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When Larry and Rainbow pulled into the mill, Kirk was standing by the doors of the shed on the side of the cabin that he kept for Travelers. It was one of the thousands of safe houses across the country that the white nation used to move and relocate their people in secret, anywhere in the world.
Larry’s truck came to a stop, kicking up a dust cloud. The two men stepped out of the warm truck into the cold wind. Larry hollered out, “Hey Kirk, this is Rainbow. Rainbow, Kirk Johnson.”
Rainbow took the man’s hand and felt the power of his grip. “Very nice of you to put me up, Mr. Johnson.”
Larry got back into his truck. “He’s all yours now, Kirk.” He made a U-turn and headed out the gate.
Kirk patted Rainbow on the back and aimed him around to the front of the cabin. He opened its door and gestured Rainbow inside. “I’m always happy to lend a helping hand to a brother in need. You can stay here as long as you want – we’re family.”
The cabin was about 12-feet square. It had a single bed, with a night table and lamp. In one corner was a round table and two kitchen-type chairs. On the table was a minuscule TV with rabbit ears. The room’s one window housed an air-conditioner, which blocked any view, in or out. Implanted in a wall was a gas heater, which Kirk had fired up before they got there.
Kirk opened the bathroom door for Rainbox to see that it sported a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall. “I know it’s not much,” he said, “but it’s safe and clean. You have fresh sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom. Thursday is wash day. There’s a bag to put your dirty clothes and beddings in. Bring it to the back door of the big house on Thursday mornings, and Rosie, our blacky, will wash and dry everything for you.”
Rainbow put his backpack on the bed and grinned at Kirk. “It’s a fine place, Mr. Johnson.”
Kirk nodded and spoke with a bit of pride in his voice. “I’m glad you like it. Now, come with me and I’ll show you where you eat and where you’ll be working. You can drive a forklift?”
Rainbow laughed. “Yes sir, I’ve done work of all kinds. This isn’t the first sawmill I’ve worked at, so you feel easy using me where I’m needed.”
The closer they got to the mill the harder it was for them to hear each other. Fifty to maybe 60 men were working there. It was like a busy beehive, with movement everywhere.
Kirk pointed to a forklift parked next to a pile of mulch. “You’ll be moving the slabs that are cut from the outside of the trees to over there. The two men that run the mulching machine were driving the forklift before you arrived – your job will be to make sure they don’t run out of wood.”
Kirk led Rainbow to a door in a building a few feet away from them and opened it. “In here is where you eat. At 6:00 in the morning, you come to the back door of the big house over there, and Rosie will have your breakfast. At noon and in the evening you do the same. Bring your food over here to eat. Get settled in and you can start work in the morning.”
“Do you care if I walk around and get the lay of the land?”
“It’s your time, do whatever you like.” Kirk slapped Rainbow on the back and headed toward the big house.
Rainbow spent the week driving the fork truck and trying to become friends with the other workers. He was surprised to learn he was the only Traveler working there.One day he came out from eating breakfast and fell in step with Kirk, who was coming out of the big house. They were crossing the area between the mill and the mulch pile when a truck loaded with lumber stopped in front of them. A thin man with a beard hollered out the open passenger window, “Hey, boss, can you spare someone to help me unload this truck at Banks’ house?”
Kirk looked at Rainbow and grinned. “Looks like you’ve got work to do. Go with Carl, you can get back on the forklift tomorrow.”
Rainbow mounted the truck and the two men headed out. Carl took a left after they went through the gate. Without looking at Rainbow, he asked, “You a Traveler?”
Rainbow didn’t like the question. That wasn’t something you talked about in casual conversation. When Rainbow didn’t answer, Carl added, “The reason I asked is, that’s how I came to be here. That was two years ago and if you’re looking for a place to settle you’ll not find a better one than here.”
Rainbow wanted to change the conversation, so he asked, “Where are we taking this lumber?”
They topped a hill and Carl shifted down a gear for the steep descent. From the top, they could see the river and houses dotting its shoreline. “The sheriff has a house on the river, and he’s building a new boathouse. It’s right down at the bottom of this hill.”
Rainbow cleared his throat. “I understand there’s a black Fed in town looking into the killings of those niggers. How’s the sheriff dealing with that?”
Carl looked at Rainbow, who continued to stare straight ahead. “That’s Klan business. And when I say that, what I mean is it’s none of our business.”
Rainbow took a shot at recovering their comradeship. “I’m not looking to get involved with shit that has nothing to do with me. However, a Fed in town gives me pause to worry. I have people looking for me.”
Carl changed gears and said, “You don’t need to worry about the Feds or anyone else. The sheriff is the only law around here.”
Carl steered the truck down a long drive toward the river. “I hope Banks is here. I have no idea where he wants this shit.”
They came around the corner of the house and found the sheriff standing beside his patrol car. He jumped up onto the driver’s running board. “Carl, I need you to get as close to the old boathouse as you can.”
Carl began a wide turn. “You got it, Sheriff.”
As Carl began to back up, Sheriff Banks jumped off. Carl stopped for a moment and told Rainbow, “Get out and watch me back up. Don’t let me get too close to the water’s edge with this load.”
After backing up until Rainbow signaled him to stop, Carl got out and, after looking for himself, hollered, “How’s this, Sheriff?” Banks gave them thumbs up, and Carl got back into the cab. He turned on the lift and raced the motor as the dump bed began to rise. The lumber started its backward slide and as the first board touched the ground he slowly drove forward. Then with a loud crashing sound, the pile smashed onto the dirt.
Carl turned off the engine and stepped out as the sheriff came even with the cab. “Good job, Carl. That’s an ideal spot, right under that big oak. Now, if I can only find some carpenters. I’ll need them before summer and everybody is tied up.”
Rainbow overheard the conversation and spoke up, “If you need a carpenter, I’m your man. I belonged to Carpenter’s Union 1137 in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, for three years.”
Banks walked up to Rainbow and eyed him. “I don’t think I know you.”
Carl jumped in. “He’s okay, Sheriff. He’s staying in Mr. Kirk’s place, at the mill. You know they check out us Travelers real good.”
Banks smiled. “So, why did you leave Hattiesburg?”
Rainbow took a deep breath. “They allowed blackies to join the union, and the next thing you know they were getting all the good jobs. We white people were left to pick up the crumbs.”
The sheriff shook his head. “That’s not much of a reason to leave. What happened that put you on the run?”
It looked to Rainbow as if Banks had read the report on him. “I got in a fight with one of the niggers – he was kind of a ringleader. Sometime later he turned up dead and a warrant was issued for my arrest.”
The sheriff nodded his head. “I’ll speak to Kirk and you can start tomorrow.” He slapped Rainbow on the back as he walked him toward the cab of the truck. “Just between you and me – did you kill that nigger?”
Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
Ed, more than any other contributor to Moristotle & Co., you may be the most published, with all of your many chapters and essays and poems and side stories you have generously permitted me to publish. THANK YOU!
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