Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) by Shelia P. Moses Page A

wheel of Mr. Charlie’s car to drive it home.
    Uncle Buddy does manage to yell, “Take my niece to my daddy’s house.”
    I watch as the sheriff drives away with Uncle Buddy and drive in the opposite direction with me and Mr. Charlie’s car. At least they aren’t keeping Mr. Charlie’s car. I cry harder than I did at my cousin June Bug’s funeral as they disappear with Uncle Buddy. All the way home, I picture them beating up my uncle Buddy, like they do in the cowboy pictures. It’s so dark. I can’t even see the cotton.
    When we get to the house, I am wet all the way to my panties with tears and sweat. The lawmandrives up to Jones Property blowing his horn. When he sees Ma run outside, he gets his white behind out and lets me out of the backseat. He had me locked in like I am a prisoner.
    Ma screaming like a crazy person.
    â€œLord, child, what happen? Where’s Buddy?”
    I can’t get a word out. I fall on Ma’s arms like a newborn hungry baby.
    Ma turns to the lawman.
    â€œWhere is my brother?”
    He just looks at her like she is a piece of dirt.
    â€œJail.”
    With that one word, he and the other lawman drive off and leave us standing there.
    Weak, Grandpa makes his way on the back porch and so does Grandma. Mr. Charlie, who is still there, follows them onto the porch. Grandpa unlocks his smokehouse door and pulls out his rifle. Miss Doleebuck came over while I was away, and she comes out behind Mr. Charlie.
    â€œWhere’s my boy, Pattie Mae?”
    â€œThey took him to jail, Grandpa, and he didn’t do nothing wrong.”
    â€œGet your gun, Charlie.”
    Mr. Charlie asks no questions. He gets his cane and goes in the trunk of his car. His shotgun is longer than Grandpa’s is.
    Grandma and Miss Doleebuck go into their control mood.
    Grandma speaks first.
    â€œPut them guns away right now. Braxton Jones, you know you ain’t well and Charlie, you ain’t used a gun since the months before Sunday. Who you going to shoot? The law?”
    No one moves. Grandma speaks again.
    â€œNow, Mer, you go over to Mr. Bay’s and give him a quarter to use the phone. Call the law and find out what they charged my boy with.”
    â€œBut, Ma Babe.”
    â€œDon’t Ma Babe me, gal! Go on!”
    It is like Ma is five again. She is walking across Rehobeth Road to Mr. Bay’s, mad as she can be. I know Ma don’t want to go. She hates asking Mr. Bay for anything. But she will do anything for her Buddy. Grandma looks at me and reaches out for my hand.
    â€œCome in the house, child. This will pass.”
    She nods for everyone else to follow her. Mr. Charlie and Grandpa walk slowly behind the women folks. They talk low. The only word I can hear good is “Masons.” The men folks on Rehobeth Road don’t talk much about their organization. I don’t know how you become a member, but I know Grandpa and Mr. Charlie go to meeting once a month and they never let the women folks hear anything about what they are doing.
    Don’t let a Mason die! Them Masons come from everywhere to a Mason’s funeral. And they don’t let nobody carry the body of a Mason that ain’t a Mason. I’ve only been to one Masons’ funeral. That was June Bug’s daddy, Uncle Pete, who died the year before June Bug drowned. The Masons might have been sad, but Aunt Rosie wasn’t. They were divorced and she said, “Peace go with him and joy behind him.”
    The grown folks take their places on the front porch. I run to the kitchen to get a mason jar to ease drop.
    Ma is back in ten minutes from Mr. Bay’s houseand the grown folks’ talk begins as I go to my room with my jar. Yes, we are spending another night on Jones Property. Ma tells them, “Ain’t nothing we can do until Monday morning when the courthouse opens.”
    My body will not stay awake, not even to ease drop. Our catfish Friday done turned