by Rhett DeVane
Anyone watching the scene in front of us would assume we’d all been struck by the God of Patriotism. Men sported garish stars and stripes ties. Miniature flags were pinned on lapels and choir robes. The best I could do on short notice were T-shirts from Wall-Mart depicting a bald eagle superimposed over a rippling flag.
“Get a load of all the women wearin’ Evelyn’s cape!” Mandy commented. “You know, she stayed up past one the last few nights trying to complete all the orders she got. Course, it won’t be much under sixty-five tonight. I’ll wear mine when it gets a little cooler.”
As if on cue, Evelyn and Joe appeared beside us. Joe unfolded two aluminum chairs with flag-inspired cushions and seat backs. I’d lay even money on the fact Evelyn would redecorate their house in red, white, and blue in the wake of the terrorist attacks.
Stephanie scooted over to make room for them to squeeze in. “We were beginning to wonder if y’all were coming.”
“We’d have been here sooner if we hadn’t had to wait on that dern cake Joe was making.” Evelyn perched on the edge of her chair and carefully arranged the cape around her. “He just buries himself in his cookin’ and loses all sense of time!”
“What’d you make?” Wanda asked.
Joe spoke up. “It’s a new creation I call Joe’s Revelation – light chocolate bundt cake with a mocha whipped cream filling, coated with rich, dark chocolate icing, and served with a fresh raspberry sauce drizzle.”
I felt faint. “Oh, my.”
Joe smiled. “I’ve invited a few folks over following the ceremony for a piece with freshly brewed coffee, if y’all are interested.”
Mandy groaned. “The way I’ve felt lately, a chocolate fix might help cheer me up. I could just about eat the whole cake.”
“Not if Hattie beats you to it,” Holston said.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll have you know, there’s not one cookie or piece of cake in our house right now.”
Jake stood behind our gathering. “Does that count the Tootsie Roll stash you always keep hidden in a plastic bag in the produce drawer of the refrigerator?”
“Ain’t no secrets here,” Mandy said.
“Where the heck is Elvina Houston?” Jake asked. “She’s bringing Elvis.”
Leigh laughed. “You’re goin’ to have that little dog here at the memorial service?”
Jake looked offended. “Of course. He’s a local celebrity, and Evelyn’s made him a little tux just for tonight.”
“Speak of the devil…,” Bobby said, pointing toward the grass parking lot.
Elvina Houston walked primly through the crowd, a red and white braided ribbon- trimmed straw hat perched on her head. Her dress was bright red with a large white star on the left shoulder and a horizontal blue stripe at the hem. Bobbing beside her on his bejeweled leash was Elvis, Georgia 2000 calendar dog for December.
“I’d better find some extra seats.” Bobby hopped up and removed several folding metal chairs from the last row.
“Hey, all!” Elvina called out. “Elvis had a little trouble with his bowtie. He couldn’t get it to lay straight.” She settled on to the offered chair.
“You could’ve just tied a red bandana around his neck,” Mandy said.
Elvina huffed. She patted her lap, and Elvis hopped on board. “That would be so ordinary. He’d think he was just a dog!”
“Nice hat, Elvina,” I said.
“Why, thank you. I bought this old straw thing at the Dollar Store. Added the ribbon myself.”
“I’ve been trying to convince her to develop a line of hats to match some of the outfits I’m plannin’ for next Spring,” Evelyn said. “She has such a knack for it.”
Elvina glowed in the light of praise. “It is true. I do have a way with them. And, I’d love to see ladies wearin’ hats again.”
Jake and Jolene lit the candles as the last few orange-red rays of sunset streaked the sky over the water. Five members of the boys’ ensemble carried baskets of small white candles and passed them out to the crowd.
Jon Presley slid into the seat next to Wanda. “Did I miss anything?”
Wanda pointed to the stage where Jake was rearranging one of the plant stands. “The mayor just tripped and nearly took out one of the ferns, but other than that, no. They’re just about to get underway.”
I attempted a head count of attendees. At best estimate, there were over three hundred people, with more making their way from the parking lot.
“May I have your attention please…,” the Mayor Jimmy T. Johnson’s voice crackled from the speakers. “The Ladies’ Faith Choir of the Morningside AME church will open our memorial service with the singing of the Lord’s prayer. Then, we will all stand for the pledge of allegiance and the National anthem.”
We exchanged surprised glances. The mayor had abandoned the opportunity to blather on and on in front of a microphone.
The chorus of black women sang a cappella. Their blended honeyed voices drifted through the cool evening air. Wanda’s cell phone trilled softly, and I heard her rise to remove herself from the crowd. When she returned, she leaned over and whispered in Jon’s ear, and they quietly left during the final strands of the song.
“Where’d they get off to in such a hurry?” Elvina whispered to me as we stood to say the pledge of allegiance.
I shrugged. “I have no clue.”
Evelyn glanced around. “You know something? I noticed Miz Lucille’s not here…and, neither are Moses and Tameka…or Miz Maizie, for that matter. You don’t suppose there’s anything wrong, do you?”
“I’m sure they’ll come get us, if there is,” Mandy said. “Could be Maizie’s having one of her spells again.”
Officer Rich Burns turned the police cruiser off Main Street onto Morgan Avenue, beginning his final sweep of town before his shift ended at 7:00 PM. His wife, Carol, had phoned to say she and the twins would save him a spot at the river park memorial. He looked forward to the evening off with his family.
The streets were calm. Most of the townspeople had already left for the service. Rich rubbed his tired eyes. He hated day shift. Nights were much better — the squabbling married couples were asleep, and, for the most part, an occasional drunk was the only highlight of the average evening. The town was pretty and peaceful after sunset, especially during the Fall season, when the monthly full harvest moon painted silver tips on the trees. The cool nights were a relief from the oppressive humidity of summer. He could truly understand why cats and wolves chose to roam in the dark.
Rich glanced briefly in the rear view mirror, then jerked his head back to study the reflection of the road behind him. A young girl was running erratically across Main Street. Rich slammed the brake pedal, executed a three-point turn, and accelerated sharply. He saw the terrified expression on the child’s face when she turned to look behind her. Rich recognized the child — Miz Maizie’s granddaughter, Tameka Clark. He slowed the cruiser to a crawl and pulled alongside her.
“Tameka?” he called out.
The girl seemed to not hear. She proceeded with a limping jog. Even over the noise of the idling engine, he could hear her sobs.
Rich pulled the vehicle to the curb and parked. He caught up with Tameka in a few strides and grasped her gently by the shoulders. Her flowered cotton dress hung in shreds from her thin brown shoulders.
“Wait…wait…c’mon, honey. It’s okay now…I’m here to help you.”
She hung her head and swayed back and forth with her arms hugging her chest.
“C’mon, now…let’s go back to the car and we’ll find out what’s wrong.”
At first she resisted. Then, she allowed herself to be led to the cruiser.
After several attempts to get the child to speak, he had an idea. “Stay right here. I’ve got something that might help you feel better.”
Rich opened the trunk and removed a plush Teddy bear. He’d learned over the years that children often found comfort in the stuffed animals, and he carried two or three
with him at all times.
“Why don’t you hug Mama Bear and see if she helps.”
Tameka looked up at him with an expression so forlorn, his heart ached. What in the world had happened to this child? Rich squatted down in front of her. “If you want to, you can tell Mama Bear why you’re so sad. She knows how to listen, and she can tell me how to help you.”
The ploy worked. Tameka cradled the bear tightly and rocked back and forth for a few moments. She began to speak softly. “Moses didn’t mean to hurt nobody. They’s bein’ mean to me. He was tryin’ to stop them.”
“Who, honey? Tameka? Who was tryin’ to hurt you?”
“Mr. Hank…he was nice before…” She shook her head. “But not today.”
“Can you tell Mama Bear what happened?” Rich asked in a soft voice.
“Moses came to help me…he didn’t mean to shoot Mr. Hank.” She began to cry aloud. Tears rolled down her brown cheeks. “May-May told us never to touch no guns! She gonna be so mad! Moses done kilt Mr. Hank. Now, Moses gonna be in trouble!”
“Tameka, were you at Mr. Hank’s house when this happened?”
The child bit on her lower lip and slowly nodded.
Rich stood, walked to the rear of the cruiser, and dipped his head to speak into the radio clipped on his shoulder. “Chattahoochee 220.”
“Chattahoochee 220, go ahead,” Denise Whiddon, the dispatcher, replied.
“220 en route to residence of Hank Henderson, Satsuma Road. 10-17. Gunshot victim, possible suspect on premises. Be advised.”
“Copy 220.”
He heard Denise relay the call to the 911 dispatcher for an ambulance. The second officer on duty reported he was en route as well.
Rich returned to kneel in front of Tameka. “Sweetie, why don’t you and me and Mama Bear go check and see how bad Mr. Hank has been hurt. Then, we’ll see what we can do to find your brother.”
“What ’bout May-May?”
“I’ll call your grandmother as soon as we check on Mr. Hank.”
Tameka sniffed and clutched the Teddy bear to her chest. She allowed Rich to help her into the front seat and secure a seatbelt. Normally, Rich would not allow a passenger in the front with him, but he made an exception with Tameka. As he drove quickly to the Henderson residence, he continued to reassure her in an even, gentle voice.
“You don’t have to worry none about getting revenge on a person who’s wronged you. God looks out after that, all right. Every man gets his just desserts in the by-in-by. Nothing slides down the Devil’s back that don’t turn right back around and crawl back up his belly. And when it does, it bites hard!”
Piddie Davis Longman
Chapter Twenty-six
Jon Presley gunned the 4Runner’s powerful six-cylinder engine as he pulled onto Highway 90 east of Chattahoochee. Long lines of cars and trucks waiting to turn onto the river landing road stretched in both directions.
“What did Lucille say exactly?” Jon asked.
Wanda nervously bit a hangnail from her right index finger. “She said she stopped by to pick Maizie and Tameka up for the service. Maizie was upset and started to feel funny. She asked Lucille to call me.”
“Funny, as in how? Dizzy? Faint? Sick to her stomach?”
“Lucille didn’t say, only that Maizie was talking out of her head a little.”
“Did she call for an ambulance?”
Wanda knew how her elderly friend mistrusted doctors and medical personnel. Maizie avoided them in fear of high bills she hadn’t the money to pay and the knowledge the care of the children would be left to the generosity of neighbors and friends.
Wanda shook her head. “Lucille didn’t say, but I’ll bet they haven’t.”
“Then we’ll call.” He motioned to her purse. “Go ahead and dial nine-eleven and get them en route.”
“Don’t you want to check her first?”
“I’m not a doctor, Wanda. If she’s having a stroke or heart attack, I can do little to help her. Best to get them underway.”
They reached Maizie’s house on Wire Road in less than three minutes and rushed up the front steps.
Lucille met them at the door. “She’s bad off. She keeps tryin’ to tell me somethin’, but I can’t make out the words!” Lucille wrung her hands. “She was real upset when I got here. Somethin’ ’bout Tameka not bein’ home on time…she asked after Moses, and when I told her he never showed up at the church, she went to pieces…started actin’ real crazy, Then, she said she was feelin’ kinda funny and said for me to call you, Miz Wanda. The number was right by the phone, there.”
Wanda nodded. “I gave her my cell phone number in case she ever needed me.”
Maizie lay propped on the small couch. One glance told Jon what he feared most — stroke or some other kind of obstruction to the circulation in her brain. The left side of her face hung limp with a line of spittle forming at the corner of her lips.
“Haa…haan,” Maizie mumbled and struggled to sit up, then fell backward onto the pillows Lucille had propped behind her head. She waved her right arm in the air.
“Miz Maizie, we have help on the way, hon. Please try to stay as quiet as you can.” Jon’s voice helped to calm the old woman as he elevated her feet slightly to improve circulation and held her wrist to take a pulse. “Wanda, behind my seat in the truck, you’ll find a red duffel bag. Please run and bring it to me.”
She returned with the bag, and Jon took Maizie’s blood pressure with the equipment he carried for his job. “It’s dangerously high,” he muttered.
The scream of sirens announced the arrival of the ambulance. Wanda waved to the driver from the porch and held the screen door open for the two paramedics. EMT Marney Sullivan rushed into the small living room. “Hey, Shug. What’ve we got here?”
“BP 200 over 120, pulse 110, aphasia, parathesia on the left side.”
The second paramedic, Terrance Odum, keeled by the couch. “Do you know her history?”
“Diabetes, high blood pressure, not sure on medications,” Jon said. “Wanda, go into the bathroom and see if you can spot any prescription bottles.”
Maizie moaned and opened her eyes briefly.
“Let’s go!” Marney said. Jon helped the paramedics ease Maizie’s body onto the rolling gurney. They navigated the narrow door and porch toward the parked ambulance.
Outside, Jon and Lucille stood by the rear of the emergency vehicle as Maizie was loaded into the back.
Wanda rushed down the porch stairs and handed two plastic bottles to Terrance. “These were the only ones I could find.”
“En route to TMH?” Jon asked.
“Yeah. Does she have any next of kin around here?” Marney shut the ambulance door.
“Other than the kids, no. She has one son living up in Birmingham,” Wanda answered.
In the house, the phone trilled.
“I’ll get that,” Lucille said. “It may be Tameka or Moses.”
“Better get in touch with her son,” Marney called as she slid behind the steering wheel. “They’ll need someone from the family to consult with, if possible.” Marney nodded to Jon and Wanda, pulled the ambulance onto the street, and left for the forty-five minute trip to Tallahassee Memorial Hospital.
“Miz Wanda?” Lucille called from the porch. “It’s a police man askin’ after Maizie!”
“Let me talk to him!” Wanda rushed into the house.
When she replaced the headset on its base, Wanda turned to Jon. Her face was ashen. “Jon, will you drop me by the spa to pick up my car?”
“What’s going on?”
Wanda sighed deeply. “They’ve got Tameka at the station. Moses is missing. Seems he shot Hank Henderson.”
“Lawd have mercy. Devil’s done his business this night,” Lucille whispered. “You two go on now. I’ll see if I can get ahold of her son James. I been knowin’ him since he was a boy.”
Wanda pointed to the rear of the house. “She keeps the address book in the table by her bed, Miz
Lucille. No use trying to reach her daughter. She hasn’t heard from her in over five years.”
“Okay.” Jon grabbed his duffel bag. “I’ll drop you by the spa, then I’ll follow the ambulance on over to the hospital.” He scribbled a phone number on a scrap of paper. “Lucille, this is Jake’s cell phone number. Please call him after you reach James and let him know what’s happened. He’s in the middle of the memorial service right now, so I’d give it about a half-hour before you call. I’d phone him myself, but my battery’s dead and I left the charger in his van.”
“I can do that. I’ll stay on here, too…in case Moses shows up.”
Tallahassee Memorial Hospital
Hank Henderson struggled to open his eyes. Where was he? His arms and legs felt leaden. For a moment, he entertained the thought that he was either dead or paralyzed. He wiggled the big toe on his left foot and reached his right arm up to feel the bandage covering his upper left chest and shoulder. A stab of pain and drug-induced fatigue forced him to drop his arm onto the bed.
Since his eyes weren’t focusing, he trained his ears on the faint noises outside his immediate area. Muffled voices called out names and numbers — an indistinct cry or moan and the sound of doors opening and closing. A rustle of activity close-by made him attempt to open his eyes once more. A blurred figure moved to his right side.
“Oh, I see you’re awake,” a soft female voice said. “Mr. Henderson? Can you hear me?”
Her face swam briefly into focus. “Wha…?” His mouth felt dry as month-old bread, with a bitter metallic taste.
“You’re in a hospital room in Tallahassee Memorial in Tallahassee. I am Jennifer Smythe, your nurse for this morning.”
Nurse Smythe’s face swam into focus. She was a pretty thirty-ish woman with hazel eyes and long, shiny brown hair pulled tight into a braid. “I’m going to tell your doctor you’re awake as soon as I check your vitals, Mr. Henderson. Is there anything you need?”
Hank parted his parched lips to answer, but the flirtatious words froze in his mouth.
