Flossie's Revenge

by Lubrican

Chapters : Foreword | 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18 | 19-20 | 21-22
23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-34 | 35-36 | 37-38 | 39-40 | 41-42 | 43-44

Chapter 7

The Wilson family sat around their dining room table, together, as usual, for a meal. As for the children, their recent adventure, though it had ended badly, still excited them, and their mindset about being around the other young people they knew, had changed somewhat. The girls still had a few Nancy Drew books to read, and had learned that they could order new ones from the owner at the General Store. They used their allowance for that purpose, paying in advance even though it wasn't required, since that made them feel like the books were closer to being there.

Nathan, though, was bored again. He had vague unformed thoughts about what the others were doing. He was sure it was more fun than sitting around the house, or watching television. The problem was, he had no way of getting out of the house. Then he remembered Luthor's fishing pole.

"Daddy?" he said carefully. "How come you don't take me fishing?"

"Fishing?" said Harvey, his voice rising. "Why on earth would you want to go fishing?"

"Well to catch fish, I guess," said Nathan, bottling up the anger that was already building in his throat.

Harvey laughed. "Why would you want to go to all that trouble, and be out there with the bugs and all that, when you can just pay some nigger kid a penny per fish?"

"I'm bored out of my mind, Daddy," Nathan finally confessed. "I can't find a job, because there ain't any that you'd approve of. I just want to find something to do." he admitted.

"You could come down to the bank and learn that business," said Harvey, importantly.

"Aww, Daddy, you know I don't have no head for numbers," drawled Nathan.

Actually, that was no longer true. Flossie had taught him things that made math seem a lot easier. It didn't scare him any more, like it had in the past. But being cooped up with his father didn't appeal to him.

"How much would you pay me?" he asked, knowing the figure would be small, and that this would give him another reason for not doing it.

"I already give you an allowance, you scamp!" scolded his father. "I wouldn't pay you anything. You'd just be learning a trade."

"Harvey," came his wife's warning voice. "No young man of Nathan's age wants to be in some stuffy old bank in the summer time. Let the boy go fishing if that's what he wants to do."

"He don't know the first thing about fishing," snorted Harvey. "Wouldn't even know how to bait a hook."

"You could teach me," said Nathan, knowing what the answer would be. He doubted his father had ever baited a hook himself. He had grown up in Atlanta as a child.

"I've got more important things to do than teach you how to kill a worm," said Harvey.

"There's a kid at school ..." said Nathan, as if he had just thought of it. His sisters stopped eating and watched him intently. "He probably goes fishing all the time."

"White trash," snorted Harvey. "That's all they've got in this one horse town," he added in a disgruntled voice.

"He don't seem too bad," said Harvey carefully. "I think his daddy has a pretty big farm," he said, having no idea whatsoever how big the farm actually was. For that matter, he didn't even know what Luthor's father did for a living.

"What's his name?" asked Harvey.

"Luthor," answered Nathan.

Harvey frowned. "Luthor what?"

"How am I s'posed to know?" said Nathan truthfully. "I never thought to ask him."

"That proves he's trash," rumbled Harvey. "If'n he was from good stock you'd have known that and asked."

"Hell, Daddy," said Nathan impulsively, "he's just a feller."

"That will be enough of that kind of talk, young man," said Marian, scowling. "You can just retire to your room for cursing at the dinner table."

Nathan went. He knew it would be fruitless to argue. He daydreamed, lying on his bed, about getting away from this house some way. Perhaps an hour later there was a tap on his door, and his mother opened it. He looked at her, but said nothing.

"I talked to your father," she said. "I figured if you were so upset that you'd use profane language at the table that something needed to be done. You can have this boy teach you how to fish if you want."

He smiled and she held up a hand.

"But understand me, I am not going to clean any fish around here. You bring them back ready for the pan, you hear me?"

"Yes, Mamma," he sighed.

She smiled again, and closed the door.

Having permission was one thing. Nathan, though, had no idea how to contact Luthor. He didn't know where the boy lived, and didn't want to ask anyone, out of some misplaced pride. Instead, he pedaled around town, which seemed curiously deserted. He ended up down by the truck depot.

Catfish Hollow was much too small to have its own cotton gin. Cotton had to be hauled to a town twenty-two miles away. To do that efficiently, and be able to spend as much time in the fields as possible, the area farmers formed a transportation co-op. Cotton was ricked in the field, which meant it was dumped into a hopper and stomped into long loosely packed rectangular bales. Trucks made the rounds of the farms on a circuit, throughout the day, picking up ricks of cotton that were tagged with the owner's information, until the truck was full. Then it was driven to the gin. The number of trucks needed varied, so permanent drivers were not hired. Mostly, whoever was free at the moment drove the trucks.

Currently, the weather was good, so no one wanted to abandon the field to drive truck. That was how Nathan found himself offered a job, at the whopping sum of five dollars a day, if he was willing to drive a truck from first light to pretty much so dark that he had to figure out where the headlight switch was. Along the way, though, he found out where everybody lived. Mr. Parsons, who hired him, made pencil marks on a county map and, after the first couple of circuits, Nathan had it down cold.

He learned a lot that first day. He had to help load the ricks into the truck, which was hot, hard work, because they were so loosely packed that they'd fall apart easily. That meant three people had to lift them and slide them into the truck, if three people were available. Usually they weren't. One person could stomp the ricks. Everybody else picked cotton. A rick could weigh anywhere between ninety and a hundred and forty pounds, and it was hard work, at least for a boy like Nathan.

He also saw how cotton was picked, and he saw his new friends picking it. Even Curtis Lee hired on for harvest, to make a little extra money. Curtis Lee and Nathan were all that was available to load the ricks at the Hawthorn farm, where Jesse was toiling in the field beside his father. As he drove along, in relative comfort, he began to realize how hard the life of these new friends was, and that they were not, in any way, shape, or form lazy. He already knew they weren't stupid. Now he wondered what else they weren't, that his father, and others like him, had always claimed they were.

Another small crack grew in his habit of assuming things about black people.

He had completely forgotten about the fact that he was gone all day, until after dark. His mother was frantic when he got home, and his father irate for making his mother worry. His news that he had gotten a job after all was met with little approval. Truck driving wasn't lofty enough to impress his father. It was a pivotal moment in his relationship with the man.

"I don't care," he said suddenly, as his father went on and on about how lowly working with farm produce was.

His father stopped, surprised. "What'd you say to me boy?"

The first thing Nathan though of was how everybody called blacks 'boy'. His temper snapped.

"I said I don't give a damn about what you think!" he said loudly. Marian rushed into the room, but Harvey held up one hand. Two other female faces peeked into the room. "I went out and got this job, and I'm gonna do this job, and if you don't like it you can go sit in your damn bank and be mad about it." he raged.

"Boy," announced his father, unbuckling his belt and pulling at it. "I am going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget!" The look on his face was ugly.

"I ain't no fuckin' boy!" shouted Nathan, and swung.

He almost broke his father's jaw. And his hand. His fist landed solidly, almost like a sucker punch would, which was really what it was in principle. His father would never had dreamed that his son would strike him, and therefore was in no way, shape or form prepared for the blow. He went down against the table, and flopped limply to the floor, his hands coming to his mouth. Nathan stood over him, glaring down.

"And if you ever threaten me with that belt again, I'll paste you another time!" he said, his voice hot.

Harvey sat up, embarrassed. He looked up at the boy towering over him. When had the boy put on that weight? How did he get that tall? The weasel in Harvey - and it was pure-bred weasel - realized that he could actually lose in a contest of strength.

"You get the fuck out of my house," he said heavily. "Go on, git!"

"Harvey," whined his wife.

"You hold your tongue, woman," he growled. "If this pup wants to act all growed up, then he can act all growed up somewhere else. I'll not have a boy strike me in my own house and let him get away with it."

Nathan, still full of anger and adrenaline, stomped to the front door.

"Nathan!" came his mother's anguished cry.

He closed the door softly, not because he wanted to, but because he didn't want the slamming of a door to be his mother's answer.

He slept in the truck that night, stretched out on the dusty seat.

The next morning Nathan, dressed in the same clothes he'd had on the day before, got out of the truck when Mr. Parsons opened the door and woke him up.

"You slept here?" the man asked goggle-eyed.

"I just meant to close my eyes and rest a little. Guess I was more tired than I thought," mumbled Nathan.

"You want to drive today?" asked the man dubiously.

"Yessir," replied Nathan.

"Well get started then. You're already half an hour late. I was about to go myself. Stop at the Thorpe place first, and tell Wilamina I said to feed you."

Nathan knew where the Thorpe farm was, of course, but he didn't know Johnnie Sue lived there. He hadn't had occasion to see her the day before, and didn't, until today, know her last name. When he walked into the kitchen and saw her, he was surprised.

"Boy, an apron and everything," he said, grinning. It had been plain, even to him, that she was a tomboy.

"What are you doing here?" she asked crossly.

"Mr. Parsons said that somebody named Wilamina would feed me." he said.

"That's my mamma," said Johnnie Sue, surprised. "Why in the world would he tell you that?"

"I kind of got kicked out of my house last night," said Nathan sheepishly. "I'm driving ricks of cotton to the gin over in Stapleton."

"Oh!" She was plainly astonished. "Well ... I have to hear that story sometime. Come on, I'll get you a plate. It's cold by now, but it will have to do."

Nathan would never have believed cold bacon and eggs and grits could taste so good. Johnnie Sue hovered around him wanting to know what happened. He put her off, telling her he had to get back on the road, and went out to load the first two ricks of cotton that were ready to go.

Nathan's banishment had great impact in many ways. It worried him, at first, but as he drove, he tabulated what he'd make. When this job was over, there would be another. The next time he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not his father would approve. He hadn't planned on leaving home - at all, for that matter - but he was sure he could make a go of it if he could find work. Food would be a problem. He had no idea how to cook, and had never shopped for groceries in his life. He'd run to the store to get something for his mother, but that was it. Having no place to stay bothered him more. He couldn't rent anything. He had no idea how to go about it, and didn't have any money anyway. Sleeping in the truck hadn't been so bad, but he didn't want to do that every night. Sooner or later he'd have to explain that to Mr. Parsons, and he didn't want to do that either.

He was getting gas for the truck when Hilda Mae ran up to him, gasping for breath, a picnic basket in her hands.

"There you are!" she panted. "Momma's had me out looking for you all morning!" She shoved the basket at him. "Here."

Inside was his mother's cooking, and it smelled delicious.

"You okay?" asked his sister, looking uncomfortable.

"Guess so," he said.

"Mamma's on a rampage!" said Hilda Mae excitedly. "She won't cook for Daddy, and she made him sleep on the couch!"

"Really?" He didn't know quite how to feel about that.

"She says if she doesn't get her baby back, he can just sleep on the couch for the rest of his days." Hilda Mae giggled.

"I don't think this is so funny," commented Nathan.

She sobered immediately. "Of course not," she said. "But it sure is interesting. Daddy's jaw is all swollen up and he says he thinks a tooth is loose. I never saw anything like that before, Nathan." She went on, still excited, if in a subdued sort of way. "When she was fixing us breakfast he came in and tried to take food off Bernadette's plate. Momma whacked him with a spatula! She said if he was so pig-headed as to run his own son off just for getting a job and acting like a real man, he could get his own food."

"I ain't going back," he said, suddenly stubborn.

"Mamma will just die if you don't," said Hilda Mae.

"I'm not a baby any more," said Nathan.

"I know that," she said in sympathy. "Momma knows it too. She said she knew you'd leave someday, but she didn't want it to be like that." She looked at him curiously. "Where'd you sleep last night?"

"In this truck," he said, shutting the pump off and hanging up the nozzle.

"You can't live in a truck," pointed out Hilda Mae. "What are you gonna do tonight?" she asked, moving the cloth covered plate to the seat of the truck. She handed him a fork. He drank the lemonade in the glass and handed it back to her.

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "I'll think of something."

"I have to go!" she yelped suddenly. "Mamma doesn't want Daddy to know she sent you this. But she told me to tell you to meet either me or Bernadette someplace every day and she'll send you something. Where should we meet?"

"I don't know," he said unhelpfully. "I go out of town that way." he pointed down the street.

"You go by that white house with the blue trim?" she asked. He nodded and she smiled. "That's the library. It's a perfect place for us to sit and wait."

She hugged him impulsively, and pushed back, wrinkling her nose.

"I'll bring you some clean clothes too!"

"Thanks," he said. She smiled. "I mean it Hildy"

"You haven't called me that for almost as long as I can remember," she said. She smiled. "I used to call you Nate ... remember?"

"That's just because you couldn't say my whole name," he said, grinning.

"One of us will be at the library after supper," she said. She waved as she ran off.

Nathan kept an eye on the porch of the house that held the library, and on his way back from the gin he saw Bernadette sitting there, on the porch swing, trying to read a book in the fading light. He stopped in a cloud of dust. When she looked up, she slammed the book closed, and grabbed the picnic basket. She was at the door of the truck by the time he got out.

"Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly.

"Why does everybody think there must be something wrong with me?" he asked, grinning. "I'm fine. Tell Mamma I'm fine."

She brought food out of the hamper, along with a milk bottle that was full of more lemonade and had the top held on by a piece of cloth with a rubber band around the neck. There was half a chocolate cake on another plate. He licked the frosting off the cloth that was covering it.

"Don't tell Mamma I did that," he said. "She'll think I'm starving or something. How are things?" he asked.

"When Daddy came home from the bank she wouldn't talk to him. She says things, but it's to the wall. Like she said you'd probably be murdered in your sleep or something. She set a place at supper for her and Hilda Mae and me, but that's all. Daddy's stomping around yelling at everybody."

"You better get back," he said. "Don't get him mad at you, too."

"Lunch and supper are about all we can manage," she said, looking worried. "Is that okay?"

"It's great!" He smiled. "I don't get paid until Friday ... or maybe Monday, I can't remember."

"Oh!" she said, reaching into the basket again. She pulled out a wind-up alarm clock. "Mamma said to give this to you. She said you won't get up for work on time without it."

"Tell her thanks," he said, feeling his eyes start to well up. He turned away. "Go on now ... get back home."

"Where are you staying?" she asked, instead of going. "Mamma's going to ask me."

"I don't know yet," he said helplessly. "Just tell her I'm okay."

"All right," she said dubiously. Then she exclaimed again, and dug a shirt and pants out of the bottom of the basket. "Bring your old clothes with you tomorrow," she said.

She, too, gave him a hug and then ran into the darkness.

When he got back to the depot, Mr. Parsons was waiting for him.

"There's a cot in the volunteer fire barn," he said, pointing to a flat-roofed building with two sliding barn doors on the front of it. "It would be a lot more comfortable than sleeping in that truck. Crapper in there too. Water. Refrigerator used to work, but it's been unplugged for years. I don't imagine anyone would grumble much if'n you was to bunk in there for a spell. Just until things settle down and you can go back home."

"Uh ... thanks," said Nathan sheepishly. "How'd you know?"

Parsons pulled out a pocket watch and looked at it. "Oh, word gets around in a small place like this. You can bet on that."

"I appreciate it," said Nathan.

"Ain't doin' it fer you," said Parsons, putting the watch away. "You're a decent driver. I don't want to have to hunt you up in the mornings. That's all."

"Still, I'm thankful."

"There's a lantern just inside the door on a nail, and matches on the shelf above that." Then the man just waved over his shoulder as he walked off. Nathan got the food out of the truck and took it into the building. There was a fire truck inside, that took up most of the room. He looked it over and decided it was beautiful. It had to be from the thirties, and was covered with a layer of dust. Under that was bright red paint and brass that could use some polish. But that would have to wait. He ate, washed up, set the alarm clock and fell into bed on a canvas cot in one corner.

In the end, it only lasted five days. On the fourth day of Nathan's career as a truck driver, his father magically appeared at the gas pump as Nathan was filling up the tank. He stood by the hood, looking at his son. There was still a dark purple bruise on his jaw. Nathan looked back, but said nothing.

"You just had to go and tell everybody I kicked you out," said his father.

"I didn't tell anybody anything," said Nathan. "It's none of their business."

"You're God damned right about that!" said his father loudly. "Somehow everybody in this dump found out about it though. I'm a laughing stock."

"What do you want?" asked Nathan.

"You're to come back home," said the man, his voice tight.

"Why?" asked Nathan. "You're obviously embarrassed by me."

"That doesn't matter," said the man, not denying it. "Your mother wants you home, and I'll get no peace and quiet until you get there."

He didn't mention it would be nice to have a home cooked meal again. Hilda Mae had told Nathan that their father had been taking his meals at the cafe in town twice a day.

"I'll think about it," said Nathan.'

"You'll come home, like I tell you!" said his father, angrily.

Nathan faced him. "I'm not afraid of you any more. I have a job. I'm making money. There's more work to be done when harvest is over, and I don't really care any more what kind of work it is. At least I don't have to listen to you bellow like a sick cow."

"I'll disown you!" warned his father. "And don't count on any more secret help from your mother or sisters either. I found out about that and I'm putting a stop to it!"

"You touch a hair on the head of my mother, or my sisters, and you'd better start carrying a gun," said Nathan, his voice just as ugly. "I'll put you in your grave if you hurt any of them!" He took a step toward his father.

Harvey, like most bullies, was mostly bluff. When someone actually stood up to him, he had no real stomach for a fight.

"I'd never hurt them," he said, backing up.

"You just make sure you don't," warned Nathan. "If I come back there it will be for Mamma, and not you. I don't give a damn about your money. You can keep it." He got back into the truck.

"What'll I tell your mother?" asked Harvey.

"Tell her I'm thinking about it." said Nathan, and he drove off.

About eleven the next morning it was his mother who was waiting for him on the library porch. Miz Hopkins was sitting with her and they were chatting. He almost didn't stop, but he knew he had to. She didn't run to him, like his sisters did. She waited, calmly, sitting next to the librarian. Nathan got out of the truck. Mrs. Finchley, the worn looking wife of a rail thin man who worked twenty acres of cotton for the owner, had given him a straw hat, to shade his eyes, and he took it off as he walked up to the porch railing.

"Hi, Mamma," he said, feeling sheepish for some reason.

"Good morning, Nathan," she said with dignity. "How are you?"

"I'm okay, Mamma," he said. He suddenly felt ten years old again.

"I have your lunch," she said simply. Miz Hopkins got up off the swing, saying she had things to do inside.

"Are you okay, Mamma?" he asked, looking her over. "Daddy didn't hurt you or anything ... did he?"

She looked away. "That's nonsense. He's just upset. That's all."

"I'm sorry about all this, Mamma," he said.

She sat regally for a few seconds. The only thing that showed how much emotion was coursing through her body was her fingers, picking at the wicker of the picnic basket.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," she said. "You're growing up, son ... as much as it pains me to admit it ... you're growing up. But I don't think it's time for you to be out on your own yet."

"Daddy says you want me to come home," he said.

"I do," she said simply.

"I don't know if I can," he said softly. "I mean with Daddy there and all ..."

"You let me handle your father," she said. "All this extra cooking and slinking around is tiresome."

There were whole paragraphs that she said with her eyes, things that a dignified Southern woman didn't want to say to her son in public. Her hand trembled on the handle of the basket.

"Okay, Mamma," he said, feeling relief.

"You'll be home tonight, then?" she asked, her voice wavering a little.

"Yes, Mamma," he said. "It will be late, though. I drive until after dark."

"That will be fine," she said, lifting the basket to the porch railing. "You can just bring this with you. I'll have something warming on the stove for you."

"Thank you, Mamma," he said, tears in his eyes now.

"Oh, go on!" she said, waving her hand at him. Tears were about to spill out of her eyes too. "At least I got to meet Mrs. Hopkins because of all this. She's a delightful woman."

"There's a lot of nice folks around here," said Nathan. "I've been meeting them on my job. Folks I wouldn't have ..." He stopped. "They're just nice folks," he finally said.

"I'm glad to hear that, dear," said Marian. She wiped at one eye surreptitiously. "Now go on. You have cotton to gin, or bales to bundle or something like that."

That made Nathan grin. He knew a whole lot more about how cotton was grown, harvested and refined than his mother did, and she'd been a Southerner her whole life. That made him feel good.

Chapter 8

Harvey Wilson chose to go to bed early that night. He wasn't up when Nathan came wearily through the door. His mother was sitting up, the TV on, but it was turned down too low to hear. When she saw him she stood.

"Dinner is on the stove. Please try not to make too much noise as you clean up. Your clothes and all are right where you left them. Do you need me to get you up?"

He held up the alarm clock in one hand.

"I have this. It's been getting me up the last week. I'm kind of used to it by now."

"That's fine, dear," said Marian. "I'm going to bed now." She turned to leave, and then turned back around. "Thank you," she said.

"What for?"

"Never mind that. You need a bath. You smell like a horse or something."

"Okay, Mamma," he said.

He went into the bathroom and began running hot water in the tub. He thought that was strange, since it had been a scorcher that day, but the thought of sinking into hot water almost made him salivate. He wanted that before food, even. He had just dropped the last of his clothing when his sisters pushed the door open and tiptoed in. Looking astonished, he covered his dangling penis.

"What in tarnation ..." he started.

"Shhhhhhh" interrupted Bernadette, looking back over her shoulder through the open door. She pushed Hilda Mae into the room and closed the door softly.

"You can't just come in here when a man is naked!" he whispered.

"Oh, why not, we've seen you before," said Bernadette.

Hilda Mae was staring at him, speechless, he thought. Then she said "Not like this!" softly.

"We had to SEE you!" whispered Bernadette.

"Well now you've seen me, so you can leave," he said huffily.

"Oh, just get in the tub. We want to hear all about it!"

It was plain they weren't going to leave, so Nathan did exactly what she suggested. He groaned as he lowered himself into the water slowly. He hadn't had time to put enough cold water in it. Both his sisters stared at his penis as it slowly vanished under the water.

"Don't stare at it!" said Nathan.

"Shhhh!" hushed Bernadette. She looked at the door. "If they catch us in here there'll be hell to pay!"

"That's exactly why you should leave!" he croaked. The water felt good, and he lay back in it. Hilda Mae leaned forward, looking down through the water until Bernadette slapped her arm.

He had already told them much of his life away from home, but they peppered him with questions, interested that he had seen their friends, and asking him all about them. When he told them that Johnnie Sue, Luthor, Moses and Jesse had all told him to tell them hello, they giggled excitedly.

"Imagine that," said Bernadette, "A Negro telling you to say hello to us!"

"I've seen a lot," said Nathan, shaking his head. "In just a single week I've learned a lot. I almost don't think of them that way any more."

They talked on. Bernadette opened the door to check on things outside and Hilda Mae leaned forward again to peer into the water.

"What are you looking at?" asked Nathan, covering his genitals.

"Nothing," she piped. She leaned back, looking disappointed. "The water's too dirty anyway."

Bernadette was back at the door, a worried look on her face.

"You better come," she said to Nathan. "I think Daddy's hurting Mamma!"

Water went everywhere as Nathan bounded out of the tub, his legs rubbery from the heat. No one stared at his flopping penis now, though, as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He found both girls by the door to their parents bedroom. Thumping sounds were coming from the room ... rhythmic thumping sounds, as if someone was raising something heavy and then slamming it down. Nathan had visions of his mother's lifeless body being slammed against the wall. His hand went for the doorknob, and, just as he touched it, his mother's voice came clearly through the door.'

"Ohhhh yes! Harvey! Oh, don't stop ... give it to me baby!"

It was very clear to all of them that what would, in a later generation or two, be called "makeup sex" was going on in that room.

He jerked his hand away from the knob as if it were red hot. His face flushed, and he looked at his sisters, who stood frozen, open mouthed, their own faces turning bright red.

The thumping went on as they stood there, unable to leave. Their father roared and their mother wailed, but all the other sounds stopped.

Nathan broke first, taking a step backward. He froze again as a board creaked under his foot.

"What was that?" came his father's tired voice.

"Nothing," came their mother's voice, dimly through the door. "Suck on them some more, Harvey, you know that drives me wild."

The three teens tiptoed carefully back from the door. The girls faces were ashen now. They looked almost ill as they thought about what all those sounds had meant. Hilda Mae's eyes glanced down, and her hand came up to slap over her mouth, her eyes wide. She pointed at Nathan's crotch.

He looked down to see that, where the towel gaped slightly open in the front, his erect penis was jutting out, hard as a rock. He heard Bernadette gasp.

That pretty well ended the reunion, at least until the next night. The girls scampered to their room, leaving Nathan to shake his head in disgust. His penis stayed rock hard as he gathered up his clothes and drained the tub. He sopped up the water in the bathroom with the towel and his dirty clothes, and walked naked to his room, as quietly as he could. He put on a pair of jockey shorts, and then backtracked quietly to the kitchen and wolfed down supper before returning to his room. The food was good, but his penis stayed stiff. All he could think about was what was going on in his parents' bedroom.

He felt guilty for masturbating, but it was the only way his penis would go down. He felt even more guilty because the anonymous woman in his imagination had no face, but her body was his mother's.

In the girls' room, Hilda Mae and Bernadette sat on their beds, facing each other.

"Did you see it?" gasped Bernadette.

"Yes!" whispered Hilda Mae excitedly. "It looked huge!"

"It sure looked bigger than when we first went in," said Bernadette, shaking her head. "How did it get that way?"

"I don't know," said Hilda Mae. "I wish I could see it again."

"Hildy!" gasped her sister.

"Well, I do," said Hilda Mae softly. "And I bet you do too. I saw you staring at him."

"Not like you were!" said Bernadette.

"It made me feel all funny inside," said Hilda Mae, closing her eyes. "Those noises ... and Mamma screaming like that ... and what did she mean for him to suck on them some more? Suck on what?"

"I don't know!" said Bernadette, flushing. "But I do know that we shouldn't be talking about this!"

Bernadette chased her sister into bed, and they turned out the light. Bernadette had never told her sister about how sometimes, she just felt the urge to touch herself. It felt so nice to stroke here, and pinch there. She felt like that tonight. She knew exactly what Hilda Mae was talking about ... the feeling funny inside part. And, while she wouldn't admit it to her sister, she at least admitted to herself that that thing sticking out from her brother's towel had looked so interesting that she'd had to tense up her muscles to keep from reaching for it ... just to see what it felt like, of course. It had looked so soft and flabby at first, but when it stuck out like that it was four or five times bigger. It just looked so ... interesting, somehow.

She wanted to rub ... to feel good. But Hilda Mae was tossing and turning in the bed next to her, still awake. She knew that sometimes she made noises when she rubbed. She couldn't help it.

Quite suddenly she heard a rhythmic squeaking through the wall in Nathan's room. It was an even tempo at first, then speeded up until she heard him grunt, and then sigh. It was the same tempo she used to rub herself. In a flash of insight, she knew what he was doing over there. He was rubbing that thing, like she rubbed between her legs.

It took both girls a long time to get to sleep. Both tossed and turned, but neither spoke of it to the other.

Because Harvey Wilson couldn't take out his frustration on his son, or other members of his family, he took it out in other ways.

He was careful, because the things he did had the potential to make it look like he was making unwise loans. Automation and mechanization in farming was creeping southward, though, and the possibility for increased yields also promised the possibility of increased profits. He gave loans to the trash he hated so much, to purchase tractors, cotton strippers, and the new module system for compacting cotton so it could sit outside in the open and not be spoiled by rain. He knew quite well that some of the farmers he was granting loans to were over-extending themselves. When they couldn't pay their notes, he foreclosed with glee, selling the equipment, and sometimes the entire farm put up as collateral, to other farmers, who sought other loans, perhaps that they couldn't repay.

On paper he looked good, though no really great sums of money were coming in. That was because there was a very limited supply of money available in those parts.

That he was putting people out of their homes, and taking farms that had been in their family for generations, he didn't care about. They were trash, and didn't deserve to have what they couldn't hold. Harvey wasn't a man who believed that man evolved from monkeys, with the possible exception of niggers, but he embraced "survival of the fittest" like a long lost and very wealthy uncle.

With some of his profits, Harvey branched out into real estate. The first thing he bought was the house Flossie Pendergast lived in. It was property of the county, on the books as such, and the price he offered so outstripped the "estimated rental value" on the books that the county commissioners gleefully signed over the deed to him.

He evicted Flossie as soon as he had the papers in his hands.

"I'm going to fix the place up," he said smoothly, when he handed her the eviction notice. "Rent it out. It's nothing personal, of course," he smiled an oily smile. "It's just business."

"Perhaps I could rent it," said Flossie, knowing what he was doing.

Of course the price he set on that was far above the "estimated rental value" on the county books, and far outside her resources.

When the "negotiations" broke down, Harvey smiled again. "I've got workmen hired to start right away. You need to be out by tomorrow." He turned on his heel and left.

She couldn't move by then, of course, and the men who came simply set her things on the front porch. The electricity was shut off, along with the water. The lock was the first thing they changed. They took the keys with them to lunch. They didn't come back.

When she approached the town fathers, most of whom were busy with the harvest themselves, and reminded them that they had promised her a place to live as part of her salary, they hemmed and hawed. One man spoke. "Don't know why we don't just forget the whole thing. You do own a house in this town, you know."

What he was referring to was where Flossie had grown up. Her father had never owned anything in his life, except that house, and the only reason he was able to buy it was because it was basically worthless. It was actually a single story barn, when he bought it, back in 1934. But he had a wife and baby, and needed some place to live. The man he worked for didn't want to pay cash wages, so he gave Jasper Pendergast the barn, in exchange for eighty hours of work per week for the next five years. Jasper couldn't read, or do math, so he had no idea what that barn was costing him. All he saw was that, in five years, he'd own it. That he had to work extra, and his wife too, to get the cash to buy food and anything else they needed, was just life. After the five years, he had sunk all the extra cash he made into fixing the place up, which meant putting real furniture on the dirt floors, and getting electricity run to the place eventually. He hadn't been able to put in an indoor toilet until Flossie was seventeen. There was still a hand pump for water in the kitchen. All the work had finally killed him while Flossie was in her last year of college.

Flossie had been overjoyed when she found out a house went with the teaching job, and had tried to get her mother to live with her there. Her mother wouldn't leave. It was her home, such as it was, and her husband had given his life for it. As it turned out, her mother didn't last long without her husband. A year after Flossie returned, her mother was dead too, and the "house" sat empty. Flossie had paid the taxes on it, but there was no market for it. She hadn't known what to do with it until now.

"That house isn't fit to live in and you all know it," she retorted to the men grouped in front of her. "And it was part of my contract that a house would be provided."

In the end, they simply raised her salary by the "estimated rental value" of the house she had just been evicted from - the one on the county books, of course. The only place she had to go was the house that held such unhappy memories for her. At least it was a roof over her head, and some place dry to put her things.

She kept an eye on the house Harvey had bought out from under her. It sat empty and unused for the rest of the summer. It WAS eventually refurbished, by adding another layer of wallpaper to the six that were already on the walls. It was rented to Jasper and Melinda Hobbs, a young white couple that got married and had been living with Melinda's folks. The rent was seven dollars lower than the "estimated rental value" on the county books.

She wasn't the only person in town who saw what Harvey did, to her and to others. Harvey Wilson became a feared man in Catfish Hollow. He also became a hated man.

Because of the cotton harvest, school started later in Catfish Hollow than in the North. Flossie's first session didn't start until mid September, and even then the half day schedule was rigidly adhered to. Both Nathan and Curtis Lee were gone in the afternoons, and Flossie's only students then were Hilda Mae and Bernadette. They rode their bikes to school every day now, instead of demanding to be driven in the car. Nathan did too, so he could get to work quickly from school.

Talk about "the banker" had spread among adults, and children overhear what adults talk about sometimes. All of the children except the Wilson children knew what Harvey had done to Flossie during the summer, and there was some transferred hostility against Bernadette and Hilda Mae. Nathan, by virtue of his having left home, and working on the harvest, was exempt from that hostility.

The girls could sense it, of course. They had expected to pick things up where they had been left off after the great adventure. They expected to be treated like 'friends', and when they weren't, they wanted to know why. That was how they learned what their father had done.

On that first afternoon, when everyone else was gone, and lunch had been eaten, Flossie pulled out a book titled "Ann of Green Gables". They had finished "The Wizard of Oz" the previous year. Before she could talk about it, Bernadette spoke.

"We're sorry," she said uncomfortably.

"About what?" asked Flossie.

"Daddy," said Bernadette softly.

"Oh," said Flossie.

She didn't really want to talk about it. It still made her mad, and she didn't want to be mad in front of these girls. It wasn't their fault. She had heard about Nathan's situation, from the Thorpes.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry there has been trouble at home for your family too."

"Oh, that's not so bad, I guess," said Bernadette. "Daddy and Nathan still don't talk, but that's about it. Nathan has changed. He's nicer."

Flossie offered them the book, which got the girls going on the Nancy Drew mysteries they had read during the summer. They hoped that she would approve of those as reading practice.

"I read one of those when I was a little girl," said Flossie. "I remember it as being great fun. I think that's a great idea."

"Oh goody!" said Hilda Mae. "We have 'The Haunted Showboat' on order down at the General Store. I can't wait until it gets here."

In the mean time, Flossie started them on "Ann of Green Gables". Within an hour they were hooked on that one too.

Time went by. Two of the younger children were taken out of school when their parents' farms were seized by the bank, and the families had to move north to find work. Their land went to larger farmers, who needed it to raise their own production, to pay for the equipment they had bought. All it did was put them deeper into debt, since it would be long before another harvest would bring in real money.

Just before the Christmas break, during a class on careers, Nathan's future was discussed, along with that of Curtis Lee, both of whom would graduate at the end of the year. Requirements for graduation were ... flexible ... in the sense that the state usually took a rural teacher's word for it that a student had met all the requirements. Curtis Lee had just turned nineteen, so his graduation was practically a requirement. Flossie had let him keep coming to school, on the excuse that he had started late. The truth was that she liked having him around to help with the children and keep him learning. But he should have graduated the year before, by rights. Nathan would be eighteen by the end of the school year, and called himself a Senior. Hilda Mae said she was a Sophomore, and Bernadette said she was a Junior, though those designations hadn't been used in that school before.

"So, what are you going to do after you graduate?" Flossie asked the two oldest students.

Curtis Lee had no idea, but the recent ride in an airplane had started him dreaming about doing what Daniel did. Flossie said she'd write to her uncle and see if he had any advice, or could help in any way. She turned to Nathan and asked him if he was going to college.

"I don't know," said Nathan, dubiously. "I don't know how much it costs."

"Sometimes parents pay the tuition for college students," Flossie suggested.

"I don't think that will happen," said Nathan, embarrassed. While all of them knew what had happened to him that summer, he didn't know they knew that. "I thought about being a doctor for a while, but you have to go to a lot of college for that I think." He frowned, then smiled. "When I was little I always wanted to be a policeman," he said.

"Well, they have academies where they teach men to do that," said Flossie. "You could fill out applications for whatever cities you might want to do that in and send them in. If you're accepted they'll send you to the academy. I understand that's part of your pay, so it wouldn't cost you anything."

"Really?" he said, amazed that it could be that easy.

"Your homework assignment is to call, or write to three Police departments and ask them to send you applications." said Flossie.

"Why is it that only boys get to have exciting jobs like that?" asked Johnnie Sue.

Flossie nodded. "It used to be that way everywhere, but in some places they are starting to hire women to do things that men have done in the past. The war taught business a lesson about the capabilities of women." She then described the importance of women in the manufacturing industry during the war, and how they even built ships and planes.

At the end of her lecture she said "You could do anything you set your mind to. Have you thought about going to college?"

"Women don't go to college," sighed Hilda Mae. "Not in our family anyways." She looked morose. "Mamma says we're going to grow up and give her lots of grandchildren for her to spoil. Who wants to do that?" she finished sadly.

"I do!" said Bernadette firmly. "I can't wait to ..." She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"To do what?" asked Nathan, grinning for some reason.

"Nothing!" said Bernadette vociferously. "I just don't mind getting married and giving my Mamma grandchildren, that's all." She was blushing so hard that even her brother noticed it.

"I know what you're thinking about," crowed Nathan loudly, grinning from ear to ear. "Maybe I should tell Mamma about it when we get home. She'll have Daddy tan your hide good!"

"You just keep your peace Nathan Wilson!" barked his sister, standing up in her agitation. She was so agitated that she blurted out something else. "You were there too. You heard them, and I heard you through the wall too, after that! I've heard you do that lots of times, grunting like some animal, and ...." She stopped suddenly, and there was a hush in the room as everyone looked, first at her, and then at Nathan, who was either blushing himself, or was angry.

Flossie almost goggled. She was shocked that Bernadette would make an outburst like that when it was plain as the nose on her face that she was talking about her brother masturbating. She was shocked that anyone would make reference to that out loud. But, the fact that Bernadette knew what her brother was doing, combined with her obvious almost reference to being impatient to have sex herself, suggested that the girl was much more aware of things sexual than Flossie would have believed. She was aware that her students had some knowledge of sex. Living around farm animals almost guaranteed it. But the conservatism of the region also guaranteed that it would not be mentioned ... at least not in mixed company, and certainly not when both races were present.

"Well!" said Flossie, clearly flustered. "We'd best move on. There are some things we don't talk about in school."

"Why not?" asked Luthor.

"Well, because of the younger children, for one thing," said Flossie, looking meaningfully at Luthor. "And because I can't think of a single parent who would appreciate us talking about that in school."

"Talking about what?" piped Leon, an eight year old.

"Sex, dummy," came a voice that couldn't be identified.

"What's sex?" he asked, his voice high and piping.

"Something your parents won't talk about," said Ruth Ann. Ruth Ann was sixteen, but was usually so quiet that people forgot she was in the room. Everybody was looking at her, surprised she had spoken. "Most parents don't think a young'un should know anything about sex, like it's a big secret or something," said Ruth Ann. "My mamma and pappa have sex all the time, after I go to bed, but they pretend they don't."

"Oh!" squealed Leon. "You mean ... that!!"

"Now hold on there," said Flossie, flustered at the topic of conversation. The proverbial cat, however, was out of the bag, and did not want to go back in.

"Why is it that we never get to talk about sex?" asked Hilda Mae. Her sister slapped her on the arm.

Flossie's mind whirled. She had a long history of thinking about the very same thing. Men had tried to woo her in college, but back then she had no time for men. Learning and being free to be herself was everything to her at that time of her life. Only since then, when there suddenly were no handsome young men chasing after her had she realized how she had turned up her nose at something she now missed a great deal. She knew what those young men had wanted to do with her. Sometimes they had even whispered it in her ear, their bold suggestions making her shriek with modesty. There had even been a course on teaching a new idea, called "Sexual Education", as part of a class on health, but it had been downplayed by her instructors, who said it was very controversial in many places. The material for such classes had been available to view, and she had done so, curious herself. It had put pictures in her mind of something that, until this time, she had only sketchy knowledge of herself.

But, though she knew intimately the mechanics of the sexual act now, she had never had sex with a man. Instead, at night in her bed, she thought about those things, and her fingers found the places on her young body that felt so good when she thought about sex.

"Miss Flossie?" a voice broke her concentration.

"Er ... yes?" she cleared her mind.

"So can we talk about sex?" asked Luthor. Johnnie Sue slapped his arm, for some reason, and he drew back, looking injured.

"Not now," she said automatically. Then, without thinking, she went on. "As I said, that's for older children only."

"So us older ones can talk about it ... later," said Ruth Ann.

Flossie felt panic. Had she promised something? She couldn't remember what she'd just said. Trying to get out of it she extemporized.

"There is some thought, at higher levels in education, to include some sexual education in a class on health. But I don't think it would work in this school. It's very controversial."

"What's that mean?" asked Bernadette.

"It means that a lot of parents don't want their children to learn anything about sexual education," said Flossie. "Your parents would probably be outraged at the very thought of you actually learning about sexual behavior ... even as part of health class." She wanted to wring her hands, she was so nervous.

"So, when we get to have health class we'll get to learn about sex?" asked Leon. Like many young people he had filtered everything and heard only what he wanted to hear.

"See what I mean?" said Flossie, trying to look indignant. "You older students might have the maturity to be able to understand such things, but the young ones should not be exposed to it ahead of their time." She frowned, hoping she had gained some time to think about how to get out of this. "If word of this gets back to your parents before I can make proper plans, I'll be fired, and no one will ever get the class."

"I want that class!" said Hilda Mae.

"Me too!" came a chorus of other voices ... many of them down around Leon's age, which was clearly too young to delve into that subject. She looked around to see Luthor and Jesse sitting up straight, their eyes bright. Johnnie Sue even looked interested, though not quite so much. Curtis Lee's face was something to study. He had a half grin on it, and a look of horror because his voice was one of those who had exclaimed "Me too!" and he knew enough to know that such a thing said in front of a white girl could cause him great pain and suffering.

Flossie couldn't let this get out of hand. She had to make them understand that, as curious as they were, it was too dangerous for them to discuss it openly.

"Look," she said patiently. "You all know that there's tension between the races. We've talked about it. I'm colored, and some of you are white. The fact that this even came up in school today ... that I mentioned some schools are teaching sexual education ... could cause a lot of trouble. You have to understand that. Even if you went home and told your parents that somebody asked about sex, and I refused to discuss it, it would cause trouble. Besides that I haven't planned out any such course. I saw something about it in college, but there is just no way that we can discuss this openly in this school."

Flossie half expected Nathan Wilson to stand up in triumph, with the full knowledge that she had handed him a rope to hang her with. His reaction, therefore, was something amazing to her. He did stand up, but his comment almost made her fall off her chair.

"But if you had time to make plans ... and the parents didn't know about it ..." said Nathan, of all people, "we could have the class later? The older ones, I mean?"

"That's not fair!" called out Leon.

Flossie had no idea what to do now. She would do almost anything if word of this didn't leak out. It was that that made her make the fateful promise.

"If the parents don't find out even a whisper about this ... I'll see what I can do."

Nathan was still standing. He put his hands out, straightening up to his full height.

"Listen to me, everybody!" he said. He was the closest thing to a white man in the room, and the response was automatic. They listened.

"Not a word of this leaves this school. If I find out anybody said even one word about ... health class, I'll give you a whuppin'." Nathan looked around, catching each student's eyes, young and old. "You understand that?" He frowned.

Flossie's nervous "Now Nathan ..." was interrupted by a chorus of voices saying "Yes sir!"

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