Read Online True Fires by Susan Carol McCarthy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Carol McCarthy
Tags: Fiction
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through, ye got a answer comin’.”
Daniel sees Pap rock back off his heels and onto his hind end. He closes his grafting knife with a well-oiled click, slides it into his shirt pocket, then twines his hands together around one knee.
“Oncet, when I was ’bout yore age, I asked Ol’ Granpap how come his skin was so dark. He had gray eyes like mine but skin darker than most Cher’kees. He told me then, and I’m tellin’ ye now, I don’t know. He said the Croatans, his Indians, were tender-hearted folk—had to be to help out a bunch of blamed fool Englishmen who had no business bein’ there in the first place. We’s lucky, he said, that Ananais Dare was jus’ a boy. It wasn’t in them Croatans to let the children starve, he said. Or, after that, to turn away runaway slaves who weren’t of a mind to let their fam’lies be sold off like cattle and treated worse. Ye come with me to Robeson County, Ol’ Granpap said, and ye’ll see Croatans come in all colors, from pale as hominy to pot-burnt molasses. But seein’ a man, and knowin’ what he is, are two diff’rent things.” Pap looks up to watch a hawk circling high above their heads. “Ol’ Granpap useter make big talk ’bout his ‘wild side.’ But, truth is, he was the kindest, gentlest man I ever knowed. He had goodness in his blood, and God knows what else. But”—Pap leans forward, giving Daniel the eye—“whatever ’twas, ’tweren’t no shame in it, boy. Not one single drap.”
Daniel nods and sees Pap’s gaze wander back to the row of root-stock seedlings. He wonders if their talk is over.
“Y’know, Daniel,” Pap continues abruptly, “not up home, but in most places, the Nigra was the root stock onter which th’ whole South bloomed. Everythin’ ye hear about th’ Gran’ Ol’ Confed’racy happened because Nigras sank their arms elbow-deep, their legs thigh-high in the dirt and let things bloom on their back. That there tangerine bud couldn’t grow by itself anywhere near here. But, ye graft it on the roots of a rough lemon and ye get yoreself a mighty fine tree. Thing I hain’t never understood is the way some people, grafted here from somewheres else, resent the very root that helped ’em grow. This meanness from whites onto Nigras, or anyone who looks like they might have a drap or two of Nigra blood— Well, I reckon, it’s ’bout the most ignorant thing I ever seed. Miss Lila says not ever’one ’round here’s as ignorant as that Sheriff. Think we’ll see for ourselves next Wednesday night, get ye and ’Becca back in school where ye belong.”
At that, Pap rocks forward, quickly up onto his heels, fishes out his grafting knife, grabs a stalk, and gets back to work.
Standing, Daniel feels somehow both lighter and heavier. He looks around—at the girls, Aunt Lu, Uncle Will—and decides to climb up on the new roof, lend Uncle Will a hand with the shingles. But suddenly, something way off yonder, moving out of the uncleared pine woods, catches his eye. He lifts a hand to shade his face against the slanting sun. Walking their way is the biggest, blackest human being he’s ever seen. And, from this distance, it appears he’s carrying something shiny, golden, in his hands.
“Comp’ny comin’, Pap.” Daniel says it quietly, and points at the dark figure crossing the field. The girls, startled by the stranger, scoop up baby June, and run to the garden to hide behind Aunt Lu. Pap folds and stows his grafting knife and stands, hand on Daniel’s shoulder, to watch the big man walking lightly, just like a Cher’kee, into their clearing.
He’s dressed in a simple homespun shirt, some kind of ancient military pants tucked into tall boots, and a dark hat with two crossed metal arrows on the front of its crown. His face is pitch black, broad and flat across the cheeks, his hair and beard cottony white.
Up close,
Daniel thinks,
he looks even
older than th’ Ol’ Cher’kee, which folks up home’d say t’aint
Daniel sees Pap rock back off his heels and onto his hind end. He closes his grafting knife with a well-oiled click, slides it into his shirt pocket, then twines his hands together around one knee.
“Oncet, when I was ’bout yore age, I asked Ol’ Granpap how come his skin was so dark. He had gray eyes like mine but skin darker than most Cher’kees. He told me then, and I’m tellin’ ye now, I don’t know. He said the Croatans, his Indians, were tender-hearted folk—had to be to help out a bunch of blamed fool Englishmen who had no business bein’ there in the first place. We’s lucky, he said, that Ananais Dare was jus’ a boy. It wasn’t in them Croatans to let the children starve, he said. Or, after that, to turn away runaway slaves who weren’t of a mind to let their fam’lies be sold off like cattle and treated worse. Ye come with me to Robeson County, Ol’ Granpap said, and ye’ll see Croatans come in all colors, from pale as hominy to pot-burnt molasses. But seein’ a man, and knowin’ what he is, are two diff’rent things.” Pap looks up to watch a hawk circling high above their heads. “Ol’ Granpap useter make big talk ’bout his ‘wild side.’ But, truth is, he was the kindest, gentlest man I ever knowed. He had goodness in his blood, and God knows what else. But”—Pap leans forward, giving Daniel the eye—“whatever ’twas, ’tweren’t no shame in it, boy. Not one single drap.”
Daniel nods and sees Pap’s gaze wander back to the row of root-stock seedlings. He wonders if their talk is over.
“Y’know, Daniel,” Pap continues abruptly, “not up home, but in most places, the Nigra was the root stock onter which th’ whole South bloomed. Everythin’ ye hear about th’ Gran’ Ol’ Confed’racy happened because Nigras sank their arms elbow-deep, their legs thigh-high in the dirt and let things bloom on their back. That there tangerine bud couldn’t grow by itself anywhere near here. But, ye graft it on the roots of a rough lemon and ye get yoreself a mighty fine tree. Thing I hain’t never understood is the way some people, grafted here from somewheres else, resent the very root that helped ’em grow. This meanness from whites onto Nigras, or anyone who looks like they might have a drap or two of Nigra blood— Well, I reckon, it’s ’bout the most ignorant thing I ever seed. Miss Lila says not ever’one ’round here’s as ignorant as that Sheriff. Think we’ll see for ourselves next Wednesday night, get ye and ’Becca back in school where ye belong.”
At that, Pap rocks forward, quickly up onto his heels, fishes out his grafting knife, grabs a stalk, and gets back to work.
Standing, Daniel feels somehow both lighter and heavier. He looks around—at the girls, Aunt Lu, Uncle Will—and decides to climb up on the new roof, lend Uncle Will a hand with the shingles. But suddenly, something way off yonder, moving out of the uncleared pine woods, catches his eye. He lifts a hand to shade his face against the slanting sun. Walking their way is the biggest, blackest human being he’s ever seen. And, from this distance, it appears he’s carrying something shiny, golden, in his hands.
“Comp’ny comin’, Pap.” Daniel says it quietly, and points at the dark figure crossing the field. The girls, startled by the stranger, scoop up baby June, and run to the garden to hide behind Aunt Lu. Pap folds and stows his grafting knife and stands, hand on Daniel’s shoulder, to watch the big man walking lightly, just like a Cher’kee, into their clearing.
He’s dressed in a simple homespun shirt, some kind of ancient military pants tucked into tall boots, and a dark hat with two crossed metal arrows on the front of its crown. His face is pitch black, broad and flat across the cheeks, his hair and beard cottony white.
Up close,
Daniel thinks,
he looks even
older than th’ Ol’ Cher’kee, which folks up home’d say t’aint
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