“Maybe so, but I didn’t figure you’d want to stay.”
“Well, I am.”
I took a deep breath. “What about Nathan?”
Nathan stopped eating and looked over at his sister. “You hafta ask him,” Caroline said. “But he stay or he don’t, I’ll still be here.”
“Now, that wouldn’t be right,” I protested. “A man and a woman not married here on the same place, it just wouldn’t be right.”
“I said I’m stayin’. I’ve got a baby comin’, and I plan to have somethin’ for this here child. Part of this land belong t’ Mitchell belong to his child now. His daddy worked right ’longside you t’ get it, and now you got some seven months ’til the time’s up t’ do all the work need doin’ for us t’ keep it. I’m gonna work right ’longside you now, Paul-Edward, jus’ like Mitchell done, ’til this land be truly ours. I done promised Mitchell. ’Sides, how was you plannin’ on doin’ all this work by yo’self?”
I didn’t know what to say to her. Tell the truth, I was just too drained and tired to argue with her about it at that moment. I hadn’t slept, and my mind was no longer clear. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Nothin’ else t’ talk ’bout.”
I just looked at Caroline. She looked at me, and I left.
That night, despite my weariness, I couldn’t sleep. I had my mind on Mitchell and on Caroline too. I passed part of the night in restless thought, then finally rose and lit a lantern and settled down to writing Cassie to tell her about Mitchell. I wrote a second letter as well, to Mitchell’s mother, and enclosed it for Cassie to deliver. Before the dawn broke, I stuffed the letters in my pocket, took up my shotgun and my shells, and headed up the slope where Mitchell was shot. I found the fallen tree and the ground soaked red with Mitchell’s blood. I placed my hand upon the bloodstained earth, then slumped upon the ground, and for the first time I cried for my friend. I remained there until the sun was high, then I took my shotgun and my letters and headed across the forty. I passed the spot where Tom Bee and Nathan had buried Thunder, but I didn’t linger there. Tom Bee hadn’t understood why Digger had killed the palomino, but I did. Digger was a little man who had nothing. Out of his own meanness he had killed that magnificent animal because he had belonged to me, a man of color. He had killed my horse and he had killed my friend. I left the forty and kept on going. I was planning on hunting Digger Wallace down.
I headed straight for Tom Bee’s place, which sat on the farther-most edge of the Granger plantation. Even though I knew Tom Bee wasn’t there, I figured what with John Wallace having stayed there, Tom Bee’s family would know something of the Wallaces and their whereabouts. They said John Wallace had already gone to Vicksburg and they had only heard about Digger being back. I thanked them and asked that they let Caroline know I’d be gone for a while, then went on my way again. I asked every family of color I came upon about the Wallaces, and they all had the same to say. They hadn’t seen them. I took caution and didn’t ask any white folks directly about Digger. I didn’t want them to see me with my shotgun. What few colored folks I put faith in, I asked them to inquire about Digger and they did that, but the word they brought back to me was that Digger was nowhere around, and neither was John.
I didn’t accept what word they brought back, and I kept pushing on, looking. I went into Strawberry, mailed my letters, and asked more questions. Mitchell was constantly on my mind. Some white man had killed him, and I didn’t figure either Mitchell or I could rest until that white man was dead. I lived in a daze. I wandered that countryside making inquiries about Digger, always hiding my shotgun before I began my questioning so folks wouldn’t know I was hunting. But every time I asked, the answer was always the same: “Ain’t seen him. Most last we heard, he gone back t’ Alabama.” A day and a night passed, then a second and a third of both. I lived on restless sleep and a black-rage anger. I killed squirrels and rabbits and cooked them in the woods, not from hunger, but just to keep up my strength to hunt out Digger. But there seemed to be no Digger to be found.
Finally I headed up to the ridge where Mitchell and I had first seen Digger that night the men had come looking for the chicken thieves. I stood there on that ridge rethinking that night and how close Mitchell and I had come to trouble. I’m not sure why I went back there. I didn’t really expect Digger to still be lurking around, as he had that night with his brother John. I was now thinking Mitchell had been right, that they had been the ones who were the chicken thieves. Like Mitchell, I didn’t put it past Digger. I settled on the ridge and spent the night. I didn’t light a fire. I didn’t sleep. I just sat there on that ridge and thought on my life and Mitchell’s. The hours passed. The wind rustled the trees, and a soft rain came, and still I sat there. The rain passed and the clouds cleared and a full moon shone, and still I sat there. I was exhausted. Every forest sound drummed in my head, but I took no note of them. I needed sleep, but I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t do that until I’d found Digger.