The Land (37 page)

Mitchell shook his head. “Ah, Lord, I thought that horse was gonna kill me, and he jus' 'bout done it too! There we was flyin' through the woods, and I'm gettin' hit all upside the head with branches and leaves and whatever else was hangin' from them trees, and all I was thinkin' was tryin' t' get that horse t' stop while Paul there was chasin' way 'long behind us yellin' for me to rein in Ghost Wind. Like I could!”

“Well, what finally happened?” Caroline asked.

“Yeah,” said Nathan, “how ya finally get him t' stop?”

“Ain't,” said Mitchell. “That ole stallion jus' done got tired of me and throwed me off his back!”

The laughter grew louder. But right after, I noticed Mitchell sobered and I knew his thinking. I sobered too.

“Thing was,” Mitchell went on, “I ain't knowed what I was doin' and ain't had no business on top of that horse in the first place. That stallion got bad cut, hurt his leg. Paul, he caught up wit' us and we took that horse limpin' back t' the barn. My daddy, he done took one look at that horse and one look at me, and he done pulled out his whip.”

Nathan leaned forward. “So ya done got a whippin', huh?”

“Well, seem like t' me you mighty well deserved one,” observed Caroline. “Runnin' that animal down like that.”

Mitchell looked at Caroline. “Woman, you sure are hard on me, ya know that? But the truth be told, that time I done deserved a whippin'.”

Nathan laughed. “I bet yo' daddy done wore ya out, huh, Mitchell?”

Mitchell looked at the boy and shook his head. “Naw. Naw, he ain't.”

“Well, how come he ain't?”

Mitchell gave a nod toward me. “'Cause Paul there said he done it. He said he rode that horse.”

Caroline looked at me, and there was a soft expression on her face. “You done that?”

“How come?” questioned Nathan.

I shrugged. “Truth is, I questioned that myself. I'd always wanted Mitchell to get a good whipping because of his beating up on me so much.”

“He done it,” explained Mitchell, “'cause he ain't wanted me to get a whippin' 'bout ridin' that horse. That's what it was. Lord only knows why.”

“Wasn't being noble,” I said. “Just guess I was feeling guilty because of my white daddy.”

Nathan glanced from Mitchell to me. “So you the one got the whippin'?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn't get a whipping.”

“He got punished, though, just the same,” said Mitchell.

Nathan was curious. “And what was that?”

I was silent, letting Mitchell answer. “Paul, he couldn't ride Ghost Wind no more.”

Caroline's eyes were soft upon me. “And that was hard on you?”

I smiled somewhat sadly, remembering. “It was hard, all right. There was nothing like riding that horse, Caroline. Riding Ghost Wind was better even than riding Thunder. I'd rather have taken my daddy's whipping.”

Mitchell snorted a laugh. “You wouldn't've wanted t' take that whippin' so bad it had've been my daddy dishin' it out!”

“Well, you sure took plenty.”

“Ain't that the truth! That was the only one of two times my daddy ain't wore on me when he had a mind, and he would've done it then if Paul's white daddy hadn't've told him not to, and my daddy wasn't 'bout to disobey Paul's daddy. Only other time he ain't laid on me with that strap when he had a mind was when I was fifteen and I done grabbed that strap 'way from him and told him he wasn't gonna beat on me no more. I was full growed by then with the same height I got now, near the same weight, and he ain't argued wit' me none. Jus' done told me I could jus' get then, and I went.”

Nathan was intrigued. “So that's when you come here, you and Paul on that train?”

“Naw. I gone off for a few months, but then my mama sent my younger brother Jasper t' beg me t' come back. Jasper, he done had welts all over him, and he done said our daddy'd been puttin' a strap regular t' all the younguns and my mama too. Now, when I was home and my daddy got a mind t' take out that strap of his when I was round, I'd jump in and take the beatin'. Ain't mattered who he done pulled that strap out for, my mama or one of the younguns, I'd jump in and make him so mad, he'd beat me instead. But I got tired of him beatin' on me. That's how come I left. When I gone back, I told my daddy I was there for only one reason, and that was t' keep him from raisin' that strap one more time 'gainst my mama or the younguns. I told him he did, I was gonna kill him.”

Mitchell stared into the fire. I stared across at him. In all the years I'd known Mitchell, he had never told me this. Caroline gently rubbed his back. “That's a hard thing.”

Mitchell looked at her. “I meant it, Caroline, and he knowed I meant it. Long as I stayed there, my daddy, he ain't never raised his hand or that strap t' none of us again.”

 

Caroline's field of vegetables grew well, and she along with Nathan made several trips to the market in Strawberry to sell them. The vegetables made a small crop and we didn't get much for them, but the money helped pay Tom Bee. We put the remainder of the money aside for next year's seed. In the spring we figured to plant cotton.

Christmas came soon after Caroline's last trip into town for the year, and this Christmas was like none I had seen since I was a boy. There was no disregarding Christmas this year, for Caroline was in charge. She ordered Mitchell to kill a goose and a coon. Along with the goose and the coon, she baked one of her daddy's hams, corn bread and biscuits, pies and cakes, and fixed up all kinds of vegetables. The spread she put before us on Christmas Day was as fine as any set by her mama, Miz Rachel Perry. Mitchell and I told her that, but Nathan teased that she still had a long way to go to rival their mama's cooking, even though he had seconds and thirds of everything. After all that eating, he pulled out the harmonica Caroline had given him for Christmas and began to play. Caroline laughed and was happy. She had invited Tom Bee and his family, and there were quite a few of them, to join us for the day and enjoy all the fine dinner fixings. Now they enjoyed the music too. The children lit up the place.

 

January came and the new year brought with it the expectation of finally owning the forty. Mitchell and I had until the end of September to finish cutting Filmore Granger's trees, but I figured to have them all down before then. I wanted title to this place as soon as I could get it. Only then could I call it my own. I could be satisfied with this piece of land for a while, since by now, I had pretty much put the Hollenbeck land out of my thoughts. I hadn't even gone back to it since I'd been on the forty. It was another man's land and there was no sense in day-dreaming. But then one day in late February Wade Jamison came again to the forty. At first I thought he had come to fish with Nathan on the Rosa Lee. He hadn't. He had come to speak to me. “My daddy sent me to see you,” he said.

My brow furrowed. “What about?”

“He said he remembered you were interested in Mister Hollenbeck's land. He was wondering if you still are.”

“Why's that?”

“'Cause Mister Hollenbeck is selling now. He's getting ready to move back north.”

For a moment my breath caught and I couldn't speak.

“My daddy's buying the most of his land,” Wade went on, “so that means we'll be double neighbors, on two sides of you.”

I studied the boy. “When did Mister Hollenbeck put his land up for sale?”

“Well, he's been thinking about it for some time, according to my daddy,” said Wade. “But he just made up his mind. He offered all the land he'd bought from the Grangers back to Mister Filmore Granger first off, but Mister Granger wasn't interested. Mister Granger said he wasn't about to buy back land at a robber's price that rightfully already belonged to him, so Mister Hollenbeck, he came to my daddy.”

My mouth went dry. “He's selling all of it?”

“Far's I know. He said it's time he headed back north. He's got family there. All the family he had here are either dead or gone.”

“Wade, you said that your daddy's buying most of Mister Hollenbeck's land. What about the rest of it?”

“Well, a lot of folks are interested in that land, so Mister Hollenbeck, he's keeping aside some of it to sell to them. My daddy figured you'd be interested in knowing that.”

“I am,” I said, and hurriedly thanked him before turning away.

“Is Nathan around?” Wade called after me. “I was wondering maybe if he is, we could go fishing?”

“Fine with me,” I said, my mind on the land, and feeling only gratitude toward the boy as I hurried off to saddle Thunder. I didn't return to the slopes, but rode Thunder down the Granger trail to J. T. Hollenbeck's land. We crossed the splendid meadow and passed the hillside where I had spent my first night in these parts. We crossed that meadow without stopping and headed straight to J. T. Hollenbeck's house.

“Mister Hollenbeck,” I said, upon my arrival at his front porch, “I'm Paul Logan.”

“Yes, I recall you,” said J. T. Hollenbeck. “I heard you took my advice about seeing Filmore Granger and you're working his land now.”

“That's right. But as you might recall, when you gave me that advice, I was interested in your land at the time.”

“Yes, I recall that too.” His gaze left me and settled on Thunder, tied to one of the horse posts. “That your horse?”

I glanced at the palomino. “Yes, sir, it is.”

“Fine-looking. Mighty fine,” he commented. “If I weren't moving north, I'd consider trying to buy him from you.” He looked back at me. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, Mister Hollenbeck, I still am interested in that land of yours.”

“That a fact?”

“I understand you're selling some of your land now. If that meadowland and pond about a mile south of here are available for sale, I'd be interested in buying it.”

J. T. Hollenbeck studied me. “Just how many acres are you talking about?”

“That depends on your asking price.”

“Between twelve and fifteen dollars an acre for anybody buying less than a thousand, ten for a thousand or more.”

I shook my head. “That's a lot of money. Most acreage around here goes for between seven and nine.”

“Well, that's most acreage. But I've got some special land here. If I didn't, I wouldn't have already sold the most of it and have people waiting to buy the rest. I admit some parts have more value than others and that meadowland is some of the best. It'll go for fifteen. I figure my price is fair on that. Only reason it's not already sold is because Charles Jamison reminded me you were interested in buying some of my land. He told me if you don't buy that piece of land, he will.”

“I understand that you're a fair man, Mister Hollenbeck, and that this is good land, but still, fifteen dollars an acre to a man who can't afford to buy a thousand acres is mighty high.”

“You're saying it's not fair?”

“I'm not saying that, Mister Hollenbeck. I'm just saying a man who can't afford a thousand acres can't afford five dollars more an acre.”

“And what would you think this man could afford?”

“Same price as the man buying a thousand.”

“You say you're willing to pay me ten an acre?” J. T. Hollenbeck smiled, as if not taking me seriously.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“So at ten dollars an acre, how many acres would you be wanting?”

I didn't have to think on that. I already knew. “Four hundred,” I said.

“Four hundred? You're aiming high.”

I didn't say anything to that.

“I'll be wanting cash money,” said J. T. Hollenbeck. “You got cash money for four hundred acres of Hollenbeck land?”

“How soon would it have to be paid?” I asked, warding off the question.

“Soon as we've got a contract. I plan to have all this land sold before I leave here come fall.” He looked at me pointedly. “So, you still think you're interested in Hollenbeck land?”

“I'm interested.”

J. T. Hollenbeck looked again at the palomino, and was for some while silent. “All right then,” he finally said. “But I want you to know I don't usually go around losing myself money. If you can meet the ten dollar price, those four hundred acres are yours.”

“I can let you know next week.”

“No, you let me know before this week's out. I've got other folks waiting for my land. You come back here by then, we can do business. You don't, and I get another offer after that, I won't hold one acre for you.”

“I'll be back,” I said.

J. T. Hollenbeck gave me another nod, and that was the seal on our agreement.

When I left J. T. Hollenbeck and recrossed the meadow, I lingered awhile. I walked up the slope, knelt beside the rock on which I had rested my head that first night, and I prayed to have this land. When I finished my praying, I sat there on that rock for a long while looking over the land, then I walked down to the pond, gazed up into the trees for a spell longer, then finally headed back to the forty. As I neared the place, a slight man smelling of whisky stepped from the dense woods onto the trail.

It was Digger Wallace.

He stopped and stared up at me with bloodshot eyes. “I ain't know'd that horse of yours,” he said, “I'd've done thought you was a white man comin'. But I been seein' you ridin' round on that there horse and folks tell me it's yours. Seen that boy Mitchell on him once too ridin' 'cross that field down yonder.” He spat on the ground in front of me and his spittle was the color of stale tobacco. “Horse like that oughtta not be rode by no niggers.” His eyes met mine, then he crossed the trail and slipped back into the woods.