Horrible Harvest

Reminder: This story contains offensive language. Dehumanizing language. I wish it weren’t necessary, but it is. You’ve been warned.

The widow prepared a simple lunch. Bread, gravy, and rice. I couldn’t go nowhere nears the rice, but I ate more than my share of bread. I didn’t have nothing but hardtack the four years prior, so when I spotted the bread on the table, I couldn’t help but lunge for it and sink my yellow teeth into it.

Felix sat with a smile so big it near swallowed his ears. Next to him was the widow’s two young’uns – A boy and a girl. Apparently, he enjoyed the ride. His only regret was he didn’t have but one gold coin to give.

I told him about our new jobs and his pay, but he barely heard me. His mind was settled deep inside that old plump gals honeypot, and he couldn’t move his thoughts off it.

“Tall boy,” the widow said, to me. “You see that face on Felix there, do you? I could give you a smile like that. Maybe even bigger.”

“I don’t think they come bigger.”

“Give me that gold coin of yours and lets us find out.”

“Told you. I’m going to hang on to my gold piece. And I ain’t sure this is a conversation suited for young ears.”

“They know momma’s gotta earn pay any which way momma can. Ain’t no shame in keeping a roof over our heads and food in their mouths.”

“No shame in it at all,” I said. “Still, I ain’t sure they need to know the details of your wage earning.”

The two young children lapped up their lunches like dogs who ain’t et in a week. They didn’t care a whit that we were talking about them.

Bobby reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold coins. He stood and placed one in front of each of the young’uns. “You two minnows take your plates there and finish up your lunch outside.”

Instead of grabbing their plates, the two kids scooped up the coins and run outside, after hurriedly shoveling as much rice and gravy as they could hold into their mouths. I quick-like stole the bread off their plates.

“S’pose Ima have to give up my services for them two gold coins?”

“No,” Bobby said. “I’m just of the same mind as Augustus. Conversation wasn’t for them.”

The widow laughed. “Wha’choo two think’ll become of them young’uns in the years to come. They got no daddy. I ain’t a high society widow with a trunk full of money lying around. The boys got a year before he’s gonna have to find factory work, and my girl – Well, the only thing that’ll save her is marriage, but that’s three or four years away.”

Horrified, I said, “She can’t be more than ten.”

“She’ll be ten end of the year. Most likely. Ain’t got a handle on her birth date. Lot’s happened between now and then.”

I shook my head in disgust.

“I’m open to negotiate.”

I furrowed my brow. “What does that mean?”

“I can marry her off sooner if you wanna pay up. A hundred dollars per year I shave off. Four hundred right now, and I’ll run get the sheriff myself. He’ll marry you on the spot.”

“You ain’t right in the mind, lady?”

Her eyes burned into me, and then she let out a big ol’ laugh. “I’m crazy as they come, tall boy. I’m fit for the a-sylum – Fact is, I’m in it. This here’s a crazy house. The good Lord plopped me down in this place and give me the gift of nothing but hungry mouths to feed. So, you know what I’ve done in all this time. I’ve been serving the Lord’s charge. I am feeding them kids. I’m sacrificing every fat part of me to raise them to be a-dults who will get their own charge from the Lord to follow one of these miserable days. The boy, he’ll get called up to die in some war that ain’t been invented yet, and the girl, she’ll marry a man who’ll disappear from her life somewhere along the way, and she’ll earn them wretched kids of hers meals with her heels up and back flat on the bed. I’m all the way wrong in the mind, tall boy, because that’s how you survive in this world. You give up on living with a clear head. Otherwise you get stuck on the idea that life ain’t worth living. You wanna judge me for that? Do you, tall boy?

“Now, I say to you again, you give me $400, and that little girl is yours. I’ll pack her belongings, and you can whisk her away. Yours to do what you want with.”

“To do what I want with? Ain’t she your daughter?”

She stood, her hand gripping the handle of a butter knife. “And ain’t we taught she’s as much the Lord’s as she is mine? Why am I to care for her more than he cares for her? More than he cares for me? This is the way of things. These are the rules, and it was the likes of you who carved out the rules, so don’t judge me for having to find my way in this world of yours.”

“Lady, I ain’t carved out shit.”

Bobby snorted out a laugh, put his arm around me and leaned back in his chair. “I find this conversation stimulating as all hell. The world is this way because of this and that. I tell you it’s a debate that makes fertile the imagination. But also, on a deeper, more thoughtful level, it is boring the piss out of me.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew three gold pieces. “These are yours,” he said to the widow. “If you take up the Lord’s charge with me, Felix, and Augustus all at once.”

“What in the hell? Why would you jump in with an offer like that?”

“Because I do carve out the rules.”

Before I could decline to participate, she barked out, “I wouldn’t let tall boy touch me for all the gold in the world.”

“Fine. Bert?”

“I think you know my policy.”

“All right then, me and Felix and then me again. Three pieces of gold.”

She held her chin up and gave a slight nod. “Who’s first?”

“Both of us,” Bobby said. “I need to give the boy a few pointers on the this and that of pleasing a woman.”

“He did just fine on his own.”

“Well, honey, just fine ain’t near good enough. Ima teach him a few things the Bolivians taught me.”

She nodded again. “Fine.”

Felix nearly jumped out of his chair and then sped toward the staircase.

“Boy’s eager,” Bobby said. “Bert, take Augustus and go see that fella about them Griswold Gunnisons. Offer him $150 for the dozen.”

Bert pushed back from the table and stood. “C’mon, kid.”

I grabbed a hunk of bread, placed my derby on my head, and followed him out the door. We turned up the street, and I soaked in the cool breeze of the late spring day.

“You ought not get so riled about other people’s business,” Bert said.

“It ain’t her business that riles me.”

“What then?”

“It’s that she’s got her a point. What the hell is she supposed to do? She’s got nothing, and no way to earn.”

“She’s earned a good bit in the last two days from my brother and Felix. More than she’s worth, I can tell you that much.”

“She’s a war widow. She deserves better.”

“What about my momma?”

“What about her?”

“She took in money the same way as that ol’ fat gal does. ‘Cept her husband wasn’t a soldier. He was a drunk that got into one scrap after another until he eventually come up on a fella who had a bigger knife and better skills at using it. Momma was the widow of a no-good drunkard. She deserve better? Or do only war widows deserve better?”

“I didn’t mean – They all deserve better?”

“They who?”

I thought about his question. “Everyone who ain’t got no say in the way of things.”

“Life ain’t fair. No rule that it should be. No hope that it will be. You know what the secret to surviving is?”

“What?”

“Don’t get riled about other people’s business.”

We walked a few minutes in silence before he said, “You been at war for a long while.”

“I have.”

“Peculiar.”

“What’s peculiar?”

“Nothing – It’s just – I know there was brothels along your way there. I heard tell the Union even set up military run brothels, so as to get their men clean women to bed down – But the Confederacy – Far as I know, had no such opportunities. Private establishments was all you had out there in that big wide war of yours. Couldn’t have been that many to choose from.”

“What’s peculiar about that?”

“That’s not the peculiar part. I find it peculiar that you didn’t jump that ol’ gal the second she hinted at a conjugal offering.”

“Like I said, I like gold more.”

“Don’t no man in the middle of the desert hold on to gold when water’s offered to him.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You passed on her services, too.”

“Told you my policy. I don’t follow Bobby.”

“There you have it.”

“There I have what?”

“We both have our reasons. It’s better if we don’t dive any deeper.”

He nodded, and we walked in silence until we reached a Methodist church.

“What in the name of baby Jesus are we doing here?”

“Buying guns.”

Inside the chapel, a man dressed in clericals approached us. “Gentleman, welcome. I’m Pastor Ross. How can we be of service to you today?”

“We?” Bert asked.

“Me and the Lord Jesus, of course.”

“Of course. We’re looking for a fella named Gerald. Gerald Reynolds.”

The preacher’s facial expression turned decidedly less friendly. “Mr. Reynolds is occupied with work.”

“I’d like to occupy him with money,” Bert said, pulling out a folded wad of bills.

The pastor’s eyes locked on the stack of currency.

“Greenbacks. Union. None of that Confederacy horse shit.”

“Please,” the pastor said. “Language.”

“Which word do you object to? Union, Confederacy, or horse shit?”

“Profanity has no place – ”

Bert held up a dollar bill. “A tithe, father – Or whatever the shit they call you.”

The preacher snatched the bill out of Bert’s hand. “I’ll fetch Mr. Reynolds.”

He turned and walked toward the altar.

“You and your brother spend a lot of money.”

“We have a lot of money.”

“Yeah, I’ve put thought to that notion and figured as much on my own. The problem is you’re not shy about flashing it about. Soon enough, this whole town will know the Bunning brothers are carrying around a pot of gold for the taking.”

“What’s the point of having money if there ain’t somebody trying to steal it?”

“So, you want trouble?”

He smiled. “Fella’s gotta have his fun some way.”

A short man – more inches around than up and down – entered through a door at the back of the altar and approached while wiping his hands with a dirty rag. His hair line stopped just above his ears and his gray rat’s nest locks circled his bulbous head.

“You Reynolds?” Bert asked.

“I am. You are?”

“The new owner of your Griswold Gunnisons.”

He gripped the rag nervously. “My what?”

“Six-shooters. Fine factory-made Griswold Gunnison firearms. Brand-spanking new.”

“No such thing as a brand-spanking new Griswold Gunnison firearm. Factory burnt to the ground.”

“Heard you got a whole crate of’em.”

“You heard wrong.”

“A dozen in a crate?”

“I got no idea what you’re talking about – ”

“Give you $100 for the whole crate.”

Reynolds laughed. “I ain’t got a crate of Griswold Gunnisons, but if I did, ain’t no way in hell I’d take but $100 for’em. These’re special made – I mean they would be should they exist.”

“Special made? What does that mean?”

“They’re fitted. As I hear it.”

“For?”

“Rumor is they’re fitted for all-in one cartridges. No gun powder, no ball, no cap, nothing but shiny metal centerfire cartridges. Hammer. Trigger. Bang.”

“That’s a load of shit. No such revolver exists in these parts.”

“It does. Made in secret. French fella’ joined up with Mr. Griswold and give him the design. French were keen on seeing the Union lose, so they helped out here and there in secret with this and that. The centerfire cartridges was meant to give the Confederacy a better than sporting chance to win. Would have worked too if’n the factory didn’t get burnt to the ground.”

“What about ammo for these secret guns?”

“Got two crates – I mean – Rumor has it, there’s two crates to be had.”

Bert considered this new information. “Fine then. I’ll give you $100 for the crate of guns and two crates of ammunition.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? This here’s a special revolver, friend. Ain’t nothing like it to be had.”

“It’s a revolver that’s never been fired in a gunfight. It missed the war. They’ve been sitting in a crate untried and untested. A hundred dollars.”

“Forget it. I ain’t interested – And I ain’t got no guns, anyway.”     

“You got money, do you? I mean money enough to laugh off $100 in Union bank notes? That why you’re doing handy work at a church?”

“Union? Not Confederate?”

“I use Confederate notes to scrape the shit off the bottom of my shoes.”

Reynolds nodded. “The shit’s worth more than the notes – You boys ain’t soldiers are ya’ – Rebs, I mean.”

I answered. “No.”

“Good. Can’t tell you how godawful pissed I am about that whole thing. Had them bluebellies beat six times over. Then everything went to hell when they took out good ol’ Stonewall. They oughta string White-flag Lee up by the neck. Coward. We could’a won if Robert E. had a spine.”

“We? You fought in the war, did you?” I asked.

“Me? Nah – Got bad joints – Paid a boy to join up for me. He was in fine shape. He was. Better than me. Was an apprentice of mine. Young, poor boys have a better constitution for soldiering than an old businessman like me. Compensated his wife on top of what I paid him. Course that was back when I had more money than I could shake a stick at. Lost a good bit of it because of this goddamn war. Lost my treasure for what? For a yella’ belly like Lee to turn tail and run?”

“The guns, Reynolds – ”

“The boy? What come of him?”

“What boy?”

“The boy you sent to war in your stead.”

The short, round man shrugged. “Got no idea. Ain’t got time to care. He didn’t help matters, I can tell you that much. Else, I wouldn’t be doing handy work in a church.” He wiped the back of his neck with the rag. “Let’s say a fella had them guns. What would you really pay for’em?”

“Told you what I’d pay.”

“Well, then, If’n I run across this fella with brand spanking new Griswold Gunnison firearms, I’ll let him know your offer and then you know what’ll happen? We’ll have us a good laugh at your mighty fine joke of an offer.”

“After you get done with your laugh, tell him the offer’s now $90 for the dozen.”

The man seemed startled by the newly proposed price. “You trying to give the man a good laughing fit ‘cause otherwise your offer don’t make no sense. You’re to go up when there’s a denial of sale.”

“I’m compensating myself for the time you’re wasting.”

“Then you’ll leave here without the guns.”

“You know what this town is full of, Reynolds? It’s full of folks desperate for money. It’ll take me an entire day, but if I go house to house, I’ll find twelve revolvers, and it’ll cost me a lot less than 90 greenbacks.”

Reynolds considered his point and then sighed before saying, “Two hundred, and I’ll save you the day.”

Bert smiled and answered, “You’ve got handy work to get back to, and I’ve got doors to knock on.” He turned and headed for the exit.

“One-seventy-five.”

I followed after Bert; not entirely sure if this was a negotiating tactic, or if we was really going to go door-to-door on the hunt for six-shooters.

“Hundred-fifty. Can’t go no lower.”

Bert stopped, gave me a wink and then said, “How much you pay to send that boy off to war for you?”

Reynolds furrowed his brow. “What’s that got to do with the price of my guns?”

“Nothing. Just curious.”

“I ain’t going no lower.”

“How much did you pay that boy?”

“Two-hundred.”

“And his wife? What sort of compensation did you give her?”

“I hired her on to clean and cook for me. Give her three dollars a week.”

“So, her husband went off to war because you were too fat and lazy to go, and then you made her work herself poor so you could get fatter and lazier.”

“The boy didn’t have to take my place. That was his choice.”

“But it saved you a hundred dollars from what I understand. The government wanted three hundred or was that just the Union’s charge for rich assholes to avoid service?”

“Don’t know the particulars on any of the rules other than it saved my joints from soldiering, and it made a poor boy two hundred dollars. We both got something out of it, and as for his wife, she learned the value of earning her way. War will put women to work. There’s just no way around it. It ain’t my druthers, but I done what I had to. Where we at on the guns? We settled on $150 or not?”

Bert turned to me. “Wha’choo think, Mr. Tennyson? We gonna do business with this fella, or are we gonna start knocking on doors?”

I thought on it long and hard. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Why?”

“Because I asked, and I’m the only thing between you and a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Wilson. Thomas. Tommy to me and all that knew him.”

“Signed up out of where?”

“Atlanta.”

I approached him. “From this day on, I’m gonna be on the lookout for a Thomas Wilson out of Atlanta, Georgia. If I find out he was cut down in the war, I’m gonna come find you and get his $200 back. That money, every bit of it is going to his widow. You understand?”

“I didn’t do nothing wrong. I went by the law. It said, plain as day that I could send the boy in my stead. I got bad joints. My feet ache something awful. Even now. Standing here? Talking with you two fellas? They are giving me trouble. Feels like spurs poking at my bones.”

“Do you understand?”

“I’m too old to fight, too. Older than I look, and I had value as an earner. My skills was in business, and I added plenty to the Confederate coffers with what they took out of my wages. I got taxed plenty for my part. I financed an army that run up the white flag and turnt their yellow backs on the south.”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time. Do you understand? If I find out Thomas Wilson died in the war, you will pay his widow two-hundred dollars.”

“I ain’t got no money, no property. Heard tell they’s gonna give my old house to a broke down nigger that used to mend my trousers and shine my shoes.”

I wrapped my hand around his throat and squeezed.

“I – I – Understand.”

I let him go and headed for the exit. “Take his guns. Don’t take his guns. I don’t give a good goddamn.”

Bert approached Reynolds with $150 in greenbacks in his hand. “Take us to the guns.”

Reynolds, rubbing the sting out of his neck, yanked the money from Bert with his free hand, and said, with a strained voice, “There ain’t no wife to give $200 to anyhow.”

I stopped at the door and turned back to him. “What’d you say?”

“She’s dead. Died a year ago.”

“How?”

“It ain’t a conversation I like getting into. Especially in a church. Let’s just say she took matters into her own hands. That was a hard day, I tell ya’. Hard day indeed. I’m the one who found her. That was a sad sight. You ever come across a dead body? It ain’t pleasant. I can tell you that with certainty. Found her two days in. A good stench had worked up by that time.”

I groaned. “For a fella who didn’t wanna have a conversation about it, you sure are doing a lot of conversating about it.”

“Yeah, I guess you gotta point on that. Just stuck in my mind is all. Turned a corner and come up on it. Her. You know? Dead. Unawares. Had no idea what I was to see that day. Hard to not get fixated on a thing like that.”

I stood in front of the door and stared at him.

“I oughta charge you extra for the squeeze he put on my throat.”

Bert smiled. “I don’t know the kid that well, but he didn’t kill you. You probably should count that as a win.”