Renewal 7 - When the Student Is Ready

by Jf Perkins

  “David. It’s time to set up the watch again. We can’t be the only ones alive, and we just sent up a flare.”

  Dad gave himself a smack to the forehead. “You’re right, Art. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend. Promises kept are worth the risk.” Art said, demonstrating where Jimmy learned his philosophical skills. “We just need to keep an eye out for trouble. People are going to be hungry and dangerous.”

  “Yep. Ok, that gives me an idea.”

  Dad rummaged through our pile of building materials. He gave Kirk and me the job of cutting two-by-fours into two-foot lengths, which we knew was his standard length for ladder rungs. He took our boards and nailed them to one of the barn’s interior support posts until he had made a ladder up to the top layer of tobacco drying beams. He built a narrow bridge from the pole, across the beam to the very top of the outer wall on the front of the barn. He attached some wood to the beam at an angle, so that it met the outer wall about 3 feet from the central beam, and rested on some of the heavy wall framework. Then, he made a mirror on the other side of the beam to form a triangle, six feet wide.

  We used a rope to hoist a piece of plywood onto the triangle frame, and Dad nailed it to his simple frame. He left the overhanging plywood uncut, but warned everyone not to step on the unsupported corners. He wanted to keep it intact in case we needed to reuse it later. He used a saw to cut partway into three of the barn’s outer wall boards, at different heights and pried the three boards loose at the top. It was a hard job, because the nails had effectively glued themselves to the wood with rust, and the rafters were made of solid, rough cut oak. Eventually, after much foul language, he got the first board loose and pulled it back sharply. It broke raggedly at his partial cut. He said it would look less obvious that way. Dad was all about the camouflage. With the first board out of the way, he had better leverage for the other two, and quickly had them removed from the wall. He climbed down and went outside to look at his handiwork.

  He came back inside, and we did the whole job again on the back peak of the barn. When we were done, we had two high perches to view the landscape. Since it was still daylight, Kirk and I got the first watch from up top. Dad sent Kirk up with a warning not to shoot on sight. “Watch, but don’t be seen. Don’t shoot anyone unless they shoot at the barn, or I tell you. Got it?”

  Kirk gave Dad a look that seemed to say, “What’s the point, then?” He nodded agreement just the same.

  I was safely nestled on the back platform, thinking first that no one would be able to sneak up unless they happened to have all white clothes and white boots. Second, I was counting my blessings as I was sitting instead of doing the numerous other jobs Dad could have given me, but that was only for the first ten minutes. The board was hard, and I could only sit with legs crossed for a short time before everything below my waist fell asleep. I squirmed. I stood up. I sat down. I shook my legs.

  Dad was watching me watch. He climbed up with a five gallon plastic bucket and gave it to me to use as a seat. Life was better. Ten minutes after that, the bucket became a torture device for twelve-year-olds. I could imagine the round imprint forming on my butt. Eventually, I decided it was much better than sitting on the floor, and learned how to rotate my position in a sequence that, while not ever comfortable, at least did not make my legs shrivel up and die. I had a sneaky suspicion that Dad was just making sure no one would fall asleep on watch. It worked.

  As luck would have it, the first wanderer approached in our blind spot, but that didn’t matter. The snow was melting rapidly during the daytime in July, but freezing hard at night. The thaw and freeze sequence left a hard layer of crunchy ice on top of the snow. As our first visitor demonstrated, we could hear fresh tracks punching into the snow at least five hundred feet away. Dad was in the tack room, watching long before the young man approached the barn.

  He was horribly thin, like a fund raising commercial for Africa, and he was so dirty, Dad said he had a hard time figuring out anything about him. Apparently Kirk was keen to shoot the guy and spent the entire approach whispering to Dad about that very idea. Dad wanted to watch and learn. From Dad’s viewpoint the starving boy came within forty feet and turned right towards the front of the barn, where I was perched up in the lookout.

  The intruder came into my field of view, making a beeline for the ashes of the Carroll’s former home. He walked up and kicked around in the ashes for a few minutes, which honestly creeped me out. I knew there were bones in that pile. Luckily, the fires from our sheds were all well-tended and burning clean. Otherwise, he would have known we were there from a distance. The skinny boy turned back toward the barn, and I could see him react when he saw the well trampled paths to the sheds. He took two more steps, saw fresh footprints, and took off running to the northeast. He curved around to the east until he was lost to my view.

  Several minutes later, I heard the tack room door open and shut. Dad and Kirk were off in pursuit.

  Chapter 7 - 6

  Aggie was happy to have her husband at the dinner table. Terry could tell by the peppy chatter, the flowery dress, and the feminine flourishes as she set the dishes in front of us. Bill sat at this usual place at the head of the table – he called it the tail – and stretched his wounded leg on an extra chair to the side. Aggie was making excuses for the general imperfection of the meal. Terry had noticed that women did that, especially when they were great cooks. He was still close enough to his life before Teeny Town that almost every meal felt exactly like a feast. This one, as it quickly covered the large table with Aggie’s graceful placement of serving dishes, was no exception.

  It took a noticeable length of time for Terry to recover his wits when Sally walked in. Bill and Aggie stared at his reaction, but Terry didn’t notice because the Terror of Teeny Town was wearing a dress, just like her mother. Terry was enticed by Sally’s everyday clothing, which was exactly the same attire as the men wore. A tall, willowy redhead in a dress, scrubbed clean and glowing, was another level entirely. Terry was thankful that Sally seemed to change her aggressive persona with her clothing, because his mind was completely filled with the sight of her. He stood up absently, and followed her with his eyes as she glided to the table and sat down across from him.

  “Hello, all,” she said in a voice that was somehow sweeter than he remembered.

  “Hello, my little girl,” Bill said.

  “Hi, Sally. Can you grab the rolls?” Aggie asked.

  “Wow.” That’s all Terry could say.

  “I clean up ok, huh?” Sally asked.

  “Yes you do.” Terry was drawling and leaving long pauses between words.

  Instead of her usual tactic of sensing Terry’s weakness and attacking, she simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  Sally picked up the rolls from the countertop, and slide them into the last empty spot on the table. Aggie filled glasses with water and a light golden tea, then sat down herself. Once Sally sat down, Terry was the only one on his feet. He still gazed at this new vision of Sally, perhaps one more to his liking. If his thinking cap was on his head, he might have been suspicious of her new strategy, but the part of his brain that watched for trouble was far, far away.

  “Care to have a seat, Terry?” Bill asked, trying not to grin at Terry’s loss of balance.

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks...” Terry missed the center of chair and felt around to drag it back in line as he sat down.

  “So, ladies... What’s the occasion?” Bill asked, looking from wife to daughter.

  “No occasion in particular,” Aggie said. “We’re just glad you’re here and safe. You too, Terry.”

  “I see,” Bill said with a curious expression. “Well, Terry and I thank you for the fine table and the pretty dresses.”

  “It’s nice to put on a dress from time to time.” Aggie said it casually, like she was referring to some line in the secret women’s handbook, and Bill feared it was a deeper secret than he would ever understand.

&nbs
p; “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.” Terry was still having trouble with his words.

  “I’m Mrs. Carter now? That’s it. Back to blue jeans for me.” Aggie said, with false indignation.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean...” Terry stammered.

  “Aggie, don’t torture the boy when he’s been struck dumb as a fencepost,” Bill said with equally false grumpiness. “You know he thinks you are both beautiful. Right, Terry?”

  “Right. Absolutely. Beautiful,” Terry spoke the words and then realized the meaning. He blushed a deep shade of red, and everyone laughed. From then on, his brain was fully engaged for raw self-protection.

  “Well, you can look, but don’t touch. My wife, anyway...” Bill said, still chuckling.

  Aggie played along by arching her back and batting her hazel eyes at Terry, extending his embarrassment and provoking another knee-slapping laugh around the table.

  “Yes, sir. No touching your wife. Got it. What happens if I whistle at her in the bean field?” Terry asked, his sheepish smile turning wolfish.

  “No problem. She hates beans,” Bill replied.

  “Well, I’m glad we got that settled, sir.”

  She’s Mrs. Carter and I’m Sir. I like it. This boy keeps his manners no matter what, Aggie.”

  “Only the best at our supper table, My Dear,” Aggie agreed.

  “Let’s eat. Terry, pass me that chicken, please.” Bill said, reaching and grimacing from the pain in his shoulder. “So, Miss Sally. How did you day go?”

  “I did my morning watch with that idiot boy, Justin. I’m waiting for him to fall out of the tree any day now. Then I spent the afternoon with Uncle Kirk, trying to button down the double postings.” Sally spooned corn onto her plate as she spoke.

  “Any real problems?” Bill asked.

  “No, Daddy. Just the usual confusion when things change around here. Uncle Kirk will have it worked out by tomorrow.”

  “Good. Terry talked to the man out in Beech Grove. They may show up with some new people any time. What are you planning to do with them?” Bill asked.

  “Uncle Kirk says it depends on what they can do, but in general, he’s planning to work with the state police we have, plus any new people. Hopefully, they know how to shoot. The women and children will be Mom’s problem,” Sally answered.

  “Why my problem? I have his job to do,” Aggie said, pointing at Bill.

  “Well, how about you let me out of the house, and you can go back to being the power behind the throne,” Bill said.

  “How about you think real hard and maybe those wounds will heal real quick-like,” Aggie responded.

  “There’s only one magician here, and it ain’t me,” Bill said, as if he was delivering the killing blow on the argument.

  Unfortunately, only Terry knew what he was saying, and silently hoped that his weirdness wouldn’t become dinner conversation. Terry didn’t understand it, and didn’t think he ever would. The women just looked around the table trying to figure who Bill meant.

  “What about it, Terry?” Bill continued, changing the subject from his own problems. “You think you can heal as fast as you can shoot?”

  Terry looked at his napkin, and broadcast his discomfort. “I don’t know, Bill. I hope I never have to find out.”

  Bill understood that he had put Terry in a bad spot. “Sorry. Bad subject for dinner time.”

  The awkward moment was broken by a stout knock on the front door. Bill and Aggie gave each other the wonder-who-that-could-be look, and Aggie started to put her napkin on the table.

  “I’ll go check,” Terry said quickly, and was out the kitchen door before anyone could object.

  Bill said quietly, “Terry did his Kirk trick again today in Tullahoma. He’s pretty confused. I’m sending him to talk to my brother tomorrow.”

  They could hear talking in the entrance, and Terry reappeared with Charlie in tow.

  “Hey Charlie! You eat yet?” Bill said by way of greeting.

  “Hi Bill. Yeah we ate our fill up at the square. My men are up at the road. I just wanted to have a quick word with you before I head back.”

  “Ok. Well, first meet my wife, Aggie, and my daughter, Sally. Ladies, meet our State Attorney General, Charlie Bell.”

  “It’s a pleasure Mrs. Carter, Miss Carter.” Charlie said, giving half-waves across the table. “My wife, Judith sends her greetings and said to tell you that any Carter is always welcome in our home.”

  “That’s so nice of her, Mr. Bell. Please tell her that we are looking forward to meeting her.”

  “Will do. Please call me Charlie.”

  “Ok, Charlie. We have plenty, if you want some,” Aggie said.

  “Thank you. I only have a few minutes. Do you mind if I have a private word with your husband?” Charlie asked.

  “Charlie, you can absolutely trust everyone at this table. Go ahead and say it,” Bill said firmly.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know that we took care of your first and second requests today. I’d say that the people of Manchester are favorably inclined to your cause, but it’s early yet to say whether they will actually do anything about it when the time comes.”

  “Good enough. I didn’t expect miracles. Just a start.”

  “And request number three... Well, it pains me to say it, but it’s good for you. The Judge and the Dragon both committed suicide late last night,” Charlie dropped his eyes as he spoke.

  Bill looked at the man for several long seconds. “Charlie, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then I have to ask... Are you crazy?”

  “Bill, I’m one hundred percent with you on the law and order question, and this may be a setback, but considering the risks of those two scheming together, well, I felt that a little less conventional solution was in order. I’m sure you could handle the Judge’s people, but if they manage to coordinate with the white-robe army, you’ll have a hard fight on your hands. If they coordinate well, then it could be an impossible situation. The two main coordinators were in my jail until last night.”

  “What’s the fallout for you?” Bill asked.

  “Probably nothing. It’s the state police officer who was guarding the door that I’m worried about. That’s why I need to get back. He’s going to need some help until this blows over.”

  “I’ll say. He could really make a mess for you.” Bill stroked his chin as he talked.

  “He’s one of the men you rescued from Nashville. He knows what’s at stake,” Charlie answered the implied question.

  “Hmm... All right, Charlie. You know you have my thanks, but I didn’t want you to throw yourself in the fire.”

  “Bill, I’m sold. Either you succeed, or Coffee County is lost. And I think you understand that, one way or another, the whole future of the state is riding on the outcome. We have hard questions to ask, and I think you have the answers. It’s worth the risk.”

  Chapter 7 – 7

  The five-gallon bucket was urging me to get up and to follow my dad and brother out into the snow. I knew better. First of all, I had no idea how to follow some unknown intruder through the melting landscape, especially without being seen. Secondly, I knew if I left my watch post for any reason short of the barn bursting into flames, there was nothing I could do to avoid the wrath of every adult in our little survivalist group. Instead, I sat, facing north out of the front of the barn with my senses cranked up as high as they would go. I didn’t receive any telling signals, but I did have some time to notice things that had escaped my vision in recent days.

  The sun was bright on the snow. The thermometer, which had been moved from the Carroll house to the facing wall of the well house read a tropical forty four degrees. Various heavy drifts were transforming themselves into dripping abstract sculptures, hiding the details in the glassy glare of sunlight. The wind, after blowing continuously for months, had settled into a dead calm, and gave way to an aural landscape of icy crunches and cracks as the melting slowly chipped away at the snowy forms. The valley to my
left, recently filled with snow, had receded somewhat. It had managed to form a dam of ice and snow somewhere out of sight, and left an iceberg floating in an eerie miniature ocean like an ancient fly in amber. We had a betting pool going on when the ice dam would give way and leave the submerged ice sitting on top of the old original Carroll homestead, which could be glimpsed in the clear water at certain times of day.

  I was sitting there in early July, which should be marked by temperatures in the nineties, humidity in the same range, and an explosion of darkening green in the trees. The trees were smart. Somehow they knew the world was messed up, and kept holding their leaves in tight until it was safe to grow again. I was sure that many of them had simply frozen to death during the brutal winter months, but I hoped that most of them were simply biding their time, waiting for a version of spring they could recognize. I wondered if that would happen this year – or the next.

  The sound of an air horn broke my reverie. It was the harsh wail of one of those little canister horns that we planned to use for a warning signal. We had never used it, and it took me a few seconds to connect the sound to the meaning. Arturo was faster. He sort of skipped across the barn floor below, heading for the tack room and its eastern view of the countryside. He took one look, ran back into the main barn, and yelled for everyone to grab a gun. He shuffled Jimmy and Tommy down into the third stall, which still served as our common room and kitchen. Tommy complained loudly that he was old enough to fight, but Arturo hushed him with one look. I couldn’t see it from my high perch in the barn, but I knew Arturo could make some scary faces. He hollered for Mom (she was on the back watch platform) and me to get down, and don’t be seen. He quickly pointed to a spot for my sister, Lucy, to set up with her rifle behind some rusty old farm implement that we used for a workbench. Arturo pressed himself up near the front door, behind a heavy support post, and peered through the gaps in the wall.

  I heard feet trampling through the tack room door. I hoped it was Dad and Kirk. Then I heard Dad telling Kirk to pile up some materials we had set aside for the purpose. Kirk blocked the tack room door as effectively as he could before Dad sent him up to my platform. The two of us huddled below the jagged gap in the wall as Dad shifted some boards around to improve the cover situation for Arturo and himself.