Salvation of Miss Lucretia Read online

  “I ain’t sleeping in here with him,” I said.

  “Me neither,” Poudlum agreed.

  “I’ll set him out on de porch,” she volunteered.

  “The dogs ain’t gonna sleep with it either!” Poudlum told her.

  “All right, den I’ll take him out under de shed.”

  We both stood well back while Miss Lucretia made her exit with the snake cage.

  With the snake gone, we turned our attention to what was left behind where the curtain had hung. There was a small table covered with a red cloth that contained animal skulls and a few other assorted bones.

  “Wh-wh-what is it, Poudlum?” I stuttered.

  “I think it’s some kind of voodoo altar.”

  Behind the altar hung what I guessed to be forty or fifty dried snakeskins and three bobcat pelts.

  There were also some shelves with jars and bottles containing liquids and dried materials.

  “Those must be all her voodoo potions and stuff,” I guessed.

  We were startled when we heard a voice behind us say, “Dat’s right, dat’s what dey is.”

  She was back.

  She went over to her small bed and pulled two quilts out from under it and said, “I use dese to stay warm wid in de winter. But tonight y’all can make yo’selves pallets wid ’em, and you won’t have to sleep on de hard floor.”

  Once we had done that, she got into her bed and pulled a thin coverlet over herself, and said, “Y’all blow dat lamp out.”

  Poudlum put his open hand close to the top of the globe of the lamp, blew on it, and it deflected the little blast of air down, and the flickering flame went out.

  I heard Poudlum as he lay down on the pallet next to me while it got pitch black in the room. It got so quiet you could have heard an ant breathing.

  I began to feel the drowsy waves of sleep coming over me, but I was jolted from it when Miss Lucretia’s voice came out of the dark, saying, “Y’all did say it was 1949, didn’t you?”

  “Yes’m,” Poudlum replied.

  That seemed to satisfy her on what year it was. Then she said, “I’ll go out to de chicken pen in de morning and gather up some fresh eggs. Y’all likes ’em scrambled or fried?”

  “We’ll take ’em however you like ’em,” Poudlum said.

  “Wish I had some fresh sausage to fix wid ’em. Last time I had some fresh sausage wuz de last time I saw my momma.

  “I ’member we went to a hog killing early one cold and frosty morning. Dey had several fires going and washpots boiling. I did some fire walking and we left wid plenty of fresh meat. And de best part wuz de sausage. I really liked de patty sausage, but de very best wuz dem links.

  “Dey ground up a whole hog, added some sage to it and used de chitlings fo’ de casings, den dey would wound de links down into a bucket of lard to keep ’em. On de morning of de day they drove me away, I remember my momma reached down into dat bucket, pulled up a link and used her butcher knife to whack us off two pieces. Den she tossed ’em into her big black iron skillet where dey started sizzling and popping, and de ends of ’em busted open while dey wuz browning.”

  It got real quiet again for awhile. Then she continued, “I ain’t had me no sausage since 1935, not in fourteen long years.”

  The words of her story and the sadness in her voice touched my heart, and it must have had the same effect on Poudlum, because he said, “We gonna take you out of these woods tomorrow morning, Miss Lucretia. And soon as we get to my house, my momma’ll fry us up some sausage. You can’t stay back here no more, ’cause it just ain’t right.”

  “You ain’t even asked yo’ momma,” she said.

  “I don’t have to. Ain’t that right, Ted?”

  “It surely is, Miss Lucretia. And all the folks in Poudlum’s church will help you, too.”

  “What does a white boy know about what folks in a colored church gonna do? Look what de ones down in Africatown done to me.”

  “Folks in Poudlum’s church ain’t like that,” I told her.

  “How in de world does a white boy know such as dat?”

  “I been to a service in Poudlum’s church.”

  “You has?”

  “Yes’m, I have, and them folks are gentle and kindhearted. They won’t turn you away.”

  She attempted to muffle her voice, but we heard her words, when she said, “Praise de Lawd for sending dese young angels to save my po’ soul.”

  Poudlum ended all the talking, when he said, “Let’s all go on to sleep now. After you cook up some eggs in the morning, we’ll pack up and light outta here. After that, me and Ted will take care of you.”

  I drifted on off to sleep with a warm feeling, thinking that tomorrow everything would be all right.

  I hadn’t been asleep long when I was awakened by the frantic barking of the dogs. At first I thought that big snake had probably got loose, but when I raised up on my elbow, I saw flashes of light through the cracks in the wall.

  Chapter 10

  The Visitor

  Sometimes when everything is real peaceful and you feel safe and warm, a dark cloud suddenly blows up, and thunder starts booming and lightning commences to flash, then a stinging rain begins to pelt you.

  That’s the feeling it reminded me of when we were roused from our short-lived sleep by the barking of the dogs and flashing lights in the dark.

  Poudlum sat up, and said, “What you ’spose got into the dogs. Must be a bobcat prowling around out there.”

  “Bobcats don’t carry a lantern,” I answered.

  “Huh?”

  “I saw a light flashing around out there that appeared to me to be coming from some kind of lantern.”

  About that time it flashed again, and a loud voice from outside, called out, “Somebody better call off dese dogs!”

  “Miss Lucretia! Are you awake?” Poudlum asked.

  “I is,” she replied. “Who wouldn’t be wid dogs a-barking, lights a-flashing and folks a-yelling in de middle of de night?”

  “You got any idea who’s out there?”

  “I ’spect it be my nephew. Told y’all he was due anytime. One of y’all go to de door and calm de dogs down while I light de lamp.”

  Poudlum got up, opened the door, and I heard him shush the dogs. Soon as the barking stopped, I heard the scraping sound of the head of a wooden match as Miss Lucretia struck it, lifted the globe and touched the flame to the wick of the lamp, whereupon a dim light flooded the room.

  Then she walked to the cabin door, pulled Poudlum aside, and called out, “Everything all right, you can come on in now.”

  Poudlum retreated to our pallet and dropped down to his knees next to me. I heard Old Bill growl real low, and then I heard the same voice say, “I don’t like dogs, and if one of ’em makes a move, I’m gonna spread him out wid dis scatter gun I got.”

  I immediately became alarmed and got up on one knee, but Miss Lucretia waved me back down, and called out to our visitor, “Dem ain’t nothing but squirrel dogs, Nephew. Don’t pay no mind to ’em and come on in de house.”

  He came in laden with a backpack, bundles and packages, and a two-gallon can, smelling of kerosene. But what really caught my attention was the sawed-off double-barrel shotgun he carried.

  He hadn’t seen us yet as he began unloading his packages and stacking them on the table. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, and what really struck me was that he was the blackest man I had ever seen, absolutely as black as a hunk of coal, and he had a jagged scar about two inches long on his left cheek that was white as a chicken egg.

  He exhaled a deep breath before he said, “Hey, Auntie, I shore hope you ’preciate me tromping through dese dense woods to bring you all dis stuff. It’s a wonder I didn’t get mauled by a panther or bit by a big snake getting here. Where’d you get dem dogs?”

 
“I does ’preciate yo’ efforts, Nephew. De dogs don’t belong to me. Dey belongs to my two guests, Poudlum and Mister Ted,” she said as she nodded towards us.

  Our visitor turned, and when he saw us I could tell he was not only startled but also very curious. He studied us for a few moments before he said, “Well how-de-do Poudlum and Mister Ted. Where in de world did y’all come from?”

  “Uh, we out here training my dog to squirrel hunt,” Poudlum said. “And we, uh, run up on Miss Lucretia.”

  “So you is Poudlum, and dat cracker boy is Mister Ted?”

  I was surprised at Poudlum’s spunk when he replied, “Ted’s his name, and me and him make a practice of not calling people names because of who they are. Do you have a name?”

  I noticed a flicker of anger cross our visitor’s face, but then he masked it and astounded us, by saying, “My name is Cudjoe Lewis!”

  “B-bu-but Cudjoe Lewis died in 1935!” Poudlum stuttered.

  Our visitor threw back his head and roared with laughter. Then he said, “Dat’s right, he did, and Auntie Lucretia’s voodoo is so powerful she done brought him back to life!”

  I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and little chill bumps popped up all over me when he said that. I looked at Poudlum and saw fear and uncertainty in his eyes, too.

  But Miss Lucretia quickly quelled our fears when she said to us, “Dis is my great nephew from my daddy’s side of de family. De first Cudjoe Lewis wuz my granddaddy and wuz his great-granddaddy, and he just named after him.”

  “Why’d you have to tell ’em, auntie? I had ’em spooked!” Cudjoe laughed.

  “Dese boys are my friends, Cudjoe, and dey is gonna take me outta dese woods. I’m giving up voodoo and I ain’t gonna live back in dis forest no more!”

  Cudjoe’s jaw dropped like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then his head slowly turned from Miss Lucretia and looked directly down at us. “What kind of foolishness you little varmints been filling my auntie’s head wid?”

  There was cold fury in his voice and I suddenly realized that we just might be in a lot of trouble.

  Poudlum and I could communicate with our eyes. If he heard or saw something he was concerned about, he would look at me and his eyes would get wide.

  If I agreed with him, I would let mine get wide, too. If I didn’t understand, instead of matching his wide eyes, I would squint mine. This form of communication also worked in reverse if I heard or saw something alarming.

  There were degrees of the widening of the eyes. If Poudlum looked at me and his eyes were as full wide as he could make them, then I knew it was time to run, swim, hide, or fight.

  At this particular time they were just wide enough to warn me that we could be in a dangerous situation, but not wide enough so that it was time for us to panic, so I determined to let him do the talking.

  “Well?” Cudjoe snarled as he stood over us.

  “Uh, It wouldn’t hurt for her to see some other folks, to get out of these woods,” Poudlum said softly.

  Cudjoe shook his shaggy head slowly, and what passed as a smile broke across his square-shaped face as he flashed his perfect white teeth. He hooked his thumbs underneath the galluses of his overalls, stopped smiling, looked hard at Poudlum, and said, “What in de world is wrong wid you, boy? Seems to me you done been hanging out wid dis cracker boy till you done started talking like him. And worse dan dat, it ’pears you done started thinking like white folks.

  “White folks always wanting to stick dey noses in de business of colored folks. Always thinking dey know what’s best fo’ us, when what dey ought to be doing is minding dey own business. Come morning, dat’s what you and Mister Ted gonna be doing—minding yo’ own business and skedaddling outta here. I knows what’s best for my auntie, and I’ll see to it.”

  With that said, he turned away like he was dismissing us from his thoughts, and said to Miss Lucretia, “Auntie, wuz dat rabbit stew I smelled out yonder under de shed? I ’spect it might still be warm. Why don’t you get it and fix me a plate here at de table? I got a powerful hunger about me.”

  As soon as she walked silently out the door, Cudjoe spotted our rifles leaning against the wall. He stepped over and picked them both up and began examining them, and said to himself, “Why, look at dese, dey is almost brand new!”

  Then to our chagrin, he unloaded them both and took them over on the other side of the table and placed them against the wall next to his big double-barreled shotgun.

  Miss Lucretia was back with her cook pot and a tin plate, and as she served up the remains of the stew Cudjoe pulled out a stool to sit on while he ate.

  He was a big man, and unfortunately for him, he chose the stool Poudlum and I had destroyed and then repaired. When his full weight settled on it there was a cracking sound an instant before it collapsed and crashed to the floor with him landing on his seat on top of the splintered stool!

  He got up mad, but to our surprise he took it out on Miss Lucretia instead of us. As soon as he leapt up off the floor, he pointed a finger directly toward her, and spat out, “I ain’t tolerating no voodoo on me, Auntie!”

  That comment produced a slight widening of the eyes from Poudlum. I squinted back at him to let him know I didn’t understand, but I made a mental note of it.

  I looked at Miss Lucretia’s face, and at first I thought she was going to burst out laughing, but she managed to stifle it, and said, “I ain’t used no voodoo on you Cudjoe. Dat old stool was already broken.”

  I noticed he didn’t inspect the stool to confirm what she had said, but rather just tested the other one with his hand before he sat back down to eat his supper.

  He ate like a starving man, and when he finished he pushed his plate away and began picking his packages up off the floor and stacking them on the table.

  “Come look at everything I brung you, Auntie,” he said. “’Bout broke my back lugging it all de way through dese woods. I had to stop and rest a few times. Dat’s why I didn’t get here till after dark.”

  While he was talking he unpacked a big sack of salt and what looked like twenty-five-pound sacks of meal and flour. Then I heard a clinking sound as he unpacked the jars of snuff.

  The last thing he pulled out was a quart jar of a clear liquid, which I suspected to be white lightning moonshine. My suspicion was confirmed when he unscrewed the lid of the jar and took a long swig from it. He licked his lips and made a smacking sound, and said, “Dis ain’t fo’ you, Auntie. Dis is for Old Cudjoe.”

  He took another drink before he replaced the lid; then he got up from the table, and said to Miss Lucretia, “Here’s all you stuff, Auntie. Now let’s take a look at dem snake skins.”

  When they turned their backs on us and headed toward the other side of the room, Poudlum poked me and put a finger to his lips to indicate we should stay quiet. Then he quickly unbuckled his belt and slid the scabbard holding his hunting knife off it, and motioned for me to do the same.

  After I did the same, we rebuckled out belts and slid the part of the scabbard containing the blade down into our boots, and then pulled our pants legs over the handles.

  “What happened to yo’ curtain?” Cudjoe asked.

  Poudlum and I grinned at each other when we heard her say, “I took it down so you would have something to sleep on. De boys using my two quilts.”

  “Wait a minute!” Cudjoe said. “How’d you know I wuz gonna be here tonight?”

  Miss Lucretia didn’t miss a beat. “I read it in de chicken blood.”

  I could tell he was getting agitated when he said, “I done told you, Auntie, I don’t want no voodoo going on while I’m here!”

  “Dat was several days ago,” she replied.

  “All right den,” he conceded. “Now, let’s count dem snake skins.”

  He brought them over to the table, plopped them all down and began to cou
nt. It gave me the creeps to see someone handling all those skins that I knew used to cover a real live snake.

  When he finished, he said, “Dat’s forty-two of ’em. Good job, Auntie!”

  “How much you get for one of them skins?” Poudlum asked.

  Cudjoe’s excitement over the snake skins immediately turned to anger. “Don’t you worry ’bout dat, you little cracker-lover. Didn’t I tell you to keep yo’ mouth shut?”

  I admired Poudlum’s courage as he held eye contact with Cudjoe, but he didn’t say anything more.

  Cudjoe turned his attention back to the skins, rolled them up real tight and tucked them into one of the sacks he had brought Miss Lucretia’s stuff in. Then he returned to the corner and collected the bobcat skins, and as he began to caress them, he said, “Dese is mighty soft and smooth, Auntie. Spect I might get somebody to make me a jacket out of ’em. Wouldn’t dat be something, me walking round in a bobcat coat?”

  Miss Lucretia didn’t say anything. She just busied herself putting her supplies away.

  Cudjoe settled down at the table again and took another long swig from the clear liquid in the fruit jar before he said, “Why you so quiet, Auntie? You usually talk my head off after being by yo’ self fo’ so long.”

  “I done had dese two young boys fo’ company nigh on two days now. I done ’bout caught up on my talking.”

  “Two days! Why dey been here so long?”

  “I ’spose dey likes my company and my cooking.”

  “Naw, no such thing! You got some kind of spell on ’em. Just don’t you be trying none of dat stuff wid me. I done told you!”

  After another gulp of moonshine, he said, “I got to make a trip to de outhouse.”

  On his way to the door, he told us not to move until he got back. Then he hesitated at the door, came back in and picked up all of the weapons and took them with him.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Miss Lucretia said in a hushed tone, “Best if y’all don’t say or do nothing to aggravate him. He’ll leave tomorrow morning and we’ll be shed of him.”

  “But Miss Lucretia, we can’t just let him take all them skins you worked so hard for,” Poudlum told her. “That stuff he brought you ain’t worth more than two or three dollars. Them skins are probably worth a heap of money, which you could use when we take you out of these woods.”