On Sunday morning Lynne, Laurie, and Jane attended services at St. Matthew’s, then stayed for lunch. A newfound closeness was realized between the three adults; Marek had shared his invitation to Klaudia while Laurie had mentioned his thoughts regarding Eric’s return, upon which all three agreed. Lynne had told the story of Ann’s gift to the coming baby, and both men had been silenced at that tale, also how initially that bear had been a way for Renee to finally address looking into adoption. But on that first day of December, conversations centered on more immediate concerns; Jane needed a new bed, which Laurie and Lynne would choose that coming week. And Marek had a recipe to share, those caramel slices quickly becoming a favorite of Laurie’s. Then the talk turned to Renee’s brother, who seemed on the road to recovery. Ritchie was breathing unaided and Brenda had agreed to take back her husband. That was qualified by several caveats, the main being that Ritchie wouldn’t simply go right back to their marital home. A lengthy stay in rehab was necessary, for his left leg had been badly damaged in the accident. The last Lynne knew, doctors weren’t sure if he would be able to walk unaided, perhaps requiring a cane. Yet for how severe were his injuries, it was a miracle that he was alert, also contrite. Once he’d been able to talk, Renee informed Lynne, all he wanted to do was apologize.
Those apologies had been extended beyond Brenda and their children; Ritchie sought his parents’ forgiveness, also his siblings’ clemency. The family’s priest had been visiting daily, but while Ritchie had taken communion, only the bread had been shared. Laurie had heard these details, but Marek was amazed, also cautious, as was most of Ritchie’s family. Renee didn’t believe her brother could stay sober once he was back home. But Lynne would continue to pray for that man’s recovery, both physically as well as from alcoholism. According to Renee, Ritchie had confessed that ailment almost in the same breath as seeking Brenda’s mercy. Renee had been there, on Friday morning, when her brother had finally regained consciousness, making that plea. Fortunately, Renee had told Lynne, Paul had been happy to stay at home when those declarations were uttered.
Eric wasn’t mentioned during lunch, but as the foursome exited the church, Marek glanced upwards, finding a sliver of blue amid the clouds. It had been nearly five months since Eric had headed to Florida, and over two weeks since he’d left that state. Marek sighed, then met Lynne’s gaze. She nodded as though realizing the same details.
Yet, what was there to say? All three adults felt that Eric would return, or as Lynne had aptly said on Thanksgiving, until she had proof otherwise, she had to trust he would come home. Marek patted Lynne’s shoulder, then smiled. “Thank you for joining me on this first Sunday in Advent.”
“It was our pleasure,” Lynne said. “Christmas will be here before we know it.”
“Hanukkah’s right around the corner,” Laurie smiled.
“Indeed. How will you celebrate?” Marek asked.
“You know, I haven’t really thought about it.” Laurie looked at Jane. “Suppose I’ll need to pick up a few treats for this girl. And maybe something for Ann and Paul too.”
Lynne chuckled as Jane looked intrigued. “That will be quite fascinating to hear you explain,” Marek said. “Please include me in those festivities.”
Laurie laughed. “Eight nights’ worth of pajamas whether I needed them or not.” He stroked Jane’s cheek. “But for this girl, something special, maybe a dress or new shoes or….”
“A piece of pie or a very small caramel slice.” Lynne brushed aside Jane’s curls. “Perhaps some new hair bows.”
“That sounds perfect.” Laurie winked at Lynne. “But in the meantime, Miss Jane needs a new bed. We’ll take care of that this week.”
“Indeed.” Lynne patted the baby. “And on that note, time for two of us to take an N-A-P.”
Marek chuckled. “Has it come to that already?”
“Oh yes,” Lynne smiled. “In fact, I may have you teach me some Polish. She might find going to sleep is more easily brokered in that tongue.”
Marek nodded, then spoke in Polish to Jane. At first she seemed surprised, then she nodded. Laurie laughed. “What’d you tell her?”
“Only that the baby was tired, and she could be a big girl and show her younger sibling how good it was to rest.” Marek kissed Jane’s cheek. “And with that, I bid you all a snoozy afternoon.”
Embraces were exchanged, then Laurie and Lynne headed to the Snyders’ car. Lynne got in the front passenger seat as Laurie put Jane in the back. Laurie waved to Marek, then got in the car, pulling away from the curb. Marek observed them leave, wondering when it would be Eric again behind the steering wheel, ushering his family to and from church.
As Jane was laid in her crib, John Doe stirred from his nap. He wasn’t sure of the time, for the shed was mostly dark, although the window near his bed had been washed; Luke had done that on Friday, but since then the weather had been dreary, not much to see from where John rested. He had started to think of himself as John, although the way Luke said Mr. Doe also reverberated through the man’s mind. So respectful was that youngster, his accent with a sing-song quality that had alerted the man to one part of his identity. John Doe was clearly not from this part of the country, which was east Texas, he’d also learned, Karnack being the childhood home of Lady Bird Johnson. Then the man sighed, for immediately that evoked a terrible incident which had deeply affected Luke’s mother. Luke’s father, however, seemed less troubled that President Kennedy was dead. Perhaps Walt preferred a Texan in charge.
John Doe had accepted that news with a modicum of sadness, although he had no idea if he’d voted for Kennedy or Nixon. Walt had told him about the assassination not long after Luke had washed the window. The family had been in and out over the weekend; John Doe had been introduced to Luke’s younger sisters, then told of Walt’s neighbor, who had provided the clean bedding. That man was named…. While John Doe couldn’t recall any of his past, some new information was also hard to retain. From what Walt had said, John had been found near the lake when Walt and Luke went fishing. But the days had blended together, so the man wasn’t exactly certain how long he’d been in the Richardsons’ care. He’d be staying here indefinitely, mostly due to his amnesia. Walt couldn’t fathom letting him depart until he knew who he was, not to mention his shoulder, which was healing, but still a mess. The man didn’t need anyone to tell him that, for he couldn’t move his right arm, and while he had been able to bend his wrist a few days ago, now he could barely wiggle his fingers.
At least he could talk now, although his voice was still squawky. While his tone wasn’t similar to those of his hosts, neither was his language. He’d overheard Luke’s sister tell her brother that Mr. Doe sounded like a teacher, although Tilda’s voice had been kind. And if John remembered correctly, Dora had spoken something similar in regards to his hands. They weren’t those of a laborer, had that been how she’d phrased it? But now only one of John’s hands was worth anything; he made a fist with his left, staring at his fingers as he released it. Then he gazed at his right hand. He curled it as tightly as possible, but he couldn’t close it into a fist, mostly due to pain. His entire right arm was affected, either numb near his shoulder or very tender further along the limb. He tried bending his wrist, but the ache was excruciating, and he closed his eyes as tears formed. The pain wasn’t merely within his arm; his heart ached alongside that action, as if a great loss had been incurred. John sighed heavily, wiping his face with his left hand. Then he reached for the wrench, tapping it on the seat of the metal chair.
Within minutes Luke appeared, but as usual, he waited at the door. John knew it was decorum that held back Luke, although the little boy still joked about how badly Mr. Doe had first smelled. “Hey there Mr. Doe, how you feeling after your nap?”
“Fine,” the man said. His voice was still hoarse, and he wondered if Luke had heard him.
The boy stepped inside the shed. “Oh that’s good. You’re sounding a little better too.” Luke stood on the other
side of the metal chair, a smile on his face. “You always seem better after you sleep. How’s your arm feeling?”
The man sighed. “About the same.” Actually the pain was worse, but he didn’t wish to upset the child. “Is your dad here?”
“Daddy’s at Mr. Bolden’s, but he’ll be back pretty soon. What do you need Mr. Doe?”
John stared at Luke, those blue eyes reminiscent to something in his past. Luke looked like his father, although his coloring was all from Dora, as was his sisters’. Yet the girls appeared like their mother, or at least Tilda did. But Luke’s eyes had stirred something deeply within the man, maybe it was just how kind was this boy, also responsible. John rarely saw his mother, although eventually his care would fall upon her. “What day is it?” he asked Luke.
“Sunday sir. Going back to school tomorrow.”
Then Luke sighed, which made John smile. “Do you not like school?” he asked.
Luke shook his head, then he chuckled. “No, it’s okay. You sure talk funny Mr. Doe.”
“I do?”
“Yup. You have this funny accent, but it’s also the words you say: Do you not like school?” Luke tried to imitate John’s accent, then both laughed. “My goodness Mr. Doe, where’re you from?”
“I sure wish I knew. But I don’t think it’s anywhere in Texas.”
“No sir, I agree with you.” Luke sat on the chair. “So Mr. Doe, what can I get for you?”
“Maybe some lunch, or dinner? What time is it?”
“It’s two. Mama made a plate up for you, I’ll go fetch it.” Luke stood from the chair, ran to the door, then stopped. “Mr. Doe, are you still off chicken?”
John inhaled deeply, then let it out. The idea of poultry had bothered him yesterday, but as Luke spoke, that notion wasn’t offensive. “You know what, let’s try some. Leftover turkey?” he asked.
Luke chuckled. “Nope, it’s a surprise. Be right back.”
John smiled; the boy’s exuberance was a tonic, yet it contrasted sharply with his parents’ moods. John wasn’t sure if that was due to what they understood about him and his injury, or perhaps they weren’t as gregarious as their eldest. Tilda was a little shy around him, but from what John had overheard when she stepped from the shed, she was as lively as her brother. Then John concentrated. She reminded him of someone, but not from her looks. Her mannerisms were just like those of.… He closed his eyes, but nothing emerged, not a face or a name or any hint to his past. He sighed in frustration, then shook his head. Yes, he’d known John Kennedy was president, that Lyndon Johnson was the vice president, but nothing attached to John’s history was accessible. He hadn’t yet considered if those details were permanently lost, but he had accepted that his right arm would probably never serve any useful purpose. He was right-handed, or had been; he wasn’t adept at feeding himself, but was making progress. When Luke returned with lunch, John expected the boy would ask if he wanted assistance. And depending on how badly his right arm ached, John might let Luke do the honors. Sitting up for extended periods made him dizzy. Just how long would he be indebted to this family for his care?
Luke stepped into the shed, the savory scent of meat alongside him. “Okay Mr. Doe, this’s one of Mama’s special dishes, so if you don’t like it, I’ll be happy to finish it for you. It’s chicken and dumplings, and oh my goodness, it’s probably my favorite meal.”
John took another deep breath, but this time he smiled. “It smells delicious.”
Luke grinned broadly. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I mean, I’d have eaten it, don’t misunderstand. But you need something more than just bread and vegetables. Here, let me help you….”
“It’s all right, let me see if I can do it.” John used his left hand to push himself forward. He moaned slightly, for to move his upper body was painful, but he had to start exerting himself as if in rehabilitation. He smiled thinking of it like that; if he said those words, Luke might laugh, or maybe not understand. As John leaned back against the wall, he sighed. “My God that hurts. But that smells so good. Luke, can you help me?”
The boy nodded, but looked subdued, spooning up a bite. “Here Mr. Doe.”
John ate what had been offered, then gazed at Luke. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you swear a lot Mr. Doe?”
John stared at the boy, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Did I say something wrong?”
“You took the lord’s name in vain.”
“Oh yeah, I guess I did. I’m sorry.” John pondered his statement, then wore a small grin. “I’ve heard your dad use that word sometimes.”
Luke nodded. “He does. Makes Mama angry though.”
“I’ll try not to. Can I have another bite?”
“Oh yeah, sorry ’bout that.” Luke offered another spoonful and John ate it thoughtfully. The taste wasn’t overwhelmingly that of chicken; it was salty, although not brackish. Then he smiled at himself; that was a vocabulary word if ever he’d heard one. Maybe he had been a teacher, or someone well educated. “It is delicious. Your mother is a fine cook.”
Luke nodded, then chuckled. “I’ll tell her you said that. I think she was starting to worry that you didn’t like her cooking.”
“I guess my aversion to poultry is gone.”
John used aversion on purpose, then waited to see Luke’s reaction. As expected, the boy stared at him, then shook his head. “Mr. Doe, you sure like big words. What’s aversion mean?”
“Not liking. But Luke, I very much appreciate chicken and dumplings.”
“Me too,” Luke smiled, holding out another spoonful. “Aversion, aversion. I’ll have to use that in school tomorrow, see what Mrs. Thompson thinks.” Now Luke laughed. “She might give me extra credit for spelling, well, if I could spell it.”
“How do you think it’s spelled?”
“Um, I dunno.” Luke pondered it, then gave it a try. John shook his head, then explained the S-I-O-N ending. Luke shrugged. “My goodness Mr. Doe, you must be a teacher, or maybe a professor, like at a college or something. Mama doesn’t think you work with your hands, she says….” Luke abruptly stopped speaking, then cleared his throat. “You want more dumplings?”
“That I would, thank you.”
Quickly John took a bite, which was followed by several more offered in rapid succession. He finished what was on the plate, which made Luke chuckle. “Guess you were pretty hungry Mr. Doe.”
“I guess I was. Please tell your mother she’s an excellent cook.”
Luke nodded. “I’ll do that right now.” He stood, gripping the empty plate. “You need anything else sir?”
“Just have your dad come out when he gets home.”
“Okay, I sure will.” Luke stepped away, but paused at the door. “Mr. Doe, what do you think you used to do?”
John sighed. “I wish I knew Luke, I wish I knew.”
“Me too. I bet it’s nothing I ever heard of before.” Then the boy skipped away, humming to himself.
As John ate lunch, Walt shared a slice of pie with Callie Bolden. They had been discussing that strange man still dwelling in Walt’s shed. As Callie heard the tale, he imagined that stranger would be hanging around the Richardsons’ for a good while. “You sure nobody heard of him?” Callie asked, although he’d posed this question already.
“Nobody’s ’fessed up to it.” Walt sighed, then set his empty plate on the overturned box in Callie’s small barn. “Who’s gonna admit they shot a man? No one with any brains,” Walt snickered.
“You think that Bellevue boy did it, doncha?”
Walt sighed again. “At first I did. Now….” Walt crossed his arms over his chest. “He’d have to have done it after he and Luke split up, but I’m sure Hiram just went home. Luke says Hiram was as scared as he was afterwards.”
“Not surprised about that,” Callie said slowly.
Walt nodded. “Heard he went to church last Sunday with a shiner. Now, if Pop thought Hiram’d done more than shoot a bird, good lord. That kid
’d be buried six feet under.”
Callie rolled his eyes. “Pop Bellevue’s crazy.”
“I agree with you. That’s why I don’t think Hiram went back to the lake. Someone else shot that man there, and I mean right there. No blood anywhere but right where I found him, and there was a lot of it. Damn surprising he didn’t bleed to death, he barely had a shoulder when I….”
Walt paused, but Callie didn’t act as if he noticed. There was something odd about this man, and not just that Walt had found him at the lake. But Callie knew Walt well enough that if Walt wanted to tell him, Callie would have to be patient. Callie had seen the man just last night, but he’d been asleep. Walt had done a good job dressing his shoulder, or what was left of it. But the way Walt acted, it was as if something else had been wrong with him, although Callie knew he had amnesia. Callie had hoped the man might be awake, he’d never met anyone with that ailment. Again, patience was necessary, although like Walt, Callie didn’t think anyone around Karnack would confess to having shot the fellow. And other than Pop Bellevue, Callie knew no one, Negro or white, with that much anger, or reason, to do something so cold-blooded. Especially now, Callie considered, the sting of President Kennedy’s death still at the surface.
“Well, I should be going.” Walt stood, then smiled. “Need to thank Susie for the pie before I leave.”
Callie smiled. “You know Susie, any reason to bake.”
Callie went to his feet, then followed Walt from the outbuilding. Walt headed to the Boldens’ front porch, from where girls’ voices could be heard. “Miss Susie, thank you for the pie,” Walt called.
Susie Bolden stepped onto the porch, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “You’re surely welcome Walt. Give Dora my best.”
Walt grinned. “I’ll do that. Have a good afternoon!”
“You too Walt, you too.” Susie waved, then stepped back inside the house.
Callie rubbed his balding head as Walt turned his way. “All right, well again, thanks for those blankets. Not sure when I’ll get ’em back to you but….”
“No hurry. Lemme know if I can be of help.”
Walt nodded. “I’ll do that.” Walt gazed at the sky, then stared right at Callie. “You gonna be around tomorrow?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Could you stop at the house? Dora’s a little under the weather and I know work’ll be busy.”
“I’ll stop around mid-day. Can he get to his feet yet?”
Walt shook his head. “I’ll tell him that you’ll be by.”
Callie nodded, then cleared his throat. “He won’t mind that it’s me, will he?”
Walt inhaled, then let it out slowly. “I don’t think so. But I’ll bring that up.” Then Walt wore a funny smile. “He knew who was president, so he’s aware of a few things. Wonder what he’ll make of you.”
Callie had a mischievous grin. “We could surprise him.”
Walt smiled. “Oh, that would be something to see. Dora’d have my head though if I didn’t tell him properly.”
Callie chuckled. “I’ll knock first at the house, make sure you’ve laid the groundwork.”
Walt nodded. “You do that, but I bet it’ll be fine.” He shook Callie’s hand, then stepped toward his truck. “Sleep good tonight.”
“You too Walt, you too.” It was the men’s usual farewell regardless of the time of day. As Walt started the pick-up, Callie waved, then watched as Walt drove away. Only when the dust had settled did Callie turn around, praying for Walt and that stranger as he stepped inside his house.
Chapter 168
The Hawk: Part Nine Page 11
