Tobacco Road Part 11

He gathered' a handful of dead leaves, thrust them under the pile, and struck a match to them. The leaves blazed up, and a coil of smoke boiled into the air. Jeeter fanned the blaze with his hat and waited for the wood to catch on fire and burn.

"That was an unlucky trip to Augusta," he said. "I don't know when I've ever had such luck befall me before. All the other times I've been able to sell my wood for something, if it was only a quarter or so. But this time n.o.body wanted it for nothing, seems like."

"I want to go back some time and spend another night at that hotel," Bessie said, giggling. "I had the best time last night. It made me feel good, staying there. They sure know how to treat women real nice."

They waited for the blackjack to burn so they could leave for home. The leaves had burned to charred ashes, and the flame had gone out. The scrub oak would not catch on fire.

Jeeter sc.r.a.ped up a larger pile of leaves, set it on fire, and began tossing the sticks on it. The fire burned briskly for several minutes, and then went out under the weight of the green wood.

Jeeter stood looking at it, sadly. He did not know how to make it burn. Then Dude drew some gasoline from the tank and poured it on the pile. A great blaze sprang up ten or twelve feet into the air. Before long that too died down, leaving a pile of blackened sticks in the ditch.

"Well, I reckon that's all I can do to that d.a.m.n-blasted blackjack," Jeeter said, getting into the car. "It looks like there ain't no way to get rid of the durn wood. It won't sell and it won't burn. I reckon the devil got into it."

They drove off in a swirl of yellow dust, and were soon nearing the tobacco road. Dude drove slowly through the deep white sand, and blowing the horn all the way home.

Seventeen.

The next automobile trip Jeeter had planned after the return from Augusta was a journey over into Burke County to see Tom. From the things Jeeter had heard repeated by various men who had been in that section of the country, he knew Tom was a successful cross-tie contractor. Those men who had had business that took them close to the cross-tie camp came back to Fuller and told Jeeter that Tom was making more money than anybody else they knew. Jeeter was almost as proud of Tom as he was of Dude.

Very little else was known about Tom Lester. That was one of the reasons why Jeeter wanted to go over there. He wanted to find out how much money Tom was making, first of all, and then he wanted to ask Tom to give him a little money every week.

Bessie and Dude were not thinking of staying at home either while the new car was in running order. The trip to Augusta had not caused them to lose any of their enthusiasm for automobile travel any more than it had Jeeter. Springing the front axle, cracking the windshield, scarring the paint on the body, tearing holes in the upholstery, and parting with the spare tire and extra wheel were considered nothing more than the ordinary hazards of driving a car. The mashed front fender and broken rear spring had softened everybody's concern for the automobile. After their first accident, when Dude ran into the back end of the two-horse wagon near McCoy and killed the colored man, anything else that happened to the car would not matter so very much, anyway.

Jeeter the next morning casually mentioned the fact that he would like very much to ride over to Burke County and see Tom.

Dude was filling the radiator at the time, and he stopped to hear what Bessie was going to say. She said nothing, and Dude picked up the bucket again and filled the radiator to overflowing. Jeeter walked away, waiting for Bessie to make up her mind. He went toward the rear of the house as if he were going to get out of sight until she had time to make up her mind definitely whether she would go or not. Jeeter did not go so far away that he could not keep his eye on the car. Bessie was liable to do most anything when his back was turned, and he did not want them to slip off and leave him.

"Jump in and let's go in a hurry, Dude," Bessie whispered excitedly, pushing him to the car. "Hurry, before your Pa sees us."

Jeeter was standing by the well, looking out across the broom-sedge, and he did not know they were getting ready to leave him.

When he heard Dude start the motor, he dashed for the automobile. By that time, Dude had got the gears engaged, and the car shot over the yard to the tobacco road.

He had swung the front wheels sharply, making a circle around the chinaberry trees, and he b.u.mped over a ditch without slackening speed. They were away in a few short seconds, long before Jeeter could run to the road. He stood looking after them.

"Well, I never saw the likes of that," he said. "I don't know why they want to run off and leave me. I always treated Bessie fair and square. When a man gets old, folks seem to think that he don't care about riding around, and they go off and make him stay at home."

He stood watching them until the car was out of sight. Ada and Ellie May stood on the porch looking at the disappearing car. They had come to the door the moment they heard the car start. Both of them wanted to go somewhere, too; they had not been allowed inside the new car since it was bought.

Jeeter took a seat on the porch and sat down to wait for them to return. He was glum and silent the rest of the morning. When Ada told him to come into the kitchen at dinner time and eat some cheese and crackers, Jeeter did not move from his chair. Ada went back into the house without urging him to eat. There was so little food, she was glad he was not coming. The cheese and crackers that had been brought back from Augusta provided barely enough of a meal for one or two persons; and as he would not leave the porch, there would be more for her and Ellie May. It did not matter about the grandmother, because she was going to be given the cheese rinds and cracker crumbs that were left when they had finished. Jeeter always ate so fast that there was never time for anybody else to get his full share at any meaL Jeeter ate as if it were the last time he would ever taste food again.

Ada and Ellie May sat down to eat their meal, leaving Jeeter alone.

Late that afternoon when Bessie and Dude returned home, Jeeter was still waiting for them on the porch. He got up as they approached, and followed the car to its place beside the chimney. He was as angry as ever, but he had forgotten about it momentarily. He was anxious to know if they had found Tom.

"Did you see Tom?" he asked Bessie. "What was he doing? Did he send me some money?"

Ada came to listen. The grandmother took her accustomed position behind a chinaberry tree, looking and listening. Ellie May came closer.

"Tom ain't at all like he used to be when I knowed him better," Bessie said, shaking her head. "I don't know what's come over Tom."

"Why?" Jeeter asked. "What did he do--what did he lay? Where's the money he sent me?"

"Tom didn't send no money. He don't appear to be aiming to help you none. He's a wicked man, Tom is."

"You ought to have taken me along, Bessie," Jeeter said. "I know Tom better than I do my own self. He was my special boy all along. Me and Tom got along all right together. The other children was always fighting with me, looks like now. But Torn never did. He was a fine boy when he was growing up."

Bessie listened to Jeeter talk, but she did not want to stop and argue about going off and leaving him at home. It was all over now. The trip was finished, and they were back.

"Why didn't you let me go along and see Tom?" she said.

"Tom works about a hundred ox," Dude said. He was very much impressed by the large number of oxen his brother worked at the cross-tie camp. "I didn't know there was that many ox in the whole country."

"When did Tom say he was coming over here to see me?" Jeeter asked.

"Tom said he wasn't never coming over here again," Dude said. "He told me to tell you he was going to stay where he was at."

"That sure don't sound like Tom talking," Jeeter said, shaking his head "Maybe he has to work so hard all the time that he can't get off."

"Ain't that," Bessie said "Tom said just what Dude told you. Tom said he ain't never coming over here again. He don't want to."

"That don't sound hke Tom talking Me and Tom used to get along first-rate concerning everything. Me and him never had no difficulties like I was always having with my other children. They used to throw rocks at me and hit me over the head with sticks, but Tom never did. Tom was always a first-rate boy when I knowed him. Ain't no reason why he ought to change now, and be just like all the rest of them."

"I told him how bad off you was, and his Ma, too," Bessie said. "I told him you didn't have no meal or meat in the house half the time, and that you can't farm and raise a crop no more, and Tom says for you and Ada to go to the county poor-farm and stay."

"You made a mistake by telling Tom I wasn't going to farm no more. I'm going to raise me a big crop of cotton this year, if I can get hold of some seed-cotton and guano. The rest of what you told him is true and accurate, however. We is hungry pretty much of the time. That ain't no lie."

"Well, that's what he said, anyway. He told me to tell you and Ada to go to the county poor-farm and stay."

"That sure don't sound like Tom talking. Tom ain't never said nothing like that to me before. I can't see why he wants me and his Ma to go and live at the poor-farm. Looks like he would send me some money instead. I'm his daddy."

"I don't reckon that makes no difference to Tom now," she said. "He's looking after his own self."

"I wish I had my young age back again. I wouldn't beg of no man, not even my own son. But Tom ain't like he used to be. Looks like he would send me and his old Ma a little bit of money."

"Tom said to tell you to go to h.e.l.l, too," Dude told Jeeter.

Bessie jumped forward, clutching Dude by the neck, and shook him until it looked as if his head would twist off and fall on the ground. She continued to shake him until he succeeded in escaping from her grasp.

"You shouldn't have told Jeeter that," she shouted at Dude. "That's a wicked thing to say. I don't know nothing more sinful. The devil is trying to take you away from me so I can't make a preacher out of you."

"Christ Almighty!" he shouted at her. "You come near killing me! I didn't say that--Tom said it. I was just telling him what Tom said. I didn't say it! You ought to keep off me. I didn't do nothing to you."

"Praise the Lord," Bessie said. "You ain't never going to make a preacher if you talk like that. I thought you said you was going to stop your cussing. Why don't you quit it?"

"I ain't going to say that no more," Dude pleaded. He remembered that the automobile belonged to her. "I wouldn't have said it that time if you hadn't hurt my neck shaking me so hard."

Jeeter walked around the automobile, trying to recover from the shock of hearing what they told him Tom had said. He could not believe that Tom had developed into a man who would tell his father to go to h.e.l.l. He knew Tom must have changed a great deal since he knew him.

He stopped at the rear of the automobile and was looking at the rack where the spare tire and extra wheel had been, when he saw the great dent in the body. He stared at it until Dude and Bessie stopped talking.

"You won't be fit to preach a sermon next Sunday if you cuss like that," she was saying. "Good folks don't want to have G.o.d send them sermons by cussing preachers."

"I ain't going to say it no more. I ain't never going to cuss no more."

Jeeter motioned to them to come to the back of the car. He pointed to the dent in the body. The centre of it had been knocked in about ten or twelve inches, dividing the body into two almost equal halves.

"What done that?" he asked, still pointing.

"We was backing out from the cross-tie camp and ran smack into a big pine tree," Bessie said hesitantly. "I don't know what made it happen. Looks like everything has tried to ruin my new automobile. Ain't nothing like it was when I paid eight hundred dollars for it in Fuller the first of the week."

Dude ran his hands over the dent. The cracked paint dropped to the white sand. He tried to make the dent look smaller by rubbing it.

"It ain't hurt the running of it none, though, has it?" Jeeter said. "That's only the body smashed in. It runs good yet, don't it?"

"I reckon so," Bessie said, "but it does make a powerful lot of noise when it's running down hill--and up hill, too."

Ada came over and looked at the dent in the back of the car. She rubbed her hands over it until more of the cracked black paint dropped off and fell on the white sand at her feet.

"What does Tom look like now?" Ada asked Bessie. "I reckon he don't look like he used to, no more."

"He looks a lot like Jeeter," she said. "There ain't much resemblance in him and you."

"Humph!" Ada said. "There was a time when I'd declared it was the other way around."

Jeeter 'looked at Ada, and then at Bessie. He could not understand what Ada was talking about.

"What did Tom say when you told him you and Dude was married now?" Jeeter said.

"He didn't say nothing much. Looked at me like he didn't care one way or the other."

"Tom said she used to be a two-bit s.l.u.t when he knowed her a long time back," Dude said. "He told it right to her, but she didn't say nothing. I reckon he knowed what he was talking about, because she didn't say it was a lie."

Sister Bessie grabbed Dude around the neck again and shook him vigorously. Jeeter and Ada stood beside them watching. Ellie May had heard everything, but she had not come any closer.

Dude jerked away from Bessie more quickly than he had the first time. He was learning how to get away from her more easily.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n you!" he shouted, striking at her face with his fist. "Why in h.e.l.l don't you keep off me!"

"Now, Dude," Bessie pleaded tenderly, "you promised me you was not going to cuss no more. Good folks don't want to go and hear a Sunday sermon by a cussing preacher."

Dude shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He was getting tired of the way Bessie jumped on him and twisted 'his neck every time he said something she did not want to hear.

"When's Dude going to start being a preacher?" Jeeter asked her.

"He's going to preach a little short sermon next Sunday at the schoolhouse. I'm already telling him what to say when he preaches."

"Looks like to me he ought to know that himself." Jeeter said. "You don't have to tell him everything to do, do you? Don't he know nothing?"

"Well, he ain't familiar with preaching like I is. I tell him what to say and he learns to say it himself. It won't take him long to catch on and then I won't have to tell him nothing. My former husband told me what to say one Sat.u.r.day night and I went to the schoolhouse the next afternoon and preached for almost three hours without stopping. It ain't hard to do after you catch on. Dude's already told me what he was going to preach about Sunday. He knows now what he's going to say when the time comes."

"What's he going to preach about Sunday?"

"About men wearing black shirts."

"Black shirts? What for?"

"You ask him. He knows."

"Black shirts ain't nothing to preach about, to my way' of thinking. I ain't never heard of that before."

"You come to preaching at the schoolhouse Sunday afternoon and find out."

"Is he going to preach _for_ black shirts, or _against_ black shirts?"

"Against them."

"What for, Sister Bessie?"

"It ain't my place to tell you about Dude's preaching. That's for you to go to the schoolhouse and hear. Preachers don't want their secrets spread all over the country beforehand. Wouldn't n.o.body take the trouble to go and. listen, if they did that."

"Maybe I don't know nothing about preaching, but I ain't never heard of n.o.body preaching about men wearing black shirts--against black shirts, at that. I ain't never seen a man wearing a black shirt, noway."

"Preachers has got to preach _against_ something. It wouldn't do them no good to preach _for_ everything. They got to be _against_ something every time."

"I never looked at it that way before," Jeeter said, "but there might be a lot in what you say. Though, take for instance, G.o.d and heaven--you wouldn't preach _against_ them, would you, Sister Bessie?"

"Good preachers don't preach about G.o.d and heaven, and things like that. They always preach _against_ something, like h.e.l.l and the devil. Them is things to be against. it wouldn't do a preacher no good to preach for G.o.d. He's got to preach against the devil and all wicked and sinful things. That's what the people like to hear about. They want to hear about the bad things."

"You sure is a convincing woman, Sister Bessie," he said. "G.o.d must be proud of having a woman preacher like you. I don't know what He's going to think about Dude, though. Specially when he starts preaching _against_ men wearing black shirts. I ain't never seen a man wearlug a black shirt, noway, and I don't believe there's such a thing in the country."

Jeeter bent over and rubbed his hands on the dent in the body of the car. He sc.r.a.ped the surface paint with his fingernails until most of it had peeled off and fallen on the ground.

"Stop doing that to my automobile," Bessie said. "Ain't you got no sense at all? You and Ada has near about got all the paint off of it already doing that."

"You wouldn't talk to me like that, would you, Bessie?" he asked. "I ain't hurting the automobile no more than it's already done."

"Well, you keep your hands off it, anyhow."

Jeeter slouched away and leaned against the corner of the house. He looked sharply at Bessie, saying nothing.

"I near about ruined my new automobile letting you fool with it," she said. "I ought to had better sense than to let you get near it. Hauling that load of blackjack to Augusta tore holes all in the back seat."