Thistle and Twigg

by Mary Saums

And now, gazing upon the Maiden, so lovely not only in form but also in meaning, I could hardly bear it. How small and insignificant now were the sculptures I’d admired in museums, the paintings that provoked thought and emotion. So small now, our best human efforts, and so very pale beside this magnificent work of nature.

  The reality of it all, the responsibility of this place that would be mine, fell heavily on me. I needed to sit down. Cal led me to the center of the canyon to a huge open area with a solid stone floor. This was the ceremonial hall, as awe-inspiring and holy as any church and every bit as regal, more so by virtue of its natural architecture of stone wall and floor, and the ceiling, part thick green canopy and part wide openings of blue sky.

  Cal showed me the wear in a section of the rock floor made by human feet at dancing ceremonies over millennia. He’d said Chickasaw, Cherokee, and other tribes lived here in recent history. How many thousands of generations of unnamed, ancient peoples before them?

  I had to step back for a moment to collect myself. There was too much to take in at once. “You okay?” Cal asked. “Come over to these steps and sit. I want you to see at least one more thing today”

  The steps were not wooden ones made by Cal or his father or grandfather, as some we had passed on our trek. These were rock. Three individual “seats” faced a section of particularly damp and mossy stone walls where water dripped into larger pools than we’d seen before now At this spot, no trees grew behind the wet boulders for, on the other side of them, were the high river bluffs. Above this section of boulders we could see only a large patch of blue sky. It had the look of a panorama, like a high screen showing a director’s cut movie, with our seats facing it as if we were an audience. My seat was one slab of rock with a natural indentation for a footrest. Cal sat on a stack of three flat rocks that were fashioned like the third seat to his right.

  “Star Rock,” he said, motioning to the wall before us. He rose, walked to the nearest pond, and dipped his hand in it. He held out his palm to me. In the little well of water lay a small cylindrical thing that looked like a cocoon.

  “You can’t see it now in the daylight, but at night these little critters glow. See them?” he said, as he pointed to the wall.

  I did. The damp rock face was covered with small brown spots like the one Cal carried. He put it back in the pond, also teeming with brother “critters.”

  “Glow worms? Oh, my. I’ve never seen one. What do they look like when they glow, like fireflies?”

  “No, not like that. They don’t go on and off, and their light isn’t yellow. It’s more of a blue or blue-green. Spooky the first time you see it.”

  “I can hardly wait.” I started to cry again. I never expected such wonders and wasn’t handling myself very well. “So sorry. I’m not like this normally. Not at all. It’s all so overwhelming. You should have warned me about this place, that it would be so astonishing. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t have to say anything. It’s enough to see you understand now. Why I’ve had to protect it the way I have.”

  So many questions buzzed through my mind. I wasn’t sure I did understand why he’d kept it all to himself. It was much too grand and important a place, historically, to not be shared with all. If not open to the public, then why not to scholars and scientists who could learn so much here? Then there were also the interests of native groups who would surely feel entitled to its use, even if it were on a limited basis only. Cal’s respect for the tribes that were here, as well as his own Indian heritage, were evident. Why had he not made the canyon, at the very least, a temporary retreat for those like him, who sought to revere nature and the ways of the area’s original peoples?

  I was too tired to tackle such questions. Cal was worn out too, though he tried not to show it. His breathing was more labored and I knew he needed to rest. As we made our way out of the forest, Cal stopped occasionally and named different plants we saw that he used for medicines.

  Once back in his house and with Cal comfortable in his chair, I made him promise to come over for breakfast in the morning. He didn’t put up much of an objection, I was pleased to see. If I could keep him fed reasonably well, we’d both feel better.

  I walked toward home. I’d passed through the hedges at the entrance to Cal’s land and stepped onto Anisidi Road when a truck came barreling from around the corner. It squealed its tires and flew past me. Two men were inside. I didn’t think quickly enough to get a license plate. Only when I reached the house did I remember that the truck seen at Phoebe’s was also red.

  twenty- one

  Phoebe Deciphers a

  Phone Call

  Iane thinks she’s sneaky. She was quiet, I grant you that, when she left the house the next morning before six o’clock. Personally, I don’t go in for getting up with the chickens. What’s the point? It’s not like I’ve got farm animals to feed, not since I was a child. Let me tell you, you do that when you’re a kid and you’re cured for life of this rise and shine at the crack of dawn business. Not Jane. She asked me the night before if I wanted to go for a run with her early next day Ha. Me, run. Not likely

  Anyway, that wasn’t the sneaky part. That was when she got back. She didn’t come directly in the house. She went out, way on out yonder to the far side of her yard where her oak trees are.

  She took a few long drinks from her water bottle and set it against a tree. Thinking nobody was looking, she stood up real straight, took some deep breaths and then Lord help my time if she didn’t start doing the Tai Chi. Yes, Jane. Sweet little-bitty British Jane. Out there hiding in the trees and swinging her arms and legs around like she was Bruce Lee or somebody.

  There are folks around here who, if they saw her doing it, would think she was weird and would avoid her from then on. Not me. It impressed the chili peppers out of me. She did it good, too, like she’d been at it a long time. Did I tell you that in addition to being a nature freak, she’s also an exercise freak? Well, she is. I didn’t know it until I saw in her sunroom on the other side of the kitchen that she had set up weights, weights now, like they have at those fancy gyms. I knew she looked trim, but dang, that’s ridiculous and going a little too far if you ask me.

  That Jane is full of surprises. You wouldn’t know from looking at her she knew anything close to the Tai Chi, but while I was watching her, I started thinking about that husband of hers. I bet he taught her some mean Ju-Jitsu, too, and I bet she taught a little of it when she did those self-defense classes. Maybe I could talk her into teaching me.

  I didn’t mention I’d seen her when she came in. Cal was coming for a late breakfast, she said, brunch since he’s the type who can’t eat early. Jane and I had coffee and biscuits to hold us over until then.

  Cal looked much better than the day before. His eyes were clearer and he looked happier, too, like a weight was off him. He laughed and joked with us, telling stories while we ate.

  Homer barked outside. We had a visitor. Jane went to answer the door and when Cal heard who was there, he got up and went into the living room where Detective Daniel Waters walked in. Cal didn’t look too happy to see him.

  “Everybody relax,” Daniel said. “I’m just here to return Miz Thistle’s guns.” He held up a big leather bag in one hand. Jane held her rifle she’d taken from him at the door.

  “We’re clear?” I said.

  “All clear. Fortunately for you two ladies, our murder was committed with a .45. So we didn’t have a match. If I could get you to sign this to show I returned them all, I’d appreciate it, Miz Thistle.”

  Jane set the bag on her living room couch. She took out the guns we’d practiced with and put them side by side on the cushions. Once she was satisfied they were all there, she took Daniel’s pen and signed the paper.

  He thanked her, folded the paper up, and put it in the bag. He looked over at Cal. “How you feeling today?”

  “Fairly well, thank you.” Cal looked embarrassed. He started to say something but Daniel interrupted him.<
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  “Good, good. Listen, could we step outside for a minute?” Jane’s face was a sight. She didn’t like that one bit. She didn’t tell Cal he should have a lawyer present, but that’s what we were both thinking.

  “It’s okay,” Cal said to soothe her. “Everything’s okay.” They stepped through the front door and out to the yard. Jane and I went back to the kitchen to get our coffee. Not two minutes later, we heard Homer start barking again and a car door shut.

  Jane looked worried. “Are they leaving?”

  When we walked outside, we saw another car at the curb and Chalmers Wade, the best lawyer in town, out in the yard rubbing Homer’s belly.

  “Let that poor dog alone, Chalmers,” I said. That boy is some kind of good looking. It’s not just because both his parents were, either. It’s because he has a beautiful smile and he’s nice to everybody. Sure, he’s rich as the devil but that hasn’t made him the least bit stuck up. He’s always in the news from giving to charities. I understand he goes to church every Sunday. He’s the best thing the Episcopalians have going for them around here. He handled my husband Ronald’s will for us. Couldn’t have been nicer.

  Chalmers laughed and said, “Why, Miz Twigg, what a surprise. I don’t think Homer minds.”

  He stood up when he saw Jane and said, “Miz Thistle? I’m Chalmers Wade, Cal’s attorney.” He shook her hand while he nodded his head at the unmarked police car at the curb. “Surely Dan Waters isn’t here interrogating my client this early in the morning.”

  I was just about to tell him he was when Dan and Cal walked from the backyard around the side of the house past Jane’s nandina bushes. Cal stopped when he saw Chalmers. I think his brain wasn’t working quite right. It took him a second to get it together and realize who he was looking at. I guess all the stress of being in jail is what did it. Anyway, he finally came around and smiled at Chalmers and said, “Son! Where you been hiding?”

  Chalmers went to him and gave him a big hug. I could tell it hurt him to see Cal looking so poorly, even though he put on a good show. “You all right? This guy been bothering you?” he said.

  He gave Daniel a little boxing punch on the arm before they shook hands. You know how guys do, especially former football players like them. “What’s this about you assaulting my client?” Chalmers said, as they tussled a little bit.

  “Other way around. Lucky I got witnesses,” Daniel said, giving Chalmers a good punch back. “What’ve you been doing this time, murdering deer or murdering fish?”

  They all had a big laugh out of that one. That’s what you call diffusing the situation. Chalmers and Daniel knew what they were doing. You wouldn’t see that kind of thing in a big city. If somebody like them would go teach the NYPD Blue and Law and Order people how to act, they’d get those cases solved in thirty minutes instead of an hour. The other thirty minutes they use up with just a bunch of hollering, pouting, and talking smart.

  All three guys joked around, acting like everything was okay, which it was since they were making it okay. Nobody had to act up with his lip poked out about past offenses, and goodness knows there were plenty of them with these three.

  As a kid, Chalmers was several grades ahead of Daniel. Back then, people weren’t so openminded as now, and I have to say poor Daniel took a lot of guff from Chalmers and the other rich kids. Now that they’re grown, things are different. They’ve put the past behind them and now are practically colleagues, although at times like this, and with Cal involved, they worked on opposite sides of the fence. They knew they’d have their chance to officially lock horns later.

  They didn’t need my help, but I thought I’d jump in anyway and steer the conversation in a completely different direction. “Chalmers, you know all about what’s going on in business around here,” I said.

  “Not hardly, Miz Twigg,” he said.

  “Yes, you do, don’t play like you don’t. I’ve got a question. Is it true we might be getting us a shopping mall in Tullulah? Somewhere out this way?”

  He shook his head and looked off. “Not that I’ve heard,” he said.

  “Not even a little one?”

  “If it is, you’re more plugged into the grapevine than I am. Although George Deitz out on Mill Creek has threatened to sell his place.”

  “He’s been saying that for years,” Daniel said. “I wouldn’t count on it.

  “Shoot,” I said. “I wish he would. Why don’t you use your clout, Chalmers, and see if you can’t get us a Dillards out here so I won’t have to go to Florence.”

  Jane asked if everyone would like to go in for coffee. Daniel excused himself since he needed to get to the police station. Chalmers came in and we caught him up on all the excitement from the last few days. He told us about his hunting trip in Montana, and how he flew into Huntsville late the night before, then had to drive home which took another good hour. It was too late to check on Cal by that time, so that’s why he came over early that morning.

  “I hated I wasn’t here for you, pal, when you needed me.” Cal shook his head. “Everything worked out fine. Miss Shelley did a good job. Don’t fault her any for me having to stay over. I did it to myself.”

  We talked a little while longer then Chalmers said he had to get to work. He and Cal had walked through the house when Jane’s phone did that weird thing again. It rang, she picked up, but there was just loud static in her ears.

  “I think I hear faint words,” she said. “It may be my imagination.” “Give me that.” I took the receiver from her hand and listened. I had to strain real hard but she was right. Way down in there, I heard “Come over” and “Burn.”

  “Burn? Is this Junior Burn? From Pale Holler?” “Pale Holler,” the voice said, a little louder than before. “My stars. Is everything all right? I can’t hear you. If you can hear me, I’ll come down yonder and see what you need, okay? You hear?” I think whoever it was said “Come over” again but I couldn’t be sure.

  “You understood?” Jane asked.

  I hung up. “Yep. I believe it’s your other neighbors way on the back side. The Burn family. They’re a little backward. I’ve only seen them two or three times. They keep to themselves. Have a big garden. They go to an independent church one county over. I know because this was my territory when my church had a gospel meeting one time. I went door to door with flyers, personally. Reckon what they want? We need to go see.”

  “But, Phoebe, are you sure you heard correctly?” “Positive. He said, Tale Holler’ and ‘Come over.’ Can’t get much plainer than that.”

  “But I haven’t met them yet. It just seems … peculiar.” I nodded. “That’s them, exactly. There’s nothing wrong with them, per se, they’re just old-time country. Never learned how to act normal in social situations. Always lived out by themselves. No socializing, so everything they do is a little peculiar. I hope they’re just being friendly and nothing is the matter. I’d hate not to go if something was wrong.”

  Jane didn’t look like she understood. It was hard to explain and I didn’t do a good job of it. She’d get it after she lived here a while and met a few other families like the Burns.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “I trust your instincts in such matters. I certainly wouldn’t want to offend.” She stepped over and gave me a little hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re a godsend.”

  twenty-two

  Jane Meets the Burns

  Phoebe was certainly right. The Burns’s house and their surrounding acreage had a decidedly primitive look about it. The area’s name, Pale Holler, was apt, for as we came over the hill, the center of the valley looked like a large spot of gray. The road was gray mud with puddles, large and small, pitting the driveway to the house. Two outbuildings were also gray, a barn and what looked like an unattached garage with simple wood doors open. A large puddle in the road reflected the wood-frame white house and the gray clouds behind it that held the promise of a cold rain.

  As Phoebe’s car slowed, a man and a woman came ou
t onto the front porch. They eyed us with suspicion, their bodies still, their heads slowly following our progress. We parked just beyond the house where the road ended in a small parking area of gravel with small shallow pools of rain and mud. Four aggressive dogs of various canine parentages surrounded the car and barked loudly. Phoebe turned off the engine.

  “What do we do?” I said, unsure of the etiquette procedure. Were we to wait for our hosts to come to us or call their animals? Or were we to step into the midst of the snarling pack?

  “It’s okay. They aren’t going to bother us.” Relieved that Phoebe must know some country or Southern way of gently deterring unfamiliar dogs, I waited. She eyed them a few more moments and seemed to reach a conclusion.

  With a sudden great force, she swung her door wide open, knocking two of the dogs back. She reached out her hand to what appeared to be the alpha dog, the largest and loudest of the group, and immediately slapped him on the muzzle.

  “Heah!” she said, something between a yell, a nasal utterance, and a growl deep in her throat. Although I’d never heard that particular exclamation before, the dogs apparently had and understood its meaning, for it effectively scattered them away from the car.

  “Hey, Mister Burn, Miz Burn. How y’all doing?” Phoebe called with a lilt. Her voice was completely calm as she gave a friendly wave. She motioned for me to get out of the car then shut her own door and walked toward the porch. I joined her quickly, keeping an eye on the dogs who, for now, kept at a distance but still barked. Phoebe ignored them. She marched toward the house as if the dogs didn’t exist.

  “Hush that,” Mr. Burn, a tall wiry man with jet black hair, said to the dogs. “Get up here.” He wore an open-neck cotton shirt and dark work pants, both neatly pressed. His gruff voice was instantly obeyed as all the dogs ran to his side, lay down meekly, and said no more.

  It occurred to me that I’d not given a thought to what I might say. How does one broach the subject of mysterious phone calls with a stranger?