Under The Blackjack Tree
People say that sometimes it only takes a minute to change a life. I know it can happen in an instant. The first time my life changed was when my mama died giving birth to my baby sister, Mama’s fifth child. I’m number three. I was only three when it happened, but I remember how our lives got turned upside down. Even when I saw her buried, I thought she’d come back. But she didn’t. Then auntie Viola came and helped take care of us for a few years. I’m named after her. I’m Mary Viola. “Viola” like in “violet,” not like the instrument.
Anyway, then my daddy married Cullie. She’s now my stepmama and took us four children in like we were her own. She’s the hardest worker I’ve ever seen. So, I guess that was the second time my life changed. Sometimes we call her Mama or sometimes just Cullie.
But I’m here to tell you about the third time. I should have known better. I was seven, and it happened as fast as the pull of a trigger. My life’d never be the same.
*****
“You sure you got that tray, Mary V?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I take the tray from Mama and balance it with the two meals on it. This is one of my favorite things to do, giving the meals to our “guests” in the jailhouse. My daddy is sheriff here in Huntsville and the jail cells are on the second floor where we live. I like to do it because it makes me feel important. Of course, Daddy wouldn’t let me do it if he ever thought it’d be dangerous. I carry the tray, careful to stay in the middle of the aisle, not getting too close to one side or the other. Mr. Bernard is on the right. He’s a nice man but he drinks too much sometimes.
“Morning, Miss Mary.”
“Morning, Mr. Bernard.” His eyes dart to my Daddy who’s standing at the main door to the floor. Everyone else calls him “Bernard” and leaves out the “Mister” because he’s dark. But he’s always nice to me, so I like to add the “Mister.” I place the tray on the floor and put his plate where my daddy told me to.
“Thank you, Miss Mary. You’re an angel for sure.”
I step back and smile at him as his shaking hands reach for the plate. Drink sure can make people nervous.
Then I get the second plate and walk it over to the cell where our new “guest” is in. And from what little I’ve heard him say, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here. The morning sun pokes through the clouds. Sunbeams shine in the window and land on top of his head. His gold hair shines like a halo, and I almost suck in my breath. I’ve never seen hair like that. I mean, I’ve seen yellow hair before, but none so shiny. He flashes me a smile. Teeth almost perfect except the front two crisscross just a bit.
He stands up from his bunk. “Eggs and toast? Did you bake that just for me?”
I get a lump in my throat and my face turns red. His smile gets bigger.
“No. Mr. Wilson cooked it. I just deliver it.” I place it on the floor in the right spot, trying not to drop it because I’m so nervous. I hurry away and walk towards my daddy. Daddy has his hands on his hips and kind of scowls at the man. I can tell he doesn’t know what to make of him because Daddy gives me that same look when I do something like pull a frog from my pocket. Daddy puts his hand on my back as I walk by, and he locks the bar door and then the wooden door. When we get down to the first floor, he says, “Don’t be talking to him. We don’t know anything about him.”
I’m burning to know more and decide to push my luck. “What’s his name?”
“He says his name is Joe Early but I sense he’s not telling the truth. Stay clear.”
“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t talk to him if I tried. He’s so pretty, I wouldn’t be able to get a word out anyways.
We go down to breakfast and Daddy turns on the radio and sits down with his paper. I don’t know how he can do both at once and eat breakfast. But he likes to keep up with everything going on in our county and the whole world. I guess that’s what a sheriff is supposed to do.
My brothers Roscoe and Augustus are snickering and giggling like they always do. I don’t know what they’re up to half the time.
Mama says, “Now y’all sit down and behave. If you’ve got so much energy, I can think of a few more chores for you to do.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they say at the same time. Cynthia and I roll our eyes at each other. Boys.
I start wondering what those two are up to when I hear, “Miss Viola, you don’t like my pancakes?”
“Huh?” I look over at Mr. Wilson who’s standing at the stove minding the pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Whenever Daddy arrests Mr. Wilson, he helps Mama with the cooking for the “guests” and us too. Although Mama’s a good cook, we’re partial to his. But don’t tell Mama I said so. I pick up my fork and give him a big smile.
“I love your pancakes!” I pour on the syrup and take a big bite and then show him my big cheeks while I chew. That makes him laugh but Mama says, “Mary V . . . behave.” She wipes the corner of my mouth with a napkin.
The pancakes really are good, and I dig in some more.
Then an announcement comes over the radio. “Yesterday morning there was a bank robbery in Conroe . . .”
We all stop eating and Daddy lowers the paper.
The announcer continues, “The robbery occurred an hour after the bank opened when two men entered with guns and demanded money. The bank won’t disclose exactly how much money was stolen, but we know that yesterday was payday for the oilfield workers in the area. Rumor is that they could possibly be connected to the infamous couple, Bonnie and Clyde. But our newsroom has not been able to confirm that.”
Then the radio goes on to talk about Bonnie and Clyde. Of course, Daddy knows all about it, especially the escape from the prison farm just down the road a ways. Even though I’m only seven, I know a lot of people got in trouble for that. The newsman starts talking about something else and Mama gets up and turns it off.
I look at my pancakes and take a bite. They still taste good, but now the sugar seems too sweet and it’s hard to swallow. It’s quiet, and all we hear is the last of the bacon sizzling in the pan.
We all watch Daddy, wondering if he’s gonna say anything. He goes back to reading his paper.
I’m glad that the reporter didn’t say anything about another lawman getting killed. I worry about Daddy. I’ve already lost my first mama. I can’t lose him too. “Maybe you should start wearing a gun?”
Daddy puts down the paper. “No, Mary V. I’ve never had to wear one and I’m not starting now. Now y’all eat your breakfast before it gets cold. I’ll be busy today making some phone calls.”
Mama shakes her head. “What’s the world coming to?”
Daddy says, “They’ll be stopped. One way or another.”
I finish my breakfast and take my plate to the sink. On the way out the door I try to remember my manners. “Thank you for the good breakfast, Mr. Wilson.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Mary. Maybe we’ll come up with something special for lunch.”
I go through the front door and wonder what to do next when I hear some scuffling and a woman talking in the alley next to our house. I decide to investigate and peek around the corner of the house.
There, standing in the gravel alleyway, is a movie star. Well, she could be. In fact, she looks a lot like that Myrna Loy who’s coming out in that Skinny Man movie in a couple of weeks. Her dress is spotless and fresh, and her brown hair is shiny and perfect. Lots of people have ordinary brown hair. But not her. Somebody this fine and fancy in our town and I don’t know about her?
I watch her pick up a small rock and toss it at the window. “Psst! Psst! Hey!” If she’s trying to whisper, she’s awfully loud.
I can’t help myself. I step out and say, “Can I help you?”
“Oh!” She turns to me, and her mouth is in a perfect “O”. She reminds me of a picture I saw of Shirley Temple. “My goodness! Well, hello there. And who might you be, young lady?”
I pretend to act grown up. “Why are you throwing rocks at my house?”
“Your house?”
“That’s right. I live here. My daddy’s the sheriff. You trying to talk to someone inside?”
Sometimes when people say they can “see the wheels turning” inside someone’s head, it sounds like it can’t be true. But I can see her wheels turning. “My name is Celia and I need to get a message to a man in the jail.” She steps closer and I can smell her perfume. It reminds me of Mrs. Abel’s gardenias.
“You mean the blond man, Mr. Early?” It’s a guess but somehow, I don’t think that she needs to talk to Mr. Bernard.
“Early? Um, yes. The blond man.”
“If you wanna go in and talk to him, all you have to do is ask.”
She hesitates. “Well, I’m hoping to avoid that.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing. Let’s just say that it’s grown-up stuff. Would you be able to get a message to him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” No one’s ever asked me to deliver a message before.
“Okay, okay.” And then she starts muttering to herself. “This could work.”
Now I’m wondering if she isn’t a little bit crazy. And here I am, alone in an alley with a crazy woman. I might be in over my head, so I look around for help. I hear people in the square a block over. I hear Mama inside, clanking and washing dishes, and likely Cynthia’s helping her. Daddy’s probably on the telephone talking to all sorts of important people. Roscoe and Augustus are off doing what boys do now that school’s out. And then I see a head poking out at the corner of a brick building. A dark-skinned girl is watching us. And now I don’t know if I’m relieved that there’ll be a witness to my demise or embarrassed that someone’s watching me act high and mighty.
Then the Celia woman says, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yeah?” This plan is already sounding better.
She reaches into her little purse and pulls out money. “How about a dollar?” She holds it in front of my face. A whole dollar!
“Sure!”
“Okay. Tell him I’m working on getting help. But I need to know where it is.”
“Where what is?”
“He’ll know what I’m talking about.” She puts it back in her purse. “You’ll get the dollar when I get my answer.”
Now the wheels are turning in my head. I’m trying to size her up and figure out what her game is. And then I catch sight of her necklace and everything else goes out of my head. I can’t take my eyes off the green stone on a silver chain. It’s like a chunk of green ice just floating on her chest. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“You like my necklace?”
Now I know I’m a girl that likes fishing and camping, but I also like girly things too. And that necklace is so elegant, just like the Celia lady. I nod.
She smiles and touches it. “He gave it to me. Bought it in Houston at a big, fancy store.” She sighed. “So, you see why I need to get a message to him. His answer will help me get him out. I suppose I’ll meet you here right after you deliver his lunch?”
“Sure.”
Her face glows with a smile.
“Swell. See you then.” And with that, she walks to the square and turns the corner.
“Whatcha doing?”
I almost jump out of my skin. It’s the girl who was watching us. “You trying to kill me?”
“Sounds like you’re trying to get into trouble.”
I finally get a good look at her. She’s about my age in a spotless blue and white dress, bright white socks, and shiny black shoes. She’s a good five inches taller than me but I feel smaller since I’m wearing my “play clothes” that won’t get messed up if they get dirty. And in her hands, she’s holding the fluffiest orange and white kitten.
“Can I pet your cat?”
“Sure. His mama rejected him since he was the runt so I’m his mama now. I take him everywhere with me.” He’s asleep but she holds him up for me to touch. He’s the softest kitten ever. Soft like a bunny.
“He’s sweet.” I keep looking at the kitten when I say, “I’m not trying to get into trouble. Just helping that nice lady.”
“What’s that guy in jail for?”
I shrug. “Dunno.” A few more strokes. “I think he was drunk and unruly. It was Saturday night so that’s not unusual.”
“I’m Lottie.”
“I’m Mary Viola. Mary V.”
“And your daddy’s the sheriff. My daddy works in the prison and my mamma’s a teacher at the school.” With a tilt of her head, she motions back towards Rogersville that’s a couple of blocks over.
I look back at the kitten and ask, “So why do you think I’ll get into trouble?”
“If she was on the up and up, she’d go see him herself.”
I stop petting the kitten and go sit on a big rock in our yard. She sits beside me.
“Yeah. I suppose you’re right. But I could get a dollar out of it.”
“I suppose it depends on what you want more. The dollar or to stay out of trouble.”
“That’s a stumper.” I’d really like that dollar.
*****
After helping Mama with some chores, I sneak upstairs to the two doors that lead to the cells. I listen to the house. Daddy’s still on the phone and Mama’s outside hanging clothes. I open the first door, the solid one, and stick my face in between the bars of the second one. I don’t dare get the keys. “Psssst! Mister!”
Mr. Bernard looks at me with a scared face. “Child, what are you doing?”
I whisper as loud as I can, “I need to talk to Mr. Early.”
“He’s no good. You leave him be. He’s trouble.”
Then the blond man says, “Who’s that whispering?”
“Ssssh, it’s me. Mary V. I brought your breakfast.” I see him through the bars, and he stands up and smiles at me. I swear the sun is coming through the window and shining on him and giving him a halo.
“Whatcha want, darlin’?”
Darling? My knees just about give out. Glad I’m holding on to the bars. “I got a message for you.”
“Oh?” I can see that really catches his attention.
“A certain pretty lady says she’s working on trying to help you. But she needs some info.” This is exciting. I feel like I’m in a spy movie.
“I was wondering why she hadn’t visited yet.”
“She wants to know—”
“Mary? You around? I need your help,” Mama calls.
I whisper to Mr. Early. “I’ll tell you at lunch.”
I close the big metal door as quietly as I can. I tiptoe down the stairs when it occurs to me that maybe I should have asked him for a dollar. Maybe I could make a business of this!
*****
Lunchtime came quicker than I thought it would, but it also took forever. I volunteer to take the food again. It’s hard holding onto the tray without dropping it because I’m so excited. Daddy unlocks the barred door and I walk in and give Mr. Bernard his food.
He whispers as he reaches for his dish, “You’re courting trouble. Leave that man alone.”
I don’t say anything and walk over to Mr. Early and whisper while I put the plate down out of his reach.
“She wants to know where it is.”
Mr. Wilson’s apple pie was smelling really good. I hope that teasing Mr. Early with pie will make him answer faster.
But his face gets red, and he squeezes his lips. “She doesn’t need to know that.”
“She says she needs it to get you out.” And I need that dollar.
The phone rings downstairs and I glance at Daddy. He looks towards the stairwell then back at me. “Hurry up, Mary V. That’s an important call.”
“Yes, sir.” Then I drop the man’s fork and “accidentally” step on it. “Oh, shoot. I need another.”
Daddy’s irritated. He yells downstairs, “Cullie! We need another fork up here!” Then to me, “Come on out of there. I need to get that call,” and he goes.
Mr. Early says, “Smart girl,” but he doesn’t sound happy.
“Tell me what she needs to know.”
He eyes his food and nods. “Might as well. My other plan ain’t panning out.” He leans closer and whispers so as Mr. Bernard can’t hear. “Tell her to go on the road to Trinity. Stop at the Burns farm. Tell her not to worry about them. They’re currently . . . preoccupied. Behind the house is a blue barn. Behind the barn is a blackjack tree, a really big one. She’ll find it there. And you tell her to hurry. I’m tired of being in here.”
I nod. “Got it.” I scooch the plate to where he can reach it.
He bends down to pick up his plate and looks up at me. “Hey, kid.”
And now his eyes are different. I’ve never seen eyes like that, except once. And now I’m not in the jail anymore. I’m back where we used to live in town where we had the big tree in the backyard and Daddy had a slew of hunting dogs. We weren’t supposed to play on the fence, but I was five and wanted to show my brothers that I could walk on the fence like on a tightrope at the circus. But I couldn’t and fell into the yard. I had the wind knocked out of me and was lying there when Daddy’s lead fox-hunting dog growled and stared down at me. I could tell that he was deciding whether to eat me or let me go. The other dogs started gathering around, waiting for his decision. Daddy came out and saved me and wanted to tan my hide. He hugged me and yelled at me. But he didn’t need to. I remember those black eyes and never got close to the hunting dogs again.
Mr. Early’s eyes are blue, but they look at me the same. He says, “Don’t tell anyone else what I’ve said. Or you’ll be sorry.”
I pick up the tray and dirty fork as Mama walks through the door.
She smiles at me as we pass each other. I walk down the stairs and hear her lock the bar door behind me. I try not to think about what he said. Instead, I think about what I’ll do with my dollar.
I drop off the tray and dirty fork in the kitchen and go outside to the alley. Sure enough, Miss Celia is there. I nod at her.
“Good girl.” She reaches into her purse and holds up the dollar. “What’d he say?”
“Go on the road toward Trinity, stop at the Burns farm. Behind the house is a big blue barn. Behind the barn is a big blackjack tree. You’ll find it there. He said not to worry about the farmers, they’re per– peroccupied.”
She hands me the dollar like she’s giving me an award at school. I see her eyes glance across to the street that’s catty-corner to us. There’s a man sitting in a car. I’m confused. I thought Mr. Early was her love. Who’s that hard-looking man behind the wheel? Miss Celia gently pulls on my chin to make me look at her. She smells like fresh face powder. Her eyes are almost as green as the stone on her necklace. “You’re a good girl, so I’ll also give you some advice. Women have it harder in this world than men do. Therefore, we must use our brains to survive. Stay smart. Now, do us both a favor and forget that we ever had this conversation. And don’t spend that dollar for a long time. Hide it away for a rainy day. Good luck, honey.”
And with that, she heads toward the man in the car. I’m confused and don’t know what to do. Then I decide that I don’t care since I have my dollar. They’re grownups, let them work it out. She gets in the car with the hard man. He frowns and looks at me. I don’t know what he’s saying, but I don’t like it. She looks at me and smiles. Whatever she said seems to be okay with him, and they drive away.
Glad that’s done. I’ve got a whole dollar! I look at it again before putting it in my pocket. Maybe I can make a business of delivering messages?
“You really did it.”
I turn around and Lottie’s there, holding that cute kitten again.
“You spying on me? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Maybe to the first, and no to the second.”
I want to enjoy my dollar in private. “Leave me alone.”
“Okay. But I’m telling you, don’t mess with convicts. My daddy works in the prison and tells us all sorts of horrible things. If you knew, you’d stay clear.”
“Oh, you don’t know nothing.” I walk over and touch the kitten on the head. He’s awake now and just looks at me. “What’s his name?”
“Butterbean.”
We talk about cats and all sorts of stuff for about twenty minutes, then a black car pulls up in front of the house and a man gets out and goes inside. I’ve never seen him before. He doesn’t look like a lawman. I don’t know how to explain the difference. But when you’ve been around a bunch of them a lot, they have a certain way that they look and walk and talk. This man reminds me of a gangster film. Maybe ’cause of the tilt of his fancy hat? Now I’m scared for Daddy. Could this man be one of Bonnie and Clyde’s bunch? They’ve killed lawmen all over the state. Would they kill a sheriff in his own house?
I sneak up to the corner of the house. I can hear that Lottie is right behind me. As irritated as I was before, I’m glad she’s with me. I motion for us to hide behind the front bushes. We hear the scraping of the metal door upstairs in the jail.
After a couple of minutes, I hear voices from inside in Daddy’s office. They aren’t yells, so that’s good. I hear Daddy like he’s giving instructions. I hear him say something about “bail” or “receipt.”
Mr. Early and the gangster man walk out the front door and it closes behind them. They don’t see us at first. Before Mr. Early gets into the car he stops, looks in our direction, and smiles. “Hey there, kiddo.”
That smile. He’s golden again. Maybe I was wrong.
“I can see your legs. I recognize your shoes.”
The gangster man turns around.
I come out from the bushes and stand by the front walk.
Early says in a quieter voice, “I’ve got a proposition for you. If you want another dollar, meet me at—” He looks around and sees a sign for the cemetery down the road.
“Meet me at the cemetery in five minutes. I have another message that you can deliver. You’re such a smart kid, you’re raking in the dough.”
The other man makes noises like he doesn’t like this, but Mr. Early holds up his hand for quiet. “Okay, Mary V? You’ll get a dollar for just a few minutes of your time. Trust me.” They get in the car and drive towards the cemetery.
Lottie comes out from the bushes. “That man is crazy.”
I don’t say anything. I’m thinking about how I can get another dollar.
“You aren’t thinking about meeting him?”
“It’s just a few blocks away. I can get there and be back before anyone misses me. I’ve been there lots of times visiting my mama’s grave. There are also lots of big trees that a person can hide behind. You could go with me.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“And what am I supposed to do if anything happens? Supposing they steal you or hurt you?”
“It’ll be fine. I’m just a kid. They wouldn’t hurt a kid.”
She’s shaking her head and looking at me.
“Fine. Then I’ll go by myself. Time’s awasting.” And with that I take off like one of Daddy’s dogs after a fox. I’m down the street before she even has a chance to say anything.
I run the three blocks over and one block up and enter the cemetery out of breath. I’m sweating and gulping for air. Where am I supposed to meet them? I listen for voices but only hear birds singing and smell pine sap in the warm in sunshine. I figure while I’m here I might as well visit my first mama.
I find her, kneel at the grave, and brush off the pine needles. I’ve done a lot of crying here. I’ve talked to her a lot and missed her a lot. I’ve told her all about Cullie and how she’s nice and taking care of us. I know Mama would like that. I trace my finger over her name. I don’t know why, but sometimes it makes me feel better. I hear leaves crunching and see the men walking toward me. The gangster man is wearing a coat, which I think is odd since it’s almost the end of May. But Mr. Early seems to be the one in charge, so I don’t pay much attention to the other man.
When they’re about five rows over, I stand up. Mr. Early says, “Good girl. You’re a smart cookie.” And he shows me that movie star smile.
“So, what’s the message and who do you want me to tell?”
Neither one says anything. I’m getting the feeling that Lottie was right. I stand taller and demand, “So what’s the message? If you don’t have one, I’m leaving.”
Mr. Early smiles wider, and his eyes get cold again.
I’m confused.
The other man pulls out a shotgun. At least I think it’s a shotgun, but it’s shorter. Why do they have a shotgun? Are they hunting birds? Why would they hunt birds in the cemetery?
And then I see the flash, hear the boom, and I feel the hot pellets in my face. I don’t know what’s happened and all I can think about is my mama. I’m crying for her.
Mr. Early gets close to me and says, “If you live, keep your mouth shut or I’ll kill the rest of your family. Not a word.” Then I think I hear them running away, their car skidding out, and the engine disappearing.
But I don’t know.
All I know is that I can’t see anything, and my face is on fire. All I can smell and taste is metal. I’m trying to find my mama’s headstone, and I’m wondering if I’ll finally get to see her again. I think I’m crying too but I can’t tell because blood is in my eyes and everywhere.
“Mary V!” I hear my daddy. “Oh, Lord. Please don’t die.” He picks me up and starts running.
And then it all goes dark.
Three years later
Lottie and I are sitting on the tall sidewalk in front of Daddy’s store. He’s not a sheriff now but runs a grocery and hardware store. Lottie and I are good friends. Such good friends that we don’t always have to talk. Which is good because I don’t talk much these days. And sometimes it’s good to just be in the company of a friend. Butterbean is grown and sits with us too.
What happened after I was shot is a blur, and I don’t recall much of it. Which Mama and Daddy say is a blessing. The biggest miracle was that not one pellet of birdshot hit my eyes. I still have a pellet stuck in the corner of my left eye where my tears come out and three are stuck in my gums. A couple more are in my shoulder. The doc said that if they don’t bother me, they’re fine where they are. To dig them out might cause more problems.
I remember thinking I was dying. I remember the pain. People kept asking me who did it. I didn’t say anything. Lottie told them what she could. There was a manhunt and roads were closed and all of that. But they never found Early. We also found out that the man with the fancy hat had tied up the Burns family and hid out in their house for a few days while Early was in jail.
Then about a month later, a hunter found a body in the woods. They said it had a fancy hat like one worn by one of the men who robbed that bank in Conroe. I heard Daddy talking about some kind of “double cross.” I guess that meant fighting over the money.
And in the mix of all of that, Bonnie and Clyde were shot down a couple of days after I was shot. I remember Daddy and Mama saying that maybe people would start coming to their senses. But it just reminded me that there are lots of bad men out there. And one who said he’d kill me and my family.
Almost every night for a year I had bad dreams about Early. I’d dream that he’d sneak into the house and stand over my bed and then pry my mouth open to cut my tongue out. I’d wake up screaming and crying. Then Daddy would come and comfort me.
He’d say, “Nobody wants to break into a jail.” And then he’d sit by my bed until I fell asleep again.
The fear never really went away. I just got better at hiding it.
My shooting made big news and people from all over sent me gifts and toys. There were so many that Mama told me to give some to the “less fortunate.”
But there was one gift that I wouldn’t give away. A small package that came from California. No name, no return address. It was the necklace with the green stone. Miss Celia’s necklace. Of course, Mama and Daddy were confused, but I knew exactly what it meant. It meant that Early had gotten hold of her and killed her, and it was a message for me to keep my mouth shut.
Early’s never been found, so I’m still not taking any chances. If he could kill beautiful Miss Celia, get me shot in the face, and kill his buddy who got him out of jail, he could be anywhere any time and kill everyone I love.
Over the weeks and months people were nice to me. Even Cynthia, Roscoe, and Augustus were nice. I could tell that it shook them. Lottie would come and visit and bring Butterbean. Sometimes we’d just sit and I’d cry and pet the cat. Then she got to bringing books and reading to me. She’s a really good reader. And then we got to sharing books from the library. And now we talk about everything. We both want to be teachers. I’ll probably be a math teacher since I’ve found I’m good with numbers.
But today we’re sitting in front of Daddy’s store. I turn to Lottie to ask her what kind of book we should get from the library when Daddy comes up to me and says, “I’ve got to take the wagon and get some produce. Want to come with me?”
Lottie stands up and brushes off her dress. Butterbean stands up too.
Daddy says, “You’re welcome to come too, Lottie.”
“No thank you, Mr. Mitchell. I have to get back home and do some schoolwork. Y’all take care.” And with that she and Butterbean head home.
Daddy smiles down at me. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“Fine by me.”
We get in the wagon and head out of town. We don’t get many chances for just the two of us to be together. With a house full of kids and him running the store, there’re always people about. I often wish that I had more time with him. But now that we’re alone, I can’t think of anything to say. We sit in silence and enjoy the ride.
He turns the wagon into the drive of a farm and on the mailbox, it says “Burns.”
“Daddy, is this—?”
“Yes, it is. Time’s passed. And they’re fine. I thought it’d do you some good to see that.”
My heart races and I’m looking around for some kind of danger. Daddy goes around back of the house to the barn where a fat man in overalls is waiting for us. Daddy’s talking loud like the man can’t hear. They say hellos and start chatting about weather and the garden and the vegetables. I smile and wave hello and want to get some distance.
I see the blue barn. The color is faded, but I can tell that it’s blue. Burns. Blue barn. The big tree. A blackjack tree?
I leave the men and go behind the barn and see a large tree with rough bark. Its branches look like arms reaching out to grab me. I look around the base and see that on the other side it looks different at the roots. I spot a shovel leaning against the barn. I grab it and start digging. Surely if there was something worth killing for, it would have been taken away three years ago. I’m afraid of what I’ll find and afraid of finding nothing. Then all the years of being afraid come over me and I’m mad. I start digging harder and harder and I’m crying. I’m so angry because I’ve been afraid for so long. Every creak in the house at night, every sudden noise makes me jump. I’m so mad of holding onto the fear. I want to find something even if it hurts me.
The shovel scrapes something solid. Probably a tree root. I stop and kneel in the fresh dirt.
“Mary? What are you doing?”
I ignore Daddy and brush away the musty dirt. I hope it’s buried treasure. But I fear it’ll be the skeleton of Miss Celia; that I’ll see those horrible empty eye sockets and forget how green hers were and how kind she was to me.
I keep digging and I see yellow. And even though the hair is matted and dirty, I’d recognize it anywhere. Early. The golden man.
It smells horrible but I can’t stop. I dig faster with my hands and now Daddy is beside me, and he gasps. I’m scooping away the dirt faster and faster, like a hound dog after a rat.
He’s saying things but I don’t hear him. He pulls me away and steps in front of me. I let him take over.
I’m standing there, wondering, How can this be? What about the necklace?
And then I fall back and sit hard on the ground and start thinking. Who sent me the necklace? Miss Celia. She must have heard about what happened to me and felt bad. Maybe the necklace was a gift to say she’s sorry.
Then I start smiling and laughing. Poor Daddy probably thinks I’m for the looney bin. No more worrying about Early coming to get my family. No more looking over my shoulder. I feel like my throat has been clogged for years and now it’s unstopped and I can breathe. I want to shout.
Miss Celia made it out alright, and the devil man is gone.
I hug my knees and look up at the blackjack tree with its branches reaching up to the sky. We’re both happy to let go of our secrets.
Author’s Notes
Most of Under The Blackjack Tree is pure fiction. But it was inspired by some factual events and circumstances. The spark of inspiration came when my mother told me that her grandfather had been sheriff and that she got to help feed the inmates when she was a small child, circa 1940. I thought that image was so strong that I had to write some kind of story about that.
My great grandfather also was sheriff in Huntsville, Texas in 1934 at the time when Bonnie and Clyde were wreaking havoc in Texas. The family lived in the jailhouse, as was common in small towns in America.
And for the final item. When Mary was young, maybe about ten, they lived in the country. An older brother was practicing or shooting at a bird with a shotgun, and he pulled the trigger just when my grandmother came around the corner of the house. She got a face and shoulder full of birdshot. Thank goodness he was pretty far away and not closer. They thought she was going to die. The doctor was sent for. And of course, it being about 1915 and in a remote area, the doctor was on a horse. I’ve heard that it had been rainy, and the mud made it difficult to travel. My grandmother made a full recovery, and by some miracle, she never had scars. It was indeed truly miraculous that she didn’t lose her sight. When we were little, the grandchildren would ask Grandmother to tell us the story and then she’d show us the pellet in the corner of her eye, near her tear duct, and the ones in her gums. Sometimes she’d move them around a little and we’d squeal in horror and then laugh.
V.P. Chandler grew up on the Texas Gulf coast. She loved learning music and reading books of adventure and horror. She has a B.A. in Literature from Southwestern University and has been a paralegal, a teacher, and a West Texas rancher. She grew up in a family involved with the criminal justice system, (criminal justice professor, parole officer, pathologist, photographer, etc.), so thinking about the dark side of life is in her blood. She’s a member of Austin Mystery Writers, an administrative assistant at Writer Unboxed. Her works have appeared in anthologies and a novella.
