The Wild Seed

By Hallam Whitney

The men couldn’t stay away from Rosamae. At sixteen she was already a woman, brimming over with unfulfilled desires, eager to answer the call of love. But Cal Aiken was the only man who could stir herand he was married.

No good would come of it, Rosamae’s father knew, and he married her off to wealthy Judge Stark’s son. Perhaps everything would have gone all right if the judge’s son hadn’t been so moody and strange...and Cal Aiken hadn’t been so violently ruthless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781440545047

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

FROM WHERE she stood in the kitchen doorway, Rosamae watched the people at the dining table. Crowded on chairs brought from bedroom, kitchen, front room and even the pine bench from the back stoop, they were busy eating and talking. They did not look at Rosamae, or even seem aware she was there. If anyone happened to look her way, she quickly cast her gaze down or glanced away so they would not know she was watching them.

She blinked back tears and stared at her father seated at the head of the table. A raw-boned man with gray hair stringing over high forehead, hands calloused and face lined and sun-weathered so he looked much older than forty-five, Mister Chris wiped a tear from his eye and reached for a piece of fried chicken with the same motion.

She was a good woman, Mister Chris said. I can’t ever change or deny that. Many a man never had it as good as me. One thing sorrows me most of all. For a moment as he chewed he stared through the curtainless window at the flat green fields where he’d set out almost a hundred thousand tomato plants. A good summer, plenty of rain, and he’d produce more tomatoes than any man in Jackoak County had ever seen. One thing sorrows me deep. Elvira didn’t live to see me haul them millions of tomatoes into the packing house. Ever since we were married, I been promising Elvira a real killing, and money to buy all the things she wanted in the mail-order book. Now just when I was set to give it to her, she passed on. He batted at another tear in his sun-bleached eyes. She was a good woman and deserved a lot better than I could give her. Maybe Elvira did leave a lot to be wanted for in that bedroom there, but she was a fine cook, and she kept a clean house. No man on this earth ever gets everything he thinks he ought to have, and with Elvira, I always had a full belly.

I just cain’t believe that poor Elvira has passed away, Cousin Henny Parker said. Such a dear sweet woman, and never settin’ still a moment. Could you just pass me them sweet rutabagas, Pansy?

Cousin Pansy Counts slapped one of her screaming children. You, Homer, she said, you might just as well hush that carrying on — you ain’t gittin’ a bite of sweet cake until you clean up that plate. She hefted a thick dish of sweetened rutabagas. Eat as much as ever you will, Cousin Henny, she said. Looks like they’ll just go to waste. Usually, I can cook them just right. But they don’t seem sweet enough to me. I reckon it’s because I was just so upset to hear about poor Cousin Elvira dying sudden like this.

Her husband laughed from across the table. Stop making them excuses, Pansy. You know right well you think you’re the best cook at this table, and you been watching ever’body to see how much of your cooking they help to their plates.

You hush, Big Homer, Cousin Pansy said. A funeral like this here ain’t no place for your unseemly jokes and coarse laughing.

Rosamae looked at Cousin Pansy, hoping someone else felt as she did. But Cousin Pansy didn’t look too sad to eat. Her plate was heaped higher than anyone else’s, and Rosamae saw Cousin Pansy had taken most of the white meat from the chicken platter. Cousin Pansy’s mouth was pulled in a satisfied smirk, as if she’d gotten pleasure from low-rating her husband before all her relatives.

Rosamae swallowed hard and glanced toward the bedroom beyond them where her mother was laid out in her coffin wearing her best dress, which was the last thing she’d asked for before she died.

A car rolled into the yard, the engine was killed, and doors slammed. Several dogs began to bark at once from under the front porch.

Must be Cousin Lucy and Cousin Baxley and their children, Cousin Pansy said. They had well over a hundred miles to come. Hit’s a wonder they were able to git here this early.

I best go welcome them, Mister Chris said, chewing. He got up from the table, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

The eighteen others at the table were silent while Mister Chris went through the shadowed front room and held open the screen door.

Come in. Come in, they heard Mister Chris calling from the front door. Look out there at them tomato fields, Baxley, as you come in. Ever see anything like ‘em? You folks are just in time to set down and eat. We would have waited for you, but we just didn’t noways believe you folks would make it all the way from Pine Landing this time of the day.

Warn’t no sense in you folks waiting, Cousin Lucy said. I brought some things, some fried chicken and a few dozen yeast rolls —

And a Baltimore cake! one of the children yelled.

We run slap out of gas just the other side of Martel, Cousin Baxley said, or we’d of been here a lot sooner.

You folks just come right in, Mister Chris said as the family filed past him through the front room and into the dining room.

When Cousin Lucy saw the silent faces of her relatives ringed around the table, her eyes puddled up with tears and she sniffled loudly. Someone took the rolls and chicken from her and Cousin Lucy fumbled at her apron, seeking a handkerchief. She found it and blew her nose.

By this time her four children were staked about the table, gaping at the food, and Cousin Baxley stood just behind Mister Chris looking helpless and awkward.

Poor Elvira, Cousin Lucy said. Poor Elvira. Poor, poor Elvira.

Rosamae stepped away from the kitchen door. She touched at her throat and when she spoke, her voice shook.

Mamma — is in there, Cousin Lucy. In the bedroom. Would you — would you like to look at her?

Cousin Lucy caught Rosamae in her arms and hugged her tightly for a moment. Then she pushed her away and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

Not right this minute, child, Cousin Lucy said. I don’t think I can go in there and look at her right now.

Rosamae stepped back, leaned against the doorjamb again.

No, you’re perfectly right, Mister Chris said. You’re plumb tuckered from your trip, and overwrought. You just set down, Cousin Lucy. You’ll feel better later on. There’ll be plenty of time for you to see Elvira before the burial. That ain’t until five tonight. Some of the Arbans are coming from clear down at Kissimee. We want to hold off and give them every chance to git here before the burial. They’d feel mighty poorly if we didn’t. The Arbans are Elvira’s second or third cousins by marriage. You all remember the old Arban family that used to live out beyond Shady?

Yeah! Cousin Cal Aiken’s voice boomed from the foot of the table where he sat between two of his five children. The room shook when Cousin Cal Aiken spoke, and every word echoed and reverberated in the pit of Rosamae’s stomach.

She looked at the tall thin man, all her agony and sick hatred centering on him. True, Cal Aiken was related to Rosamae’s mother only through his marriage to Caldena Counts who was a third cousin herself, but he alone of all the people here had not pretended for a moment any sadness over Elvira’s death.

Yeah, Cal Aiken said. I remember the Arbans, all right. Used to steal chickens. Run some shine, too. And you never went in a church you didn’t see the whole bunch of them sittin’ there in a front row. I can see old Charley Arbans now, that piece of red hair sticking up in the middle of his head like a rooster’s tail feather.

That was ole Charley, all right, Mister Chris said. I recollect one time he give me a whole gallon jug of shine. Later on, I seen ole Charley in town and he asked me how that shine was. I jest told him. I told him it was jest right — I told him if it had been any better, he’d never of give it to me, and if it’s been any worse, I couldn’t a drank it, so it was jest right.

They laughed around the table at Mister Chris. Cousin Baxley found a chair vacated by another of the children. He shook his head, smiling. That’s the way with you, Mister Chris. Ain’t nobody a person can name that you don’t come up with some joke about him.

Except me, Cal Aiken said. He laughed. The way Mister Chris regards me ain’t no joke. I never heard him joke about me.

The smile died on Mister Chris’ face. He said, I admit you and me has had our differences, Cal Aiken. You and me, we don’t see things eye to eye. But this here ain’t no place to talk about it. You folks eat — ain’t no man in this family not welcome at my table at a time of sadness like this. Come on, folks, take out and eat.

Rosamae stared at Cal Aiken’s lean face, fascinated and frightened by the twisted grin which had settled there as Cal Aiken watched Mister Chris at the other end of the table.

Cousin Lucy was seated at the table now, filling her plate from steaming dishes passed to her. All the relatives were taking turns welcoming her.

Mister Chris slapped Cousin Baxley on the shoulder. Mister Chris’ voice was loud. Now, what you reckon I seen out there in the front yard when Cousin Baxley’s folks drove up? A new Chevy. Spanking new. And no truck either that Bax can use to work around his place, but a regular one of them sporty convertibles save with a hard top. That there top, hit don’t roll down, do it, Bax? Baxley shook his head at this. Cries of pleasure sounded around the table and Mister Chris slapped Cousin Baxley’s shoulder again. Things must be pretty good over there in Pine Landing.

Cousin Baxley’s face turned pink and he attempted to look modest. I don’t like to boast, he said, but we are doing all right in the store. Ain’t that true, Lucy?

Cousin Lucy sniffed. If you can call working sixteen hours a day doing all right, Baxley, then we’re doing fine. Jest fine.

We put in a line of electrical goods, Cousin Baxley said. And there is a good profit in them, and looks like people will have them, no matter what else they have to do without.

Well, I’m pleased to hear this, Mister Chris said. It was accepted by the family that Mister Chris was its head. He was the oldest living Newson male and it pleasured him that most of the family looked up to him and respected him. You folks hear that? One of our family is doing fine, anyhow. I’m always pleased to hear that a man is paying attention to his family and his work — and making his mark in the world, not jest throwing himself away and barely scrapin’ by.

Cal Aiken’s sharp blast of laughter rang around the room. You castin’ off on me again, Mister Chris?

Mister Chris’ head jerked up and for a moment their gazes met across the table. Here was one who would not be a part of the family, and recognize a leader. Cal Aiken made his own mistakes, and listened to nobody. Mister Chris remembered that this was his house and looked away first. But he could not resist letting his gaze rest for a second on Caldena and Cal Aiken’s five children. Caldena’s bony shoulders looked thin in a much-washed cotton frock, and all the children wore clothes that were some other family’s cast-offs.

The silence was tense. Then Cousin Lucy spoke up as though there were no tension between the two men. My, I’ve never seed a young girl who has growed the way Rosamae has this here last year. Seems like you just don’t look like the same person, child. How old are you, anyhow?

Sixteen, Rosamae said. I’m sixteen now.

Mister Chris looked up at her over the heads of their relatives. "Child, you ain’t had a mouthful to eat. Come on now, and set down and