Through Darkest America-Extended Version by Neal Barrett Jr Page B
Authors: Neal Barrett Jr
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dozen or so ranchers walked in at night to be there. Howie was allowed to sit in, though none of the other men brought their sons, figuring too many people tromping about, even after dark, might get the soldiers to thinking.
"It was a damn fool thing to do," Papa told Howie's mother later.
"Now, I don't see that it was, Milo," she said gently. "Men need to get together when there's trouble."
"Men need to do something when there's trouble," Papa grumbled. His eyes turned sullen. "You know what the meeting come to, Ev ? Truly? It showed us all together what we were too ashamed to admit to ourselves. That there's nothing can be done. That we can talk all we like about what ought to be—it ends up we can't do anything at all ' cept what we're told to do."
Papa brought his lips together and looked down at his hands. "'Less we want to get burned out and maybe hung in our own front yards. I'll tell you, Ev , it don't make a man feel too tall . . ."
They'd meet the War Tax, everyone decided, and not give the soldiers cause for trouble. But that wouldn't be the end of it. They might not be able to undo what had happened at Jess Clayton's—not now, anyway. But there'd be a time. The government had gone too far, and there'd be a reckoning, for sure. Just what that would be, and when, nobody said. But it raised the spirit of the meeting some, and no one went home feeling like they'd been whipped and drug across the ground.
At first, Papa had Howie and the hands gather War Tax goods in the big barn near the house—but it wasn't long before he stormed out dark as thunder telling everyone to get that stuff out of his good dry barn—that Jacob and his soldiers could just as well do their stealing off the ground. He didn't intend to take care of what wasn't his anymore.
So they hauled the sacks of grain and corn and potatoes, and the bags of stock feed and other items called for, and stacked everything in the open, past the big stand of oaks, fifty yards from the house. The fourteen mares and ten young bucks were kept hobbled in the stock pit near the barn and would be staked out with the rest of the goods when the time came.
Howie knew the moving had made his father feel better. Like he was doing something, anyway—giving in, but letting the soldiers know he didn't want to. It was the only time he ever heard Papa get truly angry at his mother. She remarked that it might not be a good idea leaving everything out in the weather—that they could be asking for trouble they didn't need.
"Damn, Ev !" he exploded, his face turning crimson, "what's a man supposed to do—lie down and let ' em stomp you, then turn over so's they can get the other side? Hell, woman . .." His hands trembled into big fists. "What you want me to do! "
Howie's mother turned ash-white, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. Papa went to her and folded her in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Howie left the house quickly and didn't listen anymore, but he knew she cried a long time after that.
"When you figure they'll come, Papa?"
Howie stood with his father on the porch and followed his gaze to the dark horizon. There was no sunset—the clouds just darkened to match the night and set a chill in the air.
"I figure tomorrow, maybe," said Papa.
"And Colonel Jacob? He'll be with the soldiers?" "Stands that he will, son."
Howie thought about that. All he could remember about soldiers were the ones he'd seen in the parade at Bluevale . They seemed like good, proud men; no one you'd figure on burning barns and hanging people. Maybe they were different soldiers—or maybe it was like the stranger who'd come by said; the war and being hungry did things to people, and they weren't the same anymore.
"It'll be over," Papa broke into his thoughts, resting his hand on Howie's shoulder. "It'll be over tomorrow likely, and we can get back to running a ranch like we're supposed to." He laughed in his throat and turned Hovvie's chin where he could see him.
"It was a damn fool thing to do," Papa told Howie's mother later.
"Now, I don't see that it was, Milo," she said gently. "Men need to get together when there's trouble."
"Men need to do something when there's trouble," Papa grumbled. His eyes turned sullen. "You know what the meeting come to, Ev ? Truly? It showed us all together what we were too ashamed to admit to ourselves. That there's nothing can be done. That we can talk all we like about what ought to be—it ends up we can't do anything at all ' cept what we're told to do."
Papa brought his lips together and looked down at his hands. "'Less we want to get burned out and maybe hung in our own front yards. I'll tell you, Ev , it don't make a man feel too tall . . ."
They'd meet the War Tax, everyone decided, and not give the soldiers cause for trouble. But that wouldn't be the end of it. They might not be able to undo what had happened at Jess Clayton's—not now, anyway. But there'd be a time. The government had gone too far, and there'd be a reckoning, for sure. Just what that would be, and when, nobody said. But it raised the spirit of the meeting some, and no one went home feeling like they'd been whipped and drug across the ground.
At first, Papa had Howie and the hands gather War Tax goods in the big barn near the house—but it wasn't long before he stormed out dark as thunder telling everyone to get that stuff out of his good dry barn—that Jacob and his soldiers could just as well do their stealing off the ground. He didn't intend to take care of what wasn't his anymore.
So they hauled the sacks of grain and corn and potatoes, and the bags of stock feed and other items called for, and stacked everything in the open, past the big stand of oaks, fifty yards from the house. The fourteen mares and ten young bucks were kept hobbled in the stock pit near the barn and would be staked out with the rest of the goods when the time came.
Howie knew the moving had made his father feel better. Like he was doing something, anyway—giving in, but letting the soldiers know he didn't want to. It was the only time he ever heard Papa get truly angry at his mother. She remarked that it might not be a good idea leaving everything out in the weather—that they could be asking for trouble they didn't need.
"Damn, Ev !" he exploded, his face turning crimson, "what's a man supposed to do—lie down and let ' em stomp you, then turn over so's they can get the other side? Hell, woman . .." His hands trembled into big fists. "What you want me to do! "
Howie's mother turned ash-white, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. Papa went to her and folded her in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Howie left the house quickly and didn't listen anymore, but he knew she cried a long time after that.
"When you figure they'll come, Papa?"
Howie stood with his father on the porch and followed his gaze to the dark horizon. There was no sunset—the clouds just darkened to match the night and set a chill in the air.
"I figure tomorrow, maybe," said Papa.
"And Colonel Jacob? He'll be with the soldiers?" "Stands that he will, son."
Howie thought about that. All he could remember about soldiers were the ones he'd seen in the parade at Bluevale . They seemed like good, proud men; no one you'd figure on burning barns and hanging people. Maybe they were different soldiers—or maybe it was like the stranger who'd come by said; the war and being hungry did things to people, and they weren't the same anymore.
"It'll be over," Papa broke into his thoughts, resting his hand on Howie's shoulder. "It'll be over tomorrow likely, and we can get back to running a ranch like we're supposed to." He laughed in his throat and turned Hovvie's chin where he could see him.
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