Chapter 46
Forty-Six
The man tailed us for a mile down the road until Mrs. Claxton slowed, reached out the window, her arm turned upward to signal a turn. When she stopped at the crossroad, he revved the motor, then backed up and squealed his tires, speeding toward us.
“Mrs. Claxton, he’s coming for us fast!”
Terrified, I watched as his growling truck flew closer, chewing through the road. Then he slammed on the brakes, barely missing the tail of our vehicle.
The librarian cried out.
Any minute now, he would ram into us and crush me in the back seat.
Again, he put his truck in reverse, gunned the engine, and sped toward us, his brakes screaming as it came within inches of stopping.
I reached forward and gripped the front seat, my knuckles a hot white. Mrs. Claxton sucked in a loud breath.
Then the truck sprayed up gravel and dust as the man put it in reverse again. I squeezed my eyes shut and heard the grinding of gears, the squeal of tires, as he drove straight toward us.
“Go, go!” I shrieked, slapping at the front seat.
Turning the big steering wheel, Mrs. Claxton pressed on the gas, and the automobile lurched forward just as the truck clipped the left side of our bumper.
Our screams rose.
A pain shot up from my neck, stabbing my head.
Cursing, the man leaned out the window and threw a beer bottle. We cried out again and ducked, the broken glass bouncing off the trunk.
The man laid on his horn before speeding off. We took a minute to catch our breath, then I dared to look back. “I think he’s gone, ma’am.”
“And that’s just a warning given in daylight,” she said, still breathless. “You can imagine the evil men like him do under the cover of darkness.” Mrs. Claxton picked up speed, leaving a cloud of dust and pebbles trailing.
When we were several more miles away, she turned onto a red dirt road and stopped.
For a few minutes we said nothing. Somewhere across a field, dogs yapped and the quarrelsome chuk-chuk-chuk of blackbirds rose, splintering the silence. Then she banged her fist atop the dash and choked back a sob.
“Mrs. Claxton”—I placed an unsteady palm on her shoulder—“please drop me off at a bus or train depot, and go home. You need to keep yourself safe.” But she just shrugged off my hand, climbed out of the car, and stood still, searching the skies.
I wouldn’t blame her if she put me out and left me on the side of the road.
Straightening her backside, Mrs. Claxton hobbled around to the back of the automobile to examine the bumper. She groaned and then reached down to fiddle with it.
When I opened the door to help, she said, “Stay inside.”
“You need to go home. I can walk.”
“Hmph. Walk yourself right into bigger trouble. Imagine what them farmer-tan-browns would do with a Blue like you.”
“Mrs. Claxton, please go home—”
“That drug’s armor is going to be leaving you exposed to his hateful kind soon enough.” Mumbling, she settled back behind the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “Now, you just keep an eye out from that back seat, chile.”
In the distance I heard the unmistakable sound of a pickup truck’s engine, its loud rumblings, a warning. “He’s nearby, ma’am.”
The librarian lifted her chin and fumbled for the key, and the automobile came to life.
Twisting around to watch out the rear, I rested a hand on the lip of the bench seat as the tires bounced along the rough road.
We hit several more ruts, and it weren’t long before the metal bumper flew off, clanged as it tore away, pinging against rock.
I moaned. “Don’t you need that?”
“I need us to live more.” She pressed a heavy foot down on the gas pedal.
When it felt safe, I dug into the food sacks and leaned over the front seat and urged her to take part of the thick sandwich. “At least eat something. You’ll feel better.” Grabbing her waiting hand, I pressed half into it. She took a healthy bite.
I was relieved to see she had an appetite and with each mouthful looked more pert. More determined.
After swallowing a few bites of the other half, I opened the bag of chips, took a few, and passed the rest to her.
Hours later, we crossed the state line, and she whispered into the shadows of the day, “I told you that Jed would never allow us to go see Cab Calloway. What I didn’t tell you, chile, was that my girlfriend, Sally Beth, and I snuck into one of his shows back in the thirties.”
“Mrs. Claxton! Why you rascal, you,” I teased, grateful to see she’d recovered.
“Yes, sir, we jived and jitterbugged all night long to Cab’s songs. We were hep cats stepping live. Man, what a hummer he is.” Her spirits had lifted, and she sang some of Cab’s songs, scatting out his lively verses.
“Copper colored gal of mine
I love you ’cause you’re so divine
Say you’ll always be my clinging vine
Copper, copper, copper, copper colored gal of mine!
Just skeep-beep de bop-bop beep bop bo-dope
Skeetle-at-de-op-day.”
Weren’t long before the air cooled and her songs drifted into ol’ church hymnals and grew woeful. She spotted a telephone booth on the side of the road near a small, boarded-up grocery store and pulled up beside it.
Digging for coins, she climbed out. “I need to make some calls. Check on my staff and make sure Jed got hold of them.”
Mrs. Claxton leaned into the window. “The dark is coming. It’s safe to sit up front now.” I got out and slipped inside the passenger seat.
Lifting my hands, I winced as the blue stain crawled across them, then draped a palm over my belly, kneading.
No sign of life.
A few minutes later she came back to the automobile. “Get me that pouch of Yankee Girl ’bacco in the glove. I could use a chaw.”
I found it buried beneath the books and papers, wrapped in tissue. She opened the lid and took a healthy pinch and stuffed it inside her jaw. “Underneath your seat is a small spit cup. Can you reach it, chile?”
I fumbled around and pulled out a tin cup.
She sighed deeply and settled comfortably in her seat. “My mother and Auntie Rhea always kept the chaw around to settle the female nerves.” After a moment, she steered the automobile onto another state road. “Won’t be too much longer till we get there.”
She pointed to the dash at the odd hat resting there.
“I’m sorry for my rude outburst back there.
I forget you’ve never traveled much past our Kentucky mountains.
Now, that cap is what every Negro motorist carries for survival.
It’s a chauffeur’s hat. And if a Negro man is traveling, he best have one. And in full view.”
I listened closely, heartbroken that the elderly couple had to dress in silly costumes out of fear for their lives.
She wagged her head. “Now, if you get stopped by the law in a sundown town, you’ll find yourself in a tricky situation.
So, Jed would tell the sheriff that he’s driving his white boss’s automobile.
If you’re a Negro who happens to have your wife and child riding along, you can inform the lawman you’re bringing your boss’s maid to work, and that’s her child.
Now, in the trunk, I keep a small suitcase with a full maid’s uniform.
My armor. With everything happening so fast back at the hospital, I let my guard down and didn’t put it on. ”
Horrified, I turned to the passing farmlands, haunted with a different anger—a helpless one that knocks late at night, leaving one to bury their anguish into a pillow.
Soon, the sun bedded, pulling on its blanket of darkness.
From far away, lightning flashed across the skies as outside breezes curled over my drowsy lids, tossing my stringy hair.
I rested my head against the seat, watching the headlights bounce over fog-soaked fields of sweet hay, the light chewing across the summer night.
Weren’t long before I drifted into the tires’ hum, and Mrs. Claxton’s warbled singsongs lulled me to sleep.
I awoke when the automobile bounced across a deep rut in the road. As I straightened, I winced and kneaded my temples where another painful headache gripped and refused to let go.
Again, I poked at my belly, this time a little firmer. Twice. And once more.
The tiny butterfly child did not awaken.
In the darkness, I leaned over the floorboard and fought back the tears as a sharp pain stabbed deep into my gut.
“You awake, Cussy?”
Struggling to breathe, I pulled myself up as the effects from Saturday’s automobile accident set more firmly in, my backside tender and pained.
Despite the July night, my teeth chattered.
“Wh-what’s the name of that t-town a-gain?
” I lifted the tail of my blouse and wiped the cold damp from my face.
“We’re heading into Defiance, Ohio, right now, chile. Our secret’s safe. You’ve been offered a sanctuary. And as Mad Anthony up here once proclaimed to our old Kentucky general and governor, the Honorable Charles Scott, I defy the English, Indians, and all the devils of hell to take it.”
She reached over, fumbled for my palm, and clasped tight. “My folks always said the mothers of our mountains will watch over us. I’ve got the mantle now. When it passes to you, be ready to carry it for the baby. For now, just rest, Cussy.”
In the darkness I squeezed back and suddenly felt the ol’ woman’s courage, and my dear Honey and Loretta’s spirits.
The mothers, daughters, and granddaughters of Kaintuck’s vigilant mountains lifted from the librarian’s fiery temperament and latched hold.
A defiance strengthened her knotty grip, and I know’d somehow she’d fight all the devils in hell to protect her watch.