The Ridge: The Whisper of the Leaves - Chap. 22

Gerald did not regain consciousness until nearly ten o’clock that night. He was laying on barren ground next to a half rick of split hickory nut wood. His head was pounding, and he was sick to his stomach. The combination of the two made him vomit when he rolled over onto his stomach. He continued to heave until nothing else came out, then he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and slowly stood.

He couldn’t see very much since just slivers of light were coming through the open spaces in the planks. Gerald did know he was in a woodshed from the smell the ricked wood next to him. As he was trying to get his mind around what had happened to him, the door suddenly opened, and a huge form instantly filled the opening. Gerald saw that he had a shot gun in his hand, and it was aimed squarely at his midsection.

“’Bout time ‘ya woke up.” The voice reminded Gerald of the actor Wallace Beery, but more gravely and much deeper. “Tie ‘im up.”

He motioned toward Gerald with the gun then stepped back. A second, smaller person rushed in, grabbed his arm, and twisted him around. He was pushed over onto the stack of wood and suddenly felt his wrists being bound with a length of sea grass rope.

“Be still,” the voice said, and Gerald realized it was a woman.

“What’re ‘ya doin’” Gerald protested, then remembered his father. “My dad, I gotta see about my dad. Lemme go. Lemme go.”

Katie slammed him in the back of the head with her fist although Gerald would have sworn she had used a club.

“Now, shuddup and be still,” She said with a tone of finality and Gerald laid still while she finished tying his hands behind him.

“Bring ‘im out’cheer,” The gravel voice said.

Katie jerked him up and pushed him outside. Gerald stumbled and almost fell onto a lantern sitting on the ground but managed to keep his feet and took a few steps outside the shed. The odor of hog manure instantly hit him, and his already weak stomach began to turn on him again. It was still empty, though, and he just gagged a couple of times.

“Sumatta’, boy?” The man chuckled. “’At flatland belly a ‘yorn to weak ta handle these ridge hogs?”

“Yea, Daddy,” She said. “He’d rather be smelling that cotton and beans his Pappy farms.”

Katie pushed him again and Gerald did stumble and fall this time. He was laying close to a bench that was under an elm tree. Cubby Lawrence picked up the lantern, came over to Gerald and sat it down about six inches from his face. Gerald closed his eyes and pulled his head back away from the heat.

“We gonna have a li’l talk, son.” Lawrence sat down on the bench and Gerald could see his face for the first time. It matched his voice. “And if ya tell me what ah need ta hea’, then ya can be on ya way home to ya mamma. Howeva’, if I think ya lyin’ to me, boy, then I will feed ya to my hogs. Understand?”

Gerald was silent and he suddenly realized his bladder had let loose, and he was wetting his pants.

“Why, look at ‘at, Daddy,” Katie said and snickered. “This boy musta understood ya, cause he done wet his drawers.”

Gerald could feel his face reddening and though he tried to keep them away, tears began streaming down his face.

“What’da ya want from me?” Gerald blubbered. “Who are ya?”

“Like I said, boy,” Lawrence leaned forward so his face was only inches from Gerald’s. “Ah jus’ want tha truth. Now, are ya gonna give it to me or or ma hogs gonna have a feast tonight?”

“The truth about what?” Gerald was crying. He knew what the man wanted.

“Bout my boy Alvin, Alvin Lawrence.” His voice had the sound of rolling thunder, now. “Ya know my boy’s dead. Someone shot ‘im. Killed ‘im. And ya know, he was a good boy. Little rough. And maybe a little mean. But he was my boy and someone took ‘im from me. An ‘at don’t happen ‘less somebody pays.”

Lawrence sat back and stared at Gerald, letting the words have their affect. Then he leaned forward again and took Gerald’s chin in his paw.

“Now, I don’t feel like messin’ with ya ‘bout this, son.” The words came in almost a whisper now. “It’s late, nearly le’m o’clock and ah’m ready fuh bed. So, here’s the question, did you kill my boy? And if ya didn’t kill my boy, do ya know who did?”

He leaned back again and hesitated a long moment, watching Gerald’s face for any telltale sign. The he said, “Now ah’m gonna give ya ‘bout a minute to come up with an answer.”

Since most of the livestock were asleep, the only sounds that could be heard was a strong March wind moving through the trees, plus Gerald alternately whimpering and sobbing. Finally, he cleared his throat so he could speak.

“What,” He sniffed. “What’re ya gonna do with me if I tell ya who did it?”

“So, it weren’t you?”

“Nooo,” Gerald bawled then cleared his throat again.

“Like we said,” Katie spoke from behind him. “Ya tell us the truth and ya can go right home ta ya mamma and daddy. And that’s a promise”

Gerald was whimpering again, but it did not stop him from speaking.

“It was M.....It was Marshall,” Gerald barely got the words out then turned his face to the ground. “M...M...Marshall B...Bentwood.”

“And you didn’t help ‘im none?” Lawrence leaned over him again.

“No, no, no sir,” Gerald turned on his side and looked into the Lawrence’s face. “It was just him. Just him.”

“Yor his friend, ain’t ya?”

“Yea,” Gerald said with a quick nod.

Lawrence stared at Gerald a moment then snorted, stood up and spat on the ground. He aimed it close enough to Gerald’s face that some of the tobacco juice spittle spattered up and onto his face.

“Well, I tell ya what,” Lawrence said. “I shor wouldn’t want a friend like you.”

He turned, picked up the lantern and began walking toward his house. He threw his arm outward motioning toward the hog pen.

“Tie his feet up good,” He said over his shoulder. “And throw him in there with tha hogs. Put a gag in his mouth, too. I don’t wana hear him screamin’ if them sows take a shine to ‘im”

“Why don’t’cha just go ahead an kill ‘im, Daddy?” Katie protested.

Gerald started shaking when he heard this. He was crying but no sound was coming from his mouth. And not that it mattered much since he was to be in the hog pen soon, but his bowels had let loose.

“Just do what I said,” He kept walking. “Boy’s a worthless coward, but ya gave ‘im our word. So, if them hogs don’t kill ‘im tonight, we’ll let im go tomorrow.”

“But, Daddy,” Katie continued to protest. “Ain’t ya afraid he’ll talk? We need ta get rid of ‘im.”

Lawrence stopped and slowly turned toward his youngest daughter. Even though, she was a good twenty feet from him, she still took a step back.

“Girl, ya heard what I said. ‘At boy ain’t gonna say a word, to nobody. Cause he knows if he does, I will take my axe and cut his head clean off. Now do what I said.”

With those final words, Lawrence walked onto the porch of his house, kicked some of the mud from his feet and walked inside.