Henry didn't like what he was seeing.

Not one damn bit.

The black bunkhouses sat like tombstones on the opposite sides of a long gravel road. They were little more than wooden shacks that had been bleached corpse-gray by the sun. Deteriorating steps led up to uneven porches. Not a stroke of paint decorated these dwellings. The flat rooftops were made of large sheets of tin. Some weren't even fully attached, the corners curled up and flapping with every breeze. Large slabs of rock had been placed on several of the roofs, but even those extra weights didn't look like they would do much good.

All the bunkhouses were dark inside. Many of the buildings looked unfinished, missing basic trim, windows, and even doors. Henry wondered if maybe the tenants had been left to throw these monstrosities together without any of the planning or materials that had gone into building the white homes.

On the left side of the clearing, Henry spotted several families hovering around a large bonfire at the center of a grassless camping area. Six men and four women staggered out of the woods, swaying under the large metal pails they carried on their heads. Henry watched as they set the tubs down near the dancing flames of what must have been a communal fire. Water sloshed up over the edges of the pails and splattered onto the ashen ground.

Henry's eyes widened, his tongue feeling suddenly dry against the parched roof of his mouth. He supposed those water carriers had filled their pails at the creek. And now they'd be heating up that water to cook dinner or to bathe themselves and their children. No running water! Henry had noticed the metallic gleam of more than one spigot, protruding from the sides of the neat and pristine houses of the white section. It just wasn't fair.

Henry shifted the mail bag on his shoulder and began to walk along the road. Since he'd found his way here, he figured he might as well start delivering the mail. Surely Dale would realize this was where he'd gone. At least that's what Henry hoped.

Henry reached into the mail bag and pulled out the first packet of letters. It appeared that Dale had already gone through and separated the mail into bundles, according to the locations of the houses. Henry felt thankful for Dale's forethought. He'd be able to move through this task quickly and with relative ease.

Then again, maybe not. Henry had hardly been here more than five minutes, and already a half dozen colored men had appeared out of nowhere. They stood on the side of the road and in between the bunkhouses, cutting their tired, if not suspicious, eyes his way.

Henry placed the first bundle on the doorstep of house number one. He would deliver to the odd numbered houses first, and then take care of the even numbers. As he made his way down the road, he flipped through the letters, checking the names and house numbers. All the while, Henry continued to attract attention. More men, and even a few women, came out of the woodwork. But he ignored them, focusing his attention straight ahead.

As Henry approached bunkhouse number three, five colored men in overalls were scrubbing the front with wet rags, stained crimson. He glanced over to see what they were working on and winced. The message had been painted on the exterior. Blood red words that looked like they were bleeding out of the cracks in the wood.

STOP STEALING WHITE JOBS!

As Henry continued his deliveries, he heard footsteps and the crunching of gravel from behind. He heard the whispers too. But he ignored these things. He was here to do a job. But he was also alone now. Without Dale by his side, he needed to be cautious.

Henry found house number five and hurried up to the wooden box nailed next to the front door. He dropped in two letters and one envelope that looked like a bill. Before Henry turned away from the front door, he couldn't help glancing back the way he came. Just as he'd thought, a crowd was following him. There were at least a dozen colored men and women, and they all wore grim expressions. What did they want from him? Even if Henry had managed to upset them, shouldn't they give a brother a break? Or at least tell him what he'd done wrong?

Henry hurried along as the crowd behind him closed the distance. If they were giving him this much trouble, Henry couldn't imagine how they must have treated Dale. They'd probably threatened him as well. It was no wonder Dale had been so keen to enlist Henry's help.

Henry approached house number seven. But before he reached the porch steps, several mill workers came around the side of the building, blocking his path.

They were led by a tall man with wide shoulders. Tight curls peppered silver-gray. He looked like he might be the leader of the entire group, flanked by the two young men that Henry had been chasing in the woods.

Henry stepped back. He could feel the anxiety crawling across his shoulders. He turned around but the crowd that had been following him was closing in. In a matter of seconds, Henry was completely surrounded.

Trapped!

Henry tried to swallow the hard lump in his throat but it refused to budge. He found himself addressing the tall man. "Listen! I've had a really bad day, and I don't want any more trouble."

The tall man took a step forward.

Henry winced, readying himself for a blow. It was then that Henry heard a familiar voice shouting through the crowd.

"Hey! What's going on over there?! Leave Henry alone!" Dale pushed his way through the circle of men until he was next to Henry and turned to face crowd. "What're y'all doing? He's with me! He's delivering the mail for crying out loud!"

Henry felt emboldened now. "Yeah! What do y'all want?!"

The tall man gave Henry a steady look, the lines in his face deep and pronounced. He spoke, his voice a deep boom with a faint African accent. "We want that which is so precious to our people. Rights. Equality. Freedom. Opportunity. But all we're given is misery and despair." He gazed into Henry's eyes. "But now we have you."

The tall man's words were met with mumbled approvals.

"I don't understand, Henry said. "What do you mean, now you have me?"

"We work at the mill. We have followed the Pioneers for a long time. We have watched white baseball players who are supposed to represent all mill workers. These are the same white players who tear down the black community every chance they get. No! Those white men don't represent us. We haven't had anyone on the mill team represent us. Not until now. Now, we have someone to look up to. We have you."

The other men began to shout in agreement.

"We believe in you, Henry!"

"First black Pioneer!"

"You're the one!"

Henry raised a palm as he shook his head back and forth. "Hold on there. I'm not any kind of hero. I'm not here to be a savior. I'll leave that to the Frederick Douglass's and Harriet Tubman's of the world. I'm just a baseball player."

"Well, you're our baseball player!" someone hollered from the crowd.

Before Henry could get in another word, the crowd had begun to chant his name. Their cheers drowning out the remainder of his protests.

Henry looked over at Dale who looked just as dumbstruck as he was.

"Henry! Henry! Henry!"

The men began to come forward, smiles lighting up their expressions. One by one, they clapped Henry on the back or shook his hand.

All Henry could do was look around at the crowd, jaw slack as a gum band.

He wasn't a hero. He really wasn't.

All he wanted to do was play baseball.

Author's Note

The chapter image is another example of a steel mill bunkhouse.

Based on what little bit of history I could find, black mill bunkhouses seemed to be in pretty bad shape. I've read how they were falling apart and leaked when it rained.

You know, we're getting closer to Chapter 75. I'm excited for you, lol. That said, I still need to clean up my YouTube account, create the music video with the original song, and upload it. 

If you've followed this story from the beginning, I think the song will have an emotional impact on you. A good one, mind you. That's my hope, at least.

Well, take care for now. I gotta move on to the next chapter.

Again, I truly appreciate all your support!  :)

Best,

Tom