Sweet Song (13 page)

“I don’t want to beg for a handout,” Leon said.

“And I don’t want to steal. I didn’t want to be in no war. I didn’t want to be born black.” He spit a wad of birch bark that had been in his cheek the entire afternoon, hitting the earth with a soft thud. “You do what you have to do.” He walked away.

Leon stared south wishing he were near the water. They could fish again. They could eat berries and mushrooms. The water and woods could feed them.

Cracker-Jack returned with a plan. He gathered everyone together. “They’s a stand of sweet corn around the back. Chickens is easy to get at, too. I seed a young man checkin’ over the wagon and plow and other equipment like he oilin’ and greasin’ everything and cleanin’ it. We better move fast. See that,” he pointed south. “We headed for that flat down there, back to the river.” He looked into each of their faces.

Cracker-Jack handed Big Josh and Jesse most of the gear and shoved them off, along with Bob. That left him and Buddy for stealing, and Leon as a distraction. If he could get bread, too, then fine, but mostly he was there to distract.

Leon’s stomach ached. He swallowed over and over again. This was it for him. The others had fewer choices. They were old. They were murderers. They were Negroes. He had youth on his side. He
had no history that followed him past the river crossing. And he didn’t look colored, not even to other Negroes. He didn’t know how he did look to them, but it wasn’t black. This was it, the last time for him.

Cracker-Jack slapped the back of Leon’s neck.

Leon turned in response.

Cracker-Jack’s face was stern. “Go ahead,” he said.

Leon didn’t move.

“Then git to it,” Cracker-Jack said. “I know what you thinkin’. Now that you knows so much about us. But you ain’t got what it take, boy. So juss git along.”

Leon headed for the farmhouse, taking the straightest route, the most visible route. The people inside needed to feel relaxed, as if he were a stranger needing food. As he approached the house, he heard some yelling inside and a woman came out onto the steps. “What you want,” she yelled.

“Travelin’ downriver and run out-a provisions.” Leon held up his sack.

“River a ways off.”

Leon lowered his head. He thought hard for something to say.

Suddenly the young man who Cracker-Jack must have seen, came around the side of the house. He had a musket in his hands. It looked old, even at Leon’s distance.

“Git ‘im some bread, Martha,” the man said, and Martha disappeared inside the house.

“Martha’s my Aunt’s name,” Leon said. “Thank you for bringing back that good memory.” He took a few steps more. He heard the chickens squabble, but nothing that would alarm anyone. His stomach felt better and his mind cleared. He found he wanted to talk, wanted to be accepted. “When I grew up, Martha used to cook and feed the whole family. She became more of a mama to me than my mama did.”

“That right?”

“She never married, herself. Too busy takin’ care of everyone else.”

The man relaxed his grip and lowered the gun. “I got a Aunt like that.”

“It appears most families do. The ones I know. It’s like there’s a rule that not all the women from one family can marry. One has to stay un-wed to take care of the others,” Leon said.

“Don’t know about that.”

Martha stepped out and walked over to Leon. There was absolutely no concern in her demeanor. She held out an entire loaf of bread and a cloth filled with vegetables. “From the garden,” she said.

“Well thank you ma’am.” Leon took the food. The woman reminded him a little of Hillary. She had a heavy, child-baring frame. But this Martha also had the prettiest face Leon had ever seen. It was smooth and looked soft to the touch, with patches of almost transparent fuzz on each cheek. Her eyes were brilliant green.

She turned away as though embarrassed by Leon’s intense attention. “You are welcome,” she said.

“Thank you as well, sir. Your kindness is appreciated. I know you’ve toiled to receive such provisions.”

The man nodded. “You can be on your way now,” he said, but he did not pick up his rifle in force.

“Thank you much.” Leon looked the man in the eyes, testing his own resolve, and bent into a slight bow. He had already scanned his surroundings and took the shortest route to cover. Once out of site of Martha and her man, Leon ran toward the edge of the woods, turned south and made his way toward the creek.

Once again the sun burned color into the sky as it lowered beyond the hillside. The corn silks turned golden in the light. A hawk screech alerted Leon to the bird’s flight, rising on the last thermals of the day. The breeze down through the valley felt cool across his skin, a welcome change to Leon.

He stopped long enough to stuff the bread and cloth filled with vegetables into his sack. The bread poked out the top. He lifted the sack by wrapping one hand around the open hem. He rubbed his head with his other hand. As his hair grew out it became more wavy, looser than when it was cut short.

He hummed and made up words about his adventure. “Crossing the River,” had a gospel leaning. He didn’t sing very loudly, but did raise his voice to a loud whisper when the chorus
came in: ‘Crossing the river gave my life new meaning/ baptized my soul ‘til I came up screaming/ couldn’t walk on water like my man Jesus/ but my life sure change as my Lord God pleases.’ He felt it wasn’t perfect, but could work on it while he walked.

By the time he entered camp, the sun had slipped behind the mountain and a great glowing haze like a halo along the treetops stood, backlit by the sun. The campfire was ablaze. Buddy stood as Leon approached.

Caracker-Jack asked, “What you standin’ for?”

“Leon here,” Buddy said, as though it were obvious.

“Ain’t no matter,” Cracker-Jack said.

“Why you turnin’ so mean on him?”

“He think he better ‘an us,” Cracker-Jack poked at the fire. “And he ain’t.”

Buddy took the sack from Leon and leaned into him. “Don’t you listen to ‘im. He mad cause he have to remember who he really be and not who he make himself up to be.”

“Ain’t true. I tole you why I mean on him and it he own fault. Dammit, you think I cain’t hear?”

“No sir, Cracker-Jack, I don’t think that,” Buddy said.

Cracker-Jack snarled.

Leon sat to the left of Cracker-Jack and helped Jesse and Buddy cut the vegetables into chunks. The others had already slit the throat of the chicken and were nearly finished cleaning it. Its carcass was stuck through with a stick. There were still small feathers stuck to the bird, but they would burn out in the fire.

Leon heard another bird cluck from time to time and saw that it was wrapped in a bedroll and set near a tree a few yards away. It was Bob’s bedroll. Bob leaned against a tree trunk, his hand resting on the bedroll.

Jesse cooked up a fine vegetable stew for them. They also had stolen sweet corn and the chicken meat for dinner.

“Was hopin’ I’d git that hat today,” Bob said.

“I ain’t dead yet,” Leon said.

“Watch you sleep,” Cracker-Jack said.

Leon ducked his head and took a walk to collect firewood.

After dinner, Buddy asked Leon to read to them.

“Yeah, read, smart boy,” Cracker-Jack said.

Leon declined.

“I said read,” Cracker-Jack repeated.

“I’m tired,” Leon said.

Cracker-Jack leaped up and kicked Leon in the shoulder. “You son-a-bitch, you son-a-bitch. You’ll God damned sure read outa you book.”

Leon fell to his side and took another kick or two. His arm hurt. He held up his hands in surrender and Cracker-Jack backed off.

Leon took the book out of his sack and opened it. His voiced cracked. He read for nearly an hour. All the bedrolls came out and the roamers prepared for sleep long before Leon curled near the fire.

*          *          *

As summer wore on through the heat and humidity of the greater Susquahanna Valley, Leon got better at begging for food. Cracker-Jack’s early attacks on Leon escalated into a form of contempt and rage.

Leon sensed that Cracker-Jack felt increasingly vulnerable as Leon’s own confidence grew. Cracker-Jack stated his belief that Leon would eventually leave them on their own, once Leon, “…got to thinkin’ he could do it all on his own.”

The truth was, Cracker-Jack had as much to do with Leon’s interest in leaving as Leon’s gaining confidence did. Leon was sick of being the brunt of whatever anger Cracker-Jack carried around. Finally, in what Leon could only discern as desperation, Cracker-Jack ordered Bob to go with Leon, to learn some secret Leon might hold to getting the homesteaders to hand over food willingly, along with utensils, and even blankets when they saw that Leon had none.

“Ain’t goin’,” Bob said.

“You the only one I can spare,” Cracker-Jack said.

“You can spare?” Bob shook his head.

“I can spare both you. Now, git. And don’t beg fer no Liquor.”

Bob smacked his lips and Cracker-Jack pointed at him. “You git you-self in trouble, you on yer own. We leavin’ without you.”

“Can’t do that,” Jesse said.

Cracker-Jack shot him a glance and Jesse stepped back.

Leon didn’t like the idea of taking Bob with him, but felt better about it once he and Bob were walking toward the house.

Corn stood high against the evening sky, and would be easy to escape through or hide in.

“You teach me what to say, so’s Cracker-Jack don’t leave me behind,” Bob said.

“He won’t leave you.”

“He show ‘nough will. He gittin’ mean as a snake.”

Leon patted Bob’s shoulder. “He’s mad at me, not you.”

“He raging at his-self.” Bob nodded his head, agreeing with his own words.

“I’m familiar with that,” Leon said.

As they approached the shack of a cabin, a plump young woman with a ruddy complexion stepped into the yard. “Here for Pa?”

“No, ma’am,” Leon said. “We’re traveling downriver and ran short of supplies. We were wondering. . .”

“Ain’t got no extra. Pa says it gonna be a hard winter.”

“Anything would do ma’am. A small amount?” Leon removed his hat and held it in front of his chest. Bob lowered his head along with Leon’s actions.

The woman kept looking back and forth at them. Her lips pushed out and tightened as she thought. “Perhaps a few muffins.”

Leon bowed slightly.

She turned to go inside and Leon heard a shout in back of the cabin and then the loud crack of a gun. “Git, you thievin’ bastards.”

Bob turned and ran for the cornfield. Leon skuttled behind Bob with his arms out, trying to urge the old man to move faster. Another loud cry, this time closer, was followed by another shot. Buckshot tore through the corn stalks. Leon stepped around Bob and pulled him along. Another shot and Leon heard Bob let out a puff of air and a huh, like he was asking a question.

Bob slowed down.

Another shot came through the corn, this time in a whole other direction than where he and Bob headed. Leon tucked himself under Bob’s shoulder, then placed his arm around Bob’s waist for support. They moved slower than Leon wished, but faster than Bob could
have done on his own. The compromise suited Leon, since the woman obviously had no idea where they were, as she blasted the edges of the cornfield over and over.

Leon shortened his usual wide circle, and exited the field south of the cabin.

Bob stumbled, but Leon held tight and continued on without thought.

“Should-a asked for liquor,” Bob wheezed.

“Next time,” Leon said.

“No,” Bob said in a trailing voice.

A short distance farther and the other men came out from a stand of trees to greet Leon and Bob. Big Josh took over where Leon held tightly. As Leon backed away he noticed blood running down the back of Bob’s head and neck. The other men surrounded Bob, and it appeared to Leon as though the men raised Bob off the ground and carried him, even though Bob’s feet were still moving.

An hour later and well away from the farm, Big Josh lowered Bob’s limp body onto the ground.

Cracker-Jack slapped Leon hard on the back of the neck, spreading the sting along his shoulders.

“Weren’t my fault,” Leon said.

“You were with ‘im.”

Jesse, sitting next to Bob, raised a bloody arm. A series of clotted blood dots spread from his wrist to his elbow. “Leave ‘im be. You be with me and look what I get.”

Cracker-Jack spit on the ground at Leon’s feet.

Leon let the blood rush to his face, but he didn’t move. Not this time.

Jesse shot up from the ground and rushed Cracker-Jack. He swung his fists, knocking the leader of the roamers onto the ground. “Enough a you bullying. You got Bob kilt.”

Cracker-Jack crabbed backwards, away from Jesse’s fists. He turned away as Jesse kicked leaves and dirt at him.

Josh pulled Jesse away.

Leon stepped near Bob.

Buddy scooched to the side to let Leon kneel next to Bob. Leon lowered his face into his hands. “I couldn’t help it.” He wiped his
eyes and looked up. He wished he had not moved to the front to pull Bob along.