Through a Glass, Darkly. Charlotte Miller

his stare. He could see the rage building within Buddy Eason as Buddy shifted from one foot to the other, both hands tightening into fists at his sides, loosening, and then tightening again.

      “You better get out of this village, boy. You got no right to be here; you get your goddamn ass back into the country where the rest of the stinking shit is—”

      Janson could hear the others snicker at Buddy’s words, but he did not turn to look at them. “I got all th’ right I need; I live here.”

      “Only mill workers live here, and I know Daddy would never have hired a red nigger to work in the mill.”

      “He didn’t,” Janson said, seeing a momentary look of satisfaction come into Buddy’s eyes, “but your gran’pa did—”

      Buddy’s expression was immediately one of a pure hatred. He took a step closer, crowding Janson even further back against the tree, and bringing his clenched fist up to hold it to within inches of Janson’s face. “You listen to me, you goddamn half-breed son-of-a-bitch, I won’t have you living in this village, or working in this mill. Do you understand me?” He stared at Janson, his breath hot and stinking in Janson’s face. “You pack up whatever shit you have and get the hell out of here, and don’t you let me see you in this town or near the mill again or I’ll cut your balls off and stuff them down your throat for you—now, get out of my sight before I beat your ass just for being here.” He stepped back, obviously expecting Janson to leave, but Janson only stared at him. “Did you hear me—get!”

      His voice rose on the last word, his eyes never leaving Janson’s face.

      “You goddamn—” He moved toward Janson again, grabbing him by the front of his coat and trying to drag him closer. Janson reached up to tighten a hand round Buddy’s wrist, twisting, digging his fingers into the exposed flesh at the underside until pain shot across Buddy’s features. Buddy struggled to maintain his grip, then failed, releasing him with a shove that sent Janson back against the tree again. He rubbed at his wrist, his eyes never leaving Janson’s face, his own expression a study in hatred. “You goddamn red nigger, I’ll kill you one day for that. You wait, one day I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

      Janson only stared at him, then, after a moment, he turned his eyes to the young man who had Nathan Betts’s package. “Give him back his sack,” he said.

      The man looked at him, then back to Buddy Eason. Buddy did not speak, or meet his eyes, but just continued to stare at Janson. After a moment, Nathan reached and took the sack, and it was released without any resistance. Janson turned his eyes back to Buddy Eason, finding nothing but hatred on the man’s face.

      “You’re dead,” Buddy said quietly. “One day—but I’m gonna hurt you first. I’m gonna make you beg to die. I’ll teach you what hell is before I send you there.”

      Janson stepped back up onto the sidewalk, intending to walk around him, but Buddy stepped out of his way.

      “You’re dead—remember that, you red nigger,” Buddy said as Janson walked past. “You’re dead.”

Chapter Three

      There was a rumble of thunder in the distance as Elise reached the railroad tracks going back into the mill village the last Saturday afternoon in March. She had waited out the storm in Brown’s Grocery on Main Street, sitting in a cane-bottomed straight chair that Mr. Brown had brought out from behind his counter for her, he having refused to allow her to stand while she waited for the rain to slack off. She wanted to make it home before the downpour resumed, so she quickened her pace, going down alongside the loading dock there at the railroad tracks, and starting down the sidewalk before the mill.

      The azalea bushes in the yards of the dayboss houses across from the mill were drooping and wet, their color catching her attention from across the street, and she felt a touch of disappointment as she saw that many of their blooms now lay on the ground, beaten from the plants by the rain. The sidewalk was wet, as were the trees around her, and she felt a drizzle hit her face but had no way of knowing if it was from the branches overhead or from the rain that looked ready to resume at any moment. She knew she could have bought the few things she needed from McCallum’s Grocery there in the village. If she had, she would have long since been home. As the wife of a mill worker, she was supposed to do her buying from the stores the Easons rented out to proprietors there in the village; that was one of the unwritten but well-known rules of village life she had been introduced to early, but one she could not bring herself to follow once she learned that almost anything they might need could be bought for less money from the stores along Main Street.

      Her trips uptown often brought stares and even comments from people on both sides of the tracks, but she did not care. The walks gave her something to do during the days while Janson was asleep, and they allowed her at least a little time away from the incessant noise and lint of the village—and, besides, they gave her a chance to avoid the smelly, tobacco-chewing old men who considered the village stores their domain, sitting around the pot-bellied stove in the cold months, and now, on warmer days, occupying sagging cane-bottomed chairs between the open barrels of pickles and crackers before McCallum’s Grocery, oftentimes spitting tobacco juice on the ground almost at your feet as you passed. The old men seemed to be an accepted part of village life, but one Elise could not get used to. Their streams of tobacco juice made her stomach roll, and their habit of scratching themselves made her want to run away.

      She felt rain spatter her again from the trees overhead, hearing the distant rumble of thunder even over the sound of the mill machinery so close at hand. She could hear voices as she neared the white building that served as the office for the mill, and she saw three boys, none older than eighteen or nineteen, come around the corner of the structure as she neared it, feeling their eyes rake over her only a moment later as they noted her approach.

      “Hey, Buddy, look at her,” one called out as they stopped before the steps that led up to the mill office, blocking the sidewalk as they stared at her.

      “Look at that red-gold hair and them tits—my, oh my—” the one called Buddy said. “That’s a fresh little piece if I ever saw one.”

      She kept looking straight ahead but shifted her grocery sack to her other arm, thinking they would see that she was obviously pregnant and then realize that she was married so they would leave her alone.

      “Somebody’s sure been at her; look at that belly—”

      She felt herself blush to her hairline, but kept walking, telling herself that it would only be a few more steps and she would be past them. Only a few—

      “Hey, I’ve seen her with that red-trash Sanders before, must be his wife—” one of the boys said, and immediately the one named Buddy, who had been standing at the edge of the sidewalk, stepped directly into her path, almost causing her to run up on him before she could stop herself.

      “Sanders?” he said, staring down at her as she took a step back, moving again to block her path as she tried to move past him. “You’re married to that red-nigger?”

      She glanced up at him, but did not answer, trying again to get past him.

      “Answer me—you’re married to Janson Sanders?”

      “Yes, I am—now, let me by—” But he moved to block her path again.

      “What’s a white girl like you doing married to red-nigger trash like him?” he asked, but she would not answer. “Answer me, girl, what’re you doing married to that red-nigger?” He put his hand on her arm but she jerked away, almost dropping her sack of groceries. “Are you scared of white men, or something?” He stepped closer—too close, her mind told her as she tried to push past. “I bet you ain’t never had a real man, have you—now, I’ve got something that could show you what a real man—”

      “Leave me alone!” She tried to pull away, to run. She was shaking so badly that the sack rattled in her hands. She saw people in