When it was time to leave the house, I walked out with the others to find that a car was parked in front that didn’t belong to anyone in the family.
“Hey,” called a short brunette who was leaning on the hood of the Saturn. She straightened and came forward to hug Sam.
“Hey, yourself,” he said, and hugged her back.
“That’s Sister Mendoza,” Craig explained. “They’ve been friends a long time.” Craig was afraid I’d get mad at Sam touching another woman.
“She’s a nun?”
“What?” Craig stared for a second. “Oh. Oh, no! Sister is her name.” He laughed. “She and Sam have been friends ever since we moved here. She’s a deputy at the sheriff’s department.”
“Why is she here?”
“I have no idea. Hey, Sister! Did you come because of that parking ticket I forgot to pay?”
“Hell, no,” Sister Mendoza said, letting go of Sam. “I come here to be a watchman. Me and Rafe.” A short, thick-bodied man got out of the car. He was as pale-haired as Sister was brunette.
“Rafe played football with Sam,” Craig told me, but I think I would have figured it out by the way they were thumping each other.
Sam beckoned me over. “Sookie, these are some old friends of mine, Sister and Rafe,” he said. “You two, you be nice to this woman.” Sam was in no doubt that they would be. His brain was practically rolling with pleasure at seeing his old buddies.
The two friends gave me a quick once-over, seemed okay with what they saw. Rafe gave Sam a fist to the shoulder. “She’s way too pretty for you, you old dog,” Rafe said, and they laughed together.
“I’m taking the backyard,” Sister said, and she left.
Rafe gave Sam a sharp nod. “You-all go to the church and don’t worry about things here,” he said. “We got your back. You got someone coming to the church?”
Sam said, “We got the church covered.” He paused. “You two aren’t in uniform,” he said carefully.
“Well, we’re off duty,” Rafe said. He shrugged. “You know how it is, Sam.”
Sam looked pretty grim. “I’m getting the picture,” he said.
I felt much better about the safety of both the kids and the house itself as Sam and I got into his truck to drive behind Craig and his mom to the church.
It wasn’t a long drive. Wright was no bigger than Bon Temps. Drier, dustier, browner—but I didn’t imagine it was essentially different. We’d had trouble with demonstrators in front of the bar, but they’d gotten tired of getting hustled out of the parking lot, and they’d gone back to writing letters. Could my fellow townspeople do what someone had done here at the dog pound?
But there wasn’t time to worry about that because we were two blocks west of Main Street at the corner of Mesquite (the north–south street) and St. Francis (the east–west). Gethsemane Baptist Church was a faux-adobe structure with a red-tiled roof and a squat bell tower. I could hear the organist practicing inside. The sound was strangely peaceful.
There was parking at the front and at the left side, between the church and the parsonage. The fellowship hall was directly behind the church, connected by the umbilical cord of a covered walkway. The yard was full of thin grass, though what grew there was neatly mown.
A man who could only be the pastor was walking over from the parsonage, which looked like a smaller version of the church. He was middle-aged with a big belly and graying black hair. From my first dip into his head, I concluded that Bart Arrowsmith was a genial man who was not equipped to handle a situation this volatile. I knew that by now word must have spread all over Wright about what had happened, and I knew this situation had spooked Brother Arrowsmith.
This was a day when I had to know the capabilities and weaknesses of the people around me, no matter how invasive it felt to enter their thoughts. What I saw in Brother Arrowsmith’s head gave me the sad suspicion that he was not going to be the tower of strength we needed today. He was a conflicted man who couldn’t decide what God wanted him to do when he was faced with a situation he couldn’t interpret scripturally.
He was troubled on this day that should be so happy. And that made him feel even worse. He liked Craig and Deidra. He had always liked Bernie. For that matter, he liked Sam, but when he looked at Sam, he now saw something subhuman.
I took a deep breath and got out of Bart Arrowsmith’s head. It wasn’t a healthy, happy place to be.
A light breeze had been stirring the leaves on the short trees. Now it gained power. It hadn’t rained in Wright for a while, and my cheeks felt the sting of the sandy particles picked up by the wind. I didn’t know who’d appointed me Grim Nemesis, but I was in a weird state of apprehension.
I intercepted the minister as he reached the steps. I introduced myself. After Bart Arrowsmith shook my hand and asked me if Craig was already inside, I told him, “You need to take a stand on this.”
“What?” he said. He peered through his wire rims at me.
“You know what’s happening here is wrong. You know this is hate, and you know God doesn’t want hatred to happen here.”
See? Like I was the voice of God. But I felt compelled.
Something shifted around behind Bart Arrowsmith’s eyes. “Yes, I hear you,” he said. He sighed. “Yes.” He turned to go into the church.
Next I’d be nailing a list of demands to the door.
Trish, Quinn, and Togo drifted across the dry yard. Their feet hardly made a sound on the crisp grass. I hadn’t seen them approach, but they all looked the worse for the wear. Quinn and Togo had been digging.
“Quinn will take the front,” Trish said, sounding calm and authoritative though her eyes were red from weeping. “Togo, honey, you take the rear. Sookie and I will take the right side.” I hoped we could take it for granted that no one was going to attack from the parsonage on the left.
I nodded, then exchanged a glance with Quinn as I started moving east into position.
Deidra and her parents arrived in one car, her sisters and her brothers in another. Mrs. Lisle was almost as pretty as Deidra, but with shorter hair and a few more pounds. Mr. Lisle looked exactly like a man who worked in a hardware store: capable, skilled, and unimaginative. The whole family was obviously very anxious.
Mr. Lisle wanted to ask us what we were doing standing around the churchyard, but his nerve failed him. So he and Mrs. Lisle, Deidra and her sisters, and Deidra’s oldest brother scurried across the yard to the open doors of the church. Deidra’s other brother, the one in the service, took up a stand beside me. Since I was sure he was armed, I was glad to see him. He nodded at my companion. “Miss Trish,” he said politely. She patted him on the shoulder. “Jared Lisle,” he said to me.
“Sookie Stackhouse. I came with Sam.”
And then we watched.
A pair of girls arrived and scooted up the sidewalk and into the church, casting a glance at Jared as they hurried. He smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
“They’re singing,” he explained. “I’m kind of surprised they showed up.” Sam and Deidra’s oldest brother were Craig’s groomsmen, so the wedding party was complete.
Through the open church windows, I listened to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” as the organist ran through some opening music. I could faintly hear Brother Arrowsmith giving instructions to the wedding party.
A car or two drove by, with nothing more than a curious glance from the drivers. I fidgeted, unable to find a casual way to be just hanging around the side of the church. I felt both conspicuous and awkward.
Jared didn’t have that problem. Since he was in the army, he was used to spending time being on alert. He didn’t talk to me or Trish for a long time, but I figured that was okay because he had something more important to think about.
As for me, I was wondering what on earth I would do if there was some kind of attack. Read their thoughts really, really quickly? That wouldn’t be much help. I missed my shotgun more than ever. Could I shoot another human being if he attacked
the church or tried to disrupt Sam’s brother’s wedding?
Yes, I thought I could. Hell, yes. My back stiffened.
It’s both interesting and unpleasant to get a big revelation about your own character, especially at a moment when you can’t do a damn thing about it. I couldn’t abandon my post, run to the nearest gun store to make a purchase, don some black leather and high-heeled boots, and reinvent myself as a kick-ass heroine. A gun would make me feel tough, but it wouldn’t make me be tough. The desire to shoot someone wouldn’t make me an accurate shot with a handgun. Though if I had my shotgun, it would be hard to miss.
I had a hundred scattered ideas in the space of a few seconds. And those few seconds multiplied as the assorted band I’d joined kept watch over nothing. Only Jared and Trish showed no signs of impatience or restlessness, but they did relax enough to exchange a few comments. I gathered that Trish had taught Jared in high school—English and composition. She was enjoying her early retirement. She’d been doing a lot of volunteer work and selling her handmade jewelry. Jared told her about his posting in Afghanistan. He was ready to go.
Then we heard the sounds of several engines approaching the turnoff to the church from the main drag. We all stiffened, and our eyes went to the stop sign at the end of the street.
Three motorcycles turned onto the street, motors rumbling. And there was a Suburban right behind them, full of people.
We formed a line across the sidewalk without saying a word.
The engines were turned off, and there was silence. The only sound in the neighborhood was the wind through the branches of the live oak in the front yard and the organ music wafting from the church windows.
I tried to develop a plan, and finally I decided the only way I could stop someone from entering the church was by tackling him. The three people astride cycles swung off and removed their helmets. They were all women. Ha! That was unexpected. And I realized after just a moment that they were all shifters, something Togo and Trish had picked up on in a fraction of a second.
“What are you doing here, sisters?” Togo said, his wonderful accent and deep voice fascinating.
The people in the Suburban began to climb out. Two of them were male; two were women. They were also two-natured.
“Hey, buddy,” called the man who’d been driving. “We heard about the problem here, from the Web. We’ve come to be of service.”
There was a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then Trish stepped forward. She was holding back her wind-tossed gray curls with both hands. She introduced herself. “I’m a friend of the groom’s family. We’re here to keep strangers out of the church. You know there’ve already been a couple of incidents today. All the dogs in the pound were killed to protest this wedding.”
I was a little unnerved to hear the newcomers growl. Most two-natured didn’t let themselves express their animal sides when they were in public. Then I realized that Deidra’s brother and I were the only humans around. We were in the minority.
The newly arrived Weres, both the Suburban wolves and the Biker Babes—I didn’t make that up; that’s what their jackets said—reinforced our picket around the church. A couple of trucks drove by, but if the men in them had pictured themselves stopping, they changed their minds when they saw the assortment of people waiting.
I introduced myself to a Biker Babe named Brenda Sue, who told me she was a trauma nurse at a hospital about fifty miles away. This was her afternoon off. I told her about the four o’clock wedding, and she looked as if she was working something out in her head. “We’ll be here,” she said.
At the moment, I thought that Trish, when she’d posted that call to arms on the twoey website, had done us a good deed. And maybe Jim Collins had actually given us a present by killing those poor animals. He might as well have shot a flaming arrow into the sky.
I heard the traditional music a couple more times, and I could hear the voice of an older woman giving some quick instructions. The rehearsal was over much more quickly than I’d anticipated. I didn’t know if that was because Brother Arrowsmith was hurrying it up or if forty-five minutes was normal for the rehearsal for a small family ceremony.
The wedding party came out of the church. They were obviously shocked to see the increased number of watchmen in the yard. Sam and Bernie grinned, and though the regular humans held back a little, all the two-natured had a great meet-and-greet. After some conversation all the way around, Jared Lisle shook my hand and got in a car with his brother and his sisters. No one wanted to linger in this exposed space. Trish and Togo had volunteered to feed the out-of-town visitors an impromptu lunch out at Trish’s ranch, and they led the little procession south out of town. Sam’s mom and Craig got into their car to go home, leaving Sam and me in front of the church.
“You and I are going to the police department,” he said briefly, and I scrambled up into the truck. Sam was silent on the short drive—everything in Wright was a short drive—and by the time we parked in front of the small brick structure labeled LOS COLMILLOS POLICE DEPT, I understood that Sam was angry, stressed, and feeling responsible for a certain amount of this persecution.
“I’m sorry,” he said to me abruptly.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I bring you here and this all happens. You have enough on your plate without having this added to it. I know you wish you’d stayed home in Bon Temps.”
“What I was wishing was that I were more use,” I said, trying to smile. “Maybe you should have brought Jannalynn, was what I was thinking.”
“She would have broken each of Jim Collins’s fingers and laughed while she did it.”
Oh. Well, in that case. “But at least she would have accomplished something,” I said ruefully. What had I done that morning? Did not killing the neighbor count as a positive?
We were out of the truck and walking into the police department as we had this exchange. After we passed through the scarred door, it seemed like a good time to stop talking about finger breaking.
“Sam,” said the middle-aged man behind the desk. “When did you get back?”
He had thin lips and a square jaw that came to a point, and a pair of eyebrows that were straight and bushy. He was smiling, but he was not happy. I wasn’t sure what the cause of his unhappiness was. I suspected it was us.
“Hey, Porter. We got in yesterday. This is my girl friend, Sookie.”
“If you’re going out with Sam, you’ve got a high bullshit tolerance,” Porter said. He was trying to smile, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes.
“I put up with him somehow,” I said.
“I guess you aren’t here just to say hi?” The name on his tag read “Carpenter.” Was his name Porter Carpenter? Almost as challenging as Sister Mendoza.
“I wish,” Sam said, and I realized that his speech had slowed down a bit and his body had relaxed. He even looked a little younger. He was home. Funny I hadn’t noticed that until now. “I’m afraid we had some trouble this morning.”
“I been out to the animal shelter,” Porter said. “Your problem related to that?”
I let Sam tell Officer Carpenter all about it, and he did a quick job of it.
“So you think this was at least partly Jim Collins’s doing?” Carpenter asked. “Jim wasn’t too bad until the vampires came out, but that tipped him over the line because that was about when Della died.”
Della had been Jim’s wife. I filled that in from Sam’s brain.
“Then the weres . . . Well, it just made him nuts. Especially when Don shot your mom. He and Don were big buddies.”
“So it was okay for his big buddy to shoot his own wife?” Sam asked bitterly.
“Sam, I’m just saying.” Porter shrugged.
“I didn’t see any evidence Jim Collins put the sign on Sam’s mom’s lawn or that he killed the dogs at the animal shelter,” I said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “At least, none that you could take to court. Maybe you found something?”
Carpenter sho
ok his head. I knew he hadn’t looked. I was getting a whole lot from his head that scared me.
Sam said, “The dogs are dead, and nothing’s gonna change that. I’d like whoever did that to go to jail. But right now, I’m more worried that someone’s going to disrupt the wedding.”
“Do you think they’d do that?” Porter Carpenter asked, genuinely taken aback. “Ruin your brother’s wedding day?” He answered his own question. “Yes, I reckon there are a few people who would.” He thought for a moment. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’ll be there in my uniform, right outside the church. I’ll have another deputy with me, too. We’d have traffic duty anyway. Where’s the reception going to be? Church hall?”
Sam nodded.
Good. Close and quick to get to, not much exposure, I thought.
Though Sam and Porter talked a little more, there wasn’t much else the cop was willing to do until the anti-two-natured took a more drastic step. He was only being as helpful as he was because he’d known Sam and his mom and dad a long time. If it hadn’t been for that bond, he would have given us a much cooler reception. A deputy came in while Sam and Carpenter were talking, and he regarded us with the same reserve.
When we left the police station, I thought Sam was more worried than when he’d gone in. The cops who were on our side were already at the Merlotte home, and they weren’t in uniform.
We arrived at Bernie’s house to see at least ten cars parked up and down the street and in the driveway. I was filled with dismay, thinking these were people who were showing up to give the family some more grief; but then I saw that the new arrivals were positioning themselves all around the little lot. They were facing outward. They were there to protect the Merlotte family.
Unexpectedly, tears welled up in my eyes. I groped for Sam’s hand, felt it grip mine. “Hey, Leonard,” Sam said to the nearest man, a gray-haired guy wearing a khaki shirt and khaki pants.
“Sam,” Leonard said, bobbing his head.
Sister nodded at us. “We’ll get this done,” she assured Sam. “Day’s half over. Bring Sookie to the next class reunion, you hear?”
The Sookie Stackhouse Companion Page 6