Absalom's Daughters (10 page)

“What's the name of this place?” said Cassie.

“Welcome to Hilltop,” said Ovid Beale.

Cassie straightened in surprise. Was this Beanie Simms's Hilltop? She'd imagined something grander. This Hilltop was a dozen unpainted wooden houses clustered under the remaining trees. There was a brick church that had no steeple—not yet, Ovid Beale told them. There were planks over the holes where the stained-glass windows would someday be. The sun was out, and despite the wind, the day warmed. As the wagon rattled into town, two elderly women with shawls around their shoulders came into the street from the church.

They came over to the wagon, and the one who looked the more wizened said, “Well now,” to Ovid Beale. “Look what-all you picked up on the road.”

“These gals travelin' from Heron-Neck,” said Ovid. “They car broke down. I tol' 'em Slick could fix it.”

The second woman, a slightly younger version of the first, and almost as wrinkled, said, “Heron-Neck?”

“Well,” said Ovid Beale, “I ain't never heerd of it neither, but lotta folks ain't never heerd of Hilltop.”

“One thing I ain't never heerd of is a colored gal and white gal drivin' round in a car together,” said the older woman. “You gals done stole that car.” She didn't say it as a question.

“Nome,” said Cassie.

“Then what you doin' way out here?”

“We goin' to Virginia,” said Judith. “My daddy's there, an' we his progeny.”

“You his what?” said the younger woman.

“Progeny,” said Judith. “We gettin' our share of my daddy's inheritance.”

The older woman studied their faces. “You got the same daddy,” she said. “You half sisters.”

“Yessum,” said Cassie.

“An' he ain't no colored man.”

“Nome,” said Judith. “He skirt-chasin', adulteratin' white trash.”

The older woman raised an eyebrow. “An' you think he gonna give you anything?” She waved a hand, dismissing their crazy idea and Ovid Beale too for bringing them to town.

“You got Lisette?” The younger woman looked in the wagon. “Drive on down by the church, and we'll take her inside.” She and the older woman turned to cross the dirt road to the church. As they passed the mule, it reached its head toward them, to nuzzle or to bite. The older woman slapped him away. “And
that
ain't gonna help you neither!”

The mule tossed his head. Ovid Beale smacked him with the reins and drove forward. The church door opened, and out came five young men in black suit jackets and pressed white shirts. Four went to the back of the wagon to ease the coffin out. The fifth came over to Ovid Beale.

“Mornin', Uncle,” he said.

“Slick,” said Ovid Beale. “Slick, boy, let me make some interductions.”

*   *   *

Behind the church was the cemetery, where two men with shovels sat next to a freshly dug grave, smoking cigarettes. Some little distance away, a bright red convertible was parked under a tree. Slick and Ovid Beale untied the old junker from the back of the wagon, unhitched the mule, and tied the mule to a tree. Slick rolled up his freshly pressed white sleeves, opened the hood, and examined its innards.

“Don't be gettin' dirty,” said Ovid Beale.

“I ain't. Prob'ly jus' needs some gas.”

Ovid Beale went over to the red car, opened the trunk, and took out a red can. Slick circled the junker until he figured out where the gas went and put in most of the can.

“Try it now,” he said to Judith.

Judith turned the ignition. The engine flapped and sputtered. Slick poked a finger into something under the hood. “Try it now.”

Judith cranked the ignition, and the oily engine groaned. Foul blue smoke billowed out from underneath the hood and rose around the tires. The junk car shuddered in its rusty frame, but it was running.

Slick gave the engine a doubtful look. “How far you goin'?” he said.

The engine was so loud, Cassie knew Judith couldn't hear her reply: “Judith's goin' to Virginia, and I'm trying to find Porterville.”

“Porterville?” said Slick. “You have to ask my uncle about that.”

“Haven't you heard of it?” said Cassie.

“I heard of it. He knows where it is.” Slick shut the hood and carefully rolled down his sleeves. “I know where Virginia is,” he said, “an' I can tell you, this heap might git you to Alabama, but Virginia a
long
way.”

“Hey,” shouted Judith from the driver's seat. “That all we gotta do? Put gas innit?”

Slick gave Cassie the gas can. “You put that in the back and fill it when you get to Newcome.” He pointed down the road, away from the church. “They gotta gas station there, but only for white folks.”

“You think they gotta map in Newcome? Our map so old, the roads done worn off.”

Slick went over to the convertible, where Ovid Beale had pulled a crisp new map out of the glove compartment. Slick helped him spread it out on the convertible's silky red trunk. Cassie pressed herself close to Ovid Beale before Judith could climb out of the shuddering junk car and gallop over.

“Slick says you know where Porterville is.”

“Shore I know,” said Ovid Beale. “Who tol' you 'bout it?”

“You ever hear of Beanie Simms?”

Judith was there, pushing the hair out of her eyes, hands on the map.

Slick tapped an unmarked point near the leftmost edge of the map. “We here,” he said. “This the railroad you bin followin'.” The railroad showed as a hatched line across the green background of the state of Mississippi. The road from Heron-Neck beside it was marked in black and as thin as mending thread. The state roads and highways cut wide paths in reds and blues.

“Newcome down here.” Ovid Beale pointed out a dot no bigger than a speck of pepper. “Two hours away.” He traced the length of the road from Newcome to the next intersection. Two thready black lines ran together; the one paralleling the tracks, the other crossing them. The road crossing the tracks was marked
STATE HIGHWAY
18. “This here crossroads is Porterville.”

“Porterville?” said Cassie in amazement. So close?

“A good twenty miles from Newcome, and you got to be there by sundown.” Ovid Beale straightened and held Cassie by the wrist, looking right into her face. “I don't want you gals to think we inhospitable, but you need to be well past Newcome by afternoon so you can git to Porterville by night.”

“What's in Porterville?” said Judith.

“Colored folk,” said Ovid Beale. “It ain't safe campin' by the tracks after dark. Y'hear me, lil white gal? An' telling folks this lil colored gal is you sister is jus' plain stupid. Get you both wuss'n kilt. Y'unnerstand that?”

Judith looked like the idea had never crossed her mind. “Yessuh.”

“When you git to Porterville,” said Ovid Beale, “you ask for Mistah Johnson Mallard. He one of my uncles. You tell him Ovid Beale sent you, and he give you a place to stay.”

Behind Ovid Beale, more and more people were arriving at the church. Most were wearing black and red. The women had red head-wraps, and the men wore red sashes across black suits. One of the women made her way over to the cars with a basket on one arm.

“You gettin' that shirt dirty?” she said to Slick. “That the only white shirt you got.”

“I ain't,” he said and showed her the sleeves, which were pristine.

“Service 'bout to start,” said the woman. Cassie thought she was probably Slick's wife. The woman turned to Cassie and gave her the basket. It was heavy and smelled of ham and fresh bread. “Don't want you to consider us inhospitable, but you cain't stay. This a private service.”

“Yessum,” said Cassie. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Judith said.

Ovid Beale folded up the map and handed it to Judith. “Don't dawdle now,” he said and went to untie the mule from the tree.

They got into the car, Judith in the driver's seat. She put the car in gear, ready to roar out of town as soon as the mule was out of her path. The junk car belched a cloud of blue smoke right into the mule's face. Cassie expected the mule to startle or balk; instead, it turned its head toward them and curled its lips across its teeth. Judith twisted in her seat to watch Ovid Beale lead it toward the church.

“What's the matter?” said Cassie. “We got to go.”

Judith swung around in the seat. “Din't you hear that?” Judith gunned the engine, and the car jerked into motion.

“Did he say somethin'?” said Cassie.

“You did too hear it.”

“Mister Beale?”

“The mule!”

Cassie glanced back at Ovid Beale and the mule. The rest of the street was empty, and the tall, leafless trees framed the houses in shades of brown and gray, like an old-time photo.

“You din't hear it,” said Judith.

“What din't I hear?”

“The mule.” Judith kept her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road, her mouth fixed. “Said,
‘Hep me, lil white gal. Hep me!'
”

Cassie laughed. “You outta your mind.” She looked back once more at the trees and rough houses just in time to see Ovid Beale lead the resisting mule up the steps of the church and in through the front door.

 

CHAPTER
FIVE

By midafternoon they found the city limits sign for Newcome. The sign was pocked with bullet holes.

TOWN OF NEWCOME

POP.  212

“Even Heron-Neck had more folks than that,” said Judith.

Newcome was big enough to have a general store with a pair of gas pumps. On the near side of the tracks were the same run-down houses, loose chickens, and tied-up dogs as in Heron-Neck. On the far side of the tracks, where the general store was, grand brick houses sheltered under tall oaks and maples.

The general store was called
Ellie's
. Judith pulled into the rutted dirt lot in front of it, alongside two other cars and a wagon with a mule. The wagon driver was a colored man, who looked at the two of them out of the corner of his eye. One of the cars was an aging pickup truck with bales of straw stuffed into the back. The other was older even than the junk car and had weeds growing under it.

Judith surveyed the cars and then the store. “You think I should go in?”

“I ain't,” said Cassie. “So it's got to be you.”

“Think I should take Big Red in with me?”

“What?”

“The gun.”

“Lord Jesus, Judith, you want them to think you're robbin' 'em?”

“I ain't got money, so I guess I'm gonna be doing jus' that.”

“You ain't got no money?”

“Where would I git enny money?” said Judith.

The colored man on the wagon was staring right at them. Cassie leaned over her knees so he couldn't see what she was doing and pushed off one shoe. The damp dollar bills had traveled in a wad toward her toe. She peeled off two. “Here,” she whispered and pushed the money at Judith from under the dashboard, out of sight.

“You got money in yo' shoes?”

“Jus' get the gas.”

“Lucky we ain't jumped on no freight cars.”

“And get another map.”

“But we gotta map.”

“You tell 'em you want a map that go north an' east. Alabama's east of here and Tennessee's north.”

“I ain't gonna member. Write 'em for me.”

Cassie took a stub of pencil from the glove compartment and wrote on a scrap of paper bag:

Alabama

Tennessee

Judith took the scrap of paper and the empty gas can and went into the store. As soon as she was out of sight, the man got down off the mule wagon, sauntered over to the car, and leaned on the door.

“Aftuhnoon, miss,” he said.

Cassie nodded curtly without looking at him, like Grandmother would've done.

“Where y'all from?” he said.

“Yonder a ways.”

“I been all round Mississippi. Likely I know your town. Where y'all from?”

He made her uncomfortable. “You know Hilltop?” Cassie said.

“Hill folk don't come down here too often.”

“That's right.”

“Cain't say I ever seen 'em with white folk, neither.”

“Prob'ly not.”

He studied her and leaned in closer. “If you hill people, I'm king o' de niggahs.”

Cassie glanced at the front of the store. There was no sign of Judith or anyone else. She thought of the horse pistol under the driver's seat but couldn't see how she could lean over, grab it, get the hammer cocked, and point it at him in one smooth move.

So she pointed at his mule. “Where you git your mule from?”

“Ain't my mule.”

“Always been a mule?” said Cassie.

“What the hell you talkin' 'bout, girl?”

She could remember the gist of what Ovid Beale said on the way to Hilltop, but not the details, which had been ridiculous at the time, but now felt too important to be left out. “You never know 'bout mules,” said Cassie. “Half of 'em use to be colored folk.”

The man didn't say anything, but he moved back a bit.

“An' your mule got a certain—a certain
'pearance
.”

“What kinda
'pearance
you talkin' 'bout?”

“He got plans,” said Cassie, trying to sound careless but informed, like Judith when she lied. “Eatin', sleepin', and gettin' out. That mule useter be a man, jus' like yourself.” She paused for effect, because this would be where Judith would pause. She gave the man a look right in his eye, because that was what Ovid Beale would have done. “He musta said the wrong thing to somebody sometime, 'cause now jus' look at 'im.”

“Girl,” said the man. “You crazy as shit.” He walked away, slow, like he really wanted to run, and climbed back onto the wagon. He sat with the reins in both hands, watching the front of the store until a white man came out and motioned him to drive around the back.