by Betsy Ashton
Sports were necessary for healthy minds and bodies. If the feral teens got involved, maybe they could break the cycle of idleness that foreshadowed their futures.
“Don’t know if my folks would play with Hodge’s.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to try, Roland. Don’t you have that retired coach in your church? What was his name?” Pastor Taylor scratched his head. He snapped his fingers. “Stephen Adams. Coached high school and up at State for a while, didn’t he?”
“Ain’t seen him lately. Mighta stayed up north with his daughter in Tuscaloosa.”
“I’ll do what I can to find him,” Alex said.
“If there’s something worthwhile coming back for, he’ll be back. His house’s pretty damaged, but it’s standing, isn’t it?” Pastor Taylor had inventoried the damaged houses in order to let his congregants know what to expect when they returned.
“Maybe we could help him fix up his house.” Alex bulldozed from one idea to another. Nothing stopped him once he got his mind wrapped around a goal.
“Y’all are movin’ too fast for this ol’ country preacher. Let’s get this here park goin’ first.” We’d pushed Pastor Washington as far as we could. “We’ll see about the basketball stuff later. Who owns the land anyway?”
“The county, I think. It isn’t part of my holdings,” Pastor Taylor said.
“Um, I kinda went to the county clerk’s office, what there is of it, and badgered them into selling me the parcel.” I dared Pastor Washington to object.
“You bought the land? Yourself?” Pastor Washington removed his smudged glasses and wiped them on the tail of his shirt, smudging them worse. He frowned.
“I said I badgered them. They sold the land for one dollar. I have a proper deed, bill of sale and everything. It’s all legal. I’m the proud owner of two acres of trash.”
Pastor Washington’s belly shook with laughter. He settled his glasses on his nose. “I don’t know what to make of you, Miz Davies. You’re obviously rich. You meddle in our affairs, yet here you are worryin’ about five children.” He shook his head, tut-tut-tutting.
“Pastor Washington, rich has nothing to do with it. It’s seeing something I can help fix and then finding a way to do it. Writing a check for any amount, even for a dollar, was insignificant. More important is getting the community, black and white, together to clear the land and build the playground.”
“Woman, you’re one wearyin’ person. You know I can’t say no.”
I clapped my hands. Alex would have his park, and I would have my basketball court. “We even have room for a volleyball pit.”
“All this park stuff costs a lot of money. Young Alex, you say you got a grant? How’s a kid like you go about gettin’ this much money?” Pastor Washington prodded.
“Oh, he’s very resourceful.” Ducks finished his first cookie.
“I wrote a letter to a foundation that supports education and healthy bodies. I asked for funds, sent pictures of the destruction, presented my plans and talked the director’s ear off about how this would help promote community togetherness.” Alex grinned like an idiot.
“A place to play outside with the likelihood of organized sports was what the foundation wanted to hear.” Ducks picked a bit of walnut shell from his second cookie.
“He can be most persuasive when he wants to be.” I reached for a cookie. Time to celebrate.
“Guess he gets it from his grandmama, huh?” Pastor Washington winked at me. Actually winked.
“It’s part of the Davies-Pugh family DNA. Alex couldn’t escape his fate if he tried.” I winked back.
“One thing you haven’t considered. You need a fence around the park.” Pastor Taylor studied the drawings. “The higher the better. With that gang on the loose, I’d hate to see them wreck it for the fun of it.”
I loathed the idea of fencing the park off from the community. It sent the wrong message, but I could see the point. While the teens were attacking Hispanic workers, they could just as easily get bored or drunk one night and trash the park. Their unpredictability had to be factored into our plans.
“We’ll put a fence up. Please don’t say it has to be chain link with a locked gate and razor wire on top.” Post and rails would keep with the park’s rugged look and feel.
“Wouldn’t keep them out if they wanted to bust in. Fence’d be more like a warnin’—stay away, ’cuz this space’s for babies and mamas.”
“Speaking of babies and mamas,” Ducks said, “we forgot picnic tables and benches.”
“But I already spent all the grant money.” Alex chewed his lower lip.
Ducks lifted a sweat-stained ball cap. “We’ll take up a collection. A couple of hundred dollars should do it.”
Pastor Taylor reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. Pastor Washington did the same. When I reached for my wallet, Pastor Washington stopped me.
“You’ve done more than enough, you vexin’ woman.” Another big smile took the sting out of his words.
We agreed to meet under the remaining battered live oak on Saturday morning at nine, ready to work. I worried about Pastor Washington, though. I wasn’t sure he would keep his promise. More, I wasn’t sure he should, because he was seriously overweight and looked to be in poor health.
The two men departed. Pastor Taylor cast a last envious look at the compound before climbing into his old truck and heading back to his makeshift home in the steel rec center.
“They’ll both show up. Neither is going to give the other an inch.” Ducks said after Alex retreated to his dorm to search for Stephen Adams, the errant coach.
“I agree. They don’t dislike each other, but the separateness we all feel down here is generations deep. At least they’re cordial, and a little sweat equity in the park will go a long way.” I returned to my dorm where Emilie was crashed in her bunk, noisily asleep.
####
I changed my mind about telling Johnny everything. I remained shaken by the nightmare. Plus, I had to explain the blue stripes in my hair.
We drove out to the beach, spread a blanket on the hood of the truck and lay back to watch the stars spin their way through the skies.
“Something happened, didn’t it? Are the Sanchezes all right?” Johnny pulled me tight against his solid body.
“They are for now. It’s me.” I told him what upset me: Junie and Marianna, multiple monsters, the collision of past and present. I was crying by the time I finished.
“Not all monsters live under our beds, pretty lady. Some walk among us.” Johnny squeezed me before laying his cheek on the top of my head. “We need special intuition to recognize and neutralize them.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes.” I snuffled.
“We all have. Don’t beat yourself up.” Johnny kissed my wet cheek.
“Em said I should tell you.” Well, she hadn’t actually said that. Warmth spread through me.
Johnny held me until my tears stopped. “Pretty lady, I’m glad you did. Em’s right. You can’t change the past, but we can change the future. Don’t you worry. The men are protecting you and the kids. Our extended family will watch over the Sanchezes too.”
“I didn’t want to tell you what happened to Junie when I was a kid.” I blew my nose. Twice.
“What’s important to me is this guy can never hurt her again, just like Dracula can never hurt Em.” Johnny tucked my head into his shoulder. His chin propped itself on the top of my head. “You’re safe with me.”
Fresh tears slipped down my cheeks. “Em said much the same thing just before she did my makeover.”
“That explains the blue hair.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Mississippi, week of January 16
We woke up Saturday morning to find the remnants of a cold front had blown in overnight. Maybe we could get through the bulk of the trash clearing without anyone, especially Pastor Washington, collapsing.
I fixed a hot breakfast before bundling everyone into various trucks. Johnny
, Emilie and I rode together, Ducks rode in Whip’s truck, and Charlie and Alex followed. The men loaded the truck beds with tools and trash bags for the cleanup. By the time we arrived, one road crew was already there with a small skip loader.
“Figured it would come in handy for piling up trash.” The driver waved at dump trucks pulling in. He was as excited about de-trashing the land and turning it into a playground as Alex.
Habitat volunteers, including Val, Hank, and Gayle, drifted in when more pickup trucks arrived. Pastor Taylor had called to say he’d be late because he needed to visit a sick church member first. Pastor Washington hadn’t called, but he’d promised to work with us. His parishioner Mrs. Jordan had moved into her house.
“I have a stove,” she said. “I’ll make cookies.”
We unloaded tools and stood around getting our work assignments from Alex. Emilie, Val, Hank, and I drew one corner of the lot filled with rubble.
“Go figure out what can be burned. Throw the rest to the side.”
Johnny, Charlie, Gayle, and Ducks moved to the opposite side of the lot with similar instructions.
Toward the middle of the morning, two pickups arrived. I glanced up when one tooted its horn. Five men and two women crammed into the cabs. Pastor Washington leaned out the driver’s window when I walked over.
“Think I wasn’t comin’?”
“Never crossed my mind.” I removed my glove and shook his hand.
The men scattered to fill in gaps, while the women unfolded a couple of card tables and set coolers under them. The camp cook would bring in lunch, but it looked like the women had more food and drinks.
We broke at noon, not quite halfway finished. Our cook brought piles of sandwiches and potato salad. The women from Pastor Washington’s church had platters of fried chicken and hush puppies. Mrs. Jordan contributed a few dozen chocolate chip cookies.
We rested and chatted for about an hour. The intermingling of the men from both parishes with the Habitat volunteers pleased me. Hank, our incognito former Secretary of the Treasury, sat with two wizened black farmers who told him how much they looked forward to planting crops next year.
“Nothin’ like homegrown food to make a dinner right tasty.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Hank listened intently to everything the old men said
The women were a little shier until Emilie asked about their children. Both had sent the little ones to relatives in Georgia until things settled down.
Mrs. Jordan shared her excitement at having a home of her own. “My husband and kids will be in later this week.”
“Be sure you send your husband over to the compound,” Johnny called from across the park. “We have plenty of work for him.”
Mrs. Jordan grinned. “We’re right grateful for that. Thank you.”
“What with this here park goin’ in and talk of one school openin’ next fall, might think about bringin’ the family back. Not much to look at, but this here’s our home,” the older of the two women said.
Val stored quotes for future editorials.
We finished cleaning up when Mrs. Sanchez and Marianna drove by. Emilie called out, but Mrs. Sanchez didn’t stop. Marianna stared straight ahead as if she hadn’t seen us.
“Strange folk,” Pastor Washington said. “Sumpin’ ain’t right with that family.”
What more could I add?
The day passed into late afternoon when we lit the first bonfire. Within minutes we had four roaring. We made two enormous piles of plastics and metal that couldn’t be burned. The skip loader driver filled two dump trucks with debris. The drivers and a couple of local men headed to a municipal dump that accepted hurricane debris. Whip invited everyone back to the compound for a barbecue. The Habitat people declined, and Pastor Washington was torn. I walked over and took him aside.
“We’ve all worked hard today and gotten along well.” I put a rather dirty hand on his arm. “Let’s end with sharing a meal. It would be an honor if you and your group joined us. Besides, after a day like today most of the men will break out guitars.”
After pausing to look at the men and women talking and laughing, Pastor Washington nodded. “Woman, you don’t give up, do you?”
“What do you think?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Mississippi, week of January 16
“I have to see Marianna,” Emilie announced. She was ready for bed and came into our living area to kiss me good night. “When Mrs. Sanchez drove past us at the park, they ignored us. I want to know why.”
“So do I. Pastor Washington knows something isn’t right with them.”
“Let’s drop in tomorrow unannounced.”
“If Father Ice Cube isn’t there, we’ll make a stealth attack after school.” I kissed Emilie. “Scoot. Time for bed.”
I drove to the Catholic Church late the next afternoon.
“Father Alvarado’s not there, but he did something bad.” Emilie had a familiar bead of perspiration on her upper lip.
We pulled into the drive, walked up the path, climbed the steps and rang the bell. And rang the bell. And rang the bell.
“They’re not home.” To ring again would have annoyed the heck out of someone who didn’t want to answer the door.
“They’re home,” Emilie stared off into space. “They’re hiding.”
“From us?” Had we done something to damage a relationship that seemed promising a couple of weeks earlier?
“From everyone. Mrs. Sanchez’s ashamed. I don’t know why.”
A small creak from the other side of the door told us someone had crept to the peephole.
“I guess they’re not home,” I said rather loudly. Emilie frowned. She stood off to the side of the door, out of sight of the peephole peeper. “We’ll come back another time.”
With my hand on her shoulder, I steered Emilie toward the Rover. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. I backed out of the drive.
“Marianna was on the other side of the door.” I shot a glance sideways. Emilie’s face was grave; another drop of sweat sat on her lip.
“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Sanchez was hiding in the back of the house.” I wrestled the car out of a pothole like I wrestled with emotions.
“Why would Marianna peek at us?” Emilie didn’t like rejection any more than I did. “We just wanted to be sure they’re all right. She couldn’t know why we were there without talking to us.”
I waited a few moments. “I think Marianna was hoping we wouldn’t go away. That we would camp on the front porch until her mother had to open the door.”
“Why didn’t we?” Emilie became more agitated.
“Because Mrs. Sanchez doesn’t want to be seen.”
“She told you Father Alvarado hit her.” Emilie looked over her shoulder at the manse disappearing into a dust cloud.
“She did.”
“The crisis is coming sooner than we thought.”
“Indeed.” I jammed on the brakes when the first large stray mutt I’d seen ran across the road. “Sorry about that. Missed him.”
Emilie rearranged herself in the seat. Thank goodness for seat belts. Without her being buckled in, she would have struck the dash hard. As it was, the only bad thing was my purse spilling in the back. Well, on second thought, a spilled handbag, especially one the size of mine, was a disaster, since all my stuff rattled around unrestrained on the floor.
Our conversation lapsed. I had too much thinking to do. When Marianna refused to return Emilie’s wave, I knew they were running out of time. Pastor Washington didn’t know how right he was. Something was rotten in the state of Mississippi. Sorry, Shakespeare.
“We have to do something to protect them, you know.” Emilie returned from her secret place.
“What?” I ground my teeth. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I’m powerless. If Mrs. Sanchez won’t let us help, we can hardly kidnap them.”
“I know. I talked with Charlie and Mr. Ducks. He’s watching them like we do. He rides past
the manse every day. Charlie promised to visit. Maybe she can convince Mrs. Sanchez to take Marianna away.”
Emilie hopped out of the car as soon as we stopped in the compound. She helped me round up the stuff that spilled from my handbag.
“Don’t want to pack heat, huh?” She held my gun out to me.
“Nope, but it’s necessary.” I tucked the revolver away.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell holy-crap boy-child.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
New York, week of January 16
With all the trouble going on around us, I didn’t want to go back to New York. My monthly board meeting fell at a most inopportune time, but leave I must. I couldn’t phone this one in.
Emilie went with me. “I want to talk with Auntie Eleanor and Auntie Raney about Marianna.”
Charlie, Johnny, and Ducks promised to watch the Sanchezes to be sure they were safe. If Father Alvarado returned unexpectedly, they’d gather the men and storm the bastions if necessary.
Emilie and I flew off on a Thursday. She would spend Friday with Eleanor and Raney while I was at my board meeting. I would join them for dinner. Corey wanted to get together on Saturday. We’d scoot back to Mississippi on Sunday.
The board meeting seemed to stretch out interminably. In reality, we covered the agenda in record time, yet I was distracted. Johnny’s text that all was quiet didn’t help.
“Maxine, you are very perplexed. Talk to us.” Eleanor wasn’t fooled by my feigned nonchalance.
I figured Emilie had told both women about the mess we faced back in Mississippi. Warmth spread through me.
“You have two problems you can’t resolve, don’t you?” Raney asked.
“We do, but I’m less frightened by the gang.” Whip, Charlie and Johnny, along with the highway patrol, could deal with the guys in the battered truck with the rotten muffler. “I’m terrified I won’t find a solution in time to help the Sanchezes.”
“We have to get them to safety, Auntie Raney.” Emilie played with her food. This child with a robust appetite wasn’t interested in what was on her plate. “We don’t have a place to put them.”
