Caleb's Wars (7 page)

"You really do need a job?" he asked doubtfully.

"Oh, yes, sir. Especially now that Randall gone."

"That's true. We don't want your family to go through hard times because your brother is off serving his country. That wouldn't be fair, now, would it?"

"No, sir. I reckon not."

"Tell you what. The Dixie Belle already looks like it's gonna be a big success. I'm half owner, you know."

"I heard that, Mr. Lee."

"That place is a gold mine! Even with a war on, folks got to eat."

Where was he going with this?

"How'd you like a job in the kitchen? Lou told me just last evening that they can use a boy to wash dishes. Think that's something you could do?"

Now I was sorry I'd come. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was work at the Dixie Belle. But it was too late to say no. You never refused a white man's offer—not if you knew what was good for you.

"It'd be hard work," he warned. "Hot, too, with summer comin' on, and all that boilin' grease for the chicken heatin' up the kitchen even more. Think you could handle it?"

There was no choice. "I think I could, Mr. Lee. Thank you for offerin' it to me."

"I can pay you same as my field hands get—ten cents an hour."

"Thank you, sir."

"Can you start tomorrow? Say at six? We open for breakfast at seven, and there's work to do before that."

Not even Mr. Davis's field hands had to be on the job that early, and Pop never left the house to go to a job until after seven. Working with him suddenly looked like heaven compared to this.

But I was trapped. "I can start tomorrow, Mr. Lee."

"You got to work hard. If you don't, I can't keep you on. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, then. Report at six. You'll work until three, after dinner is all cleaned up. We ain't open in the evenings—yet. Agreed?"

"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir."

He beamed at me. Mr. Lee Davis was never happier than when he was doing nice and generous things for "his Negroes." I nodded and thanked him again, and stood and waited while he went back inside. Negroes never walked away from whites. We waited until they left us, and then we were free to go back to our own business.

My business right now was spitting in Mrs. Davis's flower bed and figuring out how to break my news to Pop.

***

I planned to tell him right before supper. If he got crazy mad and wanted to whip me again, I'd leave home, no matter how Ma felt about it.

Pop was at the pump, washing up. "How you?" he asked. "Enjoy your last day o' freedom? I'm ready to put you to work tomorrow. Got a couple big jobs comin' up."

This was it. "Pop, I'm not gonna work with you this summer after all."

He stopped drying his face and looked at me like he hadn't heard right. "What you talkin' about? Course you gonna work with me this summer. We planned it weeks ago."

My insides felt all shaky. "I changed my mind. Today I went over to Mr. Davis's place and asked him to give me a job. I start at the Dixie Belle Café tomorrow, as a dishwasher."

For a moment, Pop looked blank. Then he smirked. "Oh, I get it. This all about you gettin' whipped, ain't it? You got yo' feelin's all hurt, and now you gonna get back at the old man. You gonna teach
me
a lesson.
I'm
gonna pay now, right?"

"That's not it, Pop," I lied. "It'll be better if we're not around each other all day. I just make you mad. You can find a better helper."

"Damn right I can! I was gonna do you a favor, let you come work with me, learn a few things about hammer and nails. You need some lessons, Caleb, 'cause you ain't much of a carpenter—and that God's truth. I thought maybe you'd like to learn somethin' from me. But you the big man now, so suit yourself."

His words stung because they were true. Carpentry and me didn't get along, and I envied Randall when Pop praised his skills with a hammer and saw.

"Get washed up and come on to supper. I reckon you can't wait to crow about this in front of your ma."

"Pop—"

"There ain't nothin' more to say. You made your choice. It ain't no skin off my back. If I can find a helper, fine. If not, no matter. I can work faster and better without always havin' to show someone like you what to do."

That hurt, too.

"I'm goin' in. If you intend to eat, wash up and come on."

He threw the damp towel at me and went into the house.

There hadn't been a shouting match. Pop hadn't made a move to punish me. I'd gotten my way. I'd won.

But it didn't feel like much of a victory.

T
HAT NIGHT
I kept waking up, sure it was morning and I'd overslept. The first time, the clock in the sitting room said one thirty. Then three. At five twenty I got up. When I came back from the outhouse, Ma was stirring up the fire.

"Morning, hon. You finish getting ready and I'll have something for you to eat in a few minutes. You reckon you'll need a dinner, too?"

"Gosh, Ma. You didn't have to get up."

"A man needs something in his belly before he goes out the door. I'll fry you up a couple eggs in no time."

Neither of us heard Pop coming. "No, you ain't gonna fry him up no eggs," he announced from the doorway. We both jumped at the sound of his voice. "Lucy, you work from dawn to night every day, takin' care o' this family, and I ain't gonna have you wakin' up in the pitch dark to feed this boy no early breakfast. If Caleb need to be on his way this early, he can look out for hisself."

"Frank, he can't go to work hungry."

"If he was doin' what he promised he'd be doin' this summer, he wouldn't have to go hungry. But seein' how he makin' his own decisions an' all, he jus' gonna have to look out for hisself. Now you come on back to bed."

"You're not being fair. He needs something to eat."

"He goin' to a restaurant, ain't he? Let
them
give him his breakfast. Wish I could eat at the fanciest place in town every morning."

"There's no reason to be ugly."

I felt plenty angry now. "Never mind, Ma. Pop's right. I don't need anything."

"Can he at least fix himself something?" Ma asked.

Pop shrugged. "Long as he quiet and clean up after hisself. I ain't gonna have him wakin' us up before we got to be on our feet, and I sure as hell ain't gonna have him make no extra work for you."

"How thoughtful." Ma's sarcasm was obvious.

"I have to go," I said. "Before I'm late."

Pop moved to let me pass. Now I was sore. He was being as mean as he could, just to get back at me. Well, I could play that game, too.

In a minute I was ready to leave. Pop had gone back to bed—he wouldn't even say goodbye.

Ma slipped a cold yam in my pocket. "Your father will calm down in a couple days," she promised. "And I'll make sure there's always something for you to take, even if I can't cook for you in the mornings."

"Thanks, Ma." I let her hug me.

"Do your best," she called after me as I left the yard. "I'm proud of you, Caleb."

I hoped Pop had heard that from his bed.

***

The road to Davisville took me through some woods. Although light was growing in the sky, here it was all dark and shadowy. I stopped and waited, straining my ears. Somewhere, far off, a whippoorwill called. High above me, two nighthawks squawked, looking for a few last bugs before roosting for the day. And in the distance, probably miles away, a train sounded its whistle.

"God?" I said.

No reply.

"You there?"

Silence, except for the cries of the nighthawks.

"I believe in you, I really do. And I promise I'll do what you want, but I need for you to tell me what that is. Please!"

I waited humbly, the way Brother Johnson said we had to come before the Throne of Grace.

But there was no answer, and I couldn't be late on my first day of work. In fact I ran the rest of the way, just to make sure I'd be on time.

Davisville was still dark as I walked toward the square. There were lights in the Dixie Belle, though, and I could smell bacon frying.

I was surprised when Uncle Hiram met me at the back door. "What are you doing here, Uncle Hiram?" I asked. He'd worked at the Davises' for years, doing all kinds of handyman work around their place, just like Aunt Lou had been their cook ever since anyone could remember.

"Ain't you heard? Mr. Lee done promoted Lou and me. She the head cook at the Dixie Belle now, an' I's her number one assistant."

I felt a lot better. Working with folks I knew—and who knew and liked me—would make this job a lot easier.

"Come on in," he told me. "Mist' Lee say you be comin' on board. I's glad, too. Already done had my fill o' washin' dishes."

"Mornin', sugar," Aunt Lou called. She was at a big table, rolling out biscuits. "Hiram an' me is mighty glad to see you. We can use every pair o' hands. You hungry?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"If you can wait jes' a little, I soon have some hot biscuits for you. Now take yo' time and look over the place. Better do it while you can, 'cause it gon' be mighty busy in a little while."

"I can show him," Uncle Hiram volunteered.

"Stir them grits when you go by the stove," said Aunt Lou.

Uncle Hiram took me around and explained my work. Wash dishes, scrub pots and pans, dry and put them away, clean vegetables, peel potatoes, take out the garbage, tidy the dining room, mop the kitchen at the end of every day...

All for ten cents an hour.

I realized what a mess I was in—and that I'd done it to myself. Working with Pop, for the same pay, would be a hundred times easier. I was ready to tell Uncle Hiram I'd changed my mind.

I could quit and make up some excuse to give Mr. Davis. But go back and apologize to Pop? Ask if he'd still take me on as his helper? Hell, no! Not after he'd whipped me. Not after the way he'd acted this morning.

"Where do I start?" I asked.

Aunt Lou put biscuits on a baking sheet. "You can scrub them collards. After that batch we got in here Sunday, we better wash everythin' extra good."

"What was wrong with the collards?" There was no way Aunt Lou could know what Nathan and I had done, was there?

"Don't know, exactly. But they smelled awful! Taters, too."

"Did you cook them anyway?"

"After we done washed 'em good. They was all right in the end, but you can't never be too careful. Ain't that right?"

I smiled. "Yes, ma'am. It sure is."

***

While Aunt Lou fried bacon, fatback, and sausage, stirred the grits, and baked biscuits, Uncle Hiram did his work, and I washed collards and peeled potatoes. At six forty-five, the waitresses arrived. Voncille—I knew to call her Miss Voncille—was an older white woman with dyed red hair, pencil-thin eyebrows, and too much pink lipstick. She came in, grabbed an apron, tied it over her green uniform dress, and said not a word when Uncle Hiram introduced me. She helped herself to black coffee from the big urn by the door and started filling up glass coffeepots, which she carried into the dining room.

The other waitress was a white girl named Betty Jean. She wasn't a whole lot older than me, maybe Randall's age, but I'd be calling her Miss Betty Jean even so. She looked like a country girl, but she was pretty. And at least she said hey.

Just before seven, Sondra Davis made her grand entrance. She was married to Mr. Lee Davis's little brother, James Ewell, and she had a reputation. Everyone knew how she'd caught her first husband in bed with another woman and thrown him out that very night. Miss Sondra got everything he had. The day her divorce came through, she married James Ewell and then went behind his back and got Mr. Lee to go in with her and start the Dixie Belle. Miss Sondra was one tough cookie.

"Miz Sondra, you shore do look purty this mornin'," Uncle Hiram told her as she got herself some coffee. She ignored him and helped herself to a warm biscuit. "This be the new boy," he went on. "Frank Brown boy, Caleb. You might of seed him around."

She glanced at me and then gave her attention to the syrup pitcher. "Lee had no business hiring anyone without asking me," she complained. "I told him it's too soon to know if we need anyone else."

"We couldn't keep up good over the weekend. It got right backed up in here durin' Sunday dinner. Last two days been busy, too. You know how it was."

"Only because we haven't gotten organized yet! If Lee could just be patient, he'd see that you and Aunt Lou can handle things."

Aunt Lou rolled biscuits like she wanted to squash them flat.

"Caleb do good for you, Miz Sondra. He a strong, honest, reliable boy."

I was glad Pop couldn't hear Uncle Hiram talk about me that way. Pop would laugh at me for begging a job where even the other Negroes called me "boy" in front of the white folks.

Miss Sondra eyed me like she was inspecting a hog she might buy. "He looks all right. But understand," she said, "I expect you to
work
for your pay. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am. I do a good job for you."

"See that you do. I can't afford to pay lazy people."

It had taken the woman only a minute to make me hate her.

Miss Voncille poked her head through the door. "It's seven, and folks are waitin' to come in. You want me to open up?"

"All right. Is everything ready, Lou?"

"Ready as it gonna be. Let 'em come on."

"Go ahead, then," Miss Sondra said. "Let's see how it goes this morning."

I heard the front door being unlocked, then voices. My first day had officially begun.

***

For the next three hours, the work never stopped. Voncille and Betty Jean kept bringing dirty plates through the door and dumping them on the sink. Soon, the sight of rubbery cold grits, sticky egg yolks, and bits of half-eaten pork made me tired—and a little sick. Some people even stubbed out their cigarettes in their food and left the butts on the plate. It was my job to separate food from paper napkins, cigarettes, and anything else Mr. Davis's hogs shouldn't eat.

Right away, Voncille decided I was her personal boy. And that's what she called me, too. "Boy, I need more forks right now." "You got to keep the clean coffee cups comin', boy." "If you intend to keep workin' here, you best step it up, boy." She never thanked me. Hell, she never looked at me.