Light of Logan

by Regina Smeltzer

  She knew that.

  “Broken from the outside.”

  “How can I hate a bear?” Her voice turned sharp. “I have to hate someone!”

  “A bear? Mr. Charlie was killed by the crows.”

  His words slammed Ruth in the chest as Mr. Charlie’s death swirled around her. Images of windows shattering, the sound of bird wings, beaks he’d tried to fend off. Her throat closed. She couldn’t breathe. Ruth ran from the office and out the back door. She leaned against the brick building, gulping in air as she sobbed.

  Hands touched her shoulder. Kathleen Martin, Attorney Dunlap’s secretary, pressed a tissue into Ruth’s hand.

  Mr. Dunlap stood behind Kathleen. “Does she need anything?” he murmured.

  “Come back inside,” Kathleen said. Kathleen’s arm went around her shoulders as the woman led her through the door and into the workroom, where she settled her in a chair at the table.

  Attorney Dunlap sat in the adjacent chair. He leaned across the table. “Ruth, when you’re ready, I have Mr. Charlie’s will. There’s no rush.”

  “Mr. Charlie has a will?” He didn’t have anything to put in the will except his dilapidated house with broken windows. It would be just like him, so on top of things, to make a will for nothing, just in case they found oil on his land.

  She dried her eyes with the soggy tissue. “The crows. How could that happen?”

  “The police don’t know, but they’re working on it. Something must have set the birds off.”

  “Poor Mr. Charlie.” She looked at Mr. Dunlap. “I didn’t know you knew him. I never saw him here.” She looked out into the hall. “He never mentioned that he was here.”

  “He called me about a year ago. He wanted a will made but didn’t think he could get to the office because of his blindness.” Mr. Dunlap grinned. “Said he was afraid to cross the street. Anyway, I drove to his house one morning and took care of business. It became apparent he knew you.”

  Strange how an acknowledgement of their friendship made it more real. Her heart swelled with love.

  “He said you glow in the dark.”

  She gave a blank look, and Mr. Dunlap shrugged his shoulders. “I was hoping you could explain it to me.”

  “Mr. Charlie said strange things sometimes.”

  “I have a graveside service set up for tomorrow at 10:00 AM. We’ll close the office in the morning. Invite anyone who’s special to you or who was a friend of Mr. Charlie’s. I’m afraid I didn’t know him beyond what I’ve told you.” He paused. “About his will? I need to give you a copy.”

  “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s fine.”

  After he left the workroom, Ruth sat alone dabbing swollen eyes and blowing a nose that wouldn’t stop dripping. She laid her head in her arms and cried for her losses: for her baby, for Nate, and for Mr. Charlie.

  29

  Tuesday, July 9

  Myers Memorial Park once sat on the edge of town, but as Logan grew, neighborhoods expanded around it. Tombstones dotted the flat landscape. Surrounded by a black metal fence, the place of rest became a sanctuary for those who wanted to be alone with their grief. Benches waited along the narrow road that wound through the park.

  A burgundy canopy shaded the site of Mr. Charlie’s final home. Six folding chairs lined the front of the open grave. Betsy sat beside Ruth with Chet on the end. Kathleen sat on Ruth’s other side with Mr. Dunlap beside her. One chair remained empty.

  About a dozen people gathered behind the chairs, standing in silence. Most were church people. As each one gripped her hand or squeezed her shoulder, she marveled again at their love. They barely knew her, and none of them had known Mr. Charlie, yet here they were, sharing their Tuesday morning so she wouldn’t have to face the day alone.

  Ruth didn’t hear much of Pastor Johnson’s short message and prayer, and then the service was over. As Betsy led her toward their car, she noticed Nate among those still mingling. He tipped his head her way. She ached for his touch, just a hug, a chance to inhale his scent one more time, an opportunity to confirm her friendship. But he strode off toward his truck without a second glance in her direction.

  “Come to the house, Ruth,” Betsy murmured. “The ladies in our church group fixed some food. I thought it might be easier to have the mess at my house rather than yours.”

  Ruth went where the car took her, glad not to be alone. Mr. Dunlap had tried to reach her mom, but no one answered the phone at the Ackerman house.

  Joe was no help, stating he didn’t keep track of his parents’ frequent trips.

  Platters of ham and fried chicken, bowls of rice and gravy, greens, and macaroni and cheese covered the dining room table. Off to the side, Betsy set up a card table now loaded with fresh pie, bundt cakes, and banana pudding.

  People milled about, chatting and laughing, pushing away the somber mood.

  Betsy took Ruth’s hand. “I want you to meet my mom.” In the kitchen, an older replica of Betsy stood by the sink. The woman’s dark brown hair and sparkling eyes matched those of her daughter. She handed Chip a glass of water. “There you go sweetheart. Drink it right here.”

  The boy took a couple small sips, gave the cup back to his grandma, and ran from the kitchen.

  “Mom, I want you to meet my friend, Ruth. Ruth, this is my mom, Hazel Simmons.”

  Betsy called her a friend. Ruth’s deflated heart fluttered to life.

  Mrs. Simmons wiped her hands on her apron. Her hug was tight and warm, and Ruth allowed herself to be smothered by the embrace. “Betsy has told me so much about you, how you’re so creative and clever.” Mrs. Simmons smiled. “I’m glad you and Betsy are friends.” Her expression turned serious. “I am sorry about the death of Mr. Charlie. I didn’t know him, but he must have been someone special.” Hazel Simmons’ hand tightened around hers in a final touch of love.

  Betsy led Ruth to the table, handed her an empty paper plate, and pointed to the table. “You better eat something,” she whispered, “or the ladies will be offended.”

  “How you holding up, Ruth?” Attorney Dunlap balanced his plate with one hand and a plastic cup of iced tea in the other.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for coming. I know you made the arrangements and all, but I appreciate you and Kathleen being there with me.”

  “Wouldn’t have felt right, otherwise. You’re a valuable member of our team, you know.”

  Was she? It seemed strange to have him say so. Why did death cause people to share feelings that otherwise went unsaid? Maybe the reality of mortality became apparent or perhaps human frailty? Ruth offered him a thin smile.

  “How about we meet at 10:00 AM on Monday morning and discuss Mr. Charlie’s will? Take a few days off. You have some paid time coming.”

  “I’m grateful to still have a job.”

  “Under the circumstances, all is forgiven.” He smiled and moved toward the living room.

  Ruth felt a familiar touch on her shoulder, and she stiffened. She blinked away tears before turning. “I didn’t know you were here.” Her heart shuddered.

  Nate gave a crooked grin. “Betsy would have beat me up if I didn’t come.”

  Her shoulders slumped. It wasn’t about her at all, but fear of his best friend’s wife. What did she expect of him? Here she was, for all practical purposes engaged to his cousin, and still forcing her feelings on him. Her decision had been purposefully made, but her heart still fought for the right to feel love.

  Ruth dropped food on her plate, anything to fill the empty space. When she turned, Nate was gone. Chip’s voice drifted from outside, so she sauntered through the back door and settled in a wicker chair under the elm tree. Chip and Chet tossed a ball back and forth. The air smelled of cut grass. Above her head, leaves shifted in the lazy breeze. Heavy with pollen, a large honeybee almost skimmed her face. She began to relax.

  ~*~

  “Ruth?”

  She jerked awake. Her heart pounded with urgency as she scanned the yard.
/>
  “Hey, it’s OK,” Betsy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Everyone’s gone. Do you wanted to stay awhile, or do you want me to take you home?”

  “Everyone’s gone?’ Ruth rubbed her eyes. “I’m a poor hostess.”

  “You did exactly what you should have done. No one minded. They understood.”

  “Betsy, I can’t believe the church people cooked all that food and came to the cemetery today.”

  “That’s what friends do.”

  “I don’t remember all this food when my dad died. I was young, so there might have been, and I don’t remember.”

  “You didn’t go to church then, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Around here, a church cares for each other like family.”

  “But I’m not a member of your church.”

  “I’m talking about God’s church.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  Betsy settled on the grass. “Some people get so busy doing for God that they forget to be quiet and love Him. Without love, church becomes more of a club.” She sighed. “God wants our love. That’s God’s church.”

  “I appreciate the doing part today, but I’m ready to go home.” In spite of the nap, Ruth’s arms and legs felt heavy. She wanted to curl up with her blanket and stare at the ballet of shadows cast from the trees onto the living room floor.

  “I’ll get my car keys.”

  “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Betsy enveloped her in a hug. “I love you like a sister.”

  30

  Monday, July 15

  Ruth spent most of the week thinking. She thought about Mr. Charlie and what he’d meant to her. He’d said that God brought her to Logan, that she was the light of Logan and had a specific job that only she could do. Maybe Mr. Charlie was right. He’d taught her so much about being her own person. If only she could master the skill and quit letting people make decisions for her.

  She thought about her baby and rested her face in the blanket she had made from pieces of her maternity clothes. Could she have raised their daughter alone? Had she been wrong to give her up for adoption? Maybe selfishness had been the real reason she had given her up after all and not lack of money.

  And she thought about Nate, but she knew she needed to stop those thoughts from coming. The strength to do it resided within her. After the birth, she had denied thoughts of her baby. The loss remained acute, but time smoothed it away. If she tried, the same would happen with her memories of Nate.

  But mostly she thought about Joe. He had stopped by twice to check on her, short visits to remind her of her promise to find out where church would be held. The promise was the only thing keeping her from standing in front of the justice of peace.

  Church took place at the second secret location. It felt strange to be so clandestine, but then, no tomatoes or bricks were thrown at her. No manure, no flies, just blue sky and empty sidewalks. A cruiser had passed by as she’d walked to Betsy’s car.

  Joe had been telling the truth after all about reporting to the police department.

  At seven on Monday morning, Ruth locked the house door behind her. Mr. Dunlap planned to share Mr. Charlie’s will with her today. She chuckled at the thought. Mr. Charlie had a will. That was as good as Joe’s secretary having the humble name of Helen.

  Getting back to a normal routine gave purpose to Ruth’s life that had been missing during her days off. In spite of this, a sense of impending doom seemed to walk with her. Gray clouds partially obscured the higher puffs of white. Maybe rain? The weather had been dry. The green peppers got a good soaking every night, but in spite of watering, the tomato plants leaned toward the ground, the stems bent and withered like old grannies, their productive time over. The cilantro died from heatstroke a week ago. Ruth rubbed her arms, trying to remove the tingling feeling zipping through her body. Most likely, the barometric pressure was changing.

  Ruth approached Oak Street and the free clinic. As she turned the corner, a large crow flew into her; its stiff wings hit her face. She screamed. Breath hitched as she held her arms around her head. Waiting an eternity, she looked between layered arms. Crows sat thick around the closed businesses. Beady black eyes stared at her. At any moment, they could fly toward her like a swarm of angry hornets. What if they pecked her to death like they had done to poor Mr. Charlie?

  The hour was early. There were no cars or people around to help her. Oak Street existed mostly as a short pass through for those going somewhere else. Besides the clinic, the street held the Hispanic Market, and a thrift shop. Several lots lay empty, weeds growing thigh-high.

  Giving a moan, Ruth raced down broken sidewalks and sprinted around corners, only slowing when she reached the house with the cat. Leaning over, she clutched her aching sides. A few crows dotted the yards. One sat on the fence and cocked his head toward her. Too winded to move, she willed the crow to stay put.

  As her breathing slowed, Ruth walked the remaining one hundred feet to work. No good would come of showing up in a panic. She forced a calm face, even as her insides churned.

  “Hey, Ruth, it’s good to have you back.” Kathleen sat at her usual spot at the front desk. “It’s been lonely without you.”

  “It’s good to be back.” The inbox on her desk towered with work. Sighing, she flipped the stack upside down and grabbed the first assignment.

  Mr. Dunlap appeared at her door. “This a good time for you?”

  Her stomach fluttered as she walked to Mr. Dunlap’s office. The smell of leather reminded her of rich men, but Mr. Dunlap donated more work than he received payment for. God must be blessing him. Startled, she almost laughed. She’d thought of God! That had to be the first time she had considered God as kind.

  When Mr. Dunlap pulled a paper from a manila file and handed it to her, she fought tears. Mr. Charlie’s will.

  “I made a copy for you. I’ll retain the original for now.”

  Her hands shook. The knowledge that Mr. Charlie had a will surprised her, but mentioning her in it solidified their bond.

  “As you can see, the will is short. Mr. Charles Swenson,” he looked up and smiled. “Mr. Charlie to you and me, left his estate to you.”

  His estate: the house with the broken windows, weeds knee-high and worn shirts hanging on the line. The ache in her chest grew. The inheritance might amount to nothing, but Mr. Charlie cared enough to leave her everything he had.

  “The estate consists of his house and any other assets he may have, and whatever remains of his small life insurance policy after paying for his burial.” He shuffled papers. “At this time, that amount is $12.16.” Mr. Dunlap cleared his throat and gave her a half smile. “You can buy lunch.”

  She swallowed hard and sought the chain around her neck. Twelve dollars wouldn’t replace the windows, but she owned a house. Would she ever be able to live there, knowing what happened? “So what do I do now?”

  “I’ll take care of transferring the deed if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You need to decide what you want to do with the place. The house won’t be worth anything, but you might be able to sell the land.”

  Her mind stalled with indecision. She wanted to go back to the house in the daylight this time. The drive had seemed long that night with Nate, but Mr. Charlie walked it every day. Maybe after work she could make the trip. Or on Saturday.

  She stood. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and for Mr. Charlie.”

  “I liked the old man. He had a way about him.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Heading back to her office, she thought about Mr. Charlie’s house on the dead-end road. Was it wise for her to go alone? Mr. Charlie had been killed by the crows. More than once the birds seemed aggressive when she was around. What if they attacked her?

  She chewed on her lower lip. Mr. Charlie may have left her more than $12.16 and a broken-down house. He may have left her death.

  ~*~

&nbs
p; “Joe, please.”

  Joe scowled as he sat behind his desk, his white shirtsleeves turned up to his elbows. “I just don’t have time right now. The attorney said the place wasn’t worth anything. Have the house pulled down and be done with it.”

  Ruth stiffened. “I’m going tomorrow after work, with or without you.”

  As Joe focused on the papers laying on his desk, Ruth gritted her teeth. What would it take to get his attention? “The crows killed Mr. Charlie. What if they kill me?”

  “And your point?” He looked up and sighed.

  “If I’m dead, who will tell you where church is being held?” If she didn’t need help, she wouldn’t have braved the horrible Ms. Helen or lowered herself to ask Joe to go with her. But the thought of being at the house alone frightened her more than either human.

  “Tomorrow at 5:00 PM. Be here.” He returned to his work.

  Ruth left the office smiling. In twenty-four hours she would tour her house! Mr. Charlie’s home. She sighed with anticipation.

  ~*~

  Nate pulled his truck from the worksite and turned the vehicle toward town. The humidity of summer hung like a bowl over the state, and he wiped sweat off his face. At the stop sign, a passing driver sent a rude gesture in Nate’s direction, and Nate ground his teeth. He knew the driver, a past employee who claimed he couldn’t work with Christians. In spite of the successful workday on Saturday, the townsfolks still harbored anger toward the church. Last Friday a woman hurled insults at him while he was in the grocery store. He was wearing a t-shirt with a Christian slogan, and it made the woman raging mad. It took a call to the police to get the lady to stop cursing at him.

  As he drove, at least one house on every block bore marks of vandalism. Spray paint, mangled landscaping, boarded up windows in the process of repair. Lately, Christians were fair game. And yet, the numbers on Sunday mornings continued to grow. Even with the torment, the spirit of God remained alive.

  Nate’s truck thumped over a hole in the road. Better focus on his driving or he’d be paying to realign the tires. He thought of the potholes they’d filled on Saturday. About halfway through the job, Mr. Harry arrived in his rusty Chevy. Uneasy, Nate watched him, not sure what the man might be up to. The old guy delivered a plate of fresh cookies from his wife and thanked them. Another workday was planned for the coming Saturday. It had taken some work to convince the maintenance folks to let them do the work, but they had finally relented, so it wasn’t all bad.