Morning Star

by Judith Plaxton

  “Did I what?”

  “Did you ever have anyone be mean to you, for no good reason?”

  “Yes, I have, but not very often.” Florence was thoughtful. “Are you thinking the reason might be because of your color?”

  “I think so.”

  “Something happen?”

  “This awful girl, Ashley, and her friends—they were going to cut off some of my hair. She had scissors.”

  “No.”

  “And she passed mean notes to my friends and put my name on them. That was why they stopped talking to me.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “And she was the one who tried to wreck my poster.”

  “We’ll speak to the school. No one should get away with behaving like that.”

  ”I saw her parents coming out of the principal’s office yesterday. They didn’t look happy.”

  “So things are straightened out?”

  “Yeah, but I still feel bad that my friends believed her. How could they? They didn’t speak to me for days.”

  “But everything’s all right now?”

  The front door opened and closed. Delia entered the kitchen and sank into a chair. “What a day.”

  “I’ll make some tea,” said Florence. “Have a cookie.”

  “I have a bit of a headache.”

  “I’ll get you an aspirin, Mom.” Felicia started for the stairs.

  “Put the kettle on while you’re up,” suggested Florence. She turned to her daughter. “Did you speak to your boss?”

  “I tried, but he was in and out of the place, and that Sid kept giving me stuff to do. Every time I turned around there was some other silly thing on my desk.” Delia rubbed her fingers against her forehead. “I’ve been staring at a computer screen most of the day.”

  Felicia returned to the kitchen with a pill for her mother, drew a glass of water, and set them both on the table. “Take this.”

  “Oh, she’s a nurse now.” Delia chuckled and swallowed her medicine.

  “Nana says I’m an artist.”

  “That’s even better.”

  They raised their heads to the sound of a car door slamming. “Who’s that now?”

  Delia stood up and walked to the window. “Oh no! It’s Mr. Abbot, my boss.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Flower

  THE DOOR of the jailhouse creaked open. The marshal and his deputy sprang awake, stood poised for confrontation. Flower watched from behind the grill of the cell door as one man, dressed in black, came in.

  “There’s been a request. I’m to examine those up for sale.”

  The marshal shrugged his shoulders, opened the bottom drawer of the desk, and lifted out the keys. “Not sure ’bout this.”

  Flower sat frozen with fear. Was she to be led out now and taken away? She looked over at her father, but he lay still as before.

  “This man’s going to check you all out,” said the marshal. Flower stared at her clenched fists. A black bag appeared on the floor at her feet. The doctor opened it and lifted out a bell-shaped instrument. Cleo stopped humming and rocking. Flower felt a gentle hand placed on her head, looked up into the concerned face of Dr. Simon.

  “Stay calm,” he whispered. He added in a louder voice, “It’s the custom before a sale to make sure everyone’s in good health.”

  “Whatever you say.” The marshal slumped in his chair, tipped his hat over his eyes. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

  “I understand there’s a babe to be seen,” said Dr. Simon. Cleo unwrapped Gabriel with clumsy fingers. He lay in her lap like a puppet whose strings have been snipped. Dr. Simon placed the instrument against the little chest, frowned as he listened. “Is he feeding?”

  “Not for a while.” Tears slid from Cleo’s eyes, tracking down her dusty cheeks. “We’ve been treated so harshly. I think he knows, even though he’s just a baby.”

  The doctor’s face darkened with anger. He said to the two dozing outside the cell, “Here now! This mother requires nourishment if she’s to provide some for her infant.”

  “She got some soup. They all did. It was wasted. They ate none.”

  “Bring some more.”

  “This here’s not a café.” The deputy rose from his chair, walked to a cupboard, and brought the same bowls of broth. Flower and her mother held them with disinterest.

  “Drink that down,” said Dr. Simon, “for strength.” He turned his attention to Eldon, spoke his name quietly, but Eldon did not respond, even as his bruised body was examined. Cleo quickly finished her soup. She rocked Gabriel and tried to feed him, singing and urging him to try, but he lay quietly and looked up at his mother with dull eyes.

  “Is there a spoon available?” asked Dr. Simon.

  “What next!” The deputy pulled a spoon from the cupboard, poked it through the cell bars.

  Dr. Simon passed the spoon to Flower. “Try to give the baby some of this broth.” He watched as she brought the spooned liquid to the baby’s mouth and crooned to him, ladling a small portion into his mouth. Most of it dribbled out onto his cheek, but he did swallow some. “A capable big sister you are. The babe will soon be himself again.” He continued in a low, hushed voice, close to her ear. “Listen for the message, then lead your family out the far passage. Helping hands wait there.” He stared hard at her, then reached for her hand and slipped something cold and solid into it. She looked down to see a key, and slipped it quickly into the pocket of her aporn. Dr. Simon stepped outside. The door clicked as it locked. He dropped the ring of keys into the desk drawer and then spoke to the marshal, not looking back at Flower. “They seem to be fine, in spite of everything.”

  The lawman sat forward, yawned, and raised the brim of his hat. “We had nothing to do with that. I put them in the cell for safekeeping soon as they arrived.”

  Dr. Simon asked, “How is your own health?”

  “My shoulder gives me pain the odd time.” He raised his arm and rotated it in the air. “I can tell the change in the weather just by what my shoulder’s saying. Could it be the arthritis?”

  “Something which gives many of us cause for complaint. I have here what you might call an elixir, known to cure many an ailment. It might ease your soreness.”

  The deputy raised his head. “With me, it’s the knees. They hurt like a son of a gun on a rainy day.”

  Dr. Simon lifted a bottle of brown liquid out of his bag. The deputy jumped up to the cupboard and returned with glasses, which were then filled halfway to the brim. The two men lifted their glasses to acknowledge the doctor and then swallowed in one gulp.

  “That’s the ticket!” The marshal coughed and tapped his chest with his fist.

  The deputy laughed and asked, “Any more where that came from?”

  “Mustn’t overdo it,” said Dr. Simon as he poured once more into each glass.

  The men savored their remedy this time and sipped slowly. The marshal swished the fluid around in his mouth. “My shoulder’s starting to feel better already.”

  “Say, Doc, any chance you can leave us some of this ‘medicine’?”

  Dr. Simon held the bottle up to the light and swirled the contents. “It’s almost empty. Save the remains for a rainy day.”

  “We’re mighty thankful.”

  “I must leave.” Dr. Simon stood up.

  The marshal’s voice was friendly. “Drop in anytime when you’re in this part of the county.”

  “Don’t be a stranger,” added the deputy.

  Flower watched and listened. Dr. Simon sli
pped out the door, and the two men returned to their chairs. The deputy held the bottle up to the light once more, shook it, and then poured the rest of it into their glasses. They chuckled and talked as they sipped it. She continued to drip broth into Gabriel’s mouth. He whimpered, and Cleo hugged him against her. “I have to keep trying to feed him, Ma.” Cleo loosened her grasp and watched the broth, drip by drip, enter her baby’s mouth. Flower didn’t tell her mother she had the key. The doctor must have removed it from the ring. She wondered how he had managed that. And what had he meant about a message?

  CHAPTER 40

  Felicia

  MR. ABBOT HESITATED before acting on Delia’s friendly invitation to come inside. “Welcome, welcome.”

  “I’m awfully sorry to bother you at home. You’re probably wanting to put your feet up after a busy day, but I thought we should have a talk.”

  “It’s no bother. We were just going to have a cup of tea. Come into the kitchen and meet my family.”

  “Thank you. That’s very nice of you.” He smiled at Felicia and Florence as he entered the kitchen. Florence returned his smile, but Felicia attempted a haughty nod, similar to those so often administered by Ashley.

  Felicia was asked to prepare the tea as the threesome at the table discussed the weather. She watched the kettle start to boil and felt anger simmering inside of her. How dare this balding, potbellied man control our lives! He may be lucky enough to own a bunch of used cars, but he doesn’t even have the brains to recognize Mom’s intelligence, not to mention her amazing work ethic. How many sick days does she ever take? None, that’s how many, no matter if she has the worst cold.

  “Felicia, dear, the kettle’s boiling.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Felicia donned an oven mitt to pour the bubbling water into the teapot, then clattered mugs and spoons on a tray. She paused in front of the cookie jar. Did this man deserve a cookie, handmade by her grandmother? Four cookies were grudgingly placed on a plate and set in the middle of the table.

  “A few more please, and the bowl of fruit that’s sitting on the counter, and plates and napkins,” Florence said.

  Felicia did as she was told. Delia poured tea, offered milk and sugar. “Or do you prefer lemon?”

  “Just a little milk and one spoon of sugar.” Mr. Abbot bit into a cookie. His eyes almost sparkled. “Delicious,” he said, stirring his tea.

  The conversation progressed from the weather to the expansion of the library and recent roadwork in town.

  “It seems to take forever to get something done around here.”

  “Maybe we’re in too much of a hurry.”

  “There’s often a lack of skilled trades people.”

  Their talk washed over Felicia as she sat and studied her mother, marveling at her ability to disguise her anxiety. Delia sipped at her tea and offered delicacies to this rotund man who was about to disrupt their lives.

  “Mom’s always been admired for her organizational skills.” Three heads turned to her in surprise. Felicia continued, “She won the history prize when she graduated from high school.”

  Mr. Abbot said, “That’s something to be proud of.”

  Now Delia looked flustered. “It was a long time ago.”

  Felicia steamed ahead. “She doesn’t get the credit she deserves. Why, once…”

  Florence intervened. “Yes, we are proud of Delia’s accomplishments, and that’s not just family pride talking. Here, have another cookie.”

  “When she sprained her ankle, she still went to work, even though the doctor said she should sit with her foot up on a pillow.”

  “Dear me, Delia, when was that?” asked Mr. Abbot, a line creasing his forehead.

  “So long ago, I can hardly remember.” Delia tried to give a meaningful look to her daughter, who avoided eye contact.

  “People are only supposed to work eight hours a day, aren’t they?”

  “Felicia, I think it’s time for our favorite program.” Florence looked up at the clock on the wall.

  “What favorite program? I don’t—”

  “You know which one I mean.” Florence got to her feet. “Come and give me a hand, that’s a good child.”

  “I don’t…oh, okay.” Felicia followed her grandmother into the front room. “I wanted to keep talking.”

  “Let your mother do the talking. She’s capable.” Florence eased into her chair and clicked on the television.

  “That man is too fat. He needs to go on a diet,” said Felicia. Florence turned up the volume. “Eating up all our good cookies.”

  “We’ll make some more.”

  “Mom shouldn’t have to be alone with him.”

  “Hush, child, and pay attention to the program. It’s educational.”

  In the kitchen, Delia and Mr. Abbot faced each other across the table. Mr. Abbot cleared his throat. He started to speak, having to raise his voice over the sound of a television narrator describing the patterns of killer-whale migration. And in the living room, Felicia strained to listen to the conversation in the kitchen.

  She finally heard her mother walk Mr. Abbot to the front door. He poked his head into the living room as they passed. Felicia jumped up and hugged her mother.

  “A fine family you have, Delia,” said Mr. Abbot.

  Delia disguised a poke to her daughter, who unwrapped herself. Felicia knew the poke meant “stand up straight and remember your manners.” Mr. Abbot made his way out the door and down the walk to his car.

  “What happened?”

  “Sometimes things work out all right.”

  “Do you still have a job?”

  “Yes, and more responsibility, and maybe even some more money. Seems I can try my hand at selling cars. But I still have to do the clerical work.”

  “That sounds like a lot,” said Florence.

  “Will that Sid guy still be mad?”

  “I hope not. But I can deal with that. He’ll just have to get unmad.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Flower

  FLOWER FOCUSED on her baby brother until he no longer swallowed, and the broth dribbled out onto his cheeks. She wiped them with her sleeve. “He’s asleep now.” Cleo wrapped him in her shawl and began to hum again. Eldon lay silent on the other side of the cell. Flower briefly lowered her tired head onto her mother’s lap, but Cleo’s incessant rocking made her sit up again. She approached the barred entrance to the cell and looked out beyond it.

  The jail was dark except for a hanging oil lamp, which cast a pool of light over the marshal’s desk. His head lay upon the desk top, buried in his folded arms. The deputy sprawled back in his tilted chair, his legs splayed out in front of him. He was snoring, but the marshal made no sound. Flower had seen them drink the “medicine,” and she hoped they were deeply asleep. She put her hand through the bars and around to the lock. It would be awkward, but she thought she could unlock the door from the opposite side.

  The desk with the sleeping lawmen stood in the center of the room. On a sidewall was a cupboard, and beside that was another door, slightly ajar, darkness in the space behind it. Flower stood and studied the scene, then returned to the cot. She lay down beside her rocking mother and then gave in to her exhaustion and briefly fell asleep.

  Dream voices entered her slumber: angry voices, voices that demanded and complained and threatened. She didn’t want to leave her mother, clung desperately to her, but was dragged away, forced to climb stairs to a waiting platform. Hands poked and grabbed as she tried to resist.

  Flower jerked awake, her body stiff with fear, jaws and hands clenched, her breath coming in little gasps. She moaned, reached over and touched her mother. They were still together. Flower lifted her head to see the lawmen deep in slumber. She could h
ear voices coming from outside, men talking.

  “Now who would this be?” asked one of the men.

  “Told you. No need to post the sale. Word of mouth’s enough.”

  “People will come from all over.”

  “Out of the woodwork.”

  “Some just curious.”

  “Looking for entertainment.”

  “Don’t want too many; it’ll drive up the price for the rest of us.”

  “True. Unless you’re selling.”

  “What’s that man doing?”

  There was the sound of footsteps climbing. “Someone’s getting up on the platform! Who’s that, the auctioneer?”

  “We’re not having one. Jeb’s doing it.”

  “Hey, you up there! Planning to be part of the sale?” This question was followed by shared laughter.

  “I bring a message.” Flower sat up. There was something familiar about that voice.

  “It’s a little early for speech making. Wait awhile; you’ll have a bigger crowd.”

  “The Lord speaks to everyone, through his messenger.”

  “A man of the cloth. Hey, preacher, it’s not Sunday.”

  “Goodness does not wait for a special day.”

  “We’re good most of the time.” More laughter. “Well, some of the time.”

  “Now is the time to move on from your evil ways.”

  “We’ve heard enough. You move on. We’ve got business to conduct here in a few hours.” This voice was louder, more authoritative.

  “Business is what you call it. I call it the work of the devil.”

  “Call it what you like. Just don’t bother us with your sermons.”

  Flower sat on the edge of the cot, listened intently. “Stop your humming, please, Ma.” Cleo looked up with dazed eyes and stopped. “Listen,” said Flower.

  “The time has come to recognize the evil that is slavery. We are all brothers under our skins. It is wrong to sell your brother as if he were livestock.”

  “Mind your own business! We look after them, feed them, and house them for their work.”