The Return of Buddy Bush (10 page)

After Ma finish telling Uncle Buddy and Grandma what the attorney said, Uncle Buddy say he will not stay here until the second trial. He say it ain't going to do a bit of good. He is ready to go back to Harlem. Back to a place where a man can be a man.

The next morning me and Uncle Buddy get up early. We have not said a word to nobody on Jones Property, but our plan is to go to Grandpa's grave today.

“Morning, Ma Babe,” Uncle Buddy says to Grandma while she snapping green peas on the back porch.

“Mornin', son. What you doing up so early and why you so dressed up?”

“I thought I would take Pattie Mae and go pay my respects to Pa this morning. You and Mer want to ride with us?”

“Boy, you all go on. I am going to help Mer pack up her things today. They moving back down the road to their house today. You know she ain't stayed home a good two nights since you was arrested.”

Ma comes out on the porch. “Yes, bro, it's time for me and Pattie Mae to go home.”

I wish that woman would speak for herself. I do not want to go back to that slave house. Grandpa is dead and we should stay right here with Grandma and Uncle Buddy. But you can't tell that woman nothing.

“I'm ready Uncle Buddy” I say rushing past Ma and Grandma with Hobo running behind me. He jumps on the back of the truck as we ride off. Hudson don't want to come. He just looking at us. That's a smart cat. I swear he know where we going.

All the way to the graveyard we laugh and talk just like old times. But when we turning down that long path to where Grandpa's grave is, Uncle Buddy ain't talking no more.

“You all right, Uncle Buddy?”

“I'm fine, child. What about you?”

“I'm fine too.”

It rained last night and it's muddy so we parking back a ways and I guess we are going to walk the rest of the way. Uncle Buddy helps me out of the truck the way he says a gentleman is suppose to help a lady. I'm telling you, Uncle Buddy is good with the women folks.

This is my first time walking past all these graves without being out here for a funeral.

“Look, Uncle Buddy, this is June Bug's grave.” We stop and say a prayer. When I open my eyes, I look around me and realize that me and Uncle Buddy are standing in the middle of our whole family. All the Lewises, all the Joneses, and a few folks that ain't got none of our blood.

Uncle Buddy starting to walk slower and slower when he gets closer to Grandpa's grave. I'm going to stop here and let him walk on by himself. Hobo got good sense too, because he stops walking when I stop. Grandpa said that some doors a man has to walk through by his self. Poor Uncle Buddy.
He just standing there. I ain't never seen him cry before. He gets all down on his knees just crying and praying over Grandpa's grave.

“Oh, Pa,” he says, “I want to thank you for being my daddy. I want to thank you for taking me in when my folks died and all. Pa, I know you died from a broken heart and I am sorry about that. I am sorry I ran off and left you here to deal with the white folks all by yourself. You know, Pa, everything about being a man that I know, you taught me. Pa, will you forgive me for not being here when you took your last breath? Please forgive me, Pa.”

No sooner than Uncle Buddy said them words, it thundered. It thundered loud. I'm usually scared to death of a storm, but not today. I know in my heart that's Grandpa talking back to Uncle Buddy. So I just walk over to Uncle Buddy and put my hand on his shoulder. Hobo let out a howl louder than I have ever heard him make.

“Grandpa's all right, Uncle Buddy. It's time to go home.”

He stand up and we start to walk away. Then he stop.

“Wait, Pattie Mae. I got one more thing to do here.”

He turns around and takes something out of his coat pocket. It is a framed picture. Not just any picture. It is the obituary of Grandpa's ma, Mary Lee Jones, with a flower framed in it. He puts it on Grandpa's grave.

“Now, Pa, you got some company. You always been here for us and we don't want to leave you here all by yourself. I found it in the old chest in the living room. I hope you like it.”

We go home.

All seems quiet on Rehobeth Road until Uncle Buddy announces that he is leaving. Leaving for Harlem. He says he love us, but he ain't never coming back to Jones Property. Said he ain't never coming back south of Baltimore.

W
hen I was a little girl growing up on Rehobeth Road in Rich Square, North Carolina, my grandmother, Babe Jones, told me the story of Buddy Bush. Her version was:

“White folks said that boy Buddy tried to rape a white woman out in town. Colored folks said it ain't so, but the law got after Buddy Bush and we ain't never see him no more.”

That was her story, and that was what she said until the day she died. It was her truth, and my truth was that I wanted to write her story. I wanted to one day tell the story of Buddy Bush, the legend of Buddy Bush.

I also wanted people to know who Babe and Braxton Jones were. I wanted the world to know where Rehobeth Road is located and about all the good folks who walked up and down that road in the hot sun to see one another. They walked to
Jones Property to see how Miss Babe and Mr. Braxton were doing. When nighttime came, they sat on the front porch while Grandma held court. They listened. I listened. Listening to Grandma gave me a voice to tell the world about “the incident” that changed a town. “The incident” that people are still talking about fifty years later.

When
The Legend of Buddy Bush
was published, it did exactly what my grandma always did; it fascinated people. At every turn, strangers questioned me about Buddy Bush and his legend. They wanted to know what was true and what was fiction. People wanted to know where Rehobeth Road is. They wanted to know if Rich Square is a real place. When I told them “yes”—it was all real, with a little fiction for excitement—they asked the big question: Where is Buddy Bush?

That is when I realized that my work was not finished. I had to write
The Return of Buddy Bush
for my readers. People needed to know what my grandmother had not told me. I started to research the life of Buddy Bush and the court case surrounding “the incident.” What my grandma
said—and what I wrote in
The Legend of Buddy Bush
—about Buddy Bush getting away from the Klan was true, but his family did see him again.

Readers need to know that Buddy Bush came back to Rich Square, North Carolina, and was taken to the Raleigh Correction Prison for safekeeping until his trial. After one trial he was acquitted, and so were the seven men who tried to kill Buddy Bush. Governor Cherry was outraged and called for a second trial for three of the seven men, which was held in Warren County, but it only brought about a second acquittal. The ordeal was over. Buddy Bush left that courthouse and disappeared from the lives of the people who loved him forever.

In this sequel, readers travel with Pattie Mae to find Uncle Buddy and bring him home. Home to Jones Property Home to where he belongs.

Court documents from Buddy Bush's trial

Jones Property on Rehobeth Road

The inspiration for Mer Sheals (the author's mother, Maless Moses), around 1965 at the Slave House

Buddy Bush at his trial in Northampton County Courthouse, Jackson, North Carolina