Free Darby by Jonathon Scott Fuqua Page A

played around the shelves of dungarees and work shirts. Beth said that she was looking for a tuxedo for her pretend husband, and I was a fancy cashier and told her we had all measure of brands in silk, cotton, and wool, the silk being the fanciest since it’s so hard to get and worms make it. She decided that her husband should have the best and got him the silk. After that, she searched around for a good bow tie.
    “This one costs a hundred dollars,” I said, lifting up a red handkerchief.
    “I’ll take it, plus the shiniest tuxedo shoes you got.”
    Taking hold of some work boots, I put them up on a tabletop. “These shine so much you might wanna put some dirt on ’em.”
    She declared, “Miss Carmichael, I like ’em that way, thank you.”
    Shortly, my daddy came upstairs alongside Mr. Fairchild, who must have walked over from his office. They settled themselves against a wall and grinned at us. After a few minutes, my daddy announced, “Darby, you tired out Russell so bad I have to give him an hour off in the morning.”
    “Daddy,” I muttered, “are you playing?”
    “Yeah, I am, sweetie.”
    In a little while, Beth went home with Mr. Fairchild, and me and Daddy switched off the lights and went out back to the Buick. Daddy cranked the engine. Then we got in and he steered around a corner and along Main Street toward the edge of town.
    Halfway to Ellan, I asked him, “You reckon I can talk about my birthday party yet?”
    “It’s so close, I don’t see why not.”
    Excited, I twisted and looked at his shadowy face. “Did I get a present?”
    “I’m sure you got something.”
    “I wonder what Mama’s gonna do for my party.”
    “You’ll find out.” Daddy laughed and looked into his rearview mirror. A car was following close behind us, wagging back and forth so that its lights shined all around our fenders and splashed into the ditch. On the edge of Bennettsville, it sped past and got in the middle of the road, where it commenced to slow down till we had to stop.
    “Why’d they do that?” I asked my daddy.
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    A minute or so went by, and a skinny man got from the car and walked toward us.
    Daddy said, “Darby, honey, you stay here.” Careful, he got out and met the man by our bumper. The Buick’s headlights made them look like pale angels.
    I rolled down my window so that I could hear, and cold air rushed against my head.
    “Mr. Carmichael,” the man said, tilting his hat.
    “You’re a long way from home,” my daddy said back.
    “Yeah, I am. Came here on business, if you wanna know.”
    “I don’t.”
    “Sure you don’t, Mr. Carmichael. But rumors is rumors, and we gotta ask questions.” When the man smiled, I could see he was missing some teeth, and that gave me a shiver fit so that I had to wrap my arms across myself to stay warm.
    “See, Mr. Carmichael, yer a respectable part of the Marlboro community. Why, yer a big man round here. Nobody wants nothin’ ta happen ta a fella like you. That’s why I gotta ask a simple question: Why’d you wanna get involved in somethin’ so simple as a black boy dyin’? Why did you get involved at all, huh? What I hear is that boy, he come at Turpin, and Turpin, he didn’t do nothin’ but protect hisself.”
    My daddy leaned forward, and said, “That boy was twelve years old. If a twelve-year-old attacked me, I believe I could keep myself safe with one hand.”
    “That boy had a knife. You see now?”
    “That boy didn’t have a knife.”
    “Yeah, he did.”
    “Look, the only reason I got involved is because one of my tenant farmers woke me up and told me the boy had an infection. I didn’t have any idea he’d been beaten till I saw him.” I could tell Daddy was getting mad.
    “You was put into a bad situation,” said the skinny man. “That’s for sure.”
    “When somebody asks for my help, if I can, I give it.”
    The man smiled. “Yer a good guy, Mr. Carmichael. Got a family that goes to church