Her breaking off from those men, including Cecil, and coming over to me right away, made me feel special. I could see they were all a little jealous, her having decided to give her time to me.
She took me aside and sat me down in the corner in a red-velvet chair. She sat across from me on a wooden chair and reached into her bookcase. She said, “Have you read Washington Irving?”
I said I had not. I found myself staring at her blue eyes, porcelain white skin, and full lips.
After explaining to Mrs. Canerton that I had not only not read Washington Irving, but didn’t know who he was, she said, “Well, you ought to know who he is. And you will now. There’s one story in here you’ll especially like. About the headless horseman. With you not getting a lot of school, you and Tom need to keep up. At least with good books. I’ll come out in a few days and you have this one read. I’ll bring you some others.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Though I was glad to have the book, all my friends were outside playing, and that’s where I wanted to go. Not only to play, but to get away from Mrs. Canerton. She was making me feel funny, her face close to mine, her breath sweet as a hot peach pie. I had grown warm and itchy all over.
Mrs. Canerton’s men friends were anxious for her to be back as well. Cecil came over, winked at me, said, “Are you trying to steal my girl?”
He was wearing a stiff black suit with a shine to the knees and elbows. He had on a white shirt and a tired black tie.
“No sir,” I said.
“Oh, that’s silly,” Mrs. Canerton said. “I’m not your girl, Cecil.”
“There,” Cecil said, giving me a falsely sour look. “You’ve done it. Stolen my girl. I think we should duel with sabers at dawn. The prize, Louise.”
That was the first time I realized she had a first name.
“Quit being silly,” Mrs. Canerton said, but it was obvious she was loving it.
Doc Taylor came over then, just sort of edged between me and Cecil and touched Mrs. Canerton’s arm.
“I’ll tell you whose girl she is,” he said. “Mine.”
The three of them laughed and floated back to the crowd of males that had gathered around the former Mrs. Canerton. I saw a number of other women on the far side of the room, dressed up and pretty, frowning in the direction of the pack, and I remember overhearing a little later at the general store one of those women say something about how shameful it had been, Mrs. Canerton with all those men around like that, and she ought to be ashamed, but I thought it sounded like sour grapes to me.
I found Mama and gave the book to her. She was in the kitchen, sitting at the food-loaded table with the rest of the women, having what she called a hen party.
As I went back into the living room I saw Doc Stephenson sitting in a chair across the way. He was slouched down, looking drunk. I hadn’t noticed him when I came in, but then again, I hadn’t been looking. Mrs. Canerton had distracted me right away.
Doc Stephenson glanced at me briefly, his face turning even more sour. I figured he was still mad at my Daddy. Then Mrs. Canerton darted by with Cecil following like a puppy, the other men not far behind, Taylor being prominent, and Stephenson quit looking at me. He watched Mrs. Canerton meet some new guests as they came in. I couldn’t tell if the way he was looking at her was with interest or anger.
I realized then every man in the room was watching her, like birds protecting a nest.
I went outside to play.
It was another fine cool night with no mosquitoes, lots of lightning bugs glowing and crickets chirping. Me and Tom got to playing hide-and-go-seek with the rest of the kids. While the boy who was it was counting, we went to hide. I crawled under Mrs. Canerton’s house, and elbowed and kneed my way beneath the front porch, hoping I wouldn’t get fussed at too much when Mama saw my clothes.
I hadn’t no more than got under there good than Tom crawled up beside me. I hadn’t worn a costume, but she had on her ghost outfit, an old white pillowcase with eyeholes.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Go find your own place.”
“I didn’t know you was under here. It’s too late for me to go anywhere.”
“Then be quiet,” I said.
While we were sitting there, we saw shoes and pants legs moving toward the porch steps. It was the men who had been standing out in the yard smoking. They were gathering on the porch to talk. In passing, I recognized a pair of boots as Daddy’s, and after a bit of moving about on the porch above us, we heard the porch swing creak and some of the porch chairs scraping around, then I heard Cecil speak.
“How long she been dead?”
“Couple of weeks, maybe,” Daddy said. “It’s hard to say. Water and tornado didn’t do the body any good.”
“She anyone we know?”
“A prostitute,” Daddy said. “Janice Jane Willman. She lived near all them juke joints outside of Pearl Creek. Maybe she picked up the wrong man. Ended up in the river.”
“How’d you find out who she is?”
“I brought Doc Tinn and the Reverend Bail from over Pearl Creek to take a look at her.”
“How’d you know she was from there?”
“I didn’t. But they seem to know most everybody. Colored do most of their personal business over there, for obvious reasons. They both knew her. Doc Tinn had treated her for some female problems, and the Reverend had tried to save her soul, of course.”
“I didn’t know niggers had souls.” I knew that voice. Old Man Nation. He showed up wherever there was food and possibly liquor, and never brought a covered dish or liquor. “And one less nigger ain’t gonna hurt nothin’.”
“She wasn’t all colored,” Daddy said. “She was part white. A mulatto. Not that that matters.”
“Ain’t no such thing as part white,” Nation said. “A drop of nigger blood makes you a nigger. You shit in a snow bank, snow’s ruined. It don’t matter how white it was to begin with. You ain’t gonna melt that and drink it.”
“You know who did it?” Cecil asked. “Any leads?”
“No.”
“Hell, a nigger did it.” Nation again. “He’d have liked it better had it been a white woman. And mark my words, it will be you don’t catch this sonofabitch. A nigger prefers a white woman he gets a chance. Hell, wouldn’t you if you was a nigger? A white woman, that’s prime business to ’em.”
“That’s enough of that,” Daddy said.
“I’m sayin’ it’s comin’, Constable. It’s nothing yet, just niggers, but a white woman is gonna get hers.”
“I don’t get you,” Daddy said. “You think colored kills colored it’s all right-”
“It is.”
“-and you don’t care if anything’s done about that, but now you’re telling me this killer’s got to be caught because a white woman might die. Which is it?”
“I’m just sayin’ niggers ain’t a loss.”
“And what if the killer’s white?”
“They still ain’t a loss,” Mr. Nation said. “But it’ll turn out to be a nigger. Mark my words. And all this murderin’ won’t end at just niggers.”
“I heard you had a suspect,” Cecil said.
“Not really,” Daddy said.
“Some colored fella, I heard,” Cecil said.
“I knew it,” Nation said. “Some goddamn nigger.”
“I picked a man up for questioning, that’s all.”
“Where is he?” Nation asked.
“You know,” Daddy said, “I think I’m gonna have me a piece of that pie.”
The porch creaked, the screen door opened, and we heard boot steps entering into the house.
“Nigger lover,” Nation said.
“That’s enough of that,” Cecil said.
“You talkin’ to me, fella?” Mr. Nation said.
“I am, and I said that’s enough.”
