The Land (32 page)

Caroline's eyes seemed to dance as she looked at me. “Do?”

“Yes. . . . His name's Mitchell Thomas.”

“
My
Mitchell?” exclaimed Caroline.

“Ya don't say!” added Mister Perry.

“You really know my Mitchell?” Caroline almost squealed with delight.

I nodded. “Since we were boys. We came into Mississippi together from East Texas. We grew up together on my daddy's land in Georgia.”

“Well, ain't that somethin'!” said Sam Perry. “You hear that, Miz Perry?” he asked his wife. “What ya say t' that? Mister Logan here knowin' the young man our Caroline gonna marry?”

Miz Rachel Perry glanced at her husband, then to my great surprise turned to me and spoke. “You think he a good man?”

I looked straight into her eyes. “Yes, ma'am, I do. Since the day he became my friend, he's never let me down, not even one time.”

Miz Rachel Perry kept her eyes on me a moment longer, looked at her beaming daughter, then back at me again, and nodded. She had no more words for me right then, even though the rest of the family had plenty as they asked question after question about Mitchell and me. But after breakfast was over and Nathan and I were packing to go, Miz Rachel Perry pulled me aside. “Mister Logan,” she said, “I wants t' thank you for my rockin' chair.”

“No need,” I said. “It was your husband's doing.”

“But he ain't made that rockin' chair. You done that. I know he done paid ya for it and it was yo' job t' make it, but still I'm thankin' ya for it. It's a finely made piece of furniture and I 'preciate that. I always 'preciate good work and I wants ya t' know that.”

“Well, I thank you, Miz Perry. You know, though, I can't take all the credit for that chair. It was your daughter Caroline painted the flowers.”

“I know that. I know.” She looked away for a moment, pressed her lips together, then turned back to me. “I wanna 'pologize t' ya too.”

“Apologize?”

“That's right. My husband and my daughter Caroline, they both done told me I ain't been the best I coulda been when you come for supper that Sunday. But they ain't had t' tell me that. I know'd I wasn't bein' a Christian woman, welcomin' a stranger t' my house. It wasn't nothin' t' do with anythin' ya done I acted that way, and I wants ya t' know that. You seems t' be a fine young man and ya does fine work. You welcome here . . . anytime.”

I was overcome by Miz Perry's words. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I saw my mama in her. Maybe it was because I saw her pride and felt her pain about her name and what her mother had suffered to give it to her. I was so overcome, all I could do was nod, and she accepted that without another word. She looked into my eyes, and I believe she saw what I felt.

 

On the way back to the forty acres neither Nathan nor I had much to say to each other. I had my thoughts on Caroline and Mitchell, and clearing the trees in time, and I reckon Nathan was already missing his family. By the time we reached the forty, it was nightfall. I halted the wagon at the head of the trail because of the stumps, then Nathan and I unhitched the mules and led them to where I had built a shed. We fed and watered the mules and the dog too; we unloaded the wood and my tools, and set them in the shed along with all the other supplies. Once all that was done, Nathan and I settled in the shed as well. I had made only one bed, a crude one at that, and I let Nathan have it. I built a fire, rolled myself into a blanket, and lay on the ground beside the fire. Nathan was already snoring. I was tired, but it was way over in the night before I could fall asleep. The news of Caroline and Mitchell had hit me hard, and now with only my mind for company, that's all I could think about.

The next morning before the dawn, I rose before Nathan and rekindled the fire. Then I woke the boy and sent him to the creek for water. When he returned, I put on a pot of chicory and unwrapped the biscuits and ham Miz Perry had given us, and we settled down to breakfast without a word. Afterward I began to show Nathan what a day's work on this place was going to be. I had already cleared the roadway. Now I set Nathan to leveling the stumps that lined the roadway while I chopped more trees. The work was hard, but Nathan didn't complain. In the afternoon I began chopping trees to build a cabin, for it was already fall and we would soon need sturdier shelter. As soon as the trees fell, I had Nathan hack off the branches, and when the evening came, we gathered all the branches and burned them.

Finally we sawed down a circle of stumps for sitting, dug a fire pit in the center to do our cooking, and sat down to eat more of the good food Miz Rachel Perry had sent. After supper I kept my end of the bargain I'd made with Nathan's father. Or at least I tried to. I started on the cabinet I'd contracted with Luke Sawyer, and it was my plan to have Nathan help me with every step. But Nathan, though his interest was there, was too tired to do anything much after such a long day. Finally I told him to go on to his bed. Maybe, I decided, the teaching would have to wait awhile, at least until Nathan was accustomed to his new job of logging.

 

A few days after Nathan and I settled into our work routine, we had an unexpected visit from Charles Jamison's boy, Wade. He was on foot. He came right up to where we were working on the slope. I was chopping a tree at the time, but I had given to Nathan the less hazardous job of sawing the branches from the fallen trees. Both of us were hard at work, our attention only to the job at hand, when Wade suddenly announced his presence.

“Hello!” he called.

His words were shouted above the buzz of everything else. Both Nathan and I stopped our work and looked toward the sound and the boy who'd issued it.

“Hello!” Wade hollered a second time, and waved at me up the slope. “Remember me, Mister Logan? I'm Wade Jamison!”

I remember thinking he was a boy sure of himself. I gave him a nod.

“My daddy and me, you know we've got a place right up the road, so I figured I'd come see 'bout the neighbors.”

“That's obliging of ya,” said Nathan, not sounding at all impressed.

“Not at all,” said Wade, taking no offense, it seemed, to Nathan's tone. He looked around. “My daddy said you're clearing all the trees through here. Forty acres of them. Got your work cut out for ya.”

“Yes, we do,” I said.

“Y'all need some help?”

“We've got help coming,” I replied.

“Well, I'll let y'all get back to it,” said the boy. “Just wanted to say hello.”

“We appreciate that,” I said.

“Oh, I'll be stopping by again.” He turned to go, took a few steps, then turned around. “'Ey!” he said, looking at Nathan. “What's your name?”

“Nathan.”

“Well, Nathan, you like t' fish?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Well, how 'bout us goin' fishin' sometime?”

“I work mos' the time.”

Wade nodded like a wise old man in understanding. “But you ever get a break in your day and wanna go fishing on a Saturday, when I'm out of school, I got some poles and I know some real good spots. I'll check back sometime when I'm on my way to the Rosa Lee. That's what we call the creek yonder. That be all right with you?”

Nathan glanced back at me, then looked again at Wade and gave a nod.

“All right!” said Wade with a smile. “See y'all, then!” He waved us a good-bye and went on his way. Nathan and I returned to our work.

A week later on a Saturday morning Wade Jamison was back again, and this time he had his fishing poles with him. “Can't go,” said Nathan when Wade asked him to join him.

“Well, ya know, fishing is really good this time of morning,” said Wade.

“Know that,” replied Nathan. He hesitated. “But I got too much work t' do.”

I looked at Nathan eyeing those fishing poles, and I knew he was longing to go. He had been putting in nearly the same hours as I and without complaint. I figured he needed some enjoyment and to be with someone near his own age. “Nathan,” I said, “some catfish would sure taste good for supper. Why don't you go on with Wade and catch us some?”

“But what 'bout the branches?”

“They'll be here for you when you get back. Just make sure you're here come noon.”

Nathan grinned wide. “Yes, suh, I'll do that.” Then he went off happily with Wade. Each boy was holding tight to a fishing pole.

After that, every Saturday Wade Jamison showed up with his fishing poles and I let Nathan go with him. I limited the fishing to just that one morning a week because of all the work to be done, and neither Nathan nor Wade pushed for more. But despite Wade's showing up just once a week for fishing, we saw him more than that. Every day or so he was on the forty after school, wanting to help if he could. I politely declined his help; still, he often stayed awhile keeping Nathan company as he worked. Since Nathan's work wasn't slowed by his presence, I saw no harm at first in his being there. But then as Nathan began to look forward to Wade's visits and began to parrot Wade's words to me, with “Wade said this” and “Wade said that,” I decided to speak to Nathan about keeping his distance with this new friend.

“I don't think it's a good idea for you to be getting too close to Wade Jamison,” I said when the day's work was done and we sat at the outdoor fire eating our supper.

Nathan glanced away, then back at me again. “Why not? He nice enough.”

“Nice enough, yes,” I agreed. “But he's white.”

Nathan's eyes went downward and he studied his cup. “Ain't nobody round here much, 'ceptin' us. Wade, he seem t' like me and he smart. I don't see nothin' wrong bein' friends with him.”

“Maybe you don't,” I said. “But in my life I've found there's no such thing as a lasting and equal friendship between black and white.” I thought on my brother Robert. “If you're colored, that white man's going to always think of you with your color in mind, and I don't care how close you think you are, if that white man figure it's in his interest to turn his back on you, that's just what he's going to do.”

Nathan shrugged off my words. “All we do is go fishin'.”

“Fishing?” Again I thought on my brother. I thought on the fishing poles nestled near the creek in that mound of rocks on my daddy's land. I knew it had to be hard on Nathan being in this place with only me, working this land without his family. I knew what it meant to have a friend when a boy was his age. I knew that kind of blind trust. I knew also about betrayal. I could have told him about Robert, but I chose not to do so. Maybe for a while this boy Wade wouldn't hurt him. “Fishing,” I repeated. “It's a good passing of time with a friend,” I said. Then I looked pointedly at Nathan. “Just don't pass too much of it with Wade Jamison.”

Nathan eyed me resentfully, and I figured he was regretting his daddy's admonition to do what I told him. “I gotta go fetch water for the mornin',” he said, and got up. As I watched him heading for the creek with a bucket in each hand, I knew I hadn't gotten through to him. I took one last sip of my chicory, then tossed another log on the fire. I decided Nathan would have to find out for himself what it meant to have a friendship with a boy the likes of Wade Jamison, a friendship with a white boy.

 

It wasn't long following that talk with Nathan that I came down from chopping and found Wade working alongside Nathan hacking off branches. I called Nathan aside. “How come you've got Wade working with you?”

“He jus' helpin' me out, that's all.”

“Well, you thank him and tell him to go.”

“But—”

“Do as I say!” My words came out sterner than I'd intended.

As I walked away, I heard Wade say to Nathan, “You get in trouble 'cause of me?”

And I heard Nathan say, “Forget it. He don't understand.”

I heard that, and I knew unless I talked to this boy about how things were, about how things had been between folks as close as my brothers and me, I knew he would go on trusting folks he shouldn't, folks he couldn't. So I went back on what I'd decided earlier about Nathan learning for himself how the world was, and that same night, after the day's work was done and the brush was burned, I sat with Nathan again at the outside fire and told him about Robert. “You might know this already,” I said, “that my daddy was a white man. Well, my daddy had five children, far as I know. Two of those children were with my mama. That was my sister and me. The other three were boys with his white wife. My daddy raised my sister and me with those boys, and he acknowledged my sister and me, that we were his. He made those white sons of his share everything of theirs with my sister and me, and that included their learning.

“Now, of those boys who were my brothers, I was closest with the youngest because he was the same age as me. The two of us, we did everything together. We weren't only brothers, we were the best of friends. We couldn't've been any closer. Then there came the time when we were both thirteen, entering our young manhood, when white friends of his from school came to visit. They were boys we'd both despised when we were younger, and we'd stood together against them. But on this visit my brother wanted only to please them, and he turned his back on me to do it.”

I stared out into the black night and felt that old hurt welling up within me again. “He was my brother, my best friend, but he turned his back on me so he could face his white friends. I learned a terrible, painful, hurtful lesson the day he did that, and I keep it with me in remembrance. We weren't just friends, we were blood. Still, he turned his back, and I learned right then that white folks are going to be white folks, no matter how close a person of color is to them. White folks, they're going to look out for their own, and that's other white folks.”