Uncharted Territory

by Betsy Ashton

  Whip stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back, knuckles bloodless from tension.

  Cars and trucks hummed along the reopened stretch of repaired highway; tires swishing on new pavement provided a soft symphony. Missing was the battered truck with its rotten muffler. We’d never hear it again.

  “Alex, you’re a crisis magnet. Everywhere you go, you put yourself or someone else in danger.”

  Charlie squirmed. I fought the impulse to jump in, because this wasn’t the time to get between parent and child, even though I naturally wanted to protect Alex and Emilie. Johnny, Ducks, and I sat as still as we could. If I fidgeted, I could provoke Whip into a deeper anger. He hadn’t been this close to rage since the day he confronted Merry with proof of her infidelity.

  “Okay, for your punishment.”

  Whip unclasped his hands from behind his back. Alex looked up. Would he get off with a scolding? Emilie kept her eyes downcast and held her breath.

  “I could ground you both, but that would have no effect.” Whip paced. “First thing, loss of privileges. No Internet except when school-related, no IMing, no cell phones, and no texting until I say so.”

  Emilie exhaled.

  “Alex, you’ll write a letter of apology to Lieutenant Ellsworth and Special Agent Pace for dragging them all the way from Gulfport.”

  “But, Dad, they caught the bad guys and put them in jail. That should count for something, shouldn’t it?”

  Charlie and I exchanged looks of despair.

  “Oh, it does, Alex, but they’d have caught them anyway. They had all the proof they needed. Instead, they sent four cruisers, plus the lieutenant’s car, to the scene. And two tow trucks.” When Alex started to protest, Whip held up a hand. “Not another word. Do you understand me? You’ll think about what you did and what it cost to protect you. You’ll write the letter. I’ll approve it before you deliver it in person to the lieutenant.”

  “Geez.”

  “That was a word. Silence!”

  Whip’s voice rose. Under more normal circumstances, he’d have started off shouting and grown quieter. The reverse showed how terrified he was.

  “Have it ready by Friday when I get back from work. You have plenty of time to work on it after you finish your homework. Start it tonight. And don’t even think about asking Mr. Ducks for help. He’s not part of this.”

  Alex nodded.

  “And now you, Em.”

  Emilie looked up.

  “You didn’t think. You knew the boys were hanging around, but you left without telling anyone. Did you think you were going to rescue Alex if there was trouble?”

  “I don’t know. He’s my little brother. I didn’t think.”

  “I agree. You tried to help him, but you put yourself in terrible harm. Those two men were intent on raping you.” Whip swallowed hard.

  “I know, Dad.”

  “You’ll write an essay on safety. Think about everything that happened, what you did, and what you should have done differently.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “What happened to your gift? Did you feel Alex was in trouble?”

  “No. That’s what’s odd. I didn’t feel anything.” Emilie’s face was a study in confusion. She should have been able to feel Alex’s emotions.

  “Are you going to talk with Dr. Schwartz about this?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Go back to your dorm, Emilie.”

  Alex started to move toward the boys’ dorm.

  “You, sit. Work on your letter right here at the table. I don’t want you near your laptop.”

  We all walked a little way off to give Alex privacy to regain his composure.

  “Man, cutting Alex off from his PC will be torture,” Charlie whispered. “Great object lesson.”

  “Not the first time. Won’t be the last.” Whip went to the cook tent.

  After dinner I walked over to visit the workers. They already knew what had almost happened to Alex and Emilie. They surrounded me, providing strength to my still-shaky self.

  “Abuelita, we’re glad the children are safe,” Pete said, “but our job isn’t done yet.”

  I must have looked puzzled because Pete added that they were watching the Sanchezes too.

  I wasn’t certain they knew about Father Alvarado. Maybe they knew the woman and child were in trouble. I couldn’t speak, so I settled for touching each man.

  Johnny collected me. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  We left the compound for the first time on foot. Neither of us said anything. We held hands and walked along the road. Stars filled the sky. A lone meteor streaked overhead.

  “The truth is out there.” Johnny stared at the fading shooting star.

  “Huh?”

  “X-Files.”

  “Ya gotta believe.”

  “Yogi Berra?”

  “Tug McGraw.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Mississippi, week of February 6

  My insides stopped shaking somewhere north of midnight when the adrenaline rush wore off. The gang was in jail. Emilie and Alex were safe. Chastened to be sure, but safe. So were the workers.

  The next morning, over a cup of coffee at Hope Village, I gave Gayle, the Habitat manager, a detailed description of the attempted attack and the ensuing arrest.

  “Thank God the FBI agent was there. The guys in the gang must have shit themselves sideways when they realized Sheriff Hardy could no longer protect them.”

  “They did. Special Agent Pace will prosecute him and the others for hate crimes, as well as rape, attempted rape, assault, and murder.” I picked up my oversized handbag. I had two more calls to make. “Gayle, you should have seen the look on the ring leader’s face. He knew he was toast.”

  I pulled in front of Pastor Taylor’s metal building. He was outside working on his old car. He wiped grease from his hands. I sat on the bumper.

  “What’s happened?”

  In seconds, the pastor knew all the details.

  “I’m sorry, Miz Davies. Are your grandchildren all right? Really all right?” Pastor Taylor put his hand on my shoulder before sitting.

  “They will be. Em has more resilience than you’d think to look at her. She’s very connected to living in the moment. She goes deep inside to find her strength. That’s where she gains her perspective on the world.”

  She’d retreated after dinner. Back in the dorm, she’d pulled her curtains across her bunk.

  Pastor Taylor smiled. “I don’t know your granddaughter all that well, but she’s a rare child.”

  “Spooky, too.”

  “Just like you, Miz Davies. Just like you.”

  My next stop was the AME tent. I planned to check the Catholic church on the way back. I had to be sure Father Alvarado hadn’t slipped in unnoticed.

  Pastor Washington wallowed in his cranky persona. When I parked the Rover, he growled at me. “Whatchu want this time?”

  I’d learned not to round back on him, much as my nature would have dictated. “I don’t want anything, Pastor Washington, except to give you some news.”

  He didn’t receive the retelling of the previous day’s events as I had hoped.

  “You sayin’ J’Marquis and LeRoy are guilty of murderin’ those workers?”

  What had his nose out of joint? Wasn’t he relieved the gang was in jail? I was happy the men were out of circulation, even if he wasn’t.

  “Not at all. Highway patrol and the FBI agent arrested them for attempted rape and assault on my grandchildren.”

  “Attempted?”

  “They didn’t rape Em, but J’Marquis’s penis was exposed and ready. We stopped him in time.”

  Pastor Washington glowered at me.

  “What have I done to offend you this time?” I sighed.

  The black pastor stared. Was I supposed to guess? Play twenty questions? If so, I wasn’t in the mood. I had neither the time nor the inclination to pick away at his anger. Time for me to get the heck away from him. Pastor Washi
ngton stopped me before I could get into the Rover.

  “Ever since I came back to Mississippi, I seen white folks blame blacks for all sorts of crimes with no more proof than skin color.”

  “That’s not what’s happening this time. We have enough evidence to put the gang away for a long time for crimes they committed and for two they attempted. No matter what you think, being black had nothing to do with it. Committing crimes did.”

  I climbed into the Rover and reached for the key.

  “They tried to rape that pink-haired child?”

  “Purple.”

  “What?”

  “Her hair’s purple today. And yes, they tried. J’Marquis was going to go first.”

  “Oh, my.” The man put a work-roughed paw on my car door.

  “Pastor Washington, I wouldn’t care if these men were orange and green aliens.” I started the car. “They tried to rape my granddaughter. They were lucky I didn’t have my gun on me.”

  I shifted my handbag slightly on the passenger seat. My Smith & Wesson was a welcome weight in the bottom.

  The pastor stepped back. I drove away from the tent. Before I turned onto the state road, I glanced in my rearview mirror. He sat on a chair in a narrow strip of sunlight, face in hands. Was he praying or crying?

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Mississippi, week of February 6

  With the murderers behind bars, I slept in relative peace. One problem solved, one to go.

  I wanted to dance to rock and roll, but I was too keyed up. Instead, I fiddled around the dorm all morning. I wiped ever-present grit from countertops and put books on their shelf, changed beds, emptied the dryer, and folded clothes. I waited for the phone to ring. When it did, I jumped half out of my skin. Could Bishop Spellman be coming down sooner than expected?

  “Hello?”

  “Mouse?”

  “Hi, Bug.”

  “Joe Spellman called. You talked to him.”

  “Joe, huh?” I grabbed my coffee and settled into a living area chair.

  “I knew him as Joe long before he became Bishop Spellman. He’s a good guy, even if he is a priest.”

  I kept reminding myself to keep an open mind about the church being able to handle this mess without turning it into a public scandal.

  “He has street cred. He headed the group that investigated the pedophilia scandal in Boston because he was an outsider. He’s continued to root out problem priests after his official role ended.” Father Sean gave me several examples of the types of problems he’d handled. “He’s on our side.”

  “And that side would be, what, Bug?” I refused to relax my guard after years of being a recovering Catholic.

  “The side of the good guys, of course.” Father Sean laughed.

  “I told him what I knew about the family. Like you, he didn’t really believe me.”

  “I never said I didn’t believe you, but you have to admit the story’s lurid. Anyone but you, Mouse, and I’d have sworn you were making it up. You have such a high bullshit meter, I have to believe you.”

  “Thanks. I wouldn’t have believed me either. Let’s see what Bishop Spellman does.” I topped off my coffee cup and turned off the empty pot.

  “What happens to the Sanchezes after Joe handles Father Alvarado?”

  “Well, I found Mrs. Sanchez a job.” I told him about the offer from my foundation.

  “I hear a ‘but’ in your voice.”

  “Your ears are as sharp as ever. The ‘but’ is the pay’s not enough to support her and Marianna. She’ll have to start at the bottom.” I didn’t want the foundation to pay anyone a higher wage than they qualified for. I would have to find some other way for Isabella to support herself.

  “I may have a place where she can stay. The rent’s cheap.”

  “Is the neighborhood safe?”

  “It’s not in the drug-infested area of town, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “It was. Isabella and Marianna are the original innocents abroad. Put them in a drug world, and they’d die.”

  I closed my eyes. Images of two poorly socialized females becoming prey to those much less innocent played out on the back of my eyelids.

  “Not a worry. They’ll be as safe there as anywhere in Richmond. Anyway, the woman I need to speak with has been away for a couple of months, but she’s due back in two or three days. I’ll know soon.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Bug.”

  Father Sean’s concern for a total stranger renewed my faith in the clergy. A little, anyway.

  “You might try returning to the fold, Mouse.”

  “And give up my favorite line of being a recovering Catholic?” My laugh was genuine.

  “Give it some thought. The church misses you.”

  “Don’t lose any sleep over this errant soul.”

  We rang off. I found my journal and spent the rest of the morning filling in blank pages. When I finished, I found Kool and the Gang on my iPod and danced.

  Emilie wheedled me into inviting Marianna to a sleepover. I had to be ultra-persuasive with Isabella, but eventually she agreed it would be good for both girls.

  “It should be safe, because Father Alvarado won’t be back for two weeks.”

  We set it up for the following Friday.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Mississippi, week of February 13

  Alex, ever resilient, rebounded from the gang episode in a day. Because Whip restricted him from using anything electronic without supervision, he concentrated on finishing the park.

  “I didn’t buy picnic tables and fencing. What are we going to do?”

  “I’ll get them in Gulfport or Biloxi.” Johnny pulled out a pad and jotted some notes. “What else do we need?”

  “What about mulch or landscaping?” Charlie sat next to Alex and looked over his list.

  “Landscaping?”

  Alex learned two important lessons. One, projects always ran over budget. Two, no matter how carefully you planned, you overlooked something.

  “We need mulch. Plus some bushes and grass.” Charlie pulled out a notebook and began making a shopping list. “You can’t expect children to play on bare dirt, can you?”

  Alex hadn’t gone beyond the picnic table, the slides and swings and other playground toys and the surrounding fence. He thrust out his stubborn chin. “I don’t have any more money.”

  “Mulch won’t be expensive. Neither will grass seed or sod, fertilizer, and bushes. We’ll pass the hat.” Charlie removed her ball cap, threw it on the table, and dropped a twenty in it. “Ante up, boys.”

  Whip and Johnny each dropped a twenty on top of Charlie’s. I added mine.

  “I’ll call some nurseries in Hattiesburg or Mobile. I’d like to get stuff delivered, but if I have to take a couple of our trucks and drivers, I will.”

  “Plan on a dump truck. We’ll need yards of mulch.” Whip calculated how much we’d need. “Maybe two trucks.”

  “Too bad we don’t have chipper/shredders.” Charlie pointed at piles of rubble. “We could make a layer.”

  Johnny looked out at the wasteland surrounding our camp. The air was dry and clear. A slight Gulf breeze controlled the whining mosquitoes, which were around regardless of the season.

  “It wouldn’t be sanitized though.”

  “We’re not going to find sanitized mulch within a two-hundred-mile radius. Let’s see if anyone has a chipper. That’ll save money.” Charlie agreed to ask the other crews. “Maybe someone has one or has seen one in the area.”

  “Sure. Besides, we should recycle as much as we can. Turning the dead trees and bushes into something useful, not just firewood, is one way to do it. It sets a good example as well,” Johnny said.

  Charlie nodded. “How’s that, Alex? Sound like a plan?”

  Ducks ambled over, a lit pipe between his teeth, and scanned the lists scattered across the table. “Collection hat?”

  “We need money for plants and stuff.”

  Duc
ks added his twenty to the cap. He pointed at an old tree on the plans. “Will that tree survive? It’s pretty battered.”

  “Pastor Taylor says it’s been there for at least two hundred years. It should make it.”

  “Brilliant. What do you need me to do?”

  “Most likely help assemble the fort or rake mulch. There’ll be areas where we can’t get the equipment in because it’s too big for this small a job.” Whip studied the drawings Ducks had helped Alex make. He pointed. “Here. And here. We’ll need an old-fashioned shovel crew.”

  “Can do. Nice evening for a short ride, isn’t it? No more worries about our safety.” Ducks rolled his bike out of the gate and headed toward the park.

  “Have you been up there in the last couple of days, Dad?” Alex tucked his plans in a folder.

  “No. Why?”

  “Ducks and I rode up yesterday. Someone’s staked out the big lot next door to my park.” Alex was very territorial.

  “The basketball court,” I said.

  “We’ll take a look tomorrow,” Whip promised.

  Alex and Whip stayed at the table, discussing what equipment and how many people they’d need on each Saturday. Charlie walked back to her Airstream to make some calls. Johnny and I walked along the road. It was nice to go where and when we wanted.

  “Look.” I pointed to a spot a few yards in front of us.

  “What?” Johnny wasn’t sure what caught my attention.

  “That small patch of green with tiny white flowers. A definite sign of rebirth.”

  Johnny squeezed my hand.

  For the Friday night sleepover, I laid in a supply of healthy munchies and a couple of videos. The girls slept in my bed while I struggled to find a comfortable position in Emilie’s bunk. I heard whispers and giggles until way past my bedtime.

  I fed the girls French toast and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Both looked sleepy as was to be expected after a sleepover. Life was normal until I heard angry shouts coming from the gate. I warned the girls to stay inside until I knew what was going on. Marianna’s face drained of all color.