Caleb’s face was so red as to appear burnt, and when he tried to speak, strings of saliva formed at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t manage a single word.
“You must tell us what happened,” George said.
Prentiss had his head above the mess of blood and grime on his brother’s chest, pleading maniacally with the lifeless body.
“Now we got plans, Landry, we got good plans, solid plans, so you get yourself up now. You ain’t the lazy one, I’m the lazy one, you get yourself up.”
He moaned, and grabbed at Landry’s chest like an infant might grab at a mother’s breast.
“Look at your new pants,” he said. “How you gonna dirty your pants right after you got on me about mine? Where do you get off?” he asked, and kept on asking. “Where do you get off?”
Soon his anger was such that he was slamming his brother’s chest and demanding he respond, his pain so outsize that it seemed it might expand to take up the entire forest, the entire world.
All the while, Caleb would not answer George, would only stare ahead as if whatever had happened had rendered him mute. George shook him repeatedly and said he knew he was not capable of this, begging that he acknowledge having no part, until finally Caleb wagged his head back and forth, an agreement that he hadn’t done it.
“Then who?” George demanded, overcome. “Who would possibly do this?”
Caleb still would not speak. He looked through the forest, as if beyond the trees, and there was only one place that rested there. George had no idea why his son had been in the woods—that part he would get to later—but he knew where his son’s eyes were leading him: directly toward the lone man who might have motivation to commit an act so heinous, for he had caused so much grief in Landry’s life before.
He left Caleb and Prentiss behind with Landry’s body and set off for Ted Morton’s property at a pace he had seldom known. He did not go around Morton’s rail fence, but climbed it, miserably, and slid down the other side, giving himself a moment to recover from the effort. He was exhausted by the time he’d walked through the cotton fields, but his blood still flowed with rage no matter where it led him. If it was necessary, if it was just, he would bring Ted Morton to the same end that had befallen Landry.
The stalks were a foot high around him and a scattering of men and women scraped at the topsoil, perhaps for the last time before bloom. They looked up at him with some confusion before returning to work, a few giving him nods—smiles even—which he did not return, considering the nature of his visit. He was before the old slave cabins when Gail Cooley appeared, almost unrecognizable with the flecks of mud on his face, his pants rolled up to his shanks, and the wide-brimmed hat shading his eyes.
It was odd to see him without Ted Morton leading him this way and that upon a horse, and it appeared to give Gail great consternation to start the discussion on his own.
“Mr. Walker,” he said. “I seen you walking through the fields.”
“Where is Ted?”
“In the fields himself.”
“On a Sunday?”
“We don’t got the hands to take many days off. He says next Sunday, maybe, if we get all that cotton scraped.”
“Take me to him.”
Gail balled up his face, seeming to negotiate whether to accept direction from George. But he acquiesced and told George to follow him. They came upon Ted in one of the furrows, cutting grass on the topsoil alongside his son, William. Ted was as battered as Gail appeared. The work seemed to have shrunk him, yet he still was huffing out orders as if he owned the workers before him. When he made out George, he stopped for a moment, and the people around him did the same. He and George sized each other up.
“I will give you this one chance to confess to what you did,” George said. “You claim to be an honest man. A good man. Then you will admit to your crime.”
Ted unbuttoned the top of his shirt and fanned himself with his hat.
“George, I ain’t got the slightest clue what you’re talking about. But I got half a mind to shove this hoe right up your ass.”
“Always voicing one threat or another.”
“I’d be right glad to turn it into a reality for you. I’ll lay you out on my knee and stick the handle of this hoe so far up your behind you’ll be able to turn your soil with a squat and a shuffle.”
It was an infuriation built up over a lifetime, but still, the sudden rage in George was a surprise to everyone. He rushed Ted with a ferocious howl. Ted’s eyes went bright for a split second. He grabbed George by the shoulder, stepped out of the way, and let the old man’s momentum carry him to the ground.