Part 13 (1/2)
And every other year, here came another son to help with the plowing when Daddy starting buying up farms that were going under. Poor Andrew didn't get his turn as knee baby because the next lying-in brought twins, Herman and Haywood, and their mother's lap wasn't big enough to hold two infants and a toddler. He was only seven when she died of childbirth fever after birthing Jack, and Daddy remarried within the year.
Mother gentled the twins and the younger boys, but the older ones never did completely tame and seems like Andrew was worst of all. I don't think they ever resented her, they just couldn't get used to a woman who made Daddy turn loose some of his money and fix up the old farmhouse with paint and wallpaper. She brought her own things, too: bright clothes, china and crystal, family heirlooms. Rural Electrification reached the farm a few years before Mother did, but there'd never even been a radio in the house. She brought along her phonograph and a stack of records taller than baby Jack.
An upright piano, too.
”I fell in love with your daddy's fiddle, before I knew he had a houseful of boys,” she used to tease them. ”Hadn't been for his fiddle, I'd have stayed in Dobbs and married me a man with a fine big empty house.”
Then the little ones would s.h.i.+ver to think what they almost missed and they'd look up at the tall fiddle-playing man who'd sired them and love him all the more for playing her into their lives.
Hymns and folk tunes weren't all they played either. She banged out bebop on the piano and soon had the boys singing right along with the Andrews Sisters and a young Frank Sinatra.
”And books,” Haywood always says. ”She read to us every night at bedtime. Aesop's Fables, fairy tales, Bible stories.”
Because even though Mother was a hard worker and even though she added more boys to the ones Daddy already had, she didn't try to do it all herself the way his first wife had worked herself into the ground. She hired some of his best barn help right out from under his nose and paid them good wages to help with the cooking and cleaning, the chopping and picking, the canning and freezing, so she'd have time for the children.
Even stolid old Herman can get downright lyrical when he lets himself remember. ”The first time I saw The Wizard of Oz-you mind the first part of the movie, how it's all black and white and gray? Your mama coming was like when Dorothy opened the door and there was all that color. That's what she brought us. Color.”
Andrew and the older boys were dazzled, too, but they were like ditch cats that had never been hand-gentled, and they kept the feral streak even after she came. Took them all past forty before they really settled down ”and got right with the Lord,” as they put it.
In his younger, wilder days, Andrew had more than once seen the inside of a jailhouse, so he knew firsthand what kind of trouble two young men can find when they go looking for it with anger in their hearts. Didn't matter if it was righteous anger or not. Their lives could be just as wrecked, take just as long to put back together. Hadn't all that h.e.l.ling around lost him his first wife and little girl? Carol ran so far and so fast it was years before I got to meet the niece who was born six months before me.
Andrew tried to pretend he wasn't worried when I called; but he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone on the first ring, and I could feel his relief when I repeated what I'd told Aunt Zell.
”You see him or hear tell of him tonight, you tell A.K. to git his b.u.t.t on home where it belongs,” he told me gruffly. ”If it quits raining, we got ten acres tobacco needs housing tomorrow.”
”I'll tell him,” I promised. ”You go on to bed and don't worry ”I ain't worried,” he said again. ”It's his mama that's worried. You tell him that, you hear?”
”I hear,” I said gently.
Paramedics were loading Carver Bannerman into an ambulance when we got back to Redbud Lane.
Every house on the street was lit up like a Christmas tree. Tomorrow might be a workday, but no one was going to miss this. Even the convenience store on the corner had reopened and was doing a brisk business in soft drinks, junk food, and cigarettes as people wandered back and forth between the store and the house, undeterred by the light mist that continued to fall.
Deputy Jack Jamison was questioning them and taking down names; and as soon as she was free of me, Richards joined him.
Almost midnight and the temperature was finally beginning to moderate. I'd brought along an unlined wind-breaker made of red water-repellant nylon, but the misty air felt so clean and cool that I slung it in the trunk of my car before ducking under the police line to see what was happening.
”Here comes trouble,” said Dwight when he saw me.
The man he'd been talking to turned and gave me a considering smile. He was shorter than Dwight, so his light eyes were about on the same level as mine.
Bowman Poole. Colleton County's sheriff. He's late fifties, thin hair the color of broom straw, the compact build of a gamec.o.c.k in fighting trim, and a folksy style that's carried the county every election for sixteen years.
”Your Honor,” he said.
We'd nodded at each other across the crowded meeting over in Makely earlier, but we hadn't actually spoken since my reception and I c.o.c.ked my head at him. ”You acting like a stranger because I'm a judge or because Dwight's told you I'm a suspect?”
Bo laughed. ”The hands are the hands of Esau, but the voice is Kezzie's. You won't never change, will you, girl?”
Dwight had brought him up to speed on the killing, but he asked if I'd mind going over it again. Practice makes perfect. This was about my fifth telling and I was getting pretty glib. For Dwight's benefit, I added what Annie Sue had said about hearing a car drive away just before I arrived.
”Yeah,” said Dwight. ”The lady across the street told Jack Jamison she saw headlights as she was pulling her shades for the night, but she didn't pay any mind to them. Neighbor next door saw it, too, and thinks a white woman was driving, but he's not sure.”
We talked a few minutes longer, then Dwight sighed. ”Reckon I'd better get Jack and Mayleen to go over and talk to Mrs. Bannerman. Unless you want to do it,” he said to Bo.
I knew Dwight never liked to be the one to break bad news to the family.
Evidently Bo didn't like to either. ”Nah, you're handling everything just fine,” he said. ”Looks like they're about finished in there, so I'll go on now. Talk to you tomorrow.”
As soon as he turned and walked away from us, I pounced on Dwight. ”Has anybody seen Reese or A.K.?”
He shook his head. ”I canceled that order as soon as I heard Bannerman was dead. They still out there somewhere?”
”They must be. A.K. hasn't come home and Andrew's getting worried.”
”They're probably sitting out at a tavern on the truck lane about now and-”
Our attention was snagged by Jack Jamison lifting the yellow police tape for a couple of young women. I recognized the taller by sight if not by name as the one who'd worn a funny Calvin and Hobbes T-s.h.i.+rt-Roch.e.l.le Bannerman's friend, according to Annie Sue and Paige.
That probably meant that the shorter, pregnant one that Deputy Jamison was escorting so solicitously was Carver Bannerman's widow. Bannerman's very pregnant widow. She wore shorts and a bright yellow T-s.h.i.+rt that read BABY ON BOARD. A big black arrow ended at her bulging middle.
”They said he was here,” she sobbed. ”What've y'all done with my husband? Where've y'all got him?”
Her friend, Opal Grimes, patted her arm like she was trying to soothe her, but there was a self-important near smirk that said she was enjoying the drama. Certainly those pats only seemed to encourage Mrs. Bannerman's hysterics.
”O, Carver, Carver! My darling!” Despite the humidity, her blonde hair was freshly blow-dried around her pretty face. Her feet were thrust into yellow rubber flip-flops and mud squished between her toes as she clutched her belly and wailed, ”What are me and your baby going to do without you?”
Dwight looked at me helplessly. He really does get spooked by women grieving for their dead.
I would have tried to help, but as soon as I stepped toward her, the Grimes woman whispered in her ear and her tears dried up as she turned on me.
”You the b.i.t.c.h judge Carver told me about?”
”Excuse me?”
”You heard me! Think just because you sit up there on that bench you can cut the b.a.l.l.s off a man and he won't notice?”
”Now just a minute,” Dwight said.
But she was beyond listening. ”And then when your niece gets the hots for him, you send your brothers over to beat him up and now you've killed him and O Carver, baby!”
And here came the tears again.
CHAPTER 13.