Old Josh, in: The Borrower's Laugh!

Old Josh, in:
The Borrower’s Laugh!
(1874)

When Old Josh got thirsty for whisky, and didn’t have a cent to his name to acquire any, he managed to borrow—or better put, utter politely, with what he got used to calling ‘His Borrower’s Laugh,’ Josh never really tried to be humorous, he just was, and when he did try, was when he wanted that whisky from someone, usually Amos, or Granny Mae, and that is when he was obvious, and not very humorous.
It was weeks since Josh had a swig of good old corn whiskey; how he managed to exist was beyond his boy’s understanding.
Josh was now pleading with Granny Mae in the Hightower kitchen of the mansion, for a bottle of corn whiskey, which she sold, and charged seventy-five cents for. Josh told Mae, he’d pay her back later (which often he did, and which he also, often forgot to), and now he gave her an unbecoming laugh, that lingered between a minute and two.
“Com-on...!” he said, in slurred speech.
“No,” said Mae to Josh.
Then Josh made one more nervous attempt, granny Mae stopped cooking her soup momentarily, and saw blank eyes staring at her, and she stared back,
“You’d think Josh, I waz the only one in Ozark that made moonshine!”
Then Granny Mae took a long look at Josh’s gloomy face, and the longer she looked the more she became to sympathize with him, and so she gave in, and gave him a bottle—she had three hidden behind a fifty-pound sack of potatoes.
When Josh got back to his shanty, he waved Amos, Jordon, and Silas over, and they went into the shack, and he pulled out the bottle of moonshine, happier than a bear with a fifty-pound honeycomb in his hands, and poured four glasses half full, “Drinks on me boys…!” he said as he poured with a trembling hand.

No: #75 8-10-2008

Old Josh, in: Cannonballs in the Fields (1862—General Bragg)

Old Josh, in: Cannonballs in the Fields
1862—General Bragg

Anguish on a plantation is often widespread and most always sharp, if not over sensitive to its workers and management alike at times. Seldom is there not an issue, or mysterious problem at hand, a taxing one often and a silly one just as often, be it someone getting sick or planting, harvesting, or making a concern over something less, and Mr. Charles Hightower and is son often faced it, like Charles’ father did, face such issue right on, courageously, with a few groans at the slaves, of which at one time they had fifteen, presently five or six. That is how plantations are made, and run; so Mr. Hightower would have told anyone had they asked him.
“But this problem has got me down,” said Mr. Hightower, “—because how did these cannonballs get into our fields, artillery rounds from one of the Confederate cannons I expect, I don’t want the Confederates to see this, and say we are helping the North, or the North to see it and say we are supplying a route through our fields for them.”
Mr. Hightower was in his dinning room trying to figure out how the cannonballs got there, several of them, Amos and Josh were standing in the roam with him, he didn’t expect a suggestion from either of them but he had been talking aloud to himself about the problem, which occurred three days ago, and everyday since, several more cannonballs were found scattered here and there in the fields.
“What military units are nearby?” asked Amos.
“General Bragg has some soldiers down younger a ways,” said Hightower indignantly. “Perhaps I should go see him, talk to him about his grand notion of bringing his artillery across these fields, and dropping all these cannonballs about. Maybe we can get to the end of this.”
This brought a glitter to Mrs. Hightower’s eyes, in that they were already having with a failed crop, too much rain, and were thinking of a second growth, replanting.
“The worse part of it is,” said Charles to his wife, “he may tell me that my problem is a little problem compared to men dying for the south.”
“Fine,” said his wife, “then what are you waiting for, just get rid of the artillery rounds.”
“I forgot, I had Silas and Jordon put them in the barn,” said Hightower.
“With the war going on, the general may consider my concern insolence,” added Charles to his dialogue with his wife.
“The General and some of those confederate soldiers may recognize my face from town too, it is best Josh, you sleep in the fields tonight and let me know tomorrow who and what is going on, and don’t get drunk, and talk away and give them any ideas to take this plantation away!” demanded Hightower.
“Not me,” said Josh. “I sees this is all we can do,” and so Josh, lifted up his shoulders, turned about ready to depart.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Hightower, looking at Josh’s red blood shot eyes,
“I got an idea.”
“Go on Josh,” said Charles, “I got no time dear to listen to it now,” he told his wife.
“I’m not selling anything Charles,” said his wife, “there are big rats out there, and wild dogs at night, I hear them around two a.m. in the morning usually, it’s haughtier out their than you think without a gun and a big fire going. When I visited your father’s grave back yonder there, I walked back in the dark, and it was but an hour, there, and the sounds of those wild cats, rats and dogs, are quite embittered toward women, and I bet old men (and she looked at Josh).”
When Charles recovered himself to address the issue with the mixed company around him, he simple said with an air of surprise, “So give me the solution?”
She had now brought him into focus, evidently, he now had second thoughts, didn’t look at the danger before; he gave his wife a suspicious look, almost with predatory eyes. “Have Silas go down to where the base camp is and follow the soldiers, tell them we’re still looking for cloths to mend on the plantation, as we did a few months ago. They will assume, they have something Silas wants, not being a spy then.”
A few minutes of silence passed, all waited for Charles to make the decision, then in a slow, limited turn to his wife, his mind seemed to be clear, he said, “Just bring some of Granny Mae’s moonshine along and sell it, that’s even better, make some money, and return when you find out, Josh can do it better, he likes to talk.”
Mrs. Hightower was flabbergasted, “He’s an old man, Charles, like you!”
“Well then by god, let Silas do it, the hell with my idea,” said Charles.
No one spoke for two minutes.
“What do you think Josh?” asked Mrs. Hightower.
Josh walked to the entrance of the door, “Youall figure it out a8nd ef’in you wants me to do it, I do it, ef’in you wants Silas, he do, youall can tell him to do it.”
“Where you going?” demanded Mr. Hightower, trying to catch his breath from arguing with his wife.
“Amos,” said Mr. Hightower, “bring Josh back here.”
Said Josh, opening up the door, and Amos standing still,
“I is dizzy, youall gives me an earache! Imagoin’ home.” And then Josh left the house.
“How bad do you want to know,” asked Mrs. Hightower to her husband?
“I don’t know whose idea this is anymore, I just want to go to bed,” said Hightower, “this strain is hurting my head, youall are driving me nuts,” he gasped.
“What?”
“I can’t help it—everything seems black, I’m going to bed.”
For a moment she thought he was kidding, until Charles got up and went up to his second floor bedroom, leaving his wife where she stood.
As she stood looking at Amos, with this unsolvable problem, she wished it all could be dispensed with altogether by giving it to any slave, but she knew ideas could not be simply pulled out of the inexpensive air, and told Amos, on his way back to the Smiley plantation, where he was going to stay the night, “See if you can spot any unusual activity, on your way, and return tomorrow, who knows maybe the problem will solve itself.”

8-19-2008

Old Josh, In: Josh's Idea (Civil War Days, 1862)

Old Josh, in:
Josh’s Idea
(Summer of 1862)

Josh Jefferson worked on the Hightower Plantation throughout the duration of the Civil War, and beyond, so he got used to seeing Confederate soldiers either marching through the woods, the plantation fields, up and down the road, camping out along side of he roads, in the city of Ozark, in Shantytown, everywhere, for the war’s duration.
They often looked like bums, he thought, more or less, ragged looking, they fought for the love of the South, more than money, it was obvious, by their apparel, Josh didn’t really take note of it until 1862, when the plantation lost its first crop to bad weather, and insects in over ten years. Also, there were only a few slaves on the plantation now, to work it, many had left the pat ten-months; many were taken for the Confederate Army, to fight in their war (throughout the south, perhaps 90,000).

It was one morning in the summer of 1862; Josh brought an idea up to Mr. Hightower, standing near the barn, with a worried look on his face, Josh knowing the farm was not paying for itself this year.
Hightower was kind of checking out how much feed was left for the hogs, mules, horses, chickens, cows, and so forth,
“Mr. Hightower,” said Josh, “I got an idea, ‘bout how youall can git out of this here bind, I means, hard times I see is comin’!”
Charles looked at Josh strangly as one might to idiocy, and started to brush Josh off, but Josh kept talking, “you see boss, ef’in we can git all the soldiers to bring their uniforms, and cloths to your plantation, me and my boys and Granny Mae, and so forth can sew those missin’ buttons on their uniforms, and fix their shoes, with some of those horseshoe nails—pound them flat through the soles, and wash their cloths, and fix their holes in their pants, and all that, and wes git some money, or feed or somethin’ in return to help planting again!”
Pessimistically he, Charles Hightgower looked at Josh, “Good luck,” said Hightower, “We’re not in Montgomery (meaning a bigger city)” and laughed as he walked away.

That night, while Charles was in bed with his wife, he couldn’t sleep well, said to his wife, “I was thinking today, while down at the barn, about all those gray uniforms that need fixing for our boys in Gray, maybe we can get Josh, and Granny Mae, and Amos, perhaps even Josh’s boys, and even us, we all can pitch in, and do some sewing of buttons, and holes and all that kind of stuff, make some money for the plantation, so we can buy more seed and do some more planting.”
Said Charles’s wife, “Yes, I reckon so, it sounds workable, we’ll look at it closer in the morning, if that’s ok with you.” And Charles nodded his head yes.



Josh now in his shanty, talking to his boy Silas, telling him he may be doing some sewing of Confederate uniforms soon, telling him he talked to Mr. Hightower about it, and he brushed it off, but that was how all rich folks act, that he’ll think about it, and perhaps change his mind down the road, when he gets hungry, because rich folks don’t like to get hungry because they are different than poor folks.
Said Silas,
“Why you say rich folks deferent pa?”
Said old Josh to his boy, Silas, kicking his feet up upon the table that was really just an old large wooded crate (box) used for a table in the middle of his shanty:
"I is goin’ to tell you somethin’ ‘bout rich folk, they is unlike us poor folk, they knows how to play when they is a day old out of their mama, and when they gits old, they never forgit—this here makes them all soft liken’ to that there wool on a sheep; when we is hard like stone. They is suspicious of their own mama and papa, dont trust anyone, not even the Lord Jesus, that why they is unless without us poor black, youall cant understand this, I knowen that, cus deep in their hearts they done thinkin’ they is better than we is cuz we is born with a cane, ef’in you knows what I mean, and they dont need any. And now he dont knows what to do, cuz he always rich, but you and I, wes got to overlook that, and help, gives him advise, even if he dont wants to think it comes from us.”

No.# 71/ 8-17-2008

Old Josh,in: The Unusual Confederate Soldier (#69)

Old Josh, in:
The Unusual Confederate Soldier
(September, 1862)



Confederate Soldiers in Alabama, 1862




In September of 1861, Alabama knew they were going to be involved with the Civil War, on October 7, 1861; Alabama supplied 27,000-men for the Confederate cause, which were three regiments, two battalions, ten detachment companies of horses and as many foot solders, and five other regiments. The Choctaw Indian, sided with the Confederates during this time, in particular a Muskogean tribe also known as Chakchiuma, which its ancestress went back to the Mississippi Valley, and some parts of Alabama. It was in August of 1862, General Braxton Bragg, pushed the Union Soldiers out of Alabama, Private Blue, an Indian Scout of the Choctaw tribe, and Sergeant Wakefield, a young Caucasian were three soldiers who fought with ideals, never got drafted, rather joined the Confederate Army, and all carried a flint-lock rifle, the Indian also had a musket, and Blue had two pistols tucked into his belt, and all carried their ammunition in a cartridge box attached to the right side of their belt.
After the last battle, the General gave ten-percent of his soldiers leave, a thirty-day leave; these three soldiers would be together for that period of time, and when they regrouped, Private Blue would go onto fight at Chickamauga, and later on be separated from his unit in Alabama, find it again, and be rejoin to the end of the war, and go on from there, being a gunfighter, and being killed some time in the mid to late 1880s.
But it was in 1862, this took place, September, 1862, all three rode into Ozark, Alabama.
The young sergeant, walked into the main store, called, ‘Dale’s Hardware,’ the sergeant put two dollars on the counter, Old Josh was in the store buying shovels for Mr. Hightower,
“Yes soldier, its two dollar,” said the owner, and that was for a pair of shoes and a quart of whisky, a man came up to the young clean shaven soldier, thinking something was funny, but couldn’t put his finger on it, most soldiers were unshaven, unkempt, gaunt, dough looking, and this one wasn’t. Josh looked on, Blue had gone across to the bar, and the Indian, they called Fox was outside looking in through the window at his companion.
He walked up to the soldier, looked the sergeant over, then in the eyes, said,
“Go ahead buy your shoes, and whiskey, I’ll figure it out in a minute,” and he stepped back a moment, looked at the soldier from behind, looked out the window at a few of the other confederate solders walking about, then looked at the Indian looking in. Most were in their 20s that was all he could say for the sergeant, that he also was in his twenties.
It was Clayton McAllen, from a farm outside of town. He was big and robust; broad shoulders, and had three young boys, no wife. Most of the soldiers cloths were ragged from either having been worn too long, or having been handed down from another soldier, but the sergeant’s was sewed properly, and kept even pressed, it was not uncommon for the uniforms to be ill fitted by the Confederates, but this soldier’s was not, Josh knew something was up, and pretended to be looking at shovels more than he should have, that is, looking over, and over the same shovel, always keeping an eye on the mischievous.
The Sergeant paid the two dollars, and Clayton said,
“Turn around soldier!”
And the soldier did half way, he noticed the sergeant was not missing any buttons, thus, the outfit was not uncomfortable at all, he knew, any soldier lucky enough to have a fitting pair of shoes also, with no horseshoe nails in them to keep the soles on, was more than lucky, he should be an Officer or General. And although most soldiers had white shirts, they were usually not white, but dirty white, his was not. This shoulder was clearly not shabby, but he also knew the Confederates had spirit, that is what made them fight, not the pay, they seldom seen any, if it wasn’t months before a payment came, and they got one regularly, they were more than lucky. Then out of the blue, inexpedient, as Clayton and his family were anyhow for the most part, he grabbed the soldier by the crotch, and squeezed, and squeezed hard but could not grab onto anything significant, and the soldier didn’t scram. Then he knew, the soldier’s appearance was not that of a male, but concealed to be a male, the Sergeant was a woman. This was not uncommon just peculiar, and he said, “Let’s go in the back of the store and find out what you have between those legs of yours!” And started to pull her by her belt, and Old Josh, slipped the shovel’s wooden pole end, to the floor, the pointed long end of the shovel, and he, Clayton tripped, on his way to the back door, and had to let go the Sergeant’s belt, and the Indian came in, aimed his musket at Clayton, and the Sergeant kicked him in the groin as he stood up, and he fell back down onto his knees; aching, with tears in his eyes. She said, “Is that the response you were looking for?”
She had the whisky bottle in one hand, and the shoes in the other. And no sooner had they got out of the store, Blue was staggering across the street, and the Sergeant said,
“Too much trouble in this town, let’s hightail it out of here, get back to our unit,” and it looked like the Indian, never said a word, just smiled. And Old Josh, paid for the shovel, and laughed all the way to the buckboard where he waited for Mr. Hightower.


Written 8-16-2008 Note: Confederate Soldiers also included women (posing as men) No: 69

Old Josh, In: the Halfwit ((Part Two to 'Buckboard to Ozark') (1863-64))

Old Josh, in: The Halfwit ((Part Two to ‘Buckboard to Ozark’) (1863-64))


Clayton McAllen was a farmer, twenty-six miles outside of Ozark, Alabama, he raised and sold hogs, and mules, and did some planting, and had three sons, Thomas, who he often called the halfwit, being the oldest of the three, and Jessie, and bat. They didn’t take any of the boys in the Confederate Army, they were too aggressive, unpredictable, and never stood still, I suppose if they were to see a psychologist nowadays, they would have been diagnosis as manic, depressive, with borderline necroses, and sent to anger management, and a tinge of antisocial behavior, and Thomas with an obsession to sex; a palmist would have said he had a strong sex drive, and would life a short live, and endure a horrid death. His father overlooked most of this, but now he was in his later twenties, and all these symptoms were becoming pronounced, and more activated, to where the were costly, and out of control, for both his father and Thomas himself.
But to Clayton, what Josh did was almost unforgivable, it was cause for a hanging, but because he protected a white woman, especially Charles Hightower’s daughter, the townsfolk’s were willing to look the other way for once, but it still bothered Clayton that a nigger dared to put his muscle and hand on his boy. He felt it would come up sometime with his neighbors, so he was aiming to go kill Josh.
No one would prosecute him for killing a nigger in wartime, not down south anyhow, not in Alabama, and if they did, he’d only get a light sentence, he knew the judge in Ozark, even in Dothan if they took him there, in any case, he’d shoot him, in the night, and no one would be the wiser, you needed a witness, and he’d be sure there were none. So he kind of had a plan, not a great one, just one he felt would be good enough to satisfy the Judge, to put doubt if need be into the jury’s mind.
Clayton sold several hogs and mules, and stashed the money in his pockets, in case he needed to bribe someone, while on his journey to kill Josh, got his wagon ready, two horses, food for a week, night gear, some blankets, and water in two canteens, and was on his way to Ozark, and then up a ways to the Hightower Plantation.


Thomas, the halfwit, followed behind his father for a few hours without him noticing him on horseback, then got ahead of him, figuring he knew were he was going and would show his face when the time came, he wanted to make sure everything went as planned for his father, however he planned it: he was a mile or two ahead of Clayton, it was near noon, and he was hungry, and had other ideas on his mind, he got thinking of a Spanish couple that lived in a small farm off the main road (from South America), she was a young newly married woman, perhaps twenty, and the husband was near thirty, and he remembered him saying when he and his brothers had stopped their once or twice to water the horses, offered him something to eat, and that if he might be gone, and if he’d be, and she was alone, well, who knows.
He rode up to the small cabin, it was quiet all about, he looked around for Mrs. Maria Duran’s husband, he didn’t see her husband not outside anyhow, Juan was his name.
Maria was in the bedroom with her pajamas on yet, looked out the small open window, saw Thomas McAllen, on his horse, looking about, as if he was searching for someone or thing. Then he caught her eyes, he had taken a few shots of whiskey he brought along, to build up his courage in case he needed it to confront Maria alone.
It was a hot and muggy day, and he had dust all over him, dirty like the hogs his father sold, smelled like a hog.
“Hello,” said Thomas, getting off his horse by the window, “I was headed on to Ozark, wanted to see if I could water my horse, was looking for your husband to ask him.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she noticed that, matter of fact he was looking at her as if examining her; she was small, with long black hair, very shapely, with a very lovely, cut soft round looking face, very feminine.
The more he looked, the more Maria got scared, it even seemed his eyes got a yellowness to it, like a wolf, he was unshaven like a wolf also.
She quickly shut the window, latched it as in locking it, went to the dresser drawer, for a pistol, as Thomas came barging through the front door like a madman, she pointed the gun at Thomas, “Senior, you leave or I will shoot you!” she was trembling.
With his craziness, he didn’t seemed to care, and she shot a bullet in the air, and he still came on to her like a train with no brakes. When he grabbed her he almost knocked the wind out of her.
He picked her up off her feet, the gun dropped from her hands, and threw her down on the wooden floor, ripped her cloths off, wild eyed, and told her to spread her legs or he’d cut them wide open. And she did as he said, with tears and crying, and a prayer.

In the meantime, Clayton was passing by, had heard the gun shot, stopped his wagon, saw the little farm, knew Maria, but not well, and saw a horse. He turned his wagon and horses to the side road, and rode down it; the girl was screaming and crying, he could hear her, in Spanish. Then he noticed the horse and saddle it was familiar, and jumped off he wagon ran into the cabin, Thomas had penetrated her, he told him to stop, “Shut up pa, I’m going to finish this first,” and then Clayton, knowing he was not going to listen to him—him being almost to a point of climax, he hit him over the head, with the butt-end of his gun, and pulled him out and off of her.
She, Maria, sat up; he could see her inner thighs were bruised. He stood there a moment, thinking on what to do, remembering the sheriff said he would put Thomas in jail, and this would be a good enough reason to, along with trying to rape Emma Hightower.
He pulled out all the money he had in his pockets, $120-dollars,
“It’s all I got Mrs. Take it, and never mention this to anyone, I’m sorry about this, but what can I do, I can’t deliver him to the sheriff, and I can’t kill you, but I will if you report this. Take the money, and I’ll be sure he never returns.”
He left the money on the table, pulled his son to his feet, and walked outside.
“We going to go kill Josh Jefferson now pa?” asked Thomas.
Clayton looked at him oddly, as if he must had forgotten already that he just rapped a girl, and if it wasn’t for him, he’d be going to jail.
“No, we’re not going to kill Josh, or anyone (his anger had subsided) we’re going home, and we are never going down this road again, and never will you see Ozark. I got enough trouble just keeping you out of jail.”

No: 66 8-13-2008

Old Josh, in: Syphilis, Gabriela's Fate (#68)

Old Josh, in: Syphilis, Gabriela’s Fate
(Hospital Number 11, Nashville…! 1891”)



Maria Hamilton, filles de joie

(An Account) Throughout the years, Old Josh continued to spend a little time in Shantytown, he didn’t like going to Ozark all that much, but shantytown, he had lots of friends, mostly dead now, he was in his late 80s, and in 1891, he had learned Gabriella now thirteen and her mother, near thirty was in a Nashville near the “Soldier’s Syphilitic Hospital.” It was a three story brick building completed four years before the war; a 140-bed facility, for soldiers with venereal disease, the surgeons were normally volunteers. She was in a special section of the hospital, a little ways away.
She was considered among the filles de joie, of that time, especial with soldiers, her mother, Gabriela’s grandmother, was in prostitution during the Civil War period, her daughter, Maria, who moved from Nashville, to Ozark, was born in 1861, during the start of the war, and like Gabriela, was brought into the occupation as she was. As often things are, or end up, one generation follows the other, and its behavior is duplicated as well. There in the main part of town were a number of whorehouses madams, at their homes. A dollar was the going rate. There among the hospital complex was Hospital Number Eleven, the Female Venereal Section, located on Market Street near Locust Street in Nashville, Tennessee.
During the summer of 1864, the hospital began admitting black prostitutes, as well as mixed blood, giving them medical care, Dorothy Hamilton, Gabriela’s grandmother, never made it to the hospital, she died in 1863, and they closed it down in 1892. The Soldiers Unit Hospital was on Line and Summer streets in Nashville, an old school house.
Even during this period of time, while Maria and Gabriela were in treatment, they saw the soldiers using a ‘peep-show box,’ which displayed nude photos, which attracted many soldiers, it would appear, even at its deadly points the dying soldiers still wanted a sex show. Mara Hamilton died in 1891 and Gabriela in 1892. Emma Hightower, never saw Gabriela again, her one and only friend, and Josh never told her Gabriela’s fate, but she perhaps knew, folks did talk, and rumors were they no longer owned the little house, Gabriela left for them: Gabriela, she was buried with the red shawl Emma gave her so many years ago.
It might be note worthy to mention, antibiotics were available to help during those days, unfortunately once the scabs and blisters, the supia-type lesions of the third –stage appeared of syphilis, it was pretty much understood, death was immanent.

8-15-2008 (#68)

Old Josh, in: Gabriela’s Red Shawl

Old Josh, in:
Gabriela’s Shawl
(1889)


In shantytown, eight – year old Gabriela lived in a one room shack, a black negress, mixed with Spanish blood, she cried a lot it seemed, folks heard her all the time anyhow, if you looked through the shanty window, you might have caught her crying on her pillow, her red shawl around her, the one she loved so dearly, the one Emma Hightower (now twenty-seven years old) had given her, the only one she had. She was cut, I mean a pretty, curtness to her rounded face, large eyes, deep dark eyes, so thought Emma, and when she would come to visit her, take her out on picnics, she brought her one rag doll with her and that red shawl on around her shoulders. Old Josh would bring her down to shantytown, and he’d wait in the buckboard, she felt safe with Josh, and he’d walk around town, talk to his friends, buy a biscuit and find some coffee, and if possible put a shot of corn whisky in it, and just wait for Emma.
Gabriela really had no companions speak of, just her mother, whom was always kind of nervous, symptoms from some illness Emma assumed, and she drank to calm her nerves down, so again she assumed, and she often looked as if she was in dream land, perhaps some opium or whatever might have been available in that area. She wasn’t much older than Emma, and was a pretty girl, from mixed stock, she was just worn out looking now, thin, pale. If there was a father for Gabriela, he was never around, and Gabriel’s mother never mentioned him, although she was seeing a mixture of men, Emma always spotted an item of a man here and there when she’d visit, like a end of a cigar, or a pipe someone might have left on a table, even a tie here and there, and a hat now and then.
Gabriela started calling her Aunt Emma, which put a smile on her face, and one day she even bought her a red bonnet to go with the shawl.

She saw Gabriela that first year at least twice a month. The second year was more like once a month, and on holidays she brought over food for her and her mother, always with the company of Josh Jefferson.
During this second year, Gabriela now nine years old, her mother seemed to have been more intoxicated on the occasions she showed up, and Gabriel seemed to be cringing more around her mother, and this day when Emma came in Gabriela was standing stripped naked in front of her mother,
“I’m giving her a examination,” said the mother, she being a little under the influence and slurred with her speech, the child shrinking.

For the most part, it seemed they lived a quiet, silent, and lonely life, until Emma came around, especially for Gabriela, and when Emma brought these behaviors up to Josh, he kind of bit his lip, and remained silent about it, as if he knew something, but could do nothing, thus, Emma remained confused never demanding an answer, perhaps just Josh’s listening was enough. Although, Josh knew things were different here in shantytown, what you didn’t see, is what nobody wanted you to see. Here you had the whole gamut of the good poor black surrounded by the bad poor black, and those just trying to make it, and those who were learned wrong, and their behaviors were not conducive to Emma’s upbringing, I’m sure Josh felt he couldn’t explain what he knew correctly so he remained silent, figuring she’d learn the truth in time on her own.


It was nineteen-month later, Gabriela was now eleven years old, Emma came to here home with some fruit, left it on the table and heard a noise, a light cry, behind a blanket that was used for a curtain-divider where the bed was, and the one window to the shack, she stepped behind it, there was Gabriela in bed, covers over her up to her neck, and to her left, covers over something else, her red shawl on the floor beside the bed,
“Is your mother there?” asked Emma (Emma thinking her mother was sleeping besides her, which she often did), Gabriela didn’t say a word, shook her head ‘no’, and the body was huge as it pulled covers over its head further, and Gabriela simply said,
“It’s my mother’s friend; she’ll be back in a minute Emma.”
Emma stood in shock, unable to say a word, almost fearful to say a word, then she heard under the covers, a roar like a bear, a husky voice, “Git on out of he’r…or youall be next,” the voice said. And she turned about; tears in her eyes, and then Gabriela’s mother came through the door, saw the basket of fruit on the table,
“Thanks for the fruit she said,” and walked by Emma as if she had business to attend to, actually, overlooking Emma as if she was a nuisance, then looked back at Emma as she was going to go around the blanket,
“Youall can leave now,” she said, “and we aint no longer in need of your hand outs!”
As Emma started to turn about she said, “You bitch!” and walked to the buckboard Josh was waiting at.

She never said a word to Josh about that, she didn’t have to it showed on her face, and there was talk about little Gabriela and her mother, some with amusement and some with pity, folks seemed to be concerned for a while, and even said,
“It out not to be allowed,” then went back to their everyday routines.

8-14-2008 (No: 67)

Old Josh, in: Buckboard to Ozark, ‘63

Old Josh, in:
Buckboard to Ozark, ‘63


Fourteen-years old, Emma Hightower, was a long-legged child, turning into a lovely reddish hair woman, which soon she’d be. Her thick red hair shined like a rainbow cast over the cornfields, with her blue eyes, and Charles Hightower was all too aware of the thumping hearts she aroused in town, but she wasn’t. However for that day in August, 1863 she was more spirited, and akin to a tomboy.
Josh’s two older boys, Silas and Jordon adored her in that special warm way of older brothers do with a little sister, and she often called Josh, uncle, when no white folks were around. There was a side of her that was outrageous, almost flirtatious, a pest if not careless.
Mr. and Mrs. Hightower went to town with Josh, and Emma, and when they, Mr. and Mrs. Hightower went to do some shopping, Josh sat upfront on the buckboard’s wooden seat, with Emma, she could tell him things she could not tell her pa or ma, and so she got chatting away with Josh, and Josh you know liked conversation, and so they were both busy in some kind of dialogue.
Three farm boys came up in a wagon, parked along side of the Hightower wagon, the very side Emma was on, and started talking to her. She liked the attention, and jumped down from the wagon to talk to the three young bucks, perhaps in their mid-twenties. Josh was sixty at the time.
The guys were pulling at her dress, and her arms, touching her hair, and for the first time, she showed signs of real uneasiness. They were confiding all their attention onto her, forgetting for the moment why they came to town,
“Buzzards,” said Josh.
“What did you say nigger?” asked one of the McAllen boys, from a farm some fifteen miles outside of town the opposite way of the Hightower plantation, “What did you say?” he repeated.
Emma started to get back up onto the buckboard and the oldest McAllen boy pulled on her waistband around her dress, pulling her back down off the footstep of the buckboard, and she fell backwards into his hands, and he started to move his hands around her sides to her breasts, folks were watching but no one did a thing.
“Yous hands is like a lizard,” said Josh.
That stopped Thomas McAllen’s movements on Emma for a moment. Tom McAllen looked stern into the old Negro’s face,
“You say one thing more and you’re going to cry for your mama, because I’m going to put this boot where the sun doesn’t shine!”

Old Josh might have had taken any kind of abuse, or harassment, but that was digging deep, he loved his mother, she took care of him on that slave ship, in the Congo, got lost in New Orleans, and here was a young buck thinking he knew it all, and slighted his mama, when he never met her.
“Mi ma’ma waz a good woman,” said Josh, now the McAllen boy let go of the girl, expecting to pull Josh off the buckboard, when he tried, Josh was too muscular, heavy, too forceful, he pulled back, and Thomas ended up looking the fool; next, Josh just lowered his hand a bit, grabbed the boy, whom was close to six foot tall, about 170 pounds, grabbed him by the neck like you would a snake, and started to choke him as if a bulldog had his teeth into his neck. The boy shuttered, clutching the buckboards wooden bottom with both hands trying to pry Josh’s hands off from his throat, he chocked him so hard, the light in his eyes went out, and his face turned pale, and then the other two brothers came to the rescue, and loosened Josh’s big hand from this throat, and Josh let go. By this time, Emma was back on the buckboard.
“We’re going to hang you nigger,” said the younger McAllen boy, and then out of the store came the sheriff and Hightower, Charles Hightower pointed to Thomas and his brothers, he must had seen something of the situation developing through the window, and noticing the sheriff in the store brought him with him to the scene, briefed him, thus, Hightower said “He’s the one,” and the sheriff said, “Forcedly attempted rape how many years in prison is that?” looking at the McAllen boys, “now get out of town and if I see you here again, I’ll put you in jail for that, and if I see you trying to harm Josh and his family, you’ll be in prison quick than you can say Dixie, I’m going to write this incident down. If you want me to forget it, you best get on your way now.”
The McAllen boys nodded almost imperceptibly and hightailed it out of town.
Emma sat close to her pa and Josh in the front of the buckboard, she was shaking, trying to hold a smile, and old Josh said unblinkingly simply, and calmly said to her, “Yous best hide that pretty face of yours, cuz this is only the begin’ Miss Emma.” And she let out a sigh.

Written 8-13-2008 (#64)

Old Josh, in: Burning Fence (#63)

(1865)


The Fence at the Hightower Plantation, during the Civil War days


The war was almost lost, Granny Mae kept to her kitchen work, and Mr. and Mrs. Charles Hightower, went on as usual with their lives, planted and harvested the best they could, in a way, both the Smiley and Hightower plantations were glad the war was descending, coming to an end, a kind of quiet dust fell over the atmosphere, although the graveyards were being filled up with the dead, a lot of folks on their knees weekly in the church, the sheriff in town and Mr. Ritt, the bank owner felt those negroes weren’t worth fighting for, not to the death anyhow, ‘…forbid it that our southern brothers have to die for it…’ they told one another in private. And Mr. Smiley said many of times, like Hightower did, “I reckon I won’t,” meaning, they’d not die for it, the same feelings Mr. Ritt had from the bank, but nobody ever heard him say that, they heard only Smiley and Hightower say that, forgetting Mr. Hightower was in his 70s, and had fought his war, in 1812. “Yes,” he told folks, “I was there, I saw it, and we were there. I’m not afraid to fight, I’m just tired of it,” he said. But there is always more to it I suppose, he had a wife and land, crops and live stock, a whole plantation to take care of and people to feed.
He, Hightower had built a new fence, a corral for his horses, made out of very dry wood, which would burn easily, especially if someone was to throw kerosene on it. And this was a concern at hand, if he didn’t take sides he had gotten in the past some notes saying, and remaining him being neutral was not safe—the Civil War in particular made men more aggressive and less sensitive to death, for some it was a way of life, and the truth of the matter was, he didn’t take sides for the Gray or Blue, meaning the North or South, and that continued to irritate the Confederates, and… especially now that they were losing the war.

It was a cool night, Old Josh stood near the new fence, Mr. Hightower just had put in, matter of fact, Silas, and Josh and several other works dug the holes, bought the dry timber from a far-off neighbor beyond the woods. And no sooner had they put it up, they saw smoke coming from the Smiley Plantation, Mr. and Mrs. Hightower watched it from their window, and Josh by the fence, and Hightower got a letter, it said,
“You can’t remain neutral forever…” and it implied he was next on the list. Someone had burnt down the hog bin at the Smile’s; it housed some several big hogs, and a few small ones, and had a fence around it; Charles went over to see if he could help put out the fire, as Josh stood watch over the new fence, and Silas by the front of the house, and Jordon by the barn, all anticipating.
As Josh looked out among the yellow fields, he saw nothing, but nearby was a luring shadow, he saw it from the corner of his eye, pretended not to notice it, thought about what he should do, and did nothing.
The smoke now had gotten down to his location from the Smiley plantation, he could taste it, then Mrs. Hightower yelled, “Go around the house, check it out,” she was thinking that Silas could only see what he could see, and if there was someone with bad intentions, he needed only stay in front of Silas, far enough around one corner, and he’d never be seen—but Josh walking one way, in one direction as Silas walked in the other, you might catch the culprit. But in doing so, Josh left the fence unguarded.
By the time Josh had made his walk around the house, the fence was on fire, burning to kingdom come, no horses were in the corral, and as Josh got back, Mrs. Hightower with a shotgun in hand, was running toward the fence, Josh saw a shadow again, with a gray hat on,
“Who you are?” said Josh, someone behind a drinking bin for the horses.
Then the shadow was gone, and Josh just turn about, looking at Mrs. Hightower running, tears in her eyes.
“Did you see who it was Josh?” she asked in desperation.
“No maim, jes’ a shadow, and it gone like the birds!”

As Josh rushed to get some buckets of water and Silas, Jordon and Mrs. Hightower did the same, Silas overheard his father mumbling:
‘If-in you git too much Lord, you gots to worry too much, the truth is, a man sell his soul for things and the robber he done takes them away, so he can go git some more, so he can take more away, and the devil he laugh cuz he keeping youall busy over things, that man dont rest, and if-in he dont rest, he got no time for his family, he jes’ got things, and more things!’
Josh grabbed the bucked of water, looked at Silas, said,
“Come on son, wes got to save the Hightower things!”

8-11-2008

Old Josh, in: "Breathin' Hard" (#60)

Old Josh, in:
“Breathin’ Hard”
(The Spring of , 1864)


It now was spring, several months had passed since Josh had that sick bout, where Molly came over and sat with him in his shanty, he was sick, and in a way wanted to remain sick if she stayed to nurse him, but of course she didn’t, she simply insured he was ok and abruptly left, because Josh was getting other ideas. And today, as other days, Josh was staring down towards the Creek, where Molly’s little house was. Mater of fact, Silas was kind of getting tired of watching his father night after night looking down that way, and especially this night for some odd reason.
“You don’t move pa, you jes’ stands there like stone, lookin’ down yonder towards Molly’s place, you ought-a, hightail it down there and see her!” said Silas.
“I is jes’ waitin’ fer the right moment—cuz I dont know, and whens ya dont know, its simple, you jes’ wait…!” murmured Josh.
“What is you waitin’ fer pa!” said Silas.
“I done told you all ready. Sometimes I is sad, sometimes I is feelin’ old, and sometimes I feel like a rain drop on that their cob web
(Josh panted to a web by the fence, where he and Silas stood, Silas had a shovel in his hands needed to go put it away in the barn then was going to join Jordon in the house).
Josh remained quiet in the cool silence of the night, the door was closed to the shanty so he couldn’t see inside, and so he continued to stare in Molly’s direction, taking Silas’ advice to heart, thinking upon it anyhow, thinking he might go see Molly this evening, almost made up his mind that he would, as Silas walked away to the barn.
“Yessum!” Josh said out loud, and Silas heard that, and smiled, but Josh didn’t see that smile, it was more of a cleaver smile.
Then Silas stopped between the barn and the carrel fence the shanty, not far beyond the fence, and barn, said, “Pa, I hears Molly, she be a callin’ fer ya!” Then he started walking again.
That stirred Josh up, Silas figured Josh would mossy on down there now, and he was right, Josh did have all such intentions, but decided at the last minute to go inside his shack and get his cane, incase he might need it for balance if he needed to stop and catch his breath, if he got tired that is, and run out of air, and needed to stand and lean on that cane of his, which he seldom used.
Then he, Josh, said, “Amen, I a-going,” and walked into his shanty to get his cane, and saw Jordon there, he was surprised, didn’t expect to see him, sitting at the little wooden table, with a big bottle of moonshine, he had just opened the top, and took a small drink, it was nearly full.
“Where you come from,” asked Josh, surprised, taken back a bit, “I thought you be down yonder in that there grocery store in Ozark workin’.”
“I been here for an hour pa, waitin’ for you and Silas,” said Jordon, adding, “what wrong pa?”
“Nothin’, I jes’ wez lookin’ down yonder way, fixin’ to go see Molly cuz, Silas say he hear her a-callin’ me!”
Then Josh picked up the bottle of moonshine, touched the top of it with his tongue, and took a big gulp out of it thereafter, “That there stuff is strong as a bear claw in the bottom of your gut, I swear!” Said Josh and Jordon laughed.
“Yessum, Jordon, Silas done heard Molly callin’ fer me!
Said Jordon with a sigh, “Pa, Silas knows I got this here bottle sittin’ on this table, he thinkin’ if you go on down to see Molly, he drink your share.”
“Ah,” said Josh, “he cleaver like his mamma used to be,” said Josh. But Jordon knew better, Silas was a lot like Old Josh.
“Ill fix him, sure enough, we best be drinking this up befer that their rattlesnake come back; I git a thinkin’ out there when he say Molly callin’ mi name, he be a breathin’ hard when he takin’ you knows what I mean, gives me another drink son, before the rattler drink it all up on us!”
“What ‘bout Molly pa?” asked Jordon.
“Molly how?” said Josh, “jes’ gives me another drink, and I’ll dream of her later on, and sees her tomorrow if-in she calls me…!” (and they both laughed, as Silas walked in).

Written 8-11-2008 (#60)

Old Josh, in: Walking in Colors

An Interlude
In the Life of Old Josh

Old Josh, in:
Walking in Colors
((1873-1880) (a short narration, account))



Old Josh when he walked about in those years between 1873-1880, during his seventies he did at a preserved, decent gait—although a bit uneasy, the same way he walked was the same way he felt, and talked, it seemed with life, for him, as if his feet needed to be more grounded, he was feeling hot, apprehensive of his life, perhaps reexamining it. Everything seemed to give him a sensation of irritation of indigestion, and fall was a dim kind of season for him, it didn’t help, he was seeing all his old friends die, one by one, and his boy Silas would often say, “Pa you thinks you is goin’ to live fer-ever!” And perhaps he did think that, but it didn’t get him completely out of his blue moods.
He didn’t have the Civil War to blame anymore for his annoyance, in those years we might want to call green, and it appeared not much bothered him, Mr. Hightower had died in 1869, Molly was still on his mind.
At length, during his 70s, he was kind of mocking things, and folks jeered at him because he didn’t smile all that much, was told even to smile more. He’d find himself kicking stones, barking at dogs, to provoke them to bark back, he even used a lot of quotes, during those years, so saying things like: if you find too much knowledge, you also find too much truth—or, God created religion so man could find faith, I suppose he, himself was searching. These years were his Blue years. Now his boys, and friends, those left, hoped as he got into his 80s, they would be his calm years, hoping for some mixture of colors, like a rainbow.

Written 8-11-2007 (Episode 59)