The Land (20 page)

“So, what is it, Paul?” Mitchell asked when he reached me.

I glanced over at Maylene, who was kneeling on the ground spreading out our dinner. “I was just thinking that, seeing Maylene rode up on a mule, if she carried our gear back with her, we wouldn't have to worry about our being seen walking the road carrying it ourselves. You think she'd do it?”

Mitchell glanced over his shoulder at Maylene. “She'd be wantin' t' know why.”

“Then tell her.”

“And get her in my business?”

“We could use her help.”

Mitchell shook his head. “Don't trust a woman ain't my mama.”

I shrugged. “All right, then,” I said. “That's how you feel.”

“Course,” said Mitchell as I turned away, “you could be right. I mean, we get stopped on the road carryin' our gear, there'd be hell t' pay.”

I waited, letting him make up his own mind about the matter.

He glanced once more toward Maylene. “Where's the gear?”

“In the bushes near that stand of three pines we figured to cut last at the end of the day.”

“All right,” Mitchell said. “I'll talk to her, but I best do it alone.” He then walked back to Maylene. He took her hand and led her beyond my view. I sat down and ate, then waited. When Mitchell reappeared, Maylene wasn't with him. “Maylene, she took our gear,” he said as I joined him.

“What you say to her?”

Mitchell sat on the ground and took up a chicken wing. “Jus' told her I needed t' trust her on somethin'.”

“That's all?”

Mitchell glanced at me, the wing in his hand. “She seem t' think it was enough.”

 

Mitchell and I finished off only part of Maylene's dinner, then set the rest aside for later. We figured we'd need it come nightfall. As we got back to our chopping, one of Jessup's men came to make sure I was working. Another came up later, and at the day's end the boss man himself showed up. “See ya done had some help,” he said, eyeing Mitchell. “Must be good t' have friends.”

“Bell ain't rung,” said Mitchell sullenly. “Is it quittin' time?”

“It's near dark, ain't it?” the boss man replied. “Nobody rings a bell on Sunday.” Jessup then looked at all the timber we'd cut. “Reckon y'all can go on. Looks t' me ya put in a good day's work. Maybe I'll have ya do it again come next Sunday.” He laughed, then paid me my money for my week's work, but not for my Sunday.

Mitchell and I took up our axes without a word and left Jessup on the slope. As we walked away, he called after us. “'Spect y'all headed on back t' that Miz Mary's, huh, like all the rest? Well, y'all jus' make sure ya get them axes back t' that shed 'fore ya do. You leave them out t' rust, and the cost of new ones comin' outa your pay!”

Mitchell started to turn, and I figured him to vent his feelings about what the boss man could do with his axes, but I warned him off. “Let it be,” I said. Mitchell cut me a sour look and walked on.

“Enjoy Miz Mary's!” hollered the boss man, and laughed. Those were the last words we heard Jessup speak. We put the axes in the tool shed, then left that camp. We made the three-mile walk up to Miz Mary's and met Maylene out back. Maylene had a small leather bag hanging from her shoulder and I glanced from it to Mitchell. I hoped that she didn't think she was going with us. She gave Mitchell a hug, then led us into the woods. “I got yo' stuff hid,” she said.

We retrieved our gear and I thanked Maylene. “Hope your helping us won't cause any problems for you.”

“Naw. Don't ya worry none 'bout that. Nobody seen me.”

“Well, I do thank you.”

Maylene seemed to blush under her chocolate skin. “Got y'all some more food.”

She handed over the leather bag to Mitchell. “More fried chicken and corn bread.”

“What! No greens?” Mitchell teased as he took the bag.

“Ah, go on!” laughed Maylene, and playfully pushed at him.

I moved away with my gear. “I'll say good-bye now. And thanks again, Miss Maylene.”

Maylene smiled and gave me a nod, then turned all her attention to Mitchell. As I gave them privacy for their farewells, I heard Maylene say, “I sho' wish ya could stay here.” Then she began to cry. I didn't hear what Mitchell said to console her.

 

“So where we headin'?” asked Mitchell when we were again on the road.

“Figure north toward Vicksburg.”

“There lumbering up there?”

“Heard about a camp south of Vicksburg. Thing is, though, Mitchell, I'm figuring I'm finished with lumber camps for a while.”

“What ya gonna do, then?”

“There's a man Miz Crenshaw used to talk about who lives in Vicksburg, man name of Luke Sawyer. Runs a mercantile. Miz Crenshaw said he was a fair man, and I plan to see if maybe he and I can do some business.”

“What kind of business?”

“See if I can make some furniture for him to sell.”

“Well, if you doin' the furniture makin', what ya need him for?”

“I don't have all the tools I need to make the better pieces, and I don't figure to use my money buying more tools either. I figure maybe Luke Sawyer can make that investment.”

“Then what ya gonna do with your money? You sure ain't hardly been spendin' none of it.” Mitchell looked at me knowingly and his eyes smiled. He knew when it came to my money I was pretty closemouthed, even with him, and he sometimes laughed at me because of it. He knew I had saved most of my money and that I'd put that money away in a bank in New Orleans. He teased me, but he didn't fault me, even though the way he saw things, there was only today, so whatever money he had, he might as well spend and enjoy it now, and he did.

“Got something else I want to spend it on,” I said defensively.

“What's that?”

“Land.”

Mitchell laughed. “You back t' that again, huh?”

“It's always been on my mind.”

Mitchell just shook his head.

It was already nightfall by the time Mitchell and I had started out. We walked the night through. Mostly we kept to the trail except for when we heard someone coming, then we slipped into the woods for a spell. But the woods were dense with overgrowth and black with the night, and we didn't stay long in them. When the morning came, though, the woods were where we stayed. We moved cautiously as we kept north and out of sight. We walked steady, but we didn't run. If anybody had seen us running, the first thing they would've wanted to know was why we were running. It was a dangerous thing for a black man to be running if he couldn't explain his reason for it. Several times we stopped to rest, but we didn't linger long at any one spot, for we both were thinking on that boy from the turpentine camp, and we wanted to put as much distance between Jessup's camp and us as we could before nightfall. We kept on moving and we didn't complain. By midday we figured we were far enough away to take time to eat some of Maylene's fried chicken and corn bread.

“That Maylene,” said Mitchell as he stripped a chicken bone clean, “she was right 'bout one thing. She sure 'nough can cook.”

“She seems to have a good heart,” I commented.

“Yeah, thing is she gone and got it tied to mine.”

“Well,” I said, “that happens a lot with you and women. You got yours tied to hers?”

“Naw. Womenfolks jus' seem they give they hearts easy like.”

“And they get broken easy like too,” I observed.

Mitchell grunted. “Well, I don't promise 'em nothin'. How they end up feelin' is they business.”

I was quiet to that. I munched on my corn bread and took some water. Then I said to my friend, “You given any thought to settling?”

Mitchell laughed his deepest laugh. “Me? Look here, Paul, jus' 'cause you wantin' t' set yo'self on some land, don't get the idea that's what I want. All I want is what I'm doin' right now.”

I studied him. “But what'll that get you?”

“Freedom t' move and freedom t' be. That's all I want.”

“Nothing else? You've got to want more than that. You've got to have some dreams too, Mitchell.”

Mitchell scoffed. “Like you goin' west? Like you havin' land like yo' daddy's? Shoot! What dreams get ya? You still a black man in this white man's land, and you got no freedom 'cept for what you make for yo'self. You put in yo' time and you die, and I figure t' keep my freedom 'til that day come.”

We finished our eating, then pushed on. By nightfall we were exhausted, and we finally found ourselves an open spot on a ridge to sleep. “How far you think we come?” asked Mitchell as he slumped exhausted to the ground.

“All I can say is we're a day closer to Vicksburg.”

Mitchell tugged at his boots. “That may be, but my feet tellin' me we done put in more'n ten times a trip to Vicksburg.”

I agreed and slipped my pack off my back. We made a fire to keep ourselves warm, but both of us were too tired to eat any more of Maylene's good food. Mitchell spread his blanket on one side of the fire and placed his gun, which he always kept handy, under the blanket where he could reach it easily, and I spread my blanket on the other side of the fire with no weapon but my knife, and we lay down. “Sure wish I had me my other good blanket,” Mitchell grumped as he settled himself, but within a minute or so was snoring. I closed my eyes and fell asleep myself.

 

“Y'all niggers get up from there!”

I woke with a start and sat up. Men with shotguns stood just beyond the dying fire. The shotguns were pointed at Mitchell and me. I heard rustling at my back and saw two more figures behind us. Mitchell sat up too, but he did so slowly. I glanced his way and cautiously stood. Mitchell stayed put. “What's this about?” I said, showing my face full in the waning firelight. The men stared at me, and I could see in their faces I was not what they had expected.

“Who are ya?” one of them asked, his shotgun still pointed our way.

“Man traveling,” I answered, figuring to hold my own with them.

The man waved his shotgun toward Mitchell. “Wit' this nigger here?”

I glanced over at Mitchell. He was sitting like stone, but I knew that under his blanket he had hold of his gun. “We came out of Georgia together,” I answered truthfully. “He worked for my daddy. Now we're headed west.” I took a chance on what those men were thinking about me. “I don't know what my business has to do with yours. Why don't you tell me why you've got those shotguns pointed at us?”

“We after a chicken thief!” exploded a man from the darkness. “Damn niggers been stealin' our chickens!”

“That a fact?” I said. “Well, we've had no part in that.”

“How we know?” The question came from behind me. I turned slightly. I couldn't see the man's face clearly, just his slight figure, and I noted the smell of liquor. “You coulda done been puttin' that there nigger up to the stealin' while you hung back!”

“You see any chickens here?” I asked.

From the other side of the fire came another voice. “You coulda done sold 'em already and I'm figurin' sellin' 'em, eatin' 'em, they all stole jus' the same!”

“When were the last ones stolen?” I asked, surprising myself at how calm I sounded.

“Jus' this night!” came a voice from the back. “Two of mine!”

“And you figure we have them?” I motioned to the fire. “You see any chicken cooking here? You see any feathers around or chicken bones, for that matter?”

The men were silent for a moment, then the lead man motioned toward the darkness. “Check it,” he ordered.

From behind me one of the figures came closer and peered down, inspecting the ground. It was at that moment I was grateful Mitchell and I had been too tired to eat before we slept; otherwise there would have been chicken bones in that fire. I just hoped the men wouldn't go looking in our gear and find Maylene's fried chicken. Even though it was cooked, they might figure it was stolen chicken cooked elsewhere. My eyes met Mitchell's and I knew he was thinking the same. We both kept our eyes off the leather bag.

“Well?” questioned the man across the campfire.

The figure shook his head. “Don't see nothin' here.” He turned then, and as he did, I could see he was merely a boy with a man's height. He hesitated a moment, looking at me, then moved back into the darkness. I decided not to let his look bother me. I went on acting my part.

“You mind my asking from where these last chickens were stolen?” I asked, presuming my right as a man free, as a white man free, talking to other white men.

“Told ya, my place!” bellowed the man from the back of the group.

“As I said, we're traveling through, so I don't know where that'd be.”

The man thundered his reply. “Back east there, no more'n two miles!”

“Well, does it make sense to you for two men who just stole two chickens to walk no more than two miles, then lie down and go to sleep? Does it make sense to you that there are no feathers and no bones near here? And there would be if we had killed the chickens and eaten them. Do you think that there would be anybody near here to whom we could have sold these chickens, seeing that I'm sure everybody within ten miles knows everybody else? Would any of you buy chickens from some stranger knowing there's been chicken thieving going on?”

There was no answer from the men. Some of the men looked at one another and lowered their shotguns. But then the man standing behind Mitchell and me said, “Or maybe ya jus' done been sellin' t' niggers.”