The Pecan Man (19 page)

“A plea bargain?"

“Yeah, that's it. I don't wanna
fry in no 'lectric chair. I jus' wanna live in peace, that's all. Think they'll
let me do that?"

I couldn't answer. I turned to
go back into the house and, as I lifted my head to look where I was going, I
thought I saw a flash of white going from the back porch into the kitchen. I
left Eddie sitting in the back yard and went to my room, and I didn't come out
until time for supper.

The next day, I called Jeffery
Thatcher and asked him to meet with Eddie at my house. We settled on a time
that afternoon and I concentrated on getting the house ready to receive a
guest. Eddie put on a nice suit from Walter's closet. It hung a little loose
and the shoes were a size too large, but Eddie shined them up with the little
shoeshine kit from Walter's room. He looked downright handsome, if a little
stiff, sitting on the edge of my couch.

Mr. Thatcher arrived on time
and I left them alone to work out whatever deal they could. I knew, sure as I
was living and breathing, that I would say something to mess things up or give
my secret away.

I took a walk to calm my
nerves. I passed J.C. Penney's and Ezell's Department store. I stopped at the
window of Geiger's Dress Shop and watched Gladys Humphrey pick out a new dress
for her daughter's upcoming wedding. I poked my head in at Dick Thomas's
jewelry store and said hello to Dick and Ellie and their sales clerk, Patty. I
went into the Woolworth store and ordered a cherry coke to go. When I finally
made it home, Jeffrey's car was gone and Eddie and Blanche were sitting on the
front porch, bundled against the chilly winter air.

“Well?" I asked.

“He says he go’n talk to the
prosecutor and let me know tomorrow. I reckon he’s worried about the Kornegay
family puttin' up a fuss."

I nodded once and went inside.
I'd sworn off my meddling that very morning and here it was, not even
dinnertime, and I was picking up the phone again. I called Ralph Kornegay and
arranged to meet him in the church parking lot the next day.

Twenty-three

Eddie's arraignment was scheduled for January 26th, 1977.
That left him a little less than two weeks of freedom and I was bound and
determined to make that time nice for him. Chip borrowed his father's pickup
truck and went back to Eddie's camp in the woods to pick up his old chair. It
was a beautiful thing, despite having been in the open for God knows how long.
Eddie came outside to help decide where the chair would go and we chose a cozy
spot where the yard made a little alcove beside the garage. He wanted to fix it
up though, so we put it in the garage first, right in the empty spot where
Walter's car once sat.

“Where in the world did you
find this chair, Eddie?"

He chuckled when I asked him
that.

“You ain't go'n believe this, Miz
Ora, but I only paid ten dollars for that ol' thing."

“You're kidding."

It was hard to believe. The
chair must have once sat in a fairly nice barber shop, judging by the ornate
scrollwork in the metal base.

“Nope," he laughed “Ten
dollars I paid and had it delivered to boot."

“Delivered?"

“Yes'm, out to the woods."

“Good Lord," I said, “How
in the world did you manage that?"

“Used to hop me a freight train
every now and again, jus' to get away for awhile. Sometimes I'd go all the way
to Alabama to see Tressa. Most times I'd just go down the tracks and back. Used
to see this here chair, jus' sittin' in the back yard of this man's house.
Wasn't all that far from here, just out by the Minute Maid plant."

Not far from Blanche's house
, I
thought to myself.

“Then one day, when I got my
check cashed and had some money to spend, I hopped off the freight car - they
always switchin' cars out there, so it goes real slow - and I asked that ol'
man 'bout this chair."

Eddie went on to tell how the
man said for five dollars he could take it right then. Eddie couldn't figure
out how to get it back to the woods, so he offered the man ten dollars if he
would get his nephew to deliver it. They made the deal right then and Eddie
paid him when they got to the woods with the chair.

Eddie spent the next week
fixing the chair up with tools he found in the garage. I found some old red
vinyl in my fabric stash, left over from recovering some dinette chairs we had
in the fifties, and we recovered the seat and back of the barber's chair with
it. That's when we discovered the seat had been stuffed with horse hair, which
I knew indicated quality in the manufacturing.

When it was done, Eddie decided
he rather liked the chair in the garage and, since there wasn't likely to be
another car in that spot anytime soon, I agreed to leave it where it was. Eddie
spent as much time as possible out there before his court date. If he drank at
all, I didn't see or smell the alcohol.

Eddie was clean and sober the
day of his arraignment and he went to court in the same suit he wore to talk to
his lawyer the weeks before.

The Kornegay family was not in
the courtroom. I'm not sure what Ralph said to the rest of his family to keep
them away, but he managed it well. There were only a few local reporters and a
handful of townsfolk there to witness Eldred Mims plead guilty to the charge of
Second Degree Murder. In a deal with the county prosecutor and the Honorable
Judge Harley T. Odell, Eddie was sentenced immediately to twenty-five years to
life, whichever came first.

Blanche and I sat in the second
row, directly behind Eddie. I sat with a straight back, one gloved hand
clutching Blanche's bare one. She held a handkerchief in her other hand and
dabbed at her eyes throughout the proceeding, but didn't make a sound until
they placed the cuffs on his wrists and led him away.

Then she groaned softly and
began to mumble, “This ain't right, Miz Ora. This ain't right."

“Blanche," I whispered.
“Shhh, now...shhh."

She quieted down, but continued
to cry. The bailiff adjourned the court, Poopsie retired to his quarters and we
sat until everyone else had left. We were just standing to leave when the good
judge appeared in his doorway and motioned us into his office. I shook my head
in protest and he came to us instead.

“You okay?" he asked.

“I've been better."

“Anything you want to tell me
now? Last chance, Ora. After today, I really don't want to know."

“I believe it's all been said
now, Harley."

“Same for you, Blanche?"

She stood and looked him square
in the eye and I thought it was all over for us. But she turned without a word
and left the courtroom. Harley sighed and gave me a hard, perplexed look. I
returned his gaze until I had to look away.

“Good day, Mrs.
Beckworth," he said and returned to his office without so much as a
backward glance.

It
had
all been said, as
far as I was concerned. Ralph Kornegay knew the truth - the whole ugly truth -
and I left it up to him to decide which way the ball would bounce. If he
interfered or caused Eddie any further harm, I would tell everything, and I
meant everything, including what Skipper did to Grace and what I did to cover
up for Marcus. Prison be damned, the town would know the truth.

It hurt to watch the man
receive my news. He may have been ignorant; he may even have been a bigot, but
he was a father first and his pain was raw. I remember thinking it was odd that
Ralph never once tried to deny what Skipper had done. He was silent at first;
then he asked one pointed question after another until he had no more to ask.

I gave him the names of the
boys who I believed were with him that day. His shoulders dropped with each
name I spoke until I thought he would disappear beneath the seat of his patrol
car. He never condemned or threatened me. He simply received the news, asked
his questions, nodded his acceptance of my terms and drove away.  We never
spoke again after the day I delivered my ultimatum. Not once. Ralph was dead of
a heart attack within a year. His wife survived him by only two years. If he
ever told her about their son, I never knew and never wanted to know.

Twenty-four

Eddie was sent to the state corrections facility just
outside of town. They took him that very day. Blanche and I returned home from
the courthouse in complete silence; neither of us daring to speak a word. I
directed the cab to Blanche’s house first, even though the day was barely half
over.

She opened the car door, then
asked without even a glance my way, “What about yo’ supper?” 

“I can manage,” I said, my
voice sharper than I intended.

“Girls’ll be there off the
bus.”

“I’ll call the school.”

“What am I going to tell them
about Eddie?”

I knew full well that was not a
question that needed an answer, but I forged ahead anyway.

“Tell them Eddie loves them.
More than they will ever know.”

She got out of the cab then,
and hauled herself up the sidewalk and into the house. I could feel her weight
as if it were cast upon my own frame. I had not known sadness to feel heavy
before, not even when Walter died. That grief was weightless, almost buoyant,
as if I could feel myself floating toward some enormous abyss. It was not a
good feeling, mind you. It was more like having been tethered by a lifeline and
being cut loose in a gentle, but persistent tide.

This grief pressed down like
gravity amplified. The seat of the cab cut into the backs of my legs and my
head would not rest squarely on my shoulders, but bobbed uncomfortably between
the headrest and my collar bones. I could barely gather myself out of the
vehicle when the driver pulled up to my house. I gave him a twenty and did not
wait for change.

The first time I visited Eddie
in prison, I went alone. I wasn’t sure who would be on his visitors’ list, so I
didn’t risk having the children turned away. As it turned out, had I not
brought a batch of Blanche’s oatmeal cookies, I might not have been received
myself. Seems Eddie decided not to allow visitors at all. Negotiations were brief.
The cookies came in with me or went home the same way. Never underestimate the
power of baked goods. I was sitting across a table from him within five
minutes.

Eddie looked drawn that first
visit, but it was only a week after his arraignment. By the time I made my
fourth weekly trip, Eddie had already filled out a bit and his eyes had lost
their yellowish glaze. Blanche and I visited when we could. We still took
treats every now and then and made sure he had books and magazines to read. I
waited each time for him to tell me he wanted out of there, but he never did.
He seemed happy and healthy and he even gained a bit of weight, which he swore
was from Blanche's cookies.

Our visits became less frequent
as we focused on Patrice's graduation and all it entailed. We had already
measured her for cap and gown when I thought to ask her where she had applied
to go to college.

“College?" She seemed
almost indignant. “I didn't apply to any college at all, Miz Ora."

“Well, why in the world
not?" I asked.

“Because we can't afford
college."

“Well, what about scholarships?
You made good grades; you're in the National Honor Society, for crying out
loud."

“I don't think that's enough to
get me the kind of scholarship I'd need. Mama doesn't make much money and...oh,
sorry, Miz Ora, I didn't mean any disrespect. I just don't think we can afford
it, that's all."

I don't know why I just assumed
Patrice was preparing for college. When I was in school, I spent the better
part of my junior and senior years researching, visiting and applying to
schools I thought I might want to attend.

“Patrice Lowery! You mean to
tell me you wrote off college that quickly, with no attempt whatsoever? Don't
you want to go to college?"

“Well, yeah, of course I do. I
just don't really know how to go about it, I guess." 

“What did your guidance
counselor say about applying?" I asked.

“She never said anything. She
helped me choose courses at the beginning of each year, but we never talked
about college."

I could feel the fury rise up
in my throat. I wondered how many other promising students were falling through
gaping holes in the school system. I wanted to lash out at someone and I almost
picked up the phone that very minute. But then it occurred to me that I had
done nothing to help her either. Besides, I knew what my meddling had done in
the past. I was determined to be more deliberate in any future acts.

“Patrice...honey. Promise me
one thing, would you?"

“I'll try," she answered
wisely.

“Promise me that, from now on,
if you ever want to do anything in your life - anything at all - you'll ask
someone for help if you need it."