THE HOMEPLACE Read online

  Lanie’s eyes swept the huge garden, which was just beginning to produce, and she noted the big sorrel, Stonewall, cropping the green grass in the pasture on the farthest edge of the property. The horse was getting old, but Forrest Freeman still used him to break ground in the huge garden he planted every year. She heard the deep, hoarse grunting of their sow, Delilah, inside her fence, and the clucking of a chicken.

  Lanie headed toward the chicken yard just as Beau, a huge cinnamon-colored dog, rounded the corner at full speed and lunged at her. Lanie braced herself. His front paws landed on her chest. As he licked her face, she balanced on her left foot and with her right foot trod heavily on his hind paws.

  Beau gave a sharp, mournful cry and dropped to all fours. He gave her a hurt look that made Lanie laugh. “You’re the only dog I ever saw that could look like his feelings were hurt. If you wouldn’t jump up on people, you wouldn’t get your toes stomped.”

  Beau turned and, head down, headed for the house. Whenever his feelings were hurt, Beau found something to face, and this time it was the side of the house. He lay down, staring at the house, and refused to look back. He was a fierce fighter, but any one of the family, just by speaking sharply to him, could drive him to face a wall for half a day. “Well, I’m sorry, Beau, but it’s your own fault.”

  As Lanie walked by the towering walnut tree on the east side of the house, she heard voices and glanced up. Cody had been determined to build a huge tree house on the lower branches, and for the past year he had been collecting lumber with the help of Davis, his older brother. The two of them hauled home every scrap they could find, and now the tree house had a floor, four walls, and a roof. There was even a window. The door was one that Davis had scrounged from the city dump. Lanie looked up. Then she made a quick decision and climbed the ladder all the way to the platform. She could hear Maeva giggling and Cody laughing. When she opened the door, Lanie smelled smoke. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped inside. “Are you two smoking?”

  “You bet your boots we are! Come an’ have a puff,” Maeva said.

  Maeva Elizabeth Freeman was a year younger than Lanie, but somehow she seemed older. She was a maverick, afraid of nothing, physically strong, and regularly involved in some sort of problem. She sat there, her green eyes dancing, and stuck the homemade corn-silk cigarette to her lips. She took a drag and blew out the smoke. “You want a smoke, Lanie?”

  “No, I don’t want a smoke!” Lanie was disgusted with them. Cody looked somewhat ashamed, but not Maeva.

  Cody and Maeva had pulled corn silk from the green ears of corn in the garden, spread it out on the tin roof of the barn, and let it dry until it was a crisp brown. Then they rolled it up in real cigarette papers from who knows where. Maeva grinned. “You want to see me blow a smoke ring?”

  “No, I don’t, and if Daddy finds out what you’re doing, you’ll get a paddling!”

  “You gonna tell him?” Cody asked, a worried look on his face.

  “No, I’m not a tattletale, but you two come down from here. Cody, bring in some more wood. Maeva, you’ve got to help me with supper.”

  Lanie climbed down, and the two followed her. “You gonna kill a chicken?” Cody asked. He ran his hand through his hair and grinned broadly. “I sure like to see them suckers run when they get their heads wrung off! I wonder how they can run without no head? They can’t see where they’re goin’.”

  “That’s disgusting! It’s not funny to kill something,” Lanie said.

  “I think it is,” Cody said. “I’m gonna watch.”

  “You can pluck the thing after it’s dead if you like dead chickens so much!”

  “You know what? I’m gonna invent a chicken plucker.” Cody screwed his mouth to one side. “I bet I could make a million dollars.”

  Maeva snorted in disgust. “You’re not gonna invent no chicken plucker!”

  “I am too!”

  As the two argued, Lanie walked to the chicken yard. It was fenced with wire and had a henhouse on the inside. Even with Beau on guard, it was a constant struggle to keep the foxes, coons, and other varmints out. She opened the gate and went in, and the chickens flocked around her, clucking and bobbing their heads. Her heart sank. She had named every chicken. She loved to name things, but that made the killing more difficult.

  “Which one you gonna kill?” Cody demanded.

  “It don’t make no difference,” Maeva said. “They’re just chickens.”

  Lanie made a quick choice. Lucille had not been laying well. She reached down and picked the chicken up by the neck. The chicken squawked out a surprised “cluck-cluck-cluck.” Quickly and expertly Lanie twirled the chicken around. The head separated from the body, and Lucille dropped to the ground. She was up at once and began running around exactly as Cody had said. Sickened, Lanie looked down at the head in her hand. The eyes seemed to look at her reproachfully, and she shuddered and dropped the head on the ground.

  “Boy, she sure do run, don’t she!” Cody said with admiration. “You reckon it hurts the chicken?”

  Lanie was disturbed. “Would it hurt you if someone wrung your head off?” She moved toward the hen’s now still body.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Maeva said. “God made chickens for us to eat.”

  “I can’t help it. I don’t like to kill anything.”

  Maeva picked up the chicken head and stared at it clinically. Then she pitched it out toward the pasture. She threw like a boy, hard and accurate, and watched the head until it hit the ground. “It don’t bother me none. I’ll kill the chickens from now on.”

  CH A P T E R 2

  Forrest Freeman applied the brakes, and the big logging truck shuddered to a halt. He turned off the ignition, removed the key, and stuck it in his pocket. For a moment he sat behind the wheel, letting the weariness drain from him. After a twelve-hour day of wrestling huge logs to the ground, trimming them, loading them, and hauling them to the sawmill, a man was pretty well ready to quit.

  Forrest frowned as the memory of a run-in with Duke Biggins came to him. Biggins, a fellow logger, was a brutal man who bullied smaller men. Duke despised Forrest, who knew it was only a matter of time before he had a fight with the big man because of a standoff they’d had about a year before. Forrest had been loading a huge pine log when he saw Biggins shove Wash Williams, one of the black laborers, and start kicking him. Forrest stepped between the two and for several moments thought Biggins was going to pitch into him too. It didn’t happen, but lately he sensed Duke’s fuse beginning to smolder and the man had taken to heavy drinking.

  But Forrest was not a man to worry about things. He got out of the truck and stretched, the muscles rippling beneath his thin shirt. He was exactly six feet tall and weighed a trim 189 pounds. He had the kind of strength one sees in athletes—which he had been in his youth. Now, at thirty-four, he was still the best catcher the Fairhope Mountaineers could muster. At one time he had thought of playing professional baseball, but he had to make a living for his family—a wife and the children that had started coming almost at once, one a year for four years in a row.

  “Hey, Forrest!”

  Turning, Forrest saw his neighbor Deoin Jinks crossing Jefferson Davis Avenue. Jinks was the barber and probably, because of his calling, the most talkative man in Fairhope—if not in the county.

  “Howdy, Deoin. What’s up?”

  “Themstinkin’Yankees!” This was said as all one word, for Deoin never referred to the baseball team in any other way. “They won again!”

  Deoin’s passion was the St. Louis Cardinals, and the team he hated most on the face of the planet was the New York Yankees. He hated them collectively and individually. Deoin could go on for hours about the shortcomings of each player.

  Forrest knew better than to get trapped in such a conversation.

  “Well, they’ll probably wear out before the summer’s over.”

  “Themstinkin’Yankees!” Anger distorted Deoin’s face. He was a short man with fair hair and dark-blue
eyes.

  Forrest grinned and started to leave, but Deoin reached out and plucked his sleeve. “Hey, Forrest, I hear that oldest girl of yours is smarter than a tree full of owls! I was cuttin’ the math teacher’s hair this morning. He said Lanie made a flat A in math. Now think about a girl that could do that!”

  “Lanie’s a bright girl all right, but there are lots of smart kids in that school. Lots of competition.”

  Deoin shook his head. “Nope, she’s gonna win. I got a feelin’ about that.”

  “You have feelin’s about lots of things, but they don’t always come true.”

  “Most of the time they do!”

  “Okay, how do you feel about who’s gonna be president next November?”

  “That no account Yankee Al Smith ain’t got a chance! Hoover’s gonna win in a landslide.”

  Herbert Hoover, the Republican nominee, faced Alfred E. Smith, the governor of New York. Smith was an odd choice for 1928. He had affiliations with some pretty shady people, he favored abolishing Prohibition, and he was a Roman Catholic. All of these made him repugnant to the South and most of the West. Still, the Democrats took the plunge, and the race was beginning to heat up.

  One reason for the unusual fervor of the race was the economic situation of the United States. The stock market had been rocky, low and then high, then low, for several years, and now it seemed that a strong hand was all that could save the country from economic disaster.

  Deoin poked his thumb into Forrest’s ribs. “I’ll tell you somethin’.

  You’d better start buyin’ up stocks.”

  “Not me. Them dang things go up and down like an elevator!”

  “They ain’t goin’ to this time, Forrest. You’ll get rich.” He prodded Forrest again with his thumb. “And you’d better think about buyin’ some of them lots down in Florida like I done. They’re gonna be worth a fortune.”

  “You ain’t even seen them lots, Deoin. They may be under water.”

  “No, I seen a picture. They’re out of water, all right, palm trees and everything. When I get rich enough, I’m gonna build me a summer house down there where I can take the wife and kids. You’d better grab on or you’ll miss the brass ring.”

  Forrest had heard all this before. He shook his head. “I tried gam-blin’ when I was a younger man. Lost everything I had.”

  “But this ain’t like poker or dice. This is business.”

  “I don’t care what it is. I’m puttin’ my money in the bank. Maybe by next year, if things keep going like they have, I’ll have enough money to pay off my place and all my logging equipment.” Forrest had taken out a loan to pay the hospital bill when his wife fell sick and he now was working long hours to pay off the note. “I’d better get inside and find out how Elizabeth is.”

  “Are you gonna catch that game for the Mountaineers tomorrow?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good. We need to beat them smart alecks from Fort Smith.” According to Deoin, everybody from Fort Smith, the county seat, was a smart aleck.

  Forrest grinned as he left Deoin, but he had not gotten far when Beau, as usual, barked a greeting, reared up on his hind legs, and tried to lick Forrest’s face. “Git down, Beau, you’re as big as an elephant!” The dog refused to move and, with a sigh, Forrest stepped on his paw. Beau dropped down, gave Forrest a reproachful look, and slumped away, head down, tail tucked between his legs.

  Forrest chuckled. “Go on off and pout. It’s your own fault.” He stepped up on the front porch and as soon as he opened the door and entered the hall, he smelled frying chicken. He walked down the hall and as he was passing the bedroom door, saw Elizabeth sitting in a rocker crocheting. “What are you doing out of bed, honey?” He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. “You better do like the doctor says.”

  “I can’t stay in bed all day. I’d get bedsores.” Elizabeth lifted her face and Forrest bent down and kissed her. “You look tired.”

  “Fresh as a daisy. Somethin’ smells good.”

  “Lanie’s cooking your favorite supper. You brag on it now, no matter if it’s not the best.”

  “Won’t be as good as yours.” Forrest knelt beside her chair and took her hand in both of his. “How have you been?” He stroked her hand with his callused palm.

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  “You always say that. I don’t know when to believe you.”

  Elizabeth reached out and put her hand on his stubbled cheek. “You forgot to shave this morning.”

  “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t see much point in looking pretty for a bunch of pine trees, but I will now.” He rose, bent over, and kissed her again. “You’ll fall smack dab in love with me when you see how pretty I look.” He winked at her and went to the closet. He picked out a pair of pants and a shirt. “Who ironed these?”

  “Maeva did. She’s real good at that.”

  “Well, I’ll give her a reward.”

  Forrest went to the bathroom and put the clothes on the hamper. He hesitated, then went to the kitchen. Lanie had her back to him and was turning pieces of chicken in the big iron frying pan. He sneaked up, reached out and grabbed her, and lifted her clear off the floor.

  Lanie screamed and wriggled in his arms. “Daddy, put me down!”

  “No, I won’t do it. You’re too dadgummed pretty.” Holding her off the floor, he turned in circles until she grew dizzy.

  “Daddy, I’ll burn the chicken!”

  “Well, all right then.” He picked up a fork and poked at the chicken. “It looks good to me.”

  “I’m making you some thickening gravy, too, and fresh biscuits. And then I got a surprise for dessert.”

  “I do love surprises.” He put his hands on her cheeks and held her face for a minute. “You are growin’ up, gal. Gettin’ pretty as a pair of green shoes with red laces.”

  “Oh, Daddy!”

  “Well, you are. Tell me something. Have any of them fellers at school been tryin’ to make up to you?”

  “No.”

  “I bet they have. I bet some of them tried to kiss you.”

  Lanie loved it when her father teased her, although she tried to pretend indifference. “If they did, I’d bust ’em in the snoot!”

  “Good for you, Lanie, and if they need some more of that, you tell me and I’ll do it.”

  Just then Cody ran into the room. Forrest reached over and got his head in the crook of his arm and started rubbing his head with his knuckles. “How about a Dutch rub?”

  “Daddy, that hurts!”

  Laughing, Forrest released him. “Well, did you invent anything today?”

  “I’m gonna invent somethin’ to take that dumb ol’ water that drips off the ice. Ain’t no sense in havin’ to empty a pan of water.”

  “I bet you could do it, too. You’re a smart boy. When you get a little older, you’re gonna invent somethin’ and get rich, and then all I’m gonna do is lie on my back and eat strawberry ice cream every day.”

  Maeva and Davis walked in. Davis, at twelve, was the tallest of the children. He was lean and athletic and had the same bright greenish gray eyes and auburn hair as the rest of the kids. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey, Davis, you play ball today?”

  “Sure did. We played them fellers from Madison. We won too.”

  “You get any hits?”

  “Three for four.”

  “Good for you. We’ll take some battin’ practice after supper maybe.”

  “You gonna catch tomorrow for the Mountaineers?”

  “That’s what I plan on.”

  “Let me go with you, Daddy.”

  “Wouldn’t have it no other way.”

  The children crowded around their father, popping questions at him. He finally reached over and held Maeva by the chin, tilting her face up. “Well, Maeva, have you been a good girl?”

  “No, I ain’t.”

  “Well, now, that’s comin’ right out with it! What’d you do today that was so bad?”

&nbs
p; “I made a cigarette out of corn silk and smoked it.”

  “How’d you like it?”

  “I didn’t. Bit my tongue like fire. Ain’t never gonna smoke one of them things again.”

  “Maybe you can take up chewin’.”

  Maeva laughed. “That’s nasty. I’d never do that.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Nothing hurts a gal’s looks like spittin’ tobacco.”

  “Daddy, go get cleaned up,” Lanie said. “Supper’s almost ready.”

  “Well, I’m ready for it. Don’t you kids get shocked at how pretty I am when I come out.”

  “Thank you, Lord, for this food, for the hands that prepared it, and thank you for our family. Continue, Lord, to watch over us and keep us safe. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen! Amen! Amen!” Every one of the Freeman family echoed their dad’s short blessing.

  Forrest took a chicken leg and put it on his plate. “I’d better have both this here chicken’s legs. I heard they ain’t healthy for young people.”

  Lanie smiled. She knew her father loved chicken legs best of all the parts.

  “I want the liver!” Maeva called out.

  “No, I want it!” Cody shouted. “You got it the last time.”

  “Don’t fight over what you get to eat,” Elizabeth said. “There’s plenty here. I wish a chicken had ten livers.”

  Indeed there was plenty. In addition to fried chicken, there was a big bowl of thickening gravy to go on fluffy biscuits. The garden had come through so there was not only fried okra but fried squash, crisp radishes and green onions, a big bowl of butter beans, and several kinds of pickles.

  Forrest noticed that Elizabeth wasn’t eating. She was just pushing at her food, but he said nothing. Finally he picked up one of the drinking glasses, a large green cut-glass affair, and said, “I declare! Things just taste better out of these glasses, and they was free.”

  “Where’d they come from, Daddy?” Davis asked.