Light of Logan

by Regina Smeltzer

  She walked past the house where the pots of red geraniums graced the front door. The tabby cat sat inside the window watching the crows. There were too many crows to count today. Setting her pace at a slow jog, she didn’t linger in the shade of the oak like usual. When she reached the point where she could see the courthouse, instead of Mr. Charlie, Joe leaned casually against the handrail. Ruth’s gut writhed like a nest of snakes. “What have you done to Mr. Charlie?” she shouted from across the street. “Where is he?”

  Joe stared at her through the traffic.

  At the crosswalk, a woman gripping a stroller and a man with a briefcase both glanced at her.

  She really didn’t care what they thought. She flew across the street and up the steps, ready for a fight.

  “I didn’t do anything with your friend,” Joe said, grabbing her raised fists. “He didn’t show up.”

  “So why are you standing here?” She jerked from his grasp.

  He smiled. “Waiting for you.”

  “Wait a minute.” She shook her head, hoping to clear the fog. “Mr. Charlie never came?” What had Joe said that day in his office? Get rid of him or else. Mr. Charlie should be here…

  “Come on.” Joe tugged her arm. “I told you he didn’t show up. We have an appointment inside.”

  Still confused over Mr. Charlie’s absence, Ruth allowed Joe to guide her toward the courthouse door. She scanned the yard. Maybe he decided to sit somewhere else—she’d told him it was too hot to stay on the steps.

  “Act like a civil person, for goodness sake,” Joe mumbled, as he pulled her down the hall, their footsteps echoing on the terrazzo floor.

  “Hey, Mr. Ackerman. Thanks for including me.”

  “Ted.” Joe tipped his head as they passed the young professional. Ted reminded Ruth of a younger Joe when Joe was intent on pleasing and anxious to serve. No time to wonder what Joe had included the poor guy in. Now that Joe found his success, a crust had formed over his former kindness.

  Ruth struggled to keep pace with her thoughts. “Where are we going?”

  Joe tucked her arm under his. “I thought you would have figured it out by now. We’re getting our marriage license.”

  “Joe, wait…I’m not ready…” She hadn’t talked to Mr. Charlie. Mr. Charlie had the answer…

  Joe stopped in front of a closed office door and pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. He looked up and down the empty hall. The scent of mint clung to his breath as he pulled her close. “I want a child.” His eyes darkened. “Either you give me another one, or I’ll take the one I have.” He held the envelope rigid in front of her. “It makes no difference to me.”

  The glass-fronted door opened. “Oh, Mr. Ackerman. I was just headed for a break, but I can wait.”

  “Our fault, Angela. We’re early.”

  A woman, her hair cut in a bob, beamed at Joe. “No problem.” She turned to Ruth. “You must be the lucky bride.” Angela led them into a room similar to the reception area in Joe’s office. They stood in front of the counter while Angela continued behind it. A smudge of red lipstick smeared her teeth. “I need your birth certificates.”

  Ruth wanted to scream, to run, to hide. Where was this God who was supposed to be protecting her? Maybe God expected her to protect herself, but how? What about the plan for her that Mr. Charlie was so certain of? She was in trouble, and this time Nate wouldn’t rescue her. “Joe, I—”

  Joe smiled at Angela and gripped Ruth closer to his side. He pulled two pieces of folded paper from his inner jacket pocket and passed the documents across the counter. “The birth certificates you need.”

  When did Joe get a copy of her birth certificate? Things were happening too fast. She didn’t know how to fight the force that swept her along. She couldn’t breathe. Mr. Charlie’s voice in her head said, “Be strong. Be strong.”

  Angela slid the marriage application toward them. Joe signed and turned the paper toward Ruth. She could refuse, couldn’t she? That’s what she should do. The pen shook in her hand. She stared at the red pen. Red. With black ink. The back of her throat burned. The room spun.

  Joe guided her to a chair and push her head toward her knees. “She doesn’t feel well.”

  The pressure of his hand increased, holding her head painfully against her knees. His fingers dug into her scalp.

  “I told her we could do this another day, but she was insistent.”

  Smothering in her own skirt, she couldn’t even defend herself. Lies! How could he? Gaining strength from her anger, she pushed against his hand and straightened in the seat.

  Angela offered her a paper cup of water.

  If she wasn’t so thirsty, she’d throw it into the smirking male face that hovered inches from hers.

  “Angela, how about you bring the form around here for Ruth to sign.”

  The hapless woman would do whatever Joe asked.

  Ruth could almost hear her twitter.

  Angela guided the red pen into Ruth’s hand as Joe stood stiffly to the side. Ruth poised the pen above the paper. What would her life be like with a man who had an agenda of his own? There was still time to refuse…

  Down the hall a baby cried.

  She signed the marriage license.

  ~*~

  Nate slid the ladders inside the mobile shed while Chet stashed the toolbox in the bed of the truck.

  “Man, I thought this day would never end.” Chet wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  Nate yanked open the driver’s door and got inside.

  “You want to talk about it?” Chet asked as he hobbled around the truck.

  “You want a ride or not?” Nate started the engine. When had Ruth Cleveland gotten so far under his skin that he couldn’t scratch her out? And Chet honestly thought he wanted to talk about it?

  Chet lifted his good foot onto the truck’s floor. “You got to get this off your chest, buddy, or you’ll explode.”

  “Get all the way in or get out.”

  “Hey, man, I’m your best friend. I just want to help.”

  Nate stared out the windshield. Why did Ruth bother him so? He had asked God that question a hundred times since last Friday. “I don’t need your help.”

  Chet pulled his foot from the truck and slammed the door.

  Nate leaned his head against the steering wheel. He twisted the key and the hum of the engine died.

  The side door opened.

  Nate fell back against the seat and pressed his eyes shut. “Hey, man, I’m sorry.”

  “No problem. What are best buds for?”

  An occasional chirp from a sparrow and the rumble of passing cars filled the void in the cab. Crows stood in silence, their presence dusting everything in black.

  “Disgusting,” Chet said.

  Nate lifted his head. A large green and white smear dripped down the windshield.

  “I thought the mayor planned to do something about the crows,” Chet mumbled.

  “He put out some sort of contraptions built of metal pipe and chicken wire. Even with the traps baited, the birds were too smart to get into them.”

  “I’ve never seen the crows eat. Strange, but I guess that’s good for the corn.”

  Nate stared at the white smear that already baked dry in the sun. “How do you keep your problems from messing with your mind?”

  “Maybe my mind is smaller than yours.” Chet grinned. “Seriously, you have a lot going on right now with the church and…everything.”

  “I can’t stop thinking of her.”

  “You got Ruth going to church. That’s a start.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the past. I mean, I’m happy she’s finding God, but I don’t have to marry her.”

  “She’s a nice girl. We all make mistakes.”

  Nate glared out the windshield. Why had God allowed him to fall in love with someone who belonged to his cousin? God owed him…after all the work he did around the church…

  “Joe was a real jerk yesterday at Ruth’s ho
use, but Betsy put him in his place.”

  “Betsy can do that.” A smile broke Nate’s angry look. “How’s Ruth doing? That brick left a nasty cut.”

  “Betsy said Ruth was feeling better, but the knot was still huge when she left.”

  “Who’s behind all this? Only our host home had trouble.” He turned to Chet. “Doesn’t that seem strange?”

  “Ruth mentioned that people are angry over the roads not getting fixed.”

  “But angry enough to kill Mrs. Hannah? And what if that brick yesterday had hit one of the kids? What if it had been Chip instead of Ruth? That brick could have killed him.”

  Chet picked at his nails. “We need to defuse this anger somehow.”

  “You think?”

  “What about fixing the roads?” Chet’s face brightened. “Let’s see if we can put together a crew, rent some equipment, and fill some potholes.”

  “Turn the other cheek?”

  “Exactly!”

  Nate rolled the idea around in his mind. He liked it; it was the right thing to do, even if it didn’t solve any of his problems. He took a cleansing breath, enjoying the release of thinking, of tension. “I’ll call Mr. Evans and see if he’s willing to donate the use of his equipment.”

  “I’ll get a price on asphalt. How about you get in touch with Pastor Clark. See if he can call the other ministers. Between us, we should be able to get a crew together for Saturday.”

  “Sounds good. Pull a rag out of the glove compartment, will you. I need to get that bird deposit off my windshield.”

  Chet handed Nate the rag. “You know, bro, you need to go home and do some serious praying. You don’t have much time. According to Joe, he and Ruth are getting married on Wednesday.”

  The woman who stole his heart was about to marry his cousin? God, what have I done to deserve this?

  24

  Tuesday, July 2

  Mr. Charlie was not sitting on the courthouse steps. He had not come yesterday either. Ruth gripped the metal handrail as she scanned the usual traffic in the area. A mother pushed a stroller while tugging on one of those doggie leashes with a curly-headed toddler attached to the other end. No blind, elderly man. Acid rose in her throat. Where was he?

  Not knowing what else to do, she waited. Counting Friday, this was the third day Mr. Charlie had not shown; five days missing if the weekend was included. What if he was sick? Or worse?

  People passed her on the steps, dashing to do the government’s bidding. Across the street, the chain that secured the church reflected the late sun. Nate had painted over the graffiti twice, only to have the vandalism reappear within a day or two. When she’d asked him about the inside of the building, he just shook his head.

  She glanced up and down the sidewalk, anxiously searching for Mr. Charlie’s bent frame. Trying to block out distractions, she closed her eyes, listening for the thump of his cane. If only she knew his address. All this time, and she had never once invited him to her house. She had never asked where he lived, if he needed anything, if he had enough to eat. Tears filmed across her eyes. She had been so self-absorbed, talking about her life, her goals, her problems. Always wanting his advice, his listening ear.

  But this time she knew—she knew—Mr. Charlie needed her. And she only had today to find him. Tomorrow she would become Joe’s wife.

  Music drifted from a passing car, one of the songs from house church. She remembered it because the words were strange, all about dancing on streets of gold. And then Chet had prayed for dancing hearts, ones that leaped for joy over being children of the King. If that were true, then Mr. Charlie was a prince. Surely, God loved Mr. Charlie and would protect him wherever he was.

  A crow lighted on the sidewalk was soon chased away by a jogger. Two crows replaced it. Birds on the grass, more on the rooftops. White smears baked on the sidewalk. Cars were dotted with droppings. The crows held a meaning for Mr. Charlie. Every day he asked how many there were, what they were doing, if they were bothering her. She looked around and found it; the bird with the scar stood in the courthouse grass.

  “Get out of here!” She kicked a sandaled foot toward the large bird. The crows were like a thousand black bodies all playing a role in some drama. Was she an actor or a spectator in this strange saga? The scarred crow must have the lead.

  The longer she waited, the more her panic swelled. The more she told herself not to worry, the more convinced she became that Mr. Charlie was in trouble. What if Joe had chased Mr. Charlie away? Or told Mr. Charlie about their engagement—

  Ruth stomped up the stairs to the courthouse. She chewed her lip as she moved through the wide halls. Either Joe sent Mr. Charlie away, or he didn’t. In the latter case, she needed to find someone who knew where Mr. Charlie lived, which wouldn’t be easy since he seemed to be ignored by passersby.

  The filtered air reminded her of the coldness of the law. Everything submitted to processing, and then spit out according to a formula. Did bureaucracy have a soul? Had kindness ever existed? Perhaps someone stamped humanity on a document and filed it away, the term and its meaning never to be seen again.

  Joe’s secretary sat behind her desk, protected by the chest-high counter identical to the one Angela stood behind yesterday. “He’s not here,” the secretary said.

  “When will he be back?” Joe’s office door was closed. “This is important.”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

  A plastic nameplate rested on the corner of the secretary’s desk. Helen. A bitter laugh formed, squelched with great effort. Really? Helen? Delilah or Sheba fit the woman better than Helen. Joe’s secretary was rude, cold, protective of her boss, but otherwise uncaring. Definitely not a Helen.

  Discouraged by Joe’s absence, Ruth tried to think. Her mom always said she’d failed to consider the consequences. She couldn’t let that happen now. “He has a cellphone. Can you call him for me?” She should have made the request an order. Now Helen could refuse, which she did.

  “Do you know Mr. Charlie?” It was a longshot, but she had to try. Helen gave her a blank look. “The man who sits on the courthouse steps every day. You must have seen him. Do you know where he lives?”

  Helen curled her nose. “I don’t share personal information with bums.”

  Ruth bit her lip, which was already chewed raw. “Will you give Joe a note from me as soon as he gets back?” Ruth scanned the counter. “Can I borrow a pen?”

  Helen struggled from her chair, tugged down her tight pencil skirt, and handed Ruth a pen.

  Ruth looked for paper. She raised her eyebrows, beyond frustrated at the lack of cooperation. Would it hurt Helen to help her? “I can write on the back of one of these forms, I guess.”

  Helen delivered a piece of scrap paper and watched as Ruth wrote. No need to ask for an envelope since Helen already knew what the note said. Ruth folded the paper in half and put Joe’s name on the outside. “Please don’t forget.” She tried to make eye contact, but Helen seemed more interested in the man walking down the hall.

  “Yeah, sure. But I can’t promise he’ll be back today. He keeps his own schedule.” Helen sauntered back to her desk.

  Feeling dismissed, Ruth retreated back outside. She had waited longer than she should have for Mr. Charlie, and now the evening shadows stretched almost to the street. Cars followed on each other’s bumpers; crows fluttered from place to place. Surer than ever that something had happened to Mr. Charlie, Ruth spared her lip and chewed on her fingernail. Running in circles wouldn’t accomplish anything, but she needed to act. Mr. Charlie mentioned once that he lived on the edge of town. OK, start there.

  Attorney Dunlap’s office sat on a corner near the edge of the city. She had never walked on the adjacent road, but going left would take her out of town, while right would direct her into some of Logan’s nicer neighborhoods. She’d head back to the office and go left.

  Already the sky looked more gray than blue; she had to move, or be caught in a strange place after dark.
Sweat dampened her blouse as she jogged back toward the office. Please, Mr. Charlie, please be all right. I’m coming.

  ~*~

  She reached Mr. Dunlap’s building and turned left onto Grove Drive. Both sides were lined with four-square houses spaced only feet apart. No driveways and no garages separated them. Cars were parked in yards or along the edge of the road, one tire on pavement, one on sand.

  Ruth swatted at the mosquitoes settling on her arms and legs. What were the chances of getting malaria in South Carolina? Or West Nile Virus? Or Zika? Weren’t they caused by mosquitoes?

  As dusk approached, most of the crows moved to the trees. A few, however, lingered and kept beady eyes pointed in her direction. “The least you could do is eat some of these bugs,” she mumbled, returning their black stare.

  Grove ended at High Street, which was wider but less populated. To the left and down away, two houses in need of repair were separated by an overgrown field. On the right, about half a block away, a tall pole held a sign reading Family Pharmacy. The sign was unlit, but then, it wasn’t quite dark yet. A couple of one-level brick buildings stood between her and pharmacy. The parking spaces in front were empty and no light spilled from the windows.

  The taste of blood seeped into her mouth. She pressed her tongue against her lip and felt the sting. To the right and left nothing but decline. Should she try the houses to the left? There were no cars parked in the weeds, and the windows looked like empty sockets staring at nothing.

  A middle-aged man jogged toward her, a sweat-band circling his forehead and a gray cuff secured around his upper arm. Ruth held out her hand, and he stopped running but continued jogging in place. “Do you know a man named Mr. Charlie?”

  “No.”

  “He’s the blind man that sits on the courthouse steps.” Desperation crept into Ruth’s voice.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve seen him there once or twice.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Nope. Sorry.” He waited a beat longer then resumed his run.

  Ruth headed toward the drug store. The sidewalk ended on Grove, forcing her to walk in the sand along the edge of the road. A car passed; the driver tooted the horn. She looked up in time to see the male driver’s smile.