine protested. “He just tried to rob us. Call for a policeman. He might try it again!”

“Come now, my dear,” Phillip replied. “If he were any good at what he does, he’d have robbed us blind, and he’d never have allowed you to make him look like a horse’s ass.”

Heathcliff got to his feet and clasped his wrist, which was sore. Mrs. Chandler had obviously hurt it when she yanked him over her shoulder. He now was being comforted by Phillip, whose arm was wrapped around the thief’s waist.

“Look at him,” Mr. Chandler began. “He’s pathetic. How can you not take pity on such a miserable, good-for-nothing crook?” Heathcliff wished he could disappear at that very moment as he wondered what was coming next.

Phillip Chandler took from his inside coat pocket a wallet, opened it, extracted two hundred-dollar bills, and gave them to Heathcliff. “It’s in these tough times,” Chandler said, “that we must try to help one another. Now take this money and off you go, but I don’t want you attempting anything like this again. After all, could you ever take advantage of those who have helped you?”

Heathcliff walked into “The Watering Hole” dressed in a new suit and shoes, with a watch chain dangling from his vest pocket. He had come in to gamble, yet the serious gamblers weren’t due in until about 7:00.

“Where are the fellas with the cards?” Heathcliff inquired, a bit nervous.

Ezra asked, “You talkin’ to me?”

“Yeah,” said Heathcliff, sounding annoyed as a rich man would who’d just had to repeat himself to one of his servants.

Ezra replied casually, “They not in yet. They come in later on weeknights. Don’ stay none too late neither on them nights.”

Feeling a bit uncomfortable standing at the door with nothing to do, and self-conscious about walking out without staying for at least one drink, Heathcliff decided to go over to the bar.

Jacob Pease, the bartender, came over to him and asked him what he’d like.

“I’d like a double whiskey on the rocks, pl…,” Heathcliff began.

“What’s the matter with you, man?” Jacob scolded. “Don’t you know you can’t run around here shoutin’
whiskey
?” He walked away from Heathcliff and continued, “Besides, we don’t carry liquor. Prohibition, you understand.”

The thief-turned-upstanding-citizen grinned at Pease. “Oh, I see.” He cleared his throat and tried again, talking loudly and checking over each shoulder as if he were being judged for elocution by a panel of judges in the rear of the bar. “I’d like some
water
, please,” emphasized Heathcliff, confident that he’d learned how things worked in the bar.

Pease shook his head, and whispered, “You sure you don’t want
apple
juice
with ice?”

Heathcliff, bewildered, cocked his head. “No, I’m sure. I’ll have water, please. Don’t much care for apple juice!” He gave Pease a wink and a grin.

Jacob just rolled his eyes and shook his head before ducking below the bar. Twenty seconds later he emerged holding a glass of clear liquid. He set it in front of Heathcliff, who briefly studied the contents before picking it up and showing it to Pease.

“WHY, THIS AIN’T WHIS…,” he exclaimed.

Again he was interrupted, this time by Ezra Hodges. “The man ask if you want apple juice. You say no. You said you was wantin’ water. He done bring you your water. An’ you gonna drink it, ain’t ya?”

Heathcliff, who had never been intimidated by a black man before, was speechless and terrified all at once. “Uhm, sure,” he began, his voice trembling, afraid that if he spoke above a whisper or moved one inch he was going to get another beating.
But
if
I
do
get
a
whoopin’
, he thought,
better
to
have
the
shit
kicked
out
of
me
by
a
giant
Negro
than
by
a
wench
holding
a
handbag
in
one
hand
and
a
parasol
in
the
other
.

Heathcliff raised his glass and tilted it slightly forward toward Ezra Hodges as if to toast him. “Th-this is fine.” He took a sip of the vodka he’d been served, swallowed it, and quickly began choking. Ezra was still staring the little man down. “Mmm mmm mmm!” croaked Heathcliff. “That’s good water! Pure New Hampshire, that is!”

Ezra backed off slowly, nodding his head at Heathcliff, who in turn took another sip and this time choked less. It wasn’t that Heathcliff was accustomed to drinking whiskey and not vodka. The truth of the matter was that this was his first time in a bar and the very first time he’d ever taken a drink. He figured he’d ask for whiskey because it was what his mother had always drunk. And although he didn’t get Pease’s hint to ask for apple juice, since it was the same color, he’d still have choked on a glass of whiskey.

By 6:00 that evening Heathcliff was drunk and still the only customer in the place. After his third “water” he switched to “apple juice.” After four of those he was ready to take on the world. Upon Heathcliff’s ordering his fifth, Jacob Pease asked him for proof of his ability to pay.

“Are you calling me a
deadbeat
?” Heathcliff said, slurring his words and hiccupping twice. As the bouncer at “The Watering Hole,” Ezra Hodges walked over to the bar. He put his hand on the bar next to Heathcliff’s fourth glass of “apple juice,” which now stood empty. “OR ARE
YOU
CALLING ME A DEADBEAT?” Heathcliff roared at Ezra, pointing his finger at the colossal man. “’Cause if you are, darkie, I’m goin’ have to do somethin’ about it!”

Heathcliff then got off his barstool and pushed up against Ezra, though the top of Heathcliff’s head reached only up to Ezra’s nipples. The drunken little man swayed back and forth, hitting his buttocks against the stool and his nose against Ezra’s chest, ultimately expelling one loud belch.

“Ezra, show this gentleman to the door, please,” said Jacob.

Ezra grinned and said, “Wit’ pleasure.” He then grabbed Heathcliff by the collar of his new coat, rough handling that caused Heathcliff to explode in rage.

“THESE ARE NEW CLOTHES!” shouted the pickpocket. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU FUCKIN’ NIGGER!”

The next thing both Jacob Pease and Heathcliff saw were the whites of Ezra’s eyes growing larger.

Father Poole and Arthur Nichols were approaching “The Watering Hole” when they heard Ezra screaming from inside and then someone shouting like a child.

“Oh no!” Nichols shouted. “Do you hear that poor little child in there being beaten? Come, Father. We’ve got to help!”

As the two men ran to the door, Wilma and Jonas emerged from the door that led up to their apartment. Nichols gasped. It took him a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t the boy at all that Ezra was beating.

“Jonas!” Mr. Nichols exclaimed. Wilma didn’t know where to look. She was concerned for her husband, but she also wondered how in the world the old white man knew her son.

The four of them entered the speakeasy. Jacob Pease had already left via the back exit to go get help. Heathcliff was now a bloody mess, and Ezra was sitting on his stomach still punching him in the face.

“NO, DADDY!” Jonas yelled. Ezra stopped immediately as he saw the four of them standing by the door.

He got up and and grabbed his son by the arm. The boy screamed. When Wilma tried to intervene, Ezra backhanded her in the face. She fell hard into three chairs and hit the floor with a thud.

Then Ezra turned to his son, still in a rage, and screamed, “I TELL YOU NEVER COME IN DIS HERE PLACE, AN’ YOU IGNORE ME!” Seeing that Ezra was about to hit Jonas, Arthur Nichols tried to interfere. He grabbed Ezra’s right hand, which was poised to deliver a powerful blow to the boy. Ezra shook Nichols off, grabbed him by the throat, and threw him into the corner, rendering him unconscious.

Ezra then turned his attention back to Jonas. Still in a deadly rage, he began to strangle his son. Father Poole knew that Nichols needed help, as did Wilma and the man lying on the floor in a pool of blood, but his immediate concern was the child.

The priest picked up a chair, raised it above his head, and smashed it over Ezra’s head.
God
willing
, he thought,
that
should
do
the
trick!
Ezra released Jonas, who by now was unconscious. Jonas fell backwards, but Father Poole caught the boy before he hit the floor.

A grunt and then a long moan came from the corner where Arthur Nichols lay. Phineas realized that other people were hurt. It also occurred to him that, of six people in the whole place, he was the only one who would walk out unscathed. What’s more, for the moment, he was the only one still standing and conscious. He surveyed all the damage, making the Sign of the Cross as he did so.

He decided to help the lady first and went to her, urgently. Wilma Hodges was out cold but seemed only to have hit her head. There was no blood, and her breathing appeared to be regular. He shook her gently and then went to the bar to get some half-melted ice, which he put on Wilma’s forehead.