Gone to Green (Green (Abingdon Press))

by Judy Christie

  “We’ve gone back to our other candidates,” the publisher had emailed me the previous week. “Let us know if your timetable changes.”

  Getting out of bed, my first cup of coffee in hand, I called Aunt Helen. She had not seemed herself since her short stay in the hospital, and I made an effort to talk to her every day or so. When I tried her room, no one answered, so I called the nurse's station to leave a message.

  “Oh, Lois, she asked us to call you, but we haven’t had a minute. Helen was taken to the hospital again this morning. She had some shortness of breath.”

  When I got to the clinic, she had already been moved to a room, but she looked much worse than when last I had seen her. She was on oxygen, and her color was bad. My mother would have said she looked peaked.

  For just a moment when I entered the room, I thought she didn’t know me, but she quickly roused and greeted me. “You’d do anything to get out of going to church, wouldn’t you?” she said.

  “So would you apparently,” I replied, leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “You got a crush on the ER doc or something?”

  “You journalists, can’t get anything past you, can I?”

  “So what's wrong with you?”

  “Well, I’m eighty-three years old, a coot, and I seem to have some sort of problem with my heart. Apparently the home's fish sticks and French fries menu choice did not agree with me. What's wrong with you?”

  “I’m thirty-six years old, never been married, own a newspaper I don’t know what to do with, and have no idea what to do with my life. And right now fish sticks and French fries sound pretty good to me. Since you’re doing so well, I think I’ll run down to the cafeteria and see what they’re serving for breakfast.” I was hungry and out of sorts.

  Aunt Helen was asleep when I returned, and at first it scared me. I thought she had died while I was eating bacon and eggs. I leaned over to see if she was breathing.

  “Boo,” she said right in my ear, in that deep, wavering voice I had first heard on the telephone in my office. I jumped and squeaked.

  “You thought I had croaked, didn’t you?”

  I hung my head, a little embarrassed.

  “I was just taking a catnap. Come sit over here.” She patted the edge of the bed and moved over to make room for me to sit. I could tell Helen was tired, but it was clear she had something on her mind.

  “Child, can I give you some advice about that newspaper?”

  “Sure,” I said, knowing she would give it to me one way or the other.

  “Hang onto it. Be a good steward of it, the way you have been. Don’t squander your gifts. Expect good things—great things—to happen. Have some fun. God has great plans for you.”

  And then she drifted off again.

  Over the next few days, Aunt Helen's condition deteriorated quickly. They considered moving her up to Shreveport to an intensive care unit, but decided it was too risky. She had apparently suffered a mild heart attack and developed pneumonia, which she couldn’t seem to shake.

  She was seldom completely conscious, although I often thought she knew that I and a bevy of others were in the room. Young women from church came by to talk about lessons she had taught them, and older women told great stories about her friendship and crazy things she had done through the years. I sat with her for hours, hoping my presence would reassure her. She had gone downhill so quickly, joking with me and giving me advice one minute and lapsing into a comalike state the next.

  One afternoon Walt and his father came to see her. If Walt senior's presence didn’t wake her up, nothing would.

  Walt and I chatted quietly in the hall, leaving his dad with Helen. I figured some message might need to pass between them.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls,” I told Walt. “I’ve been trying to spend as much time up here as I can, and by the time I get home, I’m just pooped and it's late.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders. “It's okay, really. I understand. The way you treat Aunt Helen is one of the many reasons I’m crazy about you.”

  I was startled. I knew he liked me, but we had kept our relationship pretty much on the surface.

  I changed the subject. “I’ve got a problem at the newspaper. I need to talk with you about it.” I looked around to make sure no one could hear. “I haven’t gotten all my ducks in a row yet, but I know someone's stealing from me. I’m going to need your legal help again.”

  “No problem. We can tackle that as soon as you are ready. But you be careful, okay? People get a little crazy when someone backs them into a corner.”

  Suddenly there was a great commotion, and nurses rushed into Helen's room. She had died with the love of her life at her bedside, ironic since they had been apart for sixty years.

  The doctor ultimately said her heart was weak, but I knew that wasn’t the case. She was one of the biggest-, strongest-hearted people I had ever known.

  I wish I could have had her in my life longer.

  18

  The Bouef Parish Sheriff's Department is holding two

  Jersey cows and a donkey found wandering on the old

  Route 2 cutoff. To claim the livestock, identify them

  and be prepared to pay the loose animal fine.

  —The Green News-Item

  The police came to the building to arrest Lee Roy. He cursed as he was led out. “You’ll pay for this, Lois Barker. The McCullers will have your hide.”

  Once the district attorney talked about prison, however, Lee Roy wasted no time in laying the blame on the shoulders of the newspaper's former owners. He insisted Dub and Chuck had been siphoning money from the paper for years, had not paid taxes on it, and had not told their two siblings and Aunt Helen, who shared ownership of the paper. He was adamant they had helped him with his scam and taken a rather large cut.

  With that much to go on, Iris Jo and I renewed our efforts, spending long hours at the office. The ordeal of gathering evidence for a criminal case and firing Lee Roy made my stomach churn. Knowing the Big Boys had likely been involved was even worse. The McCullers had been much more sophisticated in their schemes, but theft was not hard to find once we knew where to look.

  “Looks to me like they were doing some of the same deals,” Iris Jo said. “They took money from advertisers and didn’t report it to their co-owners or the IRS. They overcharged the paper for years for expenses, used a separate account where money flowed from the printing business. That's a side business, you know, so it would be hard to see. They always took care of those books.”

  The revelations made me incredibly angry.

  “The thing that makes me maddest,” I said, “is that Dub and Chuck doctored the books between the time Ed made his offer and the time he was to take ownership of the paper. They took thousands of dollars out of the newspaper's accounts and into their own pockets, cheating my friend.”

  My voice cracked. “Ed was a good, decent man. He saved for years to buy this paper, and he didn’t deserve the way they treated him. I hope they rot in jail.”

  Iris Jo was, as usual, calmer. “Your friend was a nice man. I enjoyed the couple of meetings I had with him and the phone conversations. I didn’t know him very well, but I know one thing—he wouldn’t want you to get bitter over this. Everything will work out. We’re doing our part. Beyond that, you just have to let it go. Turn it over to God and hope that justice is done.”

  “I don’t want to turn it over to God. I want a big fat case to turn over to a federal judge.” I glanced at Iris Jo and knew she was acting as a friend. “Well, the federal judge probably thinks he's God anyway.”

  I leaned over and patted her arm. “Thanks for being such a great person, Iris Jo.”

  Through all of this, other friends came to see me, brought me food and generally cheered me up, knowing I was reeling from Helen's death and the pain of Lee Roy's deceit. Many had known Aunt Helen longer and maybe loved her more, but she added something special to my life. Her words would guide me l
ong after she was gone.

  The Big Boys were cool to me at the service, unaware of what I had in store for them. “We won’t block your request to say a few words,” Dub said, “but that doesn’t mean we like it. We just don’t want to be the ones causing a scene.”

  They were still angry that I had exposed Major's dealings and furious at what I had done to their pal Lee Roy. They continued to maintain their ignorance about the inner workings of Major's business and Lee Roy's thefts. I figured they thought letting me speak at the funeral would solidify their innocence with the community.

  The other McCuller siblings, a brother and two sisters who lived in Tennessee and Florida, were cordial and thanked me for being a friend to Aunt Helen and for continuing the traditions of The News-Item. They had clearly long since lost interest in the paper, if they had had any in the first place.

  One of my best encouragers during these days was young Katy. She was outraged at any hint of wrongdoing in the world and had recently latched onto the idea of being a crusader. She said the sweetest things about my courage and reminded me several times a week not to give up.

  “I’m praying for you,” she said once. “That you’ll have the strength to see this through and to keep working for good.”

  She was the most fascinating mix of grown-up and teenager, sometimes blowing me away with her wisdom and other times cracking me up with a silly discussion she was in at school. I hoped it might work out somewhere years down the line that Katy could own The News-Item. She was blossoming into a fine young woman and was going to make a magnificent journalist.

  My neighbor Chris called a couple of times to update me on Mannix's recovery and to see how I was doing. He was effusive in thanking me for helping Mannix, and I could tell he was worried about how things were going at the paper.

  “You be careful, okay?” he said.

  Others, like Rose, Linda, and the Taylors, never let more than a few days go by without checking on me.

  Kevin e-mailed every day and left numerous messages for me. “I am determined to cheer you up,” she said when I called her back. “Phone tag gets old quick. I’m taking you to supper tomorrow, like it or not.”

  She strolled into the country club as though she had been a member for life, gracefully walking over to our table. She definitely belonged.

  “Ready for a standing girls’ night out?” she asked, plopping her huge purse onto a spare chair. “Because you’re not leaving here without setting up dinner next month, restaurant of your choice.”

  “That's the kind of friend I love,” I said. “Plans the next meal before we’ve even ordered this one. No wonder my jeans are getting tight.”

  After the club's famous turtle cheesecake, Kevin rummaged in her purse and pulled out photographs of her neighborhood. “Look at this mess. I wish my favorite muckraker could do something about the Lakeside Annex.”

  I flipped through the photos. “These remind me of my first moments in Green. I nearly turned around and left town. But your cottage looks so cute. It brightens the entire block.”

  We parted with plans to meet again for supper and to work on Kevin's neighborhood.

  Even Pastor Jean called regularly and stopped by my house once in awhile. “I owe you big time,” she said, sitting on my porch one evening. “All your news distracted folks from the lady preacher. Now if you could just get them to tithe.”

  Her visit lifted my spirits considerably.

  “I’m better at what goes in the paper than what goes in the offering plate,” I said. “But I can assemble something on a dinner plate. Want a bite to eat?”

  The Green Forward group marched on without my presence at the meetings, pulling off a fun Saturday Oktoberfest. The high school band played, a civic club sold sausages on a stick, and churches organized games for children. Satisfaction rolled over me as I looked at the traffic outside my office window.

  I needed the reassurance. I spent most of my time meeting with civil attorneys and criminal prosecutors, bankers, insurance company representatives, and people from every agency from the IRS to the FBI.

  “Let's walk through this again,” the district attorney said during what had become a typical afternoon meeting. “When did you first suspect someone stole from the paper?”

  “She's told you this a dozen times already,” Walt said. He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. “We’ve been over this very thing every day for a week. Not to mention having the same conversation with the assistant U.S. attorney in Alexandria.”

  “You know the grand jury's looking into the allegations,” the D.A. said. “We’ve got malfeasance at the paper and Major's illegal activities. There's a lot riding on this.”

  “Let's get on with it,” I said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

  The IRS audit team showed up at the paper first thing one morning. “We’ll need to go over your books from the past three years for starters,” the agent said. “We’ll let you know if we need more.”

  “But most of those records have already been subpoenaed in the criminal cases,” Iris Jo said. “Can’t this wait until those are resolved?”

  “No ma’am, sure can’t,” one accountant said. “We must verify the accuracy of The News-Item's tax returns for the past few years. See if proper taxes were paid.”

  “You mean the paper might owe taxes on money that was stolen?” I asked. “I’d better get Walt on the phone.”

  The McCullers put out a statement defending their good name as the news unfolded. “We have a deep love and respect for The News-Item and the community of Green. We are shocked at the implication we would do anything illegal or unethical. Outsiders, with no regard for our beloved town, are trying to tear down years of positive work.”

  “Don’t let their statement get to you,” Walt said from his makeshift office in our boardroom. “The truth will be told. They know what they’ve done. And you have the respect of many people in this town—even if you are a newcomer.”

  All the distractions sidetracked our romance, but I found his presence comforting and relied heavily on his intellect and instincts to make key decisions.

  I sat down with him and Duke at the bank one morning soon after the IRS visit. “I need to talk about selling the paper,” I said. “This chaos threw me off course. To complicate it even more, Eva's interested in making an offer and needs an answer.”

  “Don’t do anything immediately,” Duke said. “Let the dust settle till the end of the year.”

  “You’re going to have a tough time closing on this deal with so much litigation pending,” Walt said. “Need to let the courts decide how much money you can recover from Lee Roy and maybe even Dub and Chuck.” Everyone in town knew about Lee Roy's arrest. Not only had we covered it in the paper, but also it was one of those topics people liked to stand around and talk about. “Absolutely,” Duke said. “Pay the interest on the line of credit and see what happens. Then you can renegotiate with the bank.”

  When I left the meeting, I walked directly over to the department store to see Eva. “Things are in too much of a mess to give you the answer you need,” I said. “The timing is not right.”

  She took it with grace and smiled. “Well, that settles it. Can I count on your support for mayor, ma’am?”

  “You have my vote.” I shook her hand firmly.

  Heading to the paper, I ran into Walt, “I’m still not sure I did the right thing,” I said. “I like Eva so much. She would make a fine newspaper publisher.”

  Before he could respond, I continued. “But maybe she can still buy the paper if she gets elected mayor. Green's small enough that the job is really more part time than full time. For heaven's sake, Mayor Oscar was a barber on the side.”

  “You did the best you could,” Walt said. “Quit worrying about it. It’ll work out.”

  One way or the other, I had not sold the paper. I also had left the Asheville paper hanging. “I halfway hope they will beg me to take the job,” I told Marti on the phone. “A
nd I halfway hope they’ll hire someone else.”

  I started taking walks in the evening, trying to sort things out in my mind. I needed fresh air and time to think.

  When I first moved out to Route 2, the pitch-black, country darkness scared me. Everything seemed so spooky. I half expected something to jump out of the bushes. Over the months, I became familiar with the road. I would take my flashlight and strike out. These walks were intended to be brisk aerobic exercise for my over-stressed body, but they wound up being strolls where I kicked rocks and enjoyed the stars.

  As Thanksgiving approached, something new seeped into my soul on these treks—peace.

  “Thanks for that, God,” I said, looking up at the night sky. “This is a little hard to believe, but I might actually get it. I get that you’re speaking to me through all of this. I really do need you in my life. It just took me awhile to figure that out. Thanks.”

  I couldn’t quite get over how people prayed for me, talked about depending on God, and were certain that God had important work for me to do. They didn’t preach at me. They just laid it out there for me to take.

  Sometimes I walked down toward Pastor Jean's church at night, stopping for a drink of water and a brief visit. “I’ve been thinking about my mother,” I said one night. “How much her faith meant to her. I’d climb out of bed in the mornings and climb into her lap. She’d be reading her Bible, always, every morning. She always went to church. Always gave thanks for the blessings God had given us.”

  I paused and looked at Jean, who sat patiently. “I’m not sure how this will play out, but I’ve got to try to pray something a little deeper than ‘help.’ And I’m ready to come back to church.”

  “We’ll be glad to have you, Lois.”

  One night as I set out from my house, Chris pulled up in his pickup with his three dogs, bringing a cake his mother had made me in appreciation for rescuing Mannix. I put it in the kitchen.