A Field of Poppies

by Sharon Sala

  “Yes, hell yes, Aaron. We didn’t mean nothin’. We won’t do it again.”

  “Better not anybody so much as look at her wrong. John Sadler is my friend. She’s John’s little sister, therefore she’s my friend, too. You know what happens to people who mess with my friends.”

  “Yes, yes, we know. We’ll make sure no one messes with her.”

  “No. I’ll make sure no one messes with her. Your job is to get on the other side of the street if you see her coming. Your job is to go out of your way to never look at her again. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, hell yes.”

  “Then get the fuck out of my sight,” Aaron whispered.

  When they started to walk past him, he stopped them with a look.

  “Go out the back you motherfuckers, so she doesn’t have to look at you again.”

  They disappeared, leaving a trail of snot and blood behind them.

  Aaron turned around, but Poppy was nowhere in sight. He looked out the window. She was already backing out of the parking lot. As she took off in a flurry of flying gravel and dust, a slow smile spread across his face. That was one pissed off woman – one fine, pissed off woman. If he ever found one like that, he might actually settle down.

  By the time Poppy got home she was in shock at what she’d done. She had never lost control like that, and was reeling from what Aaron had told them. She wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but she would never want to be his enemy, either.

  This time when she pulled up into the driveway she unloaded her groceries and carried them inside. After she’d put them away and changed into old clothes, she got a bucket of soapy water and began scrubbing at the paint. No way in hell was she going to bed until it, and the words, were gone.

  ****

  Anger was a good cure for insomnia. When Poppy finally went to bed, she was exhausted. It had taken a little over four hours in the cold with her hands in water, scrubbing at the wood to get rid of the paint. Unfortunately, the white paint beneath it was also gone, too. Now the house needed a paint job, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. She fell asleep without dreaming and didn’t wake up until the alarm went off the next morning at 5:00 a.m.

  ****

  “Oh my God,” Poppy groaned.

  She slapped at the alarm to turn it off, then threw back the covers and swung her feet off the side of the bed.

  The house was cold and dark as she stumbled into the hall to turn up the thermostat then she staggered into the bathroom to shower. Fifteen minutes later she was out and running to find the clothes she’d forgotten to take in with her.

  It was odd, getting ready for work without anyone to talk to. She turned on the television just for the noise, and then went into the kitchen to make coffee. She ate a bowl of cereal standing up at the counter and poured herself a coffee to go. After a quick check of the house, she put on her coat, slung her purse over her shoulder, and locked the door on her way out.

  She drove across the Little Man as light threatened the darkness across the eastern sky. No snow today, but it was cold. There was a man walking across the bridge’s footpath. She glanced at him as she passed, checking to see if it was Prophet Jones. It was not. She wondered where the old man was now that winter had set in. Surely to God he wasn’t still under the bridge.

  As she stopped for a red light, a police car went flying through the intersection with lights flashing and the siren screaming. She muttered a prayer of safekeeping for whoever might be in trouble, and then drove on. It had been a little over a week since she’d been at work. It felt like a lifetime.

  She parked in her usual place, and then hurried up the alley and in through the back door to the scent of freshly baked bread and fried bacon.

  Sonny the chef looked up. His eyes widened with surprise, and then he nodded. It was more than he usually did, so she took it as a good sign.

  She clocked in, ducked into the back room to stow her things in her locker then grabbed a clean apron on her way into the dining room.

  One of the bus boys was filling salt and pepper shakers and another was folding napkins, but she was the first waitress here. Vic was at the till counting out money for the register and when he saw her, his face lit up.

  Poppy sighed. Hopefully he and Michelle had made up. If they had not, she had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

  She moved to the coffee urns and began making coffee, refilling sugar bowls with the little paper packets and falling back into her routine without hesitation. As soon as Vic had money in the till, he came to greet her.

  “Good morning, Poppy. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to be back and doing something normal.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said. “I know you’re going to need a lot of time to adjust to things, but if you ever need a break, or want to get away on your days off, just let me know. I’m a good companion.”

  “I know you are, Vic. You’ve been a good friend and I appreciate it. Friends are hard to find.”

  She could see the disappointment on his face, but it was better to get it said now than to let him think they could be anything but friends.

  “Yes, right. So, I’ll be in the office for a while. Got some orders to call in.” He unlocked the front door, turned on the outside lights and then gave her a nod. “We’re open for business.”

  “Where’s Jewel?”

  “She quit.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “There’s a new girl. Her name is Mandy. She’s been here two days and already late. We’ll see how that works out.”

  Poppy didn’t know about the new girl, but she was glad the old one was gone. Within a few minutes, regular customers began to trickle in.

  About an hour later the new waitress showed up. Poppy had seen plenty of hung over people, but never one this bad who’d bothered to come to work. She walked in the back door as Poppy came through the kitchen for extra butter and syrup, and the uniform the girl was wearing looked like she’d slept in it.

  “Who are you?” the girl asked.

  “Poppy. You must be Mandy.”

  “Oh. You’re the one who’s old man got murdered. Tough.”

  Poppy stopped. The girl hadn’t even bothered to mask her disdain. She started to respond, and then thought better of it, grabbed the butter and syrup and started to leave the kitchen when Mandy turned around, giving everyone a very good view of her ass and the pink thong underwear parting the crack.

  “Hey, Mandy.”

  “What?”

  “You might want to pull down your skirt unless that’s your way of cruising for tips. Your ass is shining.”

  “Oh my God,” Mandy groaned, and was reaching behind her as Poppy left the kitchen.

  After her less than auspicious meeting with Poppy, Mandy toned down her attitude. By the end of the day she was almost friendly, but Poppy wasn’t going to lose any sleep over her. The day went by faster than Poppy expected. A couple of her regulars expressed their condolences, and one looked a bit taken aback when she’d seen her, as if she had never expected to see her waiting tables again. But other than that, it was okay.

  On the drive home, she became anxious again, fearing that she would see even more graffiti on her house when she drove up, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, while she’d been gone, someone had brushed paint over the bare spots, trying to blend it in with the rest of the house. It was a bit whiter than the old paint, but it was better than the wood shining through. She didn’t know who done the good deed and was too tired to try and find out.

  She unlocked the door, kicking off her shoes as she stepped inside, and for a brief moment expected to hear her mama yell out, ‘we’re in here’. It was going to be a hard thing to remember that wouldn’t happen again.

  Instead of letting it pull her down, she went through the house, turning on lights. Since this was how it was going to be from now on, she wasn’t hiding away in the dark.

  ****

  Justin was still playing
catch up at work, which meant he had less time than he would have liked to spend with Callie. After a brief consult with her, he decided to hire her old babysitter, Patricia Ryan, on a full-time basis. Miss Patty was tutoring Callie when she felt like studying, and entertaining her when she did not. Every evening Justin ate supper with Callie then went home. Once the Caulfield mansion had been his refuge, but it was beginning to feel more and more like a museum and less like home.

  He was having a hard time finding solace in the place where he’d been raised. The air inside the place was heavy, like the way it felt when thunderheads began gathering before a storm. No matter how many lights he turned on, it still felt dark. It was as if the house had died along with Newton and Amelia.

  When he finally got up the nerve to go into the library, the energy was so negative it stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and left without getting what he’d come for.

  That’s when he knew it was time to get out.

  There were plenty of places on which one would expect a man in his position to choose to rebuild, but he kept coming back to the inevitable.

  He had a daughter in Coal Town who wouldn’t come to him. And in good conscience, he could hardly take his other daughter there. But he owned all the land surrounding the Caulfield Building, all the way to the river. Once he realized he could see the roof of her house from his office windows, he knew where he wanted to be. The closest he could get to her was to build a house on one of the hills above the river.

  ****

  It didn’t take long for word to get around that Poppy Sadler had given Freddy and JoJo a whipping for vandalizing her house, and that Aaron Coulter had not only backed her, but openly threatened anyone who bothered her again. All of a sudden she was ‘one of them’ again. In the vernacular of Coal Town, ‘she’d whupped ass’ and it was no more than the two stoners deserved.

  It was somewhat pathetic that it took a brawl for her to gain the respect of her neighbors again, but she was grateful the pressure was off.

  One day rolled into another. She painted the walls in her parent’s old bedroom in a color called vanilla malt. With a throw rug on the floor by the bed and new curtains on the window, she was ready to make the move. The only thing holding her back was waiting for the new paint smell to fade.

  Another weather front came through during the day on Friday and by quitting time it was snowing. Not the tiny flakes from before. These were serious, duck feather-sized flakes that stuck as soon as they fell, making the drive home a bit nerve-wracking.

  Poppy slid sideways when she turned down her street and then slid again when she turned up into her drive. When she finally got the car stopped, she was so tense she’d given herself a headache.

  “Thank God,” she said, and headed into the house on the run.

  She didn’t realize until she’d locked the door behind her and kicked the snow off her shoes that the house felt different. It was snug and warm, but that’s because Jessup always made sure to keep up repairs. It took her a few moments before she realized she felt welcome. The pervasive sadness that had permeated these walls was almost gone. The energy in the house was healing along with her.

  Getting out of the uniform was always her first order of business, so she hurried down the hall to change. She put on sweats and a sweatshirt, brushed her hair and washed her face, and traded her work shoes for slippers.

  A short while later she was in the kitchen peeling potatoes and chopping onions and celery to make potato soup. She had cornbread in the oven and the coffeemaker was churning out fresh brew. She couldn’t help wishing she had someone to share it, but dwelling on shortcomings had never been her style. Within thirty minutes, the cornbread was done and the soup was simmering on a back burner when someone knocked on the door.

  Poppy frowned, wondering who would come calling in weather like this, and then got a little anxious, wondering if Freddy and JoJo had gotten a fresh dose of nerve and were coming back for a face-to-face with her.

  She turned off the stove, then turned on the porch light and looked out. There was a strange car in the drive and an elderly man on the porch. The dark overcoat he was wearing was peppered with snow and the blue sock cap on his head was pulled way down past his ears. He looked too old to be threatening, guessed he might be lost, and decided to open the door.

  “Hello? Can I help you?”

  “Good evening, Poppy. You told me if I ever wanted a free meal to knock on your door.”

  Poppy gasped. “Prophet Jones, is that you?”

  “Indeed it is. Is this a bad time?”

  “No, of course not. Please come in.”

  Prophet took off his overcoat, revealing even more clean clothes. When he took off his sock cap, she was shocked to see he was completely shorn of all but a couple of inches of snow white hair. With the wild hair and the rags he’d worn gone, it’s no wonder she hadn’t known him.

  “You’re just in time. I was about to sit down.”

  “Something smells very good,” he said.

  “Potato soup and cornbread. Follow me.”

  He beamed. “Manna from heaven.”

  Poppy dished up soup, cut a warm block of cornbread, and poured him some coffee, then remembered how he’d taken it before and added sugar and cream.

  “We will eat and then we will talk. May I bless the food?”

  “I would be honored,” Poppy said.

  It was all she could do not to stare as the old man gave the blessing. Right after the ‘amen’, he took his first bite, rolled his eyes in delight and then dunked a chunk of cornbread into the soup and ate it with his spoon.

  “You are a fine cook. One day you will make someone a good wife,” Prophet said.

  Poppy grinned. “Thank you.”

  They ate in mutual silence. Once he was finished, as promised, he had things to say.

  “I didn’t just come to eat a meal. I came to say thank you, and goodbye.”

  “You’re leaving Caulfield?”

  He nodded. “It is time. Because you believed me, those who had trespassed against us have been brought to justice. I have shed my sackcloth and ashes. My years of wandering in the wilderness are over. I have no further need to stay.”

  “But how... I mean, your clothes, your car? You lived on the streets... under the bridge and God knows where else. How have you-“

  Prophet shrugged. “I had means, I just chose not to use them.”

  “You aren’t driving out tonight in this snowstorm are you?”

  He smiled, which highlighted the bony angles of his face even more.

  “I have been staying at a motel and won’t leave until the roads are safe. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Florida. It never snows there.”

  “I’m so thankful you came to tell me. I would have been sad if you’d left without saying goodbye.”

  “I have something else to say. You may think I’m interfering, but I was a pastor long before I became an advocate for justice. I am also a good judge of character.”

  Poppy frowned. She didn’t know where this was going, but she felt a sermon coming on. Prophet stood up from the table, just as he might have risen to approach the pulpit.

  “In all the years I’ve known him, Justin Caulfield has been a fair man. Considering what I thought about his parents, this is not an easy thing for me to say. I can’t tell you how to feel, but it is my opinion that the sins of the father should not be visited upon the child. He and your mother were young and foolish, but he had nothing to do with the immoral crimes that were committed. The fact that he actually betrayed his mother to seek justice for you is remarkable and I hope when your grief is less fresh, you will realize it.”

  Poppy didn’t want to hear this, but she sat in stoic silence. In her mind, letting Justin Caulfield into her life was a betrayal of both her mother and her father. Prophet Jones didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but she wasn’t going to argue.
>
  “Well now! I’ve said all I came to say,” Prophet said. “It’s time I got back before the snow gets too deep to drive in. I will keep you in my prayers, young lady. I hope you’ll do the same for me.”

  Poppy stood. “You’ll always be in my prayers, Mr. Jones. If it hadn’t been for you, we might never have solved my daddy’s murder.”

  “God works in mysterious ways, my child,” Prophet said, then reached out and laid his hand on her head, as if he was blessing her. “Have a good life, Poppy Sadler. Don’t live in the past or you’ll miss what’s happening to you now.”

  Poppy stood at the window, watching until his tail lights disappeared, then eyed the accumulating snow, thankful she had the next two days off.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Justin woke abruptly then rolled over and looked at the clock. It was already after 8:00 a.m. He threw back the covers and climbed out of bed before he remembered it was Saturday. It had been slick driving home from the hospital last night and still snowing when he’d gone to bed. A glance out the window confirmed his decision had been a wise one - white as far as the eye could see and still coming down. He was going to have to break out the four-wheel drive Range Rover to get anywhere today.

  Then he thought of Poppy. Granted she’d managed twenty years without his help, but only because he hadn’t known she existed. Now that he did, and knowing she was either out in this weather, or in that little house all alone, he was going to worry whether she liked it or not, so he reached for the phone.