Crayons and Angels

by Rita Kano

  Taken by surprise, Shirley’s arms stuck out like a cornhusk doll, then, slowly, she folded them around Nash. The embrace, although of short duration, encompassed years of loneliness. When Nash pushed away and opened a space between their bodies, tears rolled down his face.

  “Sable never liked it when I hid my tears. But I always did… until now. Being a man ain’t the benefit most women think. A man’s muscles ain’t nearly as strong as a woman’s heart… especially a heart like yours, Miss Shirley.”

  Shirley looked as if she had fallen into someone else’s dream and was trying to wake up. The pause of her senses unlocked another door.

  Nash tilted his head and moved very slowly down until his lips touched hers.

  Shirley’s eyes remained open and her lips unyielding, until the soft, warm blanket of Nash Britt’s passion, closed her eyes to anything and everything that might go wrong.

  The kiss ended and they stared at each other. No word. No smile. Both clung to a spring green twig dangling over muddy ground… perfectly matched. And then, as if nothing had happened, Nash returned to the kitchen and Shirley to the couch.

  After five minutes of cricket chorus, Nash called out from the kitchen. “Everything’s under control in here. There’s nothing to do but wait and stir the pot now and then to keep the dumplings from sticking to the bottom. Hope you’re powerful hungry, pretty lady.”

  “I am. Can’t wait. Nash… about these symbols, I think a trip to the library is what I need to do next. To see if what we think they mean is right and why they were put together the way they are.”

  “Might not need to go to the library,” Nash passed through the doorway and walked over to a bookshelf. “Glory wasn’t the only girl in the family who took a liking to Indian boys. Martha Ann does too. There’s a pile of books right here about Indians and Indian symbols. Slipped my mind until this very second. Never looked at them myself. Come over here. Let’s see what that granddaughter of mine found so interesting.”

  Shirley stood beside Nash, pulling out the books one by one and flipping through. Now and then their arms brushed the other. Shirley’s hands trembled. If Nash noticed, he didn’t let on.

  “Here I thought Martha Ann was spending time reading, when it seems she just liked looking at Indians,” said Nash. “These books are mostly full of pictures… old pictures, from way back when.”

  Shirley and Nash landed in the same spot at the same time.

  “You don’t think…” Nash started the thought.

  “That Martha Ann knew something we don’t,” finished Shirley.

  Nash nodded, “We don’t give our kids enough credit. At least, me, anyway.”

  “Neither have I. I’m starting to think maybe we’re getting help from more than one…” Shirley hesitated. “I mean … never mind.”

  “Go ahead, Miss Shirley. This ain’t no time for pretending. What you started to say is that we’re getting help from more than one ghost. And Martha Ann is one of them. Ain’t that right? Is that what your head’s telling you?”

  “Nash… Nash, I…”

  “Look! This is it.” Nash jumped off the track before the train of supposes and what if’s hit head on. “As I recollect, this is the book Martha Ann wanted me to look at one night. But, I was watching TV and didn’t care to be bothered. See?”

  Shirley took the book. “The symbols,” she said as Nash followed her to the couch. “They’re all here… and their meanings.”

  The book explained that the diamond shape stands for ‘the wind gave our children life’.

  The four-pointed star represents the resurrection of heroes of the past.

  And the Thunderbird, a powerful spirit in the form of a bird, is a Sioux symbol for the guardian of truth, who kills liars with lightning bolts and creates thunder with the beating of his wings.

  “So, what do they mean put together?” asked Nash. “And why are they scratched into Miss Sadie’s tombstone?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Shirley. “But nobody takes the time to etch symbols into a gravestone unless it’s important… life and death important. A woman…” she snatched out of thin air.

  “What?” said Nash.

  “It’s men who do the killing. It’s women who give birth… and feel the pain of another mother losing her child.”

  “The Indian boy’s mother? You think his mother put the markings there?”

  Shirley stared up at the blank ceiling writing words with the ink of dust and shadows. “Yes. Sadie Redding died before her. Glory’s mother was her last link… her last hope for atonement and an end to the feud in her time. When that didn’t happen and it looked like it wasn’t going to happen, she scratched a message to the future… to us… for us, Nash. These symbols are unmatched in depth and power. They can cause a shift in consciousness and create openings.”

  “Openings…” Nash repeated. “Like, you mean… you mean to release a trapped spirit?”

  “Exactly…” said Shirley with a fresh sparkle. “These three symbols placed on the spot where innocent blood was shed… placed by the hand of Glory’s blood, will be a prayer for forgiveness and restore honor to a lost soul and all the generations of his family.”

  Only sheer will held Nash and Shirley up on their feet as the message became clear.

  The thunderbird guarded the truth. The liars who murdered in cold blood had to be exposed. Once that was accomplished, the diamond representing the wind would breathe life back to the children of both families… alive and dead. And the four-pointed star would resurrect the young Indian brave as a hero and release his earthbound spirit.

  “Do you know what this means, Nash?”

  “It means we have a lot of work to do,” he answered.

  “That and… and the angels you see… Nash, they aren’t angels at all. I mean… in the true sense of the word. They’re ghosts. Earthbound. Trapped. Just like the young Indian.”

  Nash closed the book and reached for Shirley’s hand. “I think we both need a break. Suppers ready, but would you like to go for a short walk first?”

  “A walk will be perfect. Besides… chicken and dumplings are better after they sit a while.”

  Shirley and Nash walked in the direction of the Lovett house. The sun hung behind treetops, casting long, wavering shadows.

  Nash’s destination turned out to be the graveyard. He stopped in front of the wrought iron gate.

  “Would you like to see Sable’s grave?”

  “Yes.” Shirley answered. “I would.”

  Nash’s dear wife, Sable, lay underground on the left side of a double tombstone; a beautiful stone; rivaling any Shirley had ever seen. There were delicate etchings of doves and angels and two hands clasped. On the right side Nash’s name had already been engraved … waiting for the date no one yet knew.

  Nash drew a breath of thick sweet country air and sweeter memories of Sable.

  Shirley had no doubt he loved her deeply.

  “I never thought I’d feel so close to my dear Sable standing beside another woman,” he said. “Standing beside you, Shirley. I always thought I’d feel like I was cheating on her. But, it don’t feel like that at all.”

  “What does it feel like, Nash?”

  “I’m not sure I should say. It might sound a bit strange.”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” said Shirley.

  Nash laughed. However, the flit of levity quickly sank into his heart with an unexpected realization.

  “I feel like she brought you here.” He reached for Shirley’s hand and waited for her to close the distance. And she did. “I can’t say I’ve been waiting for this, pretty lady. Didn’t see it ever happening, again. Didn’t know it could, until that day Lizzie brought you here to me. I think that of itself was a sign… meeting at the grave of my precious Sable. But there I go talking too far ahead, again.” He squeezed Shirley’s hand. “You know all this has to wait.”

  “I know,” said Shirley. “We have a tree to find.”

&nbs
p; Chapter 14

  Hangings and Hanging Trees

  Shirley put her fork down and leaned back from the table. “Well, Mr. Britt, that was, by far, the best chicken and dumplings I’ve ever had. You’ve got to give me your recipe or invite me back real soon.”

  “How about next Sunday? My chicken and pastry is just as good. Your choice.”

  “Surprise me,” answered Shirley. “But it’ll have to be a week from this Sunday if that’s good with you.”

  “Sure. So, what’s next? Any ideas?”

  Shirley propped her elbows on the table and entwined her fingers. “I think you need to talk to everyone living in this area who might remember hearing about an Indian being hung for stealing a horse. I suggest you don’t bring up Martha Ann’s disappearance. They’ll just clam up. If you focus on an Indian being hung… well, there’s enough racial prejudice still out there that someone might open up about a once upon a time story their grandma or grandpa told. As for me, I’m going to check the library for articles about hangings and known hanging trees before the turn of the century.”

  “Talkin’ can’t do no harm. I’ll do my best. But, to be honest, I think the creek’s about dry,” commented Nash.

  Worry lines etched Shirley’s forehead. “I should be going now. I’ll call you if I come up with anything. And if you’ll do the same…”

  Nash nodded.

  “…otherwise, I’ll see you Sunday next.”

  “Twelve noon.”

  “Sharp,” replied Shirley.

  A week and two days later, Shirley knocked on Nash’s door full of anticipation for an excellent meal, but otherwise empty-handed. The town of Purity had put an airtight seal on the hanging of an Indian, anytime, anywhere. Shirley had not received a call from Nash, either.

  When no immediate answer came, Shirley knocked again. On the third try, as she retraced her last conversation with Nash for a misunderstanding on the day or time, the door opened.

  “Why Miss Foster… this is a nice surprise.” Nash spoke in business-like monotone.

  As Shirley contemplated his stand offish demeanor, he opened the door wider, “Please, come in.”

  Seeing Nash’s son-in-law, Joe, sitting on the couch, Shirley followed Nash’s cue.

  “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping by, Mr. Britt. I was out for a Sunday drive, found myself in the area and thought I’d check to see if Martha Ann had…”

  Joe interrupted with a smirk and a click of his tongue. “If you two only gave me the sense of a mule I’d still know what’s going on here.” He leapt up from the sofa and stormed toward the door, where he abruptly stopped. “It’s Arlene you need to worry about, not me. As it is, she’s only got suspicions about you two and I been trying my best to help you out by keeping her pinfeathers smoothed down. If she gets a whiff of any more than what she’s already got, she’ll make all our lives miserable.” Joe slammed the door behind him.

  Nash posed a whop-sided smile. “Guess I ain’t as clever as I once was.”

  “Why do you need to be?” Shirley tilted her head and looked at Nash with the innocent inquisitiveness of a puppy.

  Nash approached Shirley slowly and placed his hands around her upper arms. “Miss Shirley,” he said, “I have nothing to hide in regard to my feelings, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s the timing. That’s all it is. Arlene can kick and scream all she wants when all this is over. It ain’t like she’s ever happy, anyway. But, until we’ve done what we’ve got to do, it’d be best if she don’t know my personal business.” Nash touched Shirley’s right cheek with his fingertips and then ran fingers through her hair.

  Shirley closed her eyes and breathed in the air of dreams magically turning into reality. She waited to feel Nash’s lips on hers; instead he pressed a kiss against her forehead and took her hand into his.

  “Pastry don’t keep like dumplings, tends to swell and get mushy. Let’s eat. I’m glad you came prepared. I can hear your stomach growling.”

  Shirley’s stomach wasn’t the only empty part of her body. A heart long denied its cravings pounded with eager anticipation for more intangible delicacies.

  Throughout the lunch meal, Shirley praised the chicken and pastry to the point some people might think her words covered a truer meaning, but she couldn’t restrain her overabundance of compliments, being a poor cook herself. Then, she spoke the words Nash already knew. The whereabouts of the hanging tree remained a mystery to her. Nash confirmed his efforts had been unsuccessful, also.

  “Is that it?” asked Nash. His fork clunked onto his plate. “It can’t end this way. There’s got to be something else we can do.”

  “There is,” said Shirley. “The symbols are the key. I think I know what has to be done to end the disappearances.”

  “What good are the symbols without finding the tree?”

  “Maybe nothing. I can’t be sure and I’m really hoping you can help. Something’s been burning a hole in my brain that only you can set straight.”

  “Okay. Shoot,” said Nash.

  “You believe you saw an angel at the graveyard. Don’t you think that means something?”

  “Could mean I’m crazy.”

  “Could mean we both are … or as strange as it sounds, we’ve got help on the other side. As I see it, the only way there’s going to be a bad ending to this is if we give up, which I don’t intend to do.”

  “You’re an amazing lady,” said Nash.

  “I’m nothing of the sort,” replied Shirley. “And it makes me uncomfortable when you talk that way.”

  “That’s too bad,” replied Nash. “But, I reckon angels never know they’re angels.”

  Shirley blushed, knowing she could live long and happy with a man like Nash Britt.

  Nash winked and got back to business. “What’s my part in this? Tell me what I need to do.”

  “We’re going to need a headstone. No, no, on second thought… a plaque. A plaque would be better. Not too big, not too heavy. Something sturdy and long lasting that we can carry ourselves, to hang from the tree. We engrave the plaque with the same symbols on Sadie Redding’s tombstone and this…” Shirley pulled a paper from her skirt pocket and handed it to Nash, “will be etched on it, too.”

  Nash considered the note and returned a weak, “Okay.”

  “All right then,” said Shirley with a smile that wandered from her intentions.

  “Is that all?” asked Nash. “You think that’s all it’s going to take?”

  “We’ll have to wait for time to answer that question. If you want to do more than waiting, it won’t hurt to cross your fingers.”

  “That ain’t much.”

  “Nash… I…” Shirley sighed. “There is something more. The truth is… I think I do know what needs to be done other than finding the tree. This town committed a horrendous crime. And even though no one who took part in it is still alive, the killers’ blood still runs in the town’s veins. And… and I really don’t want to say this out loud, Nash, but…”

  “Then, I’ll say it for you. Purity… the town of Purity owes the atonement. The whole darn town has to pay for the wrong that was done. Is that what you don’t want to say?”

  “Yes. That’s what I think is expected. So, I’m thinking that if I could get an article into the Purity Post…”

  Nash interrupted. “An article in the Purity Post about this? Miss Shirley, overlooking the fact that you’re chipping at a rock with a toothpick, just how would you go about bringing something like that to pass? There ain’t anyone but us looking for Martha Ann. There weren’t even one sentence in the newspaper about her going missing. The whole town’s closed their eyes to it. Nobody cares. All they see from their safe, warm beds is that it’s happening to some other folks and not them. That’s all that matters. But if Martha Ann’s body was found, then… then there’d be a story splashed all over the front page. Then, everybody would put on their Sunday clothes and come pulling up the road with a cloud of dust to pay their respects, with
a bowl of Seven-Up Jell-O in their laps. Bunch of cowardly hypocrites, that’s what makes up the most part of this town. You’re wasting your time even thinking about getting a story into the Purity Post.”

  “You have every right to be angry, Nash. I’m angry, too. But I believe there’s a path to everyone’s heart. You just have to dig and shovel some dirt to find it.”

  “It ain’t just anyone’s heart you have to get to, Shirley. If you want something in the Purity Post, you have to get to Dish Townsend’s heart. And I won’t place any bets on that. I went to school with him. In all the years I knew him, he hardly spoke six words. You can’t get to a heart if you don’t know what it’s made of. There ain’t no way you’ll get anywhere with Dish.”

  “You may be… probably are right, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. I won’t give up on Martha Ann or Lizzie.”

  Nash walked around the table and stood behind Shirley. He placed his hands on the two knobs of the chair’s back. “And I ain’t wanting you to give up. There just…” Nash squeezed her shoulders, “there just don’t seem to be nothing but short straws in our fist.”

  Shirley placed her hands on top of Nash’s and pressed them against her cheeks.

  “I ain’t never known a woman like you,” he whispered.

  Shirley stood up and fell into the embrace of his eyes. As she trembled on the precipice of simmering desires, Nash leaned toward her tenderly closing the opportunity to escape. She pulled back, “Nash… I’ve got to be going. I do my best thinking alone.”

  Nash stepped away. “Sure. Sure, little lady. Okay. But can you leave me with something to hang onto? Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

  “Sorry, no… not yet, anyway. I’m going to talk it over with Grandma, get a good night’s sleep and then we’ll see.”

  “Grandma? You got family? I thought you said…”

  “No. No, I don’t have any living family. Grandma is what I call Miss Bessie’s cat.”

  “Miss Bessie’s cat? What in the world are you doing with…?”

  “Never mind that. It’s a long story, better saved for another time.”