by Ann B. Ross
“I’m going to ride,” she said, and seemed to gain some backbone just by saying it.
“You are not,” he told her. I sucked in my breath when he reached in his car and pulled out his Bible. He leafed through it, then jabbed his finger at it. “You are told to submit yourself to my authority, which is given to me as the head of the household. Do you deny that, Emma Sue? Do you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, but I thought she was beginning to waver. Then she called upon some unsuspected strength. “I just don’t think it’s relevant in this situation.”
“Not relevant! What’s happened to you, Emma Sue? Everything in Scripture is relevant. See, already your mind’s been twisted from this association. Just look at yourself, Emma Sue. Here you are, parading around in tight pants and leather boots. What kind of witness do you think that is?”
Emma Sue glanced down at herself, taking in the corduroy pants she’d so proudly run up on her Bernini and the leather ankle boots that Hazel Marie had loaned her. I thought she was about to cry, and I wanted to give her some encouragement so bad I didn’t know what to do. But Sam’s hand was still on my shoulder.
Then she surprised me, and Pastor Ledbetter, too. She drew herself up tall, looked him in the eye, and said, “Oh, why don’t you just stuff it.” Then she swung around and marched back to Deputy Daly’s machine. I watched her climb on without even a glance at her dumbfounded husband. He crawled back into his car and sat with his head bowed. Praying for her, I expect. I hoped he’d manage a mention of me, as well.
“Did you hear all that, Sam?” I asked, so proud of Emma Sue that I wanted to run over and give her a hug. But she and Deputy Daly were roaring out of the parking lot.
“Sure did. Little Lloyd, take a lesson, son. Don’t ever tell a woman what she has to do.”
Sam looked down at me and smiled, and Little Lloyd said, “Yessir, I see what you mean.”
Sam made sure that the boy was ready, then he started the motor, letting it idle in a low rumble that I could feel more than hear. Wave after wave of riders roared out of the lot, heading west, so that there was a noticeable decrease in the number of people left. Most of those still milling around seemed to be spectators, neither being attired nor strutting around in the manner of your typical motorcyclist.
Mr. Pickens waved his hand, motioning to us, and Sam released the brakes of our machine. I heard Sam say, “About time we hit the road. We’re the last ones.”
As we moved over to the group we were riding with, Little Lloyd reached down and patted my helmet. I looked up at him, perched behind Sam, and we grinned at each other. At least I tried to. To keep his spirits up, you know. Lord, I hoped we were still able to smile by the time the afternoon was over.
As Sam moved us over to the group that we were to ride with, a black motorcycle with orange stripes zoomed into the parking lot at full speed. The black leather-clad rider brought the motorcycle to a careening stop, pivoting so that the back tire skidded around in a half-circle, kicking up gravel behind it. It was certainly a show-off’s entrance, aimed to catch everybody’s attention, which it did.
The driver dismounted, took off the helmet, and shook out a shock of orange hair. I gasped at the woman and her get-up—the stripes on her motorcycle and on her leather suit exactly matched the color of her hair. Halloween colors, but I doubted that she’d prove much of a treat.
And when I saw Mr. Pickens’s face and heard Little Lloyd draw in a breath, I knew I was right.
“Is that who I think it is, Little Lloyd?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s Tammi,” he said, looking around with a worried frown. “I wonder where Mama is.”
I wondered, too, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off that woman, nor could any man there. She was eye-catching—I’d give her that much—and she knew it. I could tell by the way she switched that head of hair around and by the way she swayed her hips as she walked over to Mr. Pickens.
She didn’t come to a stop until she was right next to him. If either one took a deep breath, they’d be rubbing more than shoulders. Then the little hussy cocked her face up at him and smiled. We couldn’t hear what she was saying, but any fool could understood what was happening. Tammi was talking and smiling, teasing him by running her hand over his chest, as he kept glancing up at the door of the restaurant. He should’ve backed off, but Tammi had him penned against his motorcycle.
Then of course Hazel Marie had to walk out of the restaurant, just at the most inopportune time. She took one look, turned on her heel, and slammed through the door on her way back inside. Mr. Pickens scooted sideways, jostling his motorcycle, and left Tammi in mid-sentence, so to speak. He ran into the restaurant after Hazel Marie.
“Uh-oh,” Little Lloyd said. “Mama might not ride now.”
“She better,” I said, ready to come out of the sidecar and go after her. “I’m not doing this by myself.”
“Stay here, Julia,” Sam said, in that easy way of his. “They’ll work it out.”
I settled back in, none too anxious to hike up my dress and crawl out, then crawl back in. And sure enough, Mr. Pickens came out with his arm around Hazel Marie, who looked too rigid to move without help. He walked her over to his motorcycle, his mouth going ninety miles an hour, using, I guessed, his usual sweet-talking methods. Hazel Marie wasn’t giving an inch, and she made that clear by glaring at Tammi as they passed. Tammi, in turn, just stood and watched them, a sly smile on her face. That woman was just asking for it, if you ask me.
Above the rumbling of the six motorcycles in our group—the last ones to leave—I could see Mr. Pickens’s mouth still working—talking, talking, talking at Hazel Marie. She wasn’t buying much of it, but she climbed into his passenger seat, crammed on her helmet, and folded her arms across her chest. She was determined not to touch him, I guess, in case he hadn’t noticed how furious she was.
Mr. Pickens kicked the starter and took off like a shot, Hazel Marie’s head jerking back from the momentum. The rest of us began moving out in a more sedate fashion, one after the other.
Just as Sam got us to the edge of the parking lot, I called out, “Stop! Don’t go yet. I need to get fixed.”
Sam stopped, letting the motor idle while the others in our group roared away, and looked down at me. “What’s wrong, Julia?”
“Give me a minute, and don’t look.” Hazel Marie’s tights were in an uproar, twisting around on me. There was no way I could ride for an untold number of miles with my circulation cut off. Covering myself with the lap blanket and lifting up off the seat, I commenced to squirm and tug and pull and straighten the things, to little avail. Nonetheless, I did get some relief, but I promised myself it was the last time I’d ever wear Hazel Marie’s drawers, or anything else of hers.
“I’m ready,” I told Sam. “I guess.”
He revved the motor, twisting something on the handlebars, and before I knew it, we were cruising down the highway at the tail end of a convoy.
When I could catch my breath and feel I could turn my head without endangering the balance of the machine, I looked back to see how far we’d gone. Instead, I saw Tammi’s black-and-orange motorcycle nosing around the curve behind us.
Chapter 31
I didn’t have the time or the energy to worry about her, and Hazel Marie was too far in front to be in danger of any hair-pulling, either from Tammi’s head or hers. Still, I knew for a fact that Tammi had not registered for the Run, so what was she doing attaching herself to our outing?
But I was too worried about myself to give her much thought. Lord, I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it—whoever heard of a woman of my age and position cruising along in a modern version of a rumble seat? I hardly dared breathe, much less do any moving around. It’s so hard to balance on two wheels, you know, and I didn’t want to upset the apple cart.
Nonetheless, I eventually dared a glance at the side of the road, and the sight of trees zipping along beside us was enough to make my stomach begin to heave. I hadn’t thought we were going s
o fast until I saw that. I started to ask Sam what our speed was, but decided I’d rather not know. Then I took a chance and glanced down at the road, only inches away from where I was sitting, and the blur of it speeding by made my head swim.
After that, I just kept my eyes to the front and tried to distance myself from the possibility of imminent peril by thinking pleasant thoughts. Which, if you want to know the truth, were few and far between, what with Thurlow Jones’s unwanted attentions, the prospect of losing my home, a stranger in a raincoat popping up everywhere I went, the strange occurrence of unprecedented growth in unlikely places, Clarence Gibbs’s sinister presence, and Mr. Pickens’s second ex-wife hot on our trail.
“Sam,” I said, speaking into the microphone. “Can you hear me?”
“Ten-four.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Go ahead, Julia. I can hear you.”
“You see that woman behind us?”
“I see her. I’ve been watching her in the side mirrors.”
“Well, don’t let her get past us.”
“I’m not sure I can help it,” he said. “If she decides to pass, there’s not much I can do.”
“Think of something. There’ll be a wreck on the highway if she gets up close to Hazel Marie.”
I declare if he didn’t laugh again. There wasn’t a thing funny about the situation, as far as I could see. And if I hadn’t thought I knew better by this time, I’d’ve thought Sam was losing touch again.
Still, there wasn’t much I could do about anything at the moment, so I tried relaxing in my little car seat. Not easy, since we were going up a noticeable incline that curved back and forth around a mountain. Sam and Little Lloyd leaned together as we went into a curve, straightened up, then leaned into another one. I held on tight. Both sides of the road were lined with wet-looking trees and fallen leaves. No houses, no businesses to be seen, and only an occasional farm truck or muddy car passing us, going in the other direction. Every rider, except me, raised a hand in greeting, getting a horn blast in return. It wouldn’t’ve surprised me if everybody in the countryside knew who we were and what we were doing.
It did surprise me to suddenly notice water dripping down the windshield in front of my face. Why, it was raining, and I hadn’t felt a thing. Actually, as I looked closer, it was more of a mist than anything else, a fairly common occurrence in the mountains. I pulled my lap blanket up to my shoulders and decided that if I hadn’t known I was traveling near the speed of sound, my little nest would be quite cozy.
“You doing all right, Julia?” Sam’s voice cut in.
“I’m fine. Just watch the road. This rain’ll make it slick.”
“I’m thinking of speeding up a little. We’re so strung out, Pickens is probably a mile ahead of us.”
That set me upright. “Oh, no. I’m just getting used to this speed. We’ve got plenty of time, so there’s no need to get reckless.” Then, as an added thought, I said, “Just so we make all the designated stops, we’ll be all right. And besides, we need to keep an eye on that woman back there.”
“Okay, I don’t want to scare you. Maybe they’ll wait for us at the first stop. That’ll be coming up before long.”
I settled back, relieved that the first leg was about over. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to come this far unscathed, but it was proving to be not quite as terrifying as I’d feared.
Before long, we were approaching Delmont, and there was a noticeable increase in four-wheeled vehicles on the road. I began to get anxious again as cars passed on the left. Two cars trailed along behind us, and Sam had to slow to a crawl as we edged up to the rear bumper of a car in front. I cringed as we motored through downtown Delmont, for every person on the sidewalk stopped to stare and wave. And wouldn’t you know it, we had to stop for both traffic lights on the main thoroughfare.
It was a relief to get through the outskirts and back out on the highway. I thought to myself, as trees started whipping by again, that if I’d expected to enjoy the fall foliage, I’d’ve been sadly disappointed. Mist and fog hung heavy over the mountains, and some of it had settled in the low spots on the road. I wondered if we had fog lights to go with the headlight that Sam had turned on when we started out.
Little Lloyd reached down and patted my shoulder, then pointed behind us. I risked another head turn and glanced back. Sure enough, she was still there, but she didn’t seem to be overtaking us. Mr. Pickens and Hazel Marie were in the vanguard, while the rest of our group was strung out singly on the two-lane highway. We were the cow’s tail, except for Tammi, who needed a switching for crashing our ride.
I sat up to look around when Sam flicked on his indicator, and I felt the motor decelerate. He turned us into a roadside park and pulled up beside a picnic table. Two women, both a little on the plump side and wearing what were undoubtedly stretch denims, scrambled out of one of the several pickups that were parked on the side.
“Time to draw our cards again,” Sam said. “You want to stretch your legs, Julia?”
“No, let’s just get this over with. Besides, I’m getting wet.” It was the strangest thing that the drizzling rain hardly touched us while we were moving, but began to puddle in my lap when we stopped. Some kind of physics law, I guessed.
“I’ll get you one of the ponchos,” Sam offered, as he reached toward the storage compartment below Little Lloyd’s seat.
“No, don’t bother,” I said. “Let’s just make our draw and be on our way. Thank you, though.”
Sam and Little Lloyd drew cards from the deck that one of the women held out. “I’ll draw for you, Miss Julia,” Little Lloyd said, which suited me fine. “Look, you got the jack of spades! I bet you get a royal flush.”
It didn’t matter to me, but the child’s disappointment when he drew a four of diamonds did matter. Sam drew an eight of diamonds, then patted Little Lloyd’s shoulder. “Buck up, son. You know what they say; lucky in love, unlucky in cards.” Which didn’t seem to improve the boy’s spirits.
We handed our scorecards to one of the women, who wrote down what we’d drawn, then gave them back to us. I made sure she’d initialed the jack of spades on my second line before putting the card back in my pocketbook to safeguard it.
As she reshuffled the deck, she said, “Y’all want a cold drink? We got some in a cooler over there.”
None of us did, but I took the time to ask that she write my name on her pad, confirming my presence, just in case a certain somebody decided to check it.
“The way Thurlow Jones was acting,” I said, “I may have to offer double proof I was here. Let’s go, Sam.”
So he cranked us up again and off we went. I’d been afraid that Tammi would move on ahead of us while we were stopped, but she must’ve been biding her time. As we pulled out on the highway again, I looked back at an empty road. I wondered what had happened to her, but I soon put it behind me. As long as she left Hazel Marie alone, I didn’t care where she was.
After a mile or so, I felt Little Lloyd tap me on the shoulder again. I glanced up to see him point behind us and, looking back, I saw Tammi some ways back, pacing us, it seemed to me.
“Sam,” I said into the microphone. “That woman is still with us. What is her problem?”
“I don’t know, Julia. Maybe she just wants to ride.”
“In this weather?” I said. “No, I think she’s looking for trouble.”
Sam didn’t answer for a few minutes, making me think that he agreed with me, but then he said, “I’m going to have to speed up, Julia. We’re way behind, and the others are out of sight. I’m worried about the weather, too. The later it gets, the worse this fog will be, and we may have to turn back. Or stop altogether.”
I almost rocked the boat, I sat up so fast. “Oh, Sam, no. We have to finish, and we have to make every stop. You don’t know how much this means to me.” My house, for instance, which I didn’t mention.
“Go ahead, then,” I said, resigned to my fate. “Put some speed on this th
ing. I’ll bear up.” Although high speed, fog, wet pavement, and two narrow wheels trying to stay on it were going to take a sight of bearing.
As we reached a straight stretch, Little Lloyd went to tapping my shoulder again. He pointed behind us and, as I glanced back, I saw not only Tammi but two other cycles behind her, and they were coming up fast.
“Sam,” I said. “We’ve got company. Are they part of our group?”
“Don’t know, Julia. I thought we were the last ones, but they could just be on their own business. They won’t bother us.”
But I wasn’t too sure about that, for the two huge machines, their motors overpowering ours, pulled up alongside of us, riding side by side in the wrong lane. They both craned their necks at us but, with their helmets on, I couldn’t tell who they were. I didn’t like the way they both kept their heads turned toward us as they passed, nor the way they looked in general, which was just as I’d once thought all bikers looked—long hair dangling from under their helmets, big, beefy shoulders, barrel chests, and both of them hefty enough to squash the seats of their machines and overflow the sides. If they weren’t the fat boys Thurlow mentioned seeing, I didn’t know who they could be. They were scary looking, if you want to know the truth, and they kept revving up their motors, scooting ahead of us, then slowing down to our speed.
The one nearest us kept swerving from side to side, coming ever closer, so that Sam had to veer away from him. More than once, we came periously close to jumping the shoulder of the road and ending up in the ditch. I reached up with one hand and clamped down on Little Lloyd’s leg to hold him on, while clutching the sidecar with the other.
“Sam!” I yelled into the microphone. “What’re they doing?”
It took him a while to answer, so intent was he on holding us on the road. I don’t expect my gasps and moans were much help to him, but my heart jumped up in my throat every time the cycle swayed. “Just hold on, Julia,” he finally said, which I was already doing as hard as I could.
Then the lights of a car coming toward us appeared in the mist, which meant a head-on meeting with our tormentors fairly soon if something didn’t give. I caught my breath at the prospect, but the two men swung into our lane, cutting in so close that Sam had to take evasive action. We wobbled all over the road, coming so close to a disaster that I probably lost a year of my life. As Sam fought for control of our vehicle, the two road hogs roared off, leaving us in the dust. Or rather, the exhaust.
