by Hallie Lee
Encouraged by Peony’s success with her herb business, I decided to branch out and start one of my own. I cultivated my own stretch of land way beyond our shanty, a place my sister and Axe knew nothing about, and soon I had a thriving enterprise of my own.
My place, and my identity, followed soon after.
•
Madhawk awoke with a startle, and immediately pawed the dirt around him. He closed his eyes with relief when he found the bottle. But when he tilted it to his lips, it was dry. He cursed himself for once again indulging in the sweet oblivion of the fancy pills and whiskey. Especially after he’d vowed to get serious. To rebuild his strength. To finish what he’d started.
Earlier he’d been so desperate, he thought he’d drop in on the old biddy. He knew his mother would welcome him and happily tend to his wounds, if only she didn’t croak from the shock of seeing him. But as he suspected, the sheriff had positioned one of his clowns along the familiar gravel path leading to her shanty. Forced to back off, he’d returned once again to the place he felt most camouflaged.
Wolfheart’s. The big shot’s property was large and dense, with a variety of hiding places, and of course…a legendary garden.
He’d almost made it to the garden when the screen door creaked open, and Meadow plodded onto the porch. Madhawk quickly retreated to his hiding place behind the firewood, and watched as she lit a cigarette. She smoked steadily, pausing only to tip ashes into a plastic water bottle. No doubt to hide the evidence afterwards. He’d wanted to take her down then, as she indulged in her nasty, secret habit.
The idea of killing her, and leaving her body with the cigarette positioned just so, had excited him, tempted him. Especially the image of Wolfheart and Bella’s faces, contorted in shock when they discovered her.
But the way his shoulder throbbed kept him from making his move. He had to be smart. He’d lost time…time he didn’t have. Not anymore.
Madhawk surveilled the house from his position behind the firewood, scanning the area to see what noise had caused Meadow’s hasty retreat into the house.
Bella, behind the wheel of Meadow’s mail carrying clunker, had the boy with her. She smiled at him, joked with him. Such a tease. Once they disappeared into the house, Madhawk prepared himself. It was now or never.
He grabbed the ragged backpack he’d taken from Stormrunner’s place, and quietly slipped into the woods. His body ached as he gingerly made his way along the dirt path that led to the kid’s granny’s house.
He waited until almost dusk when the rat-tat-tat of Wolfheart’s screen-door startled him. Within minutes of their muffled goodbyes the kid was upon him, completely oblivious, merrily humming a jaunty tune as he skipped home to Granny.
Madhawk latched onto a tree, using it to pull himself upright. He flicked his switchblade open, and sprung—
“Hey buddy!” He grabbed Fireman from behind, clutching him tightly against his chest. He covered his mouth with his left hand and used his right to edge the knife along his throat. “Where ya headed?”
The kid squirmed, and kicked his feet back and forth. The jerky movements shot needles through Madhawk’s injured shoulder, and when the pain traveled down his arm, beads of sweat bubbled along his forehead.
“Stopppppp—” Fireman squealed.
Surprised by the boy’s stamina, Madhawk knocked him onto the ground, covering him with his own body. As he caught his breath, he used his weight to subdue him. Eventually, when the squirt lost heart, Madhawk snarled, “How’s your granny doing? Lacey is her name, right? She wears that red and yellow dress. Must be her favorite, huh?”
Fireman crumpled in fear. “How do you know…?
Pleased with his ability to instill fear, Madhawk lifted himself off the boy, keeping the knife close on his neck. “There now. I’m gonna let you up all the way, but if you scream, or try to run, I’ll slice your throat. And then I’ll go slice your granny’s. You understand me?”
Fireman nodded. “What do you want?”
“I’ll do the talking, squirt. I need you to do something for me. Kind of a secret mission. How does that sound?” Madhawk playfully waved the knife in front of Fireman’s face. “Move your head up and down like you got sense.”
Fireman bobbed his head.
Madhawk rested against a tree. Glared. “I need you to turn around and go back to Wolfheart’s house.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got a list. I need bandages, antiseptic, food, water.” Madhawk shoved the backpack at him. “Load this up, you hear me?”
“But I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to, wise guy. Just think about your granny. And picture what she’d look like with her throat cut.”
Fireman gulped. Tried to make himself big. “You better not hurt her.”
Madhawk grabbed him by the collar. “Fill that bag up, just like I said, and maybe I’ll go easy on her. You understand? And I need something from Wolfheart’s garden.”
“I don’t know anything about plants.”
“Here.” Madhawk rummaged through the backpack, came up with a tatty piece of paper and a pencil. His hands shook as he tried to draw. He cursed. Thrust the paper at Fireman. “That’s close enough.”
Fireman looked at the sketchy drawing. Back at Madhawk. “But what do I say to them? They won’t understand why I came back. I just left—”
Madhawk gripped Fireman’s arm, and in one swipe, drew the switchblade across his bicep. “They will now. Go on, hurry. Or you’ll bleed to death.” He chuckled.
Fireman whimpered as blood seeped from his arm.
“If you say anything about me, I’ll know. You got to make it look real. Convince them. You hear me? Or I’ll kill your granny, and then I’ll hunt you down. Got it?”
“Yes,” Fireman sobbed. “Please don’t hurt her.”
“Go on, then. Get!”
•
“I don’t understand how you consume so much tea.” Meadow viewed the tea bag I dunked in hot water with distaste, even as she slurped iced coke through a straw. “It can’t be good for you.”
“The only caffeine I get is in my morning cup of coffee. After that, I stick to herbal tea, which has no caffeine.” I didn’t think it necessary to mention the Chai I’d had at the substation. “You seem to be feeling better. Your bruises are fading. Your sarcasm has returned.”
She frowned. Glanced upstairs toward the sounds of Bella showering. I prepared myself for the tirade to come. “I heard it was a disaster.”
“Not really—”
“You know where I heard it?” Meadow narrowed her eyes.
“It wasn’t a disaster.”
“Claire. Of all people. I could practically hear the gloating through her text.”
“Claire wasn’t even there. If she said it was a disaster, her source was wrong.”
Meadow read from her phone. “After the bloody scene at church today, feel free to take another day off. You should be there for Bella.” My niece tucked her dark hair behind her ear. “Followed by three emojis. Sad teary eyes, monkey covering his eyes, and big, scary wide eyes.”
Sometimes I thought Claire was worse than Dolly. “That’s horrible.”
“You think? And you didn’t answer your phone, so I had to text Daryl. He and Bubba like me.”
“Everybody likes you, Meadow. It’s you who keeps people at a distance—”
“Daryl assured me Bella was fine, but that Jesse had shown up, and there’d been a scuffle.” She squinted at her phone. “Daryl ended the text with a thumbs up and a party hat.”
“Would you like to hear my version?” When she didn’t protest, I said, “Your daughter blew everyone away. There wasn’t a dry eye in church. Even the sheriff shed a tear. And James as well. And just so you know, Luke has a thing for her.”
“I know. She told me.”
&
nbsp; “How do women know these things?” I shook my head, forever amazed by the accuracy of women’s intuition. “Does she like him back?”
Meadow shrugged, but her expression indicated she wasn’t in favor. “He’s four years older than her. And where would that leave poor Fireman?”
I chuckled, turning toward the stairs as Bella bounded down. When I saw the big, self-satisfied smile on her face, my lips tugged upward in response. “There she is.”
“I’m starving.” She crashed into me with an exuberant hug. “I guess I worked up an appetite.”
“Well, it is late.” I gave Meadow a look. “Did you cook?”
“Actually, I did.” She carried her coke to the kitchen. “Roast beef, potatoes, and rice and gravy.”
There was a sharp, persistent knock at the door. My hand automatically fell to my hip, and remained there until I saw who was on the other side. “It’s Fireman.”
Bella rushed over, opening the door wide. She squealed. “Oh no, what happened?” She yanked him into the house. “Uncle Wolf, he’s got blood all over him!”
I scooped the boy up, and sat him on the counter next to the sink. I shushed him in a calm voice as I gave him the once-over. He struggled for breath, and his face was caked with tears and mucous. And blood. “It’s okay, big man. It’s okay.” The blood came from a gash on his arm.
“I fell,” he gasped through sobs. “In some thicket. I wasn’t looking where I was going and the branches—” He dissolved into tears.
“It’s okay. You’ll live.” I inspected the wound, reaching into the cabinet for my medical supplies. “Let’s get it cleaned up. Okay?”
Meadow handed Bella a warm rag, and she gently wiped Fireman’s face. He leaned his face deeply into the rag, almost resting it there as if he were ashamed and wanted to hide. His small shoulders shook, as he was overcome with another burst of tears.
I swabbed his arm with antiseptic.
“Ouch!” he squealed. “That burns! You didn’t tell me you were going to do that!”
“I always catch my patients by surprise when I do that part.” I winked, trying to tease his tension away. “It’s to keep it from getting infected.”
“Oh.” He studied the bottle.
“Sit still and let me wrap it.” I carefully covered the wound with gauze. “Does it hurt?”
Fireman bobbed his head. When his mouth trembled, Bella said sweetly, “I think you’re very brave.”
He heeded the flattery with a blush, then produced a suddenly stoic front. “It doesn’t hurt that much anymore. But I should probably take some of that stuff in the bottle home. And the bandages. In case it starts to bleed tonight.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” I eyed him curiously.
“And if it starts to hurt? What do I do? Do you have something for that?”
“Sure. I’ve got some pain-relieving herbs. Some oils.”
Meadow opened the cabinet. “Some Turmeric?” she asked. “And maybe some clove and bromelain?”
“Yeah, and I’ll mix up some cloves and chamomile as well.” I peered at Fireman. “How about a hot cup of tea now? Would that help?”
He made a face. “Can you put lots of sugar in it?”
As I began mixing herbs, Meadow asked, “Are you hungry? I’ve got some hot roast beef ready.”
“Starving.” He hopped off the counter on his own. “And could I take some home for Granny?” He pushed his backpack across the counter. “You can put it in this.”
While he and Bella set the table, I watched him for any residual effects from the fall, but he seemed fine. Still, I detected an uncharacteristic neediness in his demeanor.
Meadow served the plates, as Bella filled the water glasses. Fireman surveyed the water with a peculiar focus. “Do you have any bottled water?” When he dragged his eyes away from the water, he realized I’d been studying him. “Granny hasn’t been to the store lately, and—”
“Of course.” Meadow put a few bottles into his backpack.
As we ate our meal, we shared light conversation, and joshed about Fireman’s clumsiness, but his anxiousness continued to unsettle me. I placed my hand lightly on his leg, trying to steady his frenetic twitching. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I just need to get home. Granny will be worried.”
After we cleared the table, and generously filled his backpack with each and every one of his oddball requests, I walked him onto the porch. The way he scanned the woods made him look much older than his ten years. Indeed, he resembled a grown man contemplating his ability to pay rent, and feed his family.
“Fireman,” I ventured. “Are you sure you’re all right?” I put my hand on his head, and scratched above his temples. “You seem out of sorts.”
“I’m fine. I’m just embarrassed.”
“Why? Because you fell or…something else?” I pried, “Does your granny need some money?”
His eyes widened, as if the idea itself eased his mind. “Yes, that’s what it is.” But he didn’t seem embarrassed. “Yes.”
I reached down into my pocket. Handed him a few twenties. “You can always come to me, you know? No matter what’s going on.”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he headed down the porch steps in a clip. “Thanks.”
“Fireman.” He turned to me in the dark. “How about I walk you home? Or drive you?”
“No,” he answered firmly. “I’m okay.” He quickened his steps, and offered a backwards hand wave.
I lingered on the porch, wondering suddenly about the backpack. Had he always had it? Why hadn’t I ever noticed him carrying one before? I tried to shake off my worry. It had been a long, trying day, I reasoned, and I was probably overthinking. I rose, heading for the door, when a rustling sound stopped me.
I scanned the yard and beyond, until a tiny light caught my eye. It was coming from the direction of my garden. I crept off the porch, and approached slowly. I saw a small but familiar head dipping back and forth. The body attached to the head appeared to be tending to the leaves around my cassava plants.
I watched as Fireman gathered, and then plucked what he needed.
Perhaps I’d send Granny Lacey a tub of produce next time I harvested my vegetables.
•
Madhawk heard the squirt coming. He wasn’t singing his merry tune this time though. He seemed much more observant, even slowing as he neared. “Here.” He tossed the backpack on the ground in a way that reminded Madhawk of a cranky kid.
“What’s with the attitude?”
Fireman’s glare infuriated Madhawk. If not for the smell of food, he’d have beaten the tar out of the ungrateful brat. Instead, he tore into the backpack and lifted the top on the Tupperware, quickly shoveling food into his mouth.
Madhawk had always enjoyed Meadow’s roast beef and gravy. And he was ravenous.
“Everything is in there. Can I go home now?”
“Hold on.” Madhawk guzzled a bottle of water. Unscrewed the top on another one. “I got one more job for you.”
“No. I won’t do it.” Fireman blinked several times. “I want to go home.”
“What? Are you crying? What a big baby you are.” The food had given Madhawk a sudden burst of energy. He wanted to have a little fun with the kid. “I bet you won’t even be able to protect your granny when I break into your house tonight.”
“A deal is a deal.” Fireman gawked at Madhawk. “I got what you wanted. Now I’m going home.”
Madhawk laughed heartily, exposing a mouth full of food. He pulled out his switchblade and stood with renewed vigor. He grabbed Fireman’s ear, plucking it roughly. “You’re right. A deal is a deal. And you can head home, but first, I’ve got one more job for you. Let’s call it a secret mission.”
Madhawk chuckled as he twisted Fireman’s ear harder.
“
What? Okay, stop.” Fireman cried out.
“I need you to make a call tomorrow. An anonymous call. You know what that is?”
Fireman nodded, furiously swiping the tears off his face.
“Good. I want you to call the Sheriff. And give him a message for me.”
PART III
Chapter Thirteen
Tofu Burger And Carrot Sticks
Luke
P
erfect blue skies. A shimmering ball of sun. And a car overflowing with flyers touting the advantages of incorporation. Ever since Bella’s inspirational performance at church, my humble little town of Shady Gully, Louisiana exuded optimism. The openness to change was as real as the clear skies and the twinkling sun, and folks were finally ready to move forward and embrace the 21st century.
My plan was to personally deliver flyers to everyone I encountered, and if I couldn’t strike up a conversation with an actual human being, I’d place leaflets under windshields.
If only I could get my brother, Petey, to focus.
“It looks like Sprite might have actually grown an inch or two.” When I looked at Petey quizzically, he asked. “Or is he just sitting on that big stool in the window again?”
I placed a flyer under the wiper of a Ford Bronco. “He’s sitting on the stool.” Sprite was the owner of Sprite’s Quick Stop, the lone gas station in Shady Gully, which was ideally located on one of the four corners of the four way stop.
He monitored the pumps from a big window in his convenience store, where he sold everything from snacks and thread and needle to household staples like milk and coffee. Sprite was well liked, not only because his five-foot two stature made him adorable to women, but because his passion for soda—or addiction to caffeine—made him energetic and chatty. Folks also appreciated not having to drive all the way to Belle Maison when they had a late-night craving for ice cream.
“Let’s go say hi,” I suggested.
Distracted again, Petey’s head bent in concentration as he drew an intricate smiley face on one of the flyers. The face featured dramatic lightning bolts for hair, and a disturbing unibrow resting above horn-rimmed glasses.