Devil on My Heels

  I climb down from the pickup and shove my way through smelly, sweaty bodies. The men step aside, startled. When I’m almost to the open space where Chase and Gator are tied to the pole, somebody shouts, “Hey, it’s Lucas’s girl. She’s here.” Whoever’s doing the shouting, I can tell he’s darn relieved to see me.

  I step into the open circle like a boxer climbing into the ring. For a minute nobody moves. They don’t know what to make of my being here. They aren’t sure what to do with me.

  “It’s like Chase said, nobody kidnapped me,” I tell them. “I’m fine. Gator’s innocent. So you can stop this belt-whipping right now.”

  Willy Podd steps out from behind his dad, Macon. He saunters up to us like he’s in no hurry. When he gets about two feet from me, he leans forward and spits right in my face. “Nigger lover,” he says.

  I wipe off the glob of spit. “Let them go,” I say, turning to Travis. “Or I’m going straight to the state police.”

  Travis laughs. I can smell the liquor on his breath. He’s laughing so hard, tears are running down his face. They leave dirty streaks on his cheeks. A few of the other men laugh too, like this is the best joke they’ve heard in years. But most of them can’t even look me in the eye.

  Chase shouts at me to get on home. I can tell by his voice he’s mad as hell at me. Moss Henley laces into Chase with the belt.

  All I’m doing is making things worse.

  “Tie her up with her friends,” Willy says. “She’s the reason Travis got fired, her going around telling lies about him, saying he killed Gus Washburn.”

  Travis snaps up some rope that’s lying near the base of the pole. The look he gives me is terrifying. Hard as I try, I can’t find even the tiniest hint of humanity in that face.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind it is beginning to sink in that my father has fired Travis. And Travis knows I told Delia he killed Gus, and he’s blaming Gator for the pickers not showing up, blaming both of us for getting him fired.

  Jacob Tully comes forward and takes the rope from Travis. “We don’t lay a hand on Lucas’s daughter. Understand?”

  “Where the hell is Lucas, anyway?” Travis says, looking around. “Everybody’s supposed to be here tonight.”

  Travis doesn’t seem to have noticed that a lot of folks have deserted his ranks along the way.

  Jacob glares at me. His face is like chiseled stone. My mouth is so dry I can’t swallow. “He went out looking for his daughter. Said he wasn’t going to stop till he found her.”

  “Well, she’s right here,” Willy says. “Where Lucas should be.”

  Jacob signals two of the men to keep an eye on me. To make sure I don’t cause any trouble. He says he is going to personally deliver me to my dad when they are done with Chase and Gator.

  Travis has disappeared for a few minutes, but now he’s cutting through the mob, swinging an ax. He stands in front of Gator. “I’ve decided to cut you loose, nigger. How’s that? I’m gonna chop those ropes right off. Course, I’ve never been real good with an ax. I might miss.” Travis holds the ax handle in one hand, swinging it like a golf club. “That happens, well, you might lose a hand or two. Won’t be able to make any more of those pretty pictures of yours. But don’t pay that no mind. You’re gonna be free.”

  I hear whispers and mumblings among the men. Even Jacob Tully is starting to look worried.

  The two men guarding me are so busy watching what Travis is going to do that I break away from them with no effort at all. I run over and grab the ax right out of Travis’s hand before he knows what hit him. I stand in front of Gator, holding up that ax, knowing that any second this mob of men will be all over us. They won’t stop until the three of us are buzzard food.

  Somewhere in the distance I hear car horns blasting. More Klan folks. Probably the ones who were at Eli’s earlier are just now catching up.

  My heart is racing so fast I’m getting light-headed.

  I don’t want to watch them coming for us. I don’t want to see what’s going to happen next. It’s all I can do not to close my eyes. To shut it all out. But I don’t dare.

  Chase’s voice drifts over to me. “Dove, drop the ax. They aren’t going to do anything to you.”

  “I can’t,” I tell him. “If they get the ax they’ll chop you and Gator to pieces.” I am shaking so bad, I’m afraid my knees will buckle. But I hold on to that ax.

  “Drop it,” he says.

  By now my grip on the handle is so tight, I couldn’t let go if I wanted.

  My heart pounds in my ears. The thudding dulls the noise from the honking horns as it grows louder. The men begin shuffling their feet, looking over their shoulders, staring at each other. They shake their heads. They don’t know what’s going on either.

  The horns are followed by the glare of headlights. Nobody moves. We stand there watching as battered old pickups and cars rumble into the field. They form a circle around all of us, facing inward. The high beams are so bright, the men have to shade their eyes. I squint, keeping a tight grip on the ax.

  I hear a car door slam shut and look up to see Delia coming straight at me. She is carrying the biggest kitchen knife I have ever laid eyes on. Rosemary Howell is right behind her. Other car doors slam. With the headlights shining in my eyes, I can’t see their faces, but somehow I know some of our pickers are out there.

  Delia doesn’t have to shove her way through the men like I did. They see that knife and get out of her way. She walks past them like she doesn’t fear a thing, like she’s got nothing to lose. She steps right up to Travis Waite and holds that knife just a few inches from his throat. Except for his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down, Travis doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe.

  We all wait to see if Delia is really going to use that knife on him.

  “I’m going to cut those boys loose,” Delia tells him. “You try to stop me, and I’ll have to kill you. Like you did Gus. There’s not a whole lot standing between you and this knife right now except common decency.”

  Travis lets out a sick little chuckle. I can tell he’s afraid of what Delia might do if her common decency should suddenly slip.

  From behind the men comes the sound of shotguns being cocked. The Klan members fire nervous looks at each other. They have just figured out Delia isn’t the only one who has come here armed tonight. They clutch their shotguns and rifles to their chests. They are sitting ducks in these headlights and they know it.

  Rosemary is trying to untie Gator. But the blood makes the ropes slippery. It’s all over her hands.

  Delia takes the knife and saws through the ropes, the whole time keeping an eye on Travis. I hold up the ax like I just might have to use it on him if he takes one step toward Delia.

  Gator’s body slides down the pole, landing in a heap at the base. Delia cuts Chase loose. Then she slips her hands beneath Gator’s armpits and pulls him toward the line of cars. I take a step forward and reach for Gator’s legs to help her. Delia’s kitchen knife looks like it’s growing out of Gator’s armpit. She shoves it toward me and the look on her face stops me cold. It tells me if I take one step closer she won’t hesitate to use that knife on me or anybody else who gets in her way.

  It feels as if Delia’s knife has gone straight through my heart.

  Delia and Rosemary manage to get Gator into the backseat of Rosemary’s old Ford. They pull out. The others stay behind. They keep their headlights aimed right at the Klan, daring any of them to make a move. Travis and his friends will probably try to find a way to make them pay for this later, even though they can’t see who’s out there. These folks know that too. But I guess they’ve had about enough of this business because they’re not backing down. For now, anyway, they’ve got this small group of Klansmen outnumbered.

  “Are you okay to walk?” I say to Chase. Except for the split lip Jacob gave him earlier, a swollen eye, and a gash on his cheek from somebody’s belt, he doesn’t look too bad.

  “Yeah, I can walk.”

  I p
ick up Gator’s torn T-shirt from the ground by the telephone pole. “Then we need to follow Delia,” I tell him. “We have to find out where they’re taking Gator.”

  Chase lets me drive the T-bird. That’s how I know he is hurting a lot worse than he’s letting on. We stay a few car lengths behind Rosemary. When we reach Benevolence, Rosemary heads for the colored quarters. “They’re taking Gator to Delia’s place,” I tell Chase.

  When I pull up in front of Delia’s, Chase says he’ll wait for me in the car.

  I knock on the front door but no one answers. The door is unlocked. I slip inside and stand in Delia’s living room. I clutch Gator’s red shirt against my chest. Muffled voices float down the hall. “Delia?” I call.

  But it is Rosemary who appears in front of one of the doors off the hallway. “Best if you went on home, Dove,” she whispers.

  I go as far as the bedroom door. “I need to know if Gator’s going to be all right.”

  Rosemary crosses her arms and rubs them hard with her hands, as if she’s freezing to death. She takes a few steps toward me. “We don’t know. It looks bad. Real bad. He’s lost a lot of blood.” She glances back over her shoulder. “Delia’s tending to him.”

  “What about Eli?”

  “His fever broke. I think he’s going to be okay. Louisa is taking good care of him.”

  I am relieved for Eli, but I’m worried sick about Gator.

  Rosemary takes me gently by the arm and steers me back into the living room. “Those men could’ve killed you tonight.”

  “But then you showed up.” I smile at her. “Like the cavalry in some old western.”

  Rosemary smiles too. “Lucky you.”

  “How’d you know where to find us?”

  “You,” Rosemary says.

  “Me?”

  “The other morning when you came to Luellen’s, when you told me about your daddy and Chase, you said the night before you’d been over to Spudder Rhodes’s place where the Klan was meeting.

  “As soon as word got out about Travis killing Gus Washburn, the pickers, they decided they didn’t want to work for a crew boss who was a murderer. They knew Travis was going to go after Gator. Everybody knew it. So instead of showing up for work Saturday and Sunday, they were out rounding up some of the pickers from other camps to join them in case Gator needed help. Except none of them knew where Spudder’s place was. So I went looking for Delia, hoping she’d know.”

  “I was wrong about Chase being in the Klan.”

  Rosemary nods. “I know.” She looks down the hall at the light coming from the open bedroom door. “Delia didn’t know where Spudder lived, either. But then she got a phone call about how the Klan had Gator. And the person she talked to told her where to find him.”

  “A call from who?” I ask.

  Rosemary seems to be studying the photographs on the wall. “Somebody called Delia and told her. That’s all I know.”

  “Here,” I say, handing her Gator’s shirt. “He’s going to need this.” Before Rosemary can stop me, I head back down the hall to the room where Delia is nursing Gator. She looks up when I come through the door. She is holding a blood-soaked towel. A basin of dark pink water sits on a wooden chair by the bed. This is Jeremiah’s room. I can tell by the pictures of Negro baseball players all over the wall.

  Gator’s face is swollen and bleeding. It could be Gus lying there, the night Travis hit him with that car. Delia has got to be reliving that whole nightmare over in her mind.

  “Didn’t Rosemary tell you to get on home?” she asks.

  “How’s Gator?”

  “Bad.”

  “Is he going to live?”

  “Only the Lord knows the answer to that one.” She stands up, pressing her hand against her back. “How’s that Tully boy?”

  “He’s going to be okay. He’s outside in his car.”

  “Well, don’t keep him waiting.”

  “Delia—”

  “Your daddy’s been everywhere looking for you. He’s not going to rest till you get yourself back home.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He was here, first thing this morning. You weren’t gone but a half hour when he shows up.” Delia wrings out a washcloth in the pink water and presses it gently on Gator’s swollen face. I stare hard at his chest, trying to see if he’s still breathing. He is, but his breathing is shallow.

  “My dad was here? He came here?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised by this. It makes sense, seeing as how I told him the night before I was going to tell Delia about Travis.

  “He wanted to know if you’d been here or telephoned. I told him you’d been here, all right. And I said you told me about Travis Waite killing Gus. Your daddy, he tries to make it better, saying he’s sorry and that he only wanted to protect me and Jeremiah, that he only wanted to look after me. I said I didn’t need nobody looking after me, what I needed was Travis Waite in jail.”

  I sit down on the edge of the bed and take Gator’s hand. It is cool and dry. “Come on, Gator,” I tell him. “This fight is just beginning. You can’t walk away now.” I press his hand to my cheek. I hold it in my lap while Delia puts iodine on his wounds and bandages them.

  Maybe I’m looking for any hopeful sign I can get, but I imagine I feel his hand give mine a light squeeze. I squeeze his back.

  “Rosemary said somebody called you, told you the Klan had Gator and where you’d probably find him.”

  Delia is patting the welts on Gator’s chest with the damp washcloth. She looks over at me. “It was your daddy who phoned me.”

  I swear I feel Gator’s hand twitch in mine.

  “Dad? My dad warned you?” I can’t seem to wrap my mind around this piece of news. It’s too much to think about right now.

  “Your daddy, yes. And you’d better get on home to him right now. He’s worried sick.”

  I’m not ready to go home yet. I’m not ready to face my dad. “Let me stay here and help,” I say.

  “Haven’t you done about enough helping for a while?”

  My vision starts to blur, but I blink back my tears. “I could’ve done what my dad did, tried to keep you from being hurt, never telling you the truth. Are you going to hate me for the rest of your life for telling you about Travis?”

  Delia looks surprised when I say this. “I don’t hate you, child.” She rests her hands on her hips. “You did the right thing. I didn’t like much hearing what you had to say, but I needed to know.”

  I let go of Gator’s hand and reach for Delia’s. “I don’t want a life without you in it,” I tell her.

  Delia gently pulls me to my feet and leads me into the hall. “It can’t ever be like it was,” she says. “I won’t be working for your daddy anymore. I already told him that.”

  “I know it can’t, Delia. I already know that. Just please, please let me come here sometimes, maybe after school.”

  Delia’s face softens a little. She cups my chin in her hand and narrows her eyes at me. “Were you planning to use that ax on Travis Waite tonight?”

  “Were you planning to use that kitchen knife on him?”

  We eye each other, like in the old days. Slow smiles creep across our faces at the same time. And we fall into a warm, familiar hug.

  26

  It is after one in the morning when Chase pulls the T-bird around to the back of my house and parks by the steps. Dad’s two pickups are both there. He’s home.

  “You okay?” Chase asks.

  “I’m not the one who got beat up,” I say.

  He runs his fingers along the back of my neck. “I mean about being back home.”

  I look over at him. “I don’t know. A lot’s going to depend on my dad, I guess.”

  I turn toward the house, taking in the porch, the back door, the wicker rocker, and I feel as if I’ve been away for a hundred years.

  “Why’d you do it?” I ask. I don’t have to explain. He knows I’m talking about him going against the Klan, against his dad.


  He shrugs. “They were going after Gator. You know? And making trouble for the pickers. It wasn’t right.”

  “You could’ve stayed out of it.”

  Chase doesn’t say anything for a while. Maybe he’s wishing he had looked the other way. There have been times when I’ve wanted to do that myself. Times when I did. Although it shames me to admit it.

  When Chase turns to me, he has the strangest expression on his face. He leans over and pulls me into his arms. “Let’s take off someplace,” he whispers in my ear. “Leave good old Malevolence and never look back.”

  “Benevolence,” I say, even though I know he said it wrong on purpose.

  “Yeah, right. So are you in?”

  I rub my cheek gently along the side of his face that doesn’t have the gash or swollen eye, feeling his soft lips against my ear. And for one brief moment I almost say yes. I am just so happy to be with him again. But then I think about Delia and Gator and Rosemary. I think about Travis Waite still out there walking around, a free man.

  “I can’t leave here,” I tell him.

  “And I can’t stay,” he says.

  I stare at him. I don’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “You know what’ll happen if I stay here. Especially after last night. It’s not safe for you either. But at least your dad will watch out for you. It’s different with me and my dad. And there’s Willy. The Klan. They’ll make my life a living hell, if they don’t kill me first.”

  His lips brush my ear. “I’m sorry, Dove.”

  We hold each other. The warmth from his body floods through my own. I want to keep holding on to him forever.

  “You’re going to graduate in a few weeks. You’ve got finals coming up. You can’t just throw all that away,” I tell him. Or me—you can’t throw me away either, I want to say. But I don’t. I lay my head on his chest.

  “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can take the exams through a proctor at another school.”

  “Where will you go?”