The Ghosts Of Montgomery: Chapter Two

TWO: This is the last of Earth
In life, everyone has a special place to go to. A serene pasture of heaven that they may call their own. For some it can be a place to think; others may need solace from the unrelenting pressure of existance. There are few- the lucky few- that find this place and go to it simply for the love of being there. Perhaps a moment of indefinable magic happened in that very spot, or maybe it is a reminder of a simpler, more gentle time.

Alberta King - That's me- just happened to be one of those people.

I had been born into a family of servants; under the less than austere ownership of Martin Buckfield. Once a moderately rich purveyor of toys and of full service to the Mid-West, my family - the Kings - had been handed down the generations as slaves.

Not that the King's were slaves; not anymore. One day we were working, the next the Emancipation Proclamation had my Grandpappy out on his weather-beaten butt. Truth be told though, the Kings felt so comfortable with the Buckfields they didn't know any other life, I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

By the time my Daddy had become a man, it had reached the point where the two families were like one. Almost anyhow; we were mindful of being too uppity and the Buckfields didn't want trouble from the neighbours. Benjamin Buckfield and Jessie King, two proud matriachs, had become almost like brothers. I love Uncle Ben, always full of stories and jokes. He was going to teach me the Banjo before I got here. Imagine, me, on the Banjo!!

Anyway, I grew into a small and wide-eyed child; full of inquistiveness and enthusiam. One of my very first memories were of horses riding through the plains; I remember it clearly as the men riding them were wearing white robes with hoods covering their facees. For some reason - I can't remember why- I'd been holding a posy of Daffodils and watching with wonder. I seem to recall thinking maybe one day I could be riding a horse with nice clean robes. One of the men stopped beside me and took a good gander through the eye-holes in his hood. He seemed to be making his mind up about something; his hand was all gloved up and holding something; I couldn't tell what, it was so shiny it hurt my eyes. It was okay after a minute or so because he put it away. Then he said something to me I never forgot.

Go home colored girl.

As the men rode off, I walked home straight away. I kept glancing at the front and back of my hands, one time kicking both legs up to get a good look. What the man said didn't really make sense.. I was just one color, it didn't count as 'colored'. As far as I knew, I'd always been that way.
When I got back to the smallhold, supper was waiting. Momma made great food; Cornbread like fluffy clouds and the sweet aroma of Chitlin's. Daddy said he liked them burnt but Momma had done a cheesy sauce so that was okay. When I sat down to eat I asked Momma a question.

'Momma, am I coloured?'

My mother and father looked funny at one another, then she kissed me on the head.

'You are Alberta King. And that's all you ever need to be.'

I didn't ask any more questions, it was good enough for me. I was hungry, and Daddy had put the radio on which made me dance; then it grew dark and bedtime had arrived. By the morning the horsemen had became a distant memory.

I grew into a obstinate teenager, desperate to learn but limited by life. The Buckfields had two children by then; Benjamin just a small boy and Rebecca a sprightly ten years old. I spent a lot of time with Rebecca; swimming, painting, even just racing sticks through the rocky streams.

Yet I would return to my special place every now and then; just to think.

I grew into a young woman; my duties increasing on the farm. From dawn I would milk cows, feed chickens and slop hogs. I began to notice boys; got the desire to make my mark in the world. I always found myself denied. Too poor. Too Woman. Too Black. It was just the world we lived in.

One day, A Buckfield cousin came to stay. Arthur Beaton sat in the parlour, smoking French cigarettes and regaling his family with stories. My duties as Kitchenmaid meant I was supposed to be invisible. But I noticed him looking at me whilst stroking his paunch belly. I tried to ignore it, I really did. I knew my place.

On that same night, the family had long since retired to bed. It was my job to clean the plates and scrub the China ready for breakfast; I never minded having done it for so long. I'd just scrub and drift off, dreaming amongst the bubbles of a better life.

I woke up from daydreams as the door clicked open.

'That...was a fine meal, Missy. I enjoyed it so much, I had to come and tell you my appreciation.'
Arthur came stumbling through the door. I turned to face him; he was all drunk and sweaty.
'Mr.Beaton. I..thank you kindly, Sir. I'm not sure Mrs.Buckfield will take kindly to you being in the kitchen at this hour, I have a whole mess of work to do, if she catches you here she'll take issue, Sir.'
He put his hand on his lips, swaying from side to side.
'You..You don't worry about that. I'll help you clean up, I think it's worth it for some time alone.'
I felt a little confused. 'Sir?'
'Did you not think I never noticed? That sashayin' when you come in and out the room, them looks you been givin'me? Batting your eyes..It's okay, I get that a lot.'
He moved closer.
I tried to think, to do anything to get him to back the hell off. 'Mr.Beaton, please, I'm sorry if you that that was what I was doing, but I think-'
He interrupted, eyes turning dark. 'Oh...oh...so that's it? You been leadin' me on? Gettin' me all excited, playin' games with me?'
He grabbed me round the waist and pulled me close close, his breath stank of stale meat and Whisky.
I tried to wriggle free.
'Please...let me go.'
There was a flash of pain across my face, I think he slapped me. The blood thundered through my ears, I remember the ringing.
'N****r Whore! Dirty little coloured Bitch! You need taking in hand, shown who's master!'
I felt blows raining down onto my face, the slaps turning to punches.
I felt myself being spun around, my underwear ripping against my skin as it got torn clean away. My head was forced towards the sink as the pain started in violent jolts...I tried to count the bubbles, anything to make me think of something else.

Afterwards I lay on the floor, sobbing. Arthur did up his pants, looking down on me with disgust.
'You get those dishes done now. You're a disgrace to your service. I might have to get my brother to reconsider your position here.'
He left the room, just stepping over me. I remember grabbing my underwear and holding it tight. For some reason it seemed important.

---------------------------------------------------------------

After a long time, I went to find the one person who could give me solace. I knocked quietly on Rebecca's door, praying she wasn't asleep. Lucky for me, she opened the door and saw the state I was in, pulling me quickly through the doorway.
'Alberta...what's happened? Are you okay?'
I limped into the room, collapsing onto the wooden bed.
'Rebecca...I'm fine. I had an accident.'
The young girl ran towards the door. 'I'll get help, Alberta. I'll get my daddy.'
I held up a hand. 'NO! No, please..don't. I just need to get my breath back. I'll be fine. You don't tell anyone about this, you hear? I just need a towel.'
I tried to clean myself up as best I could. The bruises were starting to form; I'd have to hide them.
'Did someone hurt you?' asked Rebecca tentatively.
I figured that unless I said something, the young girl would tell someone regardless.
'Rebecca...I made a mistake. I did something I shouldn't, and I paid the price. If you say anything you'll get me in a lot of trouble. You wouldn't want that, would you?'
'No...I...guess not.'
'Thank you. I appreciate that.'

I left the room after that, we never spoke of what happened again. I went to my special place come morning. It was a good place to think.

Things didn't get easier for me as the pains started; my stomach slowly growing. Two months into my pregnancy, Martin King invited me and daddy into his home. My father went first, I sat outside the living room as they talked for what seemed like hours. I finally got told to come in; daddy had a strange look on his face, staying in the corner of the room.

'Sit down, Alberta.' offered Martin from behind his desk.
'Alberta...I think it's obvious we need to have a discussion', he said, pointing at my belly.
I looked down at my expanding waistline. 'Mr.Buckfied, I know I've put on a little weight, I apologise.'
He looked at my father, Jessie just waved his hand and sighed. Martin looked back at me.
'That's not a little weight, that's about Fifteen to Twenty pound of weight that's going to drop right off in six months or so.'
I think I started sweating at this point.
'Alberta, how long have we known each other? I can remember holding you as a little baby. You can't keep secrets from me. And Rebecca certainly can't. And as for my brother, well..You should have said something.'
He signed a piece of paper and handed it to me.
'Listen, as you know we don't have much money here anymore. This is the address of my sister in Connecticut. She needs a housekeeper and has offered to take you in. It's good money, she'll help you with the birth, there's a great Negro hospital there. You'll be taken good care of, I promise. You have the option to come back once the baby is born.'
Martin looked at Jessie.
'There...is another thing.'
'You want me to give up my baby.' I said. My tears were stinging at that point.
Daddy came away from the window and up close, sympathy and urgency fighting for attention in his voice.
'You can't keep that baby, 'Berta. We can't afford it here. Nevermind that it's half-n****o, you'll put shame on both families. And what about the poor child?'
I sobbed. 'Please don't make me give my baby away. It's all I have in the world, it's a part of me.' I really felt that. I'd made plans of the life we would have had, how beautiful it would have been.
Jessie's voice rose, teeming with anger.
'God damn Alberta, there ain't no life for no baby here. We's strugglin' to survive here, we can't afford no more mouths to feed! Now you move away and give up that baby before you kill us all.'

I had no choice but to accept. Where do you think I went? That's right. I sat in my special place, stroking my unborn baby.

I packed my bags that same night, Daddy's horse and carriage got primed for the cold winter journey.

We'd been riding for hours when the attack happened.

I didn't know what was happening at first, the horse screamed and reared at the commotion. I remember seeing lit lanterns through the fabric, and the flash of metal; the sound of a gunshot in the air. There was a lot going on.
Daddy got dragged from the wagon; his face seemed lost in black shadow. I could hear the thumping of boots against his body; the screaming of pain as the blows connected to my Father.
The sounds slowly stopped, my breathing was heavy and I remember worrying whoever it was would hear.
I screamed as large, burly hands pulled me from the wagon.
Voices. Lots of voices.
'We got another uppity negro here!'
'It's a woman!'
'Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooweeeeeeeeeeee'
'It's time we taught some lessons.'

I felt blows to my face.
The voices came closer, growing larger, lights flashing before my eyes.
There was only one thing I could say'
'Please..I'm pregnant!'
I can tell you, those kicks hurt. I can't imagine how much my baby felt. Hopefully not much.

Then they had their fun. Don't get me wrong, I felt horrified as I was violated for a second through seventh time. Who wouldn't? The shame and agony of defilement? That wasn't there this time around. No, the horror came from the words they spoke.

'I can't believe you're screwing a coloured girl'
'I would never do that!'
'She loves it!'
'Jeff, you do the craziest things!'

Had it come to this? I hadn't wanted this to happen, but there were people who wouldn't do it because of the color of my skin? I wasn't even fit to be raped? Why did they hate me so much?

When the man finally finished, he'd stood over me. Dripping.

'Whats your name, girl?'

I lay on the floor, looking up at the stars. They seemed to be calling to me.
'I'm Alberta King. It's all I ever need to be.'

---------------------------------------------------------------------

My final thoughts in this world were a mixture of pain and sorrow. I think I felt relief they hadn't nailed my hands into the wooden cross they'd crucified me with. Thank God for ropes.

The men left; Daddy was dead in front of my eyes. I couldn't be sure, but I think I stood there for a couple of days before I died.

I felt the pain of never being all I could be.

I felt the pain of Jessie and of my unborn baby having never stood a chance.

I felt the pain.

So in my mind I went to the special place.

So anyway, I've been here for a while. It's nice, I like Buttercups…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dusk began to draw into the town of Montgomery, prompting people to turn their attentions from work to finer pursuits. Some returned home, others visited the Hat Shop of Miz Margaret, which by this time of day had stopped selling Hats. The police didn't seem to mind, they were her best customers after all.

No-one saw the rickety carriage come to a stop outside the inn, the old horse wheezing and groaning for breath.

“Hot Damn Storm, I sure as hell didn’t think you were gonna make it. Perhaps we oughta get you retired and pick us up a nice thoroughbred, huh?”

The horse, not one for answering back, buried its head in the water trough which was just as well for William Calvert Buckfield. At thirty two years of age and head of a profitable enterprise, he was the one who did the talking. Wherever he went, 'Billy' had the gift of the gab. His Mama always told him he could sell the Potomac river twice to the same man if he tried.
Billy didn’t know much about life, he hardly had one. No wife or children, travelling all over the south to make money…the future didn’t hold too many surprises. He remembered his pops in the back forty at home: Only two things certain in this life, and it ain’t death and taxes, least not from where I’m standing. Remember: our land is always gonna be dry, and people always gonna need faith to get through.

Papa, God rest his soul. He’d wanted Billy to keep working on the farm but there always seemed to be something else out there, calling him. Billy had seen hustlers come into town selling the latest potion or remedy. They seemed to do pretty well for themselves too, leaving town with a handful of bills and empty promises. He wanted a piece of that.
It took him a long time to work out what to sell. Religion possibly, gin and liquor perhaps. Until one day it rained. It didn't rain much back home. The town went wild and didn’t recover for several days, even though it had only rained for about forty minutes or so. Wild eyed folk putting out pots and pans to catch it, one old timer lay down in the road and soaked it up.
If people behaved like this for free, what would they do for money?
Reasoning it was a way out of town, he had book upon book read to him while he learnt to read himself. He knew about temperatures and weather balloons and mercury cannons. He had saved up and bought a cheap horse, then eventually bartering for a wagon. Over the next five years he had traveled, building up new theories and stock until eventually he had enough patter to convince people he could make it rain. Billy had actually only managed to make it rain once, with the weather report stating a 65% chance of rain.
He’d never let not being able to make it rain get in the way of business, and had formulated a simple plan: arrive, sell the idea, and run if it didn’t look likely to succeed. A conscience was all well and good, but business was business.
He'd chosen the town of Montgomery for one specific reason: Two weeks ago, New Year to be exact, it had snowed. Blizzard proportions blanketed the whole town. Some folk had never seen snow before, others amazed and thrilled by the unlikeliest of situations. The one drawback to the miracle came when several of the townsfolk attempted an ablution or tried to bathe; the pipes, unused to extreme weather, either froze or burst. Once this had been established people had already sullied the snow by playing, or in some cases urinating their name. Adding to injury, the roads and paths had been gritted. There were some beggars who weren't choosers, happy to drink dirt, piss and salt. But not many.
Billy considered if it had just recently snowed, he'd be onto a winner.

“Are you gonna help me down?”

He looked up at his young niece sitting on the wagon. Three years ago, he'd returned to his birthplace. It was a mistake returning home after so many years, he’d only come back for a rest and free food but the town pestered him to make it rain. They all knew him too well for deception. The girl had begged to come with him, pleaded there was nothing there for you. He could see the same hungry look in her eyes he’d had himself all those years ago, and had agreed. Her father forbid it, she exercised her right to do as she wished being a responsible eighteen year old. Billy remembered the look on his brother’s face as he disowned him, telling him never to return.

“Swee-pea, if I left you up there what sort of a gentleman would I be?”
He helped her down.
“You ain’t no gentleman, Billy. You’re a two-bit shyster that should be hanged.”
Yep, the honeymoon period was over. The two of them got on so well when they first started, but as Rebecca got older she’d developed morals and sympathy, two character traits that were not healthy in business. Of course, she might still have been cross over-
“I’m still not talking to you. I do not expect to find lynch mobs waitin’ for me when you decide to leave town.”

With that, there was not another word. She stomped into the tavern…

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Rebecca Buckfield had tired of this life long ago. At first it was fun, but after a while it had all become the same. The angry mob waiting for them in the last town they were forced to run from had pretty much sealed things for her: She wanted to settle down.
Billy sat down next to her. She pretended not to notice, but her veneer cracked when she saw the gin in his hand.
“Okay”. She smiled at last. “Okay, I’ll admit it was quite the heart-stopper, but I think I’ll settle for just the once.”
Billy smiled back with resignation. “I think, my dear, you have a point. I think we’ll go back to leaving in the middle of the night...”
They chinked glasses, both secretly pleased they had made up. They both knew the next argument wasn’t far ahead, perhaps they even enjoyed it a little. But it was always nice just to have that little break in between, the bonding of two souls far from home. They both gave each other a look and then rose from their seats, moving to different ends of the bar. It was always the same in every town: bond with different members of the town and gain trust, just enough for the word to spread. It was always easier when the folk convinced the ‘reluctant’ travelers to stay.

Billy propped up the bar with a neat whisky. The place had a rustic, old-west charm complete with saloon doors.
‘Say, ah..Barkeep?’
The Bartender was small and wiry, with a whispy moustache. His apron was covered with beer stains and he reeked of Tar Tobacco. He didn’t look up from cleaning the glass, Billy figured he’d probably seen a million of him.
“What’ll it be?’ He breathed on the glass and carried on cleaning.
“I didn’t see a place to stay on the way in. Do you know where I may find somewhere?”
The Bartender huffed with ridicule, still cleaning but with a broad grin on his face.
“You hear that Arnold? Boy wants to know where to stay.”
A voice from the corner of the room piped up, one of the regular patrons.
“Haw. Some haystacks at McCauley farm if he can stand the chicken shit.”
Billy was fast becoming irritated. “So you’re telling me there is nowhere in this town for guests to stay?”
The bartender on the other hand had finished cleaning his glass only to start another, still not looking up. “Son, the last visitor we had here was in 1897, and he were a Negro on the run.”
The Bartender finally looked up, out of the window in remembrance of golden days. “See that Oak tree? That’s what they hung him up on. He was a tall fella but he swung mightily.”
Billy looked at the tree, half expecting to see someone hanging. He tried to get the conversation back on track. “Is there anything you can do to help me?”
The Bartender smiled. “That’s what the Negro asked.’ The room tittered with laughter. ‘Well, that and a lot whole lot of cussin'. But it’ll get you in the end.”
“What will?”
“Death.” Billy had never met such an uplifting soul before. “It gets you when you ain’t looking and keeps a hold o’you for all time. This town loves its death, that’s for sure. We’ve seen a lot of it round here.”
“Whatever. Thanks for your… help.”
He resigned to his half-glass of whiskey and sighed. It looked it was going to be another night in the wagon. God, snuggling up to Rebecca to keep warm. It wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t his niece..
Billy’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice from his left: “Pardon me, uh…sir. I couldn’t help overhearin’ your predicament. Perhaps I could be of some help?”

Rebecca, at the other end of the bar, had spent some time watching the young bartender. He hadn’t done much: Served a few people, watched the world go by out the window. But every now and then he’d sneaked a few glances her way, smiled a couple of times. She felt the blush rise to her cheeks and didn’t know what to do, apart from promising herself not to look again. He eventually began cleaning tables at the other end of the bar. The church bell chimed ten. She supposed Billy would be wanting to leave soon, to plan the great scheme again. They didn’t even know where they would be staying but-

“Am I pretty?” The young bartender was right beside her, staring into her eyes. His were dark brown, almost like treacle. And he’d spoken to her.
“Excuse me?” She hadn’t expected such a question. Maybe he was one of those effeminates she’d heard about from the northern states?
“Well…I’ve noticed you looking at me since you’ve been here. Figured you might think I was pretty and all.”
Rebecca smiled. “The word is ‘handsome”. Girls are pretty or beautiful, boys are considered dashing or handsome. If you said that to another boy you could be in trouble.”
He grinned back. “Oh! That’d be why I got chased out of the dancing last week. I‘m not big on words.”
She looked deep into his eyes. He had a certain.. Quality about him. No hidden agenda, no lies.
“I’m Nathaniel. Nice to meet you, Ma’am.”
She’d never been called ‘Ma’am’ before! “Hello Nathaniel. I’m Rebecca. I’m new in town. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I was figurin’.. since I’m done here and you think I’m handsome..if you’d like to…I guess you probably wouldn’t but…if not I don’t mind…maybe…take a walk with me? I’d love to walk you home.”
Rebecca looked over at Billy, deep in conversation with someone important-looking. These past few years she’d not had much fun, every town made him the focus, the people wanting to know what he was doing. He probably wouldn’t even notice her leave.
“Okay.”

“-So do we have a deal?”
Billy looked the town clerk squarely in the eyes. He felt slightly uncomfortable, being used to making the deals himself.
“So let me get this right.” Billy began recanting. “You, as the owner of this house-”
“JOINT owner. The situation is a little complicated, but I am one of the trustees. The person it was bequeathed to doesn't wish to live here but is happy for me to rent it out.'
“So, as joint owner.. of this.. House, you are willin’ to let me and my niece stay there whilst we make it rain? Its mighty kind of you, I’ll admit that. What I want to know… is what’s in it for you?”
The clerk pushed another tot of malt towards Billy and considered how to answer. At 51 years of age he’d not seen many travelers come in and out of this town. It was rather the novelty, but when they did come he had never known if they were ‘snake oil’ salesmen or not. Sometimes they’d come in, their wares being of great help to the community. That was rare indeed.
More often than not, they’d push the latest product or offer a solution to a problem with the end result somewhat unsuccessful. He’d watched and always approached when the time was right, sometimes taking a share of the money in lieu of exposing them..or taking a percentage and showing them the easiest way out of town. And the farms did need rain…
“Sir..I think you can do the town a great service. If you can provide rain the least I can do is put you up somewhere comfortable.”
Billy chinked his glass with the Clerk’s and grinned.
“No catch?”
“Absolutely not.” his voice lowered to a whisper. “although if for some reason…your equipment failed or you had to leave suddenly on urgent business.. I could be of help?”
The rain-maker squeezed his eyes and drank down the shot. He had the measure of the man.
“You got yourself a deal.”
The clerk brightened at the news “Excellent! These are the keys.. I’d show you up but the path is treacherous and I do have a heart condition nowadays..” He got up to leave.
Billy span on his bar seat. “Hey.. Where am I going?”
The clerk stopped and turned. “Oh…it’s the biggest house in town, up on the hill.. I’m sure you’ll love Marvel!”

Nathaniel seemed quite pleased to be walking a girl around town. Rebecca wasn’t quite sure if he’d ever done it before, every now and then he’d watch his feet to make sure he didn’t tread on her toes.
“You didn’t say where home is.”
Rebecca looked back at him with an awkward smile.
“I don’t have one yet. Billy-my uncle-sorts these kinda things out when we get into a town. If he can’t we sleep in the wagon.”
Nathaniel stopped in his tracks. “If you’ll pardon me sayin’ so…that ain’t no life for a lady.”
“I agree with you there. It’s the only life I have, home didn’t offer much for me.”
They passed a drunk patron of the Inn singing an Irish folk song, oblivious to the world. They both smiled at each other.
“I don’t think where you are now has much to offer either.”
Rebecca didn’t argue.

She waited for a while, it didn't seem like Billy was going to be leaving the Tavern anytime soon. Rebecca started to feel guilty about keeping Nathaniel out after a long day at work.
“You should go home. I’ll wait in the wagon… it’s probably where we’re staying anyway.”
He seemed almost disappointed.
“Okay… if that’s what you want. You know, uh.. If you need help I’m always around here. Not that you would, but you might. Um…”
Rebecca looked at her protector and could see that behind his clumsy way of talking there seemed to be a genuine, tender soul struggling to get out, someone behind the awkward words.’
“Thank you Nathaniel. You’re very sweet.”
She turned on her heels and began to walk back towards the Inn.
“Miz Rebecca… Can I see you again?”
She paused without turning, smiling to herself.
Ah, to hell with it.
She ran back to him, kissing lightly before whispering in his ears:
“Tomorrow.”
She walked off again, and didn’t look back.
He looked upon her with sadness. And then he wasn’t there at all.

‘Where in the Sam hell have you been? We got a place for the next few days!’
Billy hadn’t been waiting all that long for Rebecca, but had been slightly put out she’d left and not told him. As she came closer there seemed to be something different about her, something in her eyes betrayed a lie. The two of them walked towards the old house.
“I’ve just been walkin’…”
“Yeah, while you’ve been walkin’, I’ve managed to get us an old house that belongs to the town. Keep us in the warm anyhow.”
Her mind flew back to the many hospitalities Billy had procured over the years, and shuddered.
“Billy. If it’s a shit-hole I’m gonna be real disappointed.”
He stopped. “Its not gonna be a hole, I promise. I was told it was mighty grand.”
“We’ll see when we get there.”

The house of Marvel towered above them, silhouetted in the night sky. The once grand timber had faded and most of the windows were broken, the grass beneath their feet reaching up to their knees. Billy spent a good ten minutes fighting to get the door unlocked, eventually using some grease from one of the wagon wheels to force it. Years of dust and grime escaped from the door, showering them with dirt. Finding it impossible to see inside, he retrieved a lamplight from the Wagon and tried to light it. When he finally got it working the rainmaker scanned around the hall and could see several exits: the kitchen, what seemed to be a living area and a grand varnished staircase that led upstairs.
“Well… what do you think?” Asked Billy.
Rebecca looked around the lower level open mouthed. Tomorrow is my last day.
“Great. Just… great…”