God's Little Acre Page 16

  He came back to the room in the yellow company house in Scottsville and listened to the early morning hum of motor trucks and trailers and the whirr of passenger cars and busses on the Augusta-Aiken highway speeding over the wide concrete up and down the Valley. When the sun rose, he would be able to see the endless regiments of wild-eyed girls with erect breasts, firm-bodied girls who looked like morning-glories through the windows of the ivy-walled mills. But out in the streets, in the early morning shadow of the sun, he would see the endless rows of bloody-lipped men, his friends and brothers standing with eyes upon the mills, spitting their lungs into the yellow dust of Carolina.

  At sunrise, in the cool black-and-white of morning, Griselda came to the door. She had not been asleep. She had lain upon the bed in the other room prolonging with bated breath the night that so inevitably merged into day. It was day now, and the red glow of the sun rising over the house-tops covered her with a glow of warmth that flushed her face again and again while she stood in the doorway.

  Rosamond got up.

  “I’ll cook breakfast now, Will,” she said.

  They went out, the three of them, going first to one of the other rooms to clothe Griselda.

  Later in the kitchen Will heard them at the table and at the stove. First there was the smell of chewed grain, the boiling grits; then the smell of frying meat, the hunger for food; and finally there ‘was the smell of coffee, the start of a new day.

  Through the window he could see someone in the kitchen of the yellow company house next door making a fire in the cook-stove. Soon there came the curl of blue wood smoke from the chimney top. People were getting up early today; for the first time in eighteen months the mill was going to run. Down at the mill beside cool, broad, dammed-up Horse Creek they were going to turn on the power. The machinery would turn, and men would be standing in their places, stripped to the waist, working again.

  He went to the kitchen impatiently. He wished to fill his stomach with ‘warm food and to run down the street calling to his friends in the yellow company houses on both sides of the street. They would come to the door, shouting to him. On the way down to the mill the mass of men would grow, piling into the green in front of the mill, chasing away the sheep that had grazed so fat for eighteen months while men and women and children had grown hollow-eyed on grits and coffee. The barbwire steel fence would be up-rooted, the iron posts and the concrete-filled holes would be raised into the air, and the first bar would be lowered.

  “Sit down, Will,” Rosamond said.

  He sat down at the table, watching them prepare a place for him hurriedly, easily, lovingly. Darling Jill brought a plate, a cup, and a saucer. Griselda brought a knife, a spoon, and a fork. Rosamond filled a glass of water. They ran over the kitchen, jumping from each other’s way, weaving in and out in the small room hurriedly, easily, lovingly.

  “It’s six o’clock,” Rosamond said.

  He turned and looked at the face of the clock on the shelf over the table. They ‘were going to turn the power on that morning. They were going in there and turn it on and if the company tried to shut it off, they were going to--well, God damn it, Harry, the power is going to stay turned on.

  “Here’s the sugar,” Griselda said.

  She put two spoonfuls into the coffee cup. She knew. It wasn’t every woman who ‘would know how much sugar to put into his cup. She’s got the finest pair of rising beauties a man ever laid eyes on, and when you once see them, you’re going to get right down on your hands and knees and lick something. Ty Ty has got more sense than all of us put together, even if he does stay out there among those God damn pot holes digging for what he’ll never find.

  “I’ll bring a dish for the ham,” Darling Jill said.

  Rosamond stood behind his chair, watching him cut the meat and place hungry bites into his mouth. It was the thirtypound ham Ty Ty had given them.

  “What time will you be home for lunch?” she asked.

  “Twelve-thirty.”

  Already men were walking down the street towards the ivy-walled mill by the side of broad Horse Creek. Men who had all night, sitting at ‘windows, looking at the stars, left as soon as they had finished breakfast, walking down the street towards the mill in khaki pants. No one looked at the ground on which he walked. Down at the ivy-walled mill the windows reflected the early morning sun, throwing it upon the yellow company houses and into the eyeballs of men walking down the streets. We’re going in there and turn the power on and if the company tries to shut it off--well, God damn it, Harry, it’s going to stay turned on.

  “Could you get us jobs in the mill, Will?” Darling Jill asked him. “For Buck and Shaw and me?”

  He shook his head.

  “No,” he said.

  “I wish you would, Will, so we could move over here.”

  “This is no place for you, or the others.”

  “But you and Rosamond live here.”

  “That’s different. You stay in Georgia.”

  He shook his head again and again.

  “I wish I could come,” Griselda said.

  “No,” he said.

  Rosamond brought him his shoes and socks. She knelt on the floor at his feet, putting them on his feet. He worked his shoes on and she tied them. Then she got up and stood behind his chair.

  “It’s nearly seven o’clock,” she said.

  He looked up at the clock above. The minute hand was between ten and eleven.

  People passed the yellow company house faster, all going swiftly in one direction. Women and children were among them. The local draws pay for sitting on their tails on the platform and shaking their heads when somebody says something about turning the power on. The sons-of-bitches. The union sends money in here to pay those sons-of-bitches who run the local, and the rest of us grow hollow-eyed on grits and coffee. The people were walking faster down the street, their eyes on a level with the sun-red mill windows. Nobody looked down at the ground on which he walked. Their eyes were on the sun-bright windows of the ivy-walled mill. The children ran ahead, looking up at the windows.

  Somebody came through the house and into the kitchen. He found and jerked a chair. He sat down beside Will, his head a little on one side, his other hand on the back of Will’s chair. He watched Will Thompson eat grits and ham. Where’d you get the ham, Will? Jesus Christ, it looks good!

  “They’ve brought down some plain-clothes guards from the Piedmont, Will.”

  “When did you find that out, Mac?”

  He swallowed the ham unchewed.

  “I saw them when they got here. I was just getting up, and I looked out the window and saw three cars of them drive around to the rear of the mill. You can tell those bastards from the Piedmont a mile off.”

  Will got up and went to the front of the house. Mac followed him, his eyes sweeping the girls as he left. They could be heard talking in the front room where Pluto was asleep in the chair.

  Griselda began washing the dishes. None of them had eaten anything. But they drank coffee while they washed the dishes and tried to hurry. There was no time to waste. They had to hurry.

  “We ought to start back home, but I would rather stay,” Griselda said.

  “We are going to stay,” Darling Jill said.

  “Buck might come.”

  “He will come,” Rosamond said. “We can’t stop him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Griselda said.

  They knew without asking further what she meant.

  “I would rather you wouldn’t be. I wish you wouldn’t say that. I’d rather that you weren’t sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Griselda,” Darling Jill spoke. “I know Rosamond better than you do. It’s all right.”

  “If Buck ever finds out about it, he’ll kill Will,” Rosamond said. “That’s all I’m sorry about. I don’t know what I would do without Will. But I know Buck’s going to kill him. I’m certain of it. Nothing can stop him when he finds it out.”

  “But there is something we can do, is
n’t there?” Griselda said. “I couldn’t let that happen. It would be awful.”

  “I don’t know anything to do. I’m afraid Pluto might say something when he gets back, too.”

  “I’ll attend to him,” Darling Jill promised.

  “But you never can tell what may happen. If Buck asks him a question, he can read his face. Pluto couldn’t hide anything.”

  “I’ll talk to Pluto before we get back. He’ll be careful after I get through talking to him.”

  They went into the front of the house. Pluto was still asleep, and Will and Mac had left. They began getting ready quickly.

  “Oh, let Pluto sleep,” Darling Jill said.

  Griselda put on some of Rosamond’s clothes. She had her own slippers. Rosamond’s dress looked well on her. They each stopped and admired it.

  “Where’s Will gone to?” Darling Jill asked.

  “To the mill.”

  “We’ve got to hurry. They’re going to turn the power on.”

  “It’s nearly eight o’clock. They may not wait much longer. We can’t wait any longer.”

  They ran out of the house, one behind the other. Down the street they ran towards the ivy-walled mill trying to keep together in the crowd. Everyone’s eyes were on a level with the windows that the sun shone so redly upon.

  “Buck will kill him,” Griselda said, breathless.

  “I know it,” said Rosamond. “We can’t stop him.”

  “He’ll have to shoot me too, then,” Darling Jill cried. “When he points a gun at Will, I’ll be the first to be shot. I would rather die with Will than live after he was killed by Buck. Buck will have to shoot me.”

  “Look!” Rosamond cried, pointing.

  They stopped, raising their heads above the crowd. Men were gathering around the company fence. The three sheep so fat that had grazed on the green for eighteen months were being chased away. The fence was raised into the air--iron posts, concrete holes, and the barb-wire and steel mesh.

  “Where’s Will?” Griselda cried. “Show me Will!”

  Chapter XVII

  “There they go!” Rosamond said, clutching the arms of her sister and Griselda. “Will is at the door now!”

  Women all around them were crying hysterically. After eighteen months of waiting it looked as if there would again be work in the mill. Women and children pushed forward, stronger than the force of the walled-up water in Horse Creek below, pushing close behind the men at the mill door. Some of the older children had climbed up the trees and they were above the crowd now, hanging to the limbs and shouting at their fathers and brothers.

  “I can’t believe it’s true,” a woman beside them said. She had stopped crying long enough to speak.

  All around them women and girls were crying with joy. When the men had first said they were going to take over the mill and turn on the power, the women had been afraid; but now, now when they were crushed against the mill, it looked as if everything would come true. Here in the mill yard now were the mild-eyed Valley girls with erect breasts; behind the mill windows they would look like morning-glories.

  “It’s open!” somebody shouted.

  There was a sudden surge of closely pressed bodies, and Rosamond and Darling Jill and Griselda were pushed forward with the mass.

  “We’ll have something beside fat-back and Red Cross flour now,” a little woman with clenched fists said in a low voice beside them. “We’ve been starving on that, but we won’t any longer. The men are going to work again.”

  Already the mass of men were pouring through the opened doors. They fought their way in silently, hammering at the narrow doors with their fists and pushing them with their muscles, angry because the doors were not wide enough to admit them quicker. Windows on the first floor were being tilted open. The crowd of women and children could follow the advance of the men by watching the opening of the mill windows one after the other. Before the first floor windows were all opened, several on the second floor were suddenly tilted wide.

  “There they are,” Rosamond said. “I wonder where Will is now.”

  Somebody said that the company had hired fifteen additional guards and placed them in the mill. The new guards had arrived that morning from the Piedmont.

  The entire mill was occupied. The third and fourth floor windows were being opened. Already men were running to the windows on all floors, jerking off their shirts and flinging them to the ground. When men in the Valley went back to work after a long lay-off, they took off their shirts and threw them out the windows. Down on the green, where the three company sheep so fat had grazed for eighteen months, the ground was covered with shirts. The men on the last two floors were throwing out their shirts, and down on the ground the piled shirts were knee deep on the green.

  “Hush!” the whisper went over the crowd of women and girls and yelling children in the trees.

  It was time for the power to be turned on. Everyone wished to hear the first concerted hum of the machinery behind the ivy-walled building.

  “I wonder where Will is,” Rosamond said.

  “I haven’t seen him at the window yet,” Griselda said. “I’ve been looking for him.”

  Darling Jill stood on her toes, straining to see over the heads of the people. She clutched Rosamond, pointing to a window above.

  “Look! There’s Will! See him at the window?”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s tearing his shirt to pieces!” Rosamond cried.

  They stood on their toes trying their best to see Will before he left the window.

  “It is Will!” Griselda said.

  “Will!” Darling Jill cried, urging all the strength of her body into her lungs so he might hear her above the noise. “Will! Will!”

  For a moment they thought he had heard her. He stopped and bent far out the window trying to see down into the tensely packed mass below. With a final tear he balled the ripped cloth in his hands and threw it out into the crowd. The women nearest the mill reached up and fought for the worn strips of cloth. The ones who caught parts of it quickly took it from the reach of the others who wished to have a part of it.

  Rosamond and Darling Jill and Griselda could not get close enough to fight for Will’s torn shirt. They had to stand where they were and see the other women and girls struggle over it until there was none left.

  “Let’s hear the machinery, Will Thompson!” an excited woman cried.

  “Turn the power on, Will Thompson!” another girl cried at him.

  He turned and ran out of sight. The crowd below was as still as the empty mill yard had been before they came. They waited to hear the first hum of the machinery.

  Rosamond’s heart beat madly. It was Will whom the crowd begged to turn the power on. It was he whom they had acknowledged by acclamation as their leader. She wished to climb up high above the mass of crying women and shout that Will Thompson was her husband. She wished to have all the people there know that Will Thompson was her Will.

  Through the tilted glass windows they could see the men at their places, waiting for the wheels to turn. Their voices were raised in shouts that burst through the windows, and their bare backs gleamed in the rising sun like row after row of company houses in the early morning.

  “it’s on!” somebody cried. “The power is on!”

  “Will has turned on the power,” Griselda said, dancing with joy. She was on the verge of bursting into tears again. “Will did it! It was Will! Will turned the power on!”

  All of them were too excited to speak coherently. They jumped up and down on their toes, each trying to see over the head of the other. Men ran to the windows shaking their fists into the air. Some of them were laughing, some were cursing, some were standing as though they were in a daze. When the machinery turned, they ran back and stood in their accustomed positions beside the looms.

  There was a sound of sudden small explosions in the eastern end of the mill. It sounded like small firecrackers bursting. In the roar of the machinery it had
almost been drowned out, but it was loud enough to be heard.

  Everyone turned his head to look down at the eastern end of the mill. Down there the power room was located.

  “What was that?” Griselda asked, clutching Rosamond.

  Rosamond was like a ghost. Her face was drawn and white, and her pale lips were dry like cotton.

  The other women began talking excitedly among themselves. They spoke in whispers, in hushed undertones that made no sound.

  “Rosamond, what was that?” Griselda cried frantically. “Rosamond, answer me!”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured.

  Darling Jill trembled beside her sister. She could feel a convulsive throb serge through her heart and head. She leaned heavily upon Griselda for support.

  A man on one of the middle floors ran to a window and shook his fist into the air, cursing and shouting. They could see warm blood trickle from the corners of his lips, dropping to his bare chest. He raised his fists into the air, screaming to the heavens.

  Soon others ran to the windows excitedly, staring down into the crowd of wives and sisters below, cursing and shouting while their fists shook the air.

  “What’s the matter?” a woman in the crowd cried. “What happened? Dear God, help us!”

  The windows were filled with cursing, bare-chested men who looked down into the faces of the women and girls.

  Suddenly there was a cessation of noise in the mill. The machinery whirled to a stop, dying. There was not a sound anywhere, not even in the crowd below. Women turned to each other, helplessly.

  First one man, his bare chest gleaming in the sun, appeared at the big double-doors below. He came out slowly, his hands holding fists that were too weak to remain doubled any longer. Another man came behind him, then two, then others. The door was filled with men walking slowly, turning at the steps until the glow of the sun covered their pale backs with thin blood.