The note was written in a scrawl

Chapter 1) The Love Card 
Contents   Next chapter

It was a peculiar accident, the way it happened.
The morning was exhilarating to that point, with the dew burning off and the sun getting higher.
The fingers of warmth finally reached Maggie's face, but now she was thrust off balance and suddenly on the ground where she sat undignified on her rump in the leaves.

She was stuck. Caught by the ankle in a hole by a root.
She had watched Carl drive by on the tractor a while back, but he was long gone to the fields and now she couldn't stand up.

She should have known better than getting distracted watching for snakes because you wouldn't see them anyway.
It was the river that enticed her to walk down from the hill where she waited for nearly an hour.
The suitor who promised to meet that day never showed up.

You couldn’t forget Maggie.
She was beautiful. Tall.

She was only there because of the note.
Intrigue was not one of the things she liked.
Except there was a mystery about it.
The note felt warm in her hand. The words made her laugh.

The handwriting was a bit of a scrawl, written in brown ink.
The brown ink was unusual, and the handwriting not anybody she recognized.
Even so, it might've been someone she knew.
It was worth the chance to go.

The note. It spoke of romance. She would meet a man.
Next year would be her senior year. She was almost 17 and expected to have things settled by now.
Quite popular at school. The other girls liked her, but there might have been one or two that didn’t.
The boys knew her. But not like that, she was a nice person.

She liked the boys but mostly she liked one more than the others.
The man most in her eye was Tad. They looked forward to seeing each other, and going to parties and social events.
He was popular too, and together they were admired by teachers and parents alike for the standard of courtship they embraced.
While she hoped the note came from him, the handwriting didn't match.
She was realistic. Tad might be the one, but she was holding herself for a man with a good job.

Her mother had five children, two of them died young, leaving the family haunted in sadness.
The death of her younger brother was still fresh.
He was 5 years old. She remembered the turmoil of his fever. Her mother's wails and sobs couldn't be washed off that room, even with a new coat of oil.
Her older sister recovered.

Her middle sister, Joddie was numbed.
They used to have such fun together, Maggie and Joddie, but the death changed Joddie. After that, she was a beautiful girl, but seemed lost.

The note said ‘they would meet between the trees.’
It had to be the Live Oaks at the top of the hill where she stood.
She loved those trees and the long branches that swung down touching the ground and then back up.
The note must have come from someone who knew those trees held happy memories, when her family ventured far from town for picnics and adventure.

When another half hour passed, she realized maybe nobody was coming. Oh well.
Who would play such a joke?
She moved over to the biggest tree sitting on one of the low branches.
That's when she saw Carl moving along the dirt road in the field below.
He was a trusted Negro, and worked around town for some of the men including her father.

Her father, Joel Winston, was an important man in town. He owned the feed store. He was a decent quiet strong person, and expected a rigid backbone from those around him.
Most Tuesdays, a railcar arrived at the siding and the men would unload bags into the storeroom.
In the front was a loading dock. Trucks would back up to the platform to load feed and fertilizer.
The men would talk.
That's the way it was done in her beautiful little town of Trinity.
She was born there, and it would be her home forever.

Her oldest sister, Bonnie, got married the year before to an ambitious man, Howard Ray. He went to work at the feed store with her father to learn the business and become a partner.
Howard and Bonnie moved into the corner house down the street. The first baby was due in August.

Her middle sister, Joddie chose a different way. She talked ordinary and wore her mother's Christian cross but then she ran away and married an older man.
That man, Richard Bob Stewart, was a strange one. Gaudy and loud. Maggie felt like cold flesh when he was around. He called her Maybe, and was constantly confused about proper names and who he was married to.

Her parents pretended things were fine. But they weren’t, and now Maggie was the last child left in that big empty house.
Maggie worried what would happen to her mother after she moved out. There was pressure for her to stay, but Maggie refused to see herself trapped in the heartache.

Their saddened house looked perfect from the outside. It was among the highly-styled, magnificent homes at the top of North Peachtree overlooking the town's three church steeples.
The streets were paved with brick, laid by Negroes from Blacktown during the Civil War, back before the Union bastards freed them.

Maggie knew the Negroes were supposed to be free. Maybe the governor acted like they should vote or get paid, but they were as likely to work for handouts and a whipping instead of a paycheck. And they ought not to break farm equipment or start trouble because a Negro found dead along the tracks was not news.
There were white people that did care, but feared to speak for justice. Unless you could afford a new barn after the fire, but liable another fire would follow.

There was a grocery store, dry goods, the meat market, and Woolworth's around the courthouse.
Down toward the railroad were shops and small factories that repaired shoes and built furniture.
The Southern Augusta rail line, stockyards and grain elevator lay closer to the river.
The main highway blew in from the East, crossed over the river at the new cement bridge, and split into two roads on the other side.
Seemed like there were too many cars and the highway brought nothing but dust and dirt and strangers anymore.

About three miles south of Trinity, along on an old dirt road, next to the river was Blacktown. The Negroes were free to live there, as long as they paid the rent.

White people were not supposed to go there because it was too dangerous. The hard men about town took care of that business.
Her father was not much concerned.
He had a couple Negroes working at the feed store.
Maggie didn't talk to them.
And they better not look at her. They knew that.

Maggie started to get nervous standing alone at the top of the hill, but felt strong and bold. The river was just a quarter-mile below.

She told herself, the note was a joke, so enjoy the day.
Somebody must be laughing pretty hard. Forget them.
She imagined that her suitor had his arm around her and together they would walk to the river, and it would be the man who wanted her hand in marriage.

The river had a smell about it.
The birds were flying about. The water was up, not quite flooding, but it was brown and swirling as it washed away the farmland.

Then she caught her ankle.
It was a soft spot where the old branches below were covered with dirt that gave way just as she stepped.

She freed herself, but the pain was so fierce that she had to put her leg up on a log.
The dirt road was yards away.
Maybe Carl would come back.

All she could do was sit and scooch toward the road.
She could hear her mother’s words, well if that's what you got, that's where you are.

The breeze stirred into a sudden gust and a few clouds started to come in, and that's when she saw the silhouette of a man standing by the river looking at her.
More than 2 miles from home. Nobody knew she was there.
Oh this was so foolish. She scolded herself for being romantic instead of practical.

If only she could get up and run away.
The man was coming now. He was large and she couldn't see who it was.
In desperation and dwarfed by fear, she shouted, I’m Maggie Winston, as if the name would ward off evil.
It might have worked excet the reply came back, it’s River Boy.

Oh no. How could it be worse? It was River Boy.
She knew him. He was bad.
He looked white but he lived in Blacktown. He was always dirty didn't come to school very often.
Nobody talked to him. He sat in class and said nothing.
People around town said he fished with Negroes, and stole chickens. That much was known.
People saw him out at night walking around Trinity. There were lots of stories.

Now he was looming over her with his dirty torn shirt, standing like a Negro and smelling like dead fish.

He said, hi Maggie what you doing? Looks like you caught your ankle. Need to be careful along the river. Lots of snags and holes.

Maggie was still trying to scooch away like a turtle caught by a cat.
He rolled his head back and laughed.
She was mad and helpless all at once, her dress dirtied, and demanded to know, are you laughing at me?
He said, no, let me help you up.

He seemed different. In school, he didn’t fit. But now he was natural and his kindness showed past the torn shirt that revealed his chest when he leaned over.
She was mumbling still trying to squirm away, feeling quite endangered while looking up his shirt wide-eyed.

He smiled as he touched her arm and lifted her up.
She'd never seen him smile, as if anyone of her importance would pay attention anyway.

One quick pull and she was up.
He was taller than her. He wasn't that tall in school.
Here, loop your arm around my neck. My home is just up the hill over there, pointing down the road. We'll get you a ride back to town.

House she thought. House?
There no house down here by the river.
There was an old chicken shack.
It wasn't a house.

Forget that. She wasn't going with River Boy, no matter what. She said, take me to the road and I'll wait for the tractor.

River Boy grinned real big, and said, okay. Old man Carl goes back on the other road. If he comes this way, it’ll be dark. He’ll probably run over you.

What a horrible choice. She would rather get run over by a tractor.
He understood, but it didn't matter.

That’s when the world intervened, and it started to rain.
He helped her over to the dirt road. Then playfully plopped her down and asked, are you going to sit in the rain all day?
Her clothes and hands were filthy, and he just sat her in the mud. It was wet and cold. She couldn’t walk, but after recovering from the indignity, at least for the moment, she laughed.

Together they hobbled down the dirt road and up the hill to his house.
People used to say that an old colored man got out of prison and built a shack somewhere along the river.

Back a few years, the old Cartfield barn fell down, and bit by bit the metal and wood disappeared until it became the house the colored man built. Yeah, maybe it was a shack to others, but it was home for River Boy and Grandpa.
 
Maggie realized the story was true, and this was the place.
She asked River Boy, do you live here?
He said, yes, I live with Grandpa.
That was disgusting. River Boy was a Negro. All this time, she thought he was white, but he was just a Negro …. and he touched her.

River Boy felt her question and said, dear Maggie, it doesn’t matter. My Grandpa saved me.
That bit of familiarity begged another question, but Maggie dared not express interest in this fellow. She remembered how her mother said, no matter how bad things look, you are a lady.

He let all the fears inside Maggie’s head pass by, and helped her into a chair next to the cold fireplace that looked like a pile of bricks stuck together with mud until she saw how it curved beautifully into the chimney all the way to the ceiling.
In the corner was a small window divided into 4 pieces of glass, and just outside a big ash tree with speckled bark. The door was still open and it was chilly.

As her eyes accustomed to the light she saw a clean room with things carefully stored on shelves. There was a small kitchen and sink with metal cans of all size stored underneath. There were fishing poles on a rack next to the door.  There were two beds on one side and in the opposite corner, under the window, was a wood desk with one drawer.
That was Grandpa's hand carved desk made from golden oak. It almost gleamed in the light. She wanted to touch it.

River Boy lit a fire and said, Grandpa is fishing at the bridge. He'll be home soon. Hope he catches something.
He laid a blanket across her shoulders, then heated a kettle of water to make root tea for her to sip.
The room filled with the dim light of an amber fire and Maggie was overtaken by the warmth. She was so apart from her own world. It felt magical like she was transformed into a small girl again. It was conflicting. The lady inside kept snapping her back into common sense. She asked, when can we get a ride?

She turned around and River Boy was naked with his back toward her, changing into dry clothes. She looked away quick, having wished to not seen a Negro that was completely bare.

She heard him chuckle, and he said, I’d give you dry clothes, but they might not fit. Then he added, Grandpa is coming back with the Deacon Quartette and maybe Bangin' Gypsy. They’re driving over from Niddles to sing at the church tonight. They always stop and pick up Grandpa then come here for lunch. They have a car, and a white manager ... a detail he added so she'd feel safe.

River Boy moved between Maggie and the fire. His proximity alarmed her.
At least he was dressed.
He tossed more two pieces of wood in the fire and took some hot water out of the pot. Then sat down in front of her and began taking off her shoes. She resisted until the pain in her ankle caused her to stop.
He wiped her bare feet with a cloth dipped in warm water, and looked at the small swollen line on one ankle.

His hands were gentle. His charm irresistible.
She wanted to touch his hair.

He could feel her.
He said, it's just a muscle. It'll take a few weeks.

Contents   Top  Next chapter
Author Page