THE WOODS boss for the Company he give me the letter that lawyer writ me from Cashtown. He said he had some money to give me and for me to come to see him. I bust out laughin. I knowed no lawyer was not givin me nor nobody no money. I tore up that air letter. Then the next week the boss said for me to go to Cashtown to see that lawyer what had writ me the letter. So come Saturday I went to Cashtown. I seen that lawyer. He laid the money on the table. It was thirteen twenty dollar bills and them new and green lak sallet, and one ten dollar bill and three one dollar bills and a handful of chicken feed nickels and dimes and pennies and such, nigh a dollar. He counted it out, ever bit. It was two hundred and seventy three dollars and eighty five cents, that air chicken feed. It is yoren, he said to me, and you sign yore name here.
How come, I ast him.
To sell yore place, he said, and I ast him about Jacob, and he said Jacob done it.
Well, I am God durned, I said. And I said, Mister, gimme that pen staff.
I signed my name. I put my John Henry where he said and I taken care and pains for I never wanted no mistake. It was not plain writin. It was fair a pitcher of my name Ashby Porsum Wyndham for full. I always was a hand to write good give me time and a pen—not no old stub.
I ast him who bought the place and he said it was the Massey Mountain Company. They goin out yore way, he said, out Fiddlers Fortune Creek section. Yore timber was not nuthin to speak on but they kin use the house for a cook house and all. They give a fair price, he said.
I ast him how much.
Three thirty, he said.
Hell, I said, Jacob never taken much. He will be wantin to git more offen me.
He never taken any, the lawyer feller said, he told me to give it all to you.
Hell, I said, you ain’t give it all to me, you ain’t give me nigh sixty dollars.
It was for fees and titles and such, he said, lak them lawyers talk.
Who gits it, I ast him plain.
He said he did, him and the courthouse.
How come, I ast him.
He said the Company had to be shore me and Jacob owned it true and right.
Lord God, I said, my Pappy owned it. My grandpappy owned it, and nobody said him nay. And I heard say my great-grandpappy afore him.
Hearsay, he said, hearsay ain’t the law.
I knowed it was not no use to argify for he done had the money.
Mister Wyndham, he said to me, you done thought how you investin yore money. I advise you to buy some stock lak they call it in the Company. You buy a piece of the Company. Then you will be workin for yoreself. You will git yore pay and you will git some more too. If you put yore money in the Company.
The Company ain’t nuthin to me, I said.
The Company will make money for you, he said.
Lord God, I said, that fool Jacob give you my money and you taken sixty dollars, and I shore God ain’t givin the Company none of my money.
You better put it in the bank, he said, and not tote it.
You taken sixty dollars, I said, and the bank, I bet they take a hundred if I give them the chanst.
He said they would keep it safe for me.
Keep it safe, I said, and looked at him square. Mister, I said, I am six foot and two inches and I weigh a hundred and ninety pounds and I can handle me a ax ten hours and never be blowed. Ain’t no man I ever seen can take what is true mine offen me.
I taken that air money up. I put it in my pants.
And let air man try, I said. I said that and I went out the door. I left him standin there blowin his breath on his eye glasses and wipin them with his handkerchief.
I come back to Massey and I told Marie how it was. You can quit cookin and scourin, I told her. You can cook my vittles, I said. We was married aready, but she was still cookin for the Company.
Ashby, Ashby, she said soft, and it looked lak she was gittin ready to cry.
Hell, I said, ain’t you glad.
She said yes. She said she was glad not to be doin that cookin and scourin. But it looked lak she was gittin ready to cry.
Hell, I said, what you look that way for.
Jacob, she said, it was for Jacob.
It made me mad for fair. I told her. I said, I do not want to hear you namin his name. Not no more. What is betwixt me and him is betwixt me and him, and not nobody else. Not nobody. That was what I said. It looks lak a man cannot bear and endure to look in the lookin glass when somebody has helt it up to him. He cannot endure to see his pore sinful face. She named Jacobs name and it was lak she helt up a lookin glass for me to see my sinful face.
Then somebody ast me where Jacob had done gone.
No where as I knowed, I said.
But they said, yeah, he had done gone.
It stuck in my mind. I never wanted it to, but it stuck. I was workin or I was eatin or I was layin in bed and Marie there sleepin alongside of me, and it would come in my head. How he had done gone. It was lak when you git a little bitsy fish bone stuck in yore throat, little nigh to nuthin, and you think it is done gone for you ain’t feelin nuthin and all of a sudden you swaller or you turn yore neck, and it is not gone. It is there. It is lak you swallered a pin.
Saturday evenin I taken out for Fiddlers Fortune Creek. I come there nigh four o’clock. I seen the house. The door was open and I walked in. They was not nobody there. They was not nuthin there. Everthing was gone. The chairs and cook stove and the bedstid. I seen a chunk layin in the fireplace not all burnt up on one end and the ashes layin there, white ashes lak when good hard wood is done burnt. I squatted down and tetched that chunk, lak a man will to see if may be the fire ain’t long been out. But I knowed it had been a long time. But I squatted and tetched it lak I never knowed.
I stood up and looked round. I seen the place where everthing had been set. Where the chist had been set and the bedstid. It looked lak I could nigh see them settin there. I stood there it ain’t no sayin how long. A man stands in a house and there ain’t nobody there but him and he listens and hearkens and it is plum quiet but he listens lak he is tryin to hear somethin. It is lak somebody was tryin to tell him somethin. It was plum quiet.
I went up to Old Man Marmadukes place. I seen Mrs. Marmaduke and I ast her. She said Jacob was done gone. She said he come and taken his leave. He give her Mammys bedstid, she said. He told her he did not want strangers to lay in it and tetch head to piller. She showed me the bedstid.
I ast her where Jacob had done gone.
He never said, she said. He said he was goin to walk in the world. It was all he said, and she seen him walkin down the big road.