Last in a Long Line of Rebels

by Lisa Lewis Tyre

  “Lily,” Daddy said, “Lou’s heart is in the right place. What she did is right. Something should have been done about Peeler a long time ago.” He picked a UT cap off the chair and pulled it down over his head. “And if Dave Norris calls back, you tell that no-account son of a gun if he ever yells at my wife again, he’ll be drinking his dinner through a straw!”

  “Here, here!” Bertie cheered.

  I put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

  Daddy kissed the top of Mama’s head and left. She sat down in the chair and put her head in her hands. “This family is going to be in the tabloids one of these days, I just know it.”

  Bertie laughed. “We can only hope!”

  The phone continued to ring all morning, until Mama finally unplugged it. I dressed for church in a hurry, and Bertie met me at the door holding her keys. She was dressed to the nines, wearing a bright pink suit, cream blouse, and pink high heels. When she’d suddenly announced she’d be coming, I took it as a sign she must be dying, but Mama said she was just interested in the gossip.

  Bertie parked and made a beeline for a group of ladies standing by the entrance. Several people were looking at us and whispering. Obviously they’d seen the news last night.

  Benzer, Patty, and Franklin were sitting on our regular pew up front. I sat next to Benzer, and Patty leaned across him to whisper, “I can’t believe you were on television last night!”

  Holding a hymnal in front of my face, I whispered back, “Forget that. I’ve got big news.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Benzer told us about the diary. But you were on TV!” The last was whispered loud enough to cause several people near us to turn and stare.

  Benzer pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. I could see it was the copy we’d made at the library. Patty took it from him and looked it over.

  A few minutes later, she handed it to Franklin. No one seemed to know what to make of it.

  I listened with half an ear as Pastor Brian started his sermon about some guy named Gideon. “What he wanted,” he said, “was a sign from God. He needed proof that what he was doing was what God wanted him to do, so he hung out his fleece.”

  I peered around the bouffant head of Marie Harbour. A sign? That would be great. I’d missed the part about what a fleece actually was, but maybe God would forget that bit.

  The song leader led us in a rousing rendition of “Just as I Am,” but I leaned my head on the back of the pew in front of me and prayed.

  “So, God, could you give me a sign, something, to let me know whether we should keep looking for the gold, or if we should just give up?” A tear came out of nowhere and threatened to multiply. “I would really hate it, God,” I whispered, “but if you want us out of that house, then I’ll go. Could you just make that sign obvious?” I opened one eye as everybody began gathering their belongings. “And quick,” I added. “Amen.”

  The gossip about Coach Peeler had put Bertie in such a fine mood that she offered to take us all to the Dairy Barn for ice cream. Franklin, Benzer, and Patty piled into the back of Bertie’s Corvair.

  Armed with milk shakes, we drove through the town square, all the windows down and the radio blaring.

  “I swear, Lou, you really set this town on fire last night. Whoo-whee!” Bertie yelled. “I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since Thelma Johnson’s dress got stuck in her pantyhose at the class reunion. It’s not easy to top a full moon!”

  Franklin laughed so hard milk shake came out his nose, which of course made the rest of us laugh hysterically. With my best friends in the car, and a peanut butter milk shake in hand, I was feeling pretty happy.

  A big truck was blocking our driveway, so Bertie parked across the street in the library parking lot. The five of us were laughing at something silly Patty had said when a loud whine split the air. Rushing forward, we made our way around the truck. Just in time to see an enormous limb of giant oak, the beautiful oak tree that had been outside my window every day of my life, come crashing to the ground.

  From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew

  August 1863

  My days are filled with physical labor I had no idea was possible. Last week, I pulled weeds from the garden till my hands bled. It reminded me of all the times I saw Molly with bandages wrapped around her fingers, and I was ashamed.

  I saw it all as if in slow motion: Mr. Rainey at the base of the oak holding a sputtering chain saw, his face red from exertion. His teenage helper stood on a cherry picker, wearing a Rainey Tree Service T-shirt and tying a thick rope around the next limb. I saw Mama leaning on the porch railing and sipping from a tall glass of iced tea. In the middle of it all, my tree was being sawed into pieces.

  “Stop it,” I yelled, throwing my milk shake on the ground and waving both arms. “What do y’all think you’re doing?”

  Mr. Rainey turned off the chain saw and smiled at me. He and Daddy have been friends for years. He’s a great joke teller, and most times I’m happy to see him. But not today.

  “Hey, there, Lou my girl! Look at you, wearing a dress.” He put the chain saw on the ground and, pulling a pouch from his front pocket, stuffed a wad of tobacco in his cheek.

  “Mr. Rainey,” I said, “I hate to tell you this, but you have made a big mistake. You are cutting down the wrong tree!” Mama came and put a hand on my shoulder, but I ignored her. “I don’t know who called you, but that tree is perfectly fine.”

  Mr. Rainey stared at us, a confused look on his face. “That’s strange. Your daddy and I worked out a deal. He hauled off some old cars for me, and I was to come over and get rid of this old oak. It is this oak, right?”

  Mama nodded. “It’s fine, Mr. Rainey. This is just taking Lou by surprise.”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “someone must have forgotten to tell me my favorite tree was about to be murdered!”

  “You go ahead with your work,” Bertie said, smiling at Mr. Rainey. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

  I didn’t budge. “There was no misunderstanding, Mr. Rainey. That’s my tree, and no one is cutting it down.”

  He turned and motioned for his helper to come down. “I guess you all need to sort this out. We’ll go ahead and take off for our lunch now.”

  “I’m sorry, Lou,” Bertie said, turning to me, “but that tree is dead as disco, and all you are doing is holding up the funeral.”

  I continued to stand there, getting madder by the second. For weeks I’d been worried about the house, running around like a fool trying to find gold among our mountain of junk, praying for a sign. Well, God had sure enough given me one now—a big, fat “get your behind out of town” sign, and all I could think about was how hateful Bertie was being about my tree.

  I reached down and picked up a small branch. “FYI, Bertie, dead trees don’t have leaves!” I yelled.

  “Lou,” Mama said, low and gently, “I know you’re upset, but that doesn’t give you the right to yell.”

  “Honey, surely you can see the danger,” Bertie said. “That tree, green leaves or not, has been coming down on our heads for months. I can’t sleep a wink for thinking it’s going to land on my pillow.”

  “Your daddy grew up with this tree too, Lou,” Mama said. “He wouldn’t allow this unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “Oh, just forget it,” I said, tears stinging the back of my eyes. “What does it matter if my tree gets killed? We’re going to be out on the street in a few days, anyway.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mama asked.

  “Mama! I’m not stupid.”

  Bertie tilted her head back, her features immediately softening. “You know about the house, do you?”

  “Yes, I do, and no thanks to anyone here. If I didn’t eavesdrop, I’d never know anything!”

  I flopped down on the grass and squeezed my eyes shut. The thought of moving was so painful, I could hardly breathe.

  Mama stood looking down at me. “Patty, will you take Benzer an
d Franklin in the house for some tea? We’ll be in in a minute.” She leaned down on one knee and somehow managed to sit on the ground beside me.

  Bertie hesitated briefly and then said, “Aw, heck. Why not?” Pink high heels and all, she sat on the grass next to us.

  I stretched my dress over my legs and stared up at the tree; only one large branch remained. “I just can’t believe it,” I said quietly.

  Mama rubbed my leg. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry that this is upsetting you. I was sure you were expecting the tree to come down. We’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

  “It’s not just the tree,” I said, my voice quivering. “It’s losing the house—it’s everything.”

  “We didn’t want to worry you about the house,” Mama said, picking up a strand of my hair. “Your daddy has been trying so hard to figure out a way. We felt sure something would come through.”

  I leaned back on the grass, resting my head on Mama’s shoulder. “Isn’t there a bank or something that could loan us the money for an attorney?”

  Bertie snorted. “Not with that Pete Winningham calling all the shots. He’s the major stockholder of the bank. Major Pain in the Butt is more like it.”

  “It won’t happen overnight,” Mama said. “We’ll make a counteroffer, try to stall. Hopefully we’ll get a fair deal out of the house. And it will take a while for all that to work itself out.”

  “Great,” I said, wiping my eyes. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  I stared up at my house. I tried to see it as just another structure, one with peeling paint on termite-scarred wood, but it was no use. It was my home, and to me, it was beautiful.

  Bertie shifted over until I was squeezed tightly between her and Mama. The two of them put their arms around me, and we sat quietly on the front lawn, leaning into each other.

  Finally, Bertie broke the silence. “Listen, no matter what happens, we’ll be fine, right? You don’t lose three husbands without being able to figure out how to land on your feet.”

  “Mother!”

  “Well, it’s true,” Bertie said with a sniff.

  “It may be true,” Mama said, “but no one is ever going to embroider it onto a pillow. Couldn’t you come up with something a little wiser than that?”

  Bertie hugged me harder. “Okay, how about this? Home is where the heart is, and as long as Mrs. Lily Mayhew, Miss Louise Mayhew, and”—she leaned down to talk to Mama’s tummy—“Master or Miss Soon-to-be-Named Mayhew are there, then I am home.”

  “That goes for me too,” Mama said.

  I hugged them back. “Okay. Me too, I guess.”

  “Now that that is settled,” Bertie said with a grin, “on to more pressing matters.”

  “Such as?” Mama asked.

  “For starters, how do you suppose we’re gonna get up?”

  “I’ll help,” I said, standing and holding out a hand to Bertie.

  With a quick heave, she was standing next to me, dusting off the back of her pink suit. We each held out a hand to Mama.

  She stood, wavered a moment, then immediately bent double.

  “Mama, are you okay?” I asked.

  She ignored me, still leaning over and rubbing her stomach. Suddenly, a huge gush of water exploded from between her legs, soaking the ground, her pants, and my shoes.

  “Gross!” I yelled, dancing out of the way.

  Mama turned to Bertie. “Mother, you’d better get the car.”

  “Stop squealing, Lou, and help me,” Bertie said, grabbing Mama’s arm. “Your mama is about to have this baby on the front lawn!”

  From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew

  September 1863

  The men have their schemes, but we are not without plans of our own.

  I yelled for everybody in the house, and after jumping around like grease in a hot pan, we were able to get Mama changed and seated in the front seat of the car.

  Mama leaned out the car window, calm and beautiful in the midst of the excitement. If not for the occasional grimace of pain, you’d have thought she was leaving for a quick drive to the Piggly Wiggly.

  She held my hand before taking off. “Get your daddy on the phone. Tell him to meet us at the hospital.”

  “Can I come, Mama, please?”

  She gave my arm a squeeze. “I wish you could, love, but the hospital says you have to be at least eighteen to be in the delivery room.”

  I frowned. “I miss everything.”

  Bertie started the car, and Mama let go of my hand.

  “Once the baby’s here, I’ll send somebody to get you. Big sisters can visit till nine.”

  They started down the driveway, with me, Benzer, Franklin, and Patty waving and following the car all the way down Flint Street.

  Benzer and I stared at the stump that used to be my oak tree. I’d changed from my dress to a comfortable pair of jeans. The portable phone was on the porch swing between us, ringing every few minutes with news from the hospital (Mom is fine, still no baby, the doctor says probably later tonight), relatives looking for an update, and more folks asking if that was me on TV last night.

  Aunt Sophie was as firmly planted at the hospital as kudzu, so Patty’s dad drove over from Sparta to pick Patty up. Franklin had caught a ride home with them, in part I’m sure, to miss seeing Rainey Tree Service, finally and forevermore, kill my tree.

  Benzer and I had watched it all, until the branches were sawdust and all that remained was the stump in the middle of the old roots, looking like a prehistoric spider rising from the soil. Now, hours later, the sun sat low in the sky, coating everything with a warm glow.

  I looked over at Benzer. “You really don’t have to stay.”

  “So you’ve said for the hundredth time. I told you, I’m not leaving.” He was still in his best pants, but had taken off his dress shirt and now sat in his tee. His dark hair fell across his eyes, and the sun had turned him a deep bronze.

  Benzer flipped through the diary. I’d shown him the chest and its secret compartment. “It’s pretty amazing,” he said. “I know we didn’t find the gold, but it was real.”

  I nodded. “It’s hard to believe.”

  Benzer nodded. “Are you going to show the diary to your parents?”

  “Eventually. I want to keep it to myself for a while.”

  “Listen to this. Dear Diary, It’s with great joy that I tell you I’ve received a letter from Walter. It’s a testament to his character that amidst this conflict, his chief concern was my welfare. The date is around the same time as the letter you found.”

  I moved to sit next to him. “Keep reading.”

  “The death of Brody and the subsequent revelations have changed us all in so many ways. My recent endeavors and his support of them are proof enough of that. I will heed his word of caution, for danger is everywhere.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Benzer shook his head. “I don’t know. But if it was dangerous, they probably wouldn’t want to spell it out for people.”

  “Just another Mayhew mystery,” I said. A butterfly landed on the tree stump. I tried to look away, but couldn’t—it was like the gap in my mouth when I lose a tooth, where my tongue keeps checking to see if it’s really gone.

  “I’m feeling better,” I lied, as if saying it would make it true, “much better already. Moving might be fun.”

  Benzer raised his eyebrows. “I guess if you’re losing the house, there’s no need to go to church anymore.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but to tell you the truth, I’ve kinda enjoyed it.” I looked over at him.

  He shrugged. “I have too. It was nice to fit in for a change.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  He seemed to struggle for the right word, and I watched, amazed, as his face turned red. “It’s hard being different all of the time. I’m already Italian and a Yankee. Do I have to go to a Catholic church sixty miles away too? I just wanted to see how it felt to be part of the town for a while.”

&
nbsp; I was going to ask him to explain more, but Isaac pulled into the driveway. Benzer and I waved him up onto the porch.

  “Why are you so dressed up?” I asked.

  “Church. They had a get-together this afternoon to hear about my tryout.”

  “Were they disappointed that you didn’t get offered a scholarship?” Benzer asked.

  “Sorta, but mainly everyone was talking about Lou.”

  “Oh. You mean about the interview?”

  “Yes, the interview. What do you think?” Isaac laughed. “I swear, the whole town heard what you said to that reporter last night.”

  “Man, I can’t believe I missed it,” Benzer said. “What did she say?”

  “A lot of good stuff about me and some really bad stuff about Coach.” Isaac gave me a quick high five. “Thanks, Lou. Really. That was cool.”

  Embarrassed, I played with a stray vine on the railing. “Yeah, well. I have a feeling I’ll be flunking PE when I get to high school.”

  Isaac laughed again. “Probably. But the good news is our phone’s been ringing all day with questions about my statistics, and about whether I’ve decided on a college yet.”

  Benzer and I both stood straight up.

  “That’s awesome,” Benzer said, a huge grin splitting his face.

  Isaac smiled. “It’s been a pretty good day.”

  “So where are you going to go?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe MTSU or Tennessee Tech.”

  I slumped.

  Isaac looked at me. “Lou, it’s not the end of the world—at least that’s what I’ve been told. I guess not every dream comes true.” He walked back down the steps to the yard.

  We followed him. “Isaac, we want season tickets to wherever you go,” Benzer said.

  “Sure,” Isaac said. “You’ll be first on the list.” He stopped in the middle of the lawn and ran a hand across the oak stump. “It’s a shame about your tree, Lou. I know how much you loved it.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, thanks.”

  He bent down; a small twig lay at his feet, its lifeless leaves turned inside out. As he held the twig up to the sky, the leaves took on the orange tone of the sun. Suddenly, in a deep baritone Isaac sang,