A Land Remembered, Volume 2, page 14
Zech walked to the pen and gazed at the polled bull, a sleek creature weighing fifteen hundred pounds, deep red with white splotches on its head and legs, hornless, with a ring in its nose so it could be led easily. Compared to the Brahma that caused death, the Hereford was as gentle as a house cat. It paid no heed as Lester ran a currycomb across its back. The letters “MCI” were freshly burned on its left rear flank.
“He’s sure a fine one,” Zech said, “and I think you’re right, Sol. He’s worth the money.”
Thunder rumbled across the prairie as lightning flashed in the north, and soon the wind picked up, blowing loose hay from the barn door. Sol said, “Going to rain soon, Pappa. We best head back to the house else we get a drenching.”
“You and the rest go on,” Zech said. “I’ll stay here a short while and ride in after you. I want to look some more. It starts to rain I’ll put him in the barn and ride on in as soon as I can.”
“All right, Pappa. We’ll see you back at the house.”
***
The drive in the summer of 1898 had been the last for MacIvey cattle, and it was the one that set Zech on a new course: raising smaller numbers of quality beeves and giving up on the scrawny yellowhammers. All shipments to market were now made by rail, and the old trails leading to Punta Rassa were a thing of the past, bush-covered but not forgotten.
The year after this final drive, Zech finished fencing all of the MacIvey land, finally putting an end to the fence-cutting by hiring eight men from Arcadia to patrol the property with orders to shoot to kill. After two months on the job and the wounding of five would-be cutters and the killing of two, it all stopped; then the gunslingers rode away.
Twenty thousand acres were eventually put into orange trees, and the other ten thousand used for cattle. Zech upgraded his herd by mixing the range cows with Herefords, gradually breeding his cows to seven-eighths pure Hereford blood; but he never again purchased a Brahma, the bitter memories lingering on.
He made four trips back to Okeechobee to see Toby and also to buy the land where the custard-apple forest was located. For ten thousand five hundred dollars in gold he purchased seventy thousand acres stretching from the lake’s southwest shore to the edge of the great cypress swamp. Glenda had been fascinated by his tales of the place and wanted to see it, but he had never taken her there because of the nearby Indian village, fearing that she would somehow learn of Tawanda and Toby. He bought it because of not taking her there, wanting to leave it in its natural state and be sure that no one ever put axes or machines to it, destroying it as the land was destroyed around Palm Beach. He suspected this was also happening at Miami, but he had not returned there to see.
All of the improvements he made to the orange grove and the cattle operation he made for Sol, not for himself. After Glenda’s death he had no use for money or any desire for anything except to build something better for Sol, his only remaining link with Glenda and all things past. Surplus money from oranges and cattle still went into trunks stored in the old house.
He also offered to send Sol away to college as he promised Glenda, but the offer was firmly refused. Sol had no interest in further schooling, wanting only to stay on the land and be with his father.
***
As the first drops of rain pelted down Zech hooked one finger through the nose ring and led the bull into the barn, guiding it as easily as he would a horse. He put it in a stall with fresh hay; then he went to the door and looked out. The soft shower turned into a downpour, blocking his view of the nearby corral, causing him to retreat further into the barn to escape the pounding water.
Rain always brought memories of Glenda, for some of their happiest times were spent inside the old house, listening to the patter on the cypress roof.
It also reminded him of wildflowers in spring, prairies splashed with green, orange trees bursting with new life, and plains scorched the yellow color of death when it did not come down from cloudless skies.
Black clouds boiled angrily overhead as the rain continued for another hour, tempting him to stay inside the dry barn for a time longer, but knowing that this kind of summer thunderstorm could last well into the night. Sol would be worried, and possibly come out into the storm looking for him, and the worst he could do was soak himself on the return trip.
He mounted his horse and rode away, straining his eyes to see through the rainfall, feeling water pour from the brim of his hat and stream downward inside his shirt.
He soon came to the bank of the creek and gazed across it, seeing that the level had risen two feet, watching brown bubbling foam rush past him as the creek water raced toward the river.
The horse slid and then stumbled as it went down the muddy bank, plunging headlong into the water, causing Zech to be jolted from the saddle as the horse and rider went under and then surfaced a few yards downstream.
Zech thought he had come free, but then he felt a tugging as the horse swam desperately against the current. He knew now that his lame foot was caught in the stirrup, dragging him downward. He held his breath as he went under, trying vainly to free the foot, feeling water rush over him, holding his breath until his lungs could stand it no longer and screamed for mercy; then he let go and sucked for air, pulling a flood of brown water inside him.
Faces and things suddenly rushed through his mind, Tobias and Emma and Glenda and Tawanda and Toby; Ishmael tied to the garden fence, Nip and Tuck baying, Skillit in a clump of palmetto; Frog eating ten biscuits and asking for more; all of them looking at him, calling him to come and be with them; and then he was free, free of the pain in his leg, free of the struggling horse and the rushing water. Sol then came before him, and his last conscious thought was, “Don’t grieve, Sol. . . . Don’t ever grieve. . . .”
The horse kicked frantically, pulling its load yard by yard across the creek, and when it reached the far bank and struggled upward, Zech’s lifeless form dangled from the stirrup.
After resting for a moment the horse started home, moving automatically in the right direction, paying no heed to the saddle pulled sideways by the trailing man, thinking only of the hay stacked in bales in the barn.
Sol was standing on the stoop, beyond reach of the rain, watching, worried because Zech had not yet returned. In a few minutes he would go after him, wishing now he had insisted that his father come back with the rest of them, but not expecting such a flood. Then he saw the horse, moving slowly through the woods, at first seemingly alone; but when it came into the clearing and turned toward the barn, he saw a form being dragged through the mud, the body of a man.
Sol jumped from the stoop screaming, “Pappa! Pappa!”
He could not untangle the foot, so he ran into the house and returned with a knife, cutting the stirrup from the saddle and then carrying Zech inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
1908
Jessie Lardy, Tim’s wife and MacIvey cook and housekeeper for the past eight years, came bustling into the kitchen before sunup. She looked like a white Pearlie Mae, short and overweight, an apron strapped to her, a red bandanna covering her hair.
Sol was sitting at the table, studying a pile of papers in front of him. Jessie put more wood in the stove and said, “I can’t sleep when Tim’s not here. He should ’a been back two days ago with the load of barrels. He must ’a gone to Jacksonville ’stead of Fort Pierce. I’m goin’ to skin that man alive when he gets here!” Then more calmly, “I seen the light and decided I’d come on over. Have you been sittin’ there all night, Mister Sol?”
“No, Jessie. I just got up a few minutes ago. I thought I’d go over these deeds and land descriptions one more time before I go.”
Jessie picked up the coal oil lamp and looked at it; then she put it back on the table. “That ain’t so, Mister Sol! I filled this lamp when I left here last night, and now it’s almost empty. You ain’t even been to bed. A trip like you got ahead of you today, you ought to have rested. I’ll fix us some coffee, and then I’ll make breakfast for you.”
“Just coffee, Jessie. I’m not hungry.”
Jessie put the pot on one lid of the stove and said, “Lordy, Mister Sol, I sure hates to see you leave. I know it’s lonely here for a young man like you, without no girls or other young people around. But how come you can’t go up to Kissimmee and get yourself a good woman and come on back here to live?”
“It’s not that at all,” Sol said, pushing the papers aside. “I can stand it being lonely out here, but every time I ride through the woods or go into the grove or tend cows, there’s a ghost looking at me. It’s like Mamma and Pappa never left. And Grampy and Granny too. I just can’t take it any longer, Jessie. I’ve got to get away from all these faces staring at me. I’ve got to try something different.”
“I understand that, Mister Sol. I just hates to see you go. It won’t be the same here without you.”
“You’ll like the Clayton family. They’re good folks. They’ll be moving in sometime this afternoon.”
Sol had hired a Kissimmee man named Ron Clayton, his wife and three teenaged boys to come live on the place. Clayton would take over as manager of the citrus and cattle operations and be paid a monthly salary plus a percentage of the yearly profits. He had already made several visits to the homestead to study the operation.
Jessie set two cups of coffee on the table. “Maybe so. But they’re still not you, Mister Sol.”
Sol took a sip of the steaming brew and said, “One thing’s for sure, Jessie. I don’t have the problem most folks have when they move. There’s not much to take with me. Pappa and Grampy had only one suit, and they’re buried in them. There’s a few dresses of mamma’s still in there. You can have them if you want and see if you can let them out and make them fit. I’m taking Grampy’s old shotgun and the rifles, Pappa and Grampy’s whips, and a few other small things. And that’s about it. I’ll store it all in the cabin at Punta Rassa. All that stuff’s not much for two lifetimes of MacIveys, is it?”
“I guess not, Mister Sol. But they sure left behind a heap more than the mess of junk some folks leave. You can’t haul memories in a buckboard, but they’re sure there. And they left you enough to last a lifetime.”
Lester came in, poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. Sol noticed how much he had aged so quickly, or perhaps he was just taking a close look at him for the first time. He was as frail and stooped as Frog during his last days.
Sol watched him saucer and blow the coffee, and then he said, “When you get done with that, Lester, I’d appreciate it if you’ll go down to the barn and hitch up the buckboard. Put two horses to it, and throw in my saddle. I want to leave soon after sunup.”
“Not before you eat!” Jessie said. “I’ll fix you a whoppin’ big breakfast that’ll hold you for a while.”
“Coffee’s fine, Jessie. I couldn’t eat a bite this morning. Honest I couldn’t.”
“You want me to tie Tiger behind the buckboard?” Lester asked.
“No. He’s too old now to go with me. But I want you to see to him real good. Turn him loose in the north range and let him do what he wants to do, and give him plenty to eat. I hate to leave him, but he’s just too old. He’ll be happy here.”
“What about your mamma’s horse?”
“Do the same with it.” Sol sipped the coffee, and then he said, “I’ve talked to Clayton about you, Lester, and about Tim and Jessie. All of you have a home here as long as you wish. If it gets to a point where you don’t do nothing but tend the garden or just sit on the porch that’s fine with me. You’ll stay on the payroll. I’ve told this to Clayton, and he understands. None of you don’t ever have to leave unless you want to.”
“I appreciate that, Mistuh Sol,” Lester said gratefully. “I wouldn’t have no idea what to do if I left. We’ll all look after things real good. Me and Tim’ll keep the graves up like you said, and never let no weeds get to them.”
“And I’ll put fresh flowers on them ever week,” Jessie said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Jessie then started sobbing, and Sol said, “Now stop that, Jessie! I don’t want no blubbering. It’s hard enough for me to leave as it is. And it’s not like I’m going off forever. I’ll come back as often as I can to check the books and see how things are going. So you stop that or you’ll have me doing it!”
“I couldn’t help it, Mister Sol,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I won’t do it no more.”
Lester got up and said, “I’ll go on now and bring the buckboard up here, then we’ll load your trunk and the other stuff.”
Sol was taking one trunk of money with him. The others had been put in one room of Tim and Jessie’s cabin and padlocked, Sol cautioning them not to give the key to anyone or let anyone in the room.
Sol followed Lester outside and turned south toward the oak grove and the graves. A dim light was just coming into the hammock, and the eastern sky was tinted red.
He stood before the five stones, all marked MacIvey, two of them covered with wilted flowers. Then he said, “I’m sorry, Pappa, to be leaving, but I just got to go. It’s not that I’m afraid to keep on my shoulders what you had to take from Grampy, or what he took himself from the wilderness. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a thing I’ve got to do.
“And, Mamma, I remember that time you wanted to stay in the fancy hotel at Palm Beach and they wouldn’t let Pappa have a room. I’ll stay there for you someday, Mamma. I promise you I will.
“Grampy, Granny, Frog—all of you—rest easy. I’ll come back to see you again soon.”
Then he turned and went back to the house.
As soon as the buckboard arrived they loaded the trunk and the few other things Sol was taking. As he climbed to the seat Jessie said, “God bless you, Mister Sol!”
“You too, Jessie. Tell Tim good-bye for me, and don’t be too hard on him because he’s late. And, Lester, you take care of yourself. You’re about the last old-time cracker left.”
The horses trotted away, vanishing quickly in the early morning mist. He headed east first, going to the site of the original corral. When he reached the split-rail fence he stopped and gazed at it, into the empty pen, remembering all those things that had taken place here during his lifetime and before, so much MacIvey blood and sweat and tears staining the ground. The corral was no longer used since there were no more spring roundups of wild cows, but he had given orders to Clayton to maintain it and never tear it down for any reason.
He could almost hear the whips popping and the shouts and the pounding hooves of cows and the smell of scorched flesh as hot irons burned into hides. For a moment he saw it all, thundering out of the mist, becoming alive and real again, then vanishing as suddenly as it appeared. He looked once more, seeing only an empty corral; then he turned the buckboard west toward Punta Rassa and left hurriedly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
South Okeechobee
1911
The two tracts of land Zech had purchased south of Lake Okeechobee were right in the middle of what was to become the most extensive farmland in South Florida. Sol suspected this when he rode his horse onto the section southeast of the lake and examined the rich soil and the lushness of the vegetation. As he gazed out over the land and then explored it, riding past ponds and sloughs filled with snakes and alligators and turtles, coming to areas of open glades where the shadows of egrets and herons and ibises glided over the sawgrass, his first thought was, “How do you turn a place like this into a farm?”
Upon riding further south he found the answer. Dredges had already worked here for five years, cutting drainage canals across the land, carrying away the water, then using men and machines to strip the land bare and turn it into open fields.
He asked questions everywhere, slowly finding answers, learning who owned the dredges and machines and how much they cost and where to go and whom to see. He built himself a small house on the lake’s south shore, and then he set out to transform the land.
He hired dredges to gash the earth and drain it, paying with Spanish gold, then the men and saws and machines to rip out the giant bald cypress and the hickory and the oak and the cabbage palm and the palmetto and the cocoplum bushes, pushing mounds of dirt over the sawgrass and the seas of violet-blue pickerel weed. It took more than a year, but he gradually turned hammocks and Everglades into fields stretching as far as the eye could see, soil so black it looked like soot. Then he formed the MacIvey Produce Company and hired workers to plant tomatoes and beans and squash and celery and corn and cucumbers and lettuce and okra, eventually becoming a supplier of vegetables to the growing cities of Palm Beach and Fort Lauderdale and Miami and Fort Myers and Tampa and Saint Petersburg, also shipping vast quantities by rail to markets in Chicago and New York and Boston.
Then he turned his attention to the land southwest of the lake, attacking the custard-apple forest with more dredges and men and machines, cutting down the ancient trees with their canopies of thick moon vines, ripping out the lush beds of lacy ferns, strewing the ground with thousands of air plants and wild orchids that soon shriveled, burning all of it in huge bonfires that blackened the sky with smoke, slowly transforming jungle into more fields that would put more vegetables onto tables in Palm Beach and Fort Lauderdale and Miami and New York and Boston. Some of this land would also be planted with sugar cane.
***
Near the end of the clearing of the custard-apple area, Sol decided that since he was so near he would ride down to the Indian village. He had not been there since moving to Okeechobee, and he was sure Toby Cypress did not know about Zech’s death and had wondered why Zech never again returned after his last visit seven years ago.
