Bootleggers' Legacy

Belle had moved fast for her age. Within twenty minutes of the tumbleweed wagon leaving Saline with George, Junior Simmons was racing through the woods towards Elisha's house, leaving a tearful and angry Lispeth behind. Ol' Jim Folson would be lucky if she waited until Junior was back to go take a piece out of his hide.

"They done took Daddy! Them carnslain revenuers done took Daddy off! That damn ol' Jim Folson went and ratted him out!"

Elisha had answered Junior's frantic pounding at the door with his boots already on, having just returned from the cornfield. Omer was close behind him. Without a word, Elisha turned and went to the bedroom he and Ada shared. He returned moments later, carrying an oilcloth sack which he tucked into the pocket of his overalls as he grabbed his hat.

Neither Ada nor Patty said anything as the two men left. When the door closed behind them, Patty looked up from the baby boy in her arms. "Reckon we ought'a go see to Miz Lispeth?"

Ada pursed her lips and sighed. "Well. Yeah, I reckon we ought'a." She dusted the flour from her hands and untied her apron.

Outside, Elisha wasted no time cranking the Model A to life. Omer grabbed the wheel chock while Junior squeezed onto the middle of the seat. The engine sputtered, then roared to life, and Elisha hauled himself into the driver's seat. Omer climbed in on the other side, and they tore off down the shade-dappled lane leading to town.

Elisha stopped at the diner long enough for Omer to run inside and shout, "Miz Belle! Which way did they go?" Belle, who had been in the middle of lighting a cigarette, gestured wildly towards Arcadia. Omer raced back out to the car and pointed even as he pulled himself into the seat.

About halfway between Bienville and Bryceland, as they crossed Bear Creek, Omer spotted the jail wagon. It was putting up as much dust as the Model A, and the driver's whip could be seen lashing up and down every few seconds. Elisha slowed the car and pulled up close behind, hoping the thunder of the horses' hooves would cover the sound of the engine.

"We gon' get Daddy outta there?" Junior was shaking, nearly wiggling between Omer and Elisha.

"You try'n'a get us all arrested, boy? Elisha growled. "He just needs to know we're here."

As if on cue, George's head poked out of the back of the paddywagon. His eyes were wide and his gray hair fluttered around his face like a pack of manic butterflies. He looked at his son, then at Elisha. Seeing the stern look on Elisha's face, he pulled his head back in, crestfallen. For the rest of the drive, Elisha hung back a respectful distance from the dust cloud the horses kicked up.

In Arcadia, Elisha pulled up alongside as the wagon stopped in front of the courthouse. The brick and mortar edifice with its tower and arched windows hulked sullenly over the street. Before the two snakeskin-booted revenuers could climb down, Elisha hurried to the back of the wagon. He spoke quietly and quickly to George.

"Now, George, we're gonna see what kinda bond the justice sets, and get you bailed out. Then, first thing Monday morning, we'll head to Monroe to see about you one o' them real good lawyers at that firm them nice Jewish boys from Mobile started. Hudspeth, Philpot and Rosenstein, I think it is. But you don't say nothing. Nothing, you hear me?"

George gulped and nodded.

"Now, Mister, we gon' need ya to back away from the prisoner," came an oily, smarmy voice. Elisha favored the voice's owner with a look that was less than completely respectful.

"Nothing, George," he repeated as he backed toward the Model A.

After the men escorted George through the small door on the side of the building, Elisha and Junior mounted the steps to the main entrance. Omer stayed with the car. A short conversation between Elisha and the pretty secretary in the clerk's office revealed the justice would not be back through town for another week, and then a Grand Jury would have to be called to charge George. Junior stepped up, shined his crooked teeth at the girl in what Elisha could only assume was meant to be a charming smile, and asked, "Can we see 'im?"

The charm, if indeed that's what Junior intended to convey, was lost on the girl. She cooly directed them to the door to the jail cells, and returned to chatting with the bailiff who'd been entertaining her before they entered.

In the dark corridor, they heard George weeping before they could even ask the jailer to see him. He acknowledged their request with a grunt and a jerk of his thumb down the long hallway.

George wiped his eyes and tried to steady his face when he saw his son and his best friend outside his cell. "Well?" he asked.

"Justice ain' gon' be through for a week, an' then th' grand jury's gotta meet. Bond'll be set then. I'm'a go on t' Monroe and see 'bout one o' them lawyers. Meantime, you jes' keep your mouth shut, you hear me?"

"I hear you, 'Lisha. I won't tell 'em a thing. You jes' do what you gotta do to get me outta here!" He turned to his son. "You go on home and take care o' yer Mama, now, y'hear? And take care of business, iffen you get my meanin'."

"I will, Daddy." Junior looked as if he might start to cry, too. Elisha snorted and clapped Junior on the back.

"We gon' go, George. You jes' sit tight and keep quiet." With that, Elisha turned to go, Junior trailing behind him like a lost puppy.