The Governor's Sons (49 page)

“No.”

“Harland, he always wanted you to know the truth.
 
It’s my fault for not telling you.
 
When the Governor got married, I assumed he wanted to keep what happened between him and your mother back in the past.
 
I assumed wrong.
 
How was I to know that one day you’d eventually live in the same town with him?
 
He’s invited you into his life.
 
Are you gonna take his invitation, or be bitter about the past and reject it?
 
He loves you—and he wants you to love him.
 
It’s your choice Harland.
 
So, what are you going to do?”
 
Both sat silently for a few moments.

“Mama—I just don’t know.”

Betty Jean sighed. “You only live once.
 
Life is fragile and we don’t know when the good Lord’s gonna take us.
 
Now, I don’t want you layin’ up on your deathbed with any regrets.
 
You hear?

****

The brown curtains were drawn tightly shut in the seedy, musty smelling motel room.
 
Caldwell put down his copy of
The Crier
and smiled.
 
It reported that Harland Hall would attend all NAACP meetings.
 
That was all the information Caldwell needed to plan something spectacular.
 
 
According to the paper, the next meeting was just a little over a week away.

He’d make an extraordinary explosion. Caldwell felt almost giddy at the thought.
 
It would be beautiful and he couldn’t wait to witness his handiwork.
 
Too bad Libby couldn’t be there to admire it, too.
 
She still had to keep her distance from him so as not to arouse suspicion.

Caldwell’s dynamite extravaganza would involve Hall crossing the Manchester Bridge over the Coleridge River to go from his office to the meeting location.
 
The dramatic display of explosive power would be worthy of a Hollywood motion picture.

****

Mothers were always right, Harland thought, as he drove to the State House.
 
He’d arranged to meet with the Governor, first thing this morning.
 
Harland would accept him as his father.
 
Now, the Governor’s wife and children would have to accept
him
.

****

Once Ash escorted Harland to his office, both sat in the large velvet chairs. Ash had never felt so awkward, or nervous.
 
Almost a week had passed. What if Harland had come to break ties and reject him?
 
Ash didn’t beat around the bush.
 
“So—what have you…”

“I went to visit my mother after we last spoke,” Harland said.
 
“She filled in all the details—and did some convincing, and convicting, while she was at it.
 
And I’ve spent the past few days mulling things over…”

“And…”

Harland hesitated as he looked down.
 
“And—I accept you as my father.”

Ash’s eyes filled with tears.
 
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
 
He wiped his eyes.
 
“I thought you might not—want me—to be…”

Harland found his eyes brimming too.
 
“I was tempted to walk away—but...”

“I’m just--glad you’re giving me a chance.”

Without further adieu, the two men stood and embraced.

“Alright,” Ash said.
 
That’s enough of that.
 
First mission accomplished.”

“The second, being acceptance of me by your family?”
 
Harland said warily as they reseated themselves.

“Yeah.
 
Now, first of all, I want Gavin to like you.
 
You’re his brother; I can’t have him hating you.
 
But that racist propaganda he’s read probably poisoned his mind some.
 
Charlene and I didn’t raise him that way, but we’ve gotta stop any brainwashing that’s already occurred.
 
And—I admit, I’ve been doing a good bit of bragging about your accomplishments, and that’s made him jealous.”

Harland leaned forward.
 
“Sir, I don’t know what I can do to make him like me.”

“He’ll start volunteering at your office soon.
 
By being around you, and getting to know you—he can’t
not
like you.”

“Governor, that sounds like wishful thinking on your part.”

Ash ignored Harland’s comment.
 
“And something else I want him to do is go to the next NAACP meeting with you.
 
He can discuss the new park, pool and recreation center being built near the Negro business district.
 
He can take questions, and show support and sympathy for the Civil Rights cause.”

“Governor, if you don’t mind me saying, that also sounds like a good photo op.”
 
Harland seemed skeptical.

“I don’t want that.” Ash said.
 
“I just want it kept quiet.
 
If the Negro paper’s there, they can do a story, but I’m not gonna make Gavin’s presence public knowledge.”

“Okay.
 
So it’s not a photo op.
 
But right now, it doesn’t sound like Gavin has any sympathy at all for Negroes, and it hardly sounds like he wants to support our Civil Rights cause.”

Ash pursed his lips for a second and nodded his head.
 
“He’ll learn.”

“Now, Governor,” Harland said, “having Gavin volunteer and attend a meeting with me is all fine and good, but when are you gonna tell your family the truth about me?
 
And do I have your word that you really even will?”

Ash paused for a moment.
 
“You doubt me?”

Harland hesitated.
 
“No.”

“Good.”
 
Ash looked keenly into Harland’s eyes.
 
“You’re armed with information that could possibly topple my governorship—but I trust you.
 
And I want you to trust me enough to believe that I will tell my family.
 
But timing’s everything.”

“So, what kind of time frame are we looking at?” Harland asked impatiently.

“Soon—that’s all I can promise.
  
But I can’t give you an exact day.”

“ ‘There is no large city, in short, which does not have a large and po-potentially explosive Negro problem.’ ”
 
Gavin closed
Crisis in Black and White
, then set the book down next to him.
 
He sat on the bench at the foot of his bed, facing his father, who sat in the curve back chair opposite him.

“That’s the end of chapter two.” Gavin tried not to smirk.

“So,” Ash stood up, “you’ll start chapter three for me tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Gavin groaned at his father’s command.

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic,” Ash said sarcastically.
 
“Reading a few pages out of there each night ought to help you learn to sympathize with Negroes and their Civil Rights cause.”
 
Gavin rolled his eyes.
 
“Now don’t you be doing any eye rolling with me!
 
Did you look at those notes I gave you to prep for that NAACP meeting?”

Gavin crossed his arms.
 
“No.”

Ash pointed his finger in Gavin’s face.
 
“Look here, boy, you got plenty of time on your hands.
 
Now, I expect you to do a practice presentation for me tomorrow night!
 
And you better be completely prepared.”
 
Ash started for the door.
 
“If Harland tells me you do a good enough
real
presentation—I just might consider giving you back that Mustang,” he said, as he left Gavin’s room.

Gavin sighed.
 
He rose from the bench, then plopped down on the bed.
 
It was almost 10 P.M. and he was about to go nuts.
 
He’d been allowed a morning run for exercise, and then spent the rest of the day cooped up in his room.
 
He’d spent his time listening to the radio, working out with dumbbells, and looking at car and sports magazines.

Since the white supremacist literature was discovered in his room, his life had drastically changed.
 
Today had been an off day from his new strenuous job, and he was thankful that he only had to give his blood, sweat and tears four days a week.
 
He missed being a lifeguard and checking out all the cute chicks in their bikinis.

Dad was making him work as a garbage man now.
 
“Since you like reading garbage,” he’d said, “you can enjoy working in it, too.”

But Gavin’s days off and weekends weren’t any fun.
 
The Mustang had been taken away and he’d been grounded to his room for a month.
 
And his room wasn’t nearly as groovy as it used to be.
 
Dad confiscated his record player, eight track tape player and television.
 
He even took away the
Playboy,
but he’d been merciful enough to leave the pinups on the wall.

Since Gavin was so “interested in reading now,” according to his father, every night Dad was forcing Gavin to read aloud to him, a few pages from
Crisis in Black and White.
 
 
He thought that book would be a good tool, to help Gavin better understand the Negroes and their stupid Civil Rights problems.
 
Although reading it was torture, Gavin somehow managed.

I might as well be dead, Gavin thought.
 
Was hating black people really worth all this?
 
As he gazed at the ceiling, Gavin decided that he didn’t even have a reason to hate black people, not a real one, anyway.

He’d never actually believed all that Communist pawn stuff about Negro Civil Rights leaders.
 
And all that miscegenation mongrelization race mixing business was a crock.
 
If you let your imagination run wild, or were smoking pot, you could kind of make it make sense.
 
But even if it wasn’t right for a black guy to be with a white girl, fear of miscegenation never stopped a white guy from sleeping with a black girl.

Gavin didn’t hold anything against the servants who worked in the Governor’s Mansion.
 
They were all colored, and all friendly.
 
Even though Celesta gave him the evil eye once in a while, he still liked her.

How much garbage had Libby fed to Uncle Otis? Gavin wondered, and how much of it had Uncle Otis actually believed?
 
Gavin suspected his uncle really didn’t believe any of it, but was just trying to please Libby.

But why had they wanted to drag Gavin into the middle of things?
 
Was that Libby’s idea? And was Libby really dangerous like his parents insisted she was?
 
Dad suspected her of involvement in Uncle Otis’s murder, but Gavin didn’t want to believe that.
 
Or maybe she’d fooled everybody, like Dad would say, by “pulling the wool over your eyes.”

Although unsure of what to think about Libby, Gavin
was
sure that he still hated Harland Hall.
 
Of course, he’d never really hated him enough to see him dead.
 
That just sounded good to say in front of Libby.
 
But Gavin still hated him a lot, and not just because he was a Negro.

Gavin hated Harland Hall because of the way Dad treated him and talked about him.
 
And now Dad wanted Gavin to be friends with the man.
 
Gavin was being forced to volunteer at Hall’s office, and even go to a stupid NAACP Colored People’s meeting with the guy—and say something! Public speaking wasn’t a way to make him be friends with Harland Hall!
 
Friends! Impossible--there couldn’t be anything worse than that.

 
Then Gavin remembered his new life.

It was just before seven in the evening, and Caldwell waited in his car about a hundred yards from the Manchester Bridge.
 
The vinyl seat felt hot against his back.
 
He’d placed the dynamite and strung the wires early in the morning before sunrise, so he wouldn’t be seen.
 
Now it was almost time.

An Organization contact, who worked as a garbage man alongside Gavin Kroth, the Governor’s son, reported to Caldwell that Gavin would go to the next NAACP meeting with Harland Hall.
 
Gavin had complained about the whole ordeal, and the contact learned that their point of departure would be from the Governor’s Mansion.
 
This route would still include passing over the river.
 
Just thinking about the upcoming excitement gave Caldwell chills. And he’d created a whole new scenario that would be even more exciting.
 
Not only would Hall die, but he’d be seen as a lunatic, and a hypocrite, scorned in death.

Caldwell would make the explosion look like Hall’s own doing with help from a violent faction of black radicals from up North.
 
From evidence Caldwell had mailed to the police station this afternoon, including a typed suicide note with Hall’s forged signature, it would appear that Hall had so much hate for white people, that to avenge the death of Willie Cane’s family, he’d murder the Governor’s son.
 
Because Hall was so consumed with hatred, he was willing to give his own life to make a political statement.
 
Hall’s suicide mission would condemn any future Civil Rights efforts in the state.
 
Caldwell licked his lips.
 
It was such a delicious scheme.