Grace (33 page)

47
/ JUDGMENT

Conyers, Georgia, 1848

I
T
'
S PITCH BLACK
down here tonight.

Mostly.

Only a teardrop from this candle keeps the light low—more wick than wax. And the light from the saloon above is sprinkling down on me.

Cynthia made me close the latched door in the bathroom floor 'cause she say these nosey women like to wander. So it's gon' take me forever to put these bottles of whiskey away since it's dark and I can hardly see. I finished the first rows—the letters A through E—put the pretty ones up front, like I wanted.

I sit here on my knees trying to read the shadows of labels, and wedge open the last cart of liquor. I run my tiny light across the first labels . . . doggone, another C, Cognac. Means I got to move the bottles again.

Dogs is barking loud outside, just beyond the porch, and men's voices are mixing in with 'em. I crawl over to the stuck-shut side door and peek through the gaps. The men there are tying their dogs to the porch.

Up in the parlor, Johnny's shooting marbles and Cynthia's still in her wedding dress, sitting on a stool, drying a glass.

Two of the men run up the parlor steps. A third set of clicking heels trail behind. Their knocks slam at the door all together.

“Sam,” Cynthia yells to the door. “You got the key. I ain't gettin up.”

“Open up!” a man's voice say.

“We ain't open,” Cynthia yell back. One of 'em kicks the door.

“What the hell's wrong with you!” Cynthia say. “I said we ain't open.”

“Cynthia!” the man say again, this time his kick almost moves the door open.

She hops up and I rush to see through the slats in the floor. She tell Johnny, “Go to your room and go to sleep. I'll be there directly.” Cynthia grabs her pistol from behind the bar, puts it in her garter.

“Open up!” the man say.

Cynthia fixes her hair, sets two glasses on a table, and picks up a bottle of gin on the way to the door. She opens it calmly, relieved when she see 'em: Henry and Ray, and Bobby Lee follows 'em in wearing a patch on his eye now.

“Aw, damn,” Cynthia say. “It's just y'all. Why you got to kick my shit? Bamming on the door like you the law.”

She picks up the drinking glasses from the table with her fingers, takes 'em back to the bar. When she sets 'em down, she notices the men's silence. She pauses. Breathes. She says over her shoulder, “Ain't it a little late for you boys? Surprised y'all ain't at Sweeny's, Bobby Lee. Bernadette told me how y'all regulars down there now.”

Cynthia picks up the drinking glasses again. She takes out two more and brings all four to the table in front of them with a bottle of gin. Ray and Henry take out their pistols.

“What's goin on here, Bobby Lee?” Cynthia say. “Y'all here to rob me?”

Ray and Henry start searching the saloon and disappear toward the gambling parlor while Bobby Lee waits.

He don't say nothing.

Ray and Henry come back from the locked parlor door, then Ray starts back through the hallway toward the sleeping quarters and
bathroom. “There's too many doors,” Ray yells back up the hall and comes back to the saloon with Henry and Bobby Lee.

“We can do this the hard way,” Ray say, “and disturb everybody in here, or the easy way.”

Cynthia steps away from 'em, pulls her gun from her garter as she does, and points it across 'em.

“I got my child in here,” she say. “So if by easy you mean I take down at least two of ya, then easy. I ain't gon' let y'all rob me or hurt nobody in here.”

“We not robbing you,” Bobby Lee say.

“Where is she?” Ray say.

“Who?” Cynthia say.

“That nigra girl you used to keep here.”

I don't move.

“What you want her for?” Cynthia lowers her gun and slides into one of the hard chairs above me to the left. Her shadow blocks the light from my eyes. I got to stay still. Don't want my floor to make a noise.

She pours four shots of gin. “Is this about my party, Bobby Lee? I swear y'all's invitation was in the post.”

Henry stutters, “D-don't m-mess around, Cynthia. We know she here.”

“Left months ago,” Cynthia say.

T
HE HOOVES OF
Confederate horses click over mud-set stones while their riders—Fatty, Skinny, Snooper, and Colonel—let their horses' struts take over their sway. They ride slow and cautious through the tunnel of vines where Squiggy and Rachel chased turkeys into the thick.

“I swear it was down here,” Snooper say.

A quick movement from the ground makes 'em grab their pistols and point 'em at the forest floor where George is. He's resting against a tree with his mouth wide open, snoring. Fatty taps Colonel and Colonel signals the others to stop.

Colonel jumps down from his horse and with his weapon drawn, he kicks George's boot.

“Boy?” Colonel say.

George flinches but don't wake up.

“Boy!”

George opens his eyes and blinks through the haze, squints at Colonel, then proceeds to take his time yawning and stretching his arms high and wide, cracking his back, straining, say, “How do, Colonel?”

Colonel lowers his pistol and slides it in his trousers. “You a soldier, boy?” he say.

“I much more prefer the title,
man of leisure.
Bum knee kept me from the ‘honor' of war, of course.”

“That so?” Colonel say. “I've seen one-armed men fight a hell of a fight for this great nation. Real heroes. And men like yourself, full of excuse and leisure, are insults to the Confederacy.”

George wobbles hisself up. “If you don't mind me saying, Colonel . . . war been over a long time. And you and your one-armed men lost for all us. Thanks for nothing.”

Colonel throws George against the tree and George laughs, flopping from side to side. Colonel lets him go. “You're drunk,” Colonel say.

“Naw, sir. I'm George and
you
are on my land.”

Colonel say, “We're looking for a white woman and a negro. They call themselves a couple.”

George burps as he starts his sentence. “The only white woman 'round here is my sister. But now that you mention it,” he say, “free negroes are more uppity than caught ones—talk how they want, sleep all day, and yep, probably take our women.” George bends over a little, then thrusts his hips forward, back and then forth, making a humping motion. “And screw 'em like this.”

Colonel slams George against the tree and this time George cries a pitiful “Ow,” laughing all the while. “I promise you, Colonel,” he say. “I ain't worth your time.”

“We may have lost the war, boy, but the law still the law. God's law.”

George holds up his hands like he surrender, “Fine. Fine,” and brushes his clothes straight. “Since you and your . . . battalion seem like reasonable men, I think you're looking for Josephine and Jackson. Down the road a ways to the clearing. Bout a half mile on the right. A big new road points the way.”

Colonel signals to his soldiers and hops up on his horse.

“What y'all planning to do?” George say. “My sister Annie isn't going to let you just come on her property taking things. You, of all people, should respect that.”

Fatty spits on George's forehead and George wipes it off while the men trot up the road ahead. George slides back down on the tree, opens his flask and drinks.

I
N THE SALOON
above me, Henry's angry. He's already searched behind the piano, under the tables. Flipped two. “We know you keep that nigra girl hiding here,” Henry say.

“It's best you tell us where she is,” Ray say. “Save the damages.”

Cynthia holds up a glass. “Gin's your poison? Ain't that right, Bobby Lee?” She pours it in her just-dried glass, offers it to him but he don't take it.

She leans back in her chair, her legs fall open, for sale again. “Why y'all want her when you can have me?”

“Go outside to the workshop,” Ray say to Henry. “Check the shed and the blacksmith's place.”

I watch Henry go down the porch steps and disappear into the darkness on the way to Albert's. I still don't move.

Cynthia twirls the gin in her glass. “I ain't never known you to refuse a drank, Bobby Lee.”

“She killed old Charlie Shepard,” he say.

“Mr. Shepard?” Cynthia say. “Somebody killed Charlie?”

“This afternoon . . . butchered.”

Cynthia sets the glass down, holds the table.

“It was somebody he knew,” he say.

“I can't believe somebody would hurt Mr. Shepard,” she say.

“Had to know whoever did it 'cause he let 'em in the house . . . let her in.”

“Her? You think that little girl did this? You ask Soledad about that?”

“She told us she seen the girl running from her house just before she found him. Said Mr. Shepard figured out she was the one who killed those in Faunsdale. He was gonna turn her in.”

“Naomi?” Cynthia said in disbelief.

“What you call her?” Ray say.

“Y'all crazy if you think that girl killed Mr. Shepard.”

“Read the paper yourself,” Bobby Lee says, tossing the wanted ad on the table. “Soledad said it's the girl.”

Cynthia glances at it. Recognition slides across her face. “That ain't her.” She picks up her glass, sips her gin.

“You know lies got consequences, Cynthia.”

“Then why don't you go after the liar who's accusin.”

“Soledad?” Bobby Lee say. “Couldn't hurt a fly.”

“She's pregnant, you know that?” Cynthia say. “The innocent girl you trying to
kill,
Bobby Lee. She's with child.”

“Don't listen to her, Bobby Lee,” Ray say. “She just try'n to make you soft.”

“You had a family, didn't you, Bobby Lee? A baby? A wife? Is that right?”

“Everybody heard his family got kilt,” Ray say. “Point is, niggers can't go 'round killing white folk. Even the rumor of it got to be dealt wit. And ain't nobody gon' miss a nigger.”

Cynthia sips her gin again. “Then like I said, she ain't here.”

The floorboard squeaks under my foot and Ray looks down at me. His dark eyes get stuck on me but I don't move.

Another squeak.

Ray takes out his pistol. He signals the others to be quiet while he sneaks to the bar, then rushes behind it. Cynthia closes her eyes like she praying it ain't me.

“Aw, man,” Ray say. “You damn near got yourself killed, boy.”

Johnny whimpers there. Cynthia goes around the bar and grabs Johnny, yells, “I told you to go to bed!”

He's not crying but Cynthia say to Johnny, “No, no, don't cry,” and pulls him into her body and walks with him to the middle of the room above me. She kneels down where I can see her face and tells Johnny out loud, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you,” then hugs him, strokes the back of his head, looks down toward me, and slides her eyes toward the under-porch door that's all the way across my room. But I already know that door's stuck and there ain't no way to get across the floor quiet.

I shake my head at her. They'll hear me if I open it. But she cain't see me. Johnny rubs his eyes and walks sleepy up the hall.

“We all know about the story from the papers,” Ray say. “Those black folk murdered in Faunsdale. The owner. That girl did 'em. Just like she did Mr. Shepard.”

Cynthia picks up a new bottle of liquor from over the bar. She say, “You been spending a lot of time with Soledad, ain't you, Bobby Lee? Visiting her when Charlie was away. How do we know you ain't the one that done it?”