The arrival of the two, and their startling news, shatters the focus of the meeting. Whitey, frozen in the middle of the group, looks from the Boss in front of him to his spot at the far side. He scuttles back to his chair.
“Enough. It’s not your turn to speak. And your late arrival shows disrespect to your brothers-in-arms. And to me. Would I be late for your hanging? I think not. Sit down.”
Aware that all eyes are on them, Zeke and Otis saunter over and grab the empty seats next to Whitey at the back of the room. The Boss smirks as he watches Whitey shift his chair away from the pair.
“Whitey. You were interrupted.” The Boss beckons him forward, and the room settles.
Ducking his head, Whitey whispers “Jake at the feed store couldn’t pay this week. Sarah, his missus, is poorly, and they had to take her to the doc. She needed medicine. And when I went to the gas station on the Miami road, they was all boarded up." Whitey adds a handful of coins to the pile of tribute. “This here’s all I could get from the rest.”
The Boss extracts a few bills from the pile. “Give this to Jake for Miz Sarah’s medicine. Tell him I’ll call 'round tomorrow to sit with her for a bit. Are the folks that had the gas station still in town?”
Whitey nods.
“Good. I shall pay them a visit as well.” The Boss slowly raises his hand, laying it gently on the top of Whitey’s bowed head. He slowly examines all those in the room until every eye is fixed upon him. “A man named Ananias, with his wife Sapphira, sold a piece of property and, with his wife's knowledge, he kept back for himself some of the proceeds and brought only a part of it and laid it at the apostles' feet. But Peter said, ‘Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back for yourself part of the proceeds of the land? Why is it that you have contrived this deed in your heart? You have not lied to men but to God.’”
The Boss’ hand slides off Whitey’s head and he raises it clenched into a fist and he shouts out. “When Ananias heard these words, he fell down and breathed his last. And great fear came upon all who heard of it.” The Boss, chest heaving, looks to Buford. “Yes, tell them I shall see them tonight after supper. Buford, you shall join me.”
Buford ducks his head. “Yes, Boss.”
Whitey, bills clutched in his hand, nods and walks backwards to his chair, his eyes never looking at the Boss.
The Boss nods to Buford who gestures Zeke and Otis to the middle of the group. They step forward and Zeke whips his straw hat off his head, turning it round in his hands.
“Gentlemen.” The Boss’ lip curls in a sneer. “You are tardy. Is it because you don’t think this event worthy of your attention?”
Zeke and Otis shuffle the dirt with their feet, flinching at the softly spoken words. The air is hushed; pounding hearts, a choked swallow, held breath.
Zeke and Otis flinch at the sound of beating wings from the rafters. The spell is broken. The Boss nods at Buford.
“Tell us about the dame, Zeke,” Buford asks, and the group leans toward the magnet of fresh news.
“Two dames. Both city gals. Yankees. One younger and one older. Sisters, maybe?” Zeke says.
“The younger one is from Philly. A widow woman. Pretty enough. Great gams on her. She’s the buyer,” says Otis.
“Who’s going to run it?” Buford asks. Around the circle, heads nod and swivel back to Zeke and Otis.
“Philly says she going to run it herself.”
The murmurings grow. “A woman running a tiger gotta have some sass to ‘er.” “I’d like to do a bit of collecting from her.”
“Want that we put her on the protection circuit, Boss? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten a collection outta Gator’s,” Zeke says.
The Boss rests his chin in his hand, staring at Zeke and Otis. They shuffle uncomfortably under the scrutiny. The room is silent. A cough. More silence.
“What did this woman from Philadelphia look like?” the Boss asks idly, seemingly fascinated by a corner of the barn.
“Pretty enough, Boss. Brown hair. Was all dressed in white and brown, with a nice set of pearls on her, if you get my drift.” Zeke lifts his hands to chest height, which gets a laugh from the room.
A glare from the Boss silences everyone. He glances at the pile of worn bills and coins piled in the half-empty box.
“No, I don’t think we will, Mr. Buford. I don’t believe it is the fate of that woman to buy Gator Joe’s. We all know what kind of woman runs a blind tiger saloon.”
“Not the kind we want in town, that’s for sure,” Buford says, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Dames like that are trouble.”
Zeke steps forward, hat clutched in his hands. “But Boss, she seemed mighty determined.”
The boss takes his time to continue, his agitation barely evident through his smooth delivery. No one in the group dares move, let alone speak. “If she does, she will need local support. A handyman or two. Did you not provide those services to the former owner?”
“Sure we did. We offered to do it for her, too. But she turned us down.”
“A shame, gentlemen. There might be something to be learned by being close to her. Hold your friends close and your enemies closer. And make no mistake, this woman is our enemy. Try again, please. And be more persuasive.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“And report back to me. I want to know what’s happening at Gator Joe’s.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“What about that protection money, Boss. Want Zeke and Otis to talk to her about it?”
“No. Let her be without our protection.”
There are whisperings. It’s not like the Boss to pass up a buck or two.
The Boss pauses again, staring at the cash box. “Hard times for local boys. Hard times.” He shakes his head sadly. “Are there new customers come to town that I am unaware of? Or will our thirsty patrons just have more choice of where to spend their money? Can we afford to further divide these meager earnings amongst more? No, I think that we should not welcome this woman, this Jezebel who thinks she can run a saloon.”
Buford nods, glancing around the circle, as other heads nod as well. “Too much competition for a drinking man’s pennies as it is. If we’re not making money off her, we sure don’t want to be losing money from our regular customers. Imagine, a pretty gal playing at running a blind tiger. What does she want with all those hassles?”
“Mr. Buford, let it be known that the good people in town should not make her welcome with the usual Grove hospitality. Instead, make life difficult for her, and perhaps they can convince her to return from whence she came. We need to protect the interests of our existing customers, for that is the service we provide.”
Buford grins. “Sure thing, Boss. The last thing we need around here is a skirt with attitude.”
Chapter 16
A flurry of bankers, lawyers, movers, and the multitude of changes starting a new life entails, propel Edith through a fast-paced two weeks—record time for any move, her lawyer had told her.
Taking a break from paperwork, she stands on the dock at Gator Joe’s, looks out over the water, and inhales, tasting the salt in the tangy air.
The morning sun is merely warm, not yet blazing. The ocean breeze is refreshing. Water lapping against the piers of the dock, and the calls of the sea birds, stir Edith to the bottom of her soul. The ocean’s rhythm drowns uneasy thoughts, those great waves washing away anxieties and doubts. When they recede, all that’s left is a peace that allows Edith to heal.
Another breath. Heaven. As far as Edith’s concerned, the cure for anything is saltwater: sweat, tears, or the sea.
She’s done a lot of cleaning, throwing herself into the physical work. Much earlier, Edith dragged one of the barroom chairs and a table out to the dock. Break over, she returns to her makeshift, outdoor office to continue working on the to-do list for her newly acquired blind tiger—her speakeasy. She longs for a martini but, without proper ingredients, settles for a coffee in
stead. The cup acts as a paperweight resting on top of her notes.
The list Edith originally prepared with Mae became the base for a much longer project ledger. The page she’s working on is neatly divided into columns, with a blank space for an ‘employees’ or ‘contractors’ name to be assigned to each item. So far, hers is the only one on the list, but its early days. Exterior repairs include a new roof, glass for the broken windows, repairs to the veranda, and a coat of paint on the front door. Clearing the yard and improving the road in is underlined. She’s putting up job posters around town today.
She taps the pencil against her chin. Can I get a load of gravel dumped? That would create a bit of a spot at the top of the rise for parking like Cap’s Place had. And maybe some lights up there. It will be dark at night and folks might not be sure-footed walking back to their cars.
Inside, the wiring will need to be looked at. The kitchen needs a refrigerator and new cupboards installed. She adds finding an electrician to her list. They should be able to recommend someone at the hardware store.
Edith scribbles ‘new hall pantry shelves’ to the list but then strokes it off. That would be a good spot for the privy. The outhouse is definitely temporary. The barroom needs a cooler, a good scrub, and some glassware. And somebody is going to have to go up on a ladder and dust that alligator. Do I have a ladder? I’ll see about getting a local girl to help.
Mae’s housewarming gift had been a new mattress for the as-yet unpainted bed. Edith adds the word ‘quilt’ to the end of the list.
First things first: a trip to town. She’ll stop by the local lumberyard and hardware store, and decide what items on her list she can get locally and what she’ll have to arrange to have delivered from Miami.
Edith thinks of the Ford truck parked at the end of the drive. As soon as she arranged the purchase of Gator’s, the truck was the first thing she bought. Initially, it had been parked at Mae’s and slowly filled with things she thought she might need, including a new Briggs and Stratton model L generator that would run the eventual refrigerator and electric lights. Mae’s mattress-gift had also been thrown in the back.
During her final week in Miami, Edith sent a telegram to Maggie, a good friend in Philadelphia, explaining about Gator Joe’s and asking her to pack up the contents of the Philly house. The gorgeous, art deco furniture would be sold with the home; none of it would work at Gator’s. Her summer clothes could be shipped south, but the rest would be sent to Goodwill. Of course, Maggie could have her pick of the furs. In addition, Edith arranged for a crate of oranges to be delivered to Maggie, and decided to write a substantial cheque for Maggie’s son’s tuition fund as a way of saying thank you.
Where has the time gone? Oh, that ocean breeze. I love working outside on this dock. Am I really here? Am I really the owner of Gator Joe’s?
List complete, at least for now, Edith drives into Coconut Grove to start crossing items off.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t have that in stock.”
“Darn, ma’am. I just sold the last one.”
“Give me the help-wanted poster, ma’am, and I’ll see about getting it hung as soon as I’m not busy.”
“Maybe you could get your husband to call 'round. He’d have a better idea of what you’d need for the roof.”
“Nope,” head-scratching, “I guess we’re out of that.”
“I’m sorry but we don’t put up posters like that.”
“Oh, those boards? Sorry, they’re spoken for. Another customer’s going to be by shortly to pick them up.”
“An electrician? Well, I can’t really say. I don’t want to play favorites. That would be bad for business.”
It didn’t seem to matter what she asked for, they were either out of it or didn’t carry it. And it also didn’t seem to matter how wide her smile, the locals were having none of it or her. If she were ten years old, she’d stamp her foot in frustration. As it is, Edith grits her teeth and carries on.
Not the neighborly welcome I was expecting. I never seem to fit in. Not in Philly. Not poolside with Esta and Anna. Not here. It’s supposed to be different this time.
She marches to the telephone building. Pausing in front of her reflection in a shop window, she adjusts the smart cloche hat on her head. Why fit in when you were born to stand out? Edith strides away with a smart sashay to her hips.
The whole day isn’t a loss. Edith arranges to have a telephone installed, hopefully sometime before the end of the month. She finds an electrician—having waved down his truck—to come out and look at Gator’s. She’s pretty sure the bill will be double what a person from Coconut Grove would pay, but at least the work will get done.
The lack of building materials, and a carpenter to use them, is a worry. If Coconut Grove thinks it’s too good for my money, I’m sure suppliers in the city will be happy to take it. We’re supposed to be in a financial depression for goodness sakes. Who can say no to money?
One last stop at the post office.
“So you’re the new gal out at Gator’s,” the clerk says, sliding the post box rental form across the counter. “I got mail for you already.”
Edith recognizes Maggie’s handwriting on the postcard. With a sinking heart, she sees the canals of Venice on the front. Drat, Maggie is on her honeymoon with Ron. I’ll have to make other arrangements to pack up the house and ship my clothes. Maybe I can get Hilda to do it—as housekeeper she knows all the nooks and crannies.
“Sounds like your friend is having a great time in Italy. A newlywed, is she?”
Edith looks askance. “Did you read my private correspondence?”
The postman shrugs. “It’s a postcard, isn’t it?” He reviews her completed form and hammers a rubber stamp down. “Say, I bet Brother Silas would be interested in that stamp of yours. It’s doubtful he has one from Italy.”
“I’ve run into Brother Silas. He doesn’t seem like a stamp collector.”
“Yup, he sure is. Real passionate about it, too. Has been since he was small. His parents were missionaries in China and got him hooked with their letters home.”
“He didn’t go with his parents?”
“Too foreign, I reckon. Nasty bit of business it was with his granny.” The postman waits for Edith to take the bait.
“What happened to his granny?”
“Died.” He leans forward, one elbow on the counter, and says in a low voice, “but local folks don’t talk of it none. On account of the fire.”
Edith is caught up in the story. “Fire?” she asks, also leaning forward and whispering.
The postman looks around, ensuring they are alone. “Not natural, some say.” He straightens when the bell above the door tinkles. “That should about do it.” He turns the rental form around to face him. “Mrs. Duffy. Welcome to Coconut Grove.”
* * * *
Edith waits a day or two for someone, anyone, to answer her ‘help wanted’ ads. Apparently, no one in Coconut Grove wants to work, especially strange given the country is mired in a massive depression—and for Florida, the effects of that Black Tuesday in the stock market which came after a series of devastating hurricanes and the collapse of the Land Boom.
“Morning, Miz Edith.”
Edith looks up from her table on the dock to see Otis and Zeke, the men she had dismissed the first day.
“Good morning. Can I help you gentlemen?”
“We saw you was lookin’ to hire. Like we said before, we know the place and work hard. Never had no complaints from Joe.”
Edith taps her pencil. No one else was interested. “I’m not sure—”
“Time’s a-wastin’, Miz Edith. There’s lots that needs doing. Sitting lookin’ at that piece of paper ain’t going to get it done.”
I could hire them by the day but that probably means the job never gets done. They look like a pair of shovel-leaners.
“All right, if I hire you to fix the shed and install the generator, how long will that take?”
Zeke sucked o
n his teeth and Otis scratched his head and spits on the ground.
The pencil lead snaps against the table. “Oh, for goodness sakes. A week? Two? How about we say a bonus if the shed and generator takes one week and no bonus if it takes two.”
“Do we get lunch?”
Edith rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’ll make you lunch.”
Zeke looks at Otis and then nods. “Sure. We can do that. We’ll start tomorrow if it’s okay with you, ma’am. We’ve got other plans for today.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”
Not moving, the two look at her, at the ground, at the main building, at the sea.
“What?” Edith asks.
“Well, it’s customary around here to pay some in advance.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll pay you at the end of the job.”
“But then you get the work and what happens if we don’t get paid?”
“Oh, all right. I’ll give you ten dollars up front and the balance when the job’s completed.”
“Including the bonus if it’s done in a week, right?”
“Yes. A bonus if it’s done in a week.”
Zeke puts out his greasy, dirty hand. Edith looks at it. Spitting into his palm, he wipes his hand on the backside of his overalls and extends it again.
“You got a good deal, Miz Edith.”
Grimacing, Edith shakes.
Chapter 17
A blanket around her shoulders guards against the night chill. Edith draws her knees up to her chin. She’s sitting on the dock—her favorite spot—head tilted to the sky.
I had a dress that color once—indigo so dark it looked black in some lights. The silver sequins twinkled like the stars. I could dance all night in that dress.
Her limbs relax and she breathes deeply.
And the moon. A tarnished silver plate, lustrous. Edith hums the melody ‘By the light of the silvery moon’.
The dock rocks and a weightless Edith could float on that silvery path out to the edge of the horizon.
I don’t deserve this. It’s wrong to feel so happy after Mickey. Would I have done anything differently? Could I have done anything differently? Maybe I should feel guilty about loving Gator Joe’s so much. Proceeds of crime and all. And a lot of grief had to flow under the bridge that brought me here.
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