The Sharecropper Prodigy (9 page)

             
The sheriff looked at him and shook his head. “First of all, John, they’d tell us to go straight to hell if we even hinted at it. They don’t want a damned big mob of Klan comin’ to their jail and endangerin’ their citizens any more than we do.”

             
“What if they don’t know where we took him?” John asked, with a dejected look on his face because his idea had been shot down so quickly.

             
“They’d find out. Hell, a fourth of the deputies in Alabama are prob’ly Klan. If our county wasn’t so broke right now, we could afford to pay more deputies. Maybe we can talk the state police into sendin’ us some help. Hell, we might have to call in the army.”

*****

              Ben and Mr. Winston had moved Rachel’s bed next to the window so she could see outside. She had only spoken a few words since they had brought her home, and Mr. Winston was beginning to worry. She wasn’t eating enough to keep a bird alive and slept most of the time. But it wasn’t restful sleep. It was filled with nightmares of that terrible day. Only in her dreams, it wasn’t always Rube who attacked her. Sometimes it was Ben, sometimes Mr. Beene, her science teacher, and once it had even been her papa. She would sometimes awake and see Ben or her papa sitting in the rocking chair beside her and let out a muffled scream, as if she were scared to death of them.

             
Ben would not contemplate anything other than her full recovery. He had requested from Mr. Winston every book on psychology he could get his hands on. Mr. Winston had done everything he could to grant Ben’s requests. There were piles of thick books on the subject scattered all over Rachel’s bedroom. Ben was reading constantly, trying to find answers. The human mind was a complicated subject. Rachel’s problems couldn’t be solved by some mathematical formula. It was going to take experimentation such as Ben had never done before, and most of all, patience and love. The last two were the easy part.

             
After reading what seemed like a thousand different books and articles, Ben woke Rachel up at six-o’clock the next morning. She fought him as vigorously as she could with the little bit of strength she had, but Ben was persistent. He finally was able to get her out of bed and asked Lizzie, the Winston’s full-time maid, to help her get dressed.

             
“Mr. George ain’t gonna like this one bit,” Lizzie argued.

             
“If you want her to get better, just please do what I ask,” Ben replied.

             
Lizzie finally got Rachel dressed, though it was no easy task. Ben was waiting in the hallway outside her room when Lizzie brought her out. Ben took her by the hand and slowly led her down the sweeping stairs. They walked into the kitchen where Jim, the Winston’s butler, was serving George his breakfast. George looked up and saw Rachel fully dressed, but with the same blank look on her face.

             
“What’s goin’ on here? Why is Rachel out of her room?” Mr. Winston asked incredulously.

             
Ben put his index finger up to his lips in an attempt to silence Mr. Winston.

             
“Why, it’s breakfast time, Mr. Winston,” Ben said cheerfully. “Rachel always has breakfast with you.”

             
George had a stern look on his face, but decided not to question Ben further. He only hoped Ben knew what he was doing.

             
“Yes sir. We’re gonna all have a nice breakfast, and then Miss Rachel and me are gonna take a short walk. Let her get a little fresh air.”

             
Rachel sat down at the table and put her napkin in her lap. She looked like a piece of machinery moving and still had the same blank expression on her face. This would be the first meal she had eaten outside of her bedroom since she’d been home. Ben walked around to where Jim was standing with the serving tray. He smiled at him as he took it and then walked back to where Rachel was seated. He put three large spoonful’s of eggs, three strips of bacon and a generous portion of grits on her plate. Then he placed two of Lizzie’s famous cat-head biscuits beside the bacon. He broke one of the biscuits in half and covered it with sawmill gravy.

             
“She can’t eat all of that,” Mr. Winston said, looking at Ben as if he had lost his mind.

             
Ben stood behind Rachel and shook his head at George in a shushing gesture.

             
“I bet she can eat most of it,” Ben replied, running his hand through Rachel’s hair. “If she can’t, that’s alright too.”

             
Ben guessed that Rachel had lost at least ten pounds. Her cheekbones looked as if they might burst through the thin layer of skin at any time. Her jaws looked cavernous, as if they had been pressed together. This caused her chin to protrude and become much too prominent. Her eyes looked much too large for her head and were constantly darting around the room, like a small animal in fear of predators.

             
She picked up a slice of bacon and took a small bite, chewing it several times before swallowing. Then she lifted her fork as if it weighed a ton. She stared at it for a minute before cutting a small portion of the scrambled eggs and slowly lifting it to her mouth. The eggs had barely passed her lips when she jumped up and darted from the table like someone had yelled
fire
or some other perilous warning. She didn’t make it far past the threshold of the dining room door before she began retching. She fell to her knees and continued to crawl toward the bathroom on her hands and knees. Ben jumped up to help her but Lizzie had seen her and ran down the stairs. She was waving Ben away as she picked Rachel up and helped her to the bathroom.

             
Ben walked back over to his chair and sat down. He looked at his plate full of delicious food. It was much better than what he was used to eating every morning and under normal circumstances he would be digging in. But he had suddenly lost his appetite. He picked up his cup of coffee and sipped it, looking at Mr. Winston.

             
“We’ve got to try and get her into a normal routine,” Ben said. “According to everything I’ve been reading that’s the best thing. She needs exercise to build her strength, too. If we just let her keep layin’ in that bed with nothing to do but dwell on what happened to her, she’ll just waste away. And I refuse to let that happen.”

             
Mr. Winston looked at Ben. He was grateful for the way he’d stuck by Rachel’s side, refusing to leave even at mealtime. He had been pouring through those books like he was a doctor in search of a cure for someone who was on their deathbed. If there had been any doubt that Ben truly loved his daughter, it was gone now. He knew it wasn’t romantic love like a boy would have for a sweetheart he was desperately trying to win. It was genuine love like one has for their best friend on earth.

             
“Maybe we’re tryin’ to move too fast,” Mr. Winston said quietly, as if he didn’t want anybody but Ben to hear.

             
Ben looked down at his coffee cup and shook his head, “It’s been almost two weeks since the…..since she was hurt. I know it’s gonna take a while for her to recover emotionally, but I believe it’s something else that’s causing her to be sick at her stomach and not being able to eat. Have you noticed it’s always worse in the morning. It’s like…….”

             
Ben looked up quickly at Mr. Winston, hoping he wasn’t having the same thought he was. But Ben could tell by the way the color had drained from Mr. Winston’s face that he had just read his mind.

             
“Oh,…. God no. It….it can’t be. I hadn’t even thought about that. Oh, Lord, please don’t let it be.”

             
Mr. Winston got up and walked quickly to the front door. Ben started to follow him but decided it might be best to let him alone. Ben sat back down and put his head in his hands. He had been so wrapped up in watching over Rachel and trying to help her recover from the mental state she was in, that he hadn’t even considered the possibility. One thing he knew for sure was if there had ever been a man who was fertile, it was his father. His mama hadn’t seen many days since she married Rube that she wasn’t carrying a baby. Rube didn’t marry Evergreen until he was thirty-two years old. Evergreen was fifteen years younger. Ben often wondered if he had any half brothers or sisters. Considering Rube’s insatiable sexual appetite, he was all but certain he did. 

CHAPTER NINE

             
Sheriff Tucker had shot his pistol into the air so many times the barrel

had gotten hot and he had to go back in his office to get more ammunition. The mob of hooded rabble-rousers had worked themselves into a frenzy like a congregation at a tent revival that was led by a fire breathing, charismatic preacher. The deputies were all scared to death and hoping some of the townspeople would hear the commotion and come to their aid. Preferably armed with shotguns and rifles.

              “Git out of the way, Harold. We don’t want to have to come through you, but by god we will,” Boney Bullard shouted out.

             
Harold, the chief deputy, didn’t know why Boney even bothered donning a mask. Anybody who had been in Collinwood any time at all could recognize his deep voice. Besides that, he was the only man in the county that stood six-foot- six.

             
“Now, Boney, you know we can’t just let you walk in and take old Rube. We’re all sworn to uphold the law and you know that. He’s gonna stand trial just like anybody else would. That’s his right as a citizen, no matter what he’s done.”

             
“He’s a damn nigger and he ain’t got no rights after what he done to Rachel Winston,” Bob Samples yelled. “I can’t believe a God fearin’ man like yourself would stand in our way and keep us from doin’ what needs to be done. An eye for an eye is what the Bible says. It’s in there plain as day.”

             
“So is
vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,”
Harold yelled. He had never actually read that particular passage, but he’d heard it quoted a lot.

             
“Well, by god, vengeance is gonna be ours today,” another voice shouted. This got the whole crowd going. They all started moving closer together and making their way toward the front door and the deputies. Harold had his pistol pointed right at Boney Bullard’s head, but couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. Where Harold failed, John Roberts succeeded, however. He didn’t shoot Boney in the head, but he did shoot Roscoe Jenkins in his right thigh. The crowd stopped moving for a second to assess the damage. When they saw a crimson stain that was getting progressively larger on Roscoe’s ankle length, snow white sheet, they charged the deputies like a Confederate infantry unit that had just gotten the command. None of the deputies fired again. There was no way to stop the mob of more than forty men, so there was no point in killing or maiming four or five of them and getting themselves killed in the process. The deputies just hunkered down and covered their heads with their hands. Sheriff Collins was trying to get the door locked, but was knocked down and trampled on like he was in a herd of stampeding cattle.

             
The keys to Rube’s cell were quickly found and the door opened. Rube had heard most of had been going on outside, and was cowering in the corner of his small cell, sobbing out loud. He knew his time had come and there was nothing he could do about it. He only hoped they killed him quick and didn’t drag him down the road behind a horse the way they did his uncle years ago. The dragging began after the poor man had been beaten with a horse whip and then castrated, among other horrific tortures.

             
Rube was smashed across the back of his head with a baseball bat. When he hit the floor, he immediately had the breath knocked out of him by several vicious kicks to his stomach and ribs. They were stomping him and spitting on him. He was being attacked in so many different ways, he couldn’t tell where he hurt worse.

             
Boney Bullard’s thunderous bass voice pierced the air and could be heard above the shouts of the rest of the savage men. “Alright, now. That’s enough for now. We gotta save enough of him to hang, boys.”

             
Boney pushed through the crowd and put his huge hand around the strap of Rube’s overalls, jerking him up on his feet. Rube’s knees buckled and Boney caught him before he could fall again, propping him up against the wall.

             
“Hold him up,” he shouted to one of the hooded men. The man grabbed Rube by the shoulders and held him while Boney put a thick rope around his neck.

             
“Now you better walk, nigger. If you don’t we’re gonna cut your balls out and stuff ‘em in your mouth right here and now.”

             
Rube tried his best to steady himself and stand up straighter. But the hard blow to his head and the cracked ribs wouldn’t allow it. He tried to take a step, but couldn’t get his legs to cooperate. His legs were numb and felt like they weighed a ton. The room was spinning around, causing him to feel nauseous. One man slapped him across the back. “He said
walk nigger!”

              Boney stopped the man from hitting Rube again. “Just leave ‘im be, boys. I’ll
drag
his black ass out of here.”

             
Boney and another man grabbed the rope and started pulling. When the slack was out of the rope it tightened around Rube’s neck and started to cut into his skin. The rope was so rough it felt like it was made from barbed wire. Rube started bear crawling, trying to keep up with the men and keep the pressure of the rope from strangling him. Occasionally, he would grab the rope with his hands and pull some slack to get some relief. But that always resulted in an open handed slap across the face or a fist to the side of his head.

             
Rube was loaded into the back of Boney’s Ford pickup. Every man that could fit jumped in with him, holding him down with their feet. Boney cranked the truck and pulled away, followed by several other cars and trucks.

Rube was taken down an old, bumpy chert road that led into one of Bob Sample’s pastures. The tailgate was dropped and Rube hit the ground like a boulder that had been dropped. This time they were kind enough to pick him up and carry him instead of pulling him like a mule by the rope that was around his neck.

              One of the men took out a large skinning knife and cut Rube’s overalls down the front. He pulled them off and tossed them aside as another man pulled his boots off. Rube had not been wearing any undergarments and was now totally naked. Two men grabbed him under each arm and dragged him over to a giant oak tree. A separate rope was tied to each wrist and pulled around the enormous tree, where they were pulled tight and tied together.  Rube’s arms were stretched to the point that he thought they would be pulled completely away from his shoulders.

             
The man with the knife put the blade up close to Rube’s eyes. He turned it around in his hand several times, making sure he got a good look at it. It had an evil gleam in the bright sunlight, as if it were illuminated from its own power source. The cutting edge was as thin as a cigarette paper and looked sharper than a razor.

             
“You know what I’m fixin’ to do now, you black bastard. I’m gonna cut off them gonads of yours. But first I’m gonna saw off that black snake that caused all this trouble to start with. Then we’re gonna burn the damned thing.”

             
Sweat was running from Rube’s forehead into his eyes, causing them to burn. There wasn’t a spot on his entire body that he wasn’t aware of. He felt pain all over. He opened his mouth to plead to the man, but knew that would only make matters worse. When the man started cutting, he got in no hurry. Rube felt like someone was digging his insides out with a tablespoon or some other cold and blunt object. He got a small reprieve when the pain became so unbearable it caused him to pass out.

             
Rube’s tormentors wanted him to be conscious for the grand finale. They were near Mush Creek, so one of them had gone down and filled a gallon jug up with the cold water. They poured it slowly over Rube’s head until he started moaning.

             
“I want you awake for this, you filthy son-of-a-bitch,” Boney said, the words spewing from his mouth like venom.

             
Rube had been put on the back of his own mule. The rope that was around his neck stung like it was covered in fire ants. He knew the end had finally come. He suddenly remembered what his mama had told him when he was a child.
Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved.
She said it didn’t matter how many bad things you had done, that was all you had to do. He didn’t want the men to hear him. This was between him and God. He quietly said, “Forgive me, Jesus, for all I’ve done.”

             
Boney took a keen hickory branch and gave Rube’s old mule a hard swat on the tail. He took off like a race horse, leaving Rube swinging in the cool November breeze. His feet twitched a few times and then were still.

*****

              Ben had heard the news of what was taking place in town, when Billy Walker drove out to Mr. Winston’s house and told him the sheriff needed help. He told Mr. Winston a mob of Klansmen were trying to overpower the sheriff and his deputies and take a black man out of the jail. Ben thought Billy Walker must have either been out of town or living under a rock if he hadn’t heard what Rube had done to Rachel. Of course Mr. Winston didn’t rush into town to save his daughters rapist. But once Billy had left the house and gotten out of sight, Ben started walking toward Collinwood. He had no desire to try and save his papa and knew there would be nothing he could do anyway, but some unknown force compelled him to start walking.

             
When Ben got to town, the mob had already left with Rube. Ben found out where they had taken him and followed. He had hidden himself on a little ridge east of where Rube had been tortured and hung and watched the whole thing. Ben thought that if anybody had a right to feel sorry for themselves, it was him. He had just watched a gang of hooded devils do unspeakable things to his father. The reason these things had happened to his father was because he had done unspeakable things to the person he loved most in the world, outside of his immediate family. In fact, Rachel felt like she was his family.

             
Ben sat on the ridge until long after the men had gone. He walked down to the oak tree where his papa was still swinging gently back and forth, the rope making a small moaning sound from the burden of Rube’s weight. He couldn’t decide on whether to cut him down or not. He was wondering why the sheriff or somebody from town wasn’t already here. Did they just not care, or were they afraid of the Klan? He knew the sheriff wasn’t afraid of anybody, yet he was in no hurry to come out to what should be a crime scene. Maybe the man swinging from the rope was the wrong color for this to be construed as a crime.

             
Ben decided he would walk back to town and remind the sheriff that a man had been hung and was still swinging from the rope just a little over a mile away. While he walked, he tried hard to find a way to feel sorry for Rube. When that didn’t work, he tried to feel sorry for his brothers and sister and his mama. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t find any pity at all. He knew his family would be better off without Rube. The best he could come up with was praying to God that his papa had made his peace with Him before he died. That was the most important thing, anyway. God had unlimited capacity for forgiveness. Ben didn’t. He knew he should have, but he couldn’t make himself feel something that just wasn’t there.

             
Ben quickly made a hundred and eighty degree turn and started walking in the opposite direction. If the sheriff wanted to let Rube hang there until he stunk, that was his business. He should be with his family now. He was the man of the house.    

CHAPTER TEN

              Barrett Winston was Rachel’s brother and was fifteen years her senior. Rachel had come along late in George and Pauline Winston’s lives and was, in fact, an accident. Pauline wasn’t supposed to be able to have any more children after the difficult time she had with Barrett’s birth. But after Rachel was born she turned out to be the best accident either of the Winston’s had ever had. By the time the little precocious red head with the rosy cheeks was three years old, Barrett left for the University of Alabama. Rachel was raised the same way Barrett had been. As if she were an only child. When she was eight years old, her mother passed away with a sudden illness. This left George to raise her with the help of Lizzie. Rachel became her father’s whole world.

             
Barrett, or Bar as most people called him, had moved to Charleston, South Carolina to take a job in a large cotton mill as an accountant after he graduated from the university. Two years later, he became vice-president. In two more, president. Now he owned controlling interest in the mill as well as all its smaller subsidiaries. Bar was smart, ambitious and tenacious, just like his father and his grandfather had been.

             
George had arranged for Rachel to stay with Bar and his wife until the baby was born and adoption could be arranged. He had already begun inquiries into some agencies that handled that sort of thing. It might not be easy placing a mulatto child with a good family, but despite the terrible circumstances in which the baby was conceived, it was still going to have Winston blood coursing through its veins. The daughter that he loved more than life itself was going to be giving it life. George was determined to make sure the child had a good home and would see to it that its financial needs were met. The subject of abortion was never broached, at least not verbally. George and Rachel were both God fearing Baptists, and besides that, it was dangerous and George didn’t want to put his daughter through it. She had already suffered enough trauma.