The Battered Body

by J. B. Stanley

  “That’s why you’re so good for him, Milla. You drag him out of that shed from time to time. Call me if you need me to buy out the rest of Food Lion’s supply of flour, sugar, and eggs on my way home.”

  “I just might.” Milla’s eyes twinkled as she pushed him out the back door.

  “Merry Christmas, Professor!” The twins exclaimed as he alighted from his truck in the library parking lot.

  Scott held out a narrow strip of black cloth. “We’re going to have to open five minutes late, boss. We want to show you what we made you for Christmas first.”

  James pointed at the fabric. “Well, if that’s meant to be a belt I’m very flattered, but I think it’ll take a few more meetings with Dr. Ruth before that’s going to fit around this waist.”

  “This is a blindfold,” Francis declared with a boyish grin. “Your gift was too big to wrap, so we’ve got it leaning against the book return bin. May I?”

  Leaning his head forward, James allowed Francis to fasten the blindfold. Each twin took hold of one of his arms and they led him over the curb, around a curve of sidewalk, and pivoted him so that he faced the book bin. With a flourish, Scott removed the blindfold and James sucked in his breath in amazement.

  The twins had built him a custom mailbox. The box was wood and had been carved to resemble a shelf of books. Each book had been painted a different color and the titles of authors had been carefully engraved on the spines. Labels representing the library’s filing protocol had also been painted on each tome. Upon closer inspection, James was delighted to note that the books were in proper order according to the Dewey decimal system. Even the red flag was a miniature book, which the twins had cleverly entitled The Scarlet Letter. The post of the mailbox, which was a stake of plain wood, bore Cicero’s famous quote on books: “A room without books is like a body without a soul.”

  “We burned the letters into the wood instead of carving them,” Scott explained as James touched the black script. “It saves time and it’ll last forever because we covered that post with about forty thousand layers of polyurethane.”

  Francis noticed that their boss seemed to have gotten something in his eye. “You okay, Professor?”

  James nodded, too choked up to speak. Finally, after running both hands lovingly over the carved books on the mailbox, he turned and smiled at his employees, no longer caring that his eyes were glistening with tears. “This is a marvelous, excellent gift. You found out that my new house was number twenty-seven. I can’t imagine how much time went into this …” He hugged each twin and sniffed. “Bennett Marshall won’t believe his eyes when he puts my first letter in here. I’ll be on his route when I move, and there’s no doubt in my mind that this will be the finest mailbox he, or anyone else, has ever seen.”

  Francis blushed and made a big show of tying his boot lace.

  “He made one for that Willow girl too,” Scott whispered. “Looks like a box of chocolates. It’s a wall mount in case she ends up moving here and renting an apartment.” He nudged his brother so that Francis lost his balance and sprawled on the grass. “I think he’s in love.”

  “Then he won’t have to ship that mailbox to New York, because Willow’s moving here after the holidays,” James informed the twins.Francis gaped at his boss in happy surprise. “And what about you, Scott? Did you make a newspaper column mailbox for Lottie?” James teased, allowing Francis a moment to recover his poise.

  Scott’s face darkened. “That girlfriend of mine’s been acting weird lately, Professor. She wants me to stop playing video games and reading graphic novels for good! She even thinks I should …” he trailed off and looked to Francis to finish for him.

  “Lottie wants him to get a different job,” Francis muttered. “A career, she calls it.”

  James felt as though a cold wind had pierced his heart. “But you’re happy here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes!” Scott answered hurriedly. “I’d never leave the library! I’m happy here, and I’m happy about who I am. I know I’m a geek who could use contact lenses and a car made in this decade, but I’m fine with riding a bike and living in Widow Lamb’s garage. My job is perfect, my boss is the greatest, and I’m the luckiest guy in the world to be able to work with my brother, my best friend, every day.”

  “Stop it or I’ll cry again!” James clutched Scott on the shoulder. “And you are lucky. Some people spend their whole lives trying to figure out what makes them happy and you’re aware—in your mid-twenties no less—of exactly what you want and who you are.”

  “So what do I tell Lottie?” Scott was clearly distressed. “Love me or leave me? That’s not how I talk, and I don’t want to lose her.”

  In that moment, James had an epiphany. Lucy was basically telling him the same thing Scott longed to tell Lottie. She had made it clear that she would be devoted to upholding the law above all else and that was simply who she was. She had left it up to James to decide whether he could accept her and love her for who she was or sever their romantic ties once and for all.

  But she didn’t let me decide, he thought ruefully. She just assumed that I wouldn’t want a life with her under those conditions. And maybe she was right. Maybe I want to be first in a woman’s heart. Maybe second place isn’t good enough for me anymore.

  “Professor?” Scott’s voice brought James back to reality and he became aware that not only were they late opening the library but they were all shivering. The three of them had been standing on the grass, idly chatting in forty-degree weather as several patrons gazed at them with a perplexity that would shortly mutate into irritation.

  Handing Francis the keys to the front door, James shouldered his beautiful new mailbox and looked at Scott with sympathy. “We can’t change people, Scott, no matter how much we’d like to. We must love them as they are or let them go so they’ll have the chance to be loved by someone else.”

  Scott scratched his tousled hair in confusion. “Professor? Are we still talking about my situation?”

  “What I’m saying is that you should be loved by someone who appreciates you as is, not as you could be. If Lottie doesn’t love you now, then she’s not looking for a smart, caring, loyal guy named Scott Fitzgerald and that’s her loss.” James smiled fondly at the young man. “It doesn’t mean you guys are done for as a couple, but you’ve got to be honest with her by telling her that you don’t want to change and see how she handles that declaration.”

  “Great. I do have to give Lottie the love-me-or-leave-me speech, and I’ve got to do it before we go undercover tonight.” Scott sighed. “Poor Francis. He might be on a stakeout with the Grinch.”

  “That’s right!” James had completely forgotten about Glowstar’s kidnapping. “The ransom handoff is at midnight. I hope your abductor actually shows up, or we’ll have to buy a new elf on eBay. I won’t let you and Francis face another holiday season without one.” With his left hand, he pulled envelopes containing generous gift cards to Best Buy from his coat pocket and held them out to Scott. “And I hope these will help take the bah humbug out of your day.”

  As James headed toward the Bronco with his treasure, Scott tore open his gift card and his eyes widened in delight. He then read the inscription in his Christmas card. It said:

  To Scott, fellow bibliophile, skilled librarian, and loyal friend. May your holiday be filled with barbarians wielding longswords and lovely maidens held captive by all-powerful warlocks. Merry Christmas. James Henry.

  “Damn.” Scott shut the card and blinked several times. “Now I’m going to cry.”

  The supper club members were waiting for James when he, along with Milla, Willow, and Jackson, entered the church chapel that evening. James and his companions were still reeling from the shouts of reporters and the blinding flashbulbs that had assaulted them in the parking lot.

  Inside the warm sanctuary, the pews were stuffed. The townsfolk seemed to have congregated in the front while members of the media kept a respectful distance in the back of the chapel. A horde o
f strangers, who James feared were there in hopes of gaining a few minutes of fame by casting poignantly sorrowful glances at the television cameras, filed into the center rows.

  Paulette’s children and sister Wheezie were in the first row. The pew behind them had been reserved for the supper club members and Willow. James was pleasantly surprised to observe Dr. Ruth and all three of her sons seated in respectful silence toward the middle of the crowd. He issued them a subtle wave and smiled at Dolly, who was likely to have a sore neck come Christmas Day from twisting this way and that in order to observe the demeanor of every person in the sanctuary.

  “This is quite a showing,” Milla murmured to James as Reverend Emerson walked to the pulpit in order to greet the congregation and then ask them to rise and join with him in the singing of “Abide With Me.”

  As James had spent the Sundays of his childhood at the very same church, he knew the hymn well enough to sing along while casting covert glances at the profiles of those lined up in front of him. Chase, who chose not to sing, was staring into the distance with a blank expression, while Chloe was concentrating on the words in her hymnal and appeared pale and overwhelmed. Wheezie was bobbing her head in time to the music, and James wondered if she weren’t more than a little unbalanced or even afflicted by dementia. Her childish innocence seemed less like a quirky personality and more like the sign of a mental illness, but since he knew nothing about the latter, he hesitated to form judgment over Milla’s sweet older sister.

  Peering down his own row, James couldn’t help but notice the new spark of vitality in Willow’s eyes. Her face was shining with all the optimistic hopefulness of youth. She wore an attractive black dress with a cobalt blue scarf that brought color to her pale eyes. Her blonde hair shone with good health and was fastened into a chic knot at the base of her neck. Pink pearl earrings glowed softly against her cheeks, which were flushed by the cold air and by the proximity of Francis Fitzgerald (who was singing in a slightly sharp baritone two pews behind her).

  At the conclusion of the hymn, Reverend Emerson led them in prayer and then invited Milla forward for the scripture reading. Her voice was clear throughout the entire recitation of Ecclesiastes 3, but when she reached verse twelve she paused. Wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue, she spoke with a tremor while reading, “That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God.”

  Gillian, whose hair had taken on a shade akin to paprika since their dinner at Mamma Mia’s, sniffed loudly and then covered her entire face with a filmy handkerchief.

  “Everything all right?” he whispered.

  “Do you think Paulette was satisfied in her work, like that verse says? Do you think she realized what gifts she was given?” Gillian whimpered tearfully while Lucy patted her on the arm.

  Milla finished her reading and then waited as Reverend Emerson offered Paulette’s family members the opportunity to speak words of remembrance. Since Milla was already standing close to the pulpit’s microphone, she introduced herself as “the middle sister” and then proceeded to tell an amusing childhood anecdote.

  “As a young girl, Patty spent more time down the street than at our house. Our neighbor, Mrs. D., as we called her, loved to cook with Patty. Most girls my age were happy to set up lemonade stands or sell Girl Scout cookies for their first ventures into the business world, but not Patty. She wanted out of Natchez and while we were all spending our dimes at the movies or buying sodas and banana splits at the drug store, Patty was selling fancy cupcakes and tea cakes to all the neighborhood ladies.” Milla was lost in her memories, her gaze reaching over the heads of the congregation as she spoke of her sister with pride and a trace of awe. “She did exactly what she said she was going to do. Was in Paris by her eighteenth birthday. Some folks said she made a useful connection with one of the riverboat cooks, but however she got there, she never looked back. Even Mrs. D. never heard from her again, and that woman taught her everything she knew about baking. I do wonder what became of that sweet woman …”

  Someone coughed discreetly in one of the pews in front, and Milla snapped out of her reverie and concluded her monologue by assuring those gathered there that Paulette had died doing the thing she was most passionate about. Then, her speech interrupted by a catch in her voice, she thanked everyone for coming and returned to her seat.

  Chase was the next person to take the microphone. He too extolled his mother’s entrepreneurial success, but he made no references to her tendresse as a mother. In fact, his eulogy lacked any indication of intimacy. His voice was flat and expressionless, and his speech reminded James of a professor giving a lackluster lecture on twenty-first-century economics.

  “Sounds like he’s givin’ a fiscal report to a board of directors,” Bennett whispered through a yawn.

  “I think it shows poor taste to talk about how much money his mother’s last book made at a memorial service,” Lindy stated in disgust. “For crying out loud! Didn’t she bake him special cookies for his birthday or build magical gingerbread castles at Christmas? He must have one childhood memory when she did something special for him!”

  Apparently not, for Chase sat down while the congregation exchanged befuddled glances. Chloe refused to speak, which she made clear by shaking her head and crossing her arms like a willful child, but when the minister focused his querying gaze on Wheezie, she hobbled up the carpeted steps to the pulpit unaided.

  “From the moment she entered this world, Patty was a bossy one,” Wheezie said and pointed her finger at the bouquet of flowers that had been positioned where the coffin would have normally been situated. “That girl thought she was smarter than our whole town put together. Even Mama and Daddy were dumb hillbillies in her mind. Every day, she told me and Milla how she prayed to be told she was adopted. She hated us all and that ain’t no lie.”

  Chase began to rise to his feet, but Chloe restrained him with both arms as the church audience sat up en masse with sudden interest. The members of the media who had been fortunate enough to find seating before the service began became instantly alert, mini recorders and small pads of paper held at the ready.

  “And though she hated her family, the folks Patty hated even more were the mulattos. I know that’s not what you’re supposed to call them now, but that’s what we called them then, and there were plenty of mulattos in Natchez. I loved one of them. A man named Alberto Marcos. I would have married him and been happy for the rest of my days, but Patty ruined it. She made Al out to Mama and Daddy like he was the worst kind of scoundrel, but the only truly wicked person I ever knew was my own sister.”

  Several members of the congregation gasped.

  “I know it ain’t right to speak ill of the dead, but I’ve been holdin’ this in for too many years, and I want to tell you all that I ended up happy anyhow. Patty went to Paris as some man’s floozy, and then she came back and got famous right quick. Reckon she became a richer man’s kept woman.”

  The reporters were scribbling furiously. James noticed Murphy and Lottie sitting side by side, listening with expressions bordering on rapture. James could practically sense Murphy spinning titles and headlines in her mind as Wheezie ruthlessly continued.

  “I thought I could marry Al after we buried Mama and Daddy, but his heart turned hard toward our family and he married somebody else. He’s a widower now and I’m still sweet on him, even after all these years. I came to this town to offer Patty a chance to make things right, to tell Al she was wrong to judge him and lie about him, but she laughed in my face at the notion. I hope the good Lord forgives her, or I reckon she’s bakin’ cakes of hot coals for the devil right about now. ’Preciate y’all comin’ out. Thank you.”

  Wheezie returned to her seat, her head held high and a grim smile on her face. James closed his gaping mouth and turned to Milla, who was staring at her older sister with horrified astonishment. Jackson covered his fiancée’s hand with his own and stared fixedly at the tops of his shoes.

  Re
verend Emerson was at a loss. James was certain that the minister had never presided over a eulogy speech such as Wheezie’s. His eyes raked the pew of family members with a searching look until his wife, who was seated near the organist, poked the woman in the side and the first few strains of “Amazing Grace” burst into the still air. The hymn was played in double-time, followed by a rather mechanical recitation of the Lord’s Prayer and a hasty benediction. Before James knew it, he found himself in the fellowship hall passing out slices of eggnog cake.

  “Do you need help?” Lucy asked in a soft, concerned voice as she appeared at his side.

  James nodded gratefully. “I don’t know what to say to people after a service like that.”

  “I’ll chase away anyone from the media, if you’d like.” Lucy fixed a hostile glare in Murphy’s direction.

  “That would be a relief, thank you. And I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your coming today. If I didn’t have the four of you behind me in moments like these …”

  Lucy brushed his cheek with her fingers. The moment was fleeting, but filled with tenderness. “I’ll always care about you, James. No matter what else happens in our lives, you can depend on my friendship. That’s a promise.”

  James placed a piece of cake in her hands. “And you can depend on mine too.”

  Tears pooled in Lucy’s blue eyes, but she blinked them away and concentrated on spearing a triangle of cake onto her fork. Slipping the morsel between her lips, she inadvertently groaned, “This is so good!”

  Echoes of similar declarations emitted from mouths across the hall. As coffee cups were refilled and people accepted seconds on cake, Milla unveiled Jackson’s painting of Paulette’s hands to oohhs and ahhhs from the crowd.

  James edged others aside in order to view the work of art. Once again, he was amazed by his father’s ability to capture an individual’s complete persona by fashioning a pair of hands through deft brushstrokes and a unique blend of hues. Paulette’s were strong, determined, and graceful as they gripped the handles of a wooden rolling pin. The left-hand side of the canvas portrayed several petits fours decorated with prim and perfectly formed icing rosebuds, showcasing Paulette’s love of precision. Edging off the right side was a bowl of raw eggs with a collection of fractured shells that had been scattered into the deepest corner of the canvas where Jackson’s signature normally appeared. The jagged points and splintered bits of shell reminded the viewer of the Diva’s sharp tongue and harsh words.