Let the Circle Be Unbroken (32 page)

“Well, we appreciate your concern, Mr. Granger, but we still aren’t thinking of selling.”

Mr. Granger shrugged. “Well, it’s up to y’all,” he said, then glanced up at Mr. Morrison, whose eyes had never left him, and walked back toward the warehouse.

“Get in the wagon, Cassie,” Mama said. A pent-up rage was in her voice.

I knew now was not the time to express my comments on Mr. Granger. I climbed onto the wagon without another word and waited.

When the cotton had been sold and we headed down the main street of Strawberry in the empty wagon, we met the Turners on their way out. Glad to have the company on the long journey home, we trailed the Turners as far as the Wallace store. There, as the Turners continued west toward Smellings Creek, Moe called to Stacey, “See ya tomorrow?”

“You coming to church at Great Faith, Moe?” Mama asked.

“I’ll be down that way, yes, ma’am,” Moe said after a moment’s hesitation. “Bright and early.”

“See ya tomorrow then, Moe!” I cried as our wagon turned south and headed for home.

*   *   *

The sounds of late summer were in the air. We sat for a while on the front porch enjoying the last taste of the long day, and finally, as the moon rose full and yellow overhead, Mr. Morrison stood and said good night. Stacey jumped up and walked out into the yard with him and the rest of us went into the house. While Suzella dallied with Mama and Big Ma in the other room, I made up my pallet, then returned to Mama’s room, where Big Ma sat doing some late-evening darning and Mama and Suzella were writing letters. As I entered, Stacey came through the side door and for a moment he just stood there. Then he did a strange thing. He walked over to Mama sitting at the desk and kissed her, then did the same with Big Ma.

“Good night,” he said.

Mama looked up from her letter. “Good night, honey. See you in the morning.”

Stacey crossed to his room, looked back once more, and softly closed the door.

“Lord, I don’t ’member the last time that child kissed us good night,” said Big Ma, smiling, obviously pleased.

“That was sweet, wasn’t it? And now, Miss Cassie, don’t you think it’s time you were saying good night too?”

“What ’bout Suzella?”

“Good night, Cassie,” Mama answered with a lilt to her voice.

I said good night and went back to my room. I changed into my nightgown, then turned the lamp low and headed for the pallet. But just as I slipped under the covers Stacey called to me from the porch. Grumbling because he had
waited until I was already lying down, I got up and crossed to the door and pulled the latch. Stacey stood there, his penknife in hand.

“Boy, I thought you went to bed!”

“I’m goin’ in a minute. I jus’ wanted to give you this,” he said, and extended the knife toward me.

I studied him suspiciously. “What make ya wanna give it to me?”

“Jus’ do, that’s all. Well, you said you wanted it. You still do?”

“Yeah, I want it.”

“Well, take it then.”

I took the knife and held it gingerly, not quite believing it was mine. “Stacey—”

“You best not let Mama see you with it. You know how she feel ’bout knives.”

I nodded. As I did, Stacey bent and kissed my forehead. “Boy, you all right? You feeling feverish or somethin’?”

Stacey walked back to his room and turned at the door. “I’m fine, Cassie. Now you jus’ be careful with that knife, you hear?”

I nodded again.

“Now go on back in and pull the latch.”

“You sure you all right?”

“I’m sure. Go on now,” he said and watched me until I closed the door.

I slipped the latch, then heard Stacey’s door close. Clutching the penknife in my hand, I went back to the pallet, where I had a few minutes to examine the knife before I heard Big Ma coming and had to put it under my pillow. I just couldn’t get over the fact that Stacey had actually given the knife to me. I tossed and turned for a while, wondering why he had, and finally decided that if this was a new kind
of phase Stacey was going through, I hoped it would last for a while.

*   *   *

In the morning we found the note. Written in Stacey’s sprawling, awkward hand, it said:

The words, the note, were like a shotgun blast. Silence settled over the dimly lit kitchen and a terrible fear welled within me as we stood in our nightgowns, Mama, Big Ma, Suzella, and I, staring with disbelief at the piece of paper Mama held as if we could change what it said. It was the kind of nauseous, terrifying fear which had come when Papa had been shot and the men had come to lynch T.J. Now here it was again, coming without warning, enveloping my whole being and shattering the peace of the Sunday morning.

“Mama, most likely he just outside somewheres.”

“Mos’ likely,” Big Ma agreed, not willing to believe it either. “That child, he can’t be gone.”

Her face looking drained under the light of the lamp, Mama glanced from Big Ma to me, and I could see she did not believe either of us. “Cassie, do you know anything?” Her voice was an urgent demand. “Did Stacey say anything at all to you about leaving?”

I shook my head and looked away; I did not want her to see my fear.

“What about you, Suzella? Anything?”

Suzella tried desperately to think of something, but finally she too said there was nothing.

The door to the boys’ room opened and Christopher-John and Little Man stepped out, blinking into the light. “Mornin’,” they said. Mama spoke to them, then quietly told them about Stacey.

“Gone?” questioned Christopher-John, not understanding. “Where? Out to the pasture with the cows?”

“No. He’s gone to find work. He’s left home, and we don’t know where he is.”

“Don’t know!” exclaimed Little Man. “Whaddaya mean ya don’t know?”

Christopher-John’s eyes were round with fear, but he tried to comfort Mama. “Ah, Mama, we find him. Stacey, he be ’round this place somewheres. Don’t ya worry now.”

Mama’s eyes were soft on him and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. But then, as if she were afraid to let her feelings out, her face grew suddenly stern and the look of tears disappeared. “Cassie, go get Mr. Morrison. Quick now! The rest of us better get dressed. We’ve got a lot of looking to do.”

I dashed out into the gray dawn, across the lawn, and through the garden. “Mr. Morrison!” I yelled as I ran. “Mr. Morrison!”

Mr. Morrison’s door opened and he stepped out, already dressed.

“Mr. Morrison!”

“What is it, Cassie?”

I reached the porch and flung my arms around him. “It’s Stacey, Mr. Morrison! He’s gone!”

*   *   *

Mama decided that the first person to whom she wanted to talk was Moe Turner. If anyone knew anything about Stacey’s leaving, he would. Having begged to go with her, Christopher-John, Little Man, and I climbed into the wagon and the four of us headed toward Smellings Creek, while Mr. Morrison, riding Lady, went up the road toward Great Faith to see if families along the way knew anything that might help us. Big Ma and Suzella stayed behind to attend to the morning chores; then they would go on to the church to wait for the rest of us.

At the Turners’, Moe’s father shook his head despondently. “I was jus’ ’bout to come see you, Miz Logan. I been searchin’ ’round here all mornin’ . . . Moe, he gone off too.”

Mama’s lips parted slightly and for a moment she seemed unable to speak. “Then they’re together.”

“Mos’ likely so.” Mr. Turner glanced around at his other children, bewilderment and fear on their faces. “That boy, he always talkin’ ’bout leavin’ . . . makin’ money. Always dreamin’ . . . I ’spect I got to the place I jus’ ain’t paid much ’tention. Seems it was all I could do jus’ to get them crops in and feed these here younguns.” He wiped at his eyes beginning to tear, and swallowed. “’Spect I shoulda listened more. Sho’ shoulda.”

“Brother Turner, do you have any idea where Moe could’ve gone?”

Mr. Turner bowed his head, then looked back sorrowfully at Mama. “No, ma’am, Miz Logan. Ain’t got no idea. No idea at all.”

Mr. Turner said that he would start checking around the Smellings Creek area for word about Stacey and Moe, and we climbed back into the wagon and headed for Soldiers Road. Passing the Granger Road, we crossed to the Hopkins place, where Mama questioned Clarence. But Clarence knew nothing. From Clarence’s we went directly to Great Faith, where a crowd was waiting as we pulled onto the grounds. The services forgotten, everyone gathered around the wagon in frenzied excitement, offering advice and consolation as Mama and Mr. Morrison tried to decide what to do next.

“You talk to Little Willie?” Mama asked Mr. Morrison. “He could know something.”

“Yes’m, he sho’ did,” Little Willie spoke up, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. “But Miz Logan, Moe and Stacey, they ain’t said a thing to me ’bout this.”

“You’re sure? I mean, maybe there’s something they said a while back about going? Anything, Little Willie.”

Little Willie thought a moment and, after a glance at the Shorters, shook his head. “Miz Logan, tell you the truth, we all talked sometimes ’bout goin’ away gettin’ a job. Once Moe said something or ’nother ’bout the cane fields, but that’s ’bout all.”

“I say what we oughta do here,” put in Mr. Lanier, “is get ourselves out to everyplace ’round here—white folks’ places too—and get to asking ’bout them boys. See if anybody done seen ’em.”

“Can’t believe them younguns done gone off alone,” Mrs. Lanier lamented. “Nothin’ but babies.”

Mr. Wiggins looked over at Mr. Lanier. “We better split up then, ’cause we go all through here, that’s a lotta folks to
cover. Me and my family, we’ll take the Harrison plantation, then head on down toward Smellings Creek.”

“Good idea,” said Reverend Gabson. “Better take more’n your family with ya, though. Get another group and we go on up the road toward Strawberry. Another one go on back over to the Montier place and help out the Turners.”

“Don’t you worry now, sugar,” Mrs. Wiggins said to Mama. “We gonna have them boys back here ’fore night-fell.”

Mama acknowledged her with a grateful smile. “Well, if you all will check around here, then Mr. Morrison and I’ll check in Strawberry.”

“Strawberry!” exclaimed Mrs. Lee Annie. “Lord, child, you ain’t thinkin’ them younguns done gone that far!”

“I think,” Mama softly said, “that maybe they could’ve gone even farther than that.”

More plans for the search were made, then before everyone departed all heads bowed in prayer and Reverend Gabson, for once keeping it short, beseeched God to lead us to Stacey and Moe. Everyone said, “Amen,” and the search began.

*   *   *

Dusk settled and still Stacey had not come home. People returned from their appointed search routes, read the emptiness of the faces around them, and stayed, crowding the rooms and talking in low voices, waiting for the good news which could send them home. The Turners arrived, but they had no news either, and by the time the wagon rolled into the yard with only Mama and Mr. Morrison in it, we all recognized that there was to be no good news. Not this night.

“Mary, child, y’all ain’t found out nothin’?” Big Ma said.

“Nothin’ at all?” questioned Mr. Turner.

Weary and discouraged, Mama looked out at all the people waiting to hear. She put an arm around Little Man. “There
were men recruiting for the cane fields yesterday in Strawberry. Truck left out of there first thing this morning. . . . We think maybe Stacey and Moe were on it.”

“Lordy!” cried Mr. Tom Bee. “Them younguns gone to the cane fields, then they be lucky to get back here at all.”

“Hush your mouth, Tom Bee!” ordered Mrs. Lee Annie. “You wanna upset these younguns more’n they already is?”

I felt the day’s fear slipping into a new terror. “Mama, what we gonna do now?”

She turned to look at me. “I sent a telegram to your papa,” she said. “When he gets here, we’ll know.”

In the middle of the night I heard Little Man and Christopher-John sobbing loudly and Mama trying to comfort them. I lay very still on my pallet, my eyes dry. I refused to cry. Crying would be like admitting Stacey was really gone, and he couldn’t be gone . . . not far, not for long. He just couldn’t.

*   *   *

When Papa came, he held Mama to him, then the rest of us, before shaking Mr. Morrison’s hand and greeting Suzella. Looking tired from his long journey, he settled down to read the note and listen to all that we knew about Stacey’s leaving.

“Most likely, if he working cane,” said Mr. Morrison, “he in Louisiana somewheres.”

Papa nodded. “But the thing is, we can’t be sure. They got cane here, some of these other states too.”

“But Louisiana, they the ones got them big cane plantations,” Mr. Morrison contended. “That’s where they be needing the most choppers.”

“You say nobody could tell you where that truck was headed?”

“From what we could gather,” Mama said, looking
exhausted from so little sleep, “the cane people never really said. Just said the pay was eight dollars a week and for anyone who wanted the work to be in front of the Mercantile on Sunday morning or at the Wallace store. Evidently the truck came right down through here.”

Papa ran the flat of his hand over his head and was very quiet. When he spoke again, he said, “I called Hammer. Soon’s he get here, we’ll go looking. Take the main road outa here and ask ’long the way if folks know anything ’bout transport trucks to the cane plantations.”

“Ya know,” Mr. Morrison said, “I shoulda seen it comin’. Him so worried ’bout the crops and all.”

“Don’t go blamin’ yourself now. It surely ain’t your fault.”

Mr. Morrison nodded. “That boy . . . ya know he mean an awful lot to me too.”

“I know,” Papa said.

“You gonna bring Stacey on back, ain’tcha, Papa?” said a confident Christopher-John. “Ain’tcha?”