Light of Logan

by Regina Smeltzer

  She rushed toward town, sucking in muggy air laced with exhaust fumes. The rays of the sun stung her skin. Mr. Charlie had to get out of this heat. A lump the size of Texas clogged her throat. Losing him would be the worst thing that could happen, worse than Nate losing his church.

  A diesel engine roared from behind, and she turned. It was a black Ford, not Nate. She pushed herself to a walker’s jog. She hated Joe so much. By the time she reached the courthouse steps, her heart pounded from exertion and anger.

  Mr. Charlie smiled as usual, unaware of the chaos Joe created.

  “You sound out of breath. You run?”

  She settled on the step, content for the moment to find her best friend in the world safe. “No. Yes. It’s just hot out here.”

  Mr. Charlie wiped his forehead. “It’s a dog day, that’s fo’ sure.”

  He stared ahead, as he often did, with sightless eyes seeing more than she imagined. The view was the same: the old church in front with large oaks offering unused shade, the courthouse to their backs radiating heat off the baked cement blocks, four lanes of asphalt between the buildings. Crows dotted the grass on both sides of the street. Two teens moseyed past, fingers flying over the keys of their cellphones. Cars smothered them in hot air.

  “Mr. Charlie, can we sit somewhere out of the sun? We can cross the street and sit in the churchyard. It will be a lot cooler under the big trees.”

  “And how will I cross the street to go home?”

  “I’ll help you before I leave.” She rose and tugged at his arm. He remained firmly on the step.

  “Mr. Charlie, you have to sit somewhere else.” Her voice sounded edgy. “Joe is going to have the police come and force you to leave. Can’t we just move before he embarrasses you?”

  “Ah, it’s the cousin, Mr. Joseph, that’s got you all upset.” Mr. Charlie turned toward her. A car raced by, making it through the intersection just as the light turned red. A wisp of coarse gray hair shivered on top of Mr. Charlie’s head. “I thought perhaps Joseph was the reason for your temper.” He reached out a weathered hand and sought her arm. “Don’t give a thought to that young man. He can’t harm me.”

  “But Mr. Charlie…”

  “Not to worry, my friend.”

  Ruth gritted her teeth. She had to make him understand. He was an old man. Times were different now. People were less tolerant, less kind. Even when the police came, Ruth knew Mr. Charlie would refuse to leave. And then what? Would they haul him off to jail? Her stomach clenched.

  “I have something to tell you.” Mr. Charlie’s voice took on the tone he used when he asked about the crows.

  “There are lots of crows. I don’t know how many, just lots. The same as yesterday.” She wished he would quit asking about the birds.

  “I don’t want to talk about the birds.” He turned blank eyes toward her. “I need to know that you understand, Ruth, just how special you are.”

  They had been through all this before. He really liked her, and she was grateful for that, but now was not the time to talk about her. She had to get him to move away from the courthouse. “I know, Mr. Charlie. You’ve told me that before.” Then she jerked toward him. “The light of Logan! You can tell me what it is.”

  His thick lips formed a slight smile. “It is you. You are the light of Logan.”

  “But what is the light of Logan? What does it mean?”

  He reached out a hand, and she placed hers in his, glancing back toward the courthouse as she did so. If Joe saw her sitting with Mr. Charlie, he would either call the police or head her way. She didn’t have much time.

  “When each of us was born, we had inside us all we needed to live happy and successful lives. God gives us that as a gift.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way.”

  “That’s because God also gave us free will. We have the right to do with our lives as we wish. Just because God gave us the tools for happiness doesn’t mean we choose to use them. Sometimes, we let other influences change what we know to do.”

  “Mr. Charlie, please, I don’t have time for this.” Her mom used to say she had ants in her pants. That was how she felt now. She loved Mr. Charlie, but she felt almost crazy with the need to talk to Joe.

  Mr. Charlie clutched her hand tighter. “Please, Ruth. Listen for just one moment longer.” He released her hand and folded his together in the space between his knees.

  Ruth sighed. “All right. I’m listening.”

  “Ruth, there will come a time very soon when you will be forced to make a stand. Even though it will seem like it is between men, the stand will be between the forces of good and evil. I know you won’t like this part,” he took a couple of breaths, “but you’re the only one who can stop the spiral of evil. God has chosen you to be the light of Logan. God will help you when the time comes. You just have to ask Him.”

  How could she continue listening to this nonsense? “I have to go, Mr. Charlie. There’s someone I need to meet.”

  “Ruth…you don’t have to protect me.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “We’re survivors, you and me. It takes a tough spirit to stand alone and do what’s right.” The wrinkles on his face deepened. “You are the light of Logan. You do understand, don’t you?”

  She didn’t.

  ~*~

  Ruth glanced around the cluttered space as she waited for the woman behind the counter to escort her five feet to Joe’s private domain. The mayor had provided Joe with a makeshift office and reception area in an unused service section on the third floor. Joe’s secretary had positioned her desk behind the counter with its swinging half-door, most likely to protect her from people like Ruth. Joe was in a room to the left, which probably had been a work-space or storage for this outer area in a past life.

  The temperature inside the courthouse had to be thirty degrees colder than outside. Ruth rubbed the bumps that rose on her arms. Poor Mr. Charlie, still out in the heat. The air smelled like paper and stale tobacco smoke that had soaked deep into the wood like wax on a fine piece of furniture. Strange how the stench of tobacco lingered even though smoking had been banned in the building for years. The worn green and gray floor tiles bore testimony to the miles of people who had walked across them. Nate had been one. She squeezed her eyes, trying to push away thoughts of the man who was stealing her heart. This was not the time to think about Nate. She needed to focus her energy on Mr. Charlie.

  The secretary answered the jangling phone, murmured a few words, and then replaced the receiver. “You can go back now.” She nodded toward the door.

  The difference was immediate. The air in the private space smelled like Joe: his aftershave, his sweat, his breath. A desk stood close to the back wall, minimized by a large table in the center of the room, covered with papers, black binders and notebooks of enough different colors to fill a crayon box. The wastebasket by the door overflowed with disposable cups stained brown. Two windows, tall and narrow, flanked the outer wall. Overall, the room was larger than she’d expected.

  Joe leaned against the side of the desk. “Been watching you.” He tipped his chin toward the window.

  Heat flushed Ruth’s icy cheeks. “You mean spying on me.” She stomped across the worn carpet to the window and looked out. Four lanes of cars were lined up at the intersection. Mr. Charlie was gone. She hadn’t even given him his apple.

  “What do you want, Joe?”

  “Have a seat.” Joe nodded toward a leather chair beside his desk.

  Ruth stared at him from the window, frowning.

  Joe shrugged his shoulders. “Have it your way.”

  Ruth breathed in and out, trying to control her anger. A voice drifted through the door. The secretary was on the phone. Sharp sounding footsteps hurried down the hall. Metal ducts rattled as air passed through them. Traffic rumbled outside. Always the sound of traffic.

  But between the room’s two occupants: steely silence.

  “I still love you, Ruth.”

 
; Her eyes widened. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Think what you will.” He twirled a pen between his fingers. “What about the adoption papers I gave you?”

  Her back stiffened. “I burned them.”

  He chuckled. “I’m surprised at you, Ruthie. I thought you had more curiosity than that.”

  “Curiosity, maybe, but my respect for our daughter’s privacy is greater. Besides, it’s not the baby I want to talk about. It’s Mr. Charlie. Leave him alone, Joe. He isn’t hurting anyone.”

  “He’s hurting you.”

  “He has never hurt me! Do you think I would be friends with him if he did?”

  “I don’t like how he’s messing with your mind.”

  “Messing with my mind?”

  “He plants thoughts.” Joe waved his fingers in the air. “You know. Ideas that shouldn’t be there.”

  Ruth’s jaw dropped as she stared at him. If there was anyone who messed with minds, it was Joe. Mr. Charlie—planting thoughts? She would laugh if the idea wasn’t so preposterous.

  “Get away from him, Ruthie. I told you once before, and you ignored me. Now I have to help you.” His stare held a burning intensity. “It’s for your own good.”

  “How do you know what’s good for me? You have no idea what I need. You never have. It’s always been about you!” She turned toward the door.

  “Ruth, I will remove him from your life one way or another.”

  “Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, Joseph Ackerman, so help me…”

  His grin felt like a smack across her face. “So let’s change the subject. You’ve lived in Logan a while now.” Ruth didn’t like the way Joe’s eyes narrowed. “You ever hear the term ‘light of Logan?’”

  Ruth’s eyes matched Joe’s. What was he up to? Had he been doing more than watching her? Had he been listening somehow to her conversations with Mr. Charlie? “I have no idea what it means.” Warning flags flew up. This had to do with more than Mr. Charlie. “How did you hear the term?”

  “In passing. I didn’t think anything about it until later. Thought it was something we can use in marketing.”

  He said it so casually, but he was lying. “Ask the mayor,” she said. Joe had to have heard the term from Mr. Charlie.

  “I asked the mayor.” Joe’s stare penetrated, but Ruth refused to yield and look away. “He doesn’t know.”

  “Then it must not be important.”

  “You’re probably right.” Joe rubbed his hand across his jaw. “What if we trade favors?” he asked. “I won’t act on the illegal adoption, and you quit seeing the old man.”

  “The adoption wasn’t illegal.”

  “I wasn’t consulted.”

  “I listed the father as unknown.” Joe was using Mr. Charlie and their baby. Did he really know where the child was? Maybe Joe didn’t have the right of parenthood he kept throwing out at her. In his fancy suit and shiny shoes, and slicked-back blond hair, Ruth couldn’t imagine him wanting to raise their daughter.

  “Why did you do that, Ruthie?”

  “Forget it.” She rushed out of the office, eager to get away from the man who used to make her feel like a million dollars. Now he made her seem lower than dirt. And why the questions about light of Logan? No way he heard it in passing.

  She ran down the cement steps, aware that Joe was watching from the window above. The nerve of him, thinking she would give up her friendship with Mr. Charlie just because he told her to. As for his suggested trade…

  A horn sounded, and she jumped. By the time she reached the sidewalk, her lip was bleeding; frustration and uncertainty built with each step. She had called Joe’s bluff. Or had she?

  ~*~

  “Hey, friend!” Betsy opened the screen door.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by. I was out walking and I…”

  “Ruth, you are always welcome here. Come on in.”

  Even though the sun had dropped below the horizon, no lamps glowed to banish unwanted shadows in the living room. Even so, the room felt welcoming. Ruth took a deep breath and relaxed for the first time since Joe’s phone call that afternoon. Tight muscles relaxed, she had been right to come here.

  “I’ll get some iced tea,” Betsy said as she headed toward the kitchen. “And I’ll tell Chet you’re here.”

  “No, really I just…”

  Betsy turned with a conspiratorial smile on her lips. “I have a better plan. Chet can be in charge of Chip, and I can have an evening off!” As she grinned, the end of her nose curled up like a girlfriend with a secret. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Betsy left in a whirl, taking Ruth’s breath with her. The back door slammed, then voices. Chet laughed. The door banged again. Betsy pranced into the room. “Goodness, I left you standing in the dark.”

  Betsy turned on the lamp Ruth had admired during her last visit. With Nate. Her throat tightened. She needed to talk to Betsy about him. Maybe that was why her subconscious had led her here—but since when did her unconscious mind control her feet? Too many strange things were happening, too many conflicting thoughts.

  “Come into the kitchen.”

  As they walked through the dining room, Ruth looked at the table where they had eaten. The surface was puddled in fabric and on the far side sat a portable sewing machine.

  Ruth loved Betsy’s kitchen, which was twice the size of hers. The table overlooking the yard was big enough to seat a family of six. A half-eaten cookie lay forgotten on the counter, while a broom with a wood handle stood against the wall, ready for duty. The room shouted love. Imperfect perfection. Betsy pointed Ruth to a chair at the table and pulled out a seat across from her.

  From the window, Ruth watched father and son playing T-ball. Chip swung the red plastic bat, and the white ball with holes tumbled at least two yards.

  “Good job!” Chet shouted as he hobbled after the ball and placed it back on top of the T. He ruffled his son’s hair and moved across the yard for the next round.

  “They play ball almost every night,” Betsy said, smiling. “Chip likes his daddy’s attention.”

  The next ball went wide, and Chet lunged, missing it by inches.

  “Yeah!” Chip yelled as he jumped up and down. “I get a point!”

  “I’m surprised Chet’s cast isn’t all broken up,” Ruth said.

  Betsy chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone, but this is already the second one. He’s been warned by the orthopedic surgeon to go gentle with it, but you see how well he listens. The two of them will play until the mosquitoes drive them inside, which ought to be soon.” Betsy focused her attention on Ruth. “So, you were out walking?”

  Ruth squirmed in her chair, second guessing her decision to talk about Nate. “Big day. I needed to get rid of some stress, and walking is cheap.”

  “I admire your courage.”

  “What courage?” Ruth stared in surprise. There was nothing courageous in her behavior. In fact, most of the time she took the easy road, which led to another easy road, which led to nowhere, it seemed.

  “I don’t think I could move away from my family and launch out on a career of my own like you have. I would be scared to death.”

  Had she been brave or had she followed the easiest path? “At the time, it was the best for me to leave home, and when I tried to go back, I ran out of gas.” Ruth forced a laugh. “So fate landed me in Logan. I wouldn’t call cleaning and filing a career.”

  “Nate tells me your house looks like mine.” Betsy chuckled. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but I think he meant it to be.”

  Ruth glowed from the praise. “I love to make old things new again. People throw away so much that can be reused. I go to garage sales and find—” A sheepish smile crossing her face. “Sorry. Just get me going.”

  “My passion didn’t start as noble as yours. Chet and I were living on little money, and the only way to get what I wanted was to make it myself. Chet bought me a sewing machine, and now I hunt for bargains and cr
eate as many things as I can.”

  “I’ve always wanted a sewing machine. What kind do you have?”

  “Let me show you.” Betsy led Ruth back to the dining room and switched on the ceiling light. The aged white glass cast a soft glow over the room’s blue walls.

  The two women leaned their heads together as Betsy explained the workings of her sewing machine.

  “So what are you sewing now?” Ruth lifted a corner of the ivory fabric and ran her hand over the smooth texture.

  “I got it at a yard sale. I thought I could make a sundress out of it, but the fabric wants to fray. Every time I try it on, a seam pulls out.”

  Ruth examined the material. “What if you made French seams?”

  Betsy gave Ruth a confused look.

  “Let me show you on a scrap.”

  When Ruth finished the seam, Betsy grinned. “Perfect!” She hugged Ruth. “You are a genius.”

  The two women worked on the dress until Chet entered, pulling Chip by the hand.

  “There’s no skeetas out there, Dad,” Chip said as he scratched his arm.

  “And the moon is made of cheese,” Chet replied as he shepherded the boy through the dining room.

  “Huh?”

  “Forget it. Head to the bathroom.”

  The small boy put his hands on his hips. “You giving me my bath or is Mommy?”

  “Mommy is having a well-deserved night off. Now march.”

  The two disappeared into the living room, followed by the sound of Chip’s soft footsteps and the thumping of Chet’s cast on the stairs.

  Ruth stared after them. “You’re lucky to have such a great family.” The surge of longing came swiftly, her hungering gaze lingering on Betsy’s husband and son. Would she ever have a family of her own? Sadness settled into the deep part of her heart.

  “I’m not lucky; I’m blessed,” Betsy said. “I thank God every day for Chet and Chip, and for Chip’s birth mother.”