Except a parent who could protect him from life’s ugly side.
Who could attend his school events and cheer him on.
Who could hug him sometimes and kiss him sometimes and tell him he was special.
Who knew how to love.
“Channing! Time to go!”
Miss Bertie’s voice echoed up the stairs. Chan checked his watch.
Indeed, it was time to go.
To the place he once called home.
But the truth was, it wasn’t home.
It stopped being home when that tractor rolled over.
And the sooner he closed out his father’s affairs, the sooner it would be behind him for good.
SEVENTY-TWO
Chan gave Miss Bertie a ten-minute head start to make sure everything was in place. Ryan wanted to ride with her, but she insisted on going alone.
Sensing the gravity of the situation, the kids remained quiet as they approached the area of Saxon County known as the Bottoms. There was a time when the Bottoms was covered by the Mississippi or another long-gone river. Time and Mother Nature caused a change of course, leaving behind thousands of acres of prime farmland. Barring drought or flooding, some of the best corn and soybeans in the world were grown there. Typical for Missouri, however, droughts and floods seemed to always be in a three-year rotation with the kind of weather needed for robust crops, making it difficult for farmers to get ahead.
Cresting a hill, Chan got his first glimpse of Grebey Island. From a distance, it looked unchanged.
“What’s over there?” Lani, sitting in the front seat, followed his gaze to the island’s southernmost point.
“The farm where I grew up.”
Ryan scooted as far ahead as the seat belt would allow. The Explorer was descending into the Bottoms, but the island was still visible.
“Where?” he asked.
“The white house over there,” Chan pointed to a spot in the distance. The kids craned their necks to see. Five minutes later the county road narrowed and signs appeared.
“One-Lane Bridge.”
“County Maintenance Ends.”
“Road Impassible During High Water.”
“Deer Crossing.”
And then, there it was - the rickety wooden bridge.
“Is this the Mississippi River?” Lani asked.
“I thought it would be bigger,” Ryan said.
“This is Grebey Creek. The Mississippi is on the other side of the island.”
The popping and cracking of old planks accompanied their crossing.
“Is this bridge safe?” Lani, always practical.
“The bed is made of wood but everything underneath is steel. Built in 1917 and still good today... I hope.”
On the island, the road switched from blacktop to gravel. At a fork in the road, Chan turned to the north, away from the house. An approaching sedan pulled over. An African-American man, well up in age, got out.
“Who’s that?” Ryan asked.
“No idea,” Chan said as he slowed and lowered his window.
“Can I help you?” Chan asked.
“Just paying my respects, Mr. Manning. Sorry about your daddy’s passing.”
“Thank you, Mr...”
“My name’s Stanley. Harvester Stanley.”
SEVENTY-THREE
The name was familiar.
“Well... thank you, Mr. Stanley.”
The man bowed slightly. “You folks continue on down to the cemetery. The others are already there. God bless.”
Others?
Chan shrugged and raised the window.
This area of the island was verdant, overgrown in grass and trees. At the cemetery’s entrance, a dozen cars and pick-ups lined the narrow road. Five people stood by the roadside, three men with their caps removed and two women, African American.
Chan nodded as he drove through the cemetery’s rusted archway. Another ten cars were parked in a small clearing where a church had stood decades before. In the distance, beside an open grave, several dozen people awaited his arrival. Most were African American.
Miss Bertie met Chan as they arrived. A solidly-built middle-aged man was with her. Chan cautiously eyed the gathering.
“Miss Bertie, who are those people?”
“Friends of your father, Channing.”
“But, how? Daddy never...”
“I’ll explain later. It’s ten o’clock. Most of these kind folks have to get to work.” Nodding to the man accompanying her, Miss Bertie said, “this is Pastor Duke Windsor.”
“Hey Chan,” his voice was deep, gravelly, and all Texas cowboy.
“Pastor,” Chan said as they shook hands.
“Call me Duke, man. Those two behind you must be Lani and Ryan. Hey guys.”
Though not as large as Chan, Duke was still a big man. His deep baritone made him seem even larger.
“Follow me. We’ve got seats for you.”
Ryan grabbed his father’s hand as they made their way to the graveside. Lani followed with Miss Bertie. Three wooden folding chairs were waiting in front of a simple pine casket. Chan took the middle seat, with the children on each side. Miss Bertie stood behind them, her hand on Chan’s shoulder.
The service was simple. The cowboy preacher was a gifted speaker. As he spoke of life, death, and heaven, mourners offered the occasional ‘amen’. Chan found himself drawn into Duke’s description of farm life and the challenges of making a living from the land. The pastor knew of what he spoke, sharing stories of his childhood as a cattle rancher’s son in West Texas.
“I’m not sure any of you know, but two years ago, during a visit with Earl at his kitchen table, he opened his heart to me.”
Chan looked up quickly; his surprise didn’t go unnoticed.
“Yeah Chan,” Duke said in his slow drawl. “Your daddy talked about a lot of things that day, but mostly he talked about two relationships he hadn’t gotten right. The first was with his Heavenly Father, and I think you know who the second was.”
Chan shook his head in disbelief.
“He told me how he lost his son during a long period in his life when he himself was lost. He described himself as a terrible father who had only been able to tell one person in the world he loved them. When that person wasn’t around anymore, his world changed in ways he could never have anticipated.
“And Chan, he knew that you turned out well despite the mess he made of your childhood.”
Miss Bertie squeezed his shoulder.
“We talked about you, Chan. ‘Make contact with him,’ I said, but he couldn’t. Too much had happened, he said; things he didn’t feel you could ever forgive him for.
“But it was just a few days later that I got a call from Earl. He wanted to see me again.”
Duke smiled broadly.
“I came back out to Grebey Island and sat at that same kitchen table. Earl had an old worn-out leather Bible; he said it had been his son’s, a gift from an old schoolteacher who taught you right here on the island. You remember that, Chan?”
Duke reached into a duffel bag and pulled out the old Bible. Chan recognized it immediately.
“It was through reading this Bible,” Duke said, “that your Daddy accepted Jesus Christ into his life.” Duke continued, speaking to the entire group.
“We know what that means, don’t we?”
The enthusiastic response included several hallelujahs and light applause.
“It means your Daddy’s story ain’t over.”
Duke waited until the mourners’ enthused response subsided.
“So Chan, I’m honored to give you, or maybe I should say return to you, this beautiful old Bible.”
The pastor reached out to hand him the Bible, then paused.
“I almost forgot, there was a note marked in here with a church bulletin from the Trowbridge African Methodist Episcopal Church.” Duke squinted at the bulletin, then continued.
“The date is May 24, almost thirty years ago. It says, ‘To My L
ast Student, Channing Earl Manning, from your first teacher, Vance Meekins. Never forget the lessons we learned together.’”
Little things emerged from memory. Mr. Meekins’ unique smell, his tan suits, his sad eyes when they said goodbye.
“The scripture verse he shared is one of my favorites, Jeremiah 29:11,” Duke continued. “It was also Earl Manning’s favorite, and, if you folks will allow me, I’d like to read it.
“‘I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you.’”
Chan found himself reciting the words aloud. When Pastor Duke paused, Chan continued, “Plans to give you hope, and a future.”
Remembering Mr. Meekins’ words of encouragement, he continued, “It means that God knows what he has planned for you in the future, and that His plans for you are good.”
Duke smiled, nodding for Chan to continue.
“If you trust the Lord he will make sure things end well for you, and that’s the most important thing.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends of Earl Manning,” Duke said enthusiastically as he raised his hands. “The benediction has been delivered by Chan Manning,
“Earl Manning has gone home.
“And his son has come home.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
They filed past, shaking hands and offering soft-spoken condolences. Some patted Ryan and Lani on the head; a few bent close and spoke quiet words that Chan was unable to hear. Neither seemed uncomfortable with the attention. Their behavior in a difficult setting made him proud.
When the last mourners had moved past, Chan remained seated, taking in the surroundings where his father was being laid to rest while he worked at processing everything.
Daddy had gotten religious?
He regretted the type of father he had been?
And the people. Where did they come from?
Why were they here?
And what was their connection to Earl Manning?
“Chan, is there anything else I can do for you?”
Toby Harmon’s attire of jeans and a t-shirt confused Chan for a moment, until he realized that the mortician would be filling in the grave himself. His backhoe was parked behind a nearby grove of sycamore trees.
“No, Toby. I appreciate the care you took in preparing everything.”
“I’m honored, Chan. Your father was a man who went out of his way to help others.”
What?
Went out of his way?
Helped others?
His list of questions was growing, and, before he left Saxon County, Chan planned to find out what had happened in the time since he left. Taking Ryan’s and Lani’s hands, he made his way to the car. Miss Bertie was close by, with Duke Windsor and the older man who had greeted them on the roadside, Harvester Stanley.
“Duke, a lot of what you said took me by surprise.”
“Well, maybe I can help shed some light on things,” Harvester Stanley stepped forward, offering his hand. “You might say that your daddy and I had a pretty special relationship.”
“Chan,” Miss Bertie said. “Have you and Professor Stanley been introduced?”
Professor Stanley?
“Yes ma’am we met earlier.”
There was a distinguished air about Professor Harvester Stanley that belied his simple dress and calloused hands. Obviously, he was no stranger to physical labor. He wore a pale yellow shirt neatly tucked into brown dress slacks. His gray hair and bushy eyebrows crowned a face that, while worn with age, bore a look of success and prosperity that Harvester hadn’t noticed before.
“I’d like to hear anything you can tell me, Professor,” Chan said.
“It’ll be my pleasure. Why don’t you join me for lunch? My home is nearby. A light meal is ready and waiting.”
The thought of lunch made Chan’s stomach growl. “I’d enjoy that. May I bring my children?”
“You go ahead, Channing,” Miss Bertie said. “The kids and I are going to McDonalds. We decided last night.” Lani and Ryan nodded enthusiastically.
“Okay then,” Chan said. “Professor, lead the way.”
“My car is over there,” Harvester replied. “Duke, care to join us?”
“I can’t, Professor, but thanks anyway. I’ve got a counseling session with Lindy Harper and her fiancée.”
“Oh my goodness,” Miss Bertie said. “Does that boy know what he’s getting?”
“What do you mean, Bertie?”
“He’s from up near Kirksville. Does he know that Lindy used to...” Miss Bertie’s voice trailed off when she saw Duke’s raised brow.
“Something you want to say, Bertie?” Duke asked mischievously. “Or has the Lord got your tongue?”
Miss Bertie twice attempted a response before giving up.
“Let’s go to McDonalds, kids!”
The three men watched while Miss Bertie loaded Lani and Ryan into her car and pulled out of the grassy lot. They were gone a couple moments when an Adair city police car pulled in. The driver, a young man with a military haircut sauntered over. His partner, a slender late-twenties blonde with her hair pulled back, followed.
“Which of you is Channing Earl Manning?” the male officer said sharply.
“Well Darrell,” Duke said slowly. “Since you already know who I am and you probably know who Professor Stanley is, I’m guessing you can figure out which of us is Mr. Manning.”
Chan stayed on guard, certain as to why the cops were here.
“Channing Earl Manning,” the male officer said brusquely, “I’m Officer Darrell Eskridge and this is Officer Melissa Powter. We’re with the Adair Police Department.”
Eskridge allowed his words to sink in.
“It’s my duty to place you under arrest for felony assault against one Richard Smoot, Jr. You can come with us peacefully,” the officer lightly touched the revolver holstered on his hip, “or we can do this the hard way.”
“What’s this about?” Harvester seemed appalled by what was happening. “We just buried this man’s father.”
“It’s okay, Professor Stanley,” Chan said quietly. “I had a little altercation in town yesterday.”
“I heard about that,” Duke said testily, moving closer to the cocky officer. “Darrell, did Ricky tell you he was beating up a thirteen-year-old kid, and that he shoved Miss Bertie when she tried to stop him?”
“Step out of the way, Preacher. I’ll let you know if I need to be prayed for. Until then, don’t get in the middle of police business.”
Preacher and cop were nose-to-nose when Officer Powter stepped in.
“Mr. Manning, if you’ll just come with us I think we can make this go a lot easier.”
Chan turned and leaned face-first against his Ford Explorer, spreading his legs and arms. Officer Powter gently moved his arms into position and handcuffed him.
“Frisk him Melissa,” Eskridge said loudly. “He may be armed. You can’t trust people like him.”
“What do you mean, like him? Chan snapped over his shoulder.
“Watch it, Darrell. I’m still the senior officer of this team.” As Officer Powter guided Chan to the squad car, she spoke to Duke and Professor Stanley.
“Mr. Manning will be processed and placed in a cell until bail is set. Duke, I’ll call you when that’s done.”
“Thanks Melissa. Make sure Darrell doesn’t do something stupid.”
“How about I haul you in for interfering with a police officer?” Darrell said hotly.
“How about you try it, boy,” Duke retorted, before shifting his attention to the road.
“Another cruiser,” he said. “They must think Chan’s a dangerous character.”
It was identical to the first, except the driver was using his flashers, kicking up dust as he approached and ground to a halt a few feet away. The passenger door opened and there he was, older and flabbier, with fleshy jowls that spilled over the collar of his shirt. Still, there was no mistaking Officer Bump Cannon.
Except, he w
asn’t Officer Cannon anymore.
The uniform, the badge, the swagger, everything pointed to his new title.
Chief.
SEVENTY-FIVE
His lips curled in the same ugly smile Chan remembered.
Cockiness, contempt, and superiority all wrapped up in a porcine package.
“Last time I seen you, Mutt, you were hauling tail for the state line, just like the coward you always was.”
Handcuffed, standing next to the cruiser, Chan stared into Bump’s eyes and answered quietly. “I’m not sure how you saw anything except the sidewalk and your own blood.”
Cannon reached for the oversized nightstick dangling beside his leg.
“You going to hit a handcuffed prisoner, Bump?” Duke said, snapping pictures with a small pocket camera he pulled from his duffel bag.
Loosening his grip, Bump’s eyes darted from Chan to Duke.
“Put that camera away, Preacher.”
Duke continued snapping pictures.
“No more warnings,” Bump ordered loudly. “This situation has the potential to turn volatile. I can’t have you getting in the way.”
Bump motioned to the two officers. Darrell moved in first, stepping in front of Duke and reaching for the camera.
“Touch me boy and we will go around,” Duke warned, jerking his arm away.
“Pastor, please don’t get yourself arrested as part of this,” Officer Powter said quietly.
Duke’s anger faded slightly. He stepped back, but kept clicking away.
Bump glared at Chan.
“Seems nothing changes with you, Mutt. The only way you could ever whip anybody was by surprise.”
“Take these cuffs off and let’s find out,” Chan replied quietly.
Bump pulled the nightstick from his belt.
“Sounds like the prisoner might be thinking about resisting arrest.” Pointing his chin at Darrell, he added, “get him in the car before he gets hurt.”
“What’s going to happen to him, Chief Cannon?” Harvester asked.
Bump took a moment to answer, savoring his position as the alpha of the encounter.
Harvest of Thorns Page 32
