Shack Road

By Hallam Whitney

A sharecropper’s women... what a life they led a man!

Callie May, his wife, just couldn’t help being friendly to strangers...a warm friendliness that was forever attracting strangers to her...

May Ellen, his elder daughter, ran away from the cabin on Shack Road to look for a nice, respectable husband..but came running home again on her honeymoon!

Grandma, his mother-in-law, had stories to tell that would make a wild stallion blush...and there was no stopping her when she began talking about her young days!

Lorraine, the younger daughter...she was the real one! Down in Tampa, where she “worked”, or back home on Shack Road, the men couldn’t keep away from her...and whether it was the Colonel, who owned the land the family lived on, or the nice boy May Ellen married, or a chance bill collector who came around...when they saw Lorraine, there was the devil to pay!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781440545054

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

CALLIE MAY WAS STANDING out on the sagging porch, watching her husband, Juba Pray. The incline of the porch was so steep that anyone standing on it had to lean far back, as though to brace himself against the natural pull of gravity. The way Callie May stood there pushed her generous bosom and her bottom forward.

Even though she was forty, Callie May was still pretty in a tired, wan way. But Juba had been married to her for twenty-five years now, and it had been a long time since he had been interested in her at all. Right now, anyway, he was too preoccupied to care what she looked like.

To Juba, running and puffing up dusty Shack Road, Callie May was no more real at the moment than the faded cotton dress she wore. He had seen it, day in and day out, month in and month out, and it was no good to him anyhow, because it was just about worn out.

Callie May was watching him, puzzled that her husband should be running so, and continually glancing over his shoulder down the road. Juba was never a man to exert himself unduly. In fact, he usually did not even measure up to what was necessary. Yet here he was, showing signs of exhaustion, as though he had been running a long way. Now his feet started slapping in the dust, sending up mushrooming clouds of dust around his tattered shoes.

As Juba pulled up to the broken fence that enclosed the yard, Callie May pushed the toothpick she held between her teeth over to a corner of her mouth. What you want, Pa? she called. What’s got you runnin’ in this awful heat this way, Juba?

Juba’s ordinarily sallow, malarial complexion now showed red and spotted. He slowed down and set his shapeless hat, which he had been too excited to wear, on top of the tawny wisps of hair that danced on his liver-spotted scalp.

Gol dang it! What you think I want, woman? Juba said, shading his eyes and casting them about, looking for his sons.

Callie May shrugged and said nothing.

His gaze swept the rough fields. Juba continued to look there, though it was the middle of the afternoon, and even when the boys worked they did not work at this time of day. Especially they did not work on Saturday afternoons. Juba knew all this, but he knew, too, that they had to be somewhere on the place.

He came through the gate and started across the bare sand yard toward Callie May. The shade of the chinaberry tree looked good to Juba, but he did not stop there. From the corner of his eye he could see the pump, and he thought how good a cold drink of well water would taste. Still he would not take time to drink.

Lem! Pete! he yelled. Where the fiery brimstone are you boys? Lem! I need you!

I don’t know what you want, Callie May said, leaning back a little farther. There was not really enough tilt in the porch to cause anyone to fall, but still she always felt sure she was going to fall, unless she leaned far backwards.

You heard me call Lem and Pete, didn’t you? Juba said. He stood in front of the stoop with his hat in his hand and the sweat running down his reddened face.

Callie May stared at him. She knew something was wrong, all right. She had not seen Juba sweated down like that since one of the pigs got into the sweet potato patch. It worried her to see him perspired and panting like that. It took a lot to stir Juba up. Maybe it was bad news about the children. The Lord knew Callie May had not heard from May Ellen, her youngest, in months, and she was worried sick about May Ellen. A young and pretty thing like May Ellen off by herself — why anything could happen to a girl like that.

You been to town and back already? she said.

Juba shook his head. I ain’t been to town yet.

Didn’t you git my sixty white thread?

Gol dang it, woman! I told you. I ain’t been to town yet. Why don’t you ever listen to me?

You ain’t said nothing. She did not lift her voice. She tilted back a little again. I know something is wrong. I know you ain’t running in the sun, unless something has gone and busted all wrong.

Juba shook his head and swallowed, although his mouth was as dry as cotton. "There ain’t nothing wrong this time, Callie May. This here is something terrific — and I know it’s going to be just fine for us from now on. All our luck is going to change, Ma, and things will just be fine. I got me a car!"

Just saying the word itself got Juba so excited that he could not stand still. He had to walk around in the yard. He was so excited his kidneys were burning, but he did not have time for that. He had no time either to remember that his legs were aching, and tired as he was, a grin spread across his face.

Where are the boys? he said, his voice trembling with excitement. Where is Lem?

What did you say?

You heard me! Juba stopped walking his circles. I said where in tarnation is Lem?

Callie May’s expression did not change. She said, No. I mean before that. What did you say you got?

I told you! I got me a car!

A car?

Didn’t you ever hear of a car?

Callie May’s faded eyes smiled. Yeah. I heard of one. You once had one — twenty-six years ago. Remember the back seat in that one, Pa? I’ll never forget it. You sure were sweet then, Juba. You had to sell that car. You had to sell it so we could get married.

He shook his head, and his mouth was angry. Oh, no. I had to sell it to pay that doctor for you! We could have got married without I sold my car — but you had to go to a hospital to have your young-un. That’s why I had to sell my car.

Callie May smiled and nodded, remembering. Yes. I thought a young bride ought to have things nice at first — and I still do, Pa.

Where are the boys? Juba said.

But Callie May was still caught in the web of her pleasant reveries. She was not listening to Juba now. I remember that car. Only car we ever had. My, but you used to look fine, riding to see me in it of a Sunday afternoon. Nobody ever looked any finer than you did when you was young, Juba. I remember you promised you’d buy us a new car as soon as a crop came in.

Juba mopped his brow and nodded. I would have, too, if you’d stopped having young-uns long enough for me to git any money ahead.

She sighed. You never did get me a new car."

He laughed. Well, I got you one now. Now you got a car and the children, too. Things are going to be lookin’ up for us from now on.

The door opened again, the spring squealing, the hinges singing dryly. Callie May’s mother came out and stood tilted slightly, just behind Callie May.

Grandma was fifteen years older than Callie May, but she had been a vain woman all her life, and she had the remains of what had once been a startling figure. She had used too many cosmetics, stayed awake too many nights and had drunk too many Pink Ladies.

Grandma’s complexion looked tired and old, but Grandma’s eyes still looked at life in a youthful way. People who knew the Prays said that at fifty-five, Grandma was the youngest one in the whole family.

Car? Grandma said. Who’s got a car? Don’t tell me Juba Pray’s got one!

It’s time you were getting me a car, Juba, Callie May said, ignoring her mother. You promised me one. You always told me you’d get me a real nice car. I reckon I had almost forgot how you used to promise me you’d buy me a new car until you walked in here and mentioned it, just this moment.

Juba sat down on the steps. They were made of two-by-eight pine wood that had hardened and petrified in the sun. The steps were very solid, much more substantial than the porch. The porch was made of hardwood, too. It would have been fine, but one of the supports had slipped. Juba had never gotten around to bracing it, even though he had promised Colonel Ben Anderson that he would brace it every time the Colonel came to the place. One thing, the Colonel did not come so much as he had before Lorraine left home.

Juba fanned himself with his hat and mopped his forehead with his shirt sleeves. The trouble was that all these years we’ve just never quite had enough money for the down payment. I’ve seen some mighty clean bargains in town at Jolly Jake’s lot, but every blamed time the down payment was just out of my reach. I meant to buy you a new car. All these years, I sure never intended for you to be without one, Callie May.

Callie May beamed at him.

You sure never intended to do a little work, though, to see you could get one, Grandma cut in.

Juba ignored her, and continued talking to Callie May. "I like to ride around in cars, too, and I never have liked to have to hitch a ride into Dozier’s Landing, standing out on the hardroad like some tramp that was just passing through.

Oh, I’ve had my eye on nice cars for years, but they was always a kid comin’ on — or sickness. Always something. I think a man ought to have a car, and there’s no two ways about that. A man that’s riding, he’s got his pride with him, and people have to look up at him when he rides past. Don’t think it’s ever been out of my mind the way we Prays have needed a car all these years.

I don’t see any car around here, Grandma said.

Callie May looked over her shoulder, smiling palely. Pa’s got me a new car, Grandma. Haven’t you, Pa?

Juba jerked his head in a pleased nod. I shore have. Or I would have — if I could just find one of them danged boys. He jumped up and started searching the yard again. You seen them boys, Ma? He shaded his eyes and looked around.

I think I saw Lem going toward the outhouse, and I saw Pete going into the barn about twenty, thirty minutes ago.

Well, no use trying to get Pete to do anything. He’ll just start cussing if I ask him to do anything at all. I’ll get Lem. Lem always was my favorite boy.

I still don’t see any car, Grandma said.

Pa’s got me a new car, Callie May said impatiently. Now hush, Grandma. Pa’s got to get Lem so they can get the car.

Well, what’s Lem got to do with the new car? Grandma said. Juba could sure drive it here himself. Lem ain’t no better behind a wheel than Juba is.

Callie May puzzled over that a moment. She shook her head. Land, I don’t know. She glanced at Juba who had started walking in circles again in the sun. What’s Lem got to do with the car, Pa?

Juba stared at them, as though he thought they were both crazy for asking such a question. Sometimes when he got mad at them like that, he would pick up something and beat at the ground with it. Today his mind was on something else.

He said, I got to get the car here, don’t I?

That’s it, Callie May said. He’s got to git the car here, Grandma.

Why don’t he just drive it here? Grandma said. Has he forgotten how?

No! I ain’t forgotten how to drive. I ain’t a man that forgets anything. Once I know a thing, it’s inside my head for keeps. Sometimes at night, I lay awake in bed, remembering how to drive a car, thinking about it, the way it is, the way the wind feels in your face when you’re driving. It ain’t the same as when you’re ridin’ with somebody. That wind in your face when you’re driving is just about the sweetest thing there is in this world.

Grandma shook her head, looking at Juba pityingly. She said, I hope I never git that worn out that I begin to forget what’s the sweetest thing there is. It ain’t drivin’ no car, either — in the wind or out of it.

Callie May smiled agreeably and patted her mother’s arm.

Juba looked at them a moment and then cupped his hands around his mouth. Lem! Le — em! Lem, boy! Where are you?

Calls his chillun same way he calls his hogs, Grandma said, shaking her head.

A tall, towheaded boy came around the side of the house behind Juba. His head was narrow and long, his Adam’s apple prominent, his body spindly and narrow. When Juba looked at him he sometimes thought of a fennel stick that had grown too long so that it was not steady in the wind. However, Lem had a nice, shy smile that made everybody like him on sight. Nobody ever remembered Lem’s getting angry in all his life. He was Callie May’s son, all right. The boy was simple, good and kind, so much so that Juba worried terribly about him. He was afraid people would take advantage of him.

You call me, Pa? Lem said.

Juba jumped, and then whirled around to look at Lem. Where you been, son? he said. I been looking for you.

Pa’s got us a car, Callie May beamed. Her voice was oozing pride.

A car? Lem’s wan smile was like his mother’s. Weak as it was, it expressed a lot of pleasure. He looked around the yard, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn levis. Where is it, Pa?

That’s what I asked him, Grandma said. "That was the very first thing I asked him. Looks like it’s another one of them things he’s promising Callie May. He always was promising her things. He always seemed to me like a man that was so ashamed of himself that he had to keep promising a woman the things he’d get for her, some day