An airy sound. Something stroked her face. With her heart in overdrive, she swung the broom and ducked, just as a crow flew past her. The orange beak, only inches from her face, looked massive. She swiped the broom again, hitting air. “Get out of here!” she screamed, swinging the broom back and forth in front of her.
The crow’s wings thumped as it swooped around the room. With its beak open and talons spread like massive fingers, the bird dove toward her.
She dropped the broom and raced for the front door.
~*~
Work over for the day, Nate drove with abandon. The sun had touched the top of the pines west of town, just as it did every day at this time. Strange, how things remained the same even when his life lay in chaos. The church, a sacred institution of the nation, no longer proved to be so. At least, not in Logan. Moving somewhere else wasn’t an option. Logan was his family home for generations. He still lived on part of his great-grandfather’s land, the bulk of it sold off years ago. But the ranch house that had belonged to his grandparents, and the fifteen-acre tract, ten of it woods, bound him to Logan as surely as the chains that secured his church.
Nate had wandered into one of the neighborhoods known for its crime. Just as the awareness hit him, a woman ran from a front door, her arms covering her head. Nate stiffened. Most likely she was protecting herself from the fists of a boyfriend. He pulled to the opposite curb and glanced at the house, ready to protect the woman, but no one followed her.
Even on the sidewalk, the woman’s legs kept moving up and down as though running with nowhere to go.
“Hey, you all right?” Nate called from the window of his truck.
She turned and Nate’s eyes widened. There stood the woman from the courthouse.
Her dancing stopped as she stared wide-eyed at Nate.
He got out of the truck and walked toward her. “Is something wrong? Can I help you?”
Still staring, she pointed toward the house. “Inside. A b-bird!” Her voice sounded tight, with none of the angry lilt he remembered.
A crow with a strange looking scar stood on the sidewalk and cocked its head toward them. More birds perched on electrical wires, porch railings, and tree limbs. So many crows, more than he had seen in any one place before. “One of the crows got into your house?”
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
“Stay here. I’ll chase it out.” A smile sneaked across his face. What were the chances of meeting the girl he had been trying to see for two weeks here on the street? Entering the house, he stared in surprise, the crow momentarily forgotten.
~*~
With arms wrapped tight to her chest, Ruth focused on the open front door. Mr. Charlie had told her, just today, to be careful. He had said to go home and stay there, not to go wandering around at night. As though she wandered. Where would she go? But Mr. Charlie’s concern gave her the jitters. She had been sharing apples with him for almost two years, and he had never been as distracted as he had become since the crows showed up. He kept pushing her to be her own person, whatever that meant. His strange admonitions had heightened after the church was locked.
Mr. Charlie. Most likely his edginess is why she overreacted when the crow flew across the living room. She pushed out a shaky laugh. Scared of a crow. She had confronted worse horrors than feathers and flesh.
A car drove by and the driver whistled.
She ignored him and kept her gaze on the house. Nate, wasn’t that his name? He looked so much like Joe. She bit at a ragged edge of her fingernail. The doorway remained empty. Where had her mind been, to allow some strange man to go into her home alone? He could be doing anything, looking at anything. What if he found…no, surely, he wouldn’t look there. Now, with her fear gone, she should chase the bird out herself. She stepped forward.
A crow swooped from the magnolia tree and landed three feet in front of her. Standing on spindly legs, the bird cocked its head. Round eyes stared. A spark of life, a hint of intelligence, flickered within its dark depth. A scar ran down the side of its head.
Shivers ran up Ruth’s spine as she stared back.
~*~
Nate stopped as soon as he entered Ruth’s apartment. He couldn’t have been more surprised if he had found himself inside a mansion. He gazed around the living room, the crow forgotten. In one of the poorer sections of town, and as a rental, he had expected the inside of the house to match the outside: tired and worn. This living room could have belonged to Chet and Betsy, the décor was so similar. Betsy called it country chic, or something like that.
A sofa rested beneath the front window, two chairs covered with yellow fabric stood opposite, flanking a fireplace. A short table made of crates and an old cupboard door sat in the center of the room. About half of the old wood floor lay hidden under a rag rug.
A black feather on the sofa reminded him of why he was in the house. Nate found the crow perched on the headboard of the bed, as though waiting for him. The bird took flight, one wing brushing against his face as it flew directly to the open door, Nate following.
Ruth stood where he had left her, arms still clutched tightly around her skinny body, eyes bigger than they should be in her too-pale face.
“It’s gone,” he said, feeling awkward but not sure why. He held out the feather from the couch. “Souvenir, if you want it.”
“No, thanks.”
He dropped the feather and watched it float to the grass.
“I appreciate you stopping. Silly of me to be afraid of a bird.” A spot of pink colored her cheeks.
“Hey, anything that shows up where it isn’t supposed to be makes a nasty surprise.” He hoped his smile didn’t look as awkward as it felt.
“I’m not sure how the bird got in.”
Nate rubbed the spot where the crow’s feathers had brushed against his cheek. “Do you have the damper closed on your fireplace?”
She stared at him blankly.
“OK. If you want, I can check. If the damper’s open, the crow could have fallen through the chimney.”
They entered the house together, and Nate looked into the dark maw of the chimney. He grappled blindly for the metal lever he knew should be to the right of the opening. The lever, stuck in place, finally let loose, dumping soot onto his head. Coughing, he brushed off what dirt he could before standing. “The damper was open,” Nate said with a sheepish grin.
Ruth giggled. He had never heard her laugh, and the sound reminded him of warm sun on a spring afternoon. Her hand flew to her lips. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t laugh.”
He wiped a hand across his cheek and felt the grit slide on his skin. “I imagine I just made it worse.”
“Let me get you a washcloth.”
She led him into the kitchen, where a small bathroom had been built along the inside wall. He emerged a few minutes later, soot-free and smelling like lilacs. Alone in the kitchen, he looked around. A sink, the porcelain worn off on the left corner, held the place of honor below the window on the side wall opposite him. Not much of a view: the neighbor’s house. A cheap gas stove flanked the bedroom wall, and the refrigerator stood against the back wall. A folding card table with two metal chairs rested along the bathroom wall. Red gingham curtains hung at the windows over the sink and on the door. Yellow canisters brightened the worn countertop. The few white cupboards looked freshly painted. A cup was in the sink, the tea bag still draped across the top. On the counter, a drying peanut butter sandwich completed the tour.
As he entered the living room, Ruth stood by the fireplace, rag and bucket in hand, the floor wet but clean. “Thank you, again,” she said. “You must have been on your way somewhere…”
“Actually, I was deep in thought, driving mindlessly without a single destination or purpose.” Amazing how cool that sounded when, actually, his thoughts had been tearing him apart.
Pale lashes covered her eyes. “Sorry to interrupt your thinking time.”
He chuckled. “The distraction was just what I needed.”
“Would you like some iced tea? Sorry, but it’s unsweetened. I’m Ruth, by the way.” And then the smile again—faint, but there—as if she had almost forgotten how.
He rubbed his chin. It had been a disastrous week, and this was Friday night, after all. Should he chance it? It wouldn’t be a date. Not really. “I haven’t had supper yet. Would you like to grab a bite to eat with me?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Just a burger and some fries, my treat. We can go down to Jerry’s Diner around the corner if you want. We can walk.” He watched the indecision in her face. It felt important that she say yes. Maybe he wanted to be with her; maybe he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Either way, he stared at her, pleading with his eyes.
That smile again. “Sure,” she said.
After double-checking the locked door, they headed toward town, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk: slabs of concrete reshaped by tree roots. Grayness of early evening muted the colors, and shadows provided an illusion of privacy. Most of the crows had moved to the trees, leaving the branches heavy as the sun finally slept.
Nate’s heart pounded crazily.
8
Friday, May 31
Why had she allowed herself to be talked into coming to a church picnic at his house? And who knew he lived so far out in the country? Nate had stopped at her place twice since removing the bird a week ago. The first time was to ask if she had any more crow problems, the second to invite her to the picnic. The time alone with him in the truck had passed easily enough, but now, standing among all the people, her awkwardness surfaced.
Nate spread out the hot coals around the campfire and streaks of light flew skyward. “OK, who’s ready for a hot dog?” he yelled.
About sixty people stood in groups in the backyard. Saw horses and long planks of wood had been covered with colorful cloths. Now, the makeshift tables were heaped with platters of fried chicken, trays of pimento cheese sandwiches, dishes of steaming macaroni and cheese, slices of watermelon, and bags of chips. Children chased each other across the rough grass.
Nate had said he expected around two-hundred members from various locked churches to show up for the meeting.
The area pastors wanted to hold a combined church meeting, and Nate volunteered his home. Five acres of grass, mostly weeds, provided plenty of space to spread out, for the kids to play, and to allow the adults to talk.
Ruth stayed close to Nate. He introduced her to Pastor Clark, who told her the story of his arrest and his release later that same day, a misunderstanding, apparently. Nate introduced her to the others as they arrived. And they came—laughing and happy—the furthest thing from the attitude of anger she had expected when, according to Nate, closing the churches was nothing short of a cataclysmic event. There were a few faces Ruth knew from around town or from Attorney Dunlap’s office. She smiled at a woman whose yard sale she had attended.
“Hey there, young lady!”
Ruth recognized the voice and turned.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a ball cap on his salt and pepper hair, the only part of the bearded worker that looked familiar was his eyes. They still sparkled with life, just as when he had grabbed a shovel and followed her to the pine saplings. A grin stretched across his weathered face. “Not wandering around alone anymore, are you?”
“You know each other?” Nate asked.
“He works for the county.”
He man stretched out a hand to Nate. “Jeb Hawthorn. I attend Creek Side Methodist.” With a wink at Ruth, he moved toward the food table.
“Mr. Nate! Mr. Nate!” Two small girls wearing flowered sundresses wrapped arms around Nate’s legs.
“And what do you two princesses need?”
“You promised to cook us a hot dog,” one of the girls said.
“Yes, I did.” He turned to Ruth. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Ruth remembered fires with her daddy. He always burned the fall leaves. She loved the smell. After her father was gone, neighbors still burned the leaves from the huge oak trees outside the apartment building. The smoke would find its way into the narrow space between the brick structures and finger through her bedroom window. She would lie awake at night surrounded by the scent of smoke and memories.
Another SUV pulled into the gravel drive and parked in the yard beside the other vehicles. Two teen boys unfolded lanky bodies from the back. The driver, apparently the father, handed each a grocery sack.
Ruth couldn’t believe so many people were concerned about a church building.
But then, it seemed that everyone believed, by using embossed letterhead and threatening words, a lawyer could either remove chains or bind them tighter, depending on the point of view. That first Monday, the documents needing processed had doubled. Now she could barely keep up. The whole church-closing thing felt like a three-ring circus with so much happening at the same time that one only got half of the show, no matter how hard one tried.
Nate turned from the fire and grinned, his cheeks red from the heat.
She forced a nervous smile. He seemed like a great guy, so she wasn’t sure why he was giving her so much attention. Surely, he didn’t feel guilty about the incident at the courthouse. Regardless, coming to the picnic was pushing her comfort level. She fixed a plastic smile on her face while her nerves jangled like a rock stuck in a hubcap.
Handing the girls their hotdogs, Nate turned to Ruth. “Want a hot dog?” He anchored two wieners onto the end of a stick. “I come from a long line of food-burners, so beware.” He squatted and held the meat over the hot coals.
“I’d love one.” A young woman in a strapless summer dress swayed back and forth.
Nate turned his face upward. “Oh, hi, Sarah. I didn’t know you were here.”
“I just got off work.” She gave Nate a coy smile dripping with southern charm before glancing at Ruth.
A sudden possessiveness took hold of Ruth. She couldn’t let this Sarah person take over—take over what, she wasn’t sure—but she couldn’t let her. She forced her brightest smile. “Hi. I’m Ruth.”
“Sorry,” Nate said, struggling to stand. “Ruth, this is Sarah Gardener. We went to high school together. Sarah, this is Ruth…?”
“Ruth Cleveland,” she said, filling in the embarrassing pause. So much for convincing Sarah there might be another woman in Nate’s life. As if she could compete with this glamorous person.
“Hey, man, did you think we wouldn’t make it?” A lanky man with his foot in a walking cast and a petite woman ambled toward Nate. A wooden picnic basket with daisies painted on the lid swung from the man’s right hand while the woman gripped the arm of a little boy, about three, who pulled to be let free.
Ruth felt sure she had seen the woman somewhere before.
“See you later, Nate.” Sarah waved a hand as she sashayed toward the picnic table.
“About time you two showed up.” Nate propped the hotdogs over the fire and then ruffled the boy’s hair. “Hey there, my man. What’ve you been up to today? Pestering your poor mama?”
The boy grinned. “I found a feather.” He held up a long black plume.
Nate raised his eyebrows.
“Couldn’t convince him to leave it at home,” the man said. “Plenty more of those around, but somehow, he thinks this one is special.”
“Uncle Nate.” The little boy’s eye widened. “Look!” He pointed a tiny finger toward the fire.
“Ah, man!” Nate dragged the burning hotdogs off the stick and dropped them onto the coals.
“Hi, I’m Betsy,” the woman said to Ruth.
“Sorry, again. I must have left my manners at work.” Nate licked his greasy fingers.
“No chance of that,” Chet murmured with a grin.
“Ruth, this outspoken man is Chet Ross and his wife, Betsy, and—“
“I’m Chip,” the boy said. He gave another tug on his mom’s hand.
Betsy released the boy, and he sprinted on gangly-thin legs toward a group of childre
n chasing each other around the yard.
Betsy’s stare made Ruth uncomfortable, but soon, the woman chuckled. “I know where I’ve seen you before: Donner’s Drug Store.”
“I go there. And your name is Betsy…”
“Ross,” the woman said.
Ruth glanced at Nate.
Betsy laughed. “You got it right. Betsy Ross.” She placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “I had to think long and hard before I agreed to marry this man and end up with that name.”
“But my charm won out.” Chet grinned.
“Nice to meet you, Ruth, and I hope we can talk later. But right now, I better get this food on the table.” Betsy moved toward the laden tables.
A dozen people surrounded the fire with sticks in hand. Most were men. A few children hunched over the fire, supervised by wary adults. The scent of mosquito repellent mingled pleasantly with the smell of burning wood and roasted hotdogs.
“Hey, this here the place for the church picnic?” An older man carried a box covered with a red-checkered dishtowel. “Kind of late to have a picnic, isn’t it?”
“We had to wait until some of the guys got off work.”
“It’s gonna get dark on you. Skeeters’ll eat you to death.”
“I have lots of spray if you need some. We’ll do our best to get the meeting over with as quickly as we can. I’m Nate Bishop. This is my place. Make yourself at home.”
“I’m Harry, and this is Lottie, my better half.” The man nodded to a woman standing beside him who was as short as she was round. In her cotton dress and a necklace made of buttons, the woman reminded Ruth of the lady who had lived across the hall from her in Atlanta.
“Make yourself at home.” Nate nodded to the tables. “The meeting will start once everyone’s eaten.”
“Hey, Harry, good to see you.” One of the men clapped Harry on the back. “Let me help you with that box. I want first dibs on whatever Lottie put inside.”
“Everyone seems to know each other,” Ruth said, as Nate speared a couple hot dogs.
“Logan’s a small place.”
At the table, they filled paper plates with deviled eggs, slaw, macaroni and cheese, chips, and cookies.
Light of Logan Page 6
