Standing at the Scratch Line (89 page)

King stood up and stretched, then stepped off the steps. “Well, that’s that!” he said with finality.

Serena grabbed King’s hand and held it in both of hers. “Please, King, I’m begging you! As a personal favor to me! I’m begging you please don’t ever tell him you’re not his father!”

King looked down into her eyes and said, “I promise, but life will show him somethin’ different. Life won’t lie! He gon’ be on the outside because of what he does and the choices he makes.”

Later that night Serena sat by the stove darning socks. In the fire’s warm glow she wanted to enjoy what had been accomplished. The biggest hurdle had been passed: they were leaving Bodie Wells. There would be time and space to deal with other matters. The important thing was that everyone, but especially LaValle, was getting a fresh start. Unlike Jacques, he was an unpopular child both with other children and adults. People thought he was a spoiled mama’s boy and in a small town that was the kiss of death. It was only due to the fact that King Tremain was his father that he was not the object of overt scorn.

Two weeks passed and the day before Serena was scheduled to leave for New Orleans, the telephone rang in the store. It was the lawyer’s office in New York, calling for King. Serena answered the phone and sent Ida to get King. She was still packing. Serena did not hear very much of King’s conversation except when she went down to the store to get a few items for the trip. While rummaging through the shelves, looking for gifts for her sisters, she overheard King’s side of the exchange.

“No, I don’t put no store in buyin’ paper, so I ain’t much interested in buyin’ no stocks. You’s tellin’ me that all I gon’ have to show for the money I’s invested is some paper, right? I done seen what buyin’ paper done to our bank here in Bodie Wells. I’d rather gamble it away than just give it away like that. If you feels we got to invest in somethin’, buy land! At least they ain’t gon’ make no more of that! Hell, they print mo’ paper all the time.”

King listened for a time. “Did the bank receive that last shipment of cash I sent from Atoka? Good! That lawyer you hired down there is workin’ out fine. He goes with me to the bank to make sho’ there ain’t no shenanigans with my money. Okay, you gon’ set up an account for me out in Frisco? Good. Oh, another thing. I needs to know is the account in New Orleans still open. I needs to get my wife on it, in case she need money while she’s there. So, she got to see the same lawyer I used befo’; that’ll work. How she gon’ identify herself? Yeah, yeah, that’s good; she can use Jacques’s birthday.

“Alright, Ira, I’ll probably talk to you when I get to Frisco next month. The best to yo’ family. No, no; ain’t no way I’m gon’ change my mind ’bout buyin’ stocks. Maybe in a couple of years after we get situated out on the West Coast. Talk to ya’.”

King hung up the phone and turned to Serena. “You’s set up for the trip home. Red’ll pick you up when you get off the ferry and he’ll take you to the Hotel Toussant. I had two hundred dollars sent to Reverend Small, along with the date you’s arrivin’. He’ll be expectin’ you.”

Serena finished packing and her heart was racing with expectation. Her dreams of leaving Louisiana and going to a big city were finally being realized. And she was ready for it. She had come to Bodie Wells as a country girl, and after seven years she was leaving as a woman. She had learned how to comport herself, speak properly, and run a business. She was ready for the challenges and pressures of living in a metropolitan area.

Serena got down on her knees and prayed. She was thankful and grateful to God for the blessings she had received and much of her prayer was directed to the acknowledgment of her good fortune, but she also prayed for an end to the enmity between her sons and that LaValle would find his place in their new home.

Serena arose from her prayer, walked to the window, and looked out. There were several cars parked in front of Wrangel House and there were a number of pedestrians on their way to the various businesses that lined Main Street. Several children between the ages of five and twelve played tag on the wooden walkway between Wrangel House and the beauty parlor. If all went as planned, this was the last time Serena would see Bodie Wells in the late afternoon. Both Serena and King would depart without fanfare. Only a few people knew that they were leaving. King had insisted upon secrecy. It was his opinion that the less people knew, the better.

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Amos Baddeaux was standing out front on the steps of a three-room, tarpaper shack when Reverend Small reined his one-horse gig into the front yard. Amos immediately went to assist with the horse as Reverend Small climbed down.

Reverend John Small was a plump, brown-skinned man with close-cropped kinky hair and thick, mobile eyebrows that made his face extremely expressive when he chose to. He walked around the front of the horse and placed his hand on Amos’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about unhookin’ Old Beauregard, just water him. We gon’ need him to go into Nellum’s Crossing after I had a bit of a rest.”

“Did my father give you any of my clothes?” Amos asked.

“No, son, he didn’t,” the reverend answered sadly. “He wouldn’t let me have nothin’.”

“Why? What did he say?”

Reverend Small wiped his perspiring brow and replied with a shake of his head. “Amos, you don’t want to know. It ’pears yo’ father got a lot a growin’ to do befo’ he get through the pearly gates. Matter fact, I got some growin’ to do too ’cause he got me mad as a stuck pig. I got to get down on my knees and remember ’bout humility.”

Fifteen-year-old Amos couldn’t let it go. “But Reverend Small, he wouldn’t let you have the banjo or the boots I bought with my own money? I worked hard for that banjo!”

“You best forget about them, son,” Reverend Small suggested. “We’ll go into the general store at Nellum’s Crossing and we’ll buy you some new clothes and boots with the money yo’ sister done sent.”

“That ain’t right, Reverend,” Amos argued. “She sent that money to you for the food and board you been givin’ me these last few months. That money was sent to repay you for yo’ kindness to me.”

“Listen, Amos,” Reverend Small said. “It’s been a blessin’ to me and my family to have a good, God-fearin’, hardworkin’ young feller like you around. You helped me fix the roof. You helped put the barn door back on and you built me a chicken coop with nothin’ but wood leavin’s. You does chores every day. You done pulled yo’ share, boy. I couldn’t spend none of this here money on my family if’en I didn’t take steps to make sho’ you was ready to travel with yo’ sister first. Anyways, she sent mo’n enough money to take care of what little we done put out for you. I expects to return some of this money to her. Now, put a smile on yo’ face, boy, ’cause we’s all blessed and yo’ sister’s comin’ tomorrow.”

“You’s right, suh, but gosh, I worked a whole summer’s evenin’s at the general store to buy that banjo. It just ain’t right that he should keep it. He knows how much that banjo means to me.”

“Son, you got to let go and let Jesus,” Reverend Small said as he climbed the steps of the shack.

“You’s right, suh,” Amos said as he led Beauregard around to the water trough under the shade of a large magnolia.

It was warm and muggy when Reverend Small and Amos rode into New Orleans the next day. The sun made sporadic appearances between thick, gray clouds laden with moisture, and the wind coming off the gulf brought the warm smells of the bayou and salt water. Automobiles, motoring to and fro, clanked and clattered past the slow but steady gait of old Beauregard, who clip-clopped along, impervious to the loud mechanical noises of the passing cars and trucks.

Amos was wearing a stiff pair of new overalls over a starched white shirt, and his new boots felt unforgiving on his feet. He felt a nervous excitement that manifested itself through a queasiness in his stomach and a dull sense of fear. He did not know what to expect. He hadn’t seen his older sister for nearly seven years. Generally, his memories of her were faded and unclear, but what he did remember was her smile. All he could do was hope that she had not changed too much.

When the gig stopped in front of the Hotel Toussant, Amos was awestruck. He had never been to a hotel before, nor ever been in a building that looked so ornate and regal. A colored man in a red hat and a red jacket with gold buttons came out of the hotel and asked in a snide manner what they were doing blocking the hotel’s entrance. Reverend Small replied that they had come to see Mrs. Serena Tremain, and the man in the red jacket’s demeanor changed suddenly to one of cooperation. He asked the reverend to pull the gig behind the hotel and he would assist with any unloading of baggage. Amos was impressed that the mention of his sister’s name should have such an effect on the man.

After tying Beauregard to a railing behind the hotel, they were ushered into a lushly carpeted room that was furnished with overstuffed chairs and carved wooden tables and told to wait. There was an immense cut-glass chandelier hanging in the center of the room, and polished brass lamps sat on many different tables. Amos felt as if he was in a palace like the ones he read about in his schoolbooks.

A woman dressed in an expensive, shiny dress called out, “Amos! Amos!” as she swept into the room.

Amos was startled and for a moment didn’t recognize his sister. “Serena?” he asked questioningly.

“Who else fixed you grits and bacon for breakfast? Who made the best and lightest biscuits you ever ate?” she said with a smile and came up and hugged him tightly.

“Gosh,” was all that Amos could muster. It was hard for him to believe that this regal woman was his sister.

“My, what a handsome young man you’ve turned out to be!” she declared as she held him at arm’s length so that she could see him. Then she turned to the reverend and said, “You must be Reverend Small.” She held out a gloved hand.

“At yo’ service, ma’am,” the reverend replied as he shook her hand.

“I can’t tell you how grateful my family is for the generosity you’ve shown my little brother. Obviously, you’re a man of God who applies those principles to his own life.”

Reverend Small nodded his head in a small bow. “That be a big compliment, ma’am. I don’t rightly knows I can live up to it, but I’m gon’ try.”

“I don’t know you, but I feel that you are already firmly on the right path, Reverend Small, if only for what you’ve done for my brother.”

“T’weren’t nothin’, ma’am,” Reverend Small said, clapping Amos on the shoulder. “My family was right pleased to have him stay with us.”

“Reverend, will you stay and lunch with us?” Serena asked.

“No, thankee kindly,” the reverend answered. “Whilest I’s in town, there’s some chores I got to take care of for my church. We’s thinkin’ maybe we’s ready for a piano to back up our choir. I thought I’d take some time and look about for somethin’ we can afford. But first, I would like to return some of the money you was kind enough to send. It was way too much. Didn’t need near that amount.” Reverend Small extended an envelope to Serena.

“I can’t accept it,” Serena said with a shake of her head. “That money is yours to do with as you see fit. In fact, I was going to give you a couple hundred dollars more.” She produced her own envelope.

“In good faith, I can’t accept that,” the reverend answered. “Amos here worked hard around my place. He’s a good boy. He pull his own weight. If’en we wasn’t poor folk, I wouldn’t accept no money. It was a blessin’ to have him stay with us. It wouldn’t be right to take yo’ money.”

“Then let me donate it to your church. Let it help you find the right piano and maybe have some money left over to help some of the less fortunate members of your church with clothing and food.” Serena stuffed the envelope into Reverend Small’s hand. “Please accept this. We can afford it.”

Reverend Small grasped Serena’s hand. “Sometime you do somethin’ you think is right. You don’t know the cost or the reward, but you do it anyway and then heaven open up and pour its largesse on you. There’ll be many a family that’ll be clothed and eatin’ who might’ve had to do without, but for you. Our folk will say many a prayer in yo’ name. Thank you for yo’ generous gift!”