"One hell of a turtle, Carl,” Lee said, not flinching. “What y'all gonna do with him?"
Swinging around, Carl snatched the broomstick away from Daryl and reached back in towards the pit.
"Probably eat him,” he replied as he jabbed violently down at something Lee couldn't see.
Keeping together, the two boys skirted the back of the Willis house, coming around from the other side. One of the gaping bedroom windows had a stained, yellow curtain that was hanging more out than in. There wasn't a stick of furniture visible in the entire room, just a couple piles of dirty clothes, and a couple of corn shuck mattresses down on the floor. Strangely enough, there were tracks of muddy footprints leading up and down on the outside wall and windowsill from where someone had been using the window as a door. The smell of grease getting hot was heavy in the air. Fried frog legs were obviously the main course on the Willis menu tonight.
It was becoming dark quickly now, as it did around these parts, and Lee and Ronnie were glad to pass under the trestle's long shadows and get back on Arbuckle Ave.
"Do you think he'd have dropped him?” asked Ronnie.
"I doubt it,” answered Lee picking up the pace. “Carl may be tough, but he doesn't hold a candle to their old man."
"Do you think he's around?” Ronnie asked, keeping up right by Lee. “I heard he was in the clink."
"I don't know,” Lee shrugged. “You got me. I didn't see him."
Emmett Willis, the clan's father was known for the hard time he had done in various jails. Most of the town slept a little better at night when Emmett was out of town, “on vacation,” serving a six-month sentence down at the Parson's County Pea Farm.
"Hey Ronnie, your Mom got you doing any chores tomorrow?” Lee asked, just as they approached the cut down through Spit Creek.
"I probably got to help her some in the morning,” Ronnie answered. “She's putting in another row of tomatoes."
"Then why don't you come on over in the afternoon. We can climb the fence in back of the house and poke around the railroad junkyard. I saw there's a place where the barbed wire doesn't come together, and we could just slip on over."
Ronnie stopped. “What if the guard's there? It'll be daylight you know. We could get caught."
Lee crossed his arms and frowned. “Don't worry about it. Fat Larry couldn't catch a cold."
"Not everybody runs as fast as you do,” Ronnie came back.
Lee maintained his pose.
"Okay,” agreed Ronnie. “Okay.” He started off back up the street towards home. “At least I'll come over and see your house. I've never been in it.” He waved without looking back. “See ya’ tomorrow."
Looking up Arbuckle Ave., lights were starting to come on, and big, fat June bugs were already swooping in to circle around the streetlights in swirling droves.
"See ya,” Lee called out peeling off down into the deepening shadows of Spit creek.
Coming up out of the creek, Lee saw that the lights were on at the Fuentes’ house, and Javier's black Chevy was parked on the street out front. He could hear voices coming from inside the screen door, but from the rapid-fire staccato sounds, he was sure they weren't speaking English.
Lee ran past, but slowed down as he entered the winding shortcut between the two sections of Seminole Road. The thick brambles and brush rose up high to either side closing off the cut through from rest of the world. It was quiet in here, and he could hear his own breathing and the pounding of his feet in the dust as he loped along easily. Trotting at a good pace, he emerged, picking it up to a full run as he passed the Riley's empty drive. The light in the front window was on, and Lee could hear a baby crying from somewhere inside the little, wood frame house.
Seeing his Grandma's house loom up from between its surrounding oak trees he felt an odd, almost spooky sensation, as though the world had suddenly taken a turn. Maybe it was just the way those massive old oaks lining the drive looked, looming larger in the gray evening light and spreading dark shadows across the lawn. Somehow, it did look different just now. Just six months ago 1959 had given way to 1960. Everywhere it seemed that change was in the air, and nothing brought on the sense of that feeling more than the look of that big, old house brooding back at him. The place seemed to be lurking behind that monstrous old magnolia tree smack dab in the center of the lawn.
Leaping the ditch, he ran all the way up to the whitewashed steps. In one jump he was up on the porch. Lee didn't realize it for what it was, but he was washed over with relief when he stepped up into the pool of light by the door, pulled the screen open, and went inside.
CHAPTER TWO: THE VISIT
Lee woke up, not knowing where he was.
Sitting up, he blinked at the streams of greenish light seeping through the thick slats of the blinds and tried to get a hold on reality. Like an image slowly revealing itself in a darkroom tray, the unfamiliar surroundings pulled together and began to make sense. He was in his own room, his new room.
Rubbing his eyes seemed to help shake the cobwebs out of his head. A few things remained familiar. The Lenoir High championship football pennant his Dad had given him was tacked on the far wall above his peewee football team photographs and honor roll ribbons. His clothes from yesterday were strewn on the floor by his old toy box. The rest of the room stepped back forty years or more. The faded, green paisley wallpaper and dark brown books on the shelves by the big roll top desk had been there since before his grandfather had died.
He heard the clink of dishes, and his sister Patty's high-pitched squeal came from down the hall. Comfortably, some things never changed.
He went to his dresser and put on a pair of clean underwear. The pants, shirt, and socks from yesterday would do today too.
Lee walked gingerly down the long, dark hallway. The walls were covered with creepy old photographs of people he'd never known. The eyes stared down at him as he passed them by. For some reason he felt he had to be quiet, just like in church, and not dare to make a single sound, lest he disturb somebody.
A relief, the dining room in the back of the house was bright with the warm morning sun. Maggie had taken down the curtains and blinds for washing. The clutter of half unpacked boxes and wads of packing paper strewn over the intricate Oriental rug in the center of the hardwood floor, helped make the room seem alive and even cheery despite the musty smell of the room and the depressing, heavy, green upholstered furniture.
Patty, every bit of six and a half, was inside a cardboard toilet tissue box, scooting it along through the mess, and making swooshing, sailing sounds. Occasionally, she clanged like a bell and hooted like a steam whistle.
"Honk! Honk! Slugabed!” she hollered. “About time you got up. Momma, Lee's up!"
"Morning, Patty,” Lee smiled, and sidled out of her way, as she skidded past. He took a place at the huge, round oak table. “What's that, Squirt, the Titanic?"
"No silly,” she replied over her shoulder, “It's a boat."
Next to Patty's mess of splashed milk and dissolving Frosted Flakes were a clean bowl and spoon. A glass ashtray with at least a half a dozen mashed Kool butts was just off to the side. A cigarette was lit and burning. A long trail of ash, still attached, gave Lee a good idea of how long it'd been since it was lit, puffed once, and then left to burn. Waving at the column of smoke climbing toward the ceiling with one hand, Lee poured himself some cereal. He was just adding milk when Maggie, his stepmom, came in from the kitchen carrying a duster and broom.
"Well good morning,” she said sweetly, talking to him like a baby. “Did my little guy have sweet dreams?” She put down the duster and plucked up the Kool, the long ash breaking off the moment her fingers touched the cigarette. The cherry at the end glowed a bright red as Maggie leaned against a chair and took a deep, long drag.
Lee munched his cereal.
"Little guy,” he hated that. Actually, for quite some time, Lee had been taller than she was. With her blonde hair wrapped up in a red bandanna, her ponytail sticking ou
t the back, and her short, cuffed jeans, Maggie resembled more a babysitter or big sister, than a stepmother.
Maggie, the half a cigarette hanging from her lips, ignored his silence and continued on toward the laundry room skirting the Titanic as it ploughed through the packing paper waves.
Maggie made a shift with her hips just in time to avoid a collision. “Watch out, baby."
Patty was sitting backwards in the box, kicking back with her feet. She was so absorbed in her voyage she didn't even seem to be aware she'd almost ploughed into her mother. Lee could only shake his head. If that had been him a few years ago he'd have been wearing that box, as Maggie would have crowned him with it. Patty could get away with almost anything.
"Lee, honey,” she called out from the laundry room, “I know summer vacation is just starting, but I'd like you help me out again today?"
"Aw, Maggie,” he said, keeping his eyes in his bowl. “I spent all day yesterday doing stuff. It's not fair. Why can't Patty help?"
Most of the time he called her Mom, except when he wanted to show her he wasn't happy, then it was Maggie. As it was, recently he really wasn't even sure if this was even the same person he'd known all his life. Saying Maggie had never been much for housework was a great under statement. Their small place on Keystone had always been a shambles. It had been so bad, and the house had been such a mess, he'd always avoided bringing any friends home. Maggie would cook and do laundry, but that was about it. For her, all household activities ceased before noon. This was the time for her stories, from eleven to three. Even when they couldn't get a picture on the T.V. she'd lie on the couch and listen attentively to her soaps, consuming at least a half a pack of smokes. It was a time for kids to be quiet, neither seen nor heard. Even Patty knew that. Seeing Maggie these past few days, a woman possessed, actually using a dust rag and sweeping and mopping, Lee didn't know what to make of the sudden transformation.
Maggie came back in the room carrying a bucket and a sponge. “You know she's too little.” Maggie took another long drag and talked while she exhaled, a blue cloud of smoke spewing from her nose and mouth, “we all have to do our share."
"Aw, come on, Mom,” he sweetened his plea. “Ronnie's supposed to come over this afternoon. He wants to see the house and stuff."
"Okay,” she put one hand on her hip and set the bucket down. “Help me out this morning, and you can do whatever you boys want all afternoon, so long as you two stay out of the house."
"Deal,” mumbled Lee, chewing a mouthful of cereal.
Looking around as he ate, he had to admit he really was amazed at Maggie's progress. Just getting light into the house had made an enormous difference. The knotty pine paneling throughout the living and dining rooms seemed brighter, and not quite as yellowed as it had in the dingy light. Maggie had taken down the heavy, maroon velvet curtains, which had shrouded the windows. If the odd knots spotting the paneling had really been eyes, they would have had to blink at the unaccustomed brightness.
The cheap Formica and vinyl furniture from the old house on Keystone St. had been donated to the Goodwill, and it would not be missed. His dad and Maggie had ordered an entire new living and dining room set from Patterson's department store, but it would be a few more weeks before any of it would arrive. For now, they were making do with the depressing, overstuffed green chair and matching sofa that had been antiques even when Maggie was a girl Patty's age.
Last Saturday the family had gone on a shopping spree. Friday, Maggie had signed the estate papers over at the attorney's office and everything, including the bank account, was now hers. Tonight was the night their dad was going to stop off at Patterson's on his way home from work and pick up the new console Zenith T.V.. The old set, an Emerson, was sitting by the fireplace, flags of aluminum foil hanging from the spread of the rabbit ear antennas.
After breakfast, as promised, Lee did his part and worked hard. Inside and out, he cleaned windows with ammonia water and newspaper, swept out cobwebs with a broom from under the eaves of the front porch, and then took out all the empty boxes and paper trash. In the back yard, down a slight dip in the ground near the septic tank, there was a rusty, old trash barrel, as the City of Lenoir was more than a little irregular with services in this forgotten area.
Lee dumped the paper and crushed boxes into the can making a fair amount of noise. Almost immediately, a white flurry came flapping and honking from down the slope, way off at the far end of the yard.
"Flapjack!” Lee yelled, kneeling down and clapping his hands. “Come on, boy!"
Flapjack, the duck, was a survivor. Every year, just before Easter, the Lucky Seven sold baby ducks and chickens. This year had been no exception, and when they had gone to the market Lee and Patty had each selected a brightly colored hatchling from a huge wire pen seething with cheeping, red, blue, green, and yellow balls of fluff. Traditionally, within a few days to a week, something happened to the frail creatures. Lee had never known of anyone else who'd ever had one last more than a few weeks, a month at tops.
But amazingly, this one had hung on and was rewarded with its own name, just as though it was a dog or cat. The large duck even still sported a touch of its original bright blue dye on the feathers behind its head.
Flapjack was genuinely happy to see Lee.
"Hey boy,” Lee said, stroking the soft, white head, rubbing up against his chest. “I bet we got some pretty good bugs to eat back here, huh? You'd better stay away from the barrel while I light it,” he advised. “Dad already said he wanted some roast duck, so don't you go helping him out."
After lighting the fire and making sure it would stay put in the barrel, he headed back to the house, the duck following at his heels, just like a puppy.
Lee had to be careful closing the door so as not to trap Flapjack's neck in the door, as the duck was always over eager to follow his boy inside. Lee knew if Maggie ever caught the duck inside the house that would be the end of that.
While Lee was working outside, Maggie had set to making a huge lunch, complete with left over, cold fried chicken and coleslaw. Strangely enough, she hadn't set it out on the table but was packing it into a basket when he came in.
"What're you doing with lunch?” Lee asked, eyeing his step mom, his stomach grumbling.
Maggie adopted her serious, no argument stance with her fists on her hips. “We're going over next door to visit Mrs. Ballard and offer her some neighborly hospitality."
Patty's cardboard ocean liner suddenly struck the iceberg.
"I don't want to go over there!” she protested.
Lee let Patty take the lead. As Maggie's child she could get away with things where Lee wouldn't have a chance.
"That old lady is mean,” Patty continued, standing up in her box and imitating her mother's stance exactly. “Kids at school say her house has haunts, and she's so ugly, she can kill you just by lookin’ at you, if she wants to!"
The quality of the exasperation in the, “That's ridiculous,” look Maggie gave her daughter was more than enough to show it wasn't up for debate.
Less than fifteen minutes later, changed into crisp, clean clothes they all were taking the long way down Seminole Road towards the Ballard's main drive. Maggie wouldn't approve of cuttin’ through; even though the houses were much closer in a direct line, being the only two tucked back in on that section along a broad, sweeping bend of the river.
The noonday sun shone down with an intensity that bleached the blue out the sky and made the gravel road seem like so much chalk dust. It hadn't begun to get really hot yet, as it was just the first of June, but it was plain that the summer was going to get around to it, and for now was just tuning up for the main performance yet to come.
Maggie, holding Patty's hand, and Lee, carrying the basket, they crunched their way down Seminole Road, the only way in and out of this whole area. This section of Lenoir was the oldest and had a long and checkered history. Stories stretched back to even before the first white settlers had arrived, back to wh
en the Seminoles, Creeks, and Choctaws had lived and hunted here.
Lee remembered from his class in state history that it was about fifty years before the start of the Revolutionary War that the first European settlers had come down the Yalahalla and begun clearing the land. They were English an Irish with a smattering of Dunker Germans, and these hard working people began building their homes all through here, eventually spreading out throughout the entire valley. It was these original settlers who first heard of the legends surrounding an ancient Seminole Indian, named Osia. He had lived somewhere near the river here at least three hundred years prior to the arrival of the first Europeans, trading with the other Indians who passed through the natural cut in the high granite bluffs which led down to the river. It was to old Osia that Seminole Road owed its name.
The three walked together quietly, Patty swinging her free hand up and back like a marching band majorette, while holding her doll tucked tightly up under the other arm almost exactly the way Lee carried a football. And of course, Maggie was sucking on a Kool.
Lee tried to keep his eye on the Ballard house off to their right, standing alone in the very center of the estate on a slight rise. He had to look carefully to catch it, as it seemed to be playing a game of hide and seek with him, lurking back between the ruined trees, appearing for only a moment and then slipping back to hide between the trunks, winking in and out of view.
Remembering the school lesson he'd made an easy A on, Lee recalled that the Ballard house had originally been built by a tobacco planter named Wilkes, back in the 1820's. It was a blocky, Federal-style monster, with peppery red and black brick, black shutters, and large, white ionic columns supporting a circular decorative balcony which looked out over a grove of cherry trees which had been planted in long rows. In the early days the plantation had been known as Cherry Heights and had held on to that name well past the Civil War, when it had been occupied by Union troops, and served as a hospital and headquarters after General Sherman's destructive march to the sea.
Evil Heights, Book I: The Midnight Flyer Page 3