Book of Mercy

by Sherry Roberts

  “We have no control over the county prosecutor,” said Hank. “That had nothing to do with us.”

  Earthly pulled out a chair, sat down, and shuffled the papers in front of her. “I’ve already taken care of Mr. Braxton Richey,” Earthly said, looking up with an evil smile. “And now I’m going to take care of you.”

  Ellen, who volunteered at the food pantry and various other nonprofits in town, said, “What do you mean?”

  Earthly studied the woman who was pleasant, often shopped at The Great Cover Up, and dressed like a walking gunny sack. “Ellen, someone has to pay for this disruption to my client’s life, not to mention the stress at a critical time in her pregnancy.”

  “There was no personal vendetta against Antigone,” Irene insisted. “We’re simply looking after our children. As is our right.”

  “You can restrict what you or your children read, Irene, but you cannot call upon other governmental or public agencies to do your dirty work.”

  “That’s absurd,” Irene smacked her hand on the table. “We support this school and library with our taxes.”

  “Nevertheless,” Earthly said, “The First Amendment is clear. No government may prohibit the expression of an idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or disagreeable. That’s the Supreme Court’s opinion and the law of the land.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.” Irene tossed her head.

  Hank cleared his throat. “Enough. What’s it going to take to settle this matter, Earthly?”

  “Yeah,” said Luther, the mill foreman. “How much?”

  “Two million.” Earthly studied the group. “Per board member. And $3 million from the district.” Silence.

  Ellen’s jaw dropped.

  “Denial of civil rights doesn’t come cheap,” Earthly said. “We’re not talking about a towel with an uneven hem.”

  “You’re nuts!” erupted Luther.

  Earthly leaned her hands on the table and stared each board member in the eye. She said firmly, “If I don’t get what I want, this little stunt is going to cost you. And you can bet that this will not be a quiet lawsuit.”

  Gary, the chamber president, groaned.

  The fingers gripping Irene’s jacket were nearly white. “What do you really want?”

  “To make this all go away?” Earthly asked.

  Irene gave a curt nod.

  “ALL the books back in circulation. Today.”

  Chapter 26

  They Went Whicha Way?

  ANTIGONE HAD BEEN GONE for nearly eight hours. Sam and Ryder sat in silence at the kitchen table, jumping each time the phone rang. Between them, a box of Froot Loops lay on its side, its colorful contents pouring onto the table. Every once in a while one of them would mindlessly pluck a handful of cereal from the pile and pop it into his mouth. They’d long ago alerted the authorities, the highway patrol, but it was as if Antigone had driven that little red Mustang straight into a black hole.

  It was four in the afternoon when there was a knock on the front door. Sam answered and found a boy on the front porch. Ryder joined him and frowned. “Stanley? I told you not to keep bringing this crap to our door.”

  “It’s not a book,” said the scrawny boy, shoving his red hair out of his eyes. “It’s for the deer lady.” And then he thrust a piece of folded paper in Sam’s hand, turned, and sprinted away. Sam unfolded the loose leaf sheet. It was a crayon drawing of what he assumed were supposed to be Antigone and her deer. The stick figures frolicked under a sun shining big and yellow in the corner of the page. It said, “Sorry about your dead deer.” On the doorstep were other notes and cards, all addressed to the “Library Lady” or the “Deer Lady.”

  Sam peered across the road, where a memorial of flowers, stuffed animals, toys, and candles was growing near the gate to the O. Henry Deer Farm.

  ANTIGONE’S CALL CAME AT 2:13 a.m. on Friday, eighteen hours after she’d sped out of Mercy. A startled Sam fell out of the chair where he’d been dozing as he leaped for the phone. Digging through the cards and papers, he scrambled for the phone.

  “Hello. Hello. Don’t hang up. I’m here.”

  “Sam?”

  “Tigg? Where are you?”

  “Sam, I need you.”

  Sam pushed his hands through his hair and realized they were shaking. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s snowing, and there aren’t any signs. It’s dark. I need you, Sam.”

  “Okay, stay calm.” Sam mumbled to himself, “Think, think.”

  “Sam?”

  “Don’t worry, honey.”

  “Sam, I think the baby’s coming. I can’t drive anymore.”

  “It’s too early, Tigg.”

  “I know. I keep telling the baby that, but she’s not listening to me. This is definitely your child, Sam Thorne.”

  “Let’s stay calm.”

  “I am calm, as calm as I’m going to get,” she said with a moan.

  “Look, Tigg, I’m coming to get you. Describe where you are.”

  Sam knew by the silence that she was trying to recall roads and landmarks. He waited, then began scribbling notes on the back of a crumpled envelope as she began to talk. “Tennessee. I peed at the welcome center. Left the interstate. Needed a nap. Two-lane roads. Mountains. I passed a town; I don’t know how long ago.”

  “Think, honey.”

  “There was a billboard for a ski area.”

  Sam tried to keep his voice calm. “Good. What else?”

  “I think I’m in a roadside park. Fell asleep. Don’t know how long ago. It’s snowing.” Antigone cried out.

  “Tigg!”

  “Sam! The pains are coming.”

  “Like regularly?”

  “Like this kid is kick boxing in my uterus.”

  “I’m calling the highway patrol. And then I’m coming after you.”

  “How? You’ll never find me.”

  “I’ve got the GPS.”

  Ryder leaned over his shoulder and read his scribbles. “I’m coming along.”

  Sam put his hand over the receiver. “I can do this.”

  Ryder crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not leaving me behind.”

  Sam didn’t want to take the time to fight. “Fine.” He said to Antigone, “I’m bringing Ryder.”

  “Is that a good idea? You two are like Siamese fighting fish.” Antigone gasped in pain, and Sam wanted to fling the telephone against the wall. “Don’t kill each other before you get here,” she said.

  “We’ll manage. Thank God, you had the cell phone with you this time. Promise you’ll keep in touch.”

  “Promise.” There was a pause. “But hurry.”

  RYDER GATHERED BLANKETS, COATS, and flashlights. William handed him a thermos of coffee and a bag of food. He smacked Sam on the shoulder. “Take it easy. Keep a cool head. Bring her back.”

  With a wave, Sam and Ryder drove off in Sam’s truck. Sam got half way down the road, realized he was going the wrong way and turned around. They waved again.

  “We shoulda got more veggie burgers,” Ryder said, watching a waving William pass by the window. “This could take longer than I thought.”

  When the cell phone went silent in the middle of a conversation with Antigone, both Ryder and Sam panicked. One minute she was talking to them, and then nothing. Ryder reported the phone was dead, and they’d forgotten the adapter.

  No phone. No GPS. “Find me a town,” Sam shouted, pointing to the glove box. “Map.”

  Ryder hunched over the map of Tennessee. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “An electronics store.”

  “At this time of day?” Ryder glanced out the window. It was five in the morning.

  They found a town, and then they found Crazy Jerry’s Electronic City: 24 Hours of Plugged In, Amped Up, Out-a-sight Online Fun. Ryder and Sam scrambled out of the truck and ran to the store entrance. Even at this time of morning, Crazy Jerry’s was hopping.

  In Crazy Jerry’s,
Ryder and Sam leapt over the remote-controlled hot rod barreling down on them, fishtailed around a kid tapping on a computer terminal, and skidded to a stop in front of a wall of circuits, sockets, plugs, cords, antennas, and adapters.

  Sam grabbed two packets and dashed for the register. He slammed a package of batteries and a phone adapter on the counter. The teenager behind the register smiled at him, “I hope you found everything to your satisfaction at Crazy Jerry’s. We’re crazy to please.” The clerk tapped on the computer in front of him. “May I have your area code please?”

  “I don’t have a phone,” Sam said, digging in a back pocket for his wallet.

  The clerk looked pointedly at the phone adapter. “Your zip code then, sir?”

  “I don’t have one of those either,” Sam said, throwing two twenty dollar bills on the counter. “That’ll cover it.”

  “But, sir,” the clerk looked frantic. “I only need a little information for our records.”

  “I don’t have any information,” Sam shouted, pulling Ryder out of the store.

  As Ryder plugged in the adapter, Sam muttered, “God, I hate people who need to know everything about you.” He threw the truck into gear with a squeal of rubber and immediately took a wrong turn out of the mall.

  “Same here,” Ryder said, beginning to notice the unfamiliarity of the road. “Didn’t we cross railroad tracks and pass a taxidermy shop on the way into town? Where’s the sign with the deer head? Uh, Sam, I think we’re going the wrong way.”

  “You’ve got the goddamn GPS,” Sam said. “Find out where the hell we are.”

  Ryder located their coordinates and got Sam driving in the general direction of Antigone. Again.

  Chapter 27

  The Sunset Is Not as Close as It Seems

  THIS USED TO BE easier, Antigone thought. Once riding into the sunset had been a cinch. It had occurred to her in the last few hours that all the heroes who rode off into the sunset—the masked men, the cowboys, the private eyes on Route 66—had never suffered a single labor pain. No wonder they were so happy and mobile.

  This had been the most miserable road trip she could recall. Her sense of direction was on the fritz again, probably thanks to baby hormones. She had no idea where she was. And she had the awful feeling that she had been going in circles. She could be just a few hours from her own backyard in North Carolina and not know it. Several times she had pulled over on some back road and taken a nap. Her back ached, her feet were falling asleep, and her bladder kept demanding that she stop and shuffle off behind some tree. As she got back in the car one more time, she thought, “This is why I don’t go camping.”

  She sought the old feelings she usually met on the road, the feelings of freedom and adventure and forgetfulness. But on this trip, no dotted lines, no voices on the radio, could distract her. She still saw Fancy in her mind, still felt life leaving the deer in an exhausted huff. She could not forget the mess her life was in—alone, on the side of the road, with a child anxious to come and no hospital, or husband, in sight.

  A pain corkscrewed up her middle, turning her inside out. Antigone bit her lip. She tried to remember how the perky Lamaze teacher told them to breathe. She tried Sam again, and this time someone answered. “Where the hell have you been?” she cried.

  “Sorry, technical difficulties,” Sam said. “You okay?”

  “Talk to me,” she begged.

  She pushed her back against the corner of the Mustang’s backseat, stretched her legs across it, and listened to Sam’s comforting voice. She followed his words through the twisting trails of pain, grasping on for dear life to images and moments they had shared. “Remember that time at the beach,” he said. “That sand crab attacked me, and the pelicans . . .”

  “No birds, pelicans or storks,” she grunted.

  “Okay, okay, breathe. In and out like with the waves.”

  “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “Hang on, honey. I’m coming. Breathe, Tigg, just breathe.” On and on Sam talked and she listened, the phone on the floor beside her on speaker, both hands clutching the seat with white knuckles. She gritted her teeth. “Don’t fight it,” the Lamaze teacher had told them. Fight? Someone give her a white flag; she was ready to surrender. Only Sam’s voice was real, her only strength, and she clung to it.

  More than once Antigone thought she was going to die that night. She thought the pain would just carry her away, and she would never see Sam or Ryder again; she’d never get to meet her baby. She was going to die, she sobbed, and so she made promises to the universe.

  “I’ll be a good girl. I’ll stop stirring up trouble. No more binge driving. No more talk radio shows. I’ll be the perfect mother. I’ll bake cookies and make things with craft paper and pipe cleaners. I’ll be nicer to everyone—even Irene. I’ll even close the library, if only you’ll keep my baby safe . . .”

  Sam and the highway patrol reached Antigone at the same time. It was close to 7:00 a.m., and the sun was struggling to punch its way through the overcast sky. The officer took one look at Antigone, radioed for paramedics, and announced, “This baby’s not going to wait.”

  “No kidding,” Antigone cried.

  “It’s too soon,” Sam said.

  “Not according to this little one,” said the officer.

  And so, Antigone, Sam, Ryder, and a highway patrol officer named Ginelli brought into the world a perfect baby girl in the backseat of a red Mustang convertible. Ginelli, with seven children of his own, was an expert and calmly directed operations. When it was done and Antigone and baby were each wrapped in crackling space blankets scavenged from Ginelli’s emergency kit, Sam turned to Ryder and said, “Well, that involved more blood and screaming than I ever want to see or hear again.”

  “I’m with you,” Ryder said.

  Sometime, during the hollering and panting, the skies had cleared and the snow had stopped. Outside the sun was bright, glistening on the snow-covered hills. Inside the car, bundled in the backseat next to Sam, an exhausted Antigone watched Ryder instruct her husband on how to hold his new daughter.

  “You gotta support her head. Like this.” Ryder leaned in through the window and positioned Sam’s hands.

  Sam cupped the baby’s head with his big hands. It was amazing, Antigone thought, that their daughter was almost exactly a handful, fitting nicely into her father’s palm.

  “There’s nothing to her. I’m afraid I’ll crush her,” Sam said.

  “First-time fathers,” Officer Ginelli laughed.

  Sam’s cell phone rang. Ryder reached into Sam’s shirt pocket and retrieved it. It was William.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, if Sam can figure out how to hold a baby,” Ryder said. “It’s a girl. Star nailed it—as usual.”

  IRENE STRODE THROUGH THE door of the O. Henry Café just as William stabbed the off button on his cell phone and hollered, “It’s a girl! Oolong tea on the house!”

  She glanced around the restaurant. The place was packed. She spotted Star and Earthly in a booth.

  “I knew it,” Star said, jumping out of the booth and whirling around in a circle.

  “How’s Antigone?” Earthly asked.

  William pulled up. “Oh, I don’t know!”

  Earthly sighed, “Men.”

  “She must be all right,” William stammered. “I mean Ryder would have told me if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?”

  “Probably,” Irene said, clutching her purse and walking over to an empty stool at the counter.

  As she passed Earthly’s booth, she said, “I can be here if I want.”

  “It’s a free country, Irene.” Earthly smiled.

  William offered Irene a cup of tea. She made a face and ordered coffee, black. She didn’t know why she was here. For some reason, when she got up this morning, she’d felt this need to be at the restaurant. She sipped her coffee, listening to people worry about Antigone and discuss the recent events in Mercy. After one glanc
e, she avoided looking at the door leading to Antigone’s library. Bookhenge, she thought with disgust, what kind of name is that for a library?

  Exchanging another look with Earthly, who nodded and smiled again, Irene wondered why she wasn’t more upset. On Monday morning, those awful books would be back on the shelves in the Mercy High School Media Center. Maybe it was the phone call she’d intercepted this morning. It was the Japanese couple calling again, asking for Arthur. Irene had looked right across the breakfast table at her husband and said, “He’s not here, and we aren’t interested in selling the house.”

  Arthur didn’t say a word.

  And now there was a new child in Mercy. It had been quite a morning, Irene thought. She took a sip of her coffee and almost smiled.

  WAITING FOR THE AMBULANCE to arrive to take his wife and child to the nearest hospital, Sam watched Tigg drift off toward sleep. Just as she was about to enter the place of dreams, she jerked awake and mumbled, “Sam?”

  Sam leaned over and gently stroked his wife’s damp hair. He adjusted the extra coats they’d bundled under Antigone’s head for a pillow.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “I made some promises.”

  “I heard. The speaker phone was working just fine. You were yelling loud enough for my mom to hear you in Florida.”

  “I promised to give up the library.”

  “You also promised to be nicer to Irene. Like that’s going to happen.”

  “But about the library . . .”

  Sam personally thought pledges made in the throes of labor—while another human being was trying to crawl out of you head first—didn’t count. Now was not the time to say so, though.

  “Our daughter’s going to need good books to read to her mother,” he said, looking down at the tiny, sleeping babe cradled protectively inside his jacket. He heart was so full he was amazed it didn’t just explode from his chest.

  Antigone smiled. “Yes, she is.” And then Sam watched utter exhaustion overtake his wife, just as he had the very first time they met. He’d touched her cheek then, too, while she was asleep and wouldn’t remember. That day, he’d sat on the trunk of the Mustang, inexplicably happy, watching over her. And he’d felt a lightness, the world coming into balance—just like now.