Out of nowhere came a dapper young man in a green-and-white-plaid suit, his hair slicked back with brilliantine. He looked about sixteen years old. He carried a wooden box camera on a large tripod, which he set up in the clearing about ten feet from the motionless body of George Pearson.
Scooter stuck his head under the black cloak attached to the camera and then pushed back out. “I can’t see nothing. It’s too dark. Bring your light in close to his face,” he said.
The two men with torches moved closer, illuminating the shining black skin of George Pearson’s face. Scooter put his head back under the cloth.
With that, Leon pulled hard on the rope. George Pearson stood straight up and then he flew off the ground three or four feet. His eyes opened wide, bulging as if they might explode. His whole face seemed to swell. His body began trembling and jerking.
The horror of what I was seeing froze me in place. I felt something warm dripping down my leg and realized I had peed my pants.
No one was looking at me now or bothering to hold me. Slowly, slowly, I began to back away.
“Hope you got a good likeness, Scooter,” said J.T. “We’ll all be wanting a copy. Something to remember ol’ George by.”
Everybody hooted and laughed at that one. I turned and ran for my life.
Chapter 18
I SUPPOSE THERE might have been one good thing about the punishing southern-style heat wave that had settled over Washington: that night Meg had gone to bed wearing her lightest nightgown. As I opened the door to our room Meg was resting on our bed, pretending to read her leatherbound copy of the book of Psalms.
“Are you speaking to me?” I asked her.
“You weren’t here to speak to until now,” she answered without looking up.
I leaned down and kissed her and was relieved that she didn’t turn away.
Meg was so lovely just then, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down beside her. But it wouldn’t be fair, not with the knowledge running around in my head.
“Meg,” I said softly, “I have something to tell you. I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”
Her eyes hardened.
“I went to the White House tonight,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. In one second the hardness melted into joy.
“The White House!” she cried. “Oh, I knew it! I knew Roosevelt would have to come around! You’re one of the best young lawyers in town. How ridiculous of him to have waited this long to offer you a position!”
“It’s not a position,” I said. “The president asked me to… take on a mission for him. It could be for a month or two.”
Meg sat straight up. The Psalms slid to the floor with a soft plop. “Oh, Ben, you’re going to leave us again? Where?”
“Home,” I said. “To Mississippi. To Eudora.”
She exhaled sharply. “What could the president possibly want you to do in that godforsaken corner of nowhere?”
“I’m sorry, Meg,” I said. “I can’t tell you. I had to give Roosevelt my word.”
Meg’s rage exploded, and she cast about for a suitable weapon. Seizing the bottle of French eau de toilette I had given her for her birthday, she fired it against the wall with such force that it shattered. A dreamy scent of lavender filled the room.
“Meg, how could I say no? He’s the president of the United States.”
“And I’m your wife. I want you to understand something, Ben. When you go back to Mississippi, on your mission, you’d best be advised to purchase a one-way ticket. Because if you go, there’s no point in coming back. I mean that, Ben. So help me, I’m serious. I can’t wait for you any longer.”
I heard a sound behind me. Meg and I tur
ned to discover that we had an audience for this display: Alice and Amelia.
“Hello, girls,” I said. “Mama and I are having a talk. An adult talk. Back to bed with both of you now.”