A Field of Poppies

by Sharon Sala

  “Look at that,” John said, pointing out the window.

  The flakes were so tiny they didn’t have the weight to fall. Instead, they kept floating up and swirling down, caught in the air currents from passing cars.

  Poppy shuddered. The cemetery was on a hill with no windbreak and she wished she’d worn pants and her boots instead of the same black dress and shoes she’d worn to her mama’s funeral.

  When they turned the corner leading up to the church, Poppy’s heart skipped a beat. The streets were lined on both sides with cars as far as she could see.

  “Oh my God!”

  John reached for her hand. “It appears Aaron was right. How do you feel about being on show one more time?”

  Poppy shivered. “Daddy would hate this.”

  He frowned. “Don’t think of it that way. He’s beyond all this crap. It’s you I’m talking to. Can you do this?”

  Her chin came up. “Yes, and don’t play into this feeding frenzy, Johnny. Don’t get indignant on my behalf. I can take care of myself, okay?”

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  The church loomed. Moments later they were out of the car and being escorted into the church. The ones who’d been unable to get a seat inside the church were standing in the church yard and spilling out into the street.

  Poppy tucked her hands into her coat sleeves, looking neither right nor left as she hurried inside. The blast of warmth that met them at the door was just as startling as the cold had been.

  Pastor Louis J. Harvard got the signal that the family had arrived. He cued the organist, who ceased playing and instantly struck a chord.

  “All rise,” Harvard said, and lifted his hands toward the ceiling to indicate the congregation should stand. Considering everyone spoke English, it was a bit of overkill, but Louis J. always had been one to play to the crowd.

  Poppy fixed her gaze on the casket at the foot of the altar as she and Johnny walked down the aisle. She already knew what a lot of the mourners were thinking. By virtue of blood alone, she’d lost her right to be one of them.

  The service went by in a blur. By the time the last note of music had faded, she was as cried out as a woman could be and still be breathing. It wasn’t until they raised the lid of the casket that she faltered.

  John had his arm around her all the way through the service, but when she began to shake, he felt the tremors in her body all the way to his bones. He’d battled his own emotions, but seeing her like this hurt his heart.

  “You can do this,” he whispered.

  She took a slow, deep breath then lifted her head. When the mourners began to move toward the altar, she bore silent witness to their passing.

  Late that night when she’d finally gone to bed, she only remembered bits and pieces of the day.

  Louis J. touching the crown of her head as if he’d been bestowing a blessing – or forgiving a sin.

  Snow sticking to her eyelashes at the cemetery, leaving the world somewhat blurry to her view.

  Hot coffee Gladys thrust in her hands as they came back to the church for the meal.

  Aaron Coulter hugging Johnny and then walking away.

  It was blatantly obvious that John was being held in higher esteem, and while she understood why, it didn’t make it less devastating. The innuendoes abounded that she now thought herself above the other residents in Coal Town. The knowledge brought its own kind of pain.

  This time next year Poppy would be old news, but right now it hurt. Couldn’t they see that she was grieving as much as Johnny? Why would they think the Caulfield blood in her veins would blunt the sadness of losing both her parents in one day?

  The antagonism made no sense, and yet it was there. All she could do was pray for the strength to ignore it and the courage to endure it.

  ****

  It was Mike’s day off. Barring a homicide somewhere in Caulfield, he had the next twenty-four hours to himself. Today was the day of Jessup Sadler’s funeral. More than anything, he wanted the freedom to go to that church in support of Poppy, but it wasn’t his place to do so – at least not yet.

  All day yesterday the police department kept getting tips that Jessup Sadler’s funeral might become a detonation point for some kind of riot. It made no sense why it could happen, but it was enough to make him worry. He made it his mission to get to the Church of Angels early and park in a place where he had a clear view of the entrance. If he saw a situation beginning to develop, at least he was in a position to call it in before it got out of hand.

  Within thirty minutes, people began arriving and soon after that, it began to snow. He was guessing a good number of the mourners were here only out of curiosity. It wasn’t common, but not unusual for someone in Coal Town to die at someone else’s hands. But Jessup Sadler’s murder, and then the ensuing murder/suicide of his high society killers had turned this into a sensation.

  By the time the funeral car arrived with the family, the church was full and the churchyard overflowing with mourners willing to stand in the snow for nothing more than a glimpse of Justin Caulfield’s dirty little secret.

  He got out, ready to make a run for Poppy should anything get out of hand, but John stood a head above most of the people there, and had her tucked tightly beneath his arm. They disappeared into the church without incident, which was a relief, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he was certain the rumors were just that.

  As he waited for the service to end, it felt more like a stake-out than monitoring security. When the pall-bearers finally emerged carrying the casket, he recognized some of them as men who’d worked Jessup’s shift at the mine.

  Then Poppy came out and paused. For few seconds she stood alone on the steps of the church with the snow swirling about her head, staring out into the crowd below. She was ghostly pale, and even from where he was sitting he could see she was shaking. Oblivious to the tears on her cheeks, she lifted her chin in a subconscious challenge. When John appeared behind her then helped her down the steps and into the car, she never wavered.

  And that was the moment he fell the rest of the way in love.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The snow quit before sunrise leaving a light dusting of flakes on the grass. John followed its exit, but not before eliciting a dozen promises from Poppy to call if she needed help, and that he’d stop in to check on her the next time he drove through West Virginia. Poppy hated to see him go, but in a way was also ready to get some order back in her life. The sooner she got used to living alone, the better off she would be.

  She’d called Vic Payton to let him know she was ready to come back to work, and the joy in his voice had been obvious. She was back on the schedule, beginning tomorrow.

  After spending all day yesterday at the church, she’d skipped Sunday services this morning. Today was about getting out her winter clothes and re-stocking groceries. Maybe she’d even treat herself to a burger and fries on the way home.

  She was already dressed and in the kitchen making a grocery list when she heard a knock at the front door. It was Gladys.

  And with her usual no-nonsense manner, went straight to the reason that she’d come.

  “Hi sugar! I saw John’s truck was gone so I guessed he was on his way back to Atlanta. I couldn’t help thinking of you here by yourself and want you to know Mel and I are here for you any time you need us.”

  Poppy was relieved at least some of her friends weren’t going to drop her.

  “Thank you, Gladys. It’s good to know you two are still speaking to me. After everything that’s happened this past week, I wasn’t expecting there’d be anyone left here who’d remember my name.”

  Gladys frowned. “I still don’t see the reason for all this fuss. If anyone gives you lip, you tell them to kiss your ass.”

  Poppy grinned. “I suppose I could do that.”

  “Yes, you sure can. Oh, Mel wanted me to make sure you know to call him if anything goes wrong here in the house. He’s a pretty good handyman. No need paying
a service call for something he might be able to fix. Has the pilot light been lit on your furnace?”

  “Yes. Johnny did it while he was here.”

  “All right then, I’ll just be on my way. I have a load of stuff to do before work tomorrow.” She gave Poppy a big hug and was out the door as fast as she’d entered.

  Poppy was smiling as she headed back to the kitchen. Maybe this would all blow over sooner than she thought. She grabbed the grocery list then her coat and purse, and locked the door behind her as she left.

  ****

  Justin was in his car, following the hearse bearing his mother’s body out to the cemetery. A quartet of city employees was waiting by the open grave, ready to assist in moving the casket. He stood to one side as they lowered it into the void. In funeral ceremony vernacular, Amelia Caulfield was being laid to rest beside her husband, but Justin doubted her soul was at peace. Nowhere in the bible was it written that murderers got a straight shot to heaven.

  As soon as the casket touched bottom, the men walked away to give Justin some privacy. Once they were out of sight, Justin walked to the edge. Without saying a word, he took the box bearing Oral Newton’s ashes out of the sack he’d been carrying and tossed it into the grave. It hit the lid of the casket, bounced end over end, and tumbled into a corner of the pit where it slid out of sight.

  Since they had colluded in life, they could spend eternity together as well. It would piss Amelia off to no end that she was being buried with the hired help, and he didn’t give a damn what Newton would have thought.

  He waved at the men, who then returned and began to cover it up. The first clods of dirt hit the casket with a thud. The shock of what his mother and her driver had done was passing, leaving him with nothing but shame. He stayed until the last shovelful of dirt was turned, then got in his car and drove away.

  ****

  Despite the fact that Poppy had driven home with the window part-way down, the car still smelled like the burger and fries she’d had for lunch. Once she was home, other than unloading the groceries and washing one more load of clothes, she was nearly caught up. It felt good to be moving in a positive direction, although tonight would be the real test, sleeping in the house alone.

  It wasn’t like she’d never done that before, but she’d always known someone would be coming back, and this was no longer the case. She wasn’t exactly afraid, just uneasy. But as Johnny had reminded her, all she could do was take it one step, one day, at a time.

  When she turned the corner, she automatically glanced toward her house. Within seconds, her heart skipped a beat. The closer she drove, the more horrified she became. By the time she pulled up in the driveway she was crying.

  The words, rich bitch, had been written across the front of her house in red spray paint. She got out with her legs shaking and stared at it in disbelief, then looked up and down the street, but it was empty.

  Tears turned to rage as she headed for the neighbor’s house. The old man who lived there was a widower with time on his hands and often sat by the window with his binoculars.

  She saw a curtain fall back into place as she started up the sidewalk toward his house and realized that not only had he sat and watched them spray painting her house, but he’d done nothing to stop it.

  She doubled up her fist and pounded on the door, but he didn’t answer. She pounded again, this time shouting his name.

  “Mr. Lewis, I need to talk to you. Please come to the door, I know you’re in there.”

  Finally, she heard the sounds of shuffling feet and then the door opened just enough for him to peer out. It had been years since Poppy had seen him this close up. Not only had he aged drastically, he appeared to have shrunk a good foot in height.

  “I’m busy. Go away,” he muttered.

  “You saw who vandalized my house.”

  “I didn’t see nothin’,” he muttered.

  She started to cry. “Why won’t you help me? Mama and Daddy were nothing but good to you. Is this the way you repay their kindness, by protecting the people who did this to my house?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know names.”

  “Did you see their car?”

  “No, they was afoot.”

  “How many were there?” Poppy asked.

  “Two boys, probably late teens, early twenties.”

  She swiped the tears off her cheeks with an angry swipe. “What did they look like? What were they wearing?”

  “You don’t tell no one I told you. I don’t want no trouble.”

  “I don’t want trouble either, yet I have it. What did they look like?”

  “Both of them real tall, and skinny. Clothes hangin’ on them like rags on a scarecrow. The clothes was all blue, like denim I guess. One of ‘em had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Other one had blonde curly hair hanging down around his face. Now go away. I got things to do.”

  Poppy stomped off the porch with single intent. The moment he’d said scarecrows, she knew exactly who’d done it and where to find them – two stoners named Freddie and JoJo who hung out at Millwood’s Gas and Grocery begging for handouts.

  She got back in her car and took off down the street, laying rubber as she went. By the time she got to Millwood’s, she was furious. She wheeled into the station and stomped the brakes so hard the car slid sideways as it stopped.

  Aaron Coulter was passing by in his Hummer and saw her pull in. He started to wave, then saw the look on her face and realized something was wrong. He hit the brakes and backed up, but by the time he got stopped, Poppy had already gone inside.

  ****

  They were sitting in the corner near the heating stove with two empty long-necks at their feet and wrappers from candy bars wadded up beneath their chairs. Poppy headed toward them with her hands fisted.

  “It figures you worthless bastards would be hiding out behind a shelf of toilet paper since you’re both such assholes!”

  Freddie fell backwards in his folding chair and JoJo tripped over him trying to run out the back.

  Poppy kicked Freddie in the crotch and stomped on JoJo’s fingers with the heel of her shoe. Both men were yelling and cursing, begging Old Man Millwood to call the police.

  “Yes, call the police,” she shouted. “It’ll save me a trip downtown to file charges against the both of them for vandalizing my house.”

  “We didn’t do no such thing!” JoJo yelled, cradling his fingers against his chest.

  “Yes you did, you dumb ass, and the red paint is still on your fingers,” Poppy shouted, and pulled his hair back so hard it popped his neck.

  Freddie was doubled up on his side, moaning and holding his crotch. When she kicked him again, he screamed like a girl.

  “Stop her! Somebody stop her! She’s busted my nuts.”

  But Poppy wasn’t through. She got down on her knees until she was only inches away from their faces.

  “Both of you! Pay attention to what I’m saying! If this happens again, even if you didn’t do it, I’ll blame you. I won’t go looking for anyone else, I’ll go after you. It won’t matter where you hide, I’ll find you, and when I do, I’ll be the one laughing when they bury the both of you without your dicks.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Freddie cried.

  JoJo’s eyes bugged out of his face. “You’re crazy! Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me!”

  “This isn’t crazy. This is what fed up looks like!” Poppy screamed, and started punching them.

  All of a sudden someone was pulling her back and she began kicking and fighting all over again.

  “Whoa, whoa, little sister! It’s me, Aaron. Aaron Coulter. I’m not trying to hurt you, honey. Slow down, slow down.”

  Poppy threw one last punch that luckily missed him before she finally realized who it was.

  “Let me go, Aaron! Let me go.”

  He stepped back and held up his hands, then eyed the pair of men on the floor.

  “What did they do?”

  “They spray painte
d my house. Wrote ‘rich bitch’ all across the front in red paint. There were witnesses and JoJo still has red paint on his fingers.”

  The smile on Aaron’s face shifted. His eyes narrowed as a red flush spread across his cheeks.

  “Is that true?”

  Freddie was still cupping his privates and JoJo was bawling.

  “We didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Freddie said. “It was just somethin’ to do.”

  Aaron squatted down until he was on eye level with them.

  “It never occurred to you that Poppy here has just had the week from hell? That she’d had to bury her mama and her daddy and have everything she knew turned upside down? Is that how we treat our own?”

  “She ain’t one of us. She’s got rich blood. She needs to get out of Coal Town,” JoJo muttered.

  Poppy gasped, pushed Aaron aside and lit into him again, punching him in the nose before Aaron could stop her.

  Blood spurted from JoJo’s nose and he started screaming all over again.

  At this point, Millwood yelled at all of them. “One more punch gets thrown and I’m callin’ the cops!”

  “Damn woman, I never knew you had this in you,” Aaron muttered, as he pushed her back against the window. “Just hold it, okay? Let me finish this. I can make sure it won’t happen again.”

  Poppy was so mad she was shaking, but the threat of police had finally gotten through her anger. The last thing she wanted was for Mike to find out she’d been brawling like the Coal Town trash she was.

  “Get up!” Aaron said.

  Freddie moaned. “I can’t. My balls hurt.”

  He lowered his voice. “Get the fuck up. Both of you.”

  JoJo rolled over then staggered to his feet while holding the tail of his shirt against his nose.

  Freddie finally got up, but was in so much pain he couldn’t stand straight.

  “Here’s the deal,” Aaron said. “None of us had a goddamned bit of choice as to who fucked who to get us here. Poppy Sadler was born and raised right here in Coal Town. She’s no better off today than she was a week ago before her daddy was murdered. She’s still driving the same piece of shit car, working at the same job, and living in the same house. What happened to her today better not ever happen again, and it’s to your benefit if you spread the word. You tell them that anyone who messes with her answers to me.” His voice got softer as he leaned in until there were mere inches separating them. “You do know what I’m saying, don’t you?”