Trouble in July (6 page)

Judge Ben Allen was waiting for Jeff in the library. He had on his nightgown and slippers, and Wardlaw had put a blue-and-white blanket around his shoulders. He was sitting at his desk.

“What’s the matter, Judge?” Jeff asked at once, standing before him at the desk like a prisoner on trial.

Judge Allen looked up at him unsmilingly. Jeff could not recall ever having seen him before with such a worried expression on his face.

“You were a long time getting here to see me, McCurtain,” he said. “I could have traveled that distance ten times over.”

“I was down in the lower end of the county, near Lord’s Creek, when I heard you wanted to see me.”

“What were you doing down there at this time of night?” he asked impatiently. “Why wasn’t you in bed?”

Jeff looked at him carefully before answering. Judge Ben Allen had sent him fishing six or eight times during the past ten years, and he wondered if it were possible that the Judge was angry because for once he took it upon himself to go without being told.

“I was going fishing, Judge,” he said finally.

Judge Ben Allen grunted and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“This is a bad mess, McCurtain,” he said gravely, speaking as though he were about to hand down an important decision from the bench. “Sit down McCurtam.”

Jeff sat down.

“This thing looks worse every minute,” the Judge said, looking at Jeff and thinking. “That’s the aggravating thing about it. We’ve got the primary elections coming along in less than four months. This is one time we’ve got to be sure of our ground.”

Jeff nodded.

“Where have you been seen tonight since this thing got under way?”

“I was in bed asleep until a little after midnight,” Jeff said quickly. “After that I got ready and got almost all the way to Lord’s Creek. I ain’t seen a soul tonight except my wife and the deputies.”

Judge Allen looked at him, seemingly weighing the possibility that Jeff might be lying to him.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Wardlaw came in silently, sliding his wide flat feet noiselessly over the carpet. He went to the corner by the door and took up his accustomed position.

“I hate to say it about brother whites, Judge,” Jeff began uneasily, “but them folks up there in those sand hills have got some far-fetched notions when it comes to mingling with niggers. I even found a white woman living with a nigger man up there once, but they ran off before I could do something about it. This Katy Barlow might be telling the truth, and, again, she might not be.”

“There are more than a few bad actors with a hand in this thing, McCurtain,” the Judge said, leaning back and pulling the blanket under his chin. “The one that’s likely to cause me the most trouble is that Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun. This petition business of hers has come up so suddenly that no man alive can do any more at this point than guess what effect it is going to have on the election. The whole thing is blame foolishness from start to finish, but that won’t keep it from causing trouble this near the election. People can be worked up to such a pitch over the rape of a white girl that they’ll sign their names to any paper that comes along.”

He stopped to think for a moment. After a while he turned and looked at Wardlaw standing in the corner.

“Wardlaw,” he shouted, “I could send you to hell to burn in everlasting fire for your letting that nigger boy rape a white girl.”

Wardlaw began to tremble.

“Please don’t do that, Judge!” he begged. His lips began to tremble. “I won’t never grumble over what you makes me do as long as I live!”

“That rape might set the opposition off on a clean sweep in the primary,” he said, still looking at the Negro in the corner. “Say something! Don’t just stand there shaking all the time!”

“I hope the opposition all goes to hell and burns in the everlasting fire,” Wardlaw said, stumbling over the words. He was trying his best to remember what the Judge had said so he would be able to repeat it as he knew was expected of him. “I hope you’ll send me to hell to burn in the everlasting fire because I let a nigger boy touch the white girl.”

Judge Allen turned away from him.

“Don’t you think I ought to hurry on down to the creek and start fishing right away, Judge?” Jeff asked hopefully. “If I left now, I could be there in half an hour.”

“Fishing is something you ought to stay away from, McCurtain,” the Judge said. “You ought to do something that’ll give you exercise. Sitting on a creek fishing all day is the worst thing you could do. You wouldn’t have to carry so much weight around if you took the proper exercise.”

“I shed all my seasonal weight in the spring Judge. I’m close to fifteen pounds lighter than I was last winter.”

Judge Allen thought for a while, glancing casually around the room while he was making up his mind.

“I’ve decided you’d better get out there to Flowery Branch right away and make a show of trying to catch that nigger, McCurtain.” He looked Jeff straight in the face. “That Calhoun woman is going to be out getting names on that petition of hers at the crack of dawn. If the people take to it the way I fear, it’ll mean that we’ll have to safeguard our interests by siding with the majority. I ain’t in favor of sending the niggers to Africa, or anywhere else, no matter if every voter in Julie County signs the petition. But I can’t let my personal feelings influence me at a time like this. We’ve got the courthouse full of our men who look to me to keep them in office. You’re one of them, McCurtain. You want to stay in office, don’t you?”

“Sure I do, Judge, but—”

“Then get out there right away and move around in the act of trying to catch that nigger, at the same time dropping a hint that if you do catch him, he can be taken away from you if enough citizens demand that. By morning I’ll have a chance to see how that petition is filling up. As soon as I know how to act, I’ll send you the word.”

Judge Ben Allen stood up. The blanket dropped to the floor.

“All of us have a big stake in county offices, McCurtain,” he continued, “and we can’t afford to let the opposition turn us out after all these years.”

Jeff wished to suggest that it might be best if he went back to Lord’s Creek and waited until the decision was reached, but he began thinking about the likelihood of his being defeated in the race for the sheriff’s office, and he decided to do as Judge Ben Allen had told him.

It was difficult to imagine himself out of the sheriff’s office after all those years of living on the top floor in the jailhouse. If he lost out there, he would have to take up farming. He did not know what else he could do for a living.

The phone on the desk rang, causing all three of them to jump. Wardlaw moved to answer it, but Judge Allen picked it up, motioning Wardlaw back to his corner.

“Is this Judge Ben Allen?” a woman’s voice asked.

He grunted affirmatively.

“Judge Allen, I’m awfully sorry to call you in the middle of the night like this, but I’m worried sick. I’m Mrs. Anderson out here at Flowery Branch. My husband has gone off with some other men to hunt for a nigger boy named Sonny Clark, and I’m afraid he’ll be shot and killed by that nigger. I just know that nigger has a gun of some kind, and he might shoot my husband. Can’t you do something? Has the sheriff gone out to capture him yet? Do you know what’s happened since midnight? I’m out here all alone, and that nigger might break in the house and harm me. I think it’s the sheriff’s duty to track him down and kill him. When will that be done?”

Judge Allen nodded his head wearily at the phone. “Maybe you’d better phone the sheriff’s office, Mrs. Anderson,” he said as calmly as he could. “The sheriff will help you. Good night.”

He slammed the phone on his desk.

“Wardlaw!” he shouted. “If I ever catch you raping a white girl, I’ll cut your gizzard out! Do you hear me!”

The old Negro jumped as if somebody had jabbed a pin into his flesh.

“Yes, sir, Judge, I heard you.” He closed and opened his mouth several times. “If you ever catch me raping—” He wiggled his tongue in order to free himself of the words he knew he had to repeat. “If you ever catch me touching a white girl—” He paused again, choked with words. “If you ever catch me, they ought to cut the gizzard out of me.”

He swayed unsteadily until he leaned back and placed his hands against the wall for support.

Jeff glanced uneasily at Judge Allen, his mind on the verge of urging him to try to persuade the Judge to let him go down to the creek at least until daylight. He had faith in Judge Allen’s wisdom at a time like that, but he could not keep from remembering his wife’s advice to stay away from Flowery Branch. If the crowd at Flowery Branch were given an opportunity to catch the Negro before he went out there, he would not be running the risk of making a lot of people switch their votes. His plurality in the last election was only one hundred and fifty-six votes. He was still waiting for an opportunity to suggest that he go down to the creek and stay at least until daylight when Judge Allen spoke.

“How many men can you deputize at this time of night, McCurtain?” he asked.

Jeff’s heart sank.

“I hadn’t given it any pure thought, Judge. It’s hard to say, offhand. I reckon I could find a few, anyway. Maybe everybody’s gone out to join the hunt, though.”

Judge Allen walked from behind his desk, kicking the nightgown with his knees. He looked to Jeff like an old man getting ready to say his prayers.

“You’d better get busy and deputize as many men as you can lay your hands on,” he said. His voice sounded measured and authoritative in the high-ceilinged room. “You ought to be out there within the next hour and see what you can do without taking action. Just as soon as I can determine which way we’re going to jump, I’ll send you word with the expectation that you’ll act accordingly. In the light of a new day it may even appear wise for me to take steps to scotch Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun’s actions. I would see to it that the court issued a writ of
non compos mentis.
That would be effective in constraining her for some time to come.” He started towards the door. “I’m glad I was able to catch you before you hid yourself down on that creek, McCurtain.”

Jeff got to his feet, pushing his weight upward and balancing it on his legs.

“But, Judge,” he said protestingly, unable to hold himself back any longer, “a deputized posse at a time like this might rub a lot of fur the wrong way. I’ve always believed in not going against the will of the common people. Besides, I want to see this lynching kept politically clean.”

Judge Ben Allen stopped in the doorway and turned around for a moment.

“This lynching is going to be as clean as a cake of soap, McCurtain,” he said. “I’m seeing to that.”

The Judge turned and walked through the doorway, leading the way out of the room. When they reached the hall, Jeff went towards the door. Wardlaw held it open for him, closing it noisily after he had passed through it.

A
LARGE CROWD
of men had collected in the Barlow front yard. Groups of them were milling around and around between the house and the barn, while some were standing in the fields surrounding the house in twos and threes. Most of the men were friends and neighbors who, like Shep himself, were tenants on Bob Watson’s plantation.

The first ones to reach the house had started a smudge fire in the yard to keep the mosquitoes away. As time went on it began to look more and more like the beginning of one of the regular weekly possum hunts that nearly everybody in that part of the county took part in.

An automobile’s headlights suddenly appeared in the lane a quarter of a mile away. Within a few moments word had spread through the crowd that it was Sheriff Jeff McCurtain coming to ask them to go home and let him capture Sonny Clark. Very little was said while they watched the car approach the house, but every man present was prepared to resist any effort to make them give up the hunt. Some of them muttered threats against the sheriff, but most of them waited grimly to see what was going to happen.

“Jeff McCurtain had better keep out of this,” somebody said in a loud voice, each word a threat. “It just ain’t healthy for him to come butting in around here now.”

The crowd moved forward, surrounding the car when it came to a halt at the end of the lane. Several flashlights were turned on the car, and all the doors were jerked open. It was not the sheriff after all. The man who climbed out, blinking with fear in the dazzling light, was a barber named DeLoach from Andrewjones.

“What’s the matter with you folks?” he managed to ask. He backed up against the car. I ain’t done nothing.”

“What do you want out here?” somebody asked him, pushing through the crowd standing before him.

“I heard about a nigger raping a white girl, and I wanted to help out in the hunt,” he explained. “I’ve hunted down niggers before, and I didn’t want to miss this one.”

“He’s all right,” another man in the crowd said. “He cuts my hair in town once in a while. I’ve known him a long time.”

The crowd drifted back into the yard, making the barber feel more comfortable. He followed the men to the smudge.

“Anything happened yet?” he asked.

Nobody said anything, but he could see some of the men shaking their heads.

“I was thinking only a few days ago that it was about time for something like this to happen again,” the barber said. “The niggers have been laying low for about a whole year now, ever since that lynching down in Rimrod County. I was scared the next one was going to be off at the other end of the State, so far away I wouldn’t have a chance to get there. But that’s the way it is. If you figure back, you’ll find out nigger-rapes take place just like clockwork. I’ve been keeping track of them ever since I started barbering in Andrewjones nine years ago.”

Everyone seemed to agree with him, but nobody said anything. Most of the men around the smudge were farmers, and they had been neighbors of Shep’s almost all of their lives. There were only a few men from Andrewjones present, but because they were town dwellers they were looked upon as outsiders. The neighbors considered the trouble a personal matter, and they resented it when men from Andrewjones acted as though they had as much right to be there as anyone else.