The Last Ballad(83)

“She’s my friend,” Ella said. “What do you want?”

He laughed. “No, all your friends are niggers,” he said. Kate gasped at the word.

“Go home, Charlie,” Ella said. “Sleep it off.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he said. “Not when you say you got my baby inside you. You can’t tell me nothing.” He lifted the rifle, held it with two hands, kept it pointed toward the woods alongside the cabin. “And I don’t believe you anyway,” Charlie said. “That ain’t my baby. It’s probably some nigger baby.”

“It won’t be your baby,” Ella said. “It’ll be mine.”

Charlie turned the rifle so that it pointed at Ella’s chest. She could hear him breathing, could hear the gurgle of the spring behind the cabin, could hear Kate’s struggle to keep from crying.

“Charlie, if you’re going to shoot me, then at least let me go inside and make sure my babies got something for breakfast,” she said. “Ain’t no use in them finding me dead and being hungry too.”

Kate scooted away from them toward the cabin’s door, and when Charlie looked toward the sound, Ella reached out and snatched the rifle from his hands. She turned it on him, pointed it at his chest exactly where he’d just pointed it at hers.

“Go home, Charlie,” she said. “I ain’t got no use for this rifle, so you can have it back tomorrow, but I can’t let you keep it tonight.”

“You bitch,” he said. He looked at Kate. “That’s what y’all are: a couple of bitches.”

“Don’t talk nasty, Charlie,” Ella said. “Like you said, she’s my only white friend. Don’t go and run her off.”

Charlie spit at the ground by the porch steps. “I’m coming back for my gun,” he said.

“Not tonight you ain’t,” Ella said. She held the gun on him as he backed out of the yard and turned and walked up the road toward the Kings Mountain Highway. Ella watched him until he disappeared, and then she lowered the butt of the rifle to the ground and leaned it against the porch steps. She looked back at Kate where she sat, saw that her eyes were closed, her hand covering her heart.

“He’s gone,” Ella said.

Kate opened her eyes; a tear slid down her cheek. “Who was that?” she asked.

“That was nobody,” Ella said, “but damn it if he don’t want to be somebody.”

“Is he really—” She stopped, as if trying to find the right words. “Are you—”

“Yes,” Ella said.

Ella turned away, looked down the porch steps and out into the dark yard toward the empty road. She felt Kate’s eyes on her.

“How far along are you?”

“Not far,” Ella said.

“Has he threatened you before?” Kate asked.

“Oh, yes,” Ella said. She wanted to laugh, but she knew it would be inappropriate and that someone like Kate would not understand. “He talks a game, but he’s a coward. He sold his guitar for this rifle. He likes to show it to me like it means something.”

“Do you think he’d use it?” Kate asked.

“No,” Ella said. “He talks a game, though.”

“Do you feel safe?” Kate asked. “Are you and your children safe here?”

“Yes,” Ella said. “We’re as safe here as we would be anywhere else. I’m not scared of Charlie, I just feel stupid. I should’ve known better.”

Kate’s jacket was folded and sitting on the other side of her. She reached for it, brought it to her, unfolded it across her lap. She reached into one of the pockets and removed an envelope. She stared at it for a moment, and then she held it out to Ella.

“What’s this?” Ella asked.

“It’s for you,” Kate said. “I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed to give it to you. I know you’ll be too proud to take it, but I want you to have it.”

Ella took the envelope and opened it. It was too dark to see what was inside without removing it, and once she did she found money, at least five twenty-dollar bills, maybe more. She slid the money back into the envelope, closed it, held it out to Kate.

“Thank you,” Ella said. “It’s real kind of you, but I can’t accept it. I can’t raise my children to be too proud to accept charity and then accept yours. I can’t face them with somebody else’s money in my hand.”

“It was in my hands before it was in yours,” Kate said. “But it didn’t belong to me. It passed through my husband’s hands, but it didn’t belong to him either.”

“Who’s it belong to then?” Ella asked.

“Whoever earned it,” Kate said. “Probably somebody just like you. If we’re friends, like you said we are, then you’ll take it.”

Ella looked at the envelope. Inside was at least ten weeks of what her pay had been at the American Mill.

“Please,” Kate said. She pushed Ella’s hand until the envelope it held rested on Ella’s lap. “Please accept it.” She reached into another pocket on her jacket and pulled out a small tablet and pencil. She wrote something down, tore the paper free. “And if we’re friends then you’ll remember me,” she said, “and you’ll come find me if you ever need anything.” She folded the paper and slid it into the envelope beside the money.