Morgan James - Promise McNeal 01 - Quiet the Dead (12 page)

“Afternoon Fletcher,” Daniel called out cheerfully. I concentrated on trying to look pleasant and watched Fletcher Enloe carefully appraise me from the porch. He hesitated long enough to put me on notice he wasn’t sure he liked me, or trusted me, before descending the four steps to the ground.

“Daniel, “Enloe replied somberly, and extended a calloused hand. I noticed the last two fingers of his right hand were missing below the knuckles. He seemed not the least shy in offering the damaged hand, nor did Daniel in taking it. They must know each other well, I observed, and wondered at the story behind Enloe’s missing finger parts. “Your cows faring well?” Enloe continued.

“Yes Sir, they are, thank you. Are you looking to replace those you sold off last spring?” Daniel made easy conversation with Mr. Enloe.

Enloe shook his head, “Naw. I’m done with cows. Got tired of messing with them. That’s for you young boys.”

“Well, I’m not so young anymore, and I know I’ll see the day I get tired of the cold nights and wet mornings tending to’em my own self. When that day comes, we can both sit on the front porch and rock.”

Enloe frowned. “Well, I didn’t say I was sitting like a old woman on the porch. I just said I’m tired of the cows. I keep busy enough with other things.”

Daniel nodded his head as though he knew exactly what Enloe was talking about. I wondered how long the two men would banter around doing the male non-threatening thing while ignoring me. Finally, Daniel turned to me. “This here is Miz Promise McNeal, Fletcher. Your new neighbor. Miz McNeal, Fletcher Enloe.”

I offered Enloe the jar of jam. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Enloe.”

He took the jam and studied the contents. “Is it fig?”

“Yes Sir,” I replied.

There was no change in his facial expression, still suspicious. “Trying to catch me with honey, are you?”

“No, I believe Promise said it was fig,” Daniel interjected.

Enloe frowned. “I know what she said, Daniel. I ain’t hard of hearing, Pay attention, son. That was a joke.”

Looking shamed, Daniel tugged his hat farther down on this face. I did not dare laugh. “Well, all right, so it is,” he recovered, “guess I spend too much time listening to cows, and they don’t tend to make jokes.”

Good for you Daniel, I thought. Don’t let that old man put you down. When it became obvious that was the end of the conversation about jam, and I was not going to get a thank you from Fletcher Enloe, I attempted to make small talk with him. “Your roses are still blooming. Beautiful. What variety are they? The red is the deepest I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t have the least idea what they are,” he barked back.” My late wife planted them there against the porch years ago. I just trim’em up and ply them with manure cause I know she’ll rob my sleep from her grave if’n I don’t.” Enloe didn’t seem to want to talk roses either. “Who are your people, girl?” he asked abruptly.

Daniel gave me an apologetic look. “My sir name is McNeal, Mr. Enloe. I grew up in Atlanta and moved here about eight months ago.”

Looking at me as though I had just said I was Venusian, he spat out, “I know you moved from ‘Lanta! Everybody in town knows that. I mean who are your people, your daddy’s people?”

I truly did not want to talk about my family with Fletcher Enloe, or anyone else for that matter. I tried to brush the question off the table. “If you mean are the McNeals from around here, I doubt it. I know my mother thought the McNeal family lived for a time in North Carolina, I don’t know where. Certainly not here.”

Enloe was not to be thwarted. “Why didn’t you ask your daddy when you was coming up where they was from? Or ask him now. You might be surprised.”

Ask my father: the here on Tuesday gone by Friday guy? Enloe’s question hung in the air as he fixed me with a sight down the barrel of a gun look. It was obvious he would wait for an answer. “My father was away a lot. There wasn’t much opportunity to have that kind of conversation with him. He’s long dead and gone. Too late for questions.”

“Was he a traveling salesman, or preacher?”

What an odd question. This old man was fraying my last nerve. “No, certainly not a preacher.”

“Well then, that’s pretty sorry,” Enloe snorted.

“Yes, it was,” I agreed, trying to sound calm through my irritation. “But you are neighbors with me, Mr. Enloe, not my relations. It doesn’t matter who my people were?”

“
Horse pucky
.” Another you must be from out of space indictment. “Your people always matter, Miz McNeal. I figure them like a shadow. You can’t never lose it. What was your granddaddy’s name?”

I sighed. This man was determined with a capitol “D.” I may as well answer and get it over with before autumn turned into winter. “James McNeal. He died before I was born. My father, James, was a junior.”

“Well, hell. That doesn’t tell me much. There are probably a thousand, or more, fellers named James McNeal in North Carolina.”

Good, maybe we could leave the McNeal family tree alone. “There you go.” I opened my hands towards Enloe as if to say, finished.

Enloe squinted at me. He was not finished. “What about his daddy? What was his name?”

I wanted to scream. This was not the purpose of my visit and I was beginning to doubt we would ever get to the goat issue. I looked to Daniel for help but his neutral stare told me I was on my own. “Oh good grief, Mr. Enloe,” I said through clinched teeth, “My great grandfather’s name was January McNeal. Probably died before you were born. Not anyone you would have head of, I’m sure. Could we please change the subject to the reason for my coming over today?”

“January McNeal. I thought as much.” A satisfied smile bent Enloe’s mouth upwards. “You fooling me, girl? Course I know who he was. Anybody who knows any history of Perry County knows the story of old January McNeal.”

I studied his face; was Enloe having another joke, as he had with Daniel and the honey reference? No way I would jump to his bait. Daniel finally broke in. “Fletcher, are you saying Miz Promise had long ago kin living here in Perry County?”

“Well, of course that’s what I’m saying. Are you deaf? Or don’t know the story of January? I would’ve thought that’s the reason you moved here, girl. You’d have to know the McNeals lived here for quite a long spell.”

For a few seconds all I could hear was a rushing in my ears like the incoming tide. What was Fletcher Enloe talking about? There was no possible way I could have bought property in a county once occupied by my great grandfather, and not known it. Was there?

Daniel looked from Fletcher Enloe to me. “You didn’t know?” he asked me.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Look, Mr. Enloe there must be some mistake. Some other January McNeal. You said McNeal is a common name.”

Enloe shrugged. “Well, that’s true enough. Though I expect not too many folks would curse a baby with a name like January? But whatever you say, girl.”

That was it. I’d had enough of Enloe’s game. “Mr. Enloe. My name is
Promise
, not ‘girl.’ And I would appreciate it if you would call me Promise?”

“Yes, Ma’am, whatever you say,” he replied, so conciliatory I wanted to scream. “Now, what was it you came over here about, other than to bring me this fine bit of jam?”

“It’s about your goat, Mr. Enloe. I was hoping you would move him to another pasture, away from my fence. He has eaten all my blueberry bushes through the fence, and frankly, he smells.”

Fletcher Enloe threw back his head and laughed. “That goat ain’t mine, Miz Promise. It’s yurn. The old boy walked through a hole in your fence after the Goddard twins moved, and I been letting the pitiful creature graze my pasture and drink from my spring to keep him from starving to death. I was looking to start charging you board and rent, unless you plan to run him back over to your side.”

All my restraint in the face of Enloe’s agitation flew into the mid-afternoon wind. I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from exploding. The Goddard twins had conned me again! I visualized myself galloping across the landscape on a fast horse looking for the twins, bullwhip in hand, shotgun by my side. Unfortunately, I can’t ride a horse. I must have stood there for a few seconds with my mouth open, looking stupid, because Enloe stopped laughing. Daniel touched my arm. “Promise, you look pale. You all right?” he asked.

I was angry and wanted to throttle the Goddard twins; but yes, I was all right. I cleared my throat and pressed my fingers into the back of my neck to ease the acute tension twisting there. “Mr. Enloe,” I recovered, “let me make sure I understand what you are saying. Do you mean,” I pointed to the probably two hundred pound white goat, sporting a long grizzly beard, “that creature is my responsibility?”

“Hubert,” Enloe interjected, “his name is Hubert.”

“I see. Hubert,” I repeated. Daniel was smiling. I was not smiling. “You say Hubert lived in my pasture while it belonged to the Goddard twins, and for the eight months since I bought the property you didn’t see any reason to come over and tell me this? Is that correct?”

“Well,” Enloe said with a sly smile, “truth be known, old Hubert does keep the pasture cut down some for me. And it’s like I told you, the Goddard boys sold the three nanny goats and let the pasture go to ruin. Then they moved off to leave Hubert to starve. Those boys never were worth a tinker’s damn. Hubert was heartbroken; probably came my way for the company, as well as my good standing hay.”

I wasn’t sure I was following Enloe. “You say he was heartbroken about the twins leaving him?”

Amusement twinkled in Fletcher Enloe’s blue eyes. “No, ma’am. That ain’t it. Don’t you know nothing about goats? It was the nannies he missed. He was awanting for female company, don’t you know. That’s why he wears out that path all along your fence line. He wakes up every day with a hope he’ll walk that line and see a nanny on the other side. It’s down right pitiful, when you think about it. Course he does have a strong smell right now; its fall, the time of year they breed. Nanny goats love that musky smell.”

I did not love that smell and didn’t love the idea of Hubert waltzing back and forth on my side of the fence. I would not even be able to sit on the back porch and not smell him. Daniel tried to come to my rescue. “Now, Fletcher,” he consoled, “it’s for sure Promise didn’t know Hubert was part of her property purchase, and you know she can’t possibly manage a buck goat as big as him. Why, if he took a mind, he could pure tee stomp her into the ground.”

Enloe narrowed his eyes at Daniel. “So what are you saying, Daniel, you want me to keep Hubert for free on a permanent basis?”

Daniel rubbed his chin, thinking. “Well, how about this,” he countered. “I’ve got cows and that means good steaks. How about we settle on me keeping you in steaks and you keeping Hubert?”

I turned to Daniel in amazement; I couldn’t believe he was letting this crafty old buzzard take advantage of him. In the first place, Hubert couldn’t possibly eat enough grass to amount to a lifetime of free steaks; and in the second place, Enloe had already admitted the goat kept his pasture cut down so he didn’t have to mow it. Lastly, I was not sure I wanted to be obligated to Daniel over Hubert. “Wait a minute, Daniel,” I said. “Maybe we need to talk about this.”

“That’s for certain,” added Enloe, his smile showing a mouth full of stained but original teeth. “Steaks are nice; except that’s not rightly what I had in mind.”

Now what was coming, I wondered? He walked over to the fence and made a clicking noise a couple of times. Hubert shuffled over closer to where we stood, engulfing us in his goat smell, and Enloe produced a couple of pieces of carrots from his pocket. That sly old fox, I thought, he knew all along I was coming over here about the goat; he was ready for us. “And what was it you had in mind, Mr. Enloe?” I asked.

Enloe patted Hubert lovingly on the neck, as the goat crunched his treats. “Well, here’s my idea on the subject, Miz Promise.” He hesitated, making sure he had our full attention. “You get yourself a nanny goat; and time and again, we let them be together over here in my pasture. Come spring old Hubert will make sure you have a baby or two. That way, Hubert gets over his loneliness, you have yourself a fine doe and baby, and we both get milk.”

I blurted out, “Milk! You want me to milk a goat so I can share the milk with you? I don’t have the first idea of how to even care for a goat, much less milk one! I’d do better to take Hubert back over to my side and sell him for glue, or dog food, or whatever one does with old goats.”

“I figured you for a selfish city woman,” Enloe shot back with indignation. “Before you get your knickers all in a twist, know I meant to milk your nanny for you and share the milk with you. You buy her, feed her real good on sweet feed and molasses, and course pay any vet bills that might come up, and I’ll see to the milking.”

I turned to Daniel for his opinion, knowing that Enloe had probably just shamed me into agreeing to his proposal. “Sounds like it may be a fair trade to me, Promise,” Daniel offered. “A nanny in your pasture would keep you from having to pay to have it mowed, and sweet goat milk is fine drinking, even more digestible than cows milk to some folks, so I understand.”

As I was processing Daniel’s remarks, a brown UPS truck turned into Enloe’s drive and stopped just short of where we were discussing the prospects of Hubert’s love life. The young driver exited with two medium-sized boxes. “Afternoon Mr. Enloe. You want these on the porch like usual?”