Horrible Harvest

Another year in, and I was another half-foot taller, Douglas was turnt obedient dog to Mr. Stockton, and Charles was more dead-mean than near anyone I’d ever met. He weren’t Horace Tennyson mean. He was a quiet mean that’d sooner chew on your heart than lay eyes on you more than a hiccup’s length of time.

Kenneth and I’d grown closer. I ain’t never had someone who made me feel so unbothered by what was hid inside of me – the part of me I couldn’t never let out. He knew what I was, and he was glad for it. No one’s ever been glad for me, not even Momma. She loved me, she did, but she loved me in a way that give her burden. To her, I was another thing to spend worry on. It was the warm and terrible love of a mother beat down by unholy poverty and a life given no liberty by Church and law. She could make no choice for herself nor her children because she had not money nor cock and balls.

Charles come up on me and Kenneth one day when we was at play in the woods. We wasn’t engaged in nothing unseemly, but we was slow walking in that direction, and Charles knew it. He hated us for it.

He didn’t say nothing when he spotted us. He stared at us. Unseen at first. I can’t say how long he’d been standing on the path when I found happenstance to turn his way, but when I seen him, I could feel him burning me to ash with his eyes.

“Wha-choo want?” I asked.

“We’ve been called on.”

Kenneth was made uneasy by him, too. “For what? By whom?”

“Vigilance committee. Mr. Stockton.”

“We ain’t on no vigilance committee. That’s foremen work.”

“We are now.”

“Who says?”

“Douglas. Mr. Stockton. Mr. Miller. I’m to bring you to the stables.”

“What about school? Momma know?”

“We got other things to learn.”

“She ain’t gonna be happy.”

“Then she won’t be happy. Nothing we can do about it. Wha-choo two doing out here anyway?”

Kenneth fidgeted. “There was a fox and her kits. We followed them.”

“What fer?”

I give a shrug. “For fun. You remember fun, don’t you Charles?”

“I remember it. Just don’t see what’s fun about chasing after a fox and her kits.”

“We should go.”

Charles give Kenneth a long stare before saying, “I reckon we should.”

I led the way, while Charles walked in lockstep beside Kenneth. “How come we don’t ever do fun stuff like chasing after foxes and such?

“Leave him be, Charles.”

“I ain’t bothering him.”

“I didn’t think you liked me.”

A laugh come from my brother. “I like you just fine. You’re Mr. Miller’s boy, ain’t you?  What’s not to like? You got yourself stuck to Augustus like you was sewed onto his blouse like a button. Why is that? What’s so special about him?”

“Charles, I ain’t gonna tell you again. Leave him be.”

“What? I’m just trying to friendly up to him. He don’t think I like him. I want him to think otherwise. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. I got interest in you, Kenneth. You and me, we should have us our own good time together. Without Augustus around.”

We reached the stables.

Four riderless horses were tied off on a hitch. Eight more twitched and shuttled about with riders settled into their saddles. Three were mounted by slaves. Skinny and weathered from fieldwork. Dressed in the garb of the overseers under which they usually toiled. They looked as confused and unsure as we three Miller men. Five horses served as mounts to white fellas who ain’t seen a bath since the last rainfall. Douglas was among them. He set atop a red mare and stared at us with a crooked grin. Mr. Stockton was next to him atop his spotted pony.

“Ass in saddles, boys. We got us a fair trip ahead and not enough daylight.”

We done as directed.

The last riderless horse sidestepped and hop-stepped backwards. Uneasy. Disorderly.

Tate come out the stables and climbed atop it.

I was surprised to see him. He was the school’s attendant for so long it was weird as the devil to see him beyond it’s grounds. “Mr. Tate.”

“Master Augustus.”

“This school business?”

“No. It is not.”

“What is it then?”

“I do not know, but I fear we are in the unfortunate position of finding out soon enough.”

Mr. Stockton steered his mount toward we Miller men and Tate. “I’m confused. Did I encourage discussion?”

Tate cast his eyes down. “Sir. No sir, Master Stockton.”

“Then why am I hearing it?”

“It’s my fault, sir. I asked Mr. Tate if he knew what we’re up to.”

A smile come from the advance man. “Why not ask me? I’m the one that put this together.”

I give pause. “Well, sir. No offense, but you ain’t that approachable.”

Men and boys, they all laughed, and that weren’t Mr. Stockton’s favorite thing

The advance man held up a hand to silence us. He leant over his saddle and coaxed me closer with a bend of his finger. “I’ma tell you something, boy. You got an admirable trait and downright irritating one that’ll drive a man to punch you in the face, and they’re both the same thing. You always say what you’re thinking. My suggestion to you is to do less of that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without sputtering out another word, Mr. Stockton urged his horse into a slow gallop. The rest of us followed. Not a syllable was spoke as we rode off, giving chase to the sinking sun.