“I ’member that were late September and all them acres of Bell cotton been picked, baled and levied. Fetched a fair price so that Mister Bell’s purse was chock-full for a change. That Saturday — naw, it were a Sunday. I remember ’cause I’d seen Neva in church that morning, with her two sisters. Preacher’d been in fine form, and the sun shine soft on the fields, the road and the faces of folk after church. Especially on Neva Bell. She was wearin’ something with little purple flowers. The wind danced with that dress like a beau. She was talking to her sisters, they heads leaning one to the other like does.
“I wasn’t but seventeen but I swore God if he let her look my way I wouldn’t sin a day in this life. God pitied a liar and she did just that. Turn and smile all big and pretty right into my eyes. Then her sister Charlotte, ’bout seventeen her own self, with them evergreen eyes and pretty red hair, look over too, and the two of them start giggling like young girls do. Then they walk on off. And that’s the last I seen of Neva Bell ever on this earth.
“Neva stayed late at her papa’s for Sunday supper since Mr. Leech been called to Austin for bank business. She sat round the hearth with her sisters and watched her daddy play ‘Clementine’ on his fiddle. Afterwards, Papa Bell he say he gone treat his three girls to a soda pop, so he give each a nickel and they take off walkin’ to the store. Many a day I wonder how he live without them nickels. The hollow they yet make in his pockets.
“It happened a mile from P & K. When Sheriff Levy on his black quarter horse, come upon them three girls. Him and eleven of his deputies. One, two, six won’t do. He need all eleven for the job. That night they hauled the two youngest girls, Charlotte and Girdie, off to the Newton County jail sayin’ they got to question them about Claud Jackson’s missing cattle. Girdie wasn’t but ten.
“That leave Neva alone with the rest. If she thought to run, she musta chose against it. They wasn’t no place on earth to go, so she laid her hope on mercy instead.
“Them lawmen drag her out to that hill past Marion Lake. It musta been then they slide on they white hoods. The moon, it was nearly full and bright. From up there Neva musta been able to see her daddy’s land. All them fresh-harvested acres. Maybe that’s where she fix her eyes while them Klux keep her out there for hours — doin’ what God ain’t got the muscle to look at.
“Then when they was done, out there on that hilltop, time stretch itself out like molasses. Crickets slow they crik. Owl drag her ‘hoo’s.’ That’s when Sheriff Levy click the safety off that Remington Sport rifle of his — the one he brag on so, its barrel catching a piece of moon. Then each every man take his firearm to his shoulder and aim at that child. What they see through them deluxe ta’get sights they think need shootin’? Only Neva Annetta Bell. Eighteen and a half year old. Knees on the dirt. Her hope broke like water round the edges of her skirt. But them the kind use to firing into gentle things.
“Twenty-seven blasts we count by the fallen shells next morning. They shoot her so many times couldn’t nobody recognize her. Then they strung her up. Her little body swinging from that choctaw jes over yonder. The front of her flower dress stiff with blood. We find a hood crumple behind them snakewood bushes. Papa Bell cut Neva down before the sun had the nerve to show itself. He carry her all the way to his porch rocker and held her like a five-year-old with a scraped knee.
“All of us knew who done it. Ain’t no secrets in Liberty. Not with Colored sweeping every White floor in the county, including the Mason Clubhouse, where Mr. Peter Leech hide himself away that whole night drinking his Wild Turkey. Seem he didn’t have no business trip after all, only a long talk in President Levy’s office instead, ’bout a White man’s responsibility, and how Viceroy jobs be mighty hard to come by. Then how, if he know what’s good for him, he best choose to stay put somewheres ’til sunrise. And that’s just what he done. Then come morning, he’s crying and slipping on his piss, saying how he sorry, how it ain’t his fault. Saying, ‘My little Bluebell,’ ’til he pass out cold on the floor.
“They let the other two girls out the Newton jail that next morning, Girdie’s eyes like beets, Charlotte, brassiere in her fist, red clay streaked down her back. Ten miles of shame them girls walk, past White folks’ Monday morning and they yellow school bus. When they make it home and see they sister, Girdie hiccup and faint dead-limp. Charlotte scream like ax cutting pine.
“For all of that, all that Devil harvest — that still weren’t the worst of it.
“It wasn’t ’til Neva made it to the Shephard’s Mortuary ’til anyone noticed the empty pool in her chest. Edwin Shephard seen what was missing, but since only White corpses went to county, he packed his secret in sawdust and wax between the girl’s cracked ribs. Then he clean and dress her. Since he couldn’t do nothing with her face, he closed that coffin up nice and sealed it with them silver nails. Took him five years to tell his mama what he seen, took his mama five minutes to spread the news like bacon grease all round the town.
“Say Klux do that evil to kill Neva’s spell over Leech. Me, I don’t know what they do in the black of them woods. What they put in they red neck pouches, and why we find all manner of beast with they entrails cut out.
“In God’s tightfisted mercy Papa Bell spent eight more years on this earth. He lived long enough to see Leech drink ’til he drown face deep in a mud puddle and for Sheriff Levy to fall off his quarter horse, and break his neck in a dry well.
“Mister Bell stared up at that choctaw ’til he was a five point star withering on his bed. When they close his eyes they last, folks say he yet looking at that tree.”
THE YARD seemed to hold its breath. Ephram’s head had grown clear leaning against the flat of the tire, turned towards the story and the teller. Mabel held her burned out filter between curled fingers. She hadn’t taken a single puff.
K.O. paused and turned to Pete. “Mr. Jeffrey, I got to thank you for tending to that telling.” Pete nodded back and gently kicked a bit of dust into the fire. He hadn’t been called by his proper name in nearly fifteen years.
Jeb broke the spell with, “So that crazy gal up there got Charlotte Bell for a mama?”
“And a jailhouse for a daddy.” Old Pete let out a weary breath, “Charlotte had her baby girl Ruby in June that next year. They say she willed that baby brown. Eatin’ coffee grounds, chocolate cake, even brown eggs from a black hen. Wouldn’t eat nothing white while she was with child. Sure enough, out come that gold-brown baby girl, Ruby. Prettiest child in Liberty. Even jealous mamas had to admit that. Still Charlotte up and run off to New York City when Ruby wasn’t yet a year, like she chased by the Devil — ain’t been seen alive nor dead since.”
Gubber scowled. “Always say that Ruby better off locked up at Dearing.”
K.O. cut Gubber with, “They all kinds of crazy. Some folk drink theyselves to stupid. Others so empty, gluttony take they belly hostage. And some get so full up with hate, it like to crack they soul. Hell, ain’t nothing strange when Colored go crazy. Strange is when we don’t.”
Then K.O. ushered Jeb up with his words. “Go on boy. Mabel ain’t got all night to waste.” Mabel stooped just a bit, then straightened her shoulders, spit and said, “Come on little big man.” Jeb wobbled up to the porch and followed Mabel into the house. The door swung open, letting sound and smoke into the night air.