They made small talk along the way. Always interested in history, Lloyd listened eagerly as Kendall and his wife talked about the past of this community. As good southerners, they weren’t simply aware of what took place there in their lifetime, but of all things that had taken place locally for the last two centuries. They were a wealth of information on old families, old farms, and the gossip that accompanies such places.
They knew about civil war battles and star-crossed lovers. They knew of horrific accidents, murders, family tragedies, and where ghosts abide. They knew who had money and hid it well, and who gave the appearance of being rich while their pockets were empty. The highly-entertaining and wide-ranging dialogue was interrupted by occasional recruiting stops at houses along the way.
“Helloooooo!” Kendall would call from the road.
As residents of the house flocked to the door, Kendall patiently explained their mission to each family. While he talked, Freda whispered to Lloyd that all the folks they were visiting had attended the funeral service for Oliver and were aware of the tension with Kimberly. Kendall had to update each group on the latest developments, including the fire at the camp and the appearance of a woman outside of Oliver’s kitchen door in the middle of the night.
They were batting about half. Some folks agreed it was the duty of the community to head this off before it got out of control. They were of the same mindset as Kendall and Freda, that a stern talking to from neighbors would bring Kimberly and her son into line. It certainly wouldn’t make up for what had been done but should keep things from escalating. That was the way things had always been done in the past and it seemed to work.
While half of the folks they visited came along with them, riding horses or sitting on a horse-drawn hay wagon that had joined them, others had no interest in being part of the mission.
“I don’t want to get involved,” some replied.
Reading between the lines, Lloyd saw fear in their eyes. They didn’t want to put themselves on Kimberly or her son’s radar. They didn’t want their own houses burned down, or her showing up on their porches at night. They were of the belief that this was what happened to folks who meddled in the affairs of others.
Because of the number of times Kendall had to tell and retell the story, the trip took hours. Then when someone new decided to come along, the rest of the group had to wait for them to get dressed, grab a gun, and maybe saddle a horse. The business of organizing a community activity like this was much more complicated than it had been when electronics were working. There were no group texts, no Facebook posts, nor phone calls.
By the time they reached Kimberly’s place, hours had passed. They’d been following the same paved road for the last three miles, the clatter of their hooves loud in the still afternoon. Lloyd’s stomach was beginning to complain, suggesting it might be time for an afternoon snack. He had a flat slab of cake from an MRE in one of his pockets, but he’d feel like a bum eating it in front of all these people and there wasn’t enough to share. Splitting it this many ways would barely give each person a pinch and that was hardly worth it.
“Yonder,” Kendall announced, pointing to a weedy driveway ahead of them.
A drainpipe clogged with trash passed beneath the drive. Muddy ruts in the entrance resembled miniature canyons, created by water and neglect. The entourage steered up the drive with Kendall in the lead. They passed between leaning gateposts, a rusty blue gate hanging open by a single hinge. They topped an embankment and Kimberly’s place was less than a hundred feet ahead of them.
It was an old sharecropper’s property, a few acres sliced off the larger farm that stretched out behind it. The original house was constructed of sawmill lumber covered in a tarpaper that resembled a fawn-colored brick. In places, it peeled away to reveal the silvery tone of aged poplar. There was no insulation. Lloyd imagined that somewhere inside there was a tall Warm Morning stove that had once heated the house.
When their families couldn’t afford coal, children in these parts walked the railroad tracks with burlap sacks, picking up the chunks of coal that had fallen from rail cars on their way to the steel mills of the north. When they couldn’t find coal they’d burn slab wood from the sawmill. Only children who grew up in houses like this knew that sensation of standing in their living room with their face flushed from heat while their back was freezing from the cold.
At some point, the family had pulled a mobile home into the yard of the old tarpaper house and that was where they lived now. It had likely happened in the 1980s, based on the age of the trailer. Lloyd seemed to recall that around that time the government came through and tried to get people out of these old, unsafe homes. They offered loans and grants, but despite all those incentives, not everyone was interested in the nearly free mobile homes. They tended to be rightly suspicious of the government and understanding of the old saying that nothing in this world was free. As the old and stubborn died out, the younger generations accepted those offers of government assistance and tarpaper shacks became a thing of the past. Many were burned or flattened in an attempt to erase the memory of poverty.
The residents of the mobile home had done their best to make it feel like home. They threw trash off the front porch when the mood struck them, making the high weeds a minefield of beer bottles and soft drink cans. There were broken-down cars in the yard, mirroring the 1950s vehicles rusting around the original shack. In the same manner that the original inhabitants of the tarpaper shack would have gathered on their front porch to socialize each evening, the residents of this mobile home did the same, and Kendall’s party found themselves face-to-face with the people they were seeking.
Kimberly and her son were kicked back in sturdy kitchen chairs, their feet resting on the single bowed rail of the porch. They passed a pipe between them, the smell of marijuana hitting Lloyd’s nose even from a distance. At the sight of the large entourage appearing in their driveway, Kimberly had no reaction and made no move to stop what she was doing. She and her son continued to pass the pipe, waiting for the visitors to make the first move.
Kendall cleared his throat and shifted in his saddle as if his back hurt. “Afternoon, Kimberly.”
She exhaled the smoke she’d been holding. “Afternoon.” She only gave Kendall the most cursory of glances. She was more interested in her pipe, holding it up to the light to see if anything remained in the bowl. Deciding that it was empty, she tapped the pipe against the deck rail to clear the ash.
“Afternoon, Jaybird,” Kendall continued, addressing Kimberly’s son.
Jaybird gave Kendall a contemptuous look. He didn’t speak, but leaned over and picked up a rubber devil’s mask from the porch floor. He pulled it over his head and stared at Kendall, the leering red face intimidating and unsettling.
Kendall glanced around at the folks backing him, trying to gather strength for what he needed to say. Lloyd had not seen the man this uncomfortable since he’d met him. To have been so certain that talking would fix everything, he suddenly seemed very intimidated by these people.
Kendall let out a long breath and faced Kimberly. “We need to talk to you about some things that have happened out there at the camp. At Oliver’s place.”
“Then talk.”
Kimberly’s son didn’t remove the mask, continuing to make eye contact with each of the individual visitors.
“There was a fire at the camp yesterday. Their dining hall was burned to the ground.”
Kimberly stared flatly. “Well that’s a fucking shame, now ain’t it?”
Lloyd heard mumbles behind him. Her attitude and coarse language met with disapproval.
“There was a child at the camp when it happened. They said they saw you and Jaybird there. Said you started the fire.”
“Whoever said that is a damn liar.”
That response flustered Kendall. “Now, Kimberly, I’ve known you since you were a kid. I know you’re a little hot-headed sometimes. We all saw the way you acted when you showed up at Oliver’s fu
neral.”
“I can act any damn way I want to act. Don’t mean that I burnt nothing down.”
“You know good and well you started that fire. I know it, and all these folks here know it. Then there’s the matter of you showing up at Oliver’s place in the middle of the night. You scared one of those poor children nearly to death.”
Kimberly shrugged. “What if it was me? So what if I built that fire? So what if I showed up at the house? I done told you that I’m the last kin Oliver had. All that is rightly mine.”
Kendall shook his head in frustration. “I told you that I saw the will and—”
“I don’t care about no fucking will. I care about right. What’s happening here ain’t right. My family was entitled to a piece of that farm a long time ago and I intend to see that we get what we’re owed.”
“That ain’t happening, Kimberly. We might not have courts and we might not be able to call the police, but we’re all here to let you know that we’re not going to let that happen. You’re not going to keep bothering that woman and those children.”
Kimberly stood and leaned over the railing. She looked at the serious faces gathered in her yard. She met each face and studied the resolve in their eyes. “And all of you feel this way?”
Kendall nodded and slowly the other heads began to bob too. It was mutual. This was why they’d come. This was where they registered their vote.
Kimberly’s mouth tightened. “Fine. I’m done with that place and I’m done with all of y’all. Don’t never ask me for nothing again. Now get your ass outta here.”
Jaybird removed a hunting knife from his belt and started picking at his nails, still wearing the devil mask.
“We have your word on this?” Kendall asked. “You ain’t going to come back there and cause no more trouble?”
“Yes, you have my word,” Kimberly spat, bobbing her head with each word.
“Good. Thank you, Kimberly. Y’all have a good day.”
Kendall turned his horse and the rest followed him. The hay wagon made a wide loop, crushing several beer bottles beneath its tires as it turned.
Lloyd braced himself for taunts or catcalls as they rode off. He expected Kimberly to gather her bravado and hurl threats but she was silent. Kendall pulled alongside him, grinning with relief.
“That went well, don’t you think?”
Lloyd couldn’t even make himself answer. He didn’t believe a word of what she’d said. That wasn’t a woman surrendering. That was a woman choosing her battles. He had no doubt she’d return to fight another day.
56
Jim’s Valley
Jim’s family was eating dinner in the backyard. Pete and Charlie had a good haul of fish that day so they’d decided to have a fish fry, harvesting a few more from the holding tank Jim had constructed. Randi’s family had joined in and Hugh was also there. Gary’s family declined because it was one of his grandchildren’s birthday and she’d requested a spaghetti dinner.
Ariel and Pops contributed by catching dozens of crawfish, though neither would eat them. Pete, Charlie, and Hugh were fond of them and, had he been there, Jim would have eaten them too. They boiled them in the traditional manner, in a pot with corn, potatoes, and spices. Ellen had butchered two young roosters that she didn’t want to keep through the winter and fried them into chicken nuggets, breading them with cornmeal she’d ground herself.
Everyone had filled their plates and was beginning to eat when a man and woman they’d never seen before walked around the corner of the house. They appeared to be in their late twenties and were talking between themselves when they appeared. They were both wearing small daypacks which they dropped against the house.
Hugh gave Ellen a questioning look and she shook her head. She had no idea who these people were. He looked at Randi, Pops, Pete, and Charlie, getting the same response from everyone. The pair walked up to the folding table with the food and picked up two plates. The woman grabbed a set of tongs and was using them to lift a corncob onto her plate when Hugh stood.
He approached the table and stood directly across the table from them. “Excuse me, but can I ask who you are and what you’re doing?”
The woman placed the corn on her plate, ignoring Hugh. She was going for another ear when his hands closed around the tongs.
“I asked you a question.”
She tried to wrench the tongs from his hand, but his grip was tight. Her companion set his plate down angrily.
“Hey, buddy! Get your hands off her!”
He started around the table toward Hugh but didn’t get far. Charlie had gone for his rifle the minute he’d seen the strangers. Now he snapped it up and leveled it on the man.
“Stop right there!”
Everyone froze.
Hugh held up a calming hand to Charlie. “I got this.”
“Back away from that table,” Charlie ordered the couple.
Despite Hugh’s assurance that he had this, the newcomers took no chances. Charlie was the one with a gun on them. He was the one who sounded menacing. The woman released the tongs and placed her plate on the table. She stepped back, tugging her friend with her. They stood glowering at Hugh.
“Charlie,” Hugh said, his voice firm. “Lower your gun.”
Charlie hesitated but eventually complied. Hugh returned his gaze from Charlie to the couple now backed against the house.
“I suggest you answer my questions before this young man loses his patience,” Hugh said. “Who are you?”
The woman gave Hugh a defiant look. “We live in town. We’re running low on food and we’ve heard the rumors. We thought we’d come out here and see if they were true.”
“What rumors?” Ellen asked.
The woman shifted her arrogant expression to Ellen. “That the reason we’re not getting government aid is because the people in this valley sabotaged the power plant. Yet somehow you all are still eating well when the rest of us are fighting to survive.”
“We’re eating well because we work our asses off,” Randi said, unable to keep quiet. “We’re out working every day to put food on our tables.”
“Looks like you’re doing a good job of it,” the man spat. It wasn’t a compliment or even a statement. It was an accusation.
“Just doesn’t seem right to me,” the woman continued. “That’s all I’m saying. Ain’t fair that the people who kept us from getting an aid camp are doing so well for themselves. I’m surprised the rest of the town isn’t out here lined up at your table. They should be. They should be out here taking this food for the people of the town.”
Maybe it was the stress of her husband being gone. Perhaps it was the suggestion that people should try to steal the food her family had worked so hard to grow. Whatever the reason, Ellen lost her cool in a way that no one had ever seen before. She threw her plate to the ground and charged across the yard.
Before Hugh could put himself between them, Ellen grabbed the other woman by the hair and yanked her away from the table. She delivered a roundhouse punch so hard that everyone heard the woman’s open mouth snap closed. As everyone stared in shock, Ellen continued to punch, raining wild blows onto the screaming woman. The man lunged for Ellen but Hugh intercepted him, getting an arm around his neck and locking him into a chokehold.
It was Randi who intervened. It wasn’t out of any concern for the woman getting a beat down that she clearly deserved. Randi simply didn’t want her grandchildren to witness someone being brutally beaten to death at dinner. She forced herself between the two women, something she’d done numerous times over the course of her life. “Ellen! It’s done! Let her go!”
Eventually, Randi wedged herself in far enough that Ellen came to her senses. She quit swinging but continued to hold a fistful of the woman’s hair. Ellen’s chest heaved from the exertion, from the pure, unbridled rage. After a moment she released the handful of hair like it was something vile and stalked away. She made no eye contact with anyone, walking off into the yard, trying to exorcise the
demons rearing their heads within her.
Hugh released the man and he staggered to his partner’s side. She defiantly brushed him off, wiping at the blood that poured from her nose and mouth.
“You should probably go,” Hugh suggested.
Gaining a second wind of rage, Ellen stalked back toward the table of food. As she passed Hugh’s seat, she snatched up his rifle and turned it on the strangers. Everyone at the gathering heard the selector flicked to the Fire position. Hugh backed out of the line of fire. He was done.
“If I ever see you in this valley again, I’ll kill you,” Ellen hissed.
“It’s a free—” the woman began.
Ellen raised the muzzle of the rifle and fired into the air over her head, silencing the woman. Though the round didn’t hit her, the proximity to the firing weapon terrified her. She covered her mouth and didn’t say another word.
“Go!” Hugh repeated. “Now!”
The couple hurried back the way they’d come, snagging their packs from the ground as they ran.
Hugh extended a hand to Ellen. “May I?”
Realizing he meant the rifle, she returned it to Safe and passed it over. Hugh hurried off, trailing the couple to make sure they did as they were told. Ellen turned to face her friends and family. The looks she saw on their faces—fear, worry, concern—made her miss her husband even more. He’d been on the receiving end of looks like this so many times and she hadn’t understood what it felt like until now. It was horrible. The feeling that you’d done what needed to be done to keep your family safe, but at the same time your actions had scared them. The sensation sickened her.
How did one reconcile that? No wonder Jim struggled with doing the right thing. There was no emotional reward for it. There was no sense of accomplishment. It left you feeling dirty and weak.
Not everyone who observed these events struggled to process them. Charlie understood very clearly what had to be done. That night, after everyone went to bed, he set fire to the new bridge the Wimmers had built, severing the valley’s connection with town once again.
The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos Page 34
