Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  Leroy hangs out the window enjoying the novelty of speed as they bump along the road. He’s laughing, the wind raking his hair back.

  “Close that mouth of yours, Leroy, or a bug will fly in,” Edith says with a grin. The gorgeous day and Leroy’s excitement are infectious.

  Edith parks the truck in front of the mercantile and gives Leroy two quarters. “This is for you to spend.”

  Leroy looks down at the coins in his hand; more money than he’s ever seen. “Thanks, Miz Edith. This is swell.” Visions of candy and comic books dance in his head.

  “Now, let’s go find someplace that sells radios.”

  The two head off down the wooden sidewalk, Edith running through the mental list of supplies she needs. Coming towards them, Edith spies Brother Silas in his dark shirt and collar. Leroy slips his trembling hand into Edith’s and she squeezes it.

  “Never show fear, Leroy.” There’s just something about that man that is so wrong.

  Brother Silas nods with a half-smile as they pass.

  Edith and Leroy keep walking. Everything about Brother Silas screams run.

  After a few steps, Edith is unable to resist stopping and looking behind. He’s gone. She hugs Leroy quick and tight. “Good job, kiddo. I think we’ve earned a treat. How about an ice cream?”

  “Let me treat you, Miz Edith. I got my four-bits you gave me,” Leroy says.

  Edith can see the worry flickering behind his smile. Brother Silas had rattled him, too. “Thanks, sweetie, but you keep that money. I can spot us the ice-cream, and then we’ll go find us a radio to buy.”

  The promise of baseball games and adventure serials becoming a reality in Leroy’s future erases the dark shadow of Brother Silas.

  The first thing Edith and Leroy do when they get back to Gator’s is put the radio on the counter next to the refrigerator, and plug it in. Leroy turns the dial, trying all the stations, while Edith unpacks groceries. He finds what he’s looking for when creepy music introduces a radio drama. The announcer intones ‘As you sow evil, so shall you reap evil! Crime does not pay... The Shadow knows! Bwah-ha-ha’.

  Edith reaches into the grocery box and pulls out a Tarot card. It’s upside down in her hand, and something tells her it is meant to be that way. She tips her head to identify it: Seven of Cups. She hands it to Leroy with a questioning look.

  “You gotta be careful, Miz Edith. This is about choices and confusion. And when it’s upside down like this, it’s telling ya that looks can be deceiving.”

  Chapter 31

  S aturday night. That’s the night Nancy always wants to get all dolled up and go out. Which is well and good. She sure does look pretty on a Saturday night. Not that she isn’t the prettiest girl Harley ever did see, but when she decides she wants to do it up right, she can knock his socks off.

  Yup, Saturdays are fine, but Harley especially likes Thursdays. That’s the boys’ night out. You don’t need a bath; you don’t need to change your shirt. You just need a bit of cash in your pocket and a certain swagger in your step.

  The new place that opened, Gator Joe’s, is the joint they’ve decided to go back to this Thursday. Harley will meet up with Billy Shaw from the base, and a few of the other fellas. They’ll wet their whistle and make plans to see what kinds of trouble they can find. Sometimes it might not move much past whatever saloon they’re in, but it could. And that’s what is so special about Thursdays.

  Harley strolls into Gator’s and eyes up the crowd. A few tables of guardsmen from the base, a couple of fishermen, but not much else. He knows that words out in town to avoid Gator Joe’s, but Harley likes Miz Edith, and nobody’s been good at telling him what he can and can’t do since he was a few years younger, a few inches shorter, and a few pounds lighter.

  “Evening, Harley. What can I get you?” Edith says from behind the bar.

  “You got any rum, tonight?”

  She shakes her head. “I got whiskey. And whiskey.”

  “Any beer?”

  “Some. Are Nancy and Billy and the rest coming in later?” Edith says, fishing out a cold bottle from the cooler and drying it off with a handy rag.

  “We’re going stag tonight, Miz Edith, so just Billy and a few buddies, I expect. Looks like a quiet night for you tonight.”

  “It might pick up.”

  “Expect it might.”

  “A man of few words, not like my late husband.”

  “He was a bootlegger, right?”

  “Yes. In Philly.” Edith wipes the counter. “He built quite the empire, but I wonder sometimes what it would be like if this had been our life. Running a small speakeasy, a couple of kids like Leroy running around. I’d be in the kitchen cooking the dinner special and he’d be out front here, telling stories.”

  “Sounds like a nice life, all right.”

  “It might have been. Hey, here’s Billy.”

  Billy stops by the tables where his friends from work are sitting. Lt. Commander Saunders would have a fit if he knew where his men from the base were spending their evenings, but hey, you don’t tell the boss everything. And young men gotta blow off steam, Prohibition or not.

  “Hey Harley, what’s up?” Billy says, coming up to the bar.

  “Not much. Just chewing the fat with Miz Edith here.”

  “Can I get you a whiskey, Billy?” she asks. He nods and puts his money on the counter. Harley pushes it back toward him.

  “This one’s on me, Miz Edith. I had a good trip out to Rum Row this week.”

  “Maybe I should talk to you about picking me up some rum on your next trip so I can pour you a proper drink,” she says, putting Billy’s beer on the counter.

  “I try to never muscle in on another fella’s turf. But if Zeke or Otis ever decide to take off for something else, give me a shout first, okay?”

  “I’ll do that, Harley.”

  There’s an easy pace to the evening. Harley and Billy have a few more drinks. The table of guardsmen head off, as do the fishermen. Both groups have an early start tomorrow morning.

  Edith grabs a drink and wanders over to Harley’s table. “Can I join you boys? It’s a slow night and I’d like to sit for a bit while I can.”

  “Of course, Miz Edith,” Harley says with a grin, pushing a chair back from the table for her.

  “What’s the story about Coconut Grove, anyway?”

  Billy picks up his beer. “Don’t look at me. I’m not from here. Harley’s your local-yokel.”

  Harley shrugs. “Small town, like any other small town. Friendly enough, but your folks had to have been born here to really be part of it.”

  “Ha. I’m still waiting for the friendly enough part.”

  Harley shrugs again. “You’re a different kinda’ gal, Miz Edith and different doesn’t do well in small towns. Give it time, folks will come ‘round.”

  He takes a drink and settles back in his chair. “You’re from Philadelphia and that’s a place with lots of history. You got Ben Franklin and the Declaration of Independence. What most folks don’t realize is that Florida has a lot shorter history. What with the climate and the Everglades covering most of the area around here with swamp, people weren’t keen to settle here.”

  Edith looks skeptical.

  “I guess I’m not doing a good job selling you on your new home, am I? It weren’t all bad, Miz Edith. Because there weren’t many people, the south coast of Florida was a great place to get lost in, or to find yourself. That’s one of the reasons why we have so many creative types around here. Lots of music and artists were drawn to the place.”

  “Don’t forget all the writers and poets. Plenty of them came, too,” Billy says, eyes rolling. “At least you can hang a pretty picture on the wall. What the heck are you supposed to do with a poem?”

  Harley shrugs, running out of positive things to say about Coconut Grove’s early days.

  “And all this was less than a hundred years ago. Heck, Florida didn’t become a state until 1845. There were hardly any farmers
or fruit growers back then, just fishermen like Harley’s pa,” says Billy.

  Harley restarts the tale. “About thirty years ago they ran the railroad from the north straight through to the keys, bringing down the tourists. My folks tell me that was the thing that opened up Dade County.”

  “Tourists came south, oranges went north. It seems like everybody in America wants a glass of freshly squeezed Florida with their breakfast,” says Billy.

  Harley picks it up again. “Although even back then, the newcomers weren’t especially welcome. The people living here before the railroad wanted it to stay small and natural. That was one of the things they liked about the Biscayne Bay area.”

  “It is a pretty place,” Edith says. “Too bad the people weren’t as nice.”

  “Coconut Grove is a special kind of place. We got risk-averse farmers, fishermen, and the venerable ladies of the Homemakers Guild living alongside Bohemian artists and militant naturalists. It’s no wonder that things get a bit tense around here. When you add in a Yankee woman running a blind tiger, well, the welcome wagon waits to see what will happen. Will you stick it out or fold and run home?”

  Leroy appears at her chair. “I got the glasses washed and put away. You need me for anything else, Miz Edith?” he asks, yawning.

  “No, I think we’re about done for the night. You head off to bed and I’ll lock up in a bit.”

  “Night, Miz Edith, fellas,” Leroy says over his shoulder, already scampering down the hall to head out the kitchen door to the barn and bed.

  “Leroy’s a great kid. Reminds me of my little brother,” Billy says. “Too bad about his folks not being around.”

  “He’s doing okay,” Edith says. “Getting by like we all do.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “Seeing as it’s just us, can you answer a question for me?” Edith asks.

  A couple of raised eyebrows. “Sure Miz Edith, what do you need to know?”

  “I’m just wondering why we aren’t busier. You fellas like coming here, and there’s always a table or two from the base. Why aren’t the town folks coming in?”

  Harley looks at Billy and gives a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t know about other folks, but I like coming here because it feels like home.”

  “Like your home is a saloon? You better not let your mama hear you say that,” says Billy.

  “You know what I mean. I can bring Nancy here, and I wouldn’t do that in some of the other blind tigers around. Except for not having any rum, Miz Edith, you seem to be getting the hang of things around here.”

  “Thanks, Harley. There’s still the odd bump along the road, but we’re getting there. You know what they say, slow progress is better than no progress.”

  Harley raises his glass in a toast. “Here’s to progress.”

  “But that didn’t really answer my question. You know everyone in town. It seems like they’re avoiding the place.”

  Harley looks around the empty barroom and leans in. Everyone else does, too. “It weren’t me that said this, okay?” Edith nods and Harley glances over both shoulders. “There’s folks that have been here a long time. For some reason I can’t figure out, they really don’t want you making a go of it. You know what I mean? And times aren’t as bad here as elsewhere, but there’s not extra cash floating around. The other blind tigers don’t want any more competition. Putting it plain, you just don’t have a lot of friends in town.”

  Edith sits back, ready to argue the point. Instead, she shakes her head and gives a small smile. “What can I do about it?”

  “It’s a tough one, Miz Edith. Time might help. Billy can talk it up on base and maybe get his buddies in the Coast Guard to come out. But the locals? That’s going to take some time. Maybe try being part of the town more? Try and win over a few more people? Give ‘em reasons not to distrust you.”

  Edith nods. “I can do that. Although, it’s going to be an uphill climb. The hardware and lumberyard won’t sell to me. I’m not sure a winning smile is going to knock the chip off their shoulder.”

  Harley shrugs. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Gator Joe’s is a great place. You’re a nice gal. Just give it time. I’m sure things will settle out.”

  “Thanks Harley, I appreciate the advice. Can I ask you one more thing? About the Wharf Rats.”

  Harley pushes back his chair. “Nope. Nobody talks about the Rats. That’s like inviting trouble to your door. Avoid ‘em if you can. Come on, Billy. I gotta get going.”

  Still sitting at the table, Edith watches the two leave. “Avoid them? Well, it’s too late for that.”

  Chapter 32

  T ap. Silence. Tap, tap. Silence. Tap.

  The noise wakes Edith and she stares at the ceiling of her bedroom. A pounding headache beats time to the hammering on the roof. She squeezes her eyes shut.

  Tap, tap. Silence. Tap.

  Those darn shingles arrived last week and today, a Sunday, is the day they decide to show up for work? I’m really not in the mood for this.

  Edith yanks the covers off and pulls on a pair of overalls and a shirt she’d bought when they were painting the barroom. Passing right by the coffee Leroy had started, Edith pushes through the kitchen door. The sound of it slamming shut is a crescendo on her anger.

  A ladder leans next to the back porch and she climbs up. As she clears the edge of the roof, she shoots Otis a black look.

  “You are slower than molasses, Otis. Are you ever going to get that done?” Edith snatches the hammer from Otis. “Here, give it to me.” Leaning over, she drives the roofing nail into the shingle.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. A curse as the head of the hammer misses. “Damn townsfolk,” Edith mutters with a mouthful of roofing nails. Otis cedes the field and disappears down the ladder, grousing all the way down. “Damn woman. Always after me to get this roof done and, when I’m doing it, she takes the GD hammer away.”

  Bang. Bang.

  Every nail head is someone who had promised to come to Gator Joe’s but didn’t show. Bang. Every nail head is a sly look, a disapproving glance, a skirt pulled away so it doesn’t accidently brush her. Bang. Mosquitos. Bang. Mickey leaving. Bang. Mickey and those other women. Bang. Bang. Bang. Brother Silas. Bang. A swing and a miss. Curse. Wiping the sweat off her brow, Edith is lost in retribution when she hears a small voice behind her.

  “Miz Edith? I brung you some water.” Leroy is clutching the ladder with one hand and a glass of water in the other.

  Sitting back on the roof, Edith drains the glass in a few swallows. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Leroy. I’m grateful.” He takes the glass and scoots back down the ladder. Edith turns to survey her work.

  This is the last section of the roof that needs to be completed. They’d run out of shingles when they were working on the roof just after she’d bought Gator’s and it has taken three long weeks for more shingles to arrive from Miami—stupid hardware store—tap—and for Otis to get up on the roof and start roofing. Stupid Otis—tap, tap. She looks at her hand, blisters already forming. I should have worn gloves. She shrugs. Might as well finish.

  Leaning back into it, she begins again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The view from the roof is breathtaking. The ocean, dotted with small, bobbing boats, stretches out to a slightly curved horizon. Clouds float in a bright, blue sky. I should put my bedroom up here. I could have a deck over the veranda out front, and big windows. Maybe a window seat along one at the back where I could curl up on a rainy day.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The sun climbs higher, sweat rolls down Edith’s face. Her shoulders ache, and her back screams every time she turns to pick up another shingle. Almost done. A good job, too. Better than the job Otis was doing. Those boys gotta go.

  * * * *

  Otis wanders down to the Rex where Zeke is snoozing, his feet propped up on a coil of rope.

  “Come on,” Otis says, slapping his brother's boots off the rope.

  “Huh? What? Wh
ere we going?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. Listen to that,” Otis says, a thumb point behind him up to Gator Joe’s. Furious hammering fills the air.

  “Who’s that on the roof?”

  Otis rolls his eyes.

  “Miz Edith is on the roof? I thought you were finishing that up today?”

  “So did I. She showed up there, madder than a puffed-up toad.”

  “What’s got her riled?” Zeke asks, beginning to get the boat ready to go out.

  Otis checks the fuel levels. “Lord only knows. The Boss has no idea what we have to put up with watching this dame.” Otis sticks a finger in the motor oil to taste for metal, and spits. Zeke looks at him, a question on his face. Otis shakes his head, grimacing. “Yup, the engine don’t have too many more miles in her.”

  “Maybe time to pick up a new boat?” Zeke asks, checking the prop at the stern. “Better have a look at the battery, too.”

  Otis begins to stow away the lines. “Did. It’s okay.”

  Zeke jumps to the dock to begin to cast off as Otis tries to start the boat. The engine sputters and dies. He tries again, it sputters again and then catches.

  Zeke jumps back on board. “We should pick up a new boat at the next auction.”

  Otis laughs. “Yer getting soft. We’re Wharf Rats, idiot. We’ll just steal us a new boat.”

  Zeke laughs and the boat roars away, a spray of water washing across the dock. “So, where are we headed, brother?”

  “I don’t care,” Otis says “I just needed to get outta there. How about we head out to Rum Row and see what’s going on.”

  Zeke stares slack jawed at Otis. “Are you crazy? It’s broad daylight. Ain’t even lunchtime yet.”

  Otis chuckles and faces the bow, hands on the wheel. “No law against looking.”

  As they approach Rum Row, there are a dozen or more schooners and ketches bobbing just outside the twelve-mile limit. The hulls are black or gray, making them almost invisible at night and earning them the nickname ‘black ships’.