Horrible Harvest

The last train to Baltimore never arrived. The engineer’d drunk himself into a full stew and there weren’t a replacement to be found, not one that was less stewed, anyhow.

“S’pose that means I’ll have to find a room somewheres,” Allison said.

“What about your brothers?”

“What about them?”

“Can’t they put you up?”

She rolled her eyes. “They’s all married to women more offensive than them. I’d sooner sleep on a bed of nails than find boarding with anyone of them fools.”

We stepped around a married couple doing their levelheaded best to wrangle their three toddlers outside the train station. The little ones was keyed up from their travels, and they was nothing but bundles of trouble bound for breakdowns and all-out tantrums.

“Won’t that husband of yours be worried?”

She laughed. “Sure enough. For anyone who dare crosses me. Where you staying? Maybe they got an extra room.”

“They don’t,” I said.

“What makes you so sure?”

“‘Cause I ain’t staying nowheres.”

She give me a puzzled look. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I got a bedroll and the whole outdoors.”

“A bedroll? Lord, what year do you think it is? They’s hotels and rooms to rent all over this town.”

“I ain’t bedding down in town.”

We walked a half block ‘fore she said, “Where then?”

“Somewheres I know of.”

She grabbed my arm. “You’re going back there, ain’t you? To your daddy’s farm.”

I didn’t answer.

“Sure you are. You’re here in Charleston. For the first time in – In what, probably 40 years – You’re going back to the rice farm for sure.”

“It ain’t there no more.”

“The land is. The river’s still there.”

“That it is.”

“I’m going with.”

“You’re not.”

“Try and stop me.”

“You got a horse?”

“A horse?”

“Big four-legged beast. Eats grains and oats. Drinks water. Used by folks like me to get from one place to another.”

“Don’t be rude. I know what a horse is, and you know damn well I don’t have one. I’ll rent one.”

“And you’ll get back to Baltimore in what, a week? That husband of yours will surely be worried by then.”

“I’ll send a telegram.”

“And say what? You’re accompanying some old fucker out to the middle of nowheres to dig up shit that’s got no business being dug up?”

“Well, I don’t know if they’ll allow profanities in a telegram, so I’ll word it a tad different.”

We walked in silence for a bit ‘fore I added, “I ain’t coming back this way. You gonna ride your rented horse back to Charleston proper by your lonesome?”

She smirked. “I think you’re forgetting Felix had a hand in raising me. Everything you taught Miss Virginia, he taught me. I can take care of myself.”

“So you think.”

“You’re doing an awful lot of talking about a decision that’s already been made.”

“You ain’t my responsibility.”

“Never said I was.”

“And why you doing this, exactly?”

“‘Cause I got house chores and sad tenderness waiting for me back home. I love my husband, but his stories bore me, and we don’t share affection for one another like we used to, especially in the bedroom – ”

I cut her off. “That’s enough of that. You promise to go no further about your affections with your husband, you can come with me.”

She smiled. “Am I allowed a question?”

I chuckled. “I’d say no, but I’m pretty damn sure you’re gonna ask it no matter what.”

“Now you’re learning.”

“Ask your damn question.”

“Why you digging up stuff that ain’t got no business being dug up?”

I give her question some thought. “Because it’s time.”

She nodded. “I’m gonna pretend that makes sense.”

“It does. To me.”

“I see. This is some unresolved shit having to do with your daddy, is it?”

“Would that answer suit you?”

“I s’pose.”

“Then yes. This is some unresolved shit having to do with Daddy.”

We walked a few feet more. “I want to know more about him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

I grunted, knowing full well she weren’t about to shut up about Daddy. “What do you wanna know?”

She give my question some thought. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

I give pause before saying, “I seen him for the last time a couple three-four times.”

“How does that work?”

“Daddy was hard to kill off. He was down an eye and filled with stab wounds and more than his share of shrapnel by the time he found himself in a pine box, six feet under. I thought him dead a half-dozen times in my lifetime. Wished him dead more.”

She shrugged. “Tell me about one of them times you thought him dead, then. You choose.”

I give out a sigh. “You wanna start that digging now, do you?”

“We could go back to my affections with my man, if you like.”

“Alabama,” I said with a start. “In a place called Bridgeport –That was the last time I had a meet up with Daddy – One where we exchanged words, anyhow.”