“Ah yes, I remember that day. I was here working. Your debt has already been taken care of.” She smiles and I wonder did she and her husband erase the debt for me. They own the non-franchise store and it wouldn’t surprise me if they did that.
I look down at Sawyer Jackson and smile. “Just a few more minutes, Buddy.” I adjust his hat and he readjusts it after me. Holdin’ his hand, I look back up to the window. “No, please don’t do that. I have the money to pay it.” I show her the money I’m holdin’.
“Savannah Mae, it wasn’t me, dear. We had a visit from an Angel.”
I hold Sawyer Jackson’s hand tight. More people are comin’ into the store, and the line behind me is gettin’ long. “Okay, thank you. I appreciate it more than you know.” I have no idea who would have paid for my purchase. Ethan doesn’t have the extra money and he didn’t even know I was short the other day.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Savannah Mae.” She smiles, and it’s a genuine, friendly smile.
“Thank you, and Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
I drop off Sawyer Jackson with his daddy before my shift at Peaches. I kiss and hug Sawyer Jackson and wait at the door for Ethan to answer my knock. This sure isn’t the life I had pictured for myself. I always thought Ethan and I would be married forever, have two kids and some grandbabies, and grow old together.
“You know you can come in,” Ethan says, opening the door.
Looking into the apartment, I fidget. “I know, I need to get to work.”
Ethan leaves and when he returns he hands me some money. “It isn’t much, but it should help you with some bills.”
I reluctantly take the money and say, “Did you find work?”
“I sold the infant cradle today.”
Ethan makes the best wooden furniture in these parts. I swear it’s better than what the Amish folks make. I remember the cradle he’s talkin’ about. Dark walnut wood with spindle sides. “I hope it went to a good home.”
He smiles and nods. “It did.”
I look at the money again and it reminds me of the grocery store. “Have you been in Campbell’s Food Town lately?”
“Not since the divorce. I feel funny walkin’ in there. I get sympathy stares from Mr. and Mrs. Campbell.” It wasn’t him. “Why?”
I fidget again. “They’re havin’ a sale on meat this week,” I lie. I bite my lip to keep from spittin’ out the truth that threatens to escape my mouth. “I need to go. Are you sure you mean for me to have all of this?” I hold up the money for him to see.
“I’m sure.” He looks behind him at Sawyer Jackson and looks at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for us to end up like this.” He looks sad and tears threaten to spill from my eyes.
I’m not sure what to say. Never in a million years did I think my high school sweetheart and I wouldn’t be together. I swallow the lump in my throat. I try to dismiss the memory of when I caught Ethan kissing Heather Sue under the maple tree last year. It was the night of her birthday party. I walked home cryin’ and he came home drunk shortly after. I wasn’t able to get over it, although he swore he didn’t do anything. But kissin’ ain’t nothin’.
“Well, you better get goin’ or you’ll be late for your shift.”
“Thank you for the money. If you need some…”
“No, Savannah Mae. You take it.” He takes his hand and pushes my hand with the money in it away from him. “It’s for you, and our son.”
“Thank you, Ethan.” I step back and give him a sad smile. “I’ll be here in the mornin’ to get Sawyer Jackson.”
“Sounds good. Be careful and if you need me, call me.”
“I’ll be fine.” I peek into the apartment and say, “Sawyer Jackson, I love you, Buddy.”
“Love you, too, Momma.” He runs up and hugs me goodbye, almost knockin’ his daddy over.
During my shift, the customers and the employees are all talkin’ about a local girl who was murdered earlier this mornin’. I pick up the Zanesville Times Recorder and read the main headline: “Local girl found murdered outside of County Line Bar.”
“Are you kiddin’?”
“Where have you been? It’s the talk of the town,” Cathy says.
I shiver of such tragic news hittin’ so close to home. I don’t have time to read the article before we start to get busy. I don’t need to read the paper to know what it says. I hear the story over and over again from the customers. Cathy was right, it’s the talk of the town.
The girl, whose name is not bein’ released yet, was found outside of the bar, by the wooded area in the back parking lot. I overhear people say that Megan Rose hasn’t been seen around town in a few days. I don’t ask any questions and I try to not engage in any gossip.
Ethan and I used to frequent that bar when we were married. It’s a nice place. Everyone in town goes there. I can’t imagine who or why someone would have been murdered there.
“They don’t know who she was?” I ask Cathy when the customers leave.
“The paper’s not releasin’ her name, pendin’ notification of the girl’s family. But I heard she was unrecognizable.”
I sit down before I fall down. “The chance is very good we know her,” I whisper.
“Who you tellin’? Everyone knows everyone in this town. I heard Diane and Bobby say it was Megan Rose. You remember her, don’t you?”
I can only nod. I do remember her. She went to school with my sister, Samantha Marie. After my shift at the diner, I walk into my lonely house. The house is small and at one time, it felt too small. However, since my divorce, and with Sawyer Jackson at his daddy’s, the house seems too large. After a shower, I make a pot of coffee. After the news I heard at work tonight, I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. I place a few logs into the fireplace and go outside to sit on the porch. The air is crisp and cold, and the neighborhood is dark and quiet. Work was busy and it feels good to just listen to nothin’. I pull the quilted throw tighter around me.
I sip on my hot coffee when I see a dark shadow joggin’ down the street. It is out of the ordinary to see a dark figure runnin’ this time of night. I should probably run inside and lock the door, but I don’t feel threatened. I continue to watch the figure in the dark hoodie jog closer.
The person stops when he gets in front of my house.
What am I doin’? I look up and down the street and I don’t see anyone. Maybe it was a mistake to sit on the porch. Maybe I should have run into the house and locked up.
The jogger lowers his hood before speakin’. “Can’t sleep, Savannah Mae?”
My heart beats hard and fast. I look closer at the figure walkin’ into the street lighting. “Abel Lee.” I smile. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you it’s not safe to be out this time of night?”
He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth and a single dimple. “As a matter of fact, she did.” He walks closer to me and stops when he reaches the steps leading up to the porch.
“And you chose to not listen to her?” I take another sip of my coffee to try to hide my smile.
“Lots to do throughout the day, so running at night works out better for me.” He takes a step closer and raises his right foot to the next step.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
We make eye contact. “No. Sawyer Jackson’s with his daddy, and I just got off work. Just enjoyin’ some quiet time before bed.”
He nods. “Let me leave the pretty lady to her quiet time then.” He lowers his foot to leave.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
I can see uncertainty in his eyes. He puts his hand in his hoodie jacket pocket and says, “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have asked ya, if I didn’t want the company.”
Abel
I have to think for only a second before I answer. “I think I would, thank you, Savannah Mae.”
She stands up and drops the quilted throw she was wrapped in on the wooden rocker she was sitting on. “Don’t just stand there, c’mon up.” She motions with
her hands for me to join her on the porch. “How do you take your coffee?”
I walk up the three steps as she holds open the screen door for me. “Black, please.”
She smiles and says, “I figured. Come in while I get your coffee.” She holds the screen door wide open for me.
“Thank you.” I stand at the door and wait as she disappears behind a beige wall. I look around the room and notice the handmade walnut end tables, coffee table, and the corner cabinet. The house is small and comfortable.
The local newspaper is on the coffee table, and I walk over to pick it up. I recognize the bar on the front page and I read this headline: “Local girl found murdered outside of County Line Bar.” I skim the article looking for a name. There isn’t one. Savannah Mae reappears with a mug of black coffee.
“Thank you,” I say as I take it from her. “You have a beautiful home.”
She looks at me and raises a brow. “It’s small and cozy, but beautiful? I’m not so sure.” She walks over to the fireplace and adds another log. “Shockin’ news, isn’t it?” she asks, looking at the newspaper I’m still holding.
I lay the paper down on the coffee table and say, “It sure is. This is out of the ordinary for this area, isn’t it?”
“It is. I still can’t believe it. Everyone at work was talkin’ about it.”
I think back to the girl sitting at the bar, the drunken guy, the bouncer, the bartender, and the band members. Could that sweet girl be the victim? Could she have lost her life so soon after I met her? Could any of those guys have killed someone? God, I hope not.
I take a sip of the hot coffee and follow Savannah Mae outside.
I stayed talking to Savannah Mae a lot longer than I intended to. We talk briefly about the local murder, and then we talk about something more uplifting. I learn she was born and raised in Crooksville and then moved to Rose Farm after she got married. She is easy to talk to, and down to earth. I like that. She runs her hand up and down the arm of the wooden chair.
“These are nice chairs,” I admit, honestly.
“Thank you. My ex-husband and his father made them. He also made most of the wooden furniture inside the house.”
I run my hand along the arm and feel the smooth wood. “Do they own a shop around here?”
“No. They currently work out of my ex-husband’s parents’ garage.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “One day maybe they’ll be able to open a store. They do great work, but it’s barely enough to pay the bills.”
When my coffee is gone, I decide it’s time for me to go.
“Savannah Mae, it was my pleasure, but I do believe I need to get going.”
I stand and offer her my hand. She takes it and smiles.
“Thank you, Abel Lee.”
I hand her my cup and open the screen door for her. “Have a good night, Savannah Mae.”
She takes the cup from me. “You, too, Abel Lee.”
I wait for the click of the door before turning to leave. I already feel better, knowing that she locks the doors, at least at night. Placing the hood on my head, I finish my run.
The next few days leading up to Thanksgiving, Pops and I get a lot done on the farm. We place plastic over each window on the farmhouse, replace any burned-out light bulbs on and in the barn, and go to the old mill and load up on feed for the animals.
Pops buys a newspaper daily, and we watch the news when we can. The whole town is concerned and frightened about the recent murder. I hear bits and pieces about the killing from the locals, and although I try to not listen to the gossip, it’s hard not to.
I drive past the County Line Bar and see that it’s taped off with crime-scene tape. I have to know if the victim was Megan Rose. I want to see where the body was found, but I can’t tell from the road.
On Sunday, we go to church. I am surprised to see the church is full. The sermon is about living your life to the fullest. He’s talking about the murder, no doubt. After the service, we all stay for a potluck dinner. The church used to have potluck on the third Sunday of every month, but they now offer it every Sunday after church. The women of the congregation said they had to cook anyway, so they might as well bring the food to the church. Pops said he readily agreed and thought it was a great idea. Momma later said that Mrs. Hackler makes a chocolate cake from scratch and Pops was hoping she would make it every week for church. I have to admit, it was the best chocolate cake I ever had.
On Wednesday, before Thanksgiving, Momma and Mia spend the day at home cooking. It reminded me of past Thanksgivings. Momma always cleaned several days before the actual holiday, and cooked all day, the day before. It feels and smells like Thanksgiving. I have to admit, I’ve missed this. If I could bottle up the smell and the feel of the holidays on the farm, I think I could make millions. It just smells and feels that good.
There’s breaking news on the television because the name of the murdered girl has finally been released. I’m in shock when I see a picture of Megan Rose come across the screen.
They show a picture of the drunken guy and say he’s wanted for questioning. “Do you know them?” I ask everyone in the room watching the news.
“Megan Rose Bower. Everyone in town knows her,” Mia says. “One of the nicest girls you ever met.” Everyone in the room is now sitting down and watching the news broadcast.
“What about him?” I ask, referring to the male suspect.
“Nope, can’t say I know him,” Mia says.
Levi adds, “I don’t know him, either “If he’s from around here, they’ll find him. Pretty much everyone in Rose Farm knows everyone in Rose Farm. Pretty much everyone in Crooksville knows everyone in Crooksville. The same is true of all the other little towns around here.”
Momma stands and wipes her hands on her apron and says sadly, “I reckon we all need to pray a little harder tonight for Megan Rose’s family. I imagine they don’t see much to be thankful for this holiday season.”
Right before dinner, Momma packs up several large containers of food and says, “Are ya’ll ready to go?”
“I’m ready, Belle,” Pops says, standing up from the brown rocker/recliner nearest the fireplace. Mia is removing her apron and Levi is putting his coat on.
I also stand. “Where we headed?”
“Every other Wednesday we go to the church for a community supper.”
“You mean a soup kitchen?”
Momma says, “We prefer to call it a community supper at the church. No since is taking the dignity of the people who eat there.”
“It’s the day before Thanksgiving, are they even open?”
“Abel Lee,” Momma says sternly, “just because it’s a holiday doesn’t mean people aren’t hungry.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
I feel like a scolded child and put my boots on in the bedroom. I think everyone is right, I have been gone too long. Of course my family would cook and volunteer to feed the hungry. It’s what they do. When I return, everyone is standing by the kitchen door with large containers of food.
“Abel, if you can get that roaster on the counter, I would appreciate it. Be careful, it’s mighty hot.” Momma smiles and I feel better.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
We take two cars to the church. When we pull up, a small group of people are already waiting. They smile when they see my family getting out of the car.
“Larry, Mark, and Pearl, would you mind givin’ us a hand carryin’ the food?” Pops asks.
I look over and see three smiling faces walking towards us.
“Is that turkey I smell?” an older man asks.
Momma smiles brightly. “Larry, have I ever let you down?”
He smiles a toothless smile. His clothes are worn and dirty. “I can’t say you have, Miss Nell.” He takes a step closer, and Pops hands him several containers of food. “Smells mighty good. Been a long time since I had turkey.”
Momma’s smile fades before she says, “You’ll have to eat extra today then.”
He smiles and
starts to walk into the back door of the church leading to the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am. I think I can do that.”
Once the food is in the kitchen area, Levi adjusts the heater, while Pops and Momma get the food ready. The room fills up quickly and I wonder if there will be enough food. Fifteen people must be here, including us. I hear a familiar voice and turn to see Savannah Mae and Sawyer Jackson walking through the back door. She’s carrying a large Crock-Pot and a tote bag.
She sees me and smiles. I nod. Before I can get over to help her, Pops is at her side. I’m surprised and happy to see her here. Sawyer Jackson stays close by her side, and Mia rushes over to hug her. It’s a small community, so I’m not surprised they know each other.
I help set all the food out in a line and Sawyer Jackson stacks the paper plates and other paper items on the other side of the serving window. There’s no television on or music playing, just the sound of polite conversation filling up the spare room.
Levi makes coffee while Mia and Savannah Mae cut the desserts.
“Everything all right, Abel?”
I look at Momma and say, “Just taking it all in.” I look around the room filled with people. Most of them are sitting around the folding tables on gray metal chairs. Some are standing up and talking to each other. “How does this work?”
“The church opens up the kitchen every Wednesday and calls it a community kitchen. They provide a free meal to the community,” Momma says. “Everyone is welcome and anyone can come.”
I look out the window at the church sign: Free Community Supper Every Wednesday. I then, look at Momma and ask, “Who supplies the food to feed everyone?”
“Those who volunteer that day are responsible for preparin’ enough food for everyone. Sometimes we fix it at home and bring it in and sometimes we make it at the church. It all depends.” Momma looks around the room. “We try to make it fair for everyone. People struggle certain times of the month. As you know, certain foods are cheap and can stretch a long way. Sometimes the meals are all-you-can-eat pancakes and eggs, soup beans and cornbread, or rice and beans.”
Rose Farm Trilogy Boxset Page 4
