The Land(94)

I had said my words, and when they were finished, I sat in silence. For a while Nathan sat in silence too, before he turned to me, his face unaccepting. “Well, that was you,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, it was him, all right!” boomed a voice from the darkness. “And you best take t’ heart what he been tellin’ ya!”

Nathan and I both jumped up and looked out toward the creek. The voice was unmistakable, and I grinned as Mitchell stepped from the night into the firelight. Then I laughed, delighted to see him, and so did Nathan, who clearly idolized Mitchell. “Didn’t hear you come up,” I said.

“I know that. Man, you need yo’self a dog!”

“Got one.”

“Then where he at?”

“Over yonder,” said Nathan.

“Then ya need t’ shoot him and get yo’self another one,” surmised Mitchell with a laugh, and sat down beside the fire. He glanced at our empty supper tins. “Any food left?”

There was a bit of corn bread, but not much else, for Nathan and I, after a grueling day’s work, had eaten the most of what was cooked. We had eggs, though, and collards, and we quickly cooked them up for Mitchell as well as another pan of corn bread as he told us about the lumber camp and about his travel here. But most importantly, he told us about Caroline and the rest of the Perrys. “Seen ’em just yesterday,” he said, “and they sent plenty of love t’ you, Nathan. Got a letter from them too. Caroline wrote it.”

Nathan beamed as Mitchell handed it to him.

“Don’t you read it just yet,” said Mitchell. “I got somethin’ t’ speak t’ you ’bout first. Now, I heard what Paul here was sayin’ t’ you when I come up. He was telling you ’bout his family, his family of white folks. Now, Paul, he ain’t had to do that, but seein’ he done it, you oughtta have the good sense enough to listen to him. He told you all that and done warned you ’bout how white folks’ll be and I heard you say some fool thing ’bout ‘that was you.’ So ya tell me, boy, you figurin’ things gonna be different for ya and any white so-called friend you got?”

Nathan was silent.

“I ain’t talkin’ t’ the air out here.”

“Wade, he’s my friend,” said Nathan stubbornly, not looking at Mitchell.

“Wade, huh?” Mitchell glanced at me, then fixed his eyes on Nathan again. “Well, you jus’ keep on believin’ that, believin’ this white boy Wade’s your friend. You’ll learn on yo’ own one day, and it won’t be easy. Hardheaded folks can’t never be taught nothin’ the easy way. They gotta go learn it for theyselves, and I oughtta know. I was as hardheaded as they come.” Nathan stared out into the night without a word and Mitchell gave him no more mind. Instead, he turned to me. “So tell me ’bout the work here, Paul. How we doin’?”

As Mitchell ate his supper, I filled him in on all the logging, and after that, though we were both dead tired, we talked yet another hour or so. Nathan soon stretched out beside the fire and fell asleep in the night. When Mitchell and I could no longer keep our eyes open, we did the same.





The next morning before the dawn I rose first as usual, woke Mitchell and Nathan, and after a cold breakfast of leftover corn bread and some hot chicory, the three of us set to work. Now that Mitchell was with us, I knew there was no doubt about getting all the trees cut. In the days that followed, Mitchell and I, along with Nathan, put in the longest hours we’d ever worked, even more than the hours we’d worked at the camps. Up long before each dawn, we tended to our morning chores of feeding and watering the mules, then tended to our breakfast. With the fires still hot, we cooked a pan of corn bread along with a pot of whatever vegetables we’d gathered, with salt fatback thrown in for our meat, and set that food aside. It was our dinner and our supper. We didn’t want to waste daylight hours cooking.

By the grayest of light we were at the trees chopping. At midday we took our dinner. Supper didn’t come until after dark and all the animals were watered and fed. But the day did not end with darkness. At night we built a huge fire and burned the branches we’d chopped from the trees. By the time the fire died, it was past midnight, and we often fell asleep still in our clothes. There was not much rest for any of us. We didn’t attend the local church gatherings, and we broke the Sabbath every Sunday. The Lord might have been able to rest on the Seventh Day, but Mitchell and I didn’t figure we could. During the first weeks Mitchell was on the forty, we spent our Sundays working on the cabin and putting together some make-do furniture, as well as laying a bridge across the creek for easier crossing. We also tended to personal chores, like washing our clothes or mending, and I took the time to write my letters to Cassie, do my woodworking, and teach Nathan. After the cabin was finished, we chopped trees on a Sunday too. Christmas came and went and still we chopped. We kept right on working and we didn’t complain. We figured we were young and strong and healthy, and we could do whatever it took to get our forty acres.