“ARE YOU STAYING for Abraham’s funeral?” L.J. asked. “I’ll go with you, Ben.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Moody already knows how I feel about him. And it’s definitely time for me to head back… you know…”
“North!” L.J. said. “Go ahead, say the word! You’re headed back up to damn Yankeeland to become a damn Yankee again!”
We were standing near the table in the War Room, where we’d spent so many hours plotting our strategies for the White Raiders Trial. I was just finishing packing.
“I’ve gone around and around in my mind, L.J., and for the life of me I don’t know what I would do differently,” I said. “If I had the luxury of doing it over again.”
“You did as much as you could, Ben. Most men wouldn’t even have tried to help.”
I slipped my razor and shaving brush into the little leather kit and tucked it in my valise. “Help,” I said. “Is that what we did? I think some of the help I gave ended up hurting them.”
“Go ask ’em. Go to the Quarters,” L.J. said, “and ask ’em if they’re worse or better off for what you did.
“I can have a man drive you up to McComb so you can get the earlier train to Memphis,” L.J. went on.
“No need for that. I’ll just take the good old two-oh-five.” I snapped the catches on my valise. “I might stop over in Memphis tonight and hear a bit of that music I told you about.”
“Sure you don’t want to stay here a day or two more?” L.J. asked. “Rest up?”
I shook my head. “It’s time to go. I’ve said my good-byes, and I suspect I’ve worn out my welcome in Eudora. In fact, I’m sure of it. My own father said as much.”