EIGHT
“They’re your friends?”
Ella had tucked Solly between her and Mr. Rainwater in the front seat of his car. She’d given him directions out of town. He was driving fast, faster than she would have dared to push her older-model Ford.
“We went through school in the same class, although they dropped out in tenth grade. Ollie’s daddy died, leaving him to take over the management of the dairy. He was the youngest child, and the only boy. All his sisters were married and long gone.
“There was never any doubt that he and Lola would get married someday. They’d always been crazy about each other. When Ollie left school, Lola insisted they go ahead and make it official, so she could help out on the farm, too. They’ve got four children now. They’re good people. Take a right at the next crossroads.”
The road onto which Mr. Rainwater turned was unpaved. Tall weeds grew in the ditches on both sides. Beyond the ditches, barbed-wire fences separated rows of corn plants struggling for survival in the arid soil from fields of cotton being picked by workers trailing long sacks on their bowed backs.
It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but Ella guessed that already the temperature was topping ninety. They had no choice except to leave the car windows down. The wind was hot and gritty. It had whipped off Ella’s hat and was tearing at her hair, but she barely noticed.
Her thoughts were on her friends and their misfortune. With each baby, Lola had grown a little chubbier, and the gap between her front teeth seemed to widen, but she was one of the happiest individuals Ella had ever known. She loved her husband, loved her children, loved her life. Ella hoped her innate happiness would sustain her and her family through this.
Ollie was a salt-of-the-earth type, big-eared and bighearted. He’d struggled to pass from one school grade to the next because of all the days he had to miss in order to help his father work their farm, milking the herd before and after school and doing everything else required to maintain the place. But Ollie had given up school willingly. Know-how had been more valuable to him than book learning, and his hands-on experience had paid off. He took pride in how much the farm had prospered under his supervision.
At least until the past few years, when he’d been forced to borrow money to sustain his herd and his family until the drought ended and his grazing pastures turned green again. What milk he could get from his underfed cows, he’d had to sell cheap, creating a need for another loan. That vicious cycle had put him and Lola deeply in debt and in danger of losing their farm.
They would benefit greatly from the DRS’s program to buy their herd for pennies on the dollar, but at what cost emotionally?
Mr. Rainwater said, “I’m afraid we’re too late.”
Ella spotted the cloud of dust rising out of the roadbed almost at the same time he spoke. “What is it?”
“A convoy, I suspect.”
The distance between them and the column of swirling dust closed rapidly. They were almost even with it before they could pick out individual vehicles. In the lead was a cattle truck with dairy cows crammed inside. Following it were three black cars, all with insignias painted on the sides, dour-faced men inside. One man in the first car was standing on the running board, holding on to an open window, a rifle propped on his shoulder.
“Are they the—”
“Shooters,” Mr. Rainwater said, finishing for her.
Over the roar of the passing cars, she heard another sound, which at first she thought was one of the cars backfiring. But when Mr. Rainwater said a swearword under his breath, she noticed how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel, how tensely his jaw was set.
“What’s that popping noise?”
“Gunfire.”
She turned her head and watched as the government cars disappeared behind a swell in the road. The gunshots weren’t coming from them. So who was shooting? A cold knot of fear formed in her chest. To help stave it off, she said, “This is different from what happened at the Pritchetts’ place.”
Mr. Rainwater turned his head and gave her a significant look.
Protesting her own misgivings, she said, “That happened because of the folks in shantytown. But none of them would come out this far. They wouldn’t have any way to get here. So who’s shooting? And why?”
She was still disturbed by images of the injuries she had seen inflicted on women and children. She remembered Brother Calvin’s account of the toddler being snatched from Mrs. Pritchett’s arms while Sheriff Anderson and his deputies did nothing. Suddenly she was very afraid for her friends.
“Hurry,” she urged, leaning forward as though willing the car to go faster. “It’s the next left.”
Just before they reached the turnoff to the Thompsons’ farm, a pickup spun out onto the road, made a sharp right turn, and headed straight toward them. The truck fishtailed in the loose gravel, almost throwing several men out of its bed before it straightened. It stayed in their lane until the very last moment, then, with a blast of the horn, it swerved to cross the yellow stripe.
The truck buffeted Mr. Rainwater’s coupe as it zoomed past. Ella recognized the man at the wheel—Conrad Ellis. Crowded into the cab with him were three other men. There were a dozen or so in the truck bed, hanging on to each other and whatever else they could for stability. None seemed too concerned about the possibility of being pitched out. They were laughing, whooping, firing pistols and deer rifles into the air.
Mr. Rainwater took the left turn practically on two wheels, throwing Solly against Ella and Ella against the passenger door. It was a quarter mile between the main road and the farmhouse. Mr. Rainwater kept the accelerator on the floorboard until they were even with a pasture where a large pit had been dug. He braked suddenly. The car skidded several yards before it came to a stop.
Mr. Rainwater got out and walked around the hood of the car. He removed his hat and tapped it against his thigh as he surveyed the mass grave. Solly seemed content to be tapping the toes of his shoes together, so Ella got out, too.
When Brother Calvin had recounted the incident at the Pritchetts’ farm, he’d painted vivid word pictures to describe the scene. But the preacher’s graphic depiction hadn’t adequately prepared Ella for what she saw. Several dozen scrawny cows and calves had been herded into the pit and shot through their heads, some several times. They’d fallen one on top of the other, legs tangled. It was a sickening sight.
“This is the damnedest thing.”
She realized that Mr. Rainwater was speaking mostly to himself, and, anyway, what could she possibly add? Shading her eyes against the glaring sun, she looked toward the grove of willow trees where two tractors with front loaders were parked. The men operating them were waiting in the shade before finishing their job of burial. One was smoking a cigarette. The other had pulled his hat low over his face, apparently dozing.
Ella had to remind herself that they, and the marksmen, too, were men doing the best they could to earn a living in the throes of a terrible economy. They hadn’t conceived the policy they were being paid to implement, and possibly understood it even less than she. They were just men, doing a tough job during tough times.
Nevertheless, she felt as though they were the enemy.
Turning away, she checked on Solly, who was still fixated on tapping his shoes together, then started walking up the incline toward the house. The sun felt blazing hot on the top of her head, reminding her that she’d left her hat on the seat of the car. But she didn’t go back for it.
A white picket fence enclosed the yard in front of the house. The house was also white, but it was now pockmarked here and there with black dots. Ella realized with shock that these were fresh bullet holes. When she reached the fence, she saw that the gate had been torn off the post and left to lie in a red ant bed. The ants were in an angry frenzy. Ella carefully stepped over what was left of the anthill.
Lola was sitting in the porch swing, her hands to her face, crying into her apron. Two solemn-faced children sat, one on either side of her. The boy, obviously the older, was dry-eyed but much too young for the embittered expression on his smooth face.
The little girl was resting one hand on her mother’s knee. Tear tracks were on her cheeks. She stopped crying as she watched Ella cross the yard and climb the steps onto the porch.
“Ollie.”
He was sitting on the top step, his beefy shoulders hunched, his work boots planted on the step below. A cigarette hung between his lips. Almost an inch of ash dangled from it. He was holding a Colt pistol in his right hand, but his grip was so loose, the gun seemed on the verge of slipping from his grasp. He was staring into near space, seemingly unaware of Ella’s approach, but when she spoke his name, he looked up at her with haunted eyes.
“Ella.” Coming to himself, he removed the cigarette from his mouth and reached beneath the step to grind it out, asking, “What are you doing out here?”
“I came … I thought you might be upset. I came to lend whatever support I can.”
His gaze shifted to the car parked in the lane, still a distance from the house. He spotted Mr. Rainwater where he stood staring forlornly at the crater in the pasture. “Who’s that?”
Mr. Rainwater couldn’t have heard them from that distance, but just as Ollie asked about him, he turned away from the gruesome sight and started walking toward the house.
“A distant cousin of Dr. Kincaid’s. He’s staying in town for a while. He’s boarding with me.”
They watched Mr. Rainwater as he walked up the lane and through the damaged gate. As he entered the yard, Ella was struck by how thin he was compared to Ollie.
“Mr. Thompson?” he said as he approached. “David Rainwater.”
Ollie stared at the right hand extended to him as though unsure what to do with it. Then he shifted the revolver to his left hand and shook hands. “Ollie Thompson.”
“I hate that we’re meeting under these circumstances.”
“Yeah, me, too.” With an effort, Ollie pulled himself up. Even when he was standing, it looked as though his shoulders were bearing a tremendous weight.
“We saw the cattle truck. Did they pay you fairly?” Mr. Rainwater asked.
“Going rate. Sixteen a head, plus a three-dollar bonus on each. Even for the calves. I’m glad to get it. I applied for the relief. But, hell, it was awful.”
Ella left the men to their solemn conversation and moved to the swing. Lola blotted her eyes and, looking up at Ella, gave her a weak version of her gap-toothed smile. She patted her son on the back. “Scoot,” she said to him. “Let Mrs. Barron sit down.”
The boy left the swing and jumped off the porch. Hands forced deep into the pockets of his overalls, he disappeared around the corner of the house.
“He’s upset,” Lola said as Ella sat down in the swing beside her. “I hope he’ll get over it.” Looking at Ollie, she added in an undertone, “I hope his daddy will.”
Ella smiled at the little girl, who gave her a shy smile back, then rested her head against Lola’s plump arm. “Where are your other children?”
“I called my mama this morning and told her to come get them and keep them until the cows are buried. These two are having a hard enough time with it. I didn’t want the younger two scarred for life by seeing something they can’t understand.”
“What happened?”
Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes. “The men with the tractors got here just after daylight and dug the hole. Then the men in the government cars arrived and sorted the herd. Loaded the healthier ones onto the truck. The rest…” She nodded toward the pit.
“Forty head,” Ollie said. There were tears standing in his eyes now. “I took money for them. I had no choice,” he said, his voice cracking. “I gotta make a loan payment or lose this place. This is my daddy’s place. I had to save it.”
He was unable to go on, so Lola continued for him. “Soon’s the government men got them into the pit, they started shootin’. Those poor mama cows and their babies.” She began crying in earnest. Ella placed an arm across her shoulders.
“What about the truckload of rabble-rousers?”
“We saw Conrad on the road,” Ella said, clarifying Mr. Rainwater’s question.
Ollie hawked up a wad of phlegm and spat it into the dirt off the edge of the porch. “White trash son’bitch.”
“Ollie,” Lola said, nodding toward their daughter.
“Well, he is. For all the money he and his daddy have, they’re trash. That whole branch of Ellises is rotten to the core. Ever’ damn last one of ’em.”
“What were they doing here?” Mr. Rainwater asked.
“What I think is, those government cowards brung them along just in case.” Ollie spat again.
“In case of what?” Mr. Rainwater asked.
“I tried bargaining with the head guy,” Ollie said angrily. “Told him he didn’t have to turn his shooters loose, that I’d get rid of those cows myself. Told him I’d take the best of the lot to shantytown. Let those folks have at ’em and get at least one good meal for their kids.
“But no. He said he had orders to shoot and bury those that were culled and that’s what he was going to do, and I couldn’t stop him. Fine, I said. You go ahead and be the government’s whore.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “’Course I’m a whore, too, I reckon, for taking his goddamn check.”
“Hush that talk right now, Ollie Thompson! You did what you had to.”
He looked at his wife remorsefully. “Don’t make it right, Lola. It don’t make me feel good about it.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “I guess the man didn’t take me at my word, because while they were shooting the cows, Conrad and his bunch had their guns trained on us, like we was going to try and stop them. When it was over, the government men left. But before Conrad peeled out, he and his cronies shot up my house.”
Mr. Rainwater’s eyes picked out several splintered bullet holes in the wood. “Why?”
“Meanness, I guess.” Ollie ran his sleeve under his nose. “Or else to scare me into doing nothin’, which is what I did.” He glanced in the direction of where his son had rounded the corner of the house. “Made my boy ashamed of me, I think.”
“What could you have done, Ollie?” Lola asked, her staunch loyalty showing. “Picked a fight with Conrad and got us all shot?”
“She’s right,” Mr. Rainwater said. “Based on what I’ve heard of this Ellis character, it would have been foolhardy to provoke him.”
Ella told them what had happened when Mr. Pritchett tried to face him down. “We had an eyewitness tell us how he grabbed the child right out of Mrs. Pritchett’s arms.”
“If he’d laid a hand on Lola or one of my kids, I’d’ve killed him,” Ollie said.
Lola must have noticed Ella looking at the pistol in Ollie’s hand. Nervously she scoffed. “He wouldn’t really shoot somebody.”
“Hell I wouldn’t,” the man declared. “Swear to God I would’ve.”
Speaking to Mr. Rainwater, Lola said, “One of the calves that was shot didn’t die right away. Conrad and his friends heard it bawling. They stood at the rim of the pit, laughing and chucking rocks down at it.”
“Like I said,” Ollie muttered. “Trash.”
“Ollie went inside the house to get his pistol and put the poor thing outta its misery. But those boys wouldn’t let Ollie go near that pit. Finally the calf died, I guess. He stopped bawling. Conrad and his friends piled into that pickup of his and left.”
“Party over.”
Ella noticed that whenever Mr. Rainwater was extremely angry, his lips barely moved when he spoke. He caught her looking at him now. She quickly averted her gaze to Ollie.
He said, “Them cows would have died soon anyway. I had no way to feed them. They were starving.” He swallowed. “But, let me tell you, seeing them just shot like that was something terrible to behold.”
He raised his chin toward the grove where the two men with the tractors were climbing back onto the seats of their machines. “All that’s left to do is spray on lye and shove dirt back into the hole.”
As they watched, the tractor motors were cranked to life. Making a racket and belching exhaust, the tractors started chugging toward the mass grave.
Ella laid her hand on Lola’s arm. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She raised her apron to her eyes to blot them and, to everyone’s surprise, began chuckling. Lowering the apron, she said, “You can get on your knees and thank the good Lord that Ollie didn’t shoot Conrad Ellis right between the eyes.”
Ella appreciated the other woman’s resilience and irrepressible humor. If Ella had experienced what Lola had that morning, she didn’t believe she could even attempt a laugh.
“I’m glad Ollie didn’t have to shoot that calf, either,” Lola added. “Butchering an animal for food is one thing. Killing one for any other reason, well, that’s somethin’ else. He had to put down an old horse once, and he cried hisself to sleep three nights in a row on account of it.”
She spoke with an affection produced by long-standing love for Ollie Thompson. The look the two exchanged was so personal, and spoke such volumes about how they felt about each other, that Ella felt like an intruder on an intensely private moment. She also felt a pang of envy.
The swing rocked gently as she stood up. “I ran out on Margaret, so I’d better get back to the house.”
“Thank you for coming,” Lola said.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Just coming was something.” Lola looked at Mr. Rainwater. “I ain’t actually made your acquaintance. I’m Lola. Thank you for driving Ella out here.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Thompson. I wish better times for you.”
Lola pulled her daughter close and kissed the top of her head. “Any better and I’d be spoiled, Mr. Rainwater.”
Obviously liking her and her optimistic outlook, he smiled.
Then they all heard it at the same time—a calf’s bawl coming from the pit.
“Oh, Lord, have mercy,” Lola moaned.
The little girl began to cry.
The boy, who’d run away, reappeared. This time his eyes were wet. He looked at the adults on the porch with renewed horror.
Ollie closed his eyes briefly, then started down the steps.
Mr. Rainwater reached out and grabbed his arm. “No. I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t wait for Ollie to either protest or concede, nor did he take the pistol but strode across the yard and through the gap in the fence, his long legs covering ground quickly.
The bawling became more frantic, a horrible sound. Ella gave Lola a quick hug and patted Ollie’s arm as she rushed past him, calling back, “Let me know if you need anything.” Then she rushed down the steps and through the gate.
By the time she reached the pit, Mr. Rainwater was going over the edge of it. The slope wasn’t all that steep, but the earth was loose and he was wearing dress shoes, not work boots like Ollie’s. He almost lost his footing several times on his descent into the mass grave. The tractors were almost upon it.
Ella watched helplessly as Mr. Rainwater awkwardly made his way toward the calf, whose hindquarters were trapped beneath a carcass, presumably that of its mother. The animal had a wound on its back that was bloody and already flyblown, but obviously not fatal.
One of the tractor drivers shouted, “Hey! What the hell? Get outta there!”
Mr. Rainwater ignored him and continued trying to find the best path through the carcasses to the injured calf.
“Crazy damn fool!” the other tractor driver yelled.
“I’m warning you, mister!” shouted the first.
Either Mr. Rainwater didn’t hear them or he was deliberately paying no attention to their implied threats. The calf continued to bawl. Mr. Rainwater picked up a boulder the size of a watermelon, then carried it, with apparent difficulty, over to the calf. He raised the stone high above his head, then dropped it onto the animal’s head, crushing its skull, killing it instantly, silencing the plaintive bawling.
Ella covered her mouth and pressed her arm across her middle.
Mr. Rainwater bent at the waist and placed his hands on his knees. He remained like that for several moments, until one of the tractor drivers shouted another curse at him and threatened him with a face full of lye.
Only then did he straighten up and, with an effort, begin climbing the incline of loose earth.
Ella, shaken by what she’d witnessed, turned toward the car. She drew up short, gasping hot air into her lungs, startled to see Solly standing beside the car, his stare fixed on the carcasses in the pit and the man climbing out of it.