by Liz Talley
Scarlet laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you were.”
She took in the aunt who had taught her how to swing by pointing her toes at God and how to look for blackberry vines along ranch fence posts. Her aunt had aged well. Her gray-streaked brown bob framed a lined face that bore a cheerful countenance and wide blue eyes. She smelled of roses and freshly baked pound cake. She smelled like coming home, though Scarlet would be stretching it calling Oak Stand home. She had no home. Rolling stone and all that. Living in New York City for the past four years was as close as she’d gotten to calling a place home.
“Why did she marry him, Aunt Fran? He’s a player and I don’t see anyone taming a man like him.”
Aunt Frances raised the mug to her lips and regarded Scarlet over the rim. Her stare was wiggle-worthy, but Scarlet refrained from squirming. Never could hide much from Aunt Frances.
“Perhaps, you are only seeing what you want to see. Allowing your experiences to color your perspective.”
Scarlet shook her head. “You know how he is. You’ve lived in this town and you know what everyone says about him. How all you need is a ticket and you can stand in line for a ride on Brent. He’s—”
“Your sister’s husband and a part of this family. You need to remember that and not make her choose between the two of you. Because as much as she adores you, Summer, she loves her husband. And, honestly, he loves her.”
“Scarlet,” she reminded her aunt.
“Fine. Scarlet. Summer. Whoever you are.” Aunt Frances waved a hand. “Your name doesn’t change the fact those two have always had a connection.”
“How? She didn’t live here long enough to fall in love. She was a kid.”
“Love doesn’t happen when it’s convenient, honey. It happens when it’s meant to be. Rayne and Brent were meant to be from the first time he pegged her with an acorn to get her attention. He truly loves her…way more than he loves himself.”
Scarlet didn’t respond. What could she say? No sense in arguing. Not with Aunt Fran, who had obviously had her boots charmed off by the dashing boy next door. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. If you stick around for a while, you might see for yourself and feel better about things.”
How she wished those words could be true. Not only for Rayne, but for her, too. How long had it been since she felt truly happy? She knew the answer, of course. It had been a Wednesday and John had taken her to dinner and then a concert in Central Park. They had danced beneath the stars and she’d outlined all the things they would do in Italy when the film wrapped. They would shop for heirloom silver in the piazza shops, hike the trails above deep blue lakes and eat at the trattorias hidden down meandering alleys. It had been the last night they’d made love. The last night he’d kissed her and whispered he loved her.
The next afternoon, it had been over. Nothing but smoldering ashes in what was once her heart. Scarlet caught the tiny charm John had given her between her fingers and directed her thoughts from the pain echoing in her empty heart. She couldn’t save Rayne, but she could help the town by speaking up against Harvey Primm and the misguided library board. She ignored the voice in her head telling her she searched to save others because she couldn’t save herself. That wasn’t true. She was okay and getting better every day.
Hadn’t the sexy police chief jump-started her with his touch, with his warm—okay, sizzling—regard?
Still, a town meeting and a protest would be just what she needed to make her feel productive. Useful. Powerful.
She had less than a week to help organize opposition to the censorship of The Magpie’s Jewel. Her blood roared with purpose. She’d fight the good fight.
No man could stand in her way.
Not even the memory of the man she loved still.
CHAPTER FIVE
SIX DAYS LATER, Scarlet wiped her brow with the damp cloth she’d stored in the ice cooler at her feet and lifted her sign with purpose.
“Children have rights!” she shouted, circling the flagpole and World War II memorial centered in the front of the Oak Stand branch of the Howard County Library. Other protestors joined her in her cries for justice. There were more than twenty of them. All from different walks of life, all gathered with purpose—to protest the library board’s removal of The Magpie’s Jewel from the shelves of the children’s sections of the seven library branches.
“It’s hotter than hell today,” Meg Lang grumbled, tugging her long skirt up so air circulated around her pale legs. “Wish I’d worn something cooler. Thought the black emo look would stage well for the cameras. I’m paying for my stupidity.”
Scarlet smiled. Rayne’s assistant had likely let vanity get in the way of practicality. The Texas sun played no favorites as it bore down upon the shoulders of the protestors. Meg wore a tight T-shirt that declared Protest This! with a not-so-polite gesture below it, along with a long, tight black skirt and combat boots. Her short hair stuck to her head, making her look as if she were a silent-screen goddess. Well, it would have if not for the silver ring piercing her nose.
“Yeah, I don’t think I could wear any less without getting arrested.” Kate Mendez groaned, fanning herself with a now pudgy hand. She was way too pregnant to be out in the sun. A fact her husband, Rick, complained about every five minutes on the dot. Currently, her husband stood on the sidewalk with the yummy Oak Stand Police Chief.
Scarlet eyed Adam as he watched attentively from the sidelines. He stood with several townspeople who had gathered as news cameras whirred, capturing the sweating but determined protestors. “Bet he’d do it, too.”
“Who? Adam?” Kate brushed away a trickle of sweat. “Maybe. He’s a by-the-book kind of guy, but he hasn’t taken our signs away and made us leave even though technically we don’t have a permit. Although, I think I might let him cuff me if it means spending some time in the AC.”
Scarlet thought she might let him cuff her with or without air-conditioning.
Kate’s husband appeared at her elbow. “Okay, babe, I’ve let you do this for an hour. Now I’m ordering you to put that sign down and think about our unborn child.” Rick crossed his arms over a phenomenally muscled chest. Tattoos peeked out from beneath the snug T-shirt he wore and his golden skin seemed to soak in the rays of the sun, empowering him in his quest to remove his nearly eight-months-pregnant wife from the library memorial.
“No one orders me to do anything,” Kate responded, rubbing her back in spite of her fierce words.
“Kate, I appreciate your passion, but your husband is right. You can’t endanger yourself or your child for this.” Scarlet said, resting the sign on her shoulder.
Another news van pulled aside the curb, joining several others lining the downtown square. A larger crowd had gathered on the sidewalk and the buzz of their conversation provided energetic background music for the showdown between the protestors and Harvey Primm, who had not yet showed his yellow-bellied self to the townspeople lacing the grounds of the historic library.
“I have an obligation to make this a better world for him, Rick. We’ve got to make sure ignorance doesn’t prevail in this matter. Not here. Not now.” Kate crossed her arms over her baby bump.
“How about I take up the sign and you go over to the Curlique and put your feet up?” Betty Monk, the co-owner of the town’s only true salon, interrupted. “We’ll do shifts.”
Kate slid her eyes toward the wispy-headed older lady who wore an outlandish pair of silk parachute pants and long tunic. She looked like an older, plumper, very much whiter version of M. C. Hammer. “Can I get my toes done while I’m there?”
“What would it matter? You can’t see them, can you?” Meg drawled.
Kate narrowed her eyes. “Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean you don’t want it painted badabing cherry, smarty-pants.”
Meg took a swig of water and sauntered off to get on camera. The van that had pulled up moments ago already had a reporter and cameraman in place. She turned and sa
id very seriously, “Spoken like a true romantic.”
“I can’t believe you called me romantic. I’m not the one who wore a Victorian gown on a picnic with Bubba Malone,” Kate said.
Meg scratched her forehead with the very same finger depicted on the front of her T-shirt. Kate rolled her eyes and toddled down the steps leading to the brick street of the town square. The Curlique hair salon sat several businesses down from the library. Scarlet half wished she could head over and put her feet up, too. It was roasting and the sweat rolling down her back caused her tank top to cling a bit too provocatively. She needed to fall into an ice bath or stand beneath a glacier waterfall. Or maybe fall into a snowbank and make snow angels or—
“Hey, Scarlet.” Brent snapped his fingers.
“Huh?”
“Where did you go? You looked miles away and your sign hit Mrs. Monk in the head.” Brent toted the largest sign of the protestors. It read Censorship Kills Democracy in bold red-and-blue letters. Honestly, the protest couldn’t get much more American.
Scarlet turned to Betty. “Sorry, I got caught up in imagining a blizzard sweeping through.”
Betty waved off her apology. “Share it with me. I’m sweating like a preacher on revival night with not a soul saved.”
Brent nodded toward the opening library door. “Speaking of deacons.”
“I wasn’t—” Betty’s words died as all eyes shifted to the front of the building. A hush descended over the crowd as Harvey Primm emerged from the one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old cypress door of the library. In his hand, he bore two books. He paused, taking in the crowd before him. It seemed as if he savored the moment, soaking up the power or the glory or whatever he imagined he received in the face of carrying out the removal of the book. Slowly, he walked down the wooden stairs toward Scarlet and the rest of the protestors where they stood in a circle around the flagpole.
Scarlet girded herself with both the sign and a vow not to sink to the man’s level. But he didn’t pause in front of her. Instead he bypassed them with a small smirk playing about his mouth and stopped in the center of the walk. Scarlet’s trained eye caught the man’s intention. His spare figure, clad in somber black, would be framed by the American flag hanging limply in front of the stately building. The staging was perfect for the cameras.
“You see this book?” Harvey called out, hushing the sudden burst of chatter sparked by his descent. He lifted the copy of The Magpie’s Jewel into the air. The black bird on the cover swooped in his hand, as if it were in actual flight.
“Make no mistake, my neighbors, this book is the handiwork of the devil. It does not belong on the shelf where innocent children can read of witches, spells and dark wizards. Where our precious ones can be preyed upon by the evil power that seeks to grab hold and make mischief. This town is a fine upstanding community, and we pride ourselves in teaching our children to turn away from evil.”
With that declaration, Harvey threw the book upon the ground.
“And instead seek this book.”
Harvey raised his left hand, which clasped a copy of the Holy Bible.
“Amen!” someone called out. Several people standing around clapped their approval.
Scarlet shoved her sign into Brent’s hand and scrambled in front of Harvey. She lifted the discarded book from where it fell and waved it. Anger, fast and furious, gathered in her belly and flooded her. How could he? How could this man use the Bible to manipulate those around him? “Have you even read this book?”
Harvey glared at her. “I don’t have to see evil to know it exists, young lady. You will do well to heed the power of Satan.”
“This isn’t about religion. It’s about censorship. About refusing citizens the right to make their own choices. This is America, not some communist country. We have the right to decide for ourselves.”
Several members of the crowd pressed toward where she and Harvey faced off. Scarlet felt Brent move behind her. She also noted Adam heading her way.
“Are you accusing me of being a communist?” Harvey cried. “You’re a presumptuous, misguided fool. This is about protecting our community from filth.”
Scarlet shook the book. “This is not filth. It’s a book about good overcoming evil, about sacrifice and love. You are making this about religion. It has nothing to do with faith, you old crackpot!”
A woman at her elbow hissed. “How dare you call him such a name. You’re nothing but a heathen, prancing around on the television set with no clothes on. You aren’t fit to breathe the same air as Brother Primm.”
The woman tugged at Scarlet’s arm.
“Don’t touch me.” Scarlet got the words out from between gritted teeth, pulling away from the older woman’s grip. But the woman was country strong. She held fast and tugged Scarlet away from the smirking Primm. Even as her feet slid on the smooth concrete of the walk, Scarlet knew she’d played into the man’s hands.
Someone else grabbed at her hair, but Brent pushed the angry hands away and pulled her to his side. “Enough.”
Her brother-in-law’s words fell on deaf ears. Before Scarlet could tell Brent to jump in a lake because she didn’t need his help, a scuffle broke out between one of the protestors and what was obviously Harvey’s hoodwinked sheep. Several women shrieked as the two men struggled over one of the placards Betty had been toting.
A sharp whistle pierced the air. Once. Twice. Three times. Then the siren from the police car wailed.
Several people tussling over the signs broke apart and moved to the perimeter. Harvey watched the on-goings with satisfaction.
He must have planned this. Scarlet seethed as she pulled her sign loose from a pimply teenager who wore a T-shirt advertising Harvey’s gossip rag. “Give me that.”
“Witch!” he yelled, eyeing the police officers swarming up the steps.
“Wrong,” she growled. “I’m a vampire. Don’t make me bite you.”
The kid dropped the sign and retreated. She’d freaked him out. Good. She picked up the sign and turned to where the protesters squared off with some of Harvey’s people. Meg looked ready to stomp the Hush Puppies of one of the men, and Betty laughed as Brent tried to soothe the older woman who had latched on to Scarlet moments before. The elderly lady had tears coursing down her grooved cheeks. Obviously the older woman was even more of a drama queen than Scarlet ever dreamed of being. But it made her feel bad anyway. It shouldn’t have come to this.
Out of the corner of her eye, Scarlet caught sight of Harvey and his simpering, self-satisfied smile. He’d manipulated people into being his winged monkeys, doing his dirty work, while he remained in the center, seemingly serene and in control. A martyr for his misguided brand of justice.
Scarlet stormed toward him. “You did this on purpose.”
Harvey lifted a woolly eyebrow. “I did nothing but what was required, madam. I suggest you disperse your group before you end up in the back of a police car.”
“You take your people and leave.” Scarlet jabbed a finger at him. “You turned this into something it wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Scarlet,” Adam said, his low voice somehow comforting. “Step away and let it go. Nothing can be done.”
“Do as he says,” Harvey said.
For a moment, Scarlet felt a burning in her gut. It was as if she were caught between two impenetrable walls, walls that were closing in on her. “No.”
“Scarlet,” Adam said, gently grasping her shoulder in effort to turn her from Harvey.
“Stop,” she said, shrugging away from his touch, a touch that stirred, a touch that oddly enough made her feel safe. But his plea wasn’t enough to make her step down from the ass clown standing before her, looking condescending and smug. “I’m not leaving. We have the right to protest.”
“But not the right to disturb the peace,” Adam said, his voice more firm. He raised his voice above the melee. “Okay, folks, that’s it. Time to move on. Go home.”
A grumbling emerged at his words, but most peopl
e stepped away from the area surrounding the flagpole. The law was respected in Oak Stand. Adam meant authority. He meant business.
Brent clamped Adam on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. We didn’t want it to turn into this.”
Adam nodded. “You, too, Primm. Take the book and go.”
Harvey frowned. “Very well. Justice has triumphed and it is done. Good day to you.”
“Wait!” Scarlet shouted. “You can’t leave. This is a protest!”
Betty shook her head. “We did our best, honey. We’ll have to let it go for now.”
“No, I won’t leave,” Scarlet declared. “This is unfair. I can’t. I can’t let him win.”
“Baby doll, come on. Let’s have some sweet tea and pound cake on my porch. We’ll brainstorm and come at this in a different way.” Betty rubbed a hand down her sticky back.
Scarlet spun around and picked up the backpack she’d dropped beside the cooler. It held packages of crackers, a packet of gum, a brilliant script by an upcoming Broadway writer and…a pair of handcuffs. Strong, rimmed in red faux fur, they would just fit around the smaller flagpole that flew the Texas state flag.
Scarlet sat and clicked one cuff on her right hand and the other she fastened around the hot steel of the pole.
“What are you doing?” Adam called. “No. Don’t.”
She clicked the cuff shut.
“Honey,” Betty groaned. “No call for that.”
Harvey had been moving toward the street and his large black car. He turned. “And she called me a crackpot.”
Reporters moved from Harvey and swarmed toward Scarlet.
Brent crossed his arms. “I knew she was trouble, but this beats all I’ve ever seen. Better call Rayne.”
Adam stared at her. The censure in his eyes burned her and she felt her chin droop slightly. But she refused to be shamed. She had every right to protest the removal of the book from the shelf. She wasn’t misguided or irrational. She was…she was…patriotic.
