A Wild Red Rose

by Lynn Shurr

  Clint had helped her dress, trying to tug up the rear zipper of the slim skirt matching the jacket. The gadget wouldn’t close, so he’d just told her it was closed. After all, the jacket would cover the gap. He wasn’t given a say about her jewelry before he went off to claim his suit at the Landrum mansion, but she told him an artist in San Francisco gave her the cross as a parting gift because he owed her big bucks for being his model. He believed her.

  The first row of St. Leo’s Church overflowed with members of the Niles family. Jed Niles, the widower, sat next to Renee hemmed in by her slim, athletic sister, Cathy, Cathy’s husband, and two antsy young nephews. Her Uncle Ted Niles and his lively, fiftyish bride, Mona, came next, then Rusty and his curly-haired wife, Noreen, holding their squirming toddler, Katie. Jesse, their son, old enough to be somber and well-behaved, sat across the aisle with the deceased’s niece, Chelsea, in her twenties, fair, frail, and beruffled even in black. A small, blonde woman of middle age referred to by Renee as Ex-Aunt Anna stayed close by Chelsea, a hand placed on her daughter’s arm. Uncle Dewey had not put in an appearance.

  Two elderly nuns on their knees in another pew prayed privately before the service began. Clint remembered meeting them at Rainbow Liquor and Groceries just before this adventure began, but couldn’t recall their names. They gave him a friendly nod after easing themselves up painfully from the kneeler when the music began.

  The casket of reddish mahogany, draped in a blanket of pale, pink roses as if it were a winning racehorse, sat in front of the altar rail. Fr. Brian, a young priest with a gentle manner, new to St. Leo’s and innocent of knowledge of the Niles family, stuck to the ritual, promising an eternal and happier life for the departed. If he noticed there were no wet eyes in a congregation made up mostly of Jed’s business acquaintances and neighbors from Red Horse Acres, he gave no sign.

  Knowing the circumstances of the death, he kept his eulogy brief and emphasized God’s eternal compassion for the weakness of mortals, whom only He could judge and forgive. Stepping down from the lectern, the priest blessed the coffin with holy water. The pallbearers came forward to take Prudence Niles on her final journey to the spot prepared in the graveyard behind the church.

  By the time the family reached the freshly dug hole under the canopy, most of the neighbors and businessmen had taken to their cars and headed for the funeral feast. Catered by Le Rosier Courville and sure to be good, food awaited for the grieving at Tara-on-the-Bayou. Mrs. Parker came from the back of the church and offered to take the restless children over to the house for some refreshments. Renee turned her back on the woman who screwed her father, but Cathy and Noreen gladly handed over the kids. Jesse made a token protest about staying while Great-Aunt Pru got put in the ground, but, stomach growling, gave in to a promise of punch and little sandwiches. Cathy’s husband thought he might ride along, too, if his wife did not mind.

  Only the immediate kin, Clint, the Landrums, and the two old nuns took seats on the folding chairs for the last of the rites. Under the shade of the canopy, sweat rolled off the mourners as the morning heated up. The whirr of insects in the grass drowned out the words of the soft-spoken priest. As the coffin lowered, the funeral director handed out long-stemmed pink roses matching those on the casket and urged the family to come forward, pitch the flowers into the grave, and say a last prayer if they wished. Whether they wanted to or not, all felt obligated to accept a rose.

  As Renee dropped her rose into the grave and bowed her head briefly, a loud voice called from the rear of the line, “Here I am, Pru’s beloved Brother Dewey. Made it in just time to say good-bye to Sis.”

  Renee turned so suddenly clods of dirt came loose from the edge of the hole, and she swayed toward the grave. Clint vaulted over a row of folding chairs, grabbed her elbow, and steadied her, as lightning quick as he would have been in the bullring.

  Ex-Aunt Anna placed her small self in front of a suddenly pale Cousin Chelsea, but Dewey didn’t appear to notice. He snatched a rose from the undertaker and continued to blunder forward, leaving fumes of whiskey in his wake. Dewey tossed the rose stem first as if he played darts in a bar.

  “We had some good times, Pru. Good times. I’ll never forget how close we were. Hey, Renee, baby, give your Uncle Dewey a consoling hug.”

  The scrawny man, his gray comb-over flapping in the light breeze, held his arms open wide and advanced on Renee. He had deep lines etched in his face by alcohol, cigarettes, and sin. Renee retreated, treading on Clint’s toes. Clint placed himself between her and Uncle Dewey, not as big, not as fierce, but every bit as monstrous as the bulls he faced each weekend. Clint grabbed the elbow of the man’s soiled white suit and turned him toward a nearby iron gate in the fence separating St. Leo’s cemetery from that belonging to the nuns of Mt. Carmel.

  “You and I are going to have a talk way over there while the rest of these good people finish saying good-bye.” Clint marched Dewey toward the gate.

  “Do I know you? Who are you to get between me and my niece?”

  “I’m Clinton O. Beck, and I fight nasty animals like you.”

  The smaller man began to struggle, trying to slip out of his jacket, but Clint had him by the neck now. They kept on moving through the gate and past ancient tombstones toward a large monument, ornate with columns and topped by an angel—big enough to block the sight of what Clint intended to do from the mourners. He lifted Dewey over a low wrought iron fence decorated with willows and lambs and bashed him face first against the side of the crypt. Little flakes of whitewash built up over the years fell away like snow in August.

  “You with vice? Look, we can cut a deal,” Dewey begged, tasting the blood from his split lip.

  “I love Renee, and I know what you did to her.” Clint turned the man and held him by a lapel as he drew back a fist and plowed it into Dewey’s corrupt face. The lapel came lose. The man on the other end of that fist flew through the air and landed on his backside near a small marker where a child lay buried. Dewey scrambled to get up and run, but tripped over the tiny tombstone. Clint’s arm jerked him back behind the sepulcher.

  Over in St. Leo’s cemetery, the priest said the final words of burial, but all eyes turned toward the big tomb on the other side of the fence.

  “My God, that cowboy you brought home is beating up Dewey at his own sister’s funeral. I’ve about had it with your men, Renee,” Jed Niles told his eldest daughter. “Now I’ll have to go over there and stop that.”

  “No, don’t go!” Renee hung on her father’s arm.

  Jed Niles, tall and heavy from living a prosperous, well-fed life, shook his daughter off. His well-groomed white hair fell across his sweating forehead, and he wiped his red face and wet hands with a linen pocket square before starting toward the nun’s cemetery.

  “Jesus, Renee, must you always be the drama queen, even at mom’s funeral? Why did you bring your latest man toy, anyhow? Have you no respect?” her sister, Cathy sniped.

  “I’ll take care of it, Jed,” Bodey Landrum intervened. “But if Clint Beck is beating a man up, he probably deserves it.”

  Bodey overtook and passed Jed Niles at the gate. Eve Landrum started after her husband and called out, “Bodey Landrum, remember this is not a barroom brawl, but a sacred rite.”

  Renee ran after her father, followed by everyone else at the gravesite except the funeral director and the astounded priest. Even the creaking old nuns hot-footed with their canes across the cemetery.

  “Hurry, Nessy, hurry. I feel our presence is needed,” white-haired Sr. Helen urged as she wobbled along.

  The priest shook his head and said to the funeral director, “I’ve seen things like this happen at wedding receptions, but never funerals. Of course, I haven’t been in Cajun country very long. Should I intervene?”

  The director raised an eyebrow. “Being a stranger and all, I’d stay on this side of the fence.”

  The mourners reached the large tomb in time to see Dewey take to the air again from another
blow. This time the battered man, adrenaline pumping, managed to get up and make a break, vaulting the low fence like a competitor in the Senior Olympics.

  Bodey Landrum stopped Dewey with strong hands to his shoulders and said with a slow drawl, “Now, what’s going on here, podner? Clint, what have you got to say?”

  “That man sexually abused Renee from the time she turned twelve.”

  “Then, he’s all yours.” Bodey shoved Renee’s uncle back in Clint’s direction.

  “His word against mine,” shouted Dewey. “And I’m family. Who you gonna believe, Jed?”

  “My daughter. Is this true, Renee?”

  “Yes,” she said faintly, then louder. “Yes, he did, and mother, too, when she was a girl. I’m fairly sure. She was afraid you’d leave her if you knew, and so she said nothing, did nothing, to stop him.”

  “Your daughter lured me on that trip to Paris, Jed. She begged me to make her a woman. That little tramp was all over me every time I came to visit Pru. I tell you Renee has suction better than a vacuum cleaner. And this guy is probably taking advantage of that every night, so he ain’t no better than me.”

  Jed Niles’ eyes met the steady blue eyes of Clinton O. Beck. “Hold him for me, son.”

  Clint locked Dewey’s arms, and Jed Niles put all he had into a punch to the gut. Dewey retched vomit and blood into the grass.

  “May I?” asked Bodey Landrum. Jed Niles nodded. The former bull rider executed a nice upper cut that jerked Dewey from Clint’s hold. The man writhed on the ground. The pointed toe of a high-heeled shoe landed between his ribs.

  “And that’s for Chelsea,” swore Ex-Aunt Anna. She kicked him again.

  Behind them, a soft chorus rose from the women who had surrounded Renee and Chelsea, hugging their shoulders, touching their hands. “We didn’t know. We didn’t know,” said Cathy and Eve and Rusty’s wife, Noreen.

  Appalled, Fr. Brian made his way across the cemetery, his vestments flapping in his haste to prevent murder. He overtook and passed the hobbling nuns and held up his hands. “Please, please stop! No matter what this man has done, you must desist and call an ambulance.”

  “Figures he’d get sympathy from a priest,” muttered Bodey Landrum. His wife took a second out from consoling Renee to slap her husband’s arm. She’d take the time later to kiss his bruised knuckles at home, he knew.

  Rusty Niles, towering over petite Ex-Aunt Anna, held the woman back from doing more damage. Despite being a former steer wrestler, he lost his grip on the little woman who went right back to kicking Dewey and shrieking, “I needed all that child support for Chelsea’s therapy, or I would have turned you in years ago!”

  “Please, enough! This man needs medical assistance,” the priest implored.

  Jed Niles took a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. “Yeah, I need you to come get a man in the Mt. Carmel cemetery. A child molester. Oh, and he might need medical care.”

  Jed pocketed the slim phone. “Anyone else want to get a lick in before the police get here?”

  Renee left the comfort of the circle of women and stepped forward. She aimed her kick at Uncle Dewey’s crotch and hit him where it hurts, way below the belt line. Dewey curled up like one of those big, white grubs that feed on the roots on young plants and vomited some more into the grass.

  The nuns arrived panting and limping in time for the finale. Their legs might be feeble, but they both had their hearing. The accusations shouted during the brawl had carried well to their old ears.

  “Oh, my!” said Sr. Inez with some satisfaction. “That must have hurt.”

  “God’s will be done.” Sr. Helen nodded. “Not that I take any joy in another’s pain.”

  “I think we might just have seen the answer to all our prayers, Sister.”

  Sr. Helen watched Clint Beck enfold Renee into his arms. Their former student was crying, burrowing into his chest as if she wanted to hide.

  “Clint, take me away from here.” No one stopped the couple as they started back toward the church.

  “Oh, Nessy, we aren’t done praying yet. Before we leave, we must stop at the grave of the Blessed Mother Leontine, founder of our academy, and ask for her aid in bringing about a happy ending.”

  Neither Renee nor any of the witnesses had an idea what the babbling old nuns were talking about, but Clint gave them a smile over his shoulder as he led Renee away.

  ****

  The two cops assigned to Rainbow by the parish sat at a table in the nearby restaurant. They’d done their duty and run the escort from the funeral home in Lafayette to the church, then chowed down at the café. Reluctantly, they asked for a box to encase the half-eaten big burgers and good, greasy fresh cut fries and a go-cup for the ice cold sweet tea before heading over to the graveyard where an assault seemed to have taken place.

  “They tried to kill me,” a little man in a bloody white suit writhing on the ground claimed. “Arrest them, officers, all of them!”

  “The way I see it, this here child molester, tripped over a couple of tombstones and damaged himself.” Bodey Landrum slipped his bruised fist into a coat pocket.

  “Yep. That’s the way it went down. He tried to get away after my daughter accused him abusing her since she was twelve.” Jed Niles used his pocket square to clean his jacket of vomit.

  “Anyone else want to say anything?”

  The group remained silent except for one of the nuns. “Oh, we were much too far away to see anything. Just got here, in fact,” said Sr. Helen, her blue eyes wide.

  A fair-haired young woman in ruffled black stepped up. “Sad to say, I’m his daughter. If you need proof of what he did, get a warrant for his computer! I’ll give testimony, too. My therapist has wanted me to come forward for years.”

  The officers put the cuffs on Dewey, hauled him up and over to the squad car parked in the Academy’s drive. They figured he’d live till they got him to the jail.

  The group gathered by the big tomb began to disperse. The nuns turned down a ride to the funeral reception, saying they were close to the convent and wished to visit Mother Leontine’s grave. Bodey and Eve started after Clint and Renee but did not catch up with them. The other family members took a stricken Jed Niles back to his car that his brother Ted insisted on driving. The last to leave were Rusty and Noreen Niles. Noreen, the family historian, wanted to take a closer look at the sepulcher.

  “Well, blood is smeared on the old Niles family tomb, and vomit is in the grass, but no major damage to the structure. I’ll come by tomorrow and wash it off.”

  “Don’t. Let the rains take care of it. Thanks to you, I know my ancestors fairly well. I think at this moment, they are mighty pleased one of their own was avenged.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Renee flung expensive cosmetics into a handbag far too smart to take to a rodeo. She’d fixed her eye make-up, not much of a chore as she wore less of it these days. Her suit lay on the bed in her tiger-striped lair. Clint had helped her out of the troublesome skirt with the stuck zipper. She’d packed only an overnight bag to make this trip and was already back into her boots, jeans, and a casual top. Clint watched her with a worried look on his face.

  “What’s the matter, handsome? Did I tell you how great you looked in that suit before you got blood and barf all over it? I don’t know if the blood will come out of that silk tie, though. Frankly, I didn’t know Bodey Landrum owned any real ties; he’s so cowboy. And you say you borrowed that suit from him, too? Isn’t Bodey an inch or so shorter than you? Looks like someone tailor-made it for you. Maybe a good dry cleaner will be able to get the stains out and repair the tears.”

  Hating her fake cheeriness, Clint answered, “Yeah, I got the suit over at Bodey’s. He won’t care about the damage. Renee, don’t you think you need to have a long talk with your father and sister before you go anywhere?”

  “What I need to do is to get out of here. Word about Uncle Dewey will be all over town before we get on the plane. I can’t bear the
pity. Take me back where no one knows anything about me. Take me back to The Tin Can.”

  “Oh. The way you were packing, I thought maybe you were planning on going somewhere else.”

  “Not for now.”

  The doorbell rang, followed by a fist pounding on the front door.

  “Renee, this is your father. Open up. Your Uncle Ted and his wife are out in the car thinking I’ll stroke out any minute like he did the year Jesse was born, so let me in.”

  Clint headed for the living area. Renee bounded after him, hanging on his arm, but she couldn’t really stop him. He let Jed Niles in and stepped outside. “Talk,” he said before closing the door.

  Jed tried to embrace his daughter, but she moved away and hugged herself with her own arms.

  “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Because you were always gone, chasing other women, even during the holidays.”

  “Your mother didn’t care for sex. I guess I know why now. She wouldn’t let me touch her until after we were married, and then, it wasn’t so good. I thought we weren’t compatible that way. After Cathy came along, I agreed to take my lust elsewhere, but I promised I wouldn’t leave her, and I didn’t. Renee, I have the hot blood of the Niles family.” Her father ended his plea by holding out his hands to her.

  “Uncle Ted and Rusty manage to contain themselves.”

  “Yeah, well, neither ever had the money for high-class hookers, and both got a woman they love who loves them back.”

  “Is it true you’re seeing Mrs. Parker? Mom said you were.”

  “A man gets older. He wants a woman he can be comfortable with.”

  “That hurt her. I don’t think she cared about mistresses or call girls, but a woman Mom’s own age, and not all that attractive—she couldn’t handle it.”

  Jed Niles hung his head. “You think she took her own life?”

  “No. I think she tried to drink away the pain and was too far gone to save herself.”