by N. C. Reed
“Start feeding hungry people and they’ll get over. Come around. If we take care of who we can, then we can foster friendships now, maybe better than we could before. And it don't hurt that we're responsible for getting rid of that damned committee. We can't be the only people they tried to shake down. Use that to your advantage when you see a chance to do it. That and killing Toby Peyton, too. Rescuing them women. Hell, boy, you ain't been idle by no means. And we've fed a lot of people and housed them, too. It’ll work out,” he semi-promised.
“Your lips to God's ear, Leon.”
***
“Starting tomorrow you will be in command of the security detachment and scheduling watch shifts,” Clay told Jose Juarez. “I won't be on the watch schedule anymore, and you should work mostly days so you're available. Better that you're not tied down to a watch and can respond to whatever is happening.”
“Got it,” Jose didn't seem surprised at all by the news.
“Leave Newell off the watch for now, too,” Clay continued. “She's helping Jake go over the vehicles that Shane brought, starting with those Guardians. I'd really like to have one of them working in top condition.”
“Will do,” Jose made a note in the small notebook he kept on him. “We’ll have guys off doing the training as well, but right now it's mostly Nate and then the rest of us help out as needed.”
“Take Nate off the schedule for now too, then,” Clay ordered. “How many will that leave able to stand watch?”
“If Greg Holloway helps, and we add in Tandi, then sixteen,” Jose did a quick count. “We've been running five or six people per shift, but I can switch that around some. Once the first class is finished where they can help with defense, we really won't need a heavy watch in day time. Towers and response should be enough. Even now I’ll still be around and Nate will too, so we could get by with just two of the towers and two on patrol.” He paused, thinking.
“We need something like an alert shack,” he said finally. “The response can get some shut eye when they aren't needed and still be ready to roll in just a minute with the ATV. I mean, we don't need a separate building or anything, we can just knock something together in Building Two, or even Number One. See what I mean?”
“Kinda like firemen or paramedics,” Clay nodded slowly. “I like it in theory. We’ll have to see what practice is like. At this point, maybe we should assign teams permanently and choose squad leaders? Or more like fire team leaders I suppose.”
“That will take a couple days or so, but it should be doable,” Jose agreed. “I’ll get on this right now.”
“Thanks.”
“What sergeants is for, sir,” Jose winked as he left.
***
He had known it was coming. It had to, sooner or later. Later would have been better but . . .
“Clayton, I need a word with you if you don't mind,” Franklin George's voice was deceptively soft.
“Sure thing, Mister George,” Clay smiled as he turned. “What can I do for you today?”
They were almost a week into the new plan. The smokehouse was almost finished and six head of cattle had already been separated from the herd and were even now being grain fed to help improve the quality of beef at slaughter. Once the smokehouse was finished they would hickory smoke the beef and then would come their first attempt at making new friends. Or remaking old ones. Whichever applied.
Franklin George had supervised the construction, doing the most meticulous of the work himself and going step-by-step to explain what he was doing to others, passing on his knowledge even as he worked. Someday the others would have to supervise, have to build for themselves, and they would need to know how.
During the construction Mister George had hinted at what he wanted to talk about, but had declined to do so in front of anyone else. There was still no doubt what was bothering the older man. Clay had not looked forward to the conversation.
At least it's not my parents, he sighed mentally.
“Clayton, those two women . . . they are setting a rather questionable example to the younger generation here on the farm,” Franklin said firmly. “Something is going to need to be done about that.”
“Which two women are we talking about, Mister George?” Clay asked innocently. “And what is it they're doing?”
“Clayton, don't play dumb,” Franklin gave him a disappointed look. “You know very well what I'm talking about. We can't foster that kind of lifestyle here. It's bad for the children and it's sinful as well. If we approve it then we endorse it. We can't do that.”
“I'm gonna need you to specify which sin it is we're talking about, Mister George,” Clay replied flatly. “There's a wide selection at the moment.”
“Clayton Sanders you know very well I'm talking about those two homosexuals,” Franklin stood up straighter. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Have they done something specific or is it just their presence that bothers you?” Clay asked, dropping the pretense.
“We cannot fo-,”
“Foster such a bad example,” Clay was nodding as he cut the older man off. “I got that. And which bad example are we talking about again? There are plenty of bad examples around here for the kids to pick up on, Mister George.” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a headache.
“Mister George, I know you don't like it,” he decided to try and finish this quickly. “I'm going out on a limb and figure most people on the farm don't 'approve' of their 'alternative lifestyle'. And yes, I know that the bible teaches against it. Learned that in church as a child and read it as an adult. I also read that I'm supposed to hate the sin and love the sinner.
“This is America, Mister George,” Clay reminded him. “We don't force people to live in ways they don't want so long as it isn't harmful to others. The two of them aren't hurting anyone. I haven't even seen a single PDA between them since they arrived. Whatever the physical part of their relationship is, they keep it to themselves. That's about all we can ask of them, to be honest.”
“I get that Trudy's attitude is a barn burner, but Gwen sort of makes up for it, seems to me.”
“Clayton, if we allow-”
“Mister George, you need to get rid of that word 'allow' in situations like this,” Clay stopped him with an upraised hand. “People got rights, Mister George. You don't gotta like it, but it's there nonetheless. Bad as it might offend you, they got the right to live their life, and to live it like they choose so long as they ain't hurting anyone else. And they ain't. And you don't have the right to not be offended, either.
“It's not like I 'approve' of same-sex anything myself,” Clay admitted. “But it ain't my business, Mister George. There's a thing called reciprocity. Means you get what you give, you know? If I want my rights, I have to give others theirs. Funny thing about taking rights away, Mister George. You allow one right to be taken and pretty soon someone decides it's okay to take another. And then another. And where does it stop, once it gets started?
“I've seen first hand where it stops,” Clay was grim, his face set. “It don't. Not short of violence the likes of which you can't imagine if you ain't seen it. I seen it. I fought it. This ain't no different from Reverend Nutworth and you wanting to restrict what people can hear. You want the kids to know that 'alternative lifestyles' are bad, then you got to teach them. And you got to be prepared for others to teach the opposite. Rights go both ways.”
“I can't believe you are all right with this,” Franklin replied. “Your parents-”
“Don't bring my parents into this,” Clay's voice was harsh suddenly. “And I never said I was 'okay' with the lifestyle. I ain't. Wouldn't never follow it myself. But guess what? They don't need my approval to live the way they aim to. Just like I don't need theirs. I can do as I please so long as I ain't causing anyone else any pain and Lainie says I can do it.” He added the last as a weak attempt at a joke.
“You start trying to impose on people's private lives, Mister George
, and you're gonna open a door you can't close. Won't be long before we can't 'allow' certain races on the farm or in the area, can't 'allow' certain religions or lack thereof, certain other life choices and so on. We ain't going down that road, Mister George. If them two make a spectacle of themselves out in the public view then we’ll deal with that, just like we would with any other couple. Me and Lainie ain't behaving that way and no one else is that I know of.
“But what folks do in private it just that; private. Who folks pray to and why? Private. Who they bed down with at night in their homes? Private. If it doesn't directly impact our safety, then it ain't our business. Ain't mine, anyway,” he shrugged.
“How is it that every time I talk to you about something detrimental to the community, it devolves into you lecturing me about religion?” Franklin asked, almost as a challenge.
“Maybe because what you're trying to do always ends there, in my experience,” Clay replied easily. “Not to mention that you just used it try and justify 'not allowing' someone their right to live their way. It always starts with something that 'most' people don't like or want. Since 'most' people don't like it, it's easier to get rid of it or make it illegal. After that it starts again with something a little more popular, and grows from there. Sooner or later it always gets to religion, race or ethnicity, tribal or regional differences and so on. Every time, Mister George. We’ll see it here sooner or later you can be sure.
“But the thing is, Mister George? You can't legislate morality. You can't make a law to force people to be a certain religion or live a certain lifestyle. It doesn't work like that. You can drag someone up to the baptistry at the church building and force them under the water, but you know what? When they come up outta that water they ain't a bit more Christian than they was before you pushed 'em under. They're just wet, and probably mad.
“Things like that are a choice, Mister George,” Clay tried to end the discussion again. “A choice we all get to make for ourselves. We don't have to get approval from others for that choice, either. And that means we don't get to approve or disapprove of what choices that others make. The Sergeant Major in the last line battalion I was part of said something that has always stuck with me. He said 'I may not agree with your choice or decision, but I will fight to the death for your right to make it.' I don't think that was an original idea he had, but that doesn't negate what he said, either. That right to live your life? That's what this nation was founded on, Mister George. And so long as people living their lives ain't causing a problem for us or jeopardizing our safety, then I ain't got nothing to say on the subject in any kind of official way. I got the same right any of you do to decide I like or don't like it, but what I ain't got the right to do, what none of us have the right to do, is take that choice away.”
“That is a sin,” Franklin's voice grew firmer.
“So is adultery,” Clay shot back. “The two are mentioned side-by-side in the New Testament. What you gonna do is someone living in an adulterous marriage comes here to live? Make 'em divorce? For that matter, fornication is listed alongside the two. More than one couple here that ain't wed, Mister George. You aim to separate 'em? Good luck with that.”
“You're talking about entirely different things,” Franklin almost sputtered.
“No, I ain't,” Clay shook his head. “I got a New Testament I carried in more than fifteen countries over the years that tells me sin is sin in God's eyes. What?” he asked at the older man's raised eyebrows.
“You read the bible?”
“Mister George, a man in harm's way learns that God's Word is important to him,” Clay replied, fighting to not be offended at the remark. “Now unless you aim to straighten out every sin on this farm, and that's a tall order mind you, I suggest you get accustomed to having an 'alternative lifestyle' being present. So long as they work and contribute, and don't cause problems, there's no reason to make 'em go.”
Without another word, Franklin George turned on his heel and almost stalked away. Clay watched him go with a resigned sigh.
He knew this wouldn't be the last he heard about the subject.
***
“You're telling me that he decided it was better for us if he just . . . stayed away.”
Xavier Adair looked at Beverly Jackson with a stunned expression on his face.
“That's it,” Beverly nodded. “He had acted in vengeance, without thought to how it might affect the rest of you. Once his need for revenge was slaked, he realized that if someone discovered it had been him, and he had returned to live with all of you, then you would suffer for his actions just as he would. He refused to take that chance and walked a different path.”
“Never called, never wrote, never . . . anything,” Xavier's voice was soft, but was also bitter. Beverly was not accustomed to hearing anything like emotion from him and it almost made her frown before she could catch it.
“It was to keep anyone from connecting you to him,” Beverly nodded. “I have to tell you, and understand that this is something I'm inferring rather than something he actually said, I think he was considering returning until the image of him was plastered across the news services. At that point, he believed there was no path back. No way home,”
“No, I suppose not,” Xavier mused. “I have thought the same for myself over the years. How do I return to my old home and the people my family associated with? It was difficult enough pretending when I had not been able to exorcise my demons as yet. Afterward? No. The death toll would have been breathtaking,” he gave an aborted chuckle. Dark humor at its very best.
“Perhaps you share more in common than you initially realized,” Beverly offered.
“More than just DNA you mean?” Xavier asked with an impressively fake grin. “I should say so. Practically impossible for us not to, eh?”
“Yes,” Beverly nodded. “I think it surprised him that you asked me to mediate between you,” she forged ahead.
“I have no doubt,” Xavier snorted. “The last time we were in the same room, well other than during the introductions here, I did my utmost best to end his life.”
“So he said,” Beverly nodded slowly. She still could not make the connection between two men who were so obviously complete throwbacks with their cultured speech and obvious education. It was enough to shake the foundations that her own understanding of her profession were built upon. It made her uneasy in a way she couldn't quite identify and very much disliked.
“Well, we all fail at times,” Xavier waved his hand. It was as if he saw the failure as a normal part of life. As if he hadn't tried to kill his own brother.
“So we do,” she said automatically. “You already said you realize it will take a great deal of work for the two of you to repair the relationship between you. Do you see, at this point, that the repair is at least possible? Assuming the two of you can continue with this level of understanding?”
“I honestly cannot say,” Xavier shrugged. “I don't know what the buff . . . my brother is thinking concerning all this. Nor will he be able to discern my mind. Years of distrust cannot be undone so quickly. I can say that I am willing to continue, at least for now. His reasons are not without merit. Honestly I should have expected such an analytical decision from him,” he admitted suddenly. “Byron is extremely intelligent. Always was. Had I stopped to think, I would have realized that he would have examined his situation from every possible angle, at least once the deed was finished.”
“That is pretty much exactly as he described it,” Beverly nodded in agreement. “Perhaps the two of you have more in common than you first thought?”
“I've never questioned we had a great deal in common,” Xavier turned his dead-eye gaze on her. “That was never in doubt, Miss Jackson. I blamed him for the death of my mother. Our mother,” he corrected himself. “That alone is what drove my hatred. I did not concern myself with his actions other than how they affected my mother. I never did or will. I simply do not care, beyond that.”
“What about your
father?” Beverly decided to try and change the subject in hopes of getting something she could use later on.
“My father was no better than Byron or myself,” Xavier replied flatly. “Well, in that he never pretended to be something other than what he was, he could be considered better than the both of us. Byron and I always tried very hard to pretend we were normal. My father never bothered.”
“Why did you?” Beverly asked. “If he was your example?”
“He wasn't my example,” Xavier shook his head slowly. “Nor Byron's either I should imagine. Our mother was.” She noted for once he didn't have to correct himself about 'our' mother.
“It was our mother who raised us, instilled in us the importance of proper behavior,” he continued. “My father rarely tried to do anything of the sort other than to insist on excellence. He didn't care what we did, just so long as we were the best at it. Nothing but the best for the Wentworth name.”
“The what?” Beverly asked, caught by surprise.
“Nothing,” Xavier smiled his false smile, bright as always and just as empty. “Nothing at all. Thank you for this time, Miss Jackson,” he stood. “I do wish to try and continue making these inroads in understanding between Byron and myself. I am sincerely appreciative of your help in this. There will possibly come a day or time when I can repay you for your services. When that time appears, I hope you will not hesitate to call upon me. It would be my pleasure to be able to render aid to you as you have to me.”
“Of course,” Beverly managed not to shiver as Xavier offered more or less to go psycho on someone on her behalf. She stood.
“Until next time?” she ventured.
“Quite.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“We all ready here?”
It had taken a week from start to finish to prepare the small convoy that would be trying to reach out to the people remaining in the area. There had been no small amount of discussion concerning what vehicles to take and who would make the trip. It had not been an easy argument and had not been settled in one sitting, either.