Benzer pushed himself up on his elbows. “I know something exciting. You could go with me to the park and watch me hit balls over the fence. What could be better than that?”
“Absolutely anything?”
“You’re in a great mood. Does your mom have any colas in the fridge? It’s burning up out here.”
“Oh, come on.” I climbed to my feet. “Mama’s on an organic juice kick right now, but I know where Bertie keeps her stash.”
We brushed the grass from our clothes and walked to the porch. The front door was open to let in the breeze, and I stood in the doorway letting my eyes adjust to the dimness. The living room was just off the foyer, and I motioned Benzer inside. “Wait here. I’ll check if they’re out of the kitchen.”
I walked down the hallway. Mama’s and Bertie’s voices drifted up from the cellar. Satisfied, I walked back to Benzer. “It should be okay. They’re down in the cellar looking through my old baby clothes. That’ll take hours.”
Benzer was on his knees in front of the bookcase, a large, dusty Bible in his lap.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen this in forever. Not since your mother banned us from ever touching it again.”
I sat down beside him. “Oh, yeah. But it was Bertie’s fault for telling us if we prayed for something with a sincere heart, we’d get it.” A smile snuck across my face. “Remember, I asked for it to snow?”
Benzer laughed. “That’s right, in August. When it didn’t, you threw the Bible across the room.”
“I dropped it. How old were we, seven?” I opened the cover and read, “Universal Library of Divine Knowledge, containing the sacred texts of the Old and New Testaments, in which the important truths are confirmed to dispel the mists of darkness, enlighten the ignorant, and implant divine knowledge which is necessary to salvation.”
“Wow,” Benzer said, “that ought to cover it.”
“I don’t know what half of that means.” I traced a finger across the penciled name at the top. “Silas Whittle, 1858.”
“Who was that?”
“I’m not sure. Somebody in the family, I guess.”
Benzer picked up my hand and placed it on a page with a drawing of a baby Jesus. “What are you waiting for?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Try again. You just said we need a miracle. Ask it for something exciting.”
“Whatever. It didn’t snow, remember?” I wiped my dusty hand on my shorts.
“Do you have a better idea?”
I pictured Sally’s smirking face as we stood on the sidewalk in front of school. “Fine, but why do I have to say it?”
“You’re the one who told Sally we had big plans. And it’s your family Bible—duh!”
I exhaled slowly. “Okay. What should I say?”
“I don’t know. Just ask for something exciting to happen, sincerely. Then offer to do something God likes.”
“Hello? How do I know what God likes? You’re the one with a cross above your couch.”
“We’re Catholic. All I know for sure is that he likes the pope.”
“You’re a big help.” I closed my eyes, feeling silly. “Uh … Lord, I know I haven’t talked to you much, or ever, to be honest. But I’ve seen the pope on TV, and he looks like a nice guy. I like his car.” I paused. This was not going well. “Anyway, we’d like to ask, sincerely, if you could give us a summer with some excitement. Could you please make something happen, something life-changing, so that when we go to junior high this fall, we’re the talk of the school? And to show our sincere hearts, we’ll …” I drew a blank.
“Hurry,” Benzer whispered.
“What can we do?” I whispered back. “You think of something!”
“And to show our sincere hearts,” Benzer said, “we’ll start going to church. Thank you very much.”
“Church? That’s all you could think of?” I slammed the book shut. “Amen.”
A huge gust of wind came through the open window. It ruffled my hair, and I could see the oak leaves on my tree outside fluttering wildly. The curtains were sucked outside, then pushed back into the room, just in time for the window to drop with a loud BANG.
“What the heck?” Benzer asked.
“Lou, is that you?” Mama called from the cellar. “What are you doing up there?”
Quickly, I tried to stuff the Bible back on the bookshelf, but the cover caught on a small nail sticking out of the wood and tore.
Benzer and I stared at each other, panicked.
“Lou?” Mama’s voice was getting louder, and I heard the door at the top of the cellar stairs open.
“C’mon,” I whispered to Benzer.
Of all the hiding places in my house, the one I used most was the one behind the living room bookcase. Daddy said it was probably used in the Civil War to hide valuables. I tugged on the edge of the shelf. The wood floor underneath was worn to a high shine, and it swung forward easily.
I grabbed Benzer’s arm and pushed him into the dark space ahead of me. On the inside, a leather cord was attached with a nail. I pulled the bookcase shut, plunging us into darkness.
“We’re going to be grounded for life,” Benzer whispered in the dark.
“Shh.” I got on my knees and felt around the floor. “Aha.” I clicked the On button of the flashlight I’d found. “I like to read in here when cleaning’s going on,” I whispered.
“Lou? Benzer?” Mama’s voice was loud in the room. “Are you here?”
I aimed the light at Benzer, who crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. I tried not to laugh.
The floor vibrated as someone with a heavier tread walked into the room. “What’s going on?” Daddy asked.
“Did you see Lou and Benzer outside?” Mama asked. “I swear I heard something fall.”
“No, but remind them I need them to work early tomorrow.”
The sofa nearest the bookcase groaned with the weight of someone sitting down. Great, it looked like we were going to be stuck here awhile.
“Where’s Bertie?” Daddy asked. I heard a soft thump, and I pictured him dropping his work boots onto the floor.
“Pulling out some of Lou’s old clothes for the baby.”
“You better sit down,” Daddy said. “I’ve got bad news.”
“Oh, dear. What is it?”
“I just got a call from Jimmy Dale. Pete got the votes he needed. He’s already submitted a plan and everything.” Daddy sounded tired. “Things are moving ahead.”
Benzer raised an eyebrow. “What are they talking about?” he whispered.
I shook my head. I didn’t have a clue.
“Are you sure Jimmy heard right?” Mama asked. “You know how things get twisted around in this town.”
“Not this time. He was there when it went to the vote.” The couch groaned as Daddy moved again. “I hate to say it, Lily, but we have to face facts. If Pete Winningham gets his way, this house will be history before the summer’s out.”
I gasped so loud I was afraid I’d given us away. Benzer nudged me with his elbow, his eyes wide in the flashlight’s glare.
“I don’t understand. Jimmy said the majority were voting our way. He assured us!” My mother’s voice cracked on the last note.
“I guess a couple of people must have changed their minds at the last second.”
I could hear Mama start to cry. I turned the flashlight off and put my knuckle in my mouth. I was glad Benzer couldn’t see my face.
“Lily, please don’t worry,” I heard Daddy say. “We knew this might happen. That’s why I spoke with those Knoxville attorneys. They’ve already agreed to take the case if it comes down to it.”
“But they said there were no guarantees we’d win, and they won’t even start without the retainer. Where are we going to get twenty-five thousand dollars?”
I fanned my face with one hand. The tiny room was getting hot.
“I’ve got some things in the shop ready for the Nashvi
lle flea market,” Daddy said. “We’ll clean up the yard and sell everything that’s worth anything.”
Mama was quiet. I guessed she was calculating what all those rusty refrigerators were really worth. We just sold Mr. Otto from Sparta three of the better ones for two hundred dollars, and that was a good deal. I must have been right, because a second later, she started crying again.
“Lily, you know we’ve been in tough spots before. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”
Mama blew her nose. “I reckon you’re right. I still have some art to send out. Maybe I’ll find a rich buyer.”
Daddy paused. Mama’s art sales had never even covered the cost of her paintbrushes. “We’ll talk about it tonight. Lou’s bound to be back soon.”
“Lord, don’t let her find out. She’d plan an assault on the county.”
He laughed, a short, sharp bark. “That’ll be plan B. C’mon now. Is lunch ready? I’ve never had a problem that your chicken salad couldn’t fix.”
We sat in the darkness, listening to them leave.
“Lou,” Benzer whispered, “we should get out while they’re in the kitchen.”
I put a shaking hand on the bookcase and pushed it open. Light spilled in, and I saw Benzer’s face, serious and sad. I wondered if mine looked as bad as his.
We closed the bookcase, and I put the Bible back on the shelf, then we tiptoed to the front door.
I didn’t trust myself to speak until we’d cleared the porch and walked around the yard, through the wooden gate, and into the junkyard. Luckily, no customers were around. I stopped in the shade of the scrap metal pile.
“Lou? Are you okay?” Benzer asked.
It suddenly occurred to me I should sit down before my legs gave way. I plopped in the dirt.
“Lou?” Benzer said again, softly. “What are you going to do?”
I looked around me at the junk piled everywhere. The back of my house was visible over the wooden fence, and over the roof of my house the top of the old oak that brushed against my window and kept me up at night. I tried to imagine the house gone, knocked down and carted off in dump trucks like the one we owned.
I shook my head and answered honestly. “I don’t know yet.” But one thing was for sure, I was not about to sit around and let this all become history.
From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
January 1861
Father has gone again, this time to Nashville to stay with friends and gather news about our possible secession. Although Walter’s family owns no slaves, he agrees that secession is the route Tennessee must also take. He speaks of tariffs and taxes. I confess much of it goes right over my head.
Weekends are Daddy’s busiest time, due to all of the yard sales and auctions. Our town doesn’t have a Goodwill or Salvation Army store, so we get called to pick up anything that’s not sold.
“You ready to go, Chief?” Daddy asked as he started the truck. The engine roared to life, vibrating the cab and causing old Vienna sausage cans and empty chip bags to dance across the floorboard.
“Ready!” Breakfast had been interesting. My parents had laughed and teased like they didn’t have a care in the world. I wondered how they got so good at hiding things.
“Do you have the directions?” Daddy asked.
I nodded and held up a worn notebook.
I’m the official navigator. Zollicoffer itself doesn’t have a lot of people, but Grey County is one of the largest in Tennessee. Nobody uses street names; they just leave messages on the phone like “take the bypass, pass the convenience store, and turn left at the grove of pine trees.”
Isaac normally helped, but he had family in town, so Daddy insisted he take the day off. There’d been an award ceremony at the bank the night before, where they had given away the annual Pride of Zollicoffer scholarship, and I thought Isaac was a shoo-in to win.
“Do you think the paper sent a photographer to the award ceremony?” I asked. “I want to see what Isaac’s face looked like when they called his name.”
“Probably.”
I turned to look at him. “Why does your voice sound weird?”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ll feel better once I know Isaac actually won.”
“Daddy! Of course he won. It’s guaranteed!”
He smiled. “I’m old enough to know nothing is guaranteed and not to count your chickens before they hatch. But you’re probably right. As soon as we hear, you can start leading the charge to erect an Isaac statue in the middle of town.”
“Deal!”
We drove through town, stopping at Betty Sim’s house for an old air conditioner, two broken stools, and a box of clothes, size twenty. Betty had recently joined Weight Watchers, and it was paying off. You can tell a lot about a person from her garbage.
There were several more stops, mostly unexciting, except for a box of Seventeen magazines from Tracy Kimmel’s house. My friend, her brother, Franklin, was standing in the driveway.
Daddy rested his elbow on the edge of the door. “Look who it is—Zollicoffer’s own Bobby Fischer.”
I stared at my dad, confused. “Who the heck is that?”
Franklin tossed a bag of trash over the side. “Bobby Fischer is considered by some to be the greatest chess player that ever lived.”
“Do you even play chess?”
Franklin threw another bag. “I have a working knowledge of the game, but I believe your father was referring more to the intellectual pursuit than any real skill I might have.”
Daddy laughed. “Franklin, I swear you beat all. You’re probably going to be the governor of Tennessee one of these days.”
Franklin turned pink. “Thank you, Mr. Mayhew. It’s one of my five long-term goals.”
“I tried calling you all night last night,” I said.
“I’m sorry. Tracy and I drove our parents to the airport, and we didn’t get home until late.”
“Are they going to be gone long?” Daddy asked.
Franklin shook his head. “No, sir, just two weeks. Our grandmother is coming to stay with us.”
“Well, call us if you need anything, Franklin,” Daddy said in his serious voice. “I know you’re the smartest twelve-year-old this town has ever seen, but everyone needs help now and then.”
Franklin peered up from under his glasses. “Thank you, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight, Lou.”
We waved bye and started down the long, tree-lined driveway. Mr. and Mrs. Kimmel were the richest people in Zollicoffer and were constantly heading off on cruises or vacations to Europe. Tracy, Franklin’s perfect and popular sister, was a cheerleader and last year’s Homecoming Queen. Her sweet sixteen party had been written up in the Nashville Tennessean … most of it, anyway. Franklin gave us the secret details—like that the seniors got grounded for drinking spiked punch and puking in his mother’s flower beds. Not that he was invited; he’d watched it all from his upstairs window.
Next we went to pick up Benzer. He lives in the only subdivision in town because his parents say they feel more comfortable with people around. They’re the only family I know that keep their doors locked in the daytime.
Benzer has to mow the yard every Saturday before he can work at the junkyard. Normally he walks the half mile to our house, but since Daddy needed our help at an auction, we said we’d pick him up. He was sitting on the front stoop, grass clippings clinging to his tennis shoes, trimming his nails with a pocketknife when we pulled to the curb.
“Morning, Benzini. You ready to work?” my dad asked.
“Yes, sir.” He opened the truck door. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing much,” I said, scooting over on the bench seat to give him room. “Some fashion magazines from Tracy Kimmel’s.”
He made a gagging sound and mimed throwing up out the window.
“Before I forget, Mr. Mayhew,” Benzer said. “Dad wanted me to tell you that he could use a good computer if you come across any.”
“I might have o
ne or two in the shop,” Daddy said over the hum of the engine. “I’ll test them out over the weekend and see what I can find. You guys ready for a burger?”
I nodded. It was barely eleven, but we’d been up since dawn. We pulled into the parking lot of Dixie’s Burgers.
“I’ll be right back. Y’all want the usual?”
We nodded, and he shut the door.
“So, find out anything new?” Benzer asked. He smelled like soap, and his hair was drying into curly, dark flips around his collar. Had it always been that thick? I slid across into Daddy’s seat.
“Not really. I looked online and found out ‘Pete’ is Peter Winningham, county commissioner. But there was nothing about him that would explain why he’d want to steal my house.”
“I think that’s Blake Winningham’s dad. I’ve seen him at Little League games. Blake stinks, by the way.”
“That’s helpful.” I could see Daddy at the counter giving our order. “The whole thing is just so weird. Why would anyone want our house?”
“Good question.” Benzer began playing drums on the dashboard. “I hope he remembers to get extra ketchup.”
“You always say that, and he always does. What am I supposed to do?”
“Why don’t you just ask your parents what’s going on? Or Bertie. I bet she knows.”
“Right. I’ll just tell them we were eavesdropping. They’ll probably only ground me until school starts. That will really show Sally Martin.”
“That’s it!” Benzer smacked the dashboard. “Lou, we prayed for an exciting summer. The prayer is already working!”
I frowned. “This is not what I call exciting.”
Benzer shrugged. “Well, it’s not exactly boring, either. We weren’t real specific about the kind of excitement.”
I rubbed my eyes. I didn’t care why it was happening. I just wanted to know how to fix it.
“Did you tell Franklin?” Benzer asked. “If anyone will know how to handle this, it will be him.”
“I couldn’t say anything with Daddy there,” I said. “I’ll tell him and Patty about it tonight. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
Daddy came out carrying two bags, and I scooted back next to Benzer.
He nodded. “Right after ball practice.”
Last in a Long Line of Rebels Page 2