Gone to Green

by Judy Christie

  16

  Congratulations to Mr. Irman Jackson for having the first bale of cotton ginned this year in the parish. Mr. Irman was honored with a plaque and received a standing ovation at the gin.

  -The Green News-Item

  Only a matter of weeks remained to do what I wanted to do in Green. I knew the clock was running on my time here.

  After the Major stories ran, I slowly reemerged, needing to touch base with a dozen people. I made a list that ranged from going to hear jean preach to following up with the Green Forward group to see what we could do for the fall event. I set a lunch meeting with Duke, a dinner date with Walt, and a shopping trip with Kevin.

  "I want to go antiquing with you and Linda," I told Rose. "You and your Mom are invited to lunch at the country club," I mentioned to Katy. "Let's have brunch Saturday," I said to Aunt Helen.

  Iris Jo had invited me to a high school football game, to see my neighbor Chris Craig and his team in action, and I needed to do that before the season ended. "Everyone in town goes to the games," Iris Jo said. "Folks are wondering why you haven't gone to one." The weather was beautiful, and I kept trying to decide if I liked spring or fall in Louisiana better. The hickory trees turned bright yellow, and the vivid red sweet gums reminded me of Ohio. The cypresses on the lake became a rusty red color. "They're almost exactly the color of your hair," I told Iris Jo, and she smiled that warm smile of hers.

  The terribly hot weather was definitely gone, and people seemed to have a little more pep in their step.

  With fall also came the special election to fill the retiring mayor's seat. The news staff gathered for lunch at the country club as a thank-you for everyone's hard work, and I mentioned the upcoming primary.

  "Now that I've thanked you," I said, "we need to plan something bigger and better with the upcoming election."

  They all groaned at first. They were tired, and things had been tense around town as the Major Wilson stories continued to break. Alex seemed a little ticked that I expected him to help with a new project so soon, and I turned to him. "I just don't feel like we have any choice. Thanks to you, we've raised the bar on what people expect from The News-Item. We have to keep on exceeding those expectations."

  "Let's do an editorial campaign to get people registered and motivated to vote," Tom said. "In our last election, we had twelve percent of the registered voters show up. Twelve percent! That's a crying shame."

  Katy, who had gotten permission to check out of school for the luncheon and who was now getting journalism course credit for her work at The News-Item, wanted us to do something with young voters and even kids who couldn't vote.

  "They're the future," she said. "We ought to ask them what they want in a mayor."

  Alex couldn't keep pouting and threw out his idea-that we run photographs and blurbs on everyone considering running for mayor. One of the first names that surfaced on the potential candidates list was Eva Hillburn's. I had not thought of her as a politician, but it made perfect sense. I volunteered to call her.

  "It's true," she said when I phoned later that day. "I'm thinking about running. I've been sitting on the sidelines for a long time. But I need to talk to you first."

  "Me? Why? I'm not running," I said, joking.

  "Thank goodness," she said. "You'd be a tough opponent. But seriously, I need to talk to you about some downtown business before I make my final decision."

  We set up a supper meeting for the next night, hamburger buffet night at the country club. Maybe it was my imagination, but the place seemed totally different since my first meeting there with Eva. The Methodist preacher was there with his family. Kevin and her parents and a handful of African Americans I recognized from the neighborhood association were there. I knew about half the other people and spent ten minutes walking around the room visiting.

  Eva shook my hand when she came in and quietly thanked me for our series on her brother. "You nailed down something I never could," she said. "Excellent work, even though it stung. I knew he was doing something illegal, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I'm so angry at him for abusing people's trust ... and ashamed, too."

  As we ate, we chatted about what was going on in town, the one-day OktoberFest planned for downtown and even a little bit about my vacation trip to Dayton. "So, are you thinking of moving back there?" she asked.

  That question surprised me, but the answer was easy. "Oh, no, no, no. In fact, I probably need to go ahead and put my condo on the market. My renter's moving out in a couple of months."

  "What are your plans?"

  "To tell you the truth, they're up in the air right now. I'm still trying to recover from Alex's stories on Major and trying to get us all set for covering the mayor's race. You planning to run?" I wanted to turn the conversation back to her as quickly as possible, still not ready to discuss the sale of the paper.

  "Well, that depends on you," she said. "I'm going to run unless you'll sell me The News-Item."

  I set down my glass of tea so hard that it sloshed out on the white tablecloth.

  "What?"

  "I've been thinking about this a lot. I've always thought I might run for office, and the timing seems right with Oscar stepping down. It might be a little better if my brother weren't likely headed for jail, but people will get over that." She casually dipped a French fry into her catsup.

  "I had just about decided for sure when I began to hear some talk that you're putting The News-Item on the market. I think I could have some fun with the paper, make a difference. It would have to be easier than walking door-to-door and kissing babies to get elected to office. Besides, I don't want just any owner coming in and taking over. You've shown us what a great owner can do. You've done more with that paper in a year than the McCullers did in a decade. So, is it for sale?"

  A strange possessiveness about the paper moved across me, like it was mine and no way was Eva going to get her hands on it. That was ridiculous, since it was officially on the market. Someone would be getting it. I liked and respected Eva. She might be the perfect owner.

  "I'm thinking about selling it, but I'd appreciate it if you kept that between us for right now. I've got to make hard decisions between now and the end of the year, and I don't want the staff to feel like the rug's getting pulled out from under them."

  "I don't want to be too pushy, but have you listed it with a broker? I'd like to know some of the particulars. I have to make a decision quickly. If I'm going to run, I have to get a campaign organized right away."

  I don't know why, but I could not tell Eva I had officially listed the newspaper. "Well, I have been talking to someone, but nothing's certain yet." Perilously close to lying, I felt bad. "I should know something for sure in a week or two."

  Eva knew I wasn't totally upfront with her. She was all business when she reached out and touched my hand. "If you're selling it, I want a shot at it. But I have to know something soon."

  Heading to my car, I wondered yet again how my life had gotten so complicated.

  The next person I was to question about the mayor's post was Rose. Her name came up as a potential candidate because of her involvement with the downtown group. She quickly shot that down.

  "Are you kidding me? I'd have to give up my mail job, and I'd probably lose all my business at the Holey Moley, and I'm not any kind of a politician." She paused for just a second. "But I have been thinking about getting involved in somebody's campaign. All the stuff you got us to do downtown and all that mess with Major. Good people have got to get involved."

  Rose was much more excited, though, talking about my upcoming date with Walt. "I can't believe it. Finally. I've been trying to fix you up since the day I met you. I just don't understand how a woman can live alone, way out in the country."

  "Rose, it's not like there's a trainload of eligible men in Green. I've met approximately three single men-one is eighty, the other's going through a vicious divorce and that Chris Craig guy hasn't even looked my way. Besides I haven't been here that
long."

  "Now, what are you going to wear? And what's he look like? Is he good looking? What are y'all going to do, go out to eat, catch a movie?"

  I laughed and went through her list. "I haven't thought about what I'm wearing. Something I've got in my closet. We're going to that seafood restaurant on the lake. He's nice enough looking, although he's a little short."

  "Wear those black pants with that black-and-white shirtthat flowy one. And be sure to get your nails done. You're an attractive woman, and it's high time you found someone in your life."

  I despised dating, but I had to admit being excited about going out for the first time in a year. When you get to your thirties and haven't married, you've probably been out with at least two dozen men who were either weird, rude, boring, or a combination of the three. I felt optimistic about Walt.

  We met for Sunday brunch at the nicest restaurant in the area, Brocato's Marina Inn. I suggested we go early, to beat the church crowd, and then worried that Walt was part of the church crowd.

  "I go on Saturday," he said. "My church is very laid-back. My mother calls it rock-and-roll church."

  He was already at the restaurant when I arrived and led me to our table, which had a beautiful view of the lake. Several people we knew came in and stopped at our table to chat. Walt had worked with some of them on cases down our way, and I recognized others from the community.

  Everyone wanted to know how we met and how long we had known each other. We both were vague, implying that someone in town had introduced us, which was technically true since Duke had referred me to Walt. For the second time in two days I was deliberately misleading.

  The date would have been more fun if I had not been mulling over what to do about Eva's interest in the newspaper. I had thought of little else since our supper. I had listed the paper with a broker. Eva's timetable put pressure on me to move faster than I wanted. It could open up the Asheville job again.

  "Don't you think?"

  Walt was talking to me, and I had no idea what he had said. "I'm so sorry," I said, trying to make a joke of it. "I have had a lot on my mind. I think I must have zoned out there."

  "You mentioned you haven't made it over to Dallas yet, and I was saying it might be fun to go over one weekend, see some movies and eat out. We could go and come in one day if we got an early start."

  "That does sound like fun," I said. But I had few weekends left in Green and wasn't sure I wanted to give them up for an excursion to Texas. "There's a lot going on, though, so I'll just have to see."

  I'd put a damper on Walt's enthusiasm, but the rest of our date was enjoyable. I took him over to the paper for a tour.

  "It's been years since I was in here," he said. "This is great. I don't remember the press being so big."

  "Do you remember the newsroom being this cluttered?" I asked.

  "Absolutely," he said.

  We parted in the parking lot with a quick hug, no kiss. I headed home, longing for some of that peace that Pastor jean had told me about.

  I opened the door and the phone rang.

  "Lois? It's Iris Jo. Aunt Helen took a fall and is in the hospital. I knew you would want to know."

  "Up in Shreveport or the little Green clinic?"

  "She's here. They think they'll discharge her tomorrow, but they want to keep an eye on her."

  I hurried to the clinic, worried. When I walked into her room, Helen was alone and looked pale and much more fragile than usual. I patted her hand. "So you took a tumble, huh? How are you doing?"

  "I've had better days," she said. "But I've also had worse." Aunt Helen was always looking at things from a different point of view. "How about you?"

  I wanted to talk about Eva's interest in the newspaper, but I knew the time wasn't right, so I went for the other highinterest topic.

  "I had a date today."

  "Today?" I had gotten her attention. "Not some lowlife, I hope?"

  "No, ma'am, a lawyer from up in Shreveport. Nice guy. Walt King."

  "Oh, young Walt," she said. "I know him. Know his daddy quite well. Used to do some work for the paper. He's done lots of legal work for me over the years. Nearly married him when I was a young woman."

  Helen rarely said anything about her love life. She had never married but had been engaged to a guy who was killed in some sort of farming accident. I was surprised when she continued. "Most people think that Joe Hudson was the love of my life, and that I never married because he got killed. Truth is, Lois, Walt senior was my true love, and darned if he didn't break up with me and marry someone else. Nice gal, too, but I still don't know what she had on me."

  Maybe Helen was on more pain medication than I realized. I patted her hand again. "Well, if he's anything like his son, he's a nice man," I said. "But he must not be too smart if he let you get away."

  "You think this will amount to anything?"

  "Oh, who knows? I sort of doubt it. He's a nice guy, but I'm not a Louisiana girl."

  "So it's true, huh? You are planning to sell the paper."

  I will never cease to be amazed at how news travels. When people ask to tell me something off-the-record, I want to laugh. A thousand people probably already know it, or will by the time the day is out. "I'm thinking about it, Aunt Helen. That's been the plan all along. What do you think?"

  "Dumbest idea I ever heard. You were made to run this paper. You've been better to this place than anything that's happened in years. I can't even believe you'd ask me about it"

  I pulled my chair up closer to her bed.

  "It's always been the plan," I repeated. "You know the terms of the deal. This paper wasn't cheap, and there's a hefty note over at the bank with my name on it. I need to take care of that."

  "Oh, that's baloney. It isn't the money, and you know it. You're a smart girl, and you could pay that line of credit and take out more and keep it going. You know how that game works. That paper makes good money, too. You're just running away."

  I had been subjected to these kinds of tirades from Helen before, and I knew she didn't feel good. I should probably coddle her.

  "Running away? Running away? Just what is it that I'm supposed to be running away from?" I decided I didn't want to coddle her.

  "From life, girl," she said, more gently. "From life. You've made more friends in Green in less than a year than lots of people make their whole life. You've helped change this place for the better, and you know it. But you're afraid of letting anyone get too close to you, to commit to sticking around. You're half scared of failing at the paper, somehow getting deep into debt and not being able to get out. And you're running from God."

  "Running from God? I am not running from God. What in the world are you talking about?"

  I was getting increasingly louder, and an aide stuck her head in the door. I lowered my voice. "I am not running from God or from my friends or from anyone. Except I may run from you if you keep at me. Aren't I supposed to be giving you a sponge bath, or something?"

  "No sponge baths, no chicken broth, and no bedpans," she said. "But you are running from God. I'll tell you one thingyou're going to Nineveh whether you like it or not. So, you can go with good humor or you can keep running. God has a use for you, Miss Lois Barker, and you will not escape, no matter how hard and fast you run."

  I looked at her, wondering for a moment if she was losing it. "Nineveh?"

  "Yes, Nineveh-where God told Jonah to go. He ran and ran and landed in the belly of a whale and still wound up in Nineveh. One way or another, you're going to Nineveh."

  17

  "Thank you to my neighbors in the Caroline community who sent me recipes to share with my faithful readers. After nearly a decade of laying the groundwork for this coup, Sarah Johnson pried her mother's amazing turnip green recipe out of her. She calls them the world's finest turnip greens because they are. Just serve them with a hot pan of cornbread-and don't expect any leftovers."'

  - The Green News-Item

  On my third date with Walt, I figured
out how Lee Roy was stealing from the paper.

  I made a picnic lunch for us, and we went out to the state park on one of those beautiful Louisiana autumn days that I had fallen in love with. We were eating sandwiches and talking when a flashy boat came by at high speed, with people yelling and laughing. I noticed an older man in an aluminum fishing boat shaking his head as the big boat's wake rocked him back and forth.

  "What kind of an idiot goes that fast when people are close by?" I asked.

  "A rich one, I'd say," Walt said. "That's a pretty expensive toy right there."

  As the boat circled around, I noticed none other than Lee Roy Hicks himself at the wheel. "That's Lee Roy. Now how does he afford that boat on his salary?" I said, asking myself as much as Walt. Lee Roy was well paid by Green standards, but hardly made enough money to support his lifestyle, now that I thought about it. He lived in a fancy house out at Mossy Bend, drove a very nice car, and was always dressed in expensive, name-brand clothes. I had wondered how many of those fancy golf shirts he owned.

  Suddenly an advertisement from the Friday paper popped into my mind, a full-page color ad for Lowrey Marine, a big regional boat dealer. Lee Roy had been ecstatic when the contract on Lowrey's came through. "The Lowreys are going to be great customers," he said, smiling more than I had seen him smile in months. "I've been trying to get their business for years."

  But when I had looked at the financials for that day's paper, the revenue from Lowrey's was low. I asked Lee Roy about it, and he gave me a complicated story about how they signed a contract and would pay higher rates later on. "I wanted to hook them good, so I worked with them on the front end," he said. "They're going to add at least twenty grand to our bottom line this next year."

  Suddenly some of the gaps in the numbers came together for me. Had Lee Roy cut better deals for certain advertisers, giving himself a percentage along the way? He was well liked by many of the businesspeople in town, a loud, friendly guy who dressed well and loved to tell a good joke. He was very close to Major Wilson and the McCullers and had not forgiven me yet for the stories we were running and never missed an opportunity to complain about the newsroom.