Gone to Green (Green (Abingdon Press))

by Judy Christie

  “Why not?” someone in the audience yelled, and a few people laughed.

  Many people applauded, and there was a hum in the room as people talked to those around them. Trying to keep people quiet, I introduced the guest speakers and moderated the question-and-answer period. I was impressed at how many people I could call by name as they raised their hands.

  When I had arrived in Green eleven months ago, I had thought it a fairly dull place without much going on. Now it seemed that every time I turned around I had something else to deal with. As I looked out at the crowd that night, I realized how even in small communities there was always some sort of drama playing out, the daily exchanges between friends and neighbors and the efforts of trying to change what might need changing and keep what was worth keeping.

  I took advantage of the gathering to invite people to participate in our Lakeside Annex cleanup and party day. “As most of you know, we’ve scheduled an event for the first Saturday in December—‘Green's Gift to Green.’ I hope you will come and help us make this a better place to live.”

  In the next week, groups kept calling, offering to do all sorts of useful things. I also had an unexpected visit from Kevin, who was so busy at her clinic that she seldom stopped by my office during the week. “I had some business I needed to take care of downtown and wondered if you might want to get some lunch,” she said.

  A weird déjà vu feeling hit me, as I remembered a similar conversation with Ed just over a year ago. “Sure,” I said, “What's up?”

  Just as Ed had done, Kevin put me off until we were seated at the catfish restaurant on the south side of town, a sure sign she wanted to talk more privately. “I’ve decided to buy some of the houses in the Lakeside Annex, and I need your help,” she said. “I’ve talked to your banker friend Duke, and he's good to go, but I need you to vouch for me with the bank's loan committee.”

  “No problem,” I said, thinking there was something wrong when the committee needed me, a newcomer, to vouch for someone who had grown up here, whose parents were community leaders and who probably made five times more money than I did.

  I looked up from the menu and smiled. “That's great. How many houses are you buying?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  I had expected her to say two or three. “Twenty-five? Excuse me, but did you say twenty-five?”

  “Yes, I said twenty-five, and, good Lord willing, that's only going to be the starting place.”

  I shook my head again. “Kevin, did you just tell me you’re buying twenty-five houses in the Lakeside Annex?”

  “Yes, Lois, I did. Now listen! I don’t have all day here. God has blessed me with a great upbringing and a wonderful medical practice. I make a good living, and I want to use it to help others. They’re not very expensive in the shape they’re in, and I’ve been in touch with one of the out-of-town owners. He's happy to unload them. I can get all of those for the price of one big fancy house on the lake.”

  “That's fantastic,” I said. “What an idea!”

  “This is an investment for me, too, and Daddy says he can help me manage them. These houses are bound to go up in value as the highway comes through and the lake continues to develop and as we fix up that area.”

  “Can I buy one?”

  “Sure, you can buy a half dozen if you want. I figure there are sixty houses in that neighborhood, and I intend for all of them to be owned by the current tenants or by me within the next ten years. Except for the ones you buy, of course.”

  “And I thought I was a goal-setter,” I said, picking at a hush puppy.

  “There's more. I’m working out a plan at the bank to help some of the tenants buy their houses on the lake, the ones by my folks’ house. Duke thinks we might be able to work this out as part of the mediation with Major Wilson's case. He says it's a certainty the Cypress Point development is dead and that Major needs to look for a way to buy some goodwill with the Feds and with some of his constituents. To top it off, apparently I’m not the only person of color who tried to buy a house in Mossy Bend and was turned down for no apparent reason. His whole real estate business could crumble if he can’t work this out.”

  “Not to mention he can still be prosecuted for violating the Civil Rights Act,” I said. Several times I had tried to talk Kevin into telling her story for the newspaper, but she had declined, getting firmer with each mention of it. I had even wanted her to look at houses in white neighborhoods and report on the reactions when she asked about buying something.

  “Not interested,” she had said. “I need to put my time and energy into something more productive.”

  Apparently she had.

  I walked around the table and gave her a hug, something I seemed to be doing everywhere these days. “You are one amazing woman,” I said, “and I am proud to have you as my friend.”

  “Right back at you,” she said, and we walked out grinning.

  God smiled on us on “Gift” day, and by now I was willing to admit it was God's doing.

  The weather was clear and cool, but not too cold to paint. The sky was as blue as I had ever seen it. Nearly a thousand people picked up litter, cleaned out yards for disabled and elderly people, and painted houses. About two hundred smoke detectors were installed and tested, with Tom keeping a careful list so we could follow up. The South Green Merchants Group happily agreed to participate, cooking hamburgers and hot dogs for volunteers and residents. During the middle of the afternoon, church buses and the nursing home van pulled up and took eighty-five children to the country club for their party.

  Kevin and I ran to Kevin's house, changed clothes and met them there.

  Katy, Molly, and Tammy dressed as elves. They had completely outdone themselves. There were two Santas, one black and one white, and the children climbed onto their laps, one right after the other. I wasn’t sure who the white Santa was, but I thought the other Santa looked like the pastor from the First Methodist Church. Our photographer volunteered to take pictures of the children to give to their parents, and Alex was his assistant, keeping track of names and addresses.

  High school girls painted dozens of faces with candy canes and Christmas trees and stars. The club had donated sugar cookies to decorate and had set up tables with icing and sprinkles for the project. They also had hooked up the sound system, and representatives from youth groups around town led karaoke-style singing of Christmas carols that was as tender and funny as anything I had ever seen.

  Just before it was time to load the kids up and take them home, I caught Kevin's eye and both of us started crying. If I live to be as old as Aunt Helen and with as full a life, I may never have a moment more abundant than with that group of excited children scrambling around the Oak Crest Country Club.

  The next morning I headed into Grace Community Chapel for my second worship service in a year. I would not have skipped church that day no matter how tired I was.

  During the time for prayers and praise, I slowly stood up, nervous but certain of what I needed to do. “I want to say thank you to God for bringing so many loving people together yesterday to help make Green a better place to live and for blessing me so richly with so many wonderful friends in my life.”

  “Amen,” several people said, and we bowed our heads to pray. When I looked up, Chris, sitting over on the side, caught my eye and winked.

  Right after church I threw a thank-you party at my house, inviting the people who helped get Green's Gift to Green going, my growing group of friends who were always ready to help. For so many years I had wanted my home to be open and available and the kind of place where people liked to gather. I had wasted enough time.

  Chris volunteered to fry a turkey for the occasion, a local tradition that I had not yet experienced. He also grilled chicken and sausage for what turned into a regular feast. I had insisted, apparently for naught, that everyone had worked hard enough already and did not need to bring anything. Homemade food, from Iris Jo's famous seven-layer dip to Tammy's coveted cream corn, pour
ed in. Tom, who I didn’t even know could cook, brought something called a tur-ducken, an odd combination of a turkey, duck, and chicken. Even Katy and Molly came in with a sack, giggling as they pulled out a large bag of Skittles, several packs of bubble gum, and a frozen pizza.

  I asked Pastor Jean to bless our meal and felt my heart swell again as I looked at the bowed heads around the room.

  Right as she was wrapping up her lovely prayer, the phone rang, but I ignored it. The room was totally quiet, and I was annoyed by the interruption.

  “Miss Barker,” a man's voice said on the answering machine, “this is Jim Mills, up in Shreveport. Get back to me as soon as you can. I have a good offer on your newspaper.”

  20

  The ladies auxiliary of Green United Methodist Church

  will hold a bake sale to raise funds for its mission project

  this year: a trip to south Louisiana to restock church

  pantries damaged by the recent storm. All canned goods

  and Cajun seasoning are needed.

  —The Green News-Item

  The possibility of making a lot of money on the paper excited me. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. But it was hard to enjoy the thought of wealth when most people in town were either peeved at me or terribly hurt.

  The day after the call I walked through the front door of the paper to be greeted by one of the looks Tammy was famous for. “Well, good morning to you, too,” I said, refusing to be bullied, and spoiling for a fight.

  “How could you?” she asked, following me into my office. “How could you plan to sell the paper and not tell us? We’re your friends, for heaven's sake.”

  That afternoon Katy came in with the same question and her old surly voice. I had forgotten how snide she could be.

  “How could you, Lois? How could you do this to the people who love you so much? I thought you cared about Green and about this paper and, and, and about me!”

  I finally quit trying to explain and simply apologized.

  “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings. I do care about you, but I’m not from Louisiana. I got this paper as a responsibility from my friend who died, and I had to come down here and take care of it. It's time for me to go.”

  That sounded hollow even to my ears, as though it had been a big drag. Nothing could be further from the truth. This year in Green had been a great experience. But I was not a small-town woman, nor a southerner.

  The news of the Sunday phone call flew around town faster than a story broadcast on cable news channels. Katy had run out of the house crying, Iris Jo had given me an “I thought I knew you better” look, and Chris had looked completely puzzled. Tammy grabbed her purse and left.

  Pastor Jean broke the ice slightly by saying, “Amen” loudly and starting the serving line. By the end of Sunday afternoon, I had explained myself so many times that I was hoarse—and I still felt ashamed. Many of the guests weirdly ignored it, almost as though that would make the call evaporate.

  “I guess I’m a little disappointed you didn’t mention it,” Chris said with a somber look on this face as he was helping clean up. “I thought we were … well, getting close.”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” I said. “This whole situation, this whole year … ”

  “Well, keep me posted,” he said, quickly loading his grilling gear and driving off.

  “Help,” I whispered after everyone had gone. “Lord, give me wisdom. Show me what to do.”

  A regional chain was willing to pay top dollar for the little Green News-Item. Our accounting problems had been cleared up, and we were making more money than I realized.

  The corporate buyers suggested we had potential to make more if we were managed better, which seemed fairly haughty but was probably true. They had other properties, as they called them, in the area and wanted to add The News-Item to their holdings.

  Everywhere I went that week I felt as though people were whispering and pointing, so I pretty much stuck to the house and the office. Of course, the newspaper wasn’t much of a refuge.

  Some people in town forgave. Rose, for example, hated to see me go, but was matter-of-fact. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” she said when I ducked into her shop.

  Linda took it much more personally. “I don’t like it one bit,” she said. “Seems sort of tricky to me. But it is a sure thing.” She had been through enough hard times to believe you don’t walk away from a sure thing.

  Eva was so wrapped up in her hotly contested mayor's race that she did not have much time to acknowledge the sale. “I’m a businesswoman,” she said. “I would have liked a shot at it, but you must have had a good reason for your decision.”

  Iris Jo also understood. “I remember the first day I spoke with you on the phone,” she said. “You had barely even heard of Green, Louisiana, and sure didn’t plan to move here. You’ve done a lot of good things in your short while here.”

  One thing I wanted to do was to get some things in place before the sale to help a few people. I had not seen Walt in a few weeks, and I invited him to my house for dinner, telling him to put me on the clock because I needed to ask him some business questions. I felt bad that I had not made more time for him because I did like him. I knew he had expected more out of our relationship, and I thought I had been rude.

  That night, while dinner was cooking, we sat in the porch swing, and I tried to decide how to open the conversation. We had not dated enough or gotten close enough for this to be a breaking-up speech. It was more of a clear-the-air talk.

  Finally, I swallowed hard and started. “Like most of the people I care about,” I said, “you deserve a great big apology.”

  He looked a bit taken aback and then laughed. “Oh, we’re the town martyr now, are we?”

  I looked more closely at him and realized he knew exactly what I was getting at. “Walt, you’re one of the nicest people I know. I love hanging out with you, and I don’t know what I would do without your legal advice. I am very sorry that something else didn’t develop between us.”

  “It still can,” he said.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said. The truth was I was leaving and had no interest in a long-distance romance. And somewhere deep inside me, I knew if I were to try to keep a relationship going, I wished it could be with Chris. He was in my thoughts far more than I cared to admit.

  Once I had my personal talk out of the way, I launched into my list of legal questions, eager to hear Walt's answers. “I need to know how much leeway I have in some staffing decisions. What kind of contract can we draw up to assure job security for a few people?”

  He wasn’t overly optimistic.

  “You’re just like some of my will clients who want to control things from the grave,” he said with a laugh. “It’ll only work if the buyers want the paper badly enough. Then we might have some clout. Let me do some research.”

  As he was leaving, he leaned over and hugged me for a long moment. “You’re a special person, Lois Barker,” he said. “It's my great pleasure to know you.”

  Just at that moment, Chris drove by on the way back from his catfish ponds, with his usual honk and a wave. He almost turned in, then seemed to realize I had company and went on. I had only seen him in passing since the day of the dreaded phone call. I had been gone a lot, including trips to Shreveport to work on the details of the sale and lots of time at the office. I knew from reading the sports pages that Chris was tied up, helping out with the basketball team. He had not stopped by. I was crushed.

  The next day Walt called, excited, saying he had found several precedents for what he called the “continuity arrangement” I wanted. He thought we could work it out.

  I immediately went to Iris Jo's desk, told her what I was trying to do, and asked if she would be willing to take over as business manager, handling Lee Roy's old duties, plus a handful of others. “I realize this is a little unconventional, since I’m leaving, but there's no one in the world more capable of keeping this plac
e going.”

  She balked at first. “Lois, I’m to blame for not catching all the malfeasance that was going on. And I’m not qualified for a job like that. Besides, the new owners will want their own person in place.”

  I countered every statement with one of my own.

  “Iris Jo, I’m begging you to at least consider the job. It will be good for you and for the paper. And I have a few more ideas, but I need you to help pull them off.”

  I had her attention. “We need to interview Linda and consider bringing her on to take your old job. She has lots of business experience, is a hard worker, and we know we can trust her with the paper's money.”

  Iris smiled. “Besides, it's a missionary act to get her away from Major,” she said.

  “I also want to bring Molly on as a part-time intern to help you and Linda and to learn more about the business. Watching her these past months, I suspect she has a head for business and needs a place to realize it. I am taking a risk, spending someone else's payroll money with no guarantee they will keep everyone on.” I swallowed hard. “But I have to try.”

  Maybe I had a guilty conscience, but I wanted to leave things in better shape than I had found them.

  My negotiations were punctuated by the last days of the mayoral campaign, an intense race that thankfully seemed to take people's minds off of my business dealings. Without having had a true mayoral election in decades, the race was something of a novelty. Louisiana had an ancient election law calling for Saturday elections, left over from the days when people from the country came into town for the day, and Election Day felt like some sort of holiday.

  Eva's opponent, a banker who worked with Duke, was a good man. But I happily pulled the lever for my friend, knowing she would do a great job. Our newspaper had endorsed her and took credit when she won, but it wasn’t because of the editorials. She had won by four votes, which we figured were mine, Tammy's, Iris Jo's, and Tom's.