Zachary Peters

Part 6

What was that noise? She sat up. It was dark, but a pale light was just touching the deep blue of late night. There were a few hours until sunrise, but it would be here soon. Outside the little shack, there was a rhythmic sound of thick fabric scraping on thick fabric, followed by a heavy thud. She got out of bed and looked through the window.

She could just make out Junior carrying a bag on his shoulder in the darkness. She slipped her shoes on and went outside. “Junior? Junior?” She asked as she walked down the brick steps. For the first time, she noticed the flatbed truck in their yard. The back was stacked with something.

Junior came around the corner, “Sorry, honey, didn’t want to wake ya.”

“Junior, what is this?” She asked, seeing the stack of full sacks next to the house.

“Seeds, the mill had some extra this year. The Riddleys couldn’t use them, so I got them at half price. Corn and Currell.”

They did not have much money. “How? Why?” She asked, trying to remain calm.

“Got to take care of that baby. I am going to plant it, grow it, and sell it,” he said as he heaved another bag of seeds onto his shoulder from the truck. He grunted, letting the air hiss through clenched teeth.

“Where the truck come from?” She asked. None of it made sense to her.

“Mr. Carey let me borrow it. He is gonna bring over some farm equipment that I need later. You go on and get back to sleep, now. We’ll speak bout it in the morn’.” He looked at the horizon. “Got another two hours of good darkness.”

“Well, can I help you?” She asked. She knew sleeping would be out of the question at this point.

“No, you need to just go back inside. I am almost done. Not all the seed is mine. I got just enough for the field out front. Now go back inside.”

She did, but she did not fall back asleep. She watched him carry another ten bags out of the truck, then crank and drive it away. She cleaned and made breakfast for him, expecting him back soon. It was not soon, though. He didn’t show back up until lunch, and he ran into the house in a hurry.

“Where you been?” She asked.

“Had to get the truck back and the mill. They paid me for helping unload the rest of those seeds. You got some food ready?”

“It’s cold, but here it is.”

“Cold is fine. Mr. Carey will be here soon. He is going to help get the seeds in the ground.”

“Can you please tell me what has gotten into you?” She asked, any sweetness left in her long gone.

He gave her a look. “Ain’t hard to figure out,” he said pointing at her belly. “Got to take care of the baby. A few cents here and there just don’t seem good enough. Got to get some bigger things going.”

He was having some sort of fit, she thought. He had never been like this, not even when they first got married, but Marguerite did not want to stop it. She liked the new energy and purpose. She was afraid, but she was hopeful. Yes, the baby was making him into the man she wanted to love. She watched him shovel the food in his mouth.

No sooner had he finished his food than did Mr. Carey show up on some sort of tractor pulling some machine she had never seen before. “There he is. Can you get some clean water to offer?”

“Of course,” she said and busied herself with the water as Junior walked out of the house. She heard them greet each other, but then she had the water ready and walked outside herself.

“Well hello there Madame,” Mr. Carey said. He was a small, withered man, skin scorched by years in the fields. His white hair contrasted intensely against the tan face.

“Mr. Carey, nice to see you.”

He nodded his head her direction.

“Would you like something to drink?” She asked.

“Oh no, I am fine. Got some stuff with me.”

“Thank you for helping Junior out.”

“Not one problem. You know, I am sure his mamma has told ya, but Herschel and I were great friends. I’d do anything for Junior here.”

She looked at Junior. He looked down, embarrassed.

“Well, thank you anyway. Now, if you excuse me, I am going to step back into the house.”

She sat next to the window. Listening to them talk.

“The field is only four acres, but the dirt seems good. Never get too muddy either,” she heard Junior say.

“Looks like a fine good field to me. I will make the first few passes and then I will let you take over. You ought to do well this first year. Where did you get the seeds again? I know you told me, but it is all in one ear and out the other these days.”

“Oh, the Riddleys at the mill gave me a good deal on it. It must have been the Lord, perfect timing with me findin’ out bout the kid on the way and all.”

There was a moment of silence.

Mr. Carey let out a sound like an old door opening, “Well… hmmm… Let’s get a look at the seed.”

There was something about the tone of Mr. Carey’s reply that put a pit in her stomach. Junior did not say anything about it.

“Sure, it’s right ’round here,” was all Junior said, matter-of-factly.

She listened to the footsteps next to the house. Then she heard the shuffling of heavy bags. Junior said, “Yeah, here it is—half corn, half wheat.”

Mr. Carey let out a low whistle and then said, “Good. Good.” She heard more rustling as one of the men must have moved several of the bags around.

“Well, eh, um, well—Junior, I think we… we might have a bit of a problem here.”

“What is it, Mr. Carey?” She leaned in close to the wall.

“Look here—you see that? I’ll be willing to bet that half the seeds in these bags have already started to sprout. They won’t fit down the machine anymore, and the seeds that aren’t growin’ might be ruined anyway. You say, you got these from the Riddleys?”

There was a long pause. She could only imagine the look of confusion and anger washing across Junior’s face. The pit in her stomach had evolved into a full stomachache. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. If she had moved, she would have thrown up.

“Are you sure, Mr. Carey?” her husband asked. She could hear the worry and surprise. Someone moved a few more bags. One must have fallen to the ground; there was a larger thud.

“Yes, sir, Junior. I’m sorry. You need to talk to those Riddleys. I wish you had talked to me first before buying the seeds from them.”

“Yes, sir,” was all Junior said.

There was silence for a moment. Then Mr. Carey said, “Well now, listen, Junior—I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you some money for the ruined seeds here. I can still find a way to use them. Feed the cows and pigs with em’. But you really need to have a conversation with those Riddleys now. I don’t want to speak bad bout nobody, but they got a history.”

“Mr. Carey, I can’t let you buy this trash.”

“Well, ain’t worth much, but at least it’s worth something for feeding my animals—so just let me buy it from you. Let’s walk out to the tractor. I’ll give you something for it there.”

“Alright, Mr. Carey.”

She heard them walk away again, not talking. At the tractor, the talking was low and hushed, and she could hardly hear what they were saying. Finally, she heard Mr. Carey say, “Well, sorry about this, Junior, but I’m sure it’ll all work out. I’ll be back to get the seeds later. It will all get sorted, the Lord will work it out as they say.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, Mr. Carey.”

The tractor cranked and drove away. Marguerite dared not move. The sound of the tractor disappeared down the road until the only noise left was the wind in the trees.

She moved to the window and looked out. Junior—knees bent, squatting low to the ground—had his head in his hands. His shoulders were heaving.

Marguerite rushed out the door, down the steps, and to the side of her husband. She knew what was wrong, but she asked anyway. “Oh, Junior, what’s wrong? Please, Junior—tell me what’s wrong.”

Junior stood up quickly and wiped his face. He cursed low and soft under his breath and then looked at Marguerite. “Those Riddleys. Those Riddleys! I don’t care that they own the only mill near here—they’re crooks. They’re crooks, Marguerite.”

She whispered, “What happened?”

“They sold me bad seeds,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know when, but I’m gonna get one of those Riddleys. I bet you that Jim Riddley is behind all this, selling bad seed around town. Yeah, that Jim is a snake, no doubt about it. There’s no telling where he got it, how he got it, how long he’s had it.” He looked at Marguerite. He looked like a boy whose toy had been stolen. “I ain’t the only one he sold those bad seeds to either.”

Once again, he couldn’t hold her gaze very long. Junior turned away from her and walked away, muttering curses under his breath, heading back to the house.

“Honey, what are you gonna do?” She asked.

“Something,” he said.

“Just go tell the police,” she said.

“No, that won’t do no good.”

She followed him inside. She was tired. Tired as she had never been before, and she felt so alone. He went to a small chest in the corner of a room. He opened it up and rummaged through for a second before pulling out a small revolver. Without looking at her, he tucked it into the waist of his pants and headed for the door.

She screamed, “Junior! What are you doing with that? Don’t do something dumb! It’s gonna be okay! Let others handle it if they sold bad seed to others, like you say.”

He did not turn around. He opened the front door and walked out. She followed him, frantic. “Junior, please stop it! Please!”

He turned briefly and pointed at her. “I’m going to take care of this, Marguerite. I’m not letting them ruin my child’s life before it even gets started. They stole money from our child.”

“Honey, I know you care, but please listen to me. Don’t do nothin’ silly. It’s gonna be okay.” She pleaded before she started getting choked up. “We can always get a loan from my family. Mr. Carey said that he would help you. We could get together enough money to get something in the ground this year. Please—help me help you.”

He ignored her. She saw his crisp blue eyes, wet with tears. His jaw was clenched; his chin set forward. “Take some food to momma’s house.” Then he started jogging.

“Wait! Wait! God, why is this happenin’? Why God?”

She could not run after him in her condition. She would have made it twenty feet before throwing up and collapsing. The baby. Lord, this baby. She saw him disappear down the road behind the trees, and she went back inside.

She sat for about ten minutes, sipping some water, before she could not stand it anymore. She threw some salted pork into a sack and slipped on her walking shoes. That man, that man! What have I done to deserve this? A part of her realized this was all because he cared about the baby, but if he did something dumb, what was the use?

She walked out of the house, dreading the walk into town.