Finding a parking spot downtown was easier than earlier in the summer. People avoided the heat—as well as the threat of being mugged. As he walked up the courthouse steps, his thoughts wandered to Mr. Charlie. Then he glanced at the crows gathered in the grass. Since finding Mr. Charlie’s body, the birds had taken on a more sinister appearance. Was Ruth still walking to work? Maybe Joe had convinced her to quit and had offered to pay her bills. She couldn’t have many expenses, living as she did, and not owning a car or a cellphone. He buried his thoughts of Ruth and entered the courthouse.
As he rounded the corner, Joe exited his office door. With no way to avoid him, Nate tipped his head toward his cousin. “Joe.”
“Nate, I need to talk to you. Got a minute? We can go back into my office.”
“Look, Joe, I’m kind of busy right now.” Nate felt like the country cousin dressed in his t-shirt and blue jeans, dust on his work boots. Most likely, a cobweb or two clung to his hair. He didn’t want to be pulled into his cousin’s shiny office. Joe’s looks and money never used to bother him. Suddenly he compared everything to Joe.
“I’ll just take a minute. It’s about Ruth.”
Nate released a breath. “I can give you one minute.”
Inside the privacy of his office, Joe pointed to the large table.
The men positioned themselves across from each other.
“Want anything to drink? Water? A soda?”
“One minute, Joe. That’s all you have.” He tapped the toe of his boot on the floor, trying to imagine what Joe wanted to manipulate this time. As far as Ruth was concerned, the damage was done.
Joe tented his fingers. “Ruth and I have decided to postpone our marriage.”
“Fine. You already told me that.” Nate rose from his chair.
“Sit down. I still have thirty seconds. Ruth doesn’t love me, even though I adore her. It is apparent that her heart lies somewhere else.”
Nate narrowed his eyes.
“I want her to be happy, so if you have feelings for her…”
“And what do you want in return, Joe?”
Joe’s eyes widened. “Me? Nothing.”
“You never do anything for nothing.”
“We’re cousins. In spite of our differences, blood runs deep. I believe I can convince her to cancel the engagement altogether.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Nothing, and my time is up. Have a good day, cousin.” Joe leaned back in his chair and smiled, but the goodwill never reached his eyes.
Nate walked from the office knowing Joe was planting seeds, but for what crop? Since when did his cousin care about blood relations? It was just like Joe to toss aside his unwanted goods to the poor relatives. Did Joe really think Nate was so desperate that he would grab Ruth when Joe let her go? Nate’s mind filled with thoughts, mostly about his cousin, how much he hated him, and how he needed to show Joe what he was made of.
31
Tuesday, July 16
At 4:45 PM, Ruth walked into Joe’s office.
Helen planted herself behind the swinging half door and demanded she wait in the reception area. Helen left at five, after giving Ruth one final glare.
At 5:15 PM, Ruth knocked on the inner office door.
At 5:30 PM, Joe emerged, scowled, and walked toward the hall. In the car, he asked for directions to the house. “I told you to tear the place down. We’ll be lucky to not get bitten by a rat.” The muscles in his jaw tightened as he drove.
“I’d be more worried about crows.” She never should have asked him to take her. Facing the crows alone would be better than putting up with his mood. She settled back into the white leather seat. He could only steal the pleasure of seeing her house if she allowed him to.
Maybe there would be something small she could bring home with her from Mr. Charlie’s: a mug or a dish. The house and all its contents legally belonged to her. Mr. Charlie would be happy if she found something she wanted.
“I don’t know why you fuss about the birds. Yes, there are a lot of them, and they make a mess, but they’re just birds. It’s not like they’re out to destroy humanity.” Joe shot a sideways glance at Ruth. “I haven’t had trouble with them because I don’t expect to.”
“You come to work before the birds wake up in the morning, and you leave most days after most of the crows have headed back to the trees. And Mr. Charlie was killed by the crows.”
“So they say. Did anyone see it happen?” Joe slowed the car. “Is this the road?” The rusted green sign still bore traces of Howard Court in white letters. Joe turned off the highway and stopped. “You expect me to take my car down there? You didn’t tell me we’d need a four-wheel drive.”
“It’s just weeds, Joe. I’ve been back there. It’s OK.”
He inched forward. Grass scraped the underbelly of the car like fingers on the lid of a coffin.
“There it is!” The house looked worse in the daylight. She chewed on her lip. The wood siding was gray and weathered and the roof sagged more to the left than she had noticed in the dark. Still clipped to the line were the shirts.
“Do you plan on getting out?” Joe asked.
“Stay in the car. I won’t be long.” Suddenly, she needed to explore Mr. Charlie’s home without Joe. Thankfully, Joe made no attempt to follow her.
Her pulse quickened as she walked down the weeded path. She dreaded the smell but wouldn’t shy away from it. After all, the odor was part of Mr. Charlie. But as she approached the door, she smelled only pine and flowers, perhaps gardenia.
Passing the house, she walked to the back and removed the shirts from the line, folding the worn garments the best she could. Clutching the soft pile to her chest, she turned. It was time to go inside.
Neighbors in Atlanta used to tell her stories about haunted houses—houses where someone had died inside. Ruth sensed no ill will as she stepped across the light filled doorway. Tears flooded her eyes; this was Mr. Charlie’s home.
Scattered everywhere were black feathers. The sight of them angered her. Why would birds kill a man? A sudden breeze streamed through the broken windows causing the feathers to fly as though still connected to life.
Then she noticed the recliner. Sitting in the middle of the open room, the chair remained tipped back as though he still rested there. The odor of decay emanated from the stained fabric. Ignoring the smell, she rubbed her fingers across the arm before moving on.
Joe wouldn’t wait forever.
Kitchen cupboards lined the back wall, the white paint worn thin. Open doors revealed empty shelves, with the exception of a small pan, a chipped white ceramic bowl and plate, and half a dozen cans of soup. A mouse-eaten bread wrapper lay on the floor. One chair stood by the metal table. A wall ran perpendicular to the kitchen and living area and formed a hall for the two small bedrooms and center bathroom. Ruth started to lay the shirts on the bed, but held them against her face instead.
Having seen enough, she pulled the door closed behind her. The wind, which had been more breeze-like when she’d entered the house, now blew in gusts. The dry grass whipped her legs. Tree limbs bent as black clouds rolled across the sky.
Joe stood along the side of the road. “Did you see this place.” His suit jacket flapped around his trim body. “This is a goldmine!”
The first drops of rain fell as she reached the car.
Joe stood in the downpour, scanning the side of the road. When lightning streaked across the sky, he ran to the car, laughing as he slammed the door behind him. Water ran down his face; his navy suit soaked black. “You didn’t tell me this was here. Who owns all of this land?”
“Probably the families that lived there, or maybe the city.”
He grinned and thumped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “You’re right. I bet it belongs to the city by default.”
Her eyes widened. What happened in the short time she had been in Mr. Charlie’s house?
“What did you drag out?” Joe asked as he started
the engine.
“Mr. Charlie’s shirts.”
“Looks like rags.”
She hugged the memories to her chest, glad she had rescued them from the line before the rain.
“I’d offer to take you to supper, but I’m not presentable.”
She looked straight ahead. “I appreciate you bringing me out here.”
He chuckled. “No problem with the horrible crows?”
“No problem.”
They rode in silence. By the time they stopped in front of her house, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The low sun peeked from behind parting clouds for a final farewell.
Joe put the car in park and turned toward Ruth. “I saw Nate yesterday at the courthouse.”
She hid her interest as best she could. “Oh? What is Nate up to?” And why did Joe feel it necessary to tell her this and at the end of the trip? She bit a hangnail from her thumb.
“We agreed that you should be free to date whomever you want.”
She frowned and stared at him, her suspicion shouting louder than his words.
“I thought you would be more excited.”
“So what about the adoption?”
“I still need to know the location of church. You keep your word, and I’ll keep mine.”
As easy as that? The wedding was off? Her daughter was safe? Why didn’t she believe him? Joe’s word was good only as long as it served his purpose. Giving him the location of Sunday services was easy enough, and she wasn’t breaking a promise to the church group, not really. They needed the police protection. Something felt very wrong. The Joe she knew would never change his mind. Something had changed in his game, and she didn’t have a clue what it could be.
~*~
Nate roamed his house, unsettled but not sure why. Sure, Joe’s announcement yesterday that he no longer planned to marry Ruth had stuck with him. He’d almost shared the conversation with Chet but then decided not to. He loved Ruth but could never marry his cousin’s castoff.
At his country home, darkness came quickly when the sun dropped behind the woods. The night hours belonged to crickets and frogs. As the rain ended, and even with the windows closed and the air conditioner running, the creatures’ voices filtered through the house.
Nate stretched his arms over his head, trying to loosen the tight muscles in his neck and back. He checked to make sure lights were out and doors locked. Recently, he had taken to closing the curtains after dark even though very few cars came down his backwoods road. Before switching off the outside light, he scanned for crows. The birds should have gone to the trees hours ago, but he checked anyway.
In the darkened hallway, he tripped over the plastic bag of clothes he’d worn the night he found Mr. Charlie. Groaning, he lifted the bag and carried it to the washing machine in the nook behind the kitchen. As soon as he opened the bag, he gagged. Quickly, he loaded the clothes into the stainless steel drum. Paper crinkled as he shoved in his jeans. The envelope he had picked up off Mr. Charlie’s table slid out of a pocket. He had forgotten it.
He pulled the envelope out and started the washer. He looked around for a can of room deodorizer. The envelope felt thick enough to hold a couple of pages of paper. There was something hard inside, like a key. Maybe Mr. Charlie planned to give Ruth a key to his house, but fate had interfered.
He grimaced. He credited fate for Mr. Charlie’s death when God controlled all. Since childhood, he’d believed that. This slip of attitude added to his disquieting mood.
Finding an aerosol can with claims of smelling like April rain, he sprayed the letter. She had no need for a key now. The envelope might upset her, yet it belonged to her. He put the damp paper on the kitchen floor beside the door. Let it air out and he’d give it to her on Sunday.
The dip in his mattress didn’t fit like it usually did; he had trouble finding sleep. During the night, he dreamed birds were pounding on his windows. Soft thumps. Crows trying to reach him.
32
Sunday, July 21
Church was at the Carters, and like the previous two Sundays, no unwanted bystanders greeted them, and the house had not been vandalized.
Ruth sighed, glad the policemen did their jobs protecting this magnificent home.
Sylvia Carter, tall, thin, and middle aged, greeted Ruth and Betsy. She led the two women through an entry that was as big as Ruth’s living room, down a hall to the kitchen that looked as though it belonged in a restaurant, and finally into the family room. Each of the spaces had its own unique scent, one floral, the next more fruity, wall plug-ins wafting scent.
“I’m sorry about Mr. Charlie,” Mrs. Carter said. “He must have been a special man.”
Ruth tried to remember if Mrs. Carter was one of the church members who had attended the funeral, but her memory of the day remained fuzzy. “He was a good friend to me. I enjoyed his company.”
Mrs. Carter moved on, and Betsy turned to Ruth. “Look at this place! Have you ever?”
The huge room held four dozen folding chairs and still felt spacious. About a dozen were already occupied.
“Look outside.” Ruth stared out the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass at the back of the room where lush grass sloped downward to a small pond. Trees, carefully planted so as not to block the view, created shade against the intense South Carolina sun. Geese pruned their feathers.
“Chip will enjoy this when he gets here.” Betsy glanced at her watch. “I should never have left those two men on their own.” She giggled. “Every now and then Chet gets this urge to take Chip out to breakfast. His dad used to do that. I hate to guess what Chet is feeding that poor kid.”
“Hey, ladies!” Mrs. Sparks entered the room. “Look at that view! I could live here.” She strode to the side of the room and sat by Mrs. Miller.
“You get that yard cleaned up?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“Yes, thanks to all you folks.”
Ruth and Betsy decided on two of the folding chairs—the fancy kind with padded seats—away from the window. Still able to see the view, Ruth gazed at the pond and flower beds and rose gardens. So much beauty in one place. The stress of the past few weeks began to fade.
“Chet’s on his way,” Betsy said, sliding her cellphone back into her purse. “So how was your week? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since last Sunday.”
“Same old, which is good. Too many people still showing up at Attorney Dunlap’s claiming the church caused them some calamity which they want Mr. Dunlap to fix. I’m really tired of it.” Ruth stared at the serenity outside the window. “If one more person says Christians should be lynched, I think I’ll do some lynching of my own!”
“Ruth!” Betsy’s face scrunched in mock horror.
“I know. Mostly I keep busy typing and minding my own business. “
Chip leaped into Betsy’s lap. “Daddy gave me sugar for breakfast.”
“Tattletale.” Chet clumped toward them. “Get this cast off tomorrow.”
“Good for you,” Ruth said.
When Nate entered, Ruth hid her gasp. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Clean shaven, but his face was nicked along his chin and neck. To her surprise, he walked toward her.
He pulled an envelope from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “I forgot to give this to you the other night. I found it on Mr. Charlie’s table.”
By the time she gathered her senses enough to thank him, he was across the room.
Another gift from Mr. Charlie. Her eyes misted and she dabbed them with a tissue. The envelope smelled of old perfume and Mr. Charlie as he had become. She ran her finger against the large block letters that spelled her name, and she imagined Mr. Charlie struggling in his blindness to write them. She tucked the envelope in her purse.
Loud music, wild and violent, with words too racy for children, blasted into the room. The volume throbbed against Ruth’s body. Pictures vibrated on the walls.
Nate ran to the front of the house then returned to nod at Chet. “There’s a white van in the driveway
, a speaker mounted on to,” he yelled. “Let’s see if we can get this stopped.”
Several of the men followed Nate and Chet toward the hall.
Chip slid to the floor behind Betsy’s feet, one arm wound around each of her legs. Any other time, Ruth may have laughed, but fear etched his tiny face. Betsy scooped him back into her lap and pressed her hands over his ears.
Three pops, muffed by the loud drone of music.
Wanting to shove fingers in her ears, Ruth looked out the back window instead, hoping to rekindle the serenity she had found there, only to sense isolation. How close was the nearest neighbor? She couldn’t remember.
The music stopped and tires squealed.
Mr. Carter ran into the family room, his shirt torn and blood dripping from his nose. “Call an ambulance!”
Betsy lifted Chip into her arms and ran toward the front of the house.
Others followed.
Ruth reached the entry and the open door.
Drops of red smeared the concrete driveway.
“Get the kids out of here!” someone shouted.
“Come on, children,” Mrs. Carter called.
A dozen children drifted toward the house, faces turned to the scene in the front yard.
A man sat propped against a tree sobbing, while another tried to comfort him even as he clutched his own bleeding arm.
A loud groan came from behind Ruth, and one of the ladies pushed her way out the door.
Nate and Chet were doing CPR on a man’s bloody chest.
Ruth ran toward Chet and Nate. “I know CPR. Do you need help?”
Nate, doing rescue breathing, nodded. His face was the color of cement, his shirt sleeve wet with blood.
Ruth remembered hearing the pops. “You’ve been shot!”
Light of Logan Page 25
