Harvest The Dust

By Adolphus A Ward

As a young boy Jacob Tallman witnessed a black man being burned alive. That experience planted seeds of fear deep inside him. Those seeds sprouted into weeds that grew into stalks of feigned kindness and hidden shame. It took a white man, entering Jacob's house, knocking his wife to the floor and firing a shotgun at his son for Jacob to finally cut the roots of his fear.
Jacob and Clara Tallman married young and had four children, two girls and two boys. Jacob's folks were sharecroppers. Clara's mother was a domestic worker and her white father a prominent doctor in the area. Everyone knew but no one, black or white, talked about it in public – especially within Clara's hearing. Because of Clara's near-white skin color, her mother never accepted Jacob – whose skin was black. Clara and Jacob had lost one son in a tragic drowning accident. When their remaining son is killed in a gambling dispute Clara could find no rest on the land. She leaves Arkansas taking their youngest daughter, and her grandson, with her and away from an illicit relationship.
Jacob's remaining daughter, a schoolteacher, falls in love with a man and decides to also leave the land. Jacob is left alone, committed to working the land and hoping for Clara's return. She does return. And the two of them work the land together.

Stephen Sachs
Artistic Director, Fountain Theatre
Los Angeles
Had this to say about this magnificent story
"Written with deep affection, Harvest the Dust is a heartfelt tale of a farming family planting seeds of love, hope and self-respect in an unsure world. Reading Harvest the Dust is like savoring an old family scrapbook filled with unforgettable images of folks and homeland you get to know well and love."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adolphus A Ward
• Release date: Oct 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781425774127

Adolphus A Ward

AUTHOR PAGE Adolphus left a management position in the auto industry in 1984. After being passed over the second time for a promotion he decided he'd stop waiting for others to give him opportunities – instead he would create them. Near age 50, he decided to do what he really wanted to do for the rest of his life. His five children were adult and on their own – he was divorced. So he turned a property and some investments into cash, stuck the money in CDs and set out to become a professional fiction writer and actor. Already in community theatre since the early 1970s, he set out first to learn fiction writing. He learned to write fiction while working on his first Family Fiction novel, "Harvest The Dust." Since his Harvest publication, Adolphus has published each of the stories in the trilogy as an independent writer. Adolphus has held staff positions in business, industry, government, and education, and holds a MS Degree in education. He is now retired and living in Reseda, California and devotes his time to writing and acting. His first home is Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Trilogy print-books are available at his website: www.adolphusward.net, and various book-fairs.

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PREFACE

It is Colt, Arkansas the mid-1930s, a time when the Great Depression still held the nation in its grip; when President Roosevelt's New Deal was struggling to bring some relief to the American People; when drought spread a quilt of dust across the Southern Great Plains; when the staple crop was cotton; when water came from a hole in the ground. The plow, the mule, and human labor were the chief implements of agriculture. People traveled on the backs of horses or in wagons pulled by them – or simply walked. The automobile was an anomaly.

Black folks too struggled with the pain caused by the depression while at the same time enduring a yoke of oppression. That yoke was Jim Crow Laws – laws that were sanctioned by the Congress of our United States. Those laws gave passive and often active consent for brutality and murder. The crimes committed under those laws still reside in the minds and influences the behavior of black folks and others, and are passed on from generation to generation – even when an individual is unaware.

CHAPTER 1 – may 1934

My name is Calvin Tallman. I'm telling this story as I remember hearing and living it.

A small, barefoot boy and his father rushed along the country road trying to beat the setting sun home. Their rushing feet didn't stop the sun from falling into the trees and summoning the darkness while they were still on the road. The coming moon had taken the place of the sun and given them enough light to mark the way. Night had enveloped them when the thunder of horses made them stop and stand still on the road. They waited as the rushing hooves grew louder. They waited till they could see the gauzy silhouettes of riders and the tiny flickers of light that danced about their heads. Fear filled the man's chest and spilled onto the boy causing him to wet his pants. Panic drove them from the road to be concealed in the safety of the trees. The earth-shaking-rumble of the riders caused the boy to cling to his father's leg. They stood concealed in the woods and watched the riders go by then stop near a group of white people gathered on the road: men, women – some with sucking babies – boys and girls, clustered near a Negro chained to a tree. The scent of kerosene filled the air as it was poured on the brush piled about the Negro. A torch was dropped and the barefoot boy's death-screams exploded with the brush. The white people turned to see him standing there. Like a flock of bats from a cave they flew toward him in a feeding rage. The boy reached for his father and found he was alone. He tried to run but could not move. The bats came closer, belching the fire that would melt his body like it did the Negro. The grass, the brush and trees around the boy burst into violent flames. The boy cringed from the hellish heat as everything about him began to melt away to ash. His screams were met with shrieks of laughter and more fire.

His body wet with sweat and cringing from the flames of his dream Jacob is shaken awake by his wife, Clara. The soft light of the lamp next to their bed enabled Jacob to reenter the world of reality. A sudden flash of lightening and clap of thunder caused the quicksand of his recurring dream to again suck at his soul. Ghost-shadows of that dream pulsed about in his mind with the flickering flame of the lamp and strobes of lightening. He filled his lungs with air and slowly let it out releasing himself from the haunting lure of the ghost-shadows: knowing they would claim him once again. He shook himself and rubbed the sweat from his face as Clara wrapped her arms about him and laid her head against his chest. They lay there together in the quiet light of the lamp till the heart of the storm had past. The pounding of the rain had ceased to be angry and was now pacified, almost gay and playful on the tin roof. Jacob stirred, unfurled Clara's arms from about him, sat for a moment on the side of the bed before removing the wet bed clothes, splashing his face and body with water from a basin, toweling and dressing. He took the chamber pot from its place next to the bed and was at the bedroom door before he said a word to Clara. Don't mean to keep bringin' them ghost-shadows to you. The regret in Jacob's voice brought Clara to his side. She moved to face him, touched her own lips with finger tips and then his. I wasn't there so I don't know how I'd feel. But I'm here now and ain't nothing you do gonna send me away. I don't need no apology, I need you.

My grand-poppa, Jacob, opened the front door and found himself looking at the face of Claude Hammon who was about to knock. For a moment the two men stood on the porch in silence, watching the passing rain. Grand-poppa stood just over six feet. Claude Hammon was about four inches shorter, but something made him seem about as tall as Grand-poppa. Perhaps it was the way he stood with his stomach poked out, chin tilted upward as though looking at something in the clouds – expecting it to come down. Without the sun, and in spite of his rain-hat, his face was a bright, pale white. Jacob's blackness shone as bright but the way he stood, shoulders drooping, chin lowered, knees slightly bent, made him seem shorter than his tallness. He looked as though he carried a heavy load.

Jacob set the pot aside before speaking. You didn't cross the Military Road in this rain just to pass the time of day, Mister Hammon.

Jacob, sometimes a man ought to be told when he's doin' the wrong thing.

Mister Hammon –

Hold on now, Jacob.

Jacob didn't like it when Claude stopped his words in his throat but he let him go on as always.

It can work out for the best. You gon' be late gettin' your crop in and that's a fact. You already in the hole; you done a lot with this land, I give you that, but it ain't gon' ever pay off for you.

What you want it for then?

Claude looked at Jacob as if he should know the answer to his question. He waited for Jacob to say something before going on.

'cause it was mine from the start. Fact is it's been in my family goin' on back to my granddaddy. We had all this land, clean to the Languile River.

Jacob didn't want to hear the story again so he decided to speak his mind with care. Now that I done broke my back turnin' it into somethin' you up and decide you want it back. Mister Hammon, sir, I bought it when it was next to nothin', turned it into somethin', and I'm stayin' on my place.

I'll pay you what you paid plus a little for what you done. I aim to have it back, Jacob, said Claude, leaving the porch to mount his horse, I aim to have it back. He spurred his horse close to where Jacob stood, lowered his head to let the rain drip from his hat, then said, Better check on your sow, looks a little sickly to me.

Jacob watched Claude's galloping horse kick clods of mud in the air and waited till he was out of sight before hurrying to the outhouse, where he left the pot, then quickly made his way to the hog pen. He opened the gate and knelt next to the convulsing sow. Its breathing was labored and lasted only a short time before she laid still in death.

From one end of the breakfast table Grand-poppa looked at us: my Mama, my Aunt and Uncle. Grand-mama Clara sat at the other end. Even when I was a young boy I could see she was an attractive woman to most people – not just her face but the whole of her. Her skin color and hair texture were such that she could easily have passed for white. All she would have had to do was to say, I'm white, and move from among Negroes. The top of Clara's head touched Jacob's chin. Her body was full; and a discerning person knew she was a physically strong woman. The lines in her face and her demeanor told them her strength went all the way to her soul. This is the way a family ought to be, said grand-poppa, looking at Uncle Jesse. He waited for Jesse to give some sign of agreement. Seeing none, he lowered his head for the prayer. Gracious Father, we humbly thank thee for the nourishment of our bodies. Bless the food and the hands that prepared it, in the name of Jesus, amen.

Jacob looked at his family and dreaded telling them about the sow. Somethin' y'all ought to know, he finally said, the sow kept in the fattenin' pen out back is dead.

How, asked Clara, when?

She was alright when I fed her yesterday, said Jesse.

By the look of what come out of her, said Jacob she got hold to somethin'; I don't know what.

Poppa, said Annie Mae, that's the second hog in as many months.

Claude Hammon was around with the first, said Clara. Here he is again and another hog is dead.

Jacob looked at his family and raised both hands. We cain't go nowhere with that so let’s stop it right here.

Jesse shook his head and said, We cain't go nowhere 'cause you don't want it to go nowhere.

Jacob's voice was firm and final as he said, "Let that talk stop here and now so we can eat this good food before it gets cold. Jacob took a hot biscuit, used his fork to open it, added butter to each half, watched it soak in, carefully placed the halves together, took a bite and slowly began to chew. Grand-mama Clara smiled as he began to move his head from side to side.

If y'all don't mind, he said, I'll take all these hot biscuits and y'all can keep the rest of this good food. I'll just make my meal on sorghum molasses and hot buttered biscuits.

I like biscuits too, Grand-poppa, I said.

Oh you do, do you?

Yes sir.

Well Calvin, why don't you and me just sneak on out of here to the barn with these biscuits and eat'em up before they get cold. Jacob hid his mouth from the others, pretending they couldn't hear him.

All right, Grand-poppa, I said, with the wrong hand to the corner of my mouth.

Before you two leave, said Clara, one of you better learn how to make my biscuits so when you run out you won't have to come beggin' me to cook some more.

You cook good biscuits, Calvin?

I ain't never made none, Grand-poppa.

Maybe we just better sit back down here and eat everything on our plates, said Jacob.

Besides checking on the health of our hogs, what did Claude Hammon want this early in the morning? asked Clara.

A leopard don't change its spots.

"What's got him so bent on getting' our land back.

He ain't never stopped wantin' it – you know that – even when he had his hot hands on the cash money we paid him. That's the only thing made him turn loose the deed. This land's gon' be worth a lot one day – a lot more than what we paid. Hell will freeze before that happens, said Jesse.

Why do you say that? Jacob asked.

Poppa, this land ain't worth what you paid for it. If he wants it back bad enough to kill our hogs let him have it.

Is you a fool? asked Jacob, his voice beginning to rise.

Jacob – said Clara, trying to stop the growing tension.

He waved off Clara's interruption and continued. You talkin' like a fool, boy. You talkin' like you don't know what we've done to make what we got. It's a whole lot more than what we started with. Why do you think Hammon's talkin'' 'bout givin' us more'n what we paid?

I'd take it, said Jesse, before he changes his mind. If it was me I'd take the money and run

Jacob caught the hot coals of Jesse's words and made the fire in his even hotter. Boy, I'd get up out my grave before I let you give our land away.

I'd sell it! Jesse said without a pause.

Jacob's pointing finger turned into a clenched fist as he said, I'll see you dead and in your grave before one acre of this land gets back in the hands of Claude Hammon.

Chapter 2 – The teacher

My Aunt Annie Mae had kept busy in the year since her return. She found a teaching job near the house, enough work on the farm to keep busy and had refused the company of men. At first her refusals grew out of old pain that had turned into hostility. Later it came only from the fact that she didn't see anyone, who was available, with an ounce of what she wanted in a man. So her life was made up of teaching, working around the farm, the church, and very little else. She wasn't feeling particularly unhappy when she met Buddy. It wasn't even a meeting in the usual sense. No one had introduced them. They had never even laid eyes on each other before that day.

She first saw him entering the store as she was leaving. Probably just another good-looking man that ain't worth an ounce, she had muttered. She was walking along the road home when she heard a car coming behind her. She moved to the side of the road leaving plenty room to pass. The car slowed then moved alongside her.

I'm goin' your way, Miss Tallman. said the driver. Can I give you a lift? Annie didn't acknowledge him. Ridin' in this car is a whole lot better than walkin' on that hot, dusty road. I don't believe we've ever met, said Annie, without looking at him. If you'd stop for a minute I can fix that. Annie continued to walk without responding.

The folks back at the store told me you're a friendly, good-looking lady. Annie continued to walk and the car stayed with her. If you won't ride just tell me if this road will take me into Pine Tree. When you get to the Military Road, turn left, said Annie,