Caleb's Wars by David L. Dudley Read Free Book Online Page A

me. "Git! Unless you ready to move out this evening and make it on your own from now on. 'Cause I ain't gonna put a roof over any child o' mine that won't obey me."
    "Can't we talk about it?"
    Pop folded his arms. "I gave you your choices. Now you decide, big man."
    I looked toward Ma. She nodded.
    It was done, then. I couldn't stand up against Ma. She had enough on her already.
    "All right. You win."
    "Go on. I be there in a minute."
    I was standing by his workbench when he came in with his strap. "Pop, can't we—"
    "You gonna go back on what we agreed?"
    I didn't agree to anything, I thought. "No, sir."
    "Then drop your britches."
    "Not that!"
    "Caleb?"
    There was no way out. I'd lost. I unfastened my overalls and let them drop to my ankles. Please, not my drawers, too, I thought. If he insisted on whipping my bare backside, I'd run away. Even I had a limit.
    But Pop didn't insist. "Turn around and put your hands on the bench."
    I knew what to do. How many times had Randall and I taken our whippings this way?
    "Now put your head down."
    I obeyed.
    The strap bit into my backside. It stung bad, and I fought to keep from making a sound. No way would I give Pop the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.
    "Tell me you ain't gonna go down to that camp again."
    I won't.
    "You won't
what?
"
    "Go down to the camp again."
    The strap cracked against me once more.
    "Promise me you won't mess with white boys again."
    I promised. Another lick. This time I flinched.
    "Promise me you ain't gonna let that idiot Nathan lead you 'round by the nose. He gonna get hisself murdered one o' these days if he can't learn to shut up."
    I promised, and the strap came again.
    "And promise me that you ain't never,
ever
gonna talk back to me as long as you live!"
    "I promise I won't ever talk back to you again."
    Another stroke, this one harder than the others.
    "Now turn 'round and apologize to me."
    I made myself say the words, but I didn't mean them. If Pop intended to keep whipping me, I'd grab the strap and—
    "Now drop them drawers," Pop ordered.
    "Why—?"
    He cut me off. "Didn't you just promise you wouldn't sass me?"
    I could feel my hands wanting to move, not to take down my drawers, but to go after my own father. How—
how
had all this happened?
    "Caleb!"
    I turned back to the bench and pulled down my drawers.
    "This didn't have to be, but I don't want to see you strung up on a tree one day. Don't you know by now that white folks'd just as soon kill you as look at you?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "I won't have many more chances to teach you that. Stay away from white folks, and when you got to be around 'em, keep yo' mouth shut! That the only way you ever gonna survive. Is that clear?"
    "Yes, sir."
    The next cut of the strap made me cry out. It stung more than any of the others.
    "Last one," Pop said.
    He didn't let up—this one seemed to cut into me like a knife.
    "I hope you remember every word I told you in here. You might not believe me, but your life depends on it."
    I kept my head down on the workbench so he couldn't see my tears.
    "Now pull up your pants and get into the house. Your ma'll tend to you. I'm goin' over to talk to Henry's and Nathan's folks. This is one hell of a mess you boys got yourselves into."
    When I knew he was gone, I let myself cry. My backside burned like fire, but that wasn't the reason. No, it was the fury—fury deep down in my guts.
    Before I went into the house, I swore I'd find a way to get even with Pop. He couldn't use me like a dog and get away with it.

CHAPTER SIX
    M A HAD WARM WATER ready, and I had a bath while she waited in the front room. The water felt good, except on my backside. When I was done, she patched up my face and gave me some salve to put on the welts Pop's strap had raised.
    Then I lay facedown on my bed. Looking at the empty bed next to mine suddenly made me miss Randall so bad that I started to cry again.
He
wouldn't have let Pop whip me. He'd have said something, done anything,