Lulu: A Story

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Henry Sr. talked to her through a half smoked cigar.

“We need you somewhere else, Lulu. Callum will take you over there.” Sr. never explained himself more than that, because Lulu didn’t have a say in where she worked.

It took a second for her to straighten up. She'd been kneeling, picking strawberries, for most of the morning and her legs were stiff.

Sr. pointed to the nearly full pint of berries in her hand. “You might as well hand that to George, but I'll see you both get credit for a full pint."

'George' was almost completely concealed by a huge straw hat. He mumbled, "Thanks, Lulu," and reached a worn hand up to take the strawberries. George was getting on in years, and having trouble meeting the daily picking quota.

Lulu knew where Sr. was leading her. She didn't want to go, but couldn't say that. Couldn't tell him his son, Callum was a pig, was dangerous. Not just to her. But to other women on the crew. Work was hard to come by, so nobody complained. They were also afraid of what Callum would do when word got back to him.

So Lulu got in the truck. And kept a small penknife tucked on top of her satchel. Just in case.

Callum flashed a grin, showing his big yellow teeth, after the truck door closed behind her.

"They tell you where you're goin, Lulu?"

"No. I just go where Sr. sends me. I get paid either way."

“A little babysittin, over at my brother Evan’s. Like last time."

He stuck his hairy hand out and turned on the radio. “How 'bout a little music?"

She was trying not to look at him, though she needed to keep her eyes open in case he tried something.

He let his hand fall on the seat next to her, instead of putting it back on the steering wheel.

“How long you been working at the farm, Lulu? Five, six years? Sr.'s been pretty good to you, hasn't he?”

Callum was speeding. The dirt road from the field was rough, rutted and covered with stones. Lulu held onto the door handle as her stomach churned.

“I got no complaints.”

Lulu watched Callum’s right hand from the corner of her eye. But he was too fast for her. In an instant he was feeling the edge of her skirt that had draped over the seat.

“That’s a nice color, Lulu. Look’s good on you.”

She leaned as close to the door as she could. The tip of his finger brushed against her bare leg, ever so slightly. Lulu pretended she didn’t notice.

“We’ve got some time before you’re expected. Could stop off, maybe get somethin to drink.” He had moved his hand away, but it still rested on the seat.

“My stomach’s not good. I just want to get to Evan’s house so I can get out of the truck. It’s makin’ me a little sick.” She didn’t want to challenge him directly, but he had to know she wasn’t stopping. Now she looked straight at him.

Callum’s face soured as he met her gaze. He put his hand back on the wheel and stepped on the accelerator.

“If you want to get there we might as well get goin.”

They were on a paved surface now but the road was narrow and he took the turns so fast the truck lifted slightly to one side. Lulu looked ahead and clung to the doorknob.

When the truck stopped in front of Evan's house she opened the door and jumped out. She heard the spin of the tires on driveway gravel as Callum sped off.

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That whole day she had her mind half on the kids and half on the drive home. She'd heard stories about Callum, when he was liquored up.

He came for her at 10. The cab reeked of alcohol. She smelled it as soon as she opened the door. There was some sort of motor on the front seat.

"Hold on there, Lulu. I gotta make room for you." Callum was cheerful as he swung out of his seat and down onto the ground. He came around to the passenger side. She gave him wide berth as removed the motor.

"There you go. Plenty of room now."

Lulu climbed up into the cab and sat down.

"You gotta scoot over a little there. Need to make a spot for the motor." Even in the dark, she could see a glint in his eye. He shoved the motor next to her.

"There you go. Just keep your hand on that, make sure it doesn't shift."

When Callum got back in the truck, there were only a couple of inches between the two of them.

The moon was almost full, but thick cloud patches drifted across the sky from time to time and cut off the light. It was so dark in the cab that there were moments Lulu could hardly make out Callum’s silhouette. Then suddenly he would be bathed in yellow moon glow and his intent face, with set lips, would be startlingly close to her.

Hollywood Lane was the only way to get to her house from the main road. It was a long and winding, barely finished thoroughfare, used by the few people who lived in her community. Callum was well acquainted with it because he drove so many of the workers around. He knew well every place the road dipped, every spot where there was a pull-off. He pulled into one of those pull-offs without explanation.

He put the truck in gear, and continued looking through the front pane, into the night.

“I believe you and I were having a conversation this morning and we never really had a chance to finish.” He lifted his hand from the steering wheel and put it on the back of the seat behind Lulu’s shoulder.

Lulu wasn’t going to wait until things went so far she couldn’t free herself. She'd been holding her sack tightly, her fingers wrapped around the penknife. She moved the knife to Callum's torso, so that it pressed just under his ribs, where she guessed his liver was.

“I’ve gutted enough hogs in my time that I know what to do with this knife. Now I’m nervous, and I don’t want any accidents. So you move that arm down and open your door.”

Callum’s face was clear in the moonlight. There was less surprise than fear in his eyes. He followed her instructions.

“Climb down now, slow.” She slid over toward him, all the while keeping the knife under his ribs. When his feet were on the ground and she was halfway out of the cab she told him, “Nice and easy, go over there by the front of the truck.”

As the distance between them increased Callum regained some of his composure. “You don’t have to do this, Lulu. What you gonna do tomorrow, go back to work? This can end right now and we can forget about it.”

“I’m not having a conversation with you. Just stay away from me.” Lulu eased away from the truck and worked her way to the edge of the clearing. She disappeared into the shadow of the trees and kept moving until she was at her own front door.

“There are only two things we can do,” Morgan, her husband of fifteen years, told her. “I can find him tonight and kill him. Or we can pack up right away, and leave. Can’t stay around here after you pulled a knife on a white man.”

Morgan went to the back yard and dug up their cash box. There was enough to get a start, wherever they went. He jogged down the road to Toby Miller’s house and told him they needed a ride to the train. No questions asked.

Lulu couldn’t figure out what to take on such short notice. Her flowered canvas satchel was filled up before she had packed half her stuff. Morgan pressed her to hurry.

Toby drove past the strawberry field, on the way to the train. It'd been maybe twelve hours since Lulu had picked that part-full pint. One thing was for sure. No matter what happened to her from here on, those were the last strawberries Sr. was ever going to get out of Lulu Harris.