Tall Trees

Reynolds Exports
New Orleans, Louisiana
December 22, 1882
 
 Andrew arrived at Jacks’ place of business early in the afternoon.
 Spotting a colored man on the yard, he stated, “I’m looking for Reynolds.”
 “He in de big wa’ahouse yonda,” the Negro replied, gesturing toward a large building behind Andrew.  Turning, Murchison saw a structure consisting of three distinct, yet conjoined, sections.  The center section, turned horizontally, was one story and brick.  It was flanked at either end by multistory sections turned parallel to one another, both likewise having brick lower stories.  Unlike the first, however, these had upper stories built entirely from rough horizontal planking.  A tin roof, liberally streaked with rust, covered the whole of it.
 “Reynolds?” Andrew shouted into the maze of cotton bales standing tightly stacked, leaving only a minimum of lane for traffic.
 “Yeah!  Be right with you!” Jack answered from the far end, unaware that the caller had been Murchison.
 Andrew stood tapping his foot and glaring resentfully at the quantity of bales that Jack Reynolds had stored there.
 Turning down the center aisle–running the length of the entire warehouse–Jack spied Murchison inside the doorway at the opposite end.  He ground his teeth.
 Approaching the man, he asked, “You wanted me?”
 “I brought your money,” Andrew replied brusquely, reaching inside his coat for his wallet.  He withdrew a bank draft and handed it to Jack, saying, “I have receipts here by which to verify . . .”
 “That won’t be necessary,” Jack interrupted, absolving Andrew with a dismissing wave of his hand.
 Andrew walked away indignantly, however, for Jack’s gesture–having been construed as condescending–had only served to irritate him further.
 Jack watched the man go, thinking how Murchison appeared to have so much while, in actuality, he had nothing.

 Andrew had turned at the corner of the warehouse and was making his way back toward the street when he noticed a door marked OFFICE open.  Josie and Phillip came through the doorway and started down the steps.
 Emitting a growl of rage, Andrew charged, attacking a startled Phillip who had been caught completely off guard.  Despite Josie’s frantic reaction, Andrew began beating Phillip
brutally about the face and head.

 Jack had little more than gotten back inside the warehouse before he heard the sounds of his wife’s cries.  He took off running and discovered, to his instant rage, Phillip being
assaulted relentlessly by Andrew Murchison with Josie behind, pummeling the man for all she was worth and yelling for Jack with every blow.
 Catching hold of his wife’s arm, Jack shoved her gently aside and then went after Murchison, pulling him off of Phillip whose face was, by now, so bloody that he couldn’t see.
Infuriated, Jack landed blow after blow to Murchison’s face.
 The men working there had all gathered around and were cheering enthusiastically for their employer.
 Jack threw a punch to Andrew’s jaw that knocked him to the ground.  Jack was on Murchison’s chest with one knee by the time Andrew had landed.  Catching him by the
shirtfront, Jack said, “If you ever lay a hand on my family again, I’m coming after you, and what happened here today will just be a good warm-up.  Do we understand one another?” 
 Jack gave Murchison a hard shake, pulling him up to his face for emphasis.
 “Your family?” Murchison spat contemptuously at Jack.
 “That’s right: my wife and my son, and you’d do well to remember that, Murchison, because if you ever–just once–forget it, you’ll rue the day you met me,” Jack warned, using
a low voice to avoid the ears of the crowd.
 Andrew rose to his feet and, being determined to take one last shot, sneered, “You wouldn’t want that slut if you knew where she’d been.”

 Jack’s retaliatory fist struck Andrew so hard that blood spurted from his nose and onto his stylish blue-striped shirt.
 Rising on one knee, Andrew withdrew his kerchief and attended to his injury.  Getting to his feet, he left the yard humiliated, amid the jeers of the spectators.
 At that, the crowd dispersed, and the men returned to their respective jobs. Josie had gotten Phillip aside and was cleaning his face.
 “I’m sorry, Phillip.  I knew he was around, but I thought you two were still gone to lunch.  Is anything broken?” Jack asked, stooping to check Phillip’s face.
 “No, but my pride is wounded.  I should have given a better accounting of myself than that,” Phillip grumbled.
 “He’s got a few years on you.  Shake it off.”
 That being said, Jack turned to his wife with a mischievous grin on his face.
 “Say, Wild Woman, you were holding your own pretty well back there, weren’t you?
I’d better watch my “p’s and q’s” around you from now on.  I didn’t realize I’d married a slugger.”
 Grinning sheepishly, Josie said, “Don’t you start on me, Jack Reynolds.”
 Jack hugged her and nuzzled her neck, saying, “I can start, and I can finish, too, Wild Woman.”