Precious Bones (29 page)

It was like riding a carnival roller coaster. The buggy’s huge tires rolled easily over the tangled mass of palmetto roots. We sloshed through a couple of small bogs and finally entered an area filled with the cool, pungent scent of pine. Nolay stopped and surveyed the area for any dead pine logs laying around. They had to be just the right size for cutting and fitting into our fireplace. He nodded. “Looks like a perfect one, right over yonder.” He sat down, shifted the buggy’s gears, and started forward.

I looked back. Something strange caught my eye: thick gray clouds of smoke snaking up through the clear blue sky. I pointed and exclaimed, “Nolay, looky yonder, what is that?”

Nolay stopped the buggy and stood up in the seat for a better look. “That’s a mighty big fire. And it’s over by the Reemses’, and Charlie’s place. This don’t look good. Y’all hang on, we’re gettin’ over there.”

Nolay turned the buggy around, and we bounced back over the palmetto roots. When we reached the county marl road, he gunned the engine, and we raced toward Charlie’s place. The swamp buggy’s bloated tires sent up plumes of yellow dust so thick they blotted out the blue sky behind us.

Nolay slammed on the brakes when he spotted Blue’s old pickup truck parked on the side of the road. You couldn’t miss that truck, because it had so many different colors of paint over patches of rust that it looked like a multicolored leopard. Blue and a gang of colored men stood as if paralyzed by the thick gray smoke.

“What’s goin’ on, Blue?”

“I don’t know, Mista Nolay. We just looked up and seen this here fire. The wind is blowin’ it directly toward Mr. Charlie’s. I done sent some of the womenfolk over to hep him however they can. I done sent Jackson back to the house to get our diggin’ tools. We goin’ to start choppin’ a firebreak between here and Mr. Charlie’s.”

“Sounds like you got it under control, Blue. I’m gonna check on Charlie, and I’ll be right back to help y’all.”

“Yes, suh, Mista Nolay.”

Nolay drove up Charlie’s road and pulled into the front yard. When he turned off the swamp buggy’s noisy engine, we were surrounded by an eerie silence. On one side of the yard the chickens had bunched together like a giant discarded feather duster. They clucked quietly among themselves. The sound of burning trees crackled through the air. A few live sparks and pieces of black cinder floated softly to the ground.

Charlie and several colored women came around from the
back of the house; each carried a bucket of water. Charlie’s huge body waddled from side to side as he limped toward us. Water sloshed out of the buckets and painted the legs of his faded overalls in streaks of bright blue. “Nolay, Nolay,” he cried, “they gonna burn my house down. They gonna burn up my chickens.”

Nolay got out of the swamp buggy. “Everything’s gonna be all right, Charlie. You just keep dousing any sparks and as much of your house as you can with that water. Blue and his gang are already cutting a firebreak.” Nolay turned to me and Mama. “Lori, get down to the Last Chance, put a call out to both the volunteer fire stations. Then round up the neighbors. We’ll need every hand we can get.”

Mama slid over to the driver’s seat, and I jumped in front with her. When we reached the Last Chance, she left the buggy’s engine on. She ran inside and told Mr. Ball and the other folks there what had happened. She ran back outside, got behind the steering wheel, and shifted gears, and off we went. Over the rumbling of the engine, she said, “Mr. Ball is going to call the fire stations.”

Soon as we pulled into Little Man’s front yard, I saw him and his two brothers out in their little sugarcane patch. I jumped out and ran over to them. “There’s a fire over by Mr. Charlie’s, and we need help!”

The three of them immediately started for the buggy. As they ran past the house, Earl and Ethan grabbed a couple of shovels and machetes. Little Man already had a hoe in his hand. Miss Melba came to the front door to see what all
the fuss was about. “Miss Melba,” I said, “there’s a fire at Mr. Charlie’s, and we need all the help we can get.”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll go tell Cotton, and we’ll be right over.”

By the time we arrived back at the fire, there was an assortment of cars and trucks parked along the road. A black and white human chain of men, women, and children stretched out over the scrub brush. Together, they cut, slashed, and chopped through the thick vegetation. The firebreak looked like a giant snail had crawled over the dense vegetation.

Earl, Ethan, and Little Man jumped out of the back of the buggy and joined up with the rest of the people. Mama said, “I hope the fire trucks will reach here in time.”

No sooner had she said those words than we heard the mournful wail of a siren. The ancient Grant volunteer fire truck came lumbering up the road. Ironhead sat in the driver’s seat, and as he got closer, he reached up and began to clang the bell that hung by the driver’s door. He drove the old truck out onto the firebreak. Several men came up and began to uncoil the hose at the back of the truck. Ironhead cranked open a wheel that released water into the hose. Like a limp gray snake, it sprang to life and sprayed a stream of water toward the orange tongues of fire.

Sheriff LeRoy arrived with red lights flashing and sirens screeching. He jumped out of his car and headed straight in to help with the hose. The air filled with the hiss and sizzle of water fighting fire. Patches of gray smoke began turning into
thick black clouds. Like a hungry old toad, the clouds gobbled up the clear blue sky. For several hours we all worked to bring the fire under control. Me and Little Man used our shovels to spread a thin layer of sand over the smoldering coals. Finally, the fire began to dwindle and admit defeat.

Me and Mama followed Nolay back to the buggy. Our clothes were drenched in sweat. Small leaves and black cinders clung to our bodies like leeches. “Honey Girl,” Nolay said, “you and Bones stay here; I got something I need to do.”

Mama crossed her arms and said, “And what would that be?”

“I’m goin’ out to the Reemses’.”

“Nolay, I don’t think that is a wise thing for you to do.”

“I ain’t thinkin’ wise right now, I’m thinkin’ about what I need to do.”

Mama got in the front seat. “Then I am going with you.”

I jumped in the back. “I’m going, too.”

“I ain’t got time to argue with you two hardheads.” Without another word, Nolay got in, and we drove off toward the Reemses’. We pulled into the dirt yard and saw the three boys and Whackerstacker standing under a dismal little tree. If the Reemses were good at anything, it was wasting time. Nolay parked in front of them.

Whackerstacker said, “What you doin’ on my property?”

Nolay eased out of the buggy and stood in front of them. “What in tarnation were you doin’? You tryin’ to burn that old man out?”

“You dumb Indian, you get off my property,” Whackerstacker said.

As quick as the strike of a rattlesnake, Nolay’s fist shot forward and connected with Whackerstacker’s face. Whackerstacker grabbed his nose with both hands and sagged to his knees. Nolay quietly said, “That would be Mister Indian to you.”

Whackerstacker recovered and picked up a shovel and swung it toward Nolay. Nolay jerked his head back. The tip of the shovel slashed across the side of his head. He staggered and fell to the ground. The three boys—Fats, Skeeter, and Smokey—moved in and began to kick Nolay.

Without thinking, I leaped from the backseat and onto Skeeter’s back. I wrapped my arms around his thick neck and bit down on his right ear. Skeeter screamed and began wheeling around like a dog chasing its tail. I saw Whackerstacker with the shovel held high in the air.

The crack of a gunshot pierced the air. A silence fell over us; everyone stood still as sticks, then, as if in slow motion, turned in the direction of the sound. Mama stood on the front seat of the buggy, her little pearl-handled .32 revolver in her hand. It was pointed skyward. She slowly brought it down level with Whackerstacker’s eyes.

Whackerstacker glared at her, dropped the shovel, and stepped backward. I let go of Skeeter’s ear, loosened my grip, and slid off his back. Just as my feet touched the ground, a car slid to a stop behind the buggy. The door flew open, and the huge body of Sheriff LeRoy uncurled from the front seat.

I ran to Nolay and kneeled down. He pushed his body up with his hands and rose to his knees. A thin red gash cut across his right temple and into his curly black hair. Blood
trickled down the side of his face, along his neck, and over his chest. Speechless, I stared into his eyes. He looked back and said, “Bones, you all right?”

“Yes, sir, I’m fine. How about you?”

“I’m fine.” He started to unbutton his shirt. “Now, look at this, these buzzards done messed up my shirt.” He took his shirt off, wadded it up, and pressed it against his head. He placed his other hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get going.”

Sheriff LeRoy jingled over to us. “You all right, Nolay?”

“Never been better, LeRoy.”

Whackerstacker pointed a finger at Nolay. “Arrest him, Sheriff. He come on my property and threatened me and my kids. He attacked us. Look what he done to my boy here.” Fats stood next to his father, two small streams of blood oozing out of his nostrils.

Mama stood still as a park statue on the buggy seat, her pistol pointed directly at Whackerstacker.

LeRoy turned toward her and said calmly, “Miss Lori, I sure would appreciate it if you would put that gun down.”

Mama looked at him, then at the gun, as if it were the first time she had seen it. Without a word, she sat down and slipped the gun back inside her little straw basket.

LeRoy swung around and gave his full attention to us and the Reemses. “Well now, from what I saw when I first drove up, there must be two sides to this story. And I aim to get to both of ’em.” LeRoy strolled over to where the shovel lay in the dirt. He reached down and gingerly picked it up with two fingers. He asked Whackerstacker, “This yours?”

“Yeah, it’s mine.”

“I gotta take it in for evidence. I’ll bring it back when I’m finished.”

“What you takin’ my shovel in for, Sheriff? It cain’t talk.”

“That’s right, Joe, I’m gonna arrest your shovel. When I’m through interrogatin’ it, I’ll bring it back.” LeRoy walked over to Nolay. “You might want to have a doctor look at that.”

“It would take a lot more than these dumb buzzards to send me to a doctor.”

“Now, Nolay, I want you to get in your buggy and go home. I don’t want to see you over here again.”

“LeRoy, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna stop by and check on Charlie first.”

“Fair enough, I’m headed back there myself. When I looked around at Charlie’s place and saw your buggy gone, I figured this was where I’d find you. Thought I’d better get here before you got yourself into deeper trouble.” LeRoy looked closer at the cut on Nolay’s head. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

LeRoy turned to the Reemses. “You fellas stay clear of Charlie. If I see or hear of you being close to his house, I’ll put every one of you behind bars. You understand?”

Whackerstacker smirked. “Yeah, we understand.”

LeRoy stood and watched as me and Nolay got in the buggy with Mama. He strolled over, leaned up against the buggy’s frame, and folded his arms across his chest. “Just to let you know, I’ll be stopping by tomorrow afternoon to pay a visit with Charlie.”

Nolay said, “Thanks, LeRoy, I ’preciate you lettin’ me know.”

We rode along in silence until Nolay glanced over at Mama. “Honey Girl, since when did you start totin’ a gun when we go firewood chopping?”

Mama smiled and said, “You never know when you might come across a snake.”

When we arrived back at Charlie’s, the once-raging fire had been defeated. Blue and his crew were still shoveling sand and dirt over the few small smoldering patches of coals. Earl, Ethan, and Little Man were helping Ironhead clean up his fire truck and re-coil the hose.

Nolay drove into Charlie’s front yard. A few of the guava trees on one side of the house were scorched, but other than that there was no damage done to Charlie’s place. Mr. Charlie was sitting in his rocking chair with Sonny-Boy Rooster in his lap. When he saw us, he got up, tucked Sonny-Boy under his arm, and waddled over to the buggy. “Nolay, that nearly scared me to death. I’m scared they gonna come back and kill all my chickens. Me and my chickens ain’t never done nothing bad to the Reemses. Why are they doing this?”

“Charlie, it ain’t nothing that you’ve done, they’re just dang mean people. Now, the sheriff has warned them not to come near you. Everybody’s gonna be watching out for you real close.”

Mr. Charlie stood by the side of our buggy, gently stroking Sonny-Boy’s head. Like a father admiring his children,
Mr. Charlie looked out over his yard full of chickens. A look of love and concern swept over his pudgy face. “I just thank the Lord that none of ’em was hurt. I don’t know what I would do without ’em.”

“Charlie, ain’t nothing gonna happen to you or your chickens,” Nolay said.

Mr. Charlie and his chickens were safe now. But for how long?

Monday’s morning light was just a thread on the horizon when I heard Nolay drive away in the truck.