The Governor's Sons (35 page)

“Fishy enough to let all those Negro men out of prison? I’ve heard that they’ve been jailed on charges of disorderly conduct and resisting arrest while being rounded up because they fit the description of the so-called murderers.
 
I’d like to know, Governor, just how many Negroes are sitting in your jails, falsely accused.
 
And I want an exact number.”

“I—uh—don’t have an exact number, but we’re working on getting them released,” Ash said.
 
“My father-in-law feels about like I do.
 
We’ve been talking to the District Attorney, along with the Chief of Police and County Sherriff to try and get to the bottom of things.”

“Well, if nothing’s done soon, I might have to take matters into my own hands.
  
I can easily organize a peaceful protest or a demonstration.
 
There’s nothing like a group of colored people that—”

“Now hold on, Mr. Hall, I can’t have you put yourself at risk like that.”

“I won’t have a choice if the situation remains unchanged.
 
And further more—” Harland paused.
 
“I’m sorry, Governor.
 
I didn’t mean to be so abrasive.”

“I understand your feelings.”
 
Ash found himself impressed with his son’s self assuredness.
 
He was quite a chip off the old block, Ash thought.
 
“And if it were completely up to me, the situation would have been handled differently from the start.”

Harland didn’t respond immediately.
 
“Perhaps we can resolve things together.”

“Perhaps so, Mr. Hall.”

After Ash concluded the call, he turned to hang up the phone.
 
Charlene stood in front of his desk with red swollen eyes a wadded Kleenex in her fist.

“Why were you talking to that monster?”

Ash clenched his hands.
 
“He called to offer condolences.”

“To try to make himself and his goons look innocent?”

“Charlene, he didn’t have anything to do with what happened!”

“Well, we certainly don’t know that for sure.
 
So, is the investigation what you think could have been handled differently from the start?”

“Yes, Charlene!
 
And you’ve heard why I think so!
 
Libby’s clothes were torn, but there was no sign of a struggle.
 
No bruises on her at all, no skin under her nails.”

“But she was scratched,” Charlene said.

“A few measly scratches; she could’ve done those herself with a stick.”

“Well, she did have to run and hide in the woods.”

“And Otis—shot like he was—his body didn’t show any kind of struggle either.
 
It’s like he was just standing there and got shot.
 
If he’d been trying to protect Libby and not get himself killed, the man would have put up a fight.

“Hell, Charlene, you’re the one with the intuition!
 
You can read me like a damn book!
 
I’m not the only one harboring suspicions, here!
 
Your dad feels the same way I do.
 
What do
you
think happened?”

“Oh, Ash! You can suspect Libby all you want, but I think you’re wrong!”
 
Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them with the glob of tissue.
 
“There was never a sweeter soul that lived than my brother.
 
He didn’t deserve to die, not young like he was—and not like a dog!
 
Ash, Otis had never been happier in his life.
 
After he met Libby, he was a changed man.
 
When he died—he died for her—trying to protect her honor.”

“Honor?
 
They were practically shacking up!”

“Ash!
 
I don’t necessarily approve of—what we
assume
they were doing—but he did plan on marrying her.”

“I’m gonna talk to that woman,” Ash said.
 
Then he pointed his finger in Charlene’s face.
 
“But I want you to talk to her first!”

“I will, but she’s been closed up in her apartment, too distraught to speak to anybody.”

“She’s wanted to see Gavin more than once,” Ash said.

“He’s the only one she’s
wanted
to see.”

“If that don’t beat all.
 
We gotta get to the bottom of this.
 
Harland Hall didn’t have anything to do with Otis’s murder, and we can’t have people dragging his name through the mud like he did.
 
When he moves his office here, we can’t have a lynch mob waiting because people are afraid of him.”

“
I
wouldn’t put anything past that individual!”

“Charlene—”

“I know his mother worked for you and you consider her a friend of sorts and—”

“And I know Betty Jean and Thomas Hall wouldn’t raise a son who’d have a hand in any type of violence!”

“You don’t know what Negroes are capable of nowadays!
 
And you’ve never even met this Harland Hall.
 
He’s not like his parents!
 
He’s a new breed of Negro!
 
I’ve seen how smooth he is on television and how he talks about a non-violent Civil Rights movement—but we don’t know what he really thinks behind closed doors.
 
Ash—for all we know—he could be just like that Malcolm X character!”

Ash sighed loudly.
 
“Charlene,” he said crossly, “you gotta put your fears into perspective here, okay?
 
Now, I don’t care what you think
other
Negroes are capable of, but right now we’re talking about Harland Hall--and he’s coming into town next week to look for an office and an apartment.
 
He’ll only be here two days so I—”

“Well, he’ll be taking his life into his own hands considering the climate around here.”

“I know.
 
That’s why I’ve invited him to stay here, in the Governor’s Mansion.”

Charlene was speechless for a moment.
 
“I—I won’t allow that.”

Ash squinted, looking at Charlene like she was crazy.
 
“What’d you just say?”

“You heard me, Ash! And don’t look at me like I’m some stupid fool!”

“Well, see here, Charlene, you get over whatever hang-ups you have, and just accept him coming here.”
 

Charlene’s jaw dropped.
 
“But Ash—what about Otis—what about
me
?!”
 

Ash ignored the shock and outrage in her voice, as he shoved his files into his brief case.
 

“I feel almost—well I
do
feel betrayed!
 
How can you want that—”

“I have to go,” Ash said bluntly.
 
The mantle clock chimed 8:45.
 
The car would be waiting out front to take him to work.
 
“When I get home,” Ash walked from behind his desk, “I’ll expect you to have a change of heart.”
 
He brushed past her as he left his office—and didn’t kiss her goodbye.

****

While sitting in the backseat of the long black Oldsmobile, Ash couldn’t keep his mind off of Harland.
 
As the driver shuttled him the short distance to his office, Ash glanced through his open window at the towering oak trees, then gazed ahead at the white brick State House.

Its architecture was a combination of classical Greek and ornate French styling.
 
Magnificent scrolled columns lined the entire façade, and an imposing dome covered in gold rose seven stories above the rotunda.

Ash sighed, unable to focus on the day’s itinerary.
 
Visions of what lay ahead clouded his mind.
 
Next week--he’d be with his son--the son who was a secret—and a Negro.
 
Although he’d seen Harland on television and in photos, Ash hadn’t been in the physical presence of his first born son since the child was four months old.
 
The anticipation—no Ash thought—it was more than anticipation, but whatever it was—it was excruciating.

Ash began to break a sweat.
 
He pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his brow.
 
Ash’s hands trembled slightly at the thought of actually being in the same room with Harland.
 
At some point he’d have to tell Harland the truth.

Ash clenched his fists, trying to make the shaking stop.
  
He could handle this—he wasn’t afraid.
 
But when would he tell Charlene—and when would he tell the kids?
 
He hated to admit to himself that he was—
unnerved
—for lack of a better word—about telling his family.
 
But he
wasn’t
afraid, even though he found himself sweating buckets at the thought.

By the time the driver reached the State House, Ash felt ashamed as he reflected on his conversation with Charlene. He shouldn’t have been so harsh.
 
She adored Otis.
 
As his little sister, she could see past him not amounting to much. Ash could’ve been more sensitive. He’d make it up to her later.
 
But he’d have to convince her that Harland Hall was no one to be afraid of.

****

Frustrated, Ash walked from the shower.
 
The flowers hadn’t worked, and neither had the Godiva Chocolates.
 
And since Ash had arrived home, Charlene had given him the cold shoulder. She’d hardly spoken through dinner, and now as he climbed in bed next to her naked, as he always slept, Charlene didn’t even bother to look away from her novel,
The Man in the Gray
Flannel Suit
.

“So—when are you gonna start speaking to me again?” Ash asked.

Charlene placed a blue satin marker in her book.
 
After putting it on the varnished oak nightstand, without glancing toward him, she said, “Maybe tomorrow, if I feel like it.”
 
She reached for the brass lamp switch and turned off the light on the nightstand.

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Ash asked.
 
Charlene ignored him.

It was after 11:00.
 
Ash turned off his light, too, then propped himself on one elbow.
 
After his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he gazed at the curve of Charlene’s hip and inhaled the familiar fragrance of her lilac bath oil.
 
When he gently reached to touch her, she pulled away.

“C’mon, Charlene, we can’t go to bed angry with each other!”

“Maybe
you
should have thought about that this morning when you trampled all over my feelings, and didn’t even bother to listen to me or show me any sympathy!”
 
Charlene turned angrily to face him.
 
“Sometimes you don’t act like anything but an arrogant bastard!”

Ash was taken aback; Charlene never cursed.

“My brother’s dead, Ash!
 
How could you invite someone here who could’ve had a hand in his murder?”

“Charlene,” Ash tried to remain calm.
 
He thought it a good idea not to upset the apple cart any further.
 
“Harland Hall didn’t—”

“But what if he did?
 
Maybe he’s got some network out there.
 
They were probably going after my parents.
 
But since they were gone, they killed Otis instead.
 
If Libby hadn’t gotten away, they might have come after us next!”

“Charlene, honey, that’s ludicrous.”
 
Ash was angry but he tried to maintain his cool.
 
“There was no sign of your parents’ house being touched.”

“Even if that man didn’t have anything to do with Otis’s death,” Charlene continued, “why did you invite him to stay in our house?
 
I mean—why do you feel like you
owe
something to the Negroes?”

Before Ash could reply with a carefully crafted answer, Charlene spoke again.

“Is it because of that girl named Kitty?”

Suddenly, Ash’s carefully crafted answer fled, leaving him at a loss for words.
 
Thankful for the darkness, Ash felt the blood rush from his face.
 
No telling what Charlene would’ve thought if she could see him in the light.

“Why don’t you tell me about that incident?”
 
Charlene challenged.

Ash tried to speak, but couldn’t for a moment.
 
“What—what do you know—about an—an incident?” he stammered, his dry mouth clacking.

“Lillian Ann told me a girl named Kitty worked for your family one summer but ended up dying.”

“Yeah,” Ash said slowly.
 
“She died.”

“Sounds like you’re having trouble expressing yourself.”

When intuitive, Charlene was usually nurturing, Ash reflected.
 
Now she was harsh, with a sharp edge to her voice he seldom heard.
 
Ash hoped she wouldn’t suspect any more than he was willing to explain.