Today's Reading
"I tell you what, I knew if it ever got started, it was gonna be a Confederate win! We got them on the run 'fore they could even git their muskets half loaded. I bet we could beat'em with popguns and cornstalks!"
Henry hefted a sack of newly ground cornmeal onto his shoulders, but his grandfather's comment got his attention.
"There's fighting already?"
Ennis pointed at the fields.
"Did you get done what I told you before I left?"
Robert said, "Yes sir," while Henry sent an impatient look toward his father and did not answer.
His gaze returned to his grandfather.
"Are we at war?"
Ennis kept working, and Joetta did not understand why he permitted such impudence. Mr. McBride banged his cane on the ground with enthusiasm.
"Them damn Yanks thought we wouldn't stand our ground. Well, we showed'em at Fort Sumter! Now Lincoln's calling for seventy-five thousand men to 'quell the'... what's he call it, 'the Southern rebellion.' Ha! He can go to hell! Ain't nobody with the good sense the Lord gave'em gonna help him fight his war and if they do, they ain't nothing but traitors, and we're better off without'em."
Henry acted as excited as Mr. McBride. "Our side's bound to win!"
Ennis was quick to respond. "Son. We ain't got a side in this thing."
Henry dropped his head. This kept his face partially hidden, but Joetta had seen enough. Ennis was right; they did know their Henry, and his expression said there would be trouble.
CHAPTER TWO
What had flared in Henry's eyes contradicted what Joetta and Ennis had always believed, that through their hard work and example, their children would respect them and their chosen way of life. Always willing and obedient, Henry's transformation had been subtle, as obvious as seconds passing in a day, until it was not. Joetta was steeped in these thoughts as she left the hen house, where she had been gathering eggs the following morning. Mr. McBride, favoring his bad leg, limped by her. She greeted him as always for she never liked holding grudges.
"Good morning."
He grunted a greeting—of sorts. Ennis spoke to his father as well, but Mr. McBride had no time for niceties. He was headed for his grandsons, who worked near the wood pile, chopping and stacking to replenish the day's supply. He called out to them.
"Listen! I been thinking on this most of the night. We have a side, and it's the very same one as them rich planters. Don't matter we ain't got their kind a money."
Henry paused to look at his grandfather, his interest flickering and growing, the way the flame on a wick lengthens when extended. Mr. McBride stopped near him. Before Henry could react, his grandfather scraped his shirt sleeve up to expose his forearm.
"Look a here. What do you see?"
Mr. McBride's big knuckled finger jabbed repeatedly the area he'd exposed. Ennis interrupted, his warning like a rumble of thunder.
"Pa. That's enough."
Mr. McBride twisted around to look at him.
"What. Henry here, he's sensible. I'm teaching him something. What's the harm in that?"
"I know what you're doing."
"No, you don't."
He turned his back and his voice became urgent as he poked Henry's forearm again.
"It's this here white skin! Same as them big planters got, don't'cha see? Them Yanks get their way, they'll elevate the Negro to the same dispensations as you, me, any of us. Next thing you know, they'll be coming after our womenfolk, doing all manner of terrible things."
He pulled Henry close to him, murmuring in his ear as Ennis raised his voice.
"I said enough!"
Mr. McBride sputtered with outrage.
"It's the very reason we got to fight. Ain't no way 'round it. They abolish slavery, they'll be roaming about the countryside, and any woman, whoever she is, will be in danger, mark my words!"
Mr. McBride resumed whatever he had to say, keeping hold of Henry by the back of the neck. Henry's eyes grew rounder with each passing second until he began to struggle to pull free. Ennis was beside his father now, and thumped him on the arm.
"Let him go, Pa."
Mr. McBride shrugged Ennis off, and whatever he said next made Henry go still the way a rabbit caught by a hawk gives up. His face turned ruddy, the color deepening with each passing second. He flicked at his ear as if bothered by a gnat.
This excerpt ends on page 15 of the paperback edition.
Monday we begin the book Good Taste: A Novel in Search of Great Food by Caroline Scott.
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