they had been informed that Lieutenant Pete Banning was missing and presumed dead in the Philippines. During those dark days, Pastor Bell took charge of the mourning—directing the church ladies and their endless parade of food, organizing prayer vigils at the church, shooing folks away from the house when privacy was needed, and counseling the family, almost daily, it seemed. Joel and Stella even whispered complaints when they grew tired of the counseling. What they wanted was to spend time alone with their mother, but the reverend was always around. Often he brought his wife, Jackie; other times he did not. As Joel grew older, he found Jackie Bell cold and aloof, and Stella didn’t like her either.
Joel closed his eyes and shook his head again. It wasn’t really true, was it? His father had murdered Dexter Bell and was now locked up?
The cotton began at the edge of town, and under a full moon it was plain to see which fields had been picked. Though he had no plans to farm like his ancestors, Joel checked the market on the Memphis Cotton Exchange every day in The Nashville Tennessean. It was pretty damned important. The land would one day belong to him, and to Stella, and the annual harvest would be crucial.
“Gonna be a nice crop this year,” the cabbie said.
“That’s what I hear. About another mile and I’ll get out.”
Moments later, Joel said, “Up there at Pace Road, that’ll be fine.”
“In the middle of nowhere?”
“That’s right.” The cab slowed, turned onto a gravel road, and stopped. “That’ll be a dollar,” the driver said. Joel handed him four quarters, thanked him for the lift, and got out with his small duffel. After the cab turned around and was headed back to town, he walked the quarter mile to the driveway leading to his home.
The house was dark and unlocked, and as he eased through it he figured Mack, the bluetick hound, was either at Nineva’s or at Florry’s. Otherwise, he would have been barking when Joel approached on the gravel drive. In earlier times and not that long ago, the house would have been alive with the voices of his parents, and music on the radio, and perhaps friends over for dinner on a Saturday night. But tonight it was a tomb, dark and still and smelling of stale tobacco.
Now they were both locked away: his mother in a state asylum, his father in the county jail.
He left through the rear door, swung wide to avoid the small home of Nineva and Amos, and picked up the trail by the barns and tractor shed. This was his land and he knew every inch of it. A hundred yards away, a light shone in the window of Buford’s cottage. He had been their overseer, or foreman as he preferred to be called, since before the war, and his importance to the family had just been greatly elevated.
All lights were on in Florry’s cottage and she was waiting near the door. She hugged him at first, then scolded him for coming, then hugged him again. Marietta had made a pot of venison stew two days earlier and it was warming on the stove. A thick, meaty aroma filled the house.
“You’re finally gaining some weight,” Florry said as they sat at the dining table. She was pouring coffee from a ceramic pot.
“Let’s not talk about our weight,” Joel said.
“Agreed.” Florry was gaining too, though not on purpose.
“It’s so good to see you, Joel.”
“It’s good to be home, even under these circumstances.”
“Why did you come?”
“Because I live here, Aunt Florry. Because my father is in jail and my poor mother has been sent away, so what the hell is happening to us?”
“Watch your language, college boy.”
“Please. I’m twenty years old and I’m a senior. I’ll cuss, smoke, and drink anytime I wish.”
“Lawd have mercy,” Marietta said as she walked by.
“That’s enough, Marietta,” Florry snapped. “I’ll take care of the stew. You’re done for the night. See you late tomorrow morning.”
Marietta yanked off her apron, tossed it on the counter, pulled on her coat, and went to the basement.
They took deep breaths, sipped their coffee, and let a moment pass. Calmly, Joel asked, “Why did he do it?”
Florry shook her head. “No one knows but him, and he refuses to explain things. I’ve seen him once, the day after, and he’s in another world.”
“There has to be a reason, Aunt Florry. He would never do something so random, so awful, without