From The Ashes

by Claire Sanders

  Judith waved back and made her way towards the house. To one side, several old cars were parked for eternity, half-covered with tall grass and climbing plants. She stepped onto the wide porch where three cats stretched lazily on the arms and back of a couch. One, a skinny orange and gray male, rubbed itself against her leg. “I bet you’re Pumpkin’s father, aren’t you?”

  Keneisha’s return shooed the cat away. “My momma’s coming. She said I should offer you something to drink. You want something?”

  “Maybe later,” Judith answered.

  “Keneisha! Get over here and help me with this basket,” a woman’s voice called from behind the house.

  The girl pushed herself off the couch, hopped off the porch and disappeared around the side of the house.

  A minute later, a large woman wearing a flowered blouse and shorts stepped onto the porch. “Miss Judith, so glad you came. I was just picking some okra for you.”

  Judith offered her hand to Keneisha’s mother but the woman ignored it and pulled Judith into a sweaty embrace. “Oh, I know Mr. Isaiah’s happy you’re here.”

  “You knew my grandfather?” Judith asked as soon as she was free from the hug.

  “Sure did. He was my neighbor. Come on in and sit a while. I made a pudding cake this morning. Keneisha, give Miss Judith that little basket, and then go get the big one and bring it in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Keneisha answered, handing a small basket to Judith. “Can I have some cake, too?”

  Keneisha’s mother frowned at the girl. “You go do what I told you, and then we’ll talk about cake.”

  Keneisha’s laughter rang through the summer air as she hopped off the porch to carry out her mother’s instructions.

  “Is Keneisha your only child, Mrs. Lewis?”

  “Heavens, no. I’ve got two grown sons who live and work in San Augustine. Keneisha there, well you might say she was a little surprise my husband left me just before he went to be with the Lord.” She opened the screen door and motioned for Judith to enter.

  “She certainly surprised me this morning,” Judith said as she stepped through the doorway.

  Keneisha’s mother let her head fall back as she gave a loud bark of laughter. “I told her to wait to go visiting, but she’s been pestering me every day. ‘Can I go visit our new neighbor? Can I give her one of our kittens?’” The woman’s smile faded as she cocked an eyebrow towards Judith. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Judith hurried to say. “But I don’t have the slightest idea how to take care of a cat.”

  “Nothing to it,” Mrs. Lewis answered, leading Judith into a large, tidy kitchen. “Put out some food and water and they take care of themselves. A cat will keep the field mice and other critters away from your cabin. Some people like dogs, but all they do is bark and sleep. Me, I’d rather have a cat any day.”

  Judith eased into a straight-backed chair and examined the contents of the basket Keneisha had given her. “I appreciate the vegetables, Mrs. Lewis.”

  “My name’s Beverly. Since we’re neighbors, you call me Beverly.”

  “Fine. But my name’s Judith. No need for the Miss.”

  “Oh, that’s just something we do around here to show respect. You’re from the city, aren’t you?”

  “I guess it shows,” Judith answered with a smile. “Dallas born and raised.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, it shouldn’t take too long to get the city off you. You know how to fix okra?”

  Judith studied the fuzzy green pods in the basket. “Not really. But I’ve heard of fried okra. Do I fry the whole thing?”

  Beverly barked another laugh and clapped her hands. “Heavens, no. I tell you what, after we’ve finished our cake, I’ll show you how to cut it and fry it up. Then you can have some for your dinner.”

  Beverly removed the lid of a metal cake pan and sliced a piece of yellow cake. “Brother Henry told me you were gonna let us use Mr. Isaiah’s old church.”

  “You must mean Rev. Washington. I met him last week.”

  Beverly slid the slice of cake onto a saucer and handed it to Judith. “That’s right. It’s wonderful how you’re gonna let us use that old church. You’ll see. We’ll get it all fixed up and it’ll be as good as new.”

  “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I told Rev. Washington he could come by and inspect the church. I didn’t say he could use it.”

  “Oh, I have faith that everything will work out OK. What else can I get you, Judith? Something to drink? Another slice of cake?”

  “First a kitten, and then food. Are you trying to bribe me, Beverly?”

  “Oh, I’m just trying to sweeten you up a bit so you’ll let the Lord work through you. Mr. Isaiah’s church has been waiting for a long, long time. Waiting for somebody to come and lift the rafters in song. God sent you at just the right time, Judith. Yes, ma’am, at just the right time.”

  “Momma!” Keneisha’s lively voice called from outside.

  “What’s that girl up to now?” Beverly asked as she headed for the door. “Raising that child is like trying to nail pudding to a tree.”

  Judith waited at the kitchen table, absently using her fork to mash cake crumbs. Even though she hadn’t agreed to anything, it was obvious Beverly was making plans for Granddad’s church. But Jacob’s warning had been clear. If she loaned the church, she’d put it in danger, and she wanted to protect that dear, little church.

  ****

  Sheriff Miller was pouring a cup of coffee when Jacob stepped into his office. “Morning, Jacob,” the older man said. His tan uniform sported sharp creases and his salt-and-pepper hair was cut short.

  Jacob shook hands with the lawman. “I got your message.”

  “Have a seat and help yourself to the coffee.”

  “No, thanks.” Jacob sat down. “What can I do for you?”

  The sheriff glanced through the glass walls of his office. “See those two men sitting by the door? They’re from the FBI’s task force on hate crimes. I’d like you to take them to the scenes of the church fires.”

  “Not much left to see.”

  “I know. They got here yesterday and they’ve been looking over the case files, but they want to see the places for themselves. I don’t have the manpower to spare so, as usual, I’m asking you. Have you thought any more about my invitation to sign on as a deputy?”

  “I’ve thought about it, but let’s keep things the way they are for now.”

  “A man like you should be more than a volunteer deputy. You’ve got more training than some of my full-time guys.”

  Maybe he’d return to law enforcement. Once he could remember his mistake without his gut clenching. “Is there anything new on the fires?” Jacob asked.

  “Nothing I can talk about. Arson isn’t a federal offense, but the FBI can prosecute arson of ethnic churches as civil rights violations. One thing I’ve learned is to never turn down offers of help, so I’m glad for any assistance those agents can give. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

  The two agents wore white shirts and ties, their suit coats hung over the backs of their chairs. They stood as Sheriff Miller and Jacob approached.

  “Jacob Fraser, this is Charles Lawson and Mark Grey. Jacob is one of our volunteer firefighters. He was on the scene at all four fires. I’ve asked him to give you a tour of the sites.”

  Lawson was a bear of a man, all chest and arms, in his mid-thirties. Mark Grey was taller and older, with silver flecks in his dark hair.

  As Jacob shook their hands, it became clear that Mark was in charge of the two-man team.

  “Thanks for taking the time to play tour guide,” Mark said with a friendly smile.

  “No problem,” Jacob replied. “The scene of the most recent fire is the closest. OK if we start there?”

  “Sure. Lawson is going to meet with an investigator from the state fire marshal’s office, but I’d like to check the sites myself. Just give me a minute to grab my gear.” Mark retrieved a cas
e that resembled a tackle box and followed Jacob outside. “How long have you been a volunteer firefighter?”

  “Two years,” Jacob answered as he pulled his truck away from the sheriff’s office. “We don’t have the population to warrant a full time force, so everyone’s a volunteer. Chief Dutton retired from the Dallas Fire Department several years ago, and he’s the one in charge.”

  “Yes, I met him. Sheriff Miller told me you used to be with the Houston P.D.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Big city wasn’t for you?”

  “Something like that.” There was more to the story, of course, but Jacob wasn’t about to tell everything to someone he’d just met. “I noticed you brought an evidence kit. What do you hope to find?”

  “The investigator from the state fire marshal’s office asked me to collect a soil sample from the burn sites. Accelerants sometimes seep through the floor and accumulate in the soil.”

  “How will that help?”

  “If the same type of accelerant was used in all the fires, there’s a high probability we’re looking for the same arsonists. Were you ever trained in arson investigation?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not my specialty either, but I’ve learned a lot since I started working on the Hate Crime Task Force.”

  “I still can’t believe a place as small as Piney Meadow is the scene of hate crimes.”

  “Maybe it’s not. But the burning of four African-American churches in three months certainly points to that possibility.”

  A few minutes later, Jacob stopped at what remained of the All Saints Community Church.

  Mark looked over the site. “This place wasn’t very big, was it?”

  “I’d estimate it at about two thousand square feet.”

  Mark opened the evidence kit and removed a small plastic jar and a pry bar.

  Jacob leaned against his pickup and watched the agent.

  Mark slowly circled the perimeter of the building, and then walked into the debris. He squatted and used the pry bar to lift what was left of the floor. He returned to Jacob’s truck a few minutes later, the plastic jar full of soil. “Do you know what this congregation is planning to do?”

  “They’re hoping to use an abandoned church building. They just need to get the landowner’s permission, and then do some repair work.”

  Mark’s face took on a serious look. “I hope the landowner knows what he’s risking.”

  “Another fire?”

  “Could be. Is the church building near a populated area?”

  “Not hardly. The woman who owns the land is staying in a cabin about a hundred yards away from the church. Other than her, there’s nobody around.”

  Mark shook his head. “That’s not good. People who commit hate crimes don’t always stick to just property damage. If she decides to lend her church building, she shouldn’t stay there alone.” Mark walked back to the evidence kit.

  Jacob’s gaze returned to the ruined church. The agent’s words sat in his stomach like sour milk. Judith shouldn’t have to deal with hate crimes. No one should. But if the arsonists had burned Rev. Washington’s church once, they were likely to do it again, and this time Judith might be in the way.

  She hadn’t resolved the question about lending the church building yet, but he expected her to agree to Henry’s request. How could anyone with a conscience turn him down?

  Jacob recalled her nervous manner. If she was the anxious type, the kind of woman who lived on the border between reason and foolishness, dealing with this problem might convince her that Piney Meadow was the last place she wanted to be.

  His throat tightened at the thought of Judith leaving. Although he couldn’t explain why, he suspected it had nothing to do with timber.

  After driving Mark Grey back to the sheriff’s office, Jacob headed for a lunch meeting with his father and brother. As he parked in front of Fraser and Sons Building Supply and Hardware, he let his head drop against the back window. Lunch with his father and brother was usually enjoyable, but today’s meeting was undoubtedly about the recent drought of timber deals he’d been able to close. With a sigh of resignation, he got out of the truck and climbed the stairs to his father’s office.

  His brother and father were seated at the conference table eating sandwiches.

  “There you are,” David said around a mouthful of food. “We waited for you.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Jacob sat and opened the bag with his sandwich. “Sorry I’m late. I was playing chauffeur for the FBI.”

  His father’s eyebrows lifted. “The FBI?”

  Jacob bowed his head over his food, said a silent blessing, and then explained the circumstances of his involvement as he ate.

  John Fraser listened to his son, his expressive face clearly showing concern. “So we’ve got the sheriff, the state fire marshal’s office, and the FBI working together on these arsons?”

  “That’s the sum of it,” Jacob answered.

  “Makes you wonder what the world is coming to.”

  David shifted in his chair. “Not to change the subject, but have you met Isaiah Beecham’s granddaughter?”

  “Yep. In fact, she’s coming to dinner on Sunday.”

  “What’s she like?”

  Jacob shook his head slowly. “I can’t quite figure her out. She’s a city girl, but she’s determined to live in Isaiah’s cabin. Sometimes she’s skittish, other times she’s calm.”

  “Does she work?”

  “She’s an artist, so I guess she makes her own hours. And she smells like the gardenias Mom grows.”

  David’s gaze connected with his father’s and both men chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Jacob asked.

  “She smells like gardenias?” David asked. “That’s the first time you ever described someone by the way they smell.”

  “I bet she’s pretty, too,” his father said.

  Jacob looked from his father to his brother, understanding the reason behind their laughter. “All right, you got me.”

  “You’re interested in her,” his brother said.

  “Too early to tell,” Jacob answered.

  “I hope this attraction won’t interfere with business,” his father said. “The Beecham acreage would go a long way in securing our production for the next six months.”

  “Judith said that if she decided to sell, she’d let us make the first offer.”

  “That’s good,” David said. “Where do we stand with Dwight Thompson?”

  Jacob swallowed the sour taste Dwight’s name always gave him. “Now that guy’s a piece of work. He’s sitting on a nice stand of longleaf pine and there I am, offering him cash, and he’s stalling.”

  “What’s he want?” his father asked.

  “More money, I suppose. But I’ve already offered him top dollar.”

  “The Thompsons can be difficult people,” David said. “Dwight’s father wasn’t much better.”

  “I don’t know why, but dealing with the Thompsons has always been tough,” his father said. “Your mother says they’re jealous of our success and want to get one over on us. I don’t know how to respond to that.”

  “Just keep offering them a fair price until Dwight either accepts or rejects the offer,” David suggested. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

  His dad laid a hand on Jacob’s forearm. “I know you’re doing everything you can, son. Just keep at it. This drought of prospects can’t last forever. “

  Jacob ate in silence as his brother and father talked about other business matters. Since returning to the family business, Jacob had been charged with securing timber deals with area landowners. He’d enjoyed meeting the salt-of-the-earth people who cherished the land as much as he did, and he’d closed many lucrative deals. Until now. The last two months had been fraught with one failure after another.

  He couldn’t disappoint his family after they’d welcomed him back. His parents hadn’t understood his desire to move to the biggest city i
n the state, nor his decision to become a police officer, but they’d supported him, nonetheless.

  He’d survived the academy, had excelled during his rookie year, and was moving up the ladder when all of his plans for a career in law enforcement crashed on one cloud-covered night.

  If he couldn’t be a cop and he couldn’t help his family, what could he do? He’d failed as a police officer, and now he was failing in the timber business. He didn’t owe his family, but he did want to justify their trust. Doing his part to sustain the business was the least he could do.

  ****

  After lunch, Jacob walked up the dusty path that led to Dwight Thompson’s double wide trailer.

  Someone had made an attempt to beautify the cement walkway that led to the front door. Spindly zinnias struggled to survive in the sandy soil.

  Jacob’s knock brought Dwight’s wife to the door. The bedraggled woman barely resembled the girl Jacob had gone to school with. She extended one skinny arm to open the cracked storm door. “Hey there, Jacob. Nice to see you.”

  “Hi, Della. Missed you at church last week.”

  “Oh,” she said, a hand flying to cover a faded bruise on her cheek. “I haven’t been feeling so well.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Been to the doctor?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine. You looking for Dwight?”

  “Yeah. He around?”

  “Out back with his brothers.”

  Tightness closed around Jacob’s heart. He didn’t care too much for Dwight, but Dwight’s marriage was none of his business. “You know, Della, if you ever need anything…”

  Della frowned.

  Jacob hastened to explain. “What I mean is, if you ever need help—”

  “Oh,” she said. “No, it’s OK. I’ve got my momma and daddy if…”

  Jacob smiled and nodded, fully understanding Della’s unspoken message. “OK, I’ll go find Dwight,” he said, taking a step back. “You take care.”

  Della closed the door and stepped back, her bony arms crossed in front of her chest.

  Lord, please help Della. A prayer was the only way he could help the woman at that moment.

  Dwight Thompson and his two brothers were gathered around an ancient pickup truck. As Jacob approached, Dwight lifted his head from under the rusted hood. “Hey, Jacob. We were just talking about you.”