Horrible Harvest

Daddy fumbled hospitality once again. “I did. Yes. Grace, get at it. Let’s serve up some of that peach pie for these good folks.”

“Peach?”

“Yes, sir. Fella come through from the Upstate at the bend in the week. Traded out a gross of nails for a dozen jars of peach preserves. The missus has made good use of ‘em. I can tell you that. Better cook than teacher, she is.”

Momma give a tick of thought to Daddy’s compliment. She didn’t want no part of being a cook. Vexed her something awful to be called such a thing. She was a teacher. Like Mr. Miller said. She didn’t trade out her life for serving a demon on a rice farm in Charleston. She didn’t do that. In her mind, leastwise.

The first plated piece of pie rested in the hands of Mrs. Miller. She took a bite right off. Her eyes tilted back and her long lashes fluttered about. “Grace.” I believe it was the first time she was called by her first name by anyone other than Daddy. “This is witchcraft. I’ve never tasted anything this perfect.”

“It is the preserves. An ingredient for which I cannot take credit.”

“No, sweet woman. It is far more than the preserves. It is the crust. It is marvelous. Unique.”

Momma put on a polite smile. “It is a lucky error. Horace’s grandmother gifted me a collection of recipes when we married. I’m afraid some of the writing was indecipherable. I had to improvise here and there. That crust is more biscuit than pie.”

Mr. Miller took his turn. His eyes danced about in much the same way as his missus. “Good heavens. I feel as if I’m breaking the law eating this pie. This is truly too good to be true. If your teaching is half as good as this pie, I’ve no doubt we can achieve great things, Mrs. Tennyson.”

“Great things?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, dear.”

“Of course, I am. I’m just so pleased. I hope you won’t take offense, but I was quite nervous about this visit. We know much about you, true, but all the snooping in the world cannot paint the true picture of a person. I would sum you folks up in one word. Delightful. It has just been a pure delight spending time with you. I hope we haven’t been too intrusive.”

If Daddy had the ability to cry, he would’ve done it right then and there. “Cameron, I can honestly say, you’re a goddamn nice fella. Nicer than I expected by a good stretch.”

Daddy didn’t have no notion that he’d just committed an effrontery. He’d called the rich man by his first name without asking permission.

The advance man’s mind turned rabid by the country oaf’s use of the familiar. It was plane by the look on his face.

“What say we discuss some business.”

Unawares a line had been crossed, Daddy smile and said, “Ya’sir.” All the while grinding and churning on a forkful of peach biscuit pie.

“Mrs. Tennyson, to put it succinctly, I’ve hopes to open a boarding school on one of my properties nearby. A world class facility. A diverse curricula. Although, philosophy is my primary concern. It dictates all the moments we possess on this planet, and it receives so little attention. Don’t you agree?”

Momma give a risky reply. “I suppose that depends on the nature of the philosophies that are to receive attention.”

Mr. Miller give a sly grin and pointed at Momma. “And that is why I have greater hopes than I had this morning that I can pull this off. You are as cautious as I, good lady. You hide your misgivings in a pleasant yet provocative response. That is a skillful manner of debate I wish to instill within my students.”

“I ain’t exactly getting what’s going on here. You’re opening a school?” Daddy asked.

“I wish to. If I find the right steward. My current obligations prevent me from taking command of such a project at the moment, but if I were to find an educator, a smart headmaster who can groom young minds, prepare them for elite postsecondary educational facilities such as Harvard and West Point, then I would not have to wait for my calendar to clear. I could get started right away.”

“And you want Grace to do what?”

The rest of us, as small and dim as we was, had caught on at this point, and we was more than a bit concerned that Daddy hadn’t seemed to grasp nary a thing of what Mr. Miller was proposing.

“I believe Mr. Miller is inviting me to teach, Horace.”

“Teach? You don’t do that no more.”

“More than teach, Mrs. Miller. The school is yours. The curricula. The books. The supplementary activities. They will all be yours to choose and design. I will have some input, yes, but primarily the minds are yours to shape.”

The Devil come with an offer, and I could tell Momma was more than tempted to take it, but Horace would never allow it.

“Your boys would be invited to attend. Of course. At no cost. Their labors on the farm replaced by twice as many negroes. Of your choosing, Horace. Again, no cost.”

“For a school?”

“For an institution. A farm of a different sort. Seedlings grown into towering giants of industry and government.”

Daddy chuckled. “That sounds like a good high and mighty idea, but my boy’s ain’t geared toward such matters. They’s farm hands today. They’ll be farm hands tomorrow.” He was fuming inside. I could see it. He didn’t like no suggestion that his boys would be made better than him. “I get field hands from Judge Gadsden come harvest at a fair price. That’s been the way of things for near ten year now. It’ll be the way of things until I pass from this place. No offense.”

“None taken. We’ll put on hold the school talk for now because it appears we need to entertain your deal with Judge Gadsden.”

“What of it?”

Mr. Miller took another bite of the pie. “Really, Mrs. Tennyson, I must have you train our domestics on the art of this pie. It is simply stunning.”

Momma give a disingenuous grin.

“What of my Gadsden deal?”

“Is there coffee?”

“Of course.” Momma rushed from the table to the stove top with cloth in hand and retrieved a tin carafe of coffee. Cups were filled with gratitude.

“The deal? What of it?”

Mr. Miller turned the warmth down just a smidge on his friendly tone. “We should talk in private. The women need not be bored by farm business. Mrs. Tennyson, would you escort Isabelle around the property? She would love a tour. Wouldn’t you dear?”

The rich woman barely managed an agreeing grin.

“Of course.”

The adults turned to Daddy for his permission.

“Take her. Boys, you go with.”

Douglas raised the gumption to talk. “I want to stay. Farm business falls on me, too. I’m the oldest.”

“Farm business is all mine. Don’t fall on nobody but me. This is talk for grown men.”

“Kenneth will be staying. He is my apprentice. In training to take command of my interests, if needed.”

The oldest made a grave error and put a little flavor of demand in his voice. “Then I’m staying.”

“You’re escorting the women on their walk. Charles, too. Augustus, you’ll stay.”

“Augustus? I’m the oldest.”

“And he’s the smartest. Wouldn’t put you in charge of cleaning shit off the pigs, let alone farm business entire. You got too much of that old feeble ma’ of yours in you. She was dumb as they come.” Daddy quieted his temper quick as he raised it. He give Mrs. Miller a small smile. “My apologies, ma’am. I get turnt ugly on the matter of my first wife. Sickly woman, she was. I’m sorry to say. Lord took her. Saved her misery, he did.”

“We all benefit from His wisdom. Even in our darkest hours.”

“Well said, Mrs. Miller. Well said.” Daddy turned to his first farm hand. “See to it that the women are safe from all the wild that creeps and crawls here and there around the paddies.”

Caked in hate, Douglas give his reply. “Yes, sir.” He give a murderous glare to me, his youngest brother by half.

Tate still stood where he had since entering the house, just to the left of the front door. His chin was planted to his chest, and his eyes on his shoes.

“What of the darkie?”

“He stays,” Mr. Miller said. “That is, if you would so allow, Horace. He plays a part in the business at hand.”

Daddy held disdain for the fella, quiet and invisible as he was.  “I’ll so allow.”

Douglas exited. The women followed. Charles took up the rear. He was happy as a fly on shit that he’d been released from farm talk.