With the Devil's Help Read online

  Daddy stood quickly. My legs made me take a few steps backward involuntarily. He stepped over the bulk of the broken jar and grabbed for his belt buckle. Daddy was an artist when it came to punishment, his favorite medium being his belt, which he could remove with alarming speed and wield like a ninja handling nunchucks. Forget lions, bears, and even werewolves. There wasn’t a scarier sound in the world than the noise from the friction of leather on denim as his belt came out so fast that I’m surprised it wasn’t literally smoking.

  “Travis, stop.” Mama had hurried to the living room with a mop and broom.

  But Daddy took orders from no one. “I’ll teach you, you clumsy little son of a bitch.”

  Wait. That wasn’t the right line. He always instructed me to bend over first. Not this time.

  Daddy doubled over the belt and flung away. With the first lash, the belt went over my left shoulder, whipped around, and impacted my back so hard that it knocked me to my knees.

  “Stop, Daddy!”

  “Please, Daddy, don’t!”

  I don’t know whose voice was which, but I knew it was both of my sisters pleading for me.

  But Daddy’s demons consumed him, and he swung away. I think he continued to yell profanities, but the only sounds I heard were from the impact of the leather serpent against my tender skin.

  It was always the same surreal sensation. I wanted to believe it wasn’t really happening. I tried to make my mind go somewhere else; I tried to think about cartoons or fishing or anything fun. But I could only manage to do that for a couple of seconds at a time, because each strike of that leather brought my thoughts quickly back to reality. I curled into a ball on the floor, knowing it would eventually be over. But not soon.

  Once again, Daddy raised his trunklike arm nearly to the ceiling, clutching the belt in his massive paw, and brought it down with all his might. His eyes, which were normally dark brown, were now black and bloodshot.

  I had watched him chop wood in a similar fashion. He could cut through a big log in a matter of seconds. He’d start with an inward cut; then, his next cut would be about a foot away, going inward as well. A huge chunk would fly away. Each following stroke always landed in exactly the same place on one side and then the other, creating a smooth V shape, which came to a point right at the bottom of the log, making it separate. He could do wonders with an ax, saying, “Let the ax do the work.” I guess the same rule applied here.

  Suddenly, one end of the belt slipped from his hand, and as my luck would have it, it was the buckle end. Daddy’s rhythm never faltered. He continued chopping away as now the metal buckle tore into my flesh.

  I tried to curl up tighter. It didn’t help. The thoughts that went through my mind during these times were strange. I first wondered why I was a bad person. Then, I wondered why he was. Then, I wanted to kill myself. Then, I wanted to kill him. But mostly, I just wanted it to end.

  Finally, he quit or simply became tired. He just stood there, breathing heavily, exhaling toxic fumes. “Go to your room.” He pointed with one hand as he gripped the belt with the other.

  I got up with effort and walked toward the hall. I stole a glance at my sisters as I passed. They clung to Mama as if she was the only safe place on earth, their arms wrapped tight around her waist, their faces drenched in tears. That hurt me worse than the belt and buckle ever could.

  I lay on the bed and stared up at the plywood creatures under the roof. There was the giant spider that I swear I saw move a few times. There was the one that looked like an alien from another planet, or that was at least what I perceived them to look like. They didn’t look scary today, only sad. My body hurt all over. Lying perfectly still was my only choice. Life didn’t seem fair, but I knew it wasn’t my fault. It was clear who was to blame: the men in the black suits.

  * * *

  I drifted off to sleep and woke in exactly the same position. My body felt more stiff than sore now. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sun was still very bright outside my window. I lay there still afraid to move.

  I heard footsteps coming down the hall and could tell by the soft creaking noises in the floor that it wasn’t Daddy.

  Mama came into my room. “Let’s go, sweetie. Supper’s ready. Everything is okay now.”

  I believed her. For one thing, she never lied, and for another, this is how it always went. Daddy cooled off as fast as he became hotheaded. No matter how badly I screwed up and no matter how angry he got, he was always willing to forgive and forget. That’s an admirable quality.

  I walked into the kitchen and sat at my place to the left of Daddy, who sat at the head of the table. No one looked at me. I knew they were afraid to acknowledge the marks on my body.

  He reached over and rubbed me on the head. “Boy, you’re getting huge. Look at those arms. Show me your muscles.”

  I grinned and held out my right arm, bending it at the elbow.

  Daddy squeezed my biceps. “Great day in the morning. You’re strong.”

  He was right. I was strong.

  After supper, Daddy ordered Julene and Neenah to do the dishes. He sat in his chair and watched television. He looked over and motioned for me to come to him. I walked over and he grabbed me up, put me on his knees, and started bouncing me up and down while singing. “Ride a little horsey down to town. Watch out, little boy, and don’t fall down. Spill every drop of buttermilk you have got. A one, a two, a one two three…” At this point, Daddy spread his legs suddenly causing me to fall almost to the floor before he caught me.

  I laughed so hard I could barely breathe. “Again.”

  Daddy repeated the performance.

  There came another knock on the door. We were popular today.

  Daddy sat me on the coffee table and opened the front door. He didn’t even bother to put on a shirt. There stood a tall, large woman in a plain dress. Her long gray hair was pulled up in a huge ball, and she clutched a Bible in her arms. A small, short man stood beside her. He was almost bald and so spindly that it looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over.

  “Who are you?” Daddy asked.

  “Sister Johnson. I’m the new preacher at the Church of God of Prophecy by Cunningham Bridge. Just trying to get around to meeting all the neighbors. May we come in?”

  “Sure,” Daddy said. He motioned them in and had them sit on the couch, resuming his place in his chair.

  Mama and my sisters walked in, introduced themselves, and stood around to hear.

  “You have a lovely family,” Sister Johnson said. “Do you attend our little church?”

  Daddy shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh, I see. Where do y’all go to church?”

  “We don’t.”

  Sister Johnson looked troubled. “You don’t go to church? Why not?”

  Let me say here that this was perfect timing. Daddy was still upset from the visit earlier in the day from the men in the black suits, and he was weary from the beating. This was going to be the kind of moment he lived for, and it was fun to watch.

  Daddy smiled. “Because churches are full of hypocrites.”

  Sister Johnson blinked three times, and her face became flustered. “Well… uh… I assure you that our church is not.”

  “Really?” Daddy asked. “Let me ask you a question. Do y’all pray in your church?”

  “Of course.”

  “Out loud?”

  “Yes.”

  Daddy went for the jugular. “Well, the Bible says that when you pray, you should go into a closet and pray in private. And those who pray for everyone to hear are hypocrites.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” Sister Johnson said. “Have you even read the Bible?”

  “Of course.” Daddy pointed to the coffee table where I sat. “We have a family Bible in there.”

  He was telling the truth. I had seen it. It was huge and had pictures in the back. Mama even used it to store important documents. I never knew it was for reading, though.

  Sister Johnson
tried to gain control. “If you don’t go to church, you will suffer damnation. The wage of sin is death. You’ll find that in the Bible too.”

  Daddy nodded. “So, you’re saying I’m a sinner?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about you? Doesn’t the Bible say that we all fall short of the glory of God? So, aren’t you a sinner too?”

  Sister Johnson was becoming more flustered. “Yes, I am. But Jesus died for my sins.”

  “Oh,” Daddy intoned, “but he didn’t die for mine?”

  “Yes, of course. But you need to go to church.”

  Daddy laughed. “So, I need to go to church and be a hypocrite or it doesn’t apply to me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You’re twisting the scripture!” Sister Johnson yelled. She looked over at her husband. “Come on!” They got up and walked out the front door.

  I suddenly realized her husband had never uttered a word. I felt kind of sorry for them. It seemed they came with good intentions, but it had backfired terribly.

  Daddy sat back and chuckled. He loved doing this. I could see the clever smirk etched across his face. He was truly the king of his castle. Well, our little brand-new shack was as drafty as a castle, but that’s where the similarities ended. Daddy really only knew enough about the Bible to make this one argument. If it’s true that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, then when it came to Christianity, Daddy was the most dangerous person in the world.

  CHAPTER TWO PETE MEETS ELSIE

  1926

  I got a quarter says you can’t do it.”

  Pete Wooten grinned as he stared at the shiny coin between the guy’s callused fingers. “You’re on.” Pete didn’t have a quarter, but he was confident and he wanted that money. And it was easy money because he had already successfully accomplished, on many occasions, what this idiot was betting couldn’t be done.

  The sounds of merriment echoed across the area as men threw horseshoes and chewed tobacco, kids played Red Rover and stickball, and the women shooed flies off the food placed neatly on two long wooden tables. Dozens of families were in attendance, and people were scattered out across the grounds, standing in small groups or sitting in circles on worn patches of earth. A slight breeze danced across the clearing, and clouds raced across the sky at a turtle’s pace, as if floating upside down on a deep sea of blue. Tall evergreen sentinels stood guard around the clearing.

  The stock market had rebounded somewhat from the depression of 1921, but that meant little to the farmers on Sand Mountain. It was a hard life before the collapse, and things were still hard. A decline in agriculture resulted in fewer clothes and even less money. Education had lost importance as parents and children worked together to keep families, farms, and homes intact.

  Community get-togethers were still common though, and Pete loved them. He enjoyed the attention. He was seventeen, a charmer through and through, and was always the life of the party. He stood six feet tall, slender, with crystal blue eyes. His dark brown hair was cropped short and neat. He wore no shirt under his overalls, and his bare shoulders and arms showed off tan, lean muscles.

  “Let’s do this,” another young fellow said.

  The first guy tucked the quarter back in his pocket and walked up to Pete, staring him in the eyes for several seconds, turning around, and then standing up as straight as he could.

  Pete smiled, glancing left and right to ensure enough people were standing around and that they were all paying attention. Planting his shoeless flat feet firmly in the dirt behind his challenger, he squatted down and jumped as hard as he could. His feet sailed completely over the guy’s head, and he landed in front of him.

  Everyone watching cheered.

  “Pay up,” Pete said holding out his hand.

  The guy shook his head. “Your feet touched my head. I felt it.”

  No one moved. Those who knew Pete couldn’t look away.

  “My feet did not.”

  “You’re a liar,” the guy said.

  Pete hated being called a liar more than anything in the world. When he really was lying, it bothered him even more. His outstretched hand formed into a fist as his eyes turned a darker shade. “You’re gonna feel it if you don’t pay up.” He stood there, waiting… hoping even that the guy would refuse to pay.

  “C’mon, man,” an onlooker shouted. “He cleared you by a foot.”

  Pete’s jaw muscles clenched so tightly that it made the lines in his face look like scars.

  “All right,” the guy conceded, handing over the money. “Here.”

  Pete took the quarter and watched the guy walk away. He couldn’t even feel the others patting him on the back as he debated whether or not to go after the guy to teach him a lesson.

  “Let it go, man,” a friend said. He knew Pete all too well. “Let’s get some food.”

  They walked over to the tables, where Pete grabbed a chicken leg with his bare hands and began devouring it. He was a slim guy but could eat a ton.

  “Pete, come over here.”

  He looked up and walked over to where his mama, Della, stood beside his little sister, Olive, and was talking to another woman. Olive clung to her mama’s leg.

  Della stood five-foot-seven, her coarse black hair parted in the middle and tied up in the back. It contrasted her alabaster skin, which stayed light even though she spent a lot of time outdoors. Her dark blue eyes glimmered, and her smile and laughter were contagious. Petite but callused hands rested in two pockets of her homemade floral dress. She always added two pockets to her dresses, one for personal items and one for her plug of tobacco. It was her only vice.

  Pete’s seven-year-old sister, Lorene, stood near their mama. Pete also had two teenage sisters, Rosa and Bertha, who were off playing somewhere, and one brother, Warnell, who was nine.

  “Say hello to Mrs. Price. She’s up visiting her sister.”

  “Hello, ma’am.” Pete nodded respectfully as he noticed her store-bought dress, hat, and earrings. Her wedding ring, though small, had an actual diamond.

  “Hello, Pete. It’s nice to meet you.” Mrs. Price’s straight black hair, dark-toned skin, and high cheekbones belied her Cherokee heritage. She turned and scanned the area until she saw who she was looking for. She waved. “Elsie, come here, sweetie.”

  The young girl walked toward them. Pete was awestruck. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was barely five feet two with eyes as dark as night and flowing black hair. Her round cheeks had a healthy, natural reddish glow. Her not-so-plain blue dress hung almost to her shoes and swayed as the mountain wind gently kissed it.

  “This is my daughter, Elsie. Elsie, this is Pete.”

  “Ma’am,” Pete said with a wry smile.

  “How old are you?” Della asked Elsie.

  “I’m fifteen.”

  “I’m seventeen,” Pete blurted out, even though no one asked.

  “Why don’t you show her around?” Della asked.

  He nodded. “Be glad to. C’mon.”

  Pete had a confident heel-toe spring in his step as the two of them walked, shoulder-to-shoulder, toward a group of men throwing horseshoes.

  “Where y’all live?” Pete asked.

  “Springville.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Elsie smiled. “Down close to Birmingham.”

  “Wow. Y’all came a long way.” They stopped as they came upon the players. “We got the next game,” Pete said.

  Several men groaned.

  “I can’t,” Elsie said. “I’ve never played. I don’t even know how.”

  Pete laughed. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to.”

  Elsie watched as the men tossed the shoes toward the opposite side, making them flip backward in midair in the hopes of having them land near or around the stake in the ground. When the game ended, Pete positioned Elsie to one side and then walked to the opposite side where the opponent waited. To Elsie, the entire game seemed ridiculous and even meaningless.

  Elsie picke
d up the horseshoes. Her arm hung loose under their weight as she said, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Just hold it like this,” her opponent said, raising his own arm. “Put your thumb right there so you can make it flip.”

  “Hey!” Pete yelled. “Back off.”

  “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “Well, she don’t need your help.”

  Elsie flung the first horseshoe. It landed halfway with a thump and a spray of dirt.

  Pete laughed. “Great day in the morning.”

  The others joined in the laughter.

  She tried harder with her second toss, but it too fell short.

  The man threw next, put on a ringer, and dropped the other close to the stake.

  “Six to nothing,” the man next to Pete said. He pitched next and landed both near the stake.

  It was Pete’s turn. He smiled as he took his position. Holding the horseshoe on the side instead of at the back, he took one step and released the shoe. It didn’t flip like the others but stayed horizontal and made a complete clockwise rotation and hit the stake. The little spike inside the shoe grabbed the stake and clung on as the horseshoe spun around three times before settling on the ground. His second pitch was likewise a ringer. Smiling at his opponents, he said, “Ten to six.”

  Elsie never scored a point, but as Pete had mentioned, she didn’t need to. It only took Pete three turns to win the match.

  Pete stood proudly. “Next?”

  No one stepped up.

  “You fellows can have it,” Pete said sarcastically and walked away. “Y’all need the practice anyways.”

  “Are they upset?” Elsie asked, taking double steps to catch up.

  “Nah, just sore losers.”

  “Do you always win?”

  Pete grinned. “Always.” After a few seconds, he added apropos of nothing, “But I have big plans. I’m gonna be rich.”

  “Really?”